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 Posted: Mon Jun 08, 2009 12:35 pm
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Posted: Mon Jun 08, 2009 7:33 pm
Edit What was he to do? He was bored out of his mind and no fights weren't happening at the moment. The red-hair, blue-eyed devil was currently just walking through the forest bored out of his mind. Any type of entertainment would be welcome. From a friendly spar to a battle of life and death. But what were the chances of him getting that. A cross spear rested diagonally on his back, most of the spear sticking above his head. He wore no armor except for for arm protectors and shin guards. His attire consisted of black leather pants, black pointed dress shoes, a black belt, and a black shirt with the first two buttons open showing the two pieces of two similar tattoos that started on his chest and extended to his shoulders. Standing at six feet even and weighing 185lbs, the devil wore thin rectangle spectacles were relatively small on his face. His skin tone was a smooth ivory color, a direct contrast to his black tattoos.
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Posted: Mon Jun 08, 2009 7:46 pm
And then there was Roen.
He watched Snow.
Roen was a stalker of some sorts.
What a strange fellow.
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 2:27 am
 "I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"________RANDOM TIME LAPSE!_______
(And yeah. Some of this is recycled because I'm ******** tired. *Is a bad, BAD Licia!*)
Arian was back. The kitten that wasn't hers was safely tucked away in her older brother's room-the latter currently passed out drunk on his own bed, the former happily curled up on the warm being's suit jacket-and so she was quite free to go practice for a bit.
Her neck still hurt her, after all. Not terribly bad-but sore.
Leather armor shone slightly in places as sunlight filtered upon it, her cloak missing-she hadn't worn it out today, leaving her bare skin free to catch sun on her arms and legs-brown, red undertoned, dusky skin was seen stretched softly over a toned and feminine left bicep, unmarred-while her other arm, the right one, was bandaged from her elbow up to her shoulder-protecting the still healing burns from her round two match. The burns were, as Arian's injuries sometimes were-self inflicted in battle, a price to pay for damage dealt to her opponent.
Well...had there been any. The man's own teammate had done more to him than she seemed to have.
Arian frowned slightly at the thought of it.
At five foot two, Arian was not anywhere NEAR the size of many of the competitors-nor was she very similar in appearance.
She at once struck an impression of being foreign-the native had darker skin that carried a reddish brown undertone to it, dusky colored. Glossy black hair was unstyled and just past her shoulders, longish bangs swept out of her eyes. And what eyes they were-vibrantly colored blues, they resembled tropical waters off the shores of islands, a very pretty Caribbean blue, and just as expressive, deep.
Despite her smaller size, Arian didn't look like a push over. Far from it-the woman was armed to the teeth. Black leather armor covered Arian's torso, rising up to meet a high collar, while leaving her shoulders mostly bare, the double V burn that was branded into her right shoulder blade exposed, as was the hollow black circle tattooed around it. A stocked weapon belt hung from one curved and leather armored hip, the handles to many knives, two short swords, and a pair of tonfas there, the wooden handles jutting out the sides of the curved elbow blades, one on each hip. The wooden staff was about six and a half feet long, currently carried over Arian's shoulder at the halfway point, held by her left hand.
Speaking of hands, they were gloved in what looked to be black leather, two thick gauntlets protecting her forearms and wrists-yet, strangely, they seemed a tad on the large side. Too big for her arms. A spiked strap could be seen above her left elbow, snapped around Arian's upper arm. It was one of a pair, but her right arm was too injured to have something snapped tightly around it like that.
Cloth boots made no noise as the outlaw walked, her stride purposeful, carrying a certain kind of athletic grace to it-not the balletic kind, but more the grace of a sprinter, an air of strength and determination rather than artistic flow. A warrior's grace, economical and deadly, yet still feminine to a point it was nearly sexy without intending to be sexy.
She wasn't just some woman, however. Walking with her head up, eyes alert and forward, constantly sweeping her enviornment, Arian exuded that coiled, smoking sort of a danger that was not expressed violently as of yet-but still sensed in her person.
The red haired man had been noted a bit ago. Arian was closer now. Close enough to stop, and expect him to stop also, a ten meter distance, somewhat less-if he stopped walking.
Even standing still, Arian had a certain 'punch' to her posture and form that gave the sense she was formidable. She seemed mildly curious.
Eyes swept over the weapon the man carried-and she seemed to arrive at a decision.
