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Midus Sonners Vice Captain
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 Posted: Sun May 04, 2008 8:20 pm
The arena itself, which actually sits below ground level, spans three hundred feet in diameter with walls one hundred feet high before the stands begin. The floor of the arena is sprinkled with just enough sand to cover up the stones beneath, but not enough to be significantly detrimental to footing or traction. Gates at the northern and southern end lead into the arena, through which contenders will enter upon being summoned from their quarters in order to compete in the designated match. The platform is risen only four feet off the ground. Out of Bounds: The ground between the platform and the wall of the stands is out of bounds. Touching the stands is also out of bounds.
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Posted: Mon May 05, 2008 8:57 pm
The silhouette of a human figure making his way up from the southern gateway faded before the bright sunlight overhead. None other than GTBII Round I participant Omi Barsait made his appearance - to a chorus of fans eager for blood, a few who actually knew this fighter from times passed - and an equal few who also cheered with knowledge of this fighter, but for his death. Appearance A 5’10’’ human man of 18 years, weighing in at 172 lbs. Long, wavy hair; dark brown-black, parted in the front and reaching shoulder length. Scantly pale skin, amber brown eyes. An "average-thin" build; arms are rather thin, although both legs are slightly more stocky. Shoulder-blades protrude more than the norm.
A pair of spectacles rest upon his nose, earpieces in place; dark frames, thin-wired. Non-prescription glasses; cosmetic only. Round-framed with lens just about the size of his eyes. Teeth, an off-white, are all rather average save the four canines, which are particularly jagged; almost stereotypically "vampire-" esque, though this is merely a coincidence.
Dark cotton shirt, sleeves coming mid-length of either arm; in matching material and hue, a pair of pants - cuffs reaching right to the top of either foot, two pockets at either side and slightly "modernized" in overall production, thus having a bit of weight to its form. Two plain, "short" socks; no design or specific texture. Over these, two boots - very tight cured leather, a dark sheen to them; flexible yet very sturdy, comes to a rounded point, 5 lbs. 3 oz. a boot. Inclined treads, for a mixture of good traction and mobility. Top of said boots rise above the pant legs up to roughly 4" above the apex of the sock lines.
Aside from the above apparel, there are three items Barsait wears which bear significant importance in mentioning.
i. BODY APPAREL: Chain Mesh: Linked together in a weave of metal, this thin one-piece suit of metal (only 1/3rds an inch thick) lies beneath all of the young man's clothing. The only areas one can truly get a good sight of it, would be along the bare arms, and right at the neckline of the above mentioned shirt. Nice, clean, durable steel; inner rings being a diameter of 10 mm. Surprisingly light at seven kilograms, it is rather adaptive to freestyle movement while still providing a nice defensive resistance against enemy weaponry - since otherwise, all a sharp blade would have to pierce, would be.. cloth.
ii. ARM APPAREL: Gauntlets: Cured leather, made sturdy for repeated use; these gauntlets are fingertip-less at the knuckles for enhanced dexterity. Extending along the wrists and capping off in a curved edge, the insides are made for comfort - tight on the skin as to maximize proper hand movements, whilst the exterior is made very durable. Along the upper region of either, is a burned circle - quite possibly the alphabetical "O."
iii. WEAPONRY: Division Blade: A one-handed sword with the handle space for two hands, though this would only be for powerful over-hand swings most likely, as it is made to move rapidly with merely a single hand utilizing it. The blade being made of the "proper" refining procedure of folding steel over many thousands of times. A modification of the originally two-handed Chinese saber of the Republican era "Miao dao," this blade has a number of specific parameters.
-Narrow blade of 1.12 meters in length. Straight blade which curves (only slightly) from the halfway point to the tip; the bottom edge perfectly straight.
-A more "English"-style cross-guard where the handle and blade meet, oval in shape and quite durable.
-Thin, grooving leather straps of dark black hue wrapped about the hilt for better hold.
