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 Posted: Fri Sep 22, 2006 1:01 pm
Tac just gave an odd smile as he looked down to the metallic monolith of massive maliciousness. As he did so the author would like to point out he's tired and alliterates when in such a state. Tac's own reaction times, for one, went beyond the supernatural, for unlike Marty McFly he could totally think fourth dimensionally, see that way too. His base reaction speeds seemed to be a sliver quicker than the timeline itself, and seeing as he could either use the Sight of the Fated as a limited precognition/hindsight ability to rewrite recent events or simply just react with his incredible reactions speeds on top of a time dialation effect, we'll just have to wait for that actually throw that should supposedly kill this jubilant man.
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Posted: Fri Sep 22, 2006 10:10 pm
Rynn's author sighs deeply, because he knows this is too great of a test for The Harbinger. Still....
Launch.
From the Harbinger's view, the person would die.
Of course, this will most likely not happen.
Still, The Harbinger would then retrieve a shield and sword from its back and await to see if the annoyance had died or just been temporarily obliterated. biggrin
((P.S- Why, just why? Isn't that essentially making him invincible?...))
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Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 12:45 am
((It mainly helps me refute instakills and planar psionics. Tacitus can lower to anyone's level and not get beaten by experience. XD))
Tacitus just kept smiling as the lance SMASHED into some sort of invisible wall. What had happened was quite simple, a temporal field of stopped time had been employed and once the lance struck it the air molecules resisted motion as they were temporarily stopped in time, and if nonmagical the lance would also be stopped at the very tip. The fact of it crumpling or not is entirely up to the opponent, as the composition is unknown, merely the fact that all that force has to go somewhere, and simply can't go into the wall, which is stopped in time. Tacitus was almost giggling to himself as he moved over to peek over the side of the wall, only partially visible behind it, "Kekekekeke. You're funny, trying to lance me and all." He seemed to push off the wall of stopped time and begin a slow dance in the air, floating down ever so slowly. His own perceptions were enhanced so as to work now in a sort of perpetual bullet time in addition to his shortsighted precognition. A glow seemed to dance about his eyes from behind his shades as he spoke in a different tongue, incomprehensible to anyone who couldn't talk backwards really really fast. It was a prayer, asking for divine aid in the form of reality manipulation...also known as a spell of divine origin much like a priest or a cleric would use.
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Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 12:09 pm
((Btw, this was a test-run, so everything wasn't/isn't ironed out. Oi, I should find somebody else to test him on....Thanks anyways though.))
Oddly, The lance would retain its form and not even so much as crack. The composition of the weapons and shield the Harbinger used was an unknown material that seemed to be the hardest material in the universe. Weird. As for the physics portion, apparently, the lance could defy earthly physics.....Crazy!
Anyway, the Lance dropped to the ground and The Harbinger slowly walked over to it, retrieved it, re-attached it to his back, and turned around, starting to walk away.
Since The Harbinger really doesn't feel emotions, the reason for his actions was one of two things: 1) Seeing that he couldn't easily destroy his opponent, he figured it was a waste of precious time, or 2) He didn't think he could win. Losing wasn't really ever in the thought process.
BOOM
BOOM
BOOM
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Posted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 12:36 pm
((XD Theres a reason Tac is more than just filler for this tournament. XD))
Tac gave a shurg and rolled a few feet away before releasing the Time Wall, and when he did a pulse of kinetic force shredded the air where he had been. The attack by the lance continued even without the lance, and Tac could only smile contentedly to himself as he floated about.
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Posted: Tue Oct 31, 2006 7:35 pm
A mildly tall oak tree in the scattered forestry some ways from the outskirts of the arena twas where one would find Omi, having proven himself victor of his Round II match but hours prior. He looked a bit roughed up still, but mostly in fair shape- though the infirmary was slightly reluctant to let him go in such a haste after the exposures he was present with. Still, sitting on a branch high up in the foilage, the mercenary was leaning back against the bark idly in a well deserved state of relaxation.
One leg was along the spanning branch which, apparently, was large enough to support a man without much concern; the other was hanging to it's side, waving in the air lazily. Both of his gauntlent covered hands were crossed at the fingertips, behind his messy dark hair - and both eyelids, closed. Though by no means was he asleep. Rather, Omi Barsait was in a kind of meditation - thinking recent matters over, considering what to do in his upcoming match, and, plotting out the future with a futility even he knew of.
"Bah." Shaking his head once to flick a fallen leaf off his face, his thoughts turned to the brackets; not even an hour after the frost-and-inferno filled match with "Number 66", of which, Omi won by 66 forfeitting in the face of matters ahead- the mercenary had already spotted a leaflet hung upon an arena corridor wall, detailing Round III's participants. And, the following line summed up what the mercenary would soon be occupied with;
"Round III Roster...
...Omi Barsait versus Lazenca Miranda."
Finally, his left leg, spanned across the branch, shifted over to the right- both legs twisting about in a spiral which his body followed, as the mercenary spun out of the tree, until his body hunched in mid-air; landing in a knelt position with his right hand's palm placed upon the ground, left foot risen up on tip. Restless, he felt; to just take a day and rest, would mean he had one day less to practice. And as nice as taking the day off would be.. it would also be unacceptable; an unaffordable apathy. Motioning to his feet, Omi began stepping off towards the Gym once more- boots clashing across the crisp grass.
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Posted: Tue Jan 09, 2007 1:04 pm
It was a bit wet out today. Razen never let this bother him when he was in a mood to practice, and he wasn't about to let it bother him now. It had become his routine since he had recooperated from the breaking of his ribs. Fortunately his black coat was made for this sort of weather, and hunched within it he makes his way to a patch of level ground outside the arena, his boots squelching as he walks. When he reaches the patch, he closes his eyes and lets the rain fall onto him, soaking into his raven-black hair and dripping down his pale face. After some brief stretching, he smoothly moves into a series of martial arts style exercises...with some differences, of course, formed by his personal preferences and his unique abilities. Half an hour after he started, Razen wipes the sweat mingled with rain from his brow and begins the trudge back to the warmth and dryness of the dormitories to dry off and wait for the next round to be announced.
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Posted: Mon Jan 29, 2007 9:16 pm
Robin awaits for his opponet Vishnu a powerful soccer that to be exreamly magical and smart.
Robin takes his stand for what comes and then says to himself where are you Vishnu im waithing where are you, come on show your self
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Posted: Mon Jan 29, 2007 9:43 pm
Walking along the dirt path was Vishnu, when he came into earshot he simply announced his presence by taking his last two steps more heavily than the others. He then folded his arms and looked over at Robin, whom he'd come here to fight.
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Posted: Mon Jan 29, 2007 9:47 pm
Robin steps towerd Vishnu finally meeting him at last.
Robin then says so youve come, why did you summoned me here and what do you want from me.
Robin talking yet pulling a Combat knife out making sure Vishnu does not see it.
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