"Up for a spar?" Arian's English was slightly accented-her vowels carried an exotic lilt to them, the harsh sounds softened in some way, giving an almost musical quality to her speech, exotic sounding. Her beautiful face was collected, calm-and determined. Her eyes were alert, calculating, and showed a sort of 'street smart' that was beyond her twenty one years.
She was bored now. And was looking for a fight-even if she had to cause a violent one, should he refuse to spar.
Arian could be like that, sometimes. "I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 3:00 am
His light footsteps came to a halt, his body turning to the right a little followed by his head turning to the right also to look at the origin of the feminine voice that came from behind him. His blue eyes covered by the small, clear rectangular lens looked at the woman who stood about 10 feet from him. Studying her from the armor and weapons she wore, to her appearance and the way she carried herself. A tiny woman compared to the six feet even male before her. Her appearances lead him to believe she wouldn't even be worth the trouble of fighting, but then again his age told him otherwise. It was very unwise to jog by a person's appearance. He turned his lean form around completely as to present himself to her. His hands were now shoved in his front pockets, the thumbs hanging out along with part of his hand also revealed.
The forearm guards began a small amount behind the wrist and ended right before connecting with the elbow. His elbow wasn't exposed, however, thanks to the long black cloth shirt that he currently wore. He wasn't hot. In fact, he felt very comfortable. The silver shin guards were strapped the same way as his forearm guards. The began at the knee being strapped around it and ended a little above the start of his feet. This allowed him to still move his feet as he pleased while still providing protection to his shin. He tilted his head to the side at her, still observing the woman trying to make a decision to her question.
The only weapon he had on him. The cross spear which rested diagonally on his back. The shaft of the weapon itself was taller then him and with the blades being on top didn't really help. The shaft of his weapon was eight feet 6 inches long. The blades added an extra nine inches making his weapon's total length 9 feet and 3 inches. His reach advantage over her was definitely tremendous, but if she could get inside it would become a disadvantage. All of this went through his head as he stared at her. Closing his eyes and using his right index finger to put his spectacles back up, he looked up back at the women. He also had to put in the fact she was apparently injured, but then again that could be a ruse.
"Is there any rules to this fight?" His voice wasn't musical like her's. However it had a nice even smooth tone. Pleasing to the ears, it wasn't too high nor too deep.
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 1:18 pm
"Too bad..?"
Freshly appointed leader of the semi-finalists' team G.U.I.L.T. [Omi Barsait] came walking towards the assembled two men with the sun playing optical illusions for them off those gleaming lens; his snake pauldrons alternating to & fro with every brisk step of that powerful pace, teeth gleaming. He had came from the nearby hotel's direction, and was clearly in rare form. As the sunlight overhead basked across his flesh, wounds interior lighting could not properly illuminate came to face-value; red 'lines' now visible all across what exposed skin was available. Obviously the handiwork of the good doctors, what ones weren't plotting his Medical Ward fiasco at any rate.
Teeth parting, eyebrows furrowing, and pupils piercing into the two known as Wil & Kenji with peerless tenacity - Barsait finally came to a halt.. and just stood there. Three feet in front of them; hands at his sides, legs squared and parted a good 5". Letting the tentative silence, the soft rasps of wind, the barely audible sounds of life in the distance carry towards their ears with futility. Like this, they would remain for several long.. agonizing moments. The only way of measuring the time that passed, was one's heartbeat.
Then all at once, his voice very quietly began in a solemn tone: "The good ogre, Garok is currently going through the introductory stage of my training regiment. He is carrying two 400 lbs. boulders on his back, tied to either arm. Balanced unevenly onto that, is yet another mound of rock, this time at the 1,000 mark; simple arithmetic should tell you that totals a staggering 1,800 pounds, damn near a deadweight ton. He must keep those massive rocks balanced, lifting a staggering amount that makes even his barbaric, unnatural strength groan with agony;" Left hand raising to his face, the index finger & middle finger presses on the dark frame of his glasses, pushing them up his nose as Omi shook his head in blatantly faked sympathy. "And the unfortunate thing is, if he drops either of the three even once, I've paid a number of low-class demons with no pride to inform me- because you see, he must do a bit of a jog with these boulders. Around the perimeter of the entire Hanging Neck Island. Ten times. If he drops a single one before he reaches here after the tenth lap, he must start anew, from square one! Such a tragic pity."
Left hand suddenly falling at its respective side, dead - the humor and the sadism drained from Omi's face - replaced with a stare that could penetrate the brain, still the heart, and rob the breath of the most hardened. Such was its intensity. Another three moments passed.. then.