-Blade is overall rather lightweight; .9 kg total not including the handle space. A rather interesting note: the pommel (piece capped on the bottom of the sword's handle, not wrapped in leather) is actually rather hefty in comparison to the rest of the sword's structure, around .5 kg by itself.. possibly for counterbalancing purposes. The hilt, all in all, is made of a strong mixture of refined steel and silver. The blade itself, stainless steel with the edge made of heavily sharpened tungsten along the edges. Lightweight but with enough weight, able to make an impact; therefore an ideal weapon for this individual.
Coming to the edge of the platform, the swordsman hopped upward without even removing either hand from their respective pockets. Boots build for traction found even more in the form of sand below; yet his feet carried him forward evermore, until Barsait was literally at the very center of the arena - the focal point for every individual in that arena to gaze upon. Narrowing both eyelids slightly to drown out a bit of the fierce light above, Omi slid his left index and middle fingertips beneath the leather straps binding his weaponry to his person, and slid the blade right off; tossing it a number of feet to the left, much to the delight of a few parts of the crowd.
Arms slowly returning to his sides, the man stood like a rock amidst the waves. Stationary, a serious look of concentration within his expression, fists forming tighter whilst his legs squared. Toward the north would be the second entree to this arena, and the man this swordsman would have to defeat.
"I need to freshly evaluate his movements and not let the last bout dictate my actions, or it might bias me into a course of action that'll ruin me. This time, there'll be no fool judge call ending our fun. We'll have this ended well before one can touch our bout.." Rotating his shoulder blades to ease the tension built up along them, Barsait's teeth was just visible between his lips; his eyes were practically alive all their own with anticipation.
"Joy, blood-lust and adrenaline mixed with pain - perfect recipe for another day at this place, seems."
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Posted: Thu May 08, 2008 2:09 am
Mooo dashed into the arena, more than just a little late and having kept Omi waiting for close to fifteen minutes.
"I'm so sorry," he huffed out, hands on his knees as he caught his breath, sweat running down his forehead and neck, drenching the back of his shirt. It was a hot day, and he literally had to run from his hotel room to the arena, as well as have to deal with various... inconveniences along the way.
The timer up on the billboard flashed as Mooo stepped onto the platform, his breaths slowing as he thought out a simple strategy--power through. Omi was smaller than him, and lighter--it would be easier for Mooo to force him out of the ring instead of fighting it out with him. Mooo remembered only one key piece of information from their last fight: body blows didn't work. This also made him consider more strongly the option of winning through a ring-out instead of taking it to a close-ranged brawl.
The timer started its forward count, and Mooo rose to his full height, tilting his head up as he exhaled slowly, eyes closing as he calmly closed then opened his hands again, tightening them into fists and tensing up his upper body before snapping his stance wide, bringing his fists up near his chin, elbows tucked close to his body.
"Let's do this!" he crowed, grinning toward Omi and ready to get this show on the road.
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Posted: Thu May 08, 2008 5:20 pm
Mooo would find Omi staring idly at the ground. Apparently.. waiting was not something Barsait was great at; yet at the very sight of his opponent, the mercenary perked up and shot his gaze on forward. "Don't worry about it, at least you didn't time out man." Was his reply, a frenzied grin on the swordsman's face as the billboard's timer flashed into activity.
"Perfect..!! No more waiting. Not a damned second more; this fight starts now.." Left foot forward, right foot back - a distance of roughly 7 inches between either boot's heel. His left shoulder rose forward, arm horizontally applied in front of Omi's chin - right arm coming down to the stomach line, crossing it horizontally in the opposite direction, fittingly. The left shoulder blade bulged outward menacingly.. It was a stark contrast to this fighter's normal tactics. Instead of letting the enemy fighter strike first, allowing an opportunity at analysis and eventual weakness exploiting - Barsait was taking the initiative with a berserk frenzy. Despite the defensive posture undertaken, the looming dark-clad swordsman was charging forward at a rapid pace- the right arm moving from the left to the right in intervals of two inches or so in either direction, the left shoulder always the front assault's lead.
Mooo, one had to remember, had just gotten onto the platform from his gate's edge. Omi, on the other hand, was practically bombarding in from the middle- his eyelids not coming shut even once, pupils eagerly locked in on his opponent. There was going to be absolutely no time to adjust to the arena now.. perhaps it was the long wait- but it was like the swordsman had gone berserk in eagerness to land a blow [or many more].