His right hand formed a fist, condensed like rock - raising upward as the sound of knuckles groaning filled the air like a sickening melody.
".. I joined this group for a variety of reasons, the wish and those waves of gold being the metaphorical icing on the cake. All for my own desires, however; it's true, I joined your group.. out of convenience. Convenience, self-indulgence; I needed a team to participate, and as luck would have it.. you were a team. Over time, we became comrades in arms by a loose extension. However. That is not good enough anymore!" Spitting onto the grass below, his head tilted forward just a notch; eyes unblinking. Seething.
"So far, we've got by via wanting to win and good fortune. We've had our fair share of tough bouts, sure. Myself, I've came close to death more than enough times for comfort. I shan't be the type to lie. Even with all of the impressive medical care they have here.." His lengthy hair seized a rift of wind, a lock flowing over his chin. "..I occasionally find myself feeling a sudden pain fire through my skeletal structure like a bolt of lightning, of late. The repercussions of unnatural recovery, perhaps.. but the last time it happened, I fell to my knees, grasped my skull.. and sat there withholding screams of pain 'til I lost consciousness."
Teeth grating to signal a firm stance, he carried on: "But my body will either achieve what I desire or be destroyed, I don't tolerate such weakness especially from myself. As for the lot of you. I've.. heard word. I've heard toxic word, you two are useless to this team. That you're filler-space; that ahead of us are tasks ones such as you cannot resolve." Right fist beginning to shake, deep anger flushing from the border of his eyes.
"As difficult as our opponents thus far have been.. nothing we've experienced will prepare us for what lies ahead. Three teams just like ours, all with victory so close, they can taste it. Nothing will progress the same any longer, gentlemen; from now on, we will experience some of the most difficult challenges we'll ever reach, and to be frank.. death will be hanging over our shoulders constantly, lustful for a chance to take our souls from our destroyed bodies. However."
That fist began cracking even more audibly, fist now shaking like it was going to rip the air apart at any moment; his teeth, visible and barring like a wild animal's with those four characteristic fangs glistening, a near growl begging to form at the base of the man's throat. ".. prove that trash wrong. We've six days, gentlemen. I'll grant you one to rest, so in exchange, give me five to transcend yourselves. We're going to train indeed. We're going to reach the breaking point and beyond."
Lashing his head forward, hair whipping with it - the rage Barsait felt was now pouring out into determination, the rate at which his words flew out increasing & increasing with zeal:
"Physical training." (Character development.)
"Studies." (Online research & weapon use analysis.)
"Improvement in finesse." (Increase in detail, grammatical & spelling errors reduced to non-existence)
"Mortal Transcendence!!"
"Gentlemen . . ." Now both of his hands shaking, a deadly red hue shining from beneath those dark trademark gauntlets of his to suggest ominous and deadly times ahead: "I am going to launch an offensive salvo onto you. Your objective is simply to, for a pre-defined period of time, stay alive. I will fire these lovely serpents of mine towards you. If you are touched by them, I will ignite the point of contact. Then, your wounded and weary corpses will battle Garok given by my prediction, he'll be about done with his duties around that time; then! Then you'll run the length of the island 25x, and if you stop even once, I'll pick you up with my bare hands and crash your skulls into the ground 'til you simply BEG to have another chance at running- and then I'll destroy over 25 boulders putting the ones dear Garok is lifting to shame, and then I will crash a wave of flames spawned from the deadly waters abroad unto myself and rip right through them, and then, and then, and THEN!!!"
Both hands raised in front of his face, that chaos flooding his amber-brown eyes as they shook brilliantly with over nine of the crimson serpents flooding out of his fingertips each and festering about angrily - Barsait suddenly howled: "Gentlemen, I will break your weak, frail bodies - 'til when next we step into the ring, we will be nothing short of GODS!"
(SLASH!)
Clawing through the air with his left hand, 4 serpents screamed into a spiral towards Kenji - the right palm-thrusting outward towards Wil so that five bellow ahead in straight lines, parted just enough to cover the length of the thief's left shoulder to right - Omi bellowed outward with a furor:
[0/7]
" GODS!!"
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 1:41 pm
Having been separated for a moment from omi Jigen stumbled through the park,he had managed to hear the distinctive pattern of yelling off in the distance, and loud explosion, logically thinking its his friend moved towards it.
It was at this point he heard a grunt turning to his side he saw what appeared to be an ogre struggling with waits, he smirked, Omi had mentioned something of a ogre on his Team, perhaps, thought the wise wolf, he should motivate the poor beast.
Walking over he looked up smirking " Heavy eh?" He asked noticing the look on the face of the beast.
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 2:38 pm
X-V-IIII His light footsteps came to a halt, his body turning to the right a little followed by his head turning to the right also to look at the origin of the feminine voice that came from behind him. His blue eyes covered by the small, clear rectangular lens looked at the woman who stood about 10 feet from him. Studying her from the armor and weapons she wore, to her appearance and the way she carried herself. A tiny woman compared to the six feet even male before her. Her appearances lead him to believe she wouldn't even be worth the trouble of fighting, but then again his age told him otherwise. It was very unwise to jog by a person's appearance. He turned his lean form around completely as to present himself to her. His hands were now shoved in his front pockets, the thumbs hanging out along with part of his hand also revealed.
The forearm guards began a small amount behind the wrist and ended right before connecting with the elbow. His elbow wasn't exposed, however, thanks to the long black cloth shirt that he currently wore. He wasn't hot. In fact, he felt very comfortable. The silver shin guards were strapped the same way as his forearm guards. The began at the knee being strapped around it and ended a little above the start of his feet. This allowed him to still move his feet as he pleased while still providing protection to his shin. He tilted his head to the side at her, still observing the woman trying to make a decision to her question.
The only weapon he had on him. The cross spear which rested diagonally on his back. The shaft of the weapon itself was taller then him and with the blades being on top didn't really help. The shaft of his weapon was eight feet 6 inches long. The blades added an extra nine inches making his weapon's total length 9 feet and 3 inches. His reach advantage over her was definitely tremendous, but if she could get inside it would become a disadvantage. All of this went through his head as he stared at her. Closing his eyes and using his right index finger to put his spectacles back up, he looked up back at the women. He also had to put in the fact she was apparently injured, but then again that could be a ruse.
"Is there any rules to this fight?" His voice wasn't musical like her's. However it had a nice even smooth tone. Pleasing to the ears, it wasn't too high nor too deep.
The corner of the native's full lips twitched, curving into a somewhat amused half smile as she easily flicked the staff forward off her shoulder, so that it was briefly parallel to the ground before she pulled that arm back, her back lowering slightly as she leaned forward, knees bending in an easy ready stance. "I sure hope not." She said in such a way that one wondered if Arian would have CARED about rules in the first place.
"A friendly bout. No one goes home in a wheel chair, or blind." Not rules exactly-but keeping the tone of things light, her accented English easy and clearly meant to put him at ease-or rather, meant to be least intimidating as possible.
And if you're laughing at the idea of a five foot two woman being intimidating-Arian had a way of making one nervous.
She brought the staff, held securely in her left hand, to her side again, her right hand seeming to just be barely touching it-the end resting lightly on the ground slightly behind and to her left, so that the staff was slanted in such a way that it would be partially in front of her, right hand higher on the staff than her left.
The bandaged upper arm stood out against the black of her leather armor and forearm guard, stood out against her natively toned skin. The gauntlets covering her forearm was too thick-thicker than her arm could possible have been, and it looked slightly odd, compared to the small gloved hands at the end of her arms.
(Where, you know, hands usually are...>>)
The slight curve to her lips was still present, the spar clearly meant to be informal, 'fun'.
If one believed Arian to be incapable of harder things, however...they'd be mistaken. Vibrantly blue eyes were on the spear, considering it.
No more accented words left the Outlaw's lips-just a flick of her eyes along the spear's blade and then back to the man wielding it-and a lifted brow.
As if to say-Well?
/s**t
"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 3:16 pm
I'm an author and here's my story... The thief's voice was quiet. It had lost it's charismatic charm, and seemed flat, and dead. Empty. "You feel pain, eh? Imagine roasting from the inside out. You can't. Imagine having that fire, that pain, doused with ice. Do your best, and you still won't come close." It seemed that the air froze as his cold grey orbs inspected his captain. "Now, with any luck, I should die in this tournament. I won't yet; I like to think of myself as a man of honor. But if we should win, I intend to use my wish for the sweet release of death." A single tear fell down his cheek, to fall off his chin, onto the dirt below.