Omi Barsait had by no means forgotten last tournament's instances where Mooo's superior weight would quell one of Omi's throws, or Mooo's longer reach and greater height would prove a challenge. Mooo was, overall, a larger fighter. It seemed almost impractical to be rushing the edge of the arena for the smaller fighter than - yet crashing in but a few feet from his opponent, was Omi in a tight defensive! Left shoulder blade menacingly pointed forward as though threatening to slam in and impale his foe should he choose to leave himself open, the swordsman stopped at roughly 3' from his opponent's being.
All Mooo would see of his face, was the following. Both eyes widened just a bit more, pupils contracting only slightly - and just beneath the edge of the left wrist, part of a definite grin - his voice roaring only once to acknowledge Mooo's own words: "GO!"
Expecting a full counter from his opponent, the swordsman stormed in enough distance on his left foot- before performing a.. bizarre movement. He closed the distance by roughly twelve inches- enough, if both fighters closed in, their arms would meet.. then side-stepped to his left; Mooo's right. 6". Enough, Omi's right side was nearest Mooo, by far. "The only way to gauge this fight proper is to land a strike, it's that simple - yet..!!" Bones tensed. Then shot outward- right fist whipping out diagonally at Mooo's raised arms. Then again. They were just far away enough, the strikes didn't quite make contact - but they were constantly flowing in, at different heights and retracted with the same speed they were shot out.
Barsait's rear foot would carry him back an inch - before moving him forward again. The left foot, meanwhile, would pivot him a little bit to the left. A tiny bit to the right. It was truly hard to get a handle of: Omi was flowing his fist through the air, varying the angle of each lashing strike [the knuckle tips cutting the air] a few degrees in either direction, creating a nice volley of what was practically warning-feints. They weren't strikes for show, though. If Mooo wasn't careful, a few whip-like strikes of that right fist'd be devastating; yet.. it was puzzling. Why wasn't Omi pressing on in even more, to start the exchange of blows? What if Mooo grabbed that fist, or managed to charge into Barsait's fist and strike into his right side? What was the gain in this?
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Posted: Thu May 08, 2008 7:46 pm
Mooo's attention was too focused on Omi's incoming blows to take note of his footwork, so Mooo tightened up his guard, bringing his forearms up to cover his face and head as he started to shift to his left, making a small shift forward as he did so, closing the distance between them to lessen the impact of the punches just a tiny amount. The punches dully smacked off his forearms--so Omi wasn't using those yet--so Mooo decided he'd give Omi something to worry about while he had Mooo pinned down with his jab.
Omi had thrown so many punches that Mooo had already become comfortable with their timing, so the next right that Omi threw out was met early, Mooo's left forearm smacking violently against Omi's right wrist and knocking the punch aside, Mooo taking a deep step forward, directly into Omi's space, his guard still up as he continued the motion he made with his left arm, making a short semicircle as he tucked it down, then quickly snapped it back up in a short left hook aimed for Omi's ribs--Mooo wanted to see if he could actually hurt him with a body blow this time.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2008 2:48 pm
One jab after another shot outward, tearing apart the air like a weak scythe grating across the currents to test its prey. Little impact greeted Mooo's forearms; the swordsman's fists were getting a taste for their target, it seemed. Slowly, Omi could feel the range his right carried dwindle as Mooo neared more and more, until sure enough, Mooo took the opportunity to overwhelm Barsait's right.. the moment Mooo's left forearm removed Omi's right arm from its jabbing duty - dangerous as it were - Omi revealed his actual plan.
All of those weak right jabs were nothing but bait. Glancing down just long enough to see that left hook crash forward towards Barsait's ribs - Omi had a possible opportunity to try and fall back.. however, to surprise from the audience, he did not. The mercenary practically gave Mooo the hook, a swift escape of air leaving Omi's lips as a sign impact was made- pain swelling in the area of impact.