He blinked, and suddenly the sharpness returned to his eyes. A grin spread across his face. This was where he belonged, in a fight. A coin flipped from his hand, over his shoulder. The clip glittered in the bright sunlight, as it came down. Wil waited for less than a moment, then pushed hard on the coin. The warrior, for that was what he was, soared over the snakes; his leap finally subsided once he was over Omi's head. He spun on instinct as he landed, drawing his staff and holding it in his right hand. His left drew some coins.
...My life's been full of pain, now where's my glory?
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Posted: Tue Jun 09, 2009 9:30 pm
TyKat12 "I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"
The corner of the native's full lips twitched, curving into a somewhat amused half smile as she easily flicked the staff forward off her shoulder, so that it was briefly parallel to the ground before she pulled that arm back, her back lowering slightly as she leaned forward, knees bending in an easy ready stance. "I sure hope not." She said in such a way that one wondered if Arian would have CARED about rules in the first place.
"A friendly bout. No one goes home in a wheel chair, or blind." Not rules exactly-but keeping the tone of things light, her accented English easy and clearly meant to put him at ease-or rather, meant to be least intimidating as possible.
And if you're laughing at the idea of a five foot two woman being intimidating-Arian had a way of making one nervous.
She brought the staff, held securely in her left hand, to her side again, her right hand seeming to just be barely touching it-the end resting lightly on the ground slightly behind and to her left, so that the staff was slanted in such a way that it would be partially in front of her, right hand higher on the staff than her left.
The bandaged upper arm stood out against the black of her leather armor and forearm guard, stood out against her natively toned skin. The gauntlets covering her forearm was too thick-thicker than her arm could possible have been, and it looked slightly odd, compared to the small gloved hands at the end of her arms.
(Where, you know, hands usually are...>>)
The slight curve to her lips was still present, the spar clearly meant to be informal, 'fun'.
If one believed Arian to be incapable of harder things, however...they'd be mistaken. Vibrantly blue eyes were on the spear, considering it.
No more accented words left the Outlaw's lips-just a flick of her eyes along the spear's blade and then back to the man wielding it-and a lifted brow.
As if to say-Well?
/s**t
"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."
His right leg stepped forward and his left leg now went back and spread apart about shoulder's width. His knees bent and his upper body stood up straight as he watched the woman with calm eyes. His right hand clasped upon the shaft of spear, around midway on the staff. His left hand positioned itself 1 feet from the end, behind his right hand. and near his hip locking the end there. His middle blade pointed directly at the woman's chest as the blades that jutted out from it went horizontally from the middle blade. His lead hand's index finger was extended along the shaft of the wax wood spear. His stance was ready and if you looked at his feet from above..you would notice that they were positioned like opposite corners on a square. He was on the balls of his feet just waiting. The first move was her's as she challenged him.
"Can I get the name of the person I'm about to spar against?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2009 9:59 am
"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-""Arian." The three syllable name (Air-re-en) was not rare, exactly-but it certainly wasn't a common one to be heard about on the mainland of Gaia, or anywhere else.
She did not provide her last name-in many parts of the world, she didn't have to-people knew who the hell she was. Here, it was different. And she somewhat liked it that way.
Besides-she was just Arian, today, for right now.
Considering what she had read in that blasted newspaper-her reputation was slipping anyway. After today, Arian intended to ditch this island before the next morning arrived. She had things that needed doing, dammit-to keep the name Arian Lennox a feared one.
Her smile had disappeared with her brief and mild distraction of thought. She lifted the staff end just slightly so that it hovered over the ground behind her, rather than rested on it.
"Just Arian."
And then she burst forward, not sprinting, not yet, not charging him with all the speed she could charge-but moving, eyes on his spear, mind on not getting herself skewered. Arian was surprisingly fast, even at her lower, more relaxed speed.
The ten meters were nothing, to a woman who could run for miles and miles.
Stopping short of him, five to four feet away (of stopping short if he thrust forward for her), Arian would lift and thrust forward her left hand while her right pulled back-the staff being lifted from it's lowered position, it's 'back' end coming up to strike not at the man himself-but at his weapon, should he thrust it forward before she had reached him, or should he have remained still.
The previously 'front' end of the staff would now be against Arian's right hip and thigh, diagonally tilted towards the ground.
It was a probing attack-meant to knock a possible thrust off course, or just to get his weapon trajectory just to her right, so that she could attack HIS right.
Her face was impassive, but her vibrantly colored eyes were amused and-determined.
"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2009 10:36 am
TyKat12 "I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"
"Just Arian."