The two fighters were close enough now, their eyes could well meet- and if Mooo had by chance been looking towards Omi's gaze, their eyes would have met in tension. While a good hook never felt pleasant, a nice layer of steel and mental preparation made the left hook not hit with tremendous force as it could; painful certainly, crippling.. not nearly. Yet, now Mooo's left was going to be in the space of Omi's torso for a second, and there was little Mooo could do to retract it quick enough. Furthermore, Omi's right hand, having been blown aside, allowed a few fingertips to grate at Mooo's left elbow.. it wasn't a firm grip, sure - but it was clear: Omi wasn't letting Mooo retract his arm. Not that easily. Not yet.
Lips parting and teeth flashing enough to show they had clashed together, Omi's left arm - which he had kept at his chin level, shoulder forward.. started to unravel ahead. The fist making a powerful swiping motion from Omi's right and straight across; raising enough, it'd slice across the air with quite a decent amount of force, right towards the undefended side of Mooo's jaw - undefended, because the arm that'd cover Mooo's left face was currently in Barsait's torso region.
The truth came out. Omi Barsait both allowed and desired Mooo to land a good body shot; purposely taking damage to potentially crash his own fist across what the mercenary thought was a more.. potentially unpleasant place to be crashed into by a swiping fist.
This match was now going to truly begin, full swing.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2008 4:57 pm
It was strange to feel his fist meet with less resistance than before--was it effective? It would have certainly been more effective if Mooo had put his weight into the blow, but he hadn't--and thus Omi was able to respond to it far faster. Mooo's eyes flicked to the side as Omi's fingers grabbed on to his shoulder, stopping him from throwing any good punches with his left arm, and as he turned his glance back to Omi, he saw his opponent's left arm c**k back.
Mooo's eyes widened as he practically threw his head down into Omi's chest to avoid the blow, Omi's fist flying through the spot where his head once was as Mooo bent his legs, lowered his torso, and then stood up, leaning back and to his left slightly as he attempted to heft Omi's body onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry, his right arm scooping up between Omi's legs to hook him and lift him upwards.
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Posted: Fri May 09, 2008 11:26 pm
Omi's left sliced through the air like a reaper's signature blade; it was almost unbearable to let it taste anything short of its target.. sadly, that was not the case. Mooo had managed to dodge the bullet; this was met with a grimace from the swordsman, for he knew it spelled disaster. They were in a space even closer than traditional close-quarters; there was really only one practical discourse Mooo would take.
"Damn! No!" The mind of Omi shot alive, feeling his body slowly shifting upward onto Mooo's shoulders. The thought of being restricted, much less eventually tossed by the man hefting Barsait upwards, was too much to bare; the swordsman thrashed about wildly, making the process of securing him difficult. Left, right, left, right.. the overall objective: crane his own upper torso back enough, his skull would clash into Mooo's. And that was just what process was initiated - the back of Barsait's skull swinging backwards to try and slam into Mooo fiercely, discouraging any idea of perfecting the standard fireman's carry.
A two-shoulder carry of that sort would be too restrictive to allow; ergo, Barsait was going to make it a Hell of a process trying to secure it.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 3:13 am
Squirming jerk--Mooo lowered his center of gravity as Omi started to wriggle around in his grasp, quite unintentionally altering Omi's positioning so that Omi's head would solidly konk against Mooo's neck--not exactly painless, as Mooo grimaced coming up to his full height, but it did allow Omi to slide along Mooo's shoulders into that fireman's carry that he was trying to achieve, his left arm curling up to grip at the back of Omi's shirt, his right arm bent up between Omi's legs and intending to gain a solid hold on the beltline of Omi's pants.
Assuming Mooo was able to pull that off, he then bent his legs a bit more, lowering himself for better leverage before springing up hard, using the added bounce to heft Omi up and off his shoulders, practically doing a standing press of his opponent as he planned to lift Omi up--but just hold him there for a beat before continuing.
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 10:52 am
An unfortunate turn of events.. Barsait was only mildly familiar with this kind of hold being used in actual skirmishes, but it wasn't lost on him how effective it could be once secured. And given how close they were to the edge, combined with Mooo's superior weight.. "Unacceptable..!! Fast, what is he missing..?" A throw, a hold, a grapple - all were only so good if completely secure. If even a single 'hole' was in them, it could lead to a fighter - particularly the more scrappy and speedy sorts - breaking through it or quite possibly even escaping it.
However, it was obvious to Barsait, his lower torso was well secured. Flailing his legs was something he was doing just to continue to try and make the balance of this more difficult - but it wasn't going to be anything effective against Mooo. And merely breaking free wasn't possible - not yet. After all, Omi was locked pretty solidly on Mooo's shoulders, secured enough it would be difficult to slip out - and just sprawling out or going dead weight was out of the question, as it'd allow Mooo to perfect the Fireman's Carry, something Omi was not interested in doing.
Yet, that's when Barsait saw - rather, felt something that could be.. useful. Mooo didn't have the carry perfected yet at all; the left arm while secured over him, was only gripping his shirt. Given Barsait's shirt was a layer above his chain mesh, that meant Mooo (as of yet) didn't have a very good grip on the upper body. This allowed a little freeway of the upper torso; and if only a bit, it was something Barsait would have to capitalize on, and now. And unfortunately, there was only one real way Omi could think of doing so, unpleasant as it'd surely be to Mooo.
Left arm sliding along Barsait's own ribs - partially stinging at the hook from earlier - he used Mooo's own inner-arm to slide Omi's hand right along, before allowing the hand access to the exact spot the mercenary desired.. Mooo would find this out while pausing for the moment. After all, one often does notice several fingertips digging sharply into your throat. Omi wouldn't be able to look back to secure a proper Judo "choke" - therefore, he couldn't tell if he was beginning to restrict the wind pipes, or cause outright strangulation. But either way, with Barsait's fingertips digging in like talons across the mid-throat, it'd make Mooo think twice about continuing this carry.
After all, to effectively stop such a grip, Mooo'd have to let go of one half of the body to have an arm free..
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Posted: Sat May 10, 2008 11:08 am
Omi had made a very smart move--the sudden clasping of his fingers around Mooo's neck wasn't a lethal attack, but it certainly surprised Mooo enough to cause him to loosen his grip on Omi's shirt, the grip instead changing to Omi's hair more out of surprise than actual tactical foresight, Mooo's knuckles to Omi's scalp as he tried to grab a big handful of hair and grit his teeth in pain, his shoulders tensing as he held Omi high, taking a step away from the edge of the arena, more or less facing the center at this point. Mooo's shoulders tensed up, grimacing as he tucked his chin down to only mildly limit Omi's grip on his neck, lessening the pain some as his shoulders eased back, as if he were preparing to throw Omi down onto the ground.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 4:27 pm
Omi could feel his shirt let go; his mildly long hair now the new grip for Mooo. To secure such a "grip" meant Barsait's balance on Mooo's shoulders was all but destroyed; furthermore, Omi was held rather high, and though the swordsman's grasp on his opponent's throat was limited in effect by the victim's lowered chin, it was still going to be direly painful - and if not severed soon, possibly dangerous for Mooo.
Therefore, there was only one real logical course of action - to force Omi away, lest Mooo was content in letting his throat be gripped tighter still with every passing second. And Omi doubted that. "Good- that worked too well.. I have to seize this and now; THAN!" Barsait started to thrash his entire body about in an almost feral way, the only piece of his body keeping rigid: that left hand, trying to force its dutiful fingertips into a piercing grasp. Only the lower torso was really secured - and even then, Mooo'd find issues keeping it that way with how events were turning.
The swordsman had one free arm - the right, which was now trying to hook upward.. before bashing at the back of Mooo's head. Given Mooo had risen Omi up a considerable bit, his right had just enough of a target radius to try and land in some blows. They wouldn't be anything extravagant, by any means - low tier hooks at best, but they were still hits Omi was getting to land in uncontested, and they couldn't make the stranglehold Omi's left had any more pleasant feeling for Mooo.
Really, Omi Barsait had a rough idea of what Mooo'd attempt to do: either shift Omi away, try to pry his left hand off, or toss him on the ground. The dark-haired youth was too savy to let any of the above or otherwise be an easy process, though. If the mercenary's two busy hands weren't bothersome enough for Mooo, this [Gaian Tenkaichi Budoukai II] participant was truly thrashing about in a livid and wild manner with every passing moment, to throw Mooo off as much as possible if only slightly.
Obviously, Omi did not care for his opponent's carry very much.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 7:12 pm
That hurt! Well, then again, Mooo was sure that Omi was in quite a bit of pain from getting his hair pulled--guys growing their hair out tended to have mildly sensitive scalps at first, but someone with hair Mooo's length would have been quite desensitized--Omi seemed to have fallen somewhere in-between these two, what with just how much he was moving around. Mooo quickly spun on his heel, probably giving Omi quite the shock as he was whirled around a good nine feet in the air, Mooo letting go of Omi's hair as he turned, forcibly throwing Omi down toward the edge of the arena--not the corner, mind you, but the flat of it, the last foot or so. If Omi hit the ground flush, it was possible that he might even bounce or roll off the stage, assuming Mooo's downward throw would cause him to let go of his neck--the thickness of Mooo's skin meant that his trachea wouldn't get torn out, but he might get some nasty psycho-ex-girlfriend-like scratches should Omi hang on as he fell.
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Posted: Sun May 11, 2008 8:22 pm
At this point, Omi was continuing his routine without question; left hand attempting a choke, right hand continuously attempting strikes - but was rather surprised to find himself amidst a 360° arc around, before being tossed downward violently - all restrictions on him released. The toss was just slightly delayed by two things: the first being, Omi's left leg trying to hook Mooo's right arm, eventually in vein - and the second, the swordsman's left hand, which out of shock grounded into Mooo's neck even more violently than it had before. Quite a strong grasp; finally, the fingertips left the neck, and off the swordsman went.
Rolling horizontally just once, the mercenary collided with the arena floor with a nice bit of force. Nothing pleasant, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world - and certainly was better than being in that unpleasant hold Mooo had over Omi earlier. Mooo had thrusted Omi downwards; had it been a full toss forward, likely the swordsman would've sung along to the grounds abound, but their little "struggle" made ideal tosses not feasible. Instead, almost right next to the nearest edge was Omi - on his left side, hands and feet outstretched a tad and upper scalp aching something fierce.
If it wasn't for the crowd roars, the swordsman might've allowed himself just a moment or two on the ground - yet a frenzied roar amongst the crowd caused the swordsman to sit up - shifting in place to face Mooo, before repositioning himself. Finally, the swordsman found himself on the balls of his toes, left and right knuckles touching the light layer of sand below; Omi's eyes blazing forward at his opponent. It might've been a good time to recover.. the impact of that toss wasn't lost on Omi, and he somewhat doubted Mooo'd be able to swallow his own saliva right for a few.
To the roar of the crowd, the swordsman lunged upward immediately - no downtime; it was clear to Omi, to just sit so close to the edge meant defeat. Instead, the swordsman decided to amend his posture - giving respect to Mooo in allowing he to adjust himself in exchange for Omi having the same opportunity. The casual words came out: "Oi', that was rather fun, ah? Seeing as we're pretty near the out of bounds, let's give those blood-thirsty bastards in the stands a good show now."
Rather than assume the outboxing stance utilized earlier, Omi was doing something rather different.. The left hand found itself placed so that the top became roughly level with Omi's eyebrows. The left elbow is held at an angle that allows for protection of both the upper body and face. His chin became tucked in, and his left shoulder raised slightly to guard it further it. The right hand held further back and slightly lower, elbow tucked in, to protect that side of the head and ribcage.
Both of his boots spread to shoulder width. Omi then pictured a triangle - his feet at the two bottom points, and slid his left foot forward to where the "top" point would be. Thus: he was leading with his left side, and keeping the right in rear.. a very defensive posture, actually. Yet there was something off about it. To throw a proper punch from that kind of stance would be awkward, to say the least.
Yet, Omi's eyes were calmly watching Mooo over the edge of his own left hand. For some reason, the mercenary, despite being right at the platform's edge, was feeling rather confident.. even voicing a final phrase for his fellow contestant: "Come when you're ready."
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