And then she burst forward, not sprinting, not yet, not charging him with all the speed she could charge-but moving, eyes on his spear, mind on not getting herself skewered. Arian was surprisingly fast, even at her lower, more relaxed speed.
The ten meters were nothing, to a woman who could run for miles and miles.
Stopping short of him, five to four feet away (of stopping short if he thrust forward for her), Arian would lift and thrust forward her left hand while her right pulled back-the staff being lifted from it's lowered position, it's 'back' end coming up to strike not at the man himself-but at his weapon, should he thrust it forward before she had reached him, or should he have remained still.
The previously 'front' end of the staff would now be against Arian's right hip and thigh, diagonally tilted towards the ground.
It was a probing attack-meant to knock a possible thrust off course, or just to get his weapon trajectory just to her right, so that she could attack HIS right.
Her face was impassive, but her vibrantly colored eyes were amused and-determined.
"I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."
The right arm which was pulled back, shortening the reach of his spear, came back down quickly placing it back into it's previous position. It didn't stay there, however, as it shot forward his hands touching as the spear reached outwards in a jab towards her bellybutton area. The length of the spear was around 8'11". At the same time of the jab, his weight shifted once more into a 75-25 placement. His lead right leg stepped forward increasing his reach by another two feet. His back leg straightened out completely showing the outline of the calve muscles in his clothing. His first move was made and now it was her.
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2009 10:56 am
"I don't do what I do because I want recognition-"And so it was. Arian would not reach her destination before he performed his move-and had very little reaction time in order to prevent a hell of a lot of pain to her abdomen muscles.
She did not bring the back end of her staff up in this instance-but rather, jerked her right hand forward and up, bringing the staff, which had been held in such a way to diagonally cross part of Arian's body, cutting to the side in order to catch the spear just beneath the blade a mere foot and three inches before it could blast into her body. The tip would be dangerously close-and indeed, as Arian knocked the staff to her left and slightly up-it would cut into her left bicep as it passed, leaving a red line that seeped heated blood at a fast rate-yet not so deep her bone was anywhere near exposed, nor a major artery pierced.
The sharp and sudden sting was all but nonexistent to Arian-or rather, she pushed the pain felt to the back of her mind, did not focus on it. For now, his only weapon was currently to her left as she continued to move forward on him, staff sliding along on the shaft of his spear for another foot, another foot and a half-before she suddenly brought her right hand down, the staff parallel to the ground again, held in a 't' with her body-as Arian herself dropped instantly and quickly to a crouching position, left leg extended to her left side-the woman's hands coming together on the right end of the staff as her torso, already twisting as she had dropped, was turned away from him, the staff now a makeshift bat. Arian was seeking to swing the staff straight for his knees, hitting his right and hopefully knocking that one into his left to bring-the larger man down. She would be about five feet away, lessening her blow (since her staff was only six and a half feet long) but it would a strong one all the same.
This would all happen nearly instantly-her dropping and shifting handling of the staff-and then she would swing for his knees. "I do what I do because they've been wronged, and I want to make it right."
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2009 7:19 pm
The bionically enhanced fighter jumped as he heard the new captain's words from behind him as once agian he found his foot in his mouth.
Well time to go to work... Ken though solemnly... Sadly, he did not even know the definition as it was about to be taught.
The G.U.I.L.T. team leader faced down his comrades of convenience for a few short yet agonizingly long moments of silence, until finally, he began to describe the near torture training the final member of the team was going through. All the while Ken felt a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach.
Then all at once the amusement and humor the bold expression drained from Omi's face to be replaced by one of near disgust.
And then the real speech began. It was an impressive speech, while listening Kenji found himself inspired, terrified, and resolute to prove to himself, Omi, his companions in this place, and every other mother ********> who ever doubted him that he was, nothing less then the best. The end of the speech came and Ken saw the deadly serpents beginning to form on Omi's hands as he made his final shouting declaration.
Ken had seen what these serpents could do before. He had seen his new leader and teacher in action many times before, at least enough to know that these snakes were rarely formed without purpose and that purpose was much more often then not, to harm.
Omi slashed, and Ken was ready. It was time to show what he was really mad of. What he worked for all these years in the streets. Time to earn his share of respect. The serpents spiraled forward aimed perfectly at the still target and Ken spun himself to the right much like a football juke. The cluster of them passed to his left side without touching him, and Wil shot himself into the air to avoid his own, sailing over Omi. Ken knew better then to stand still with the serpents around though, and so he would continue in his current style and run balls out linebacker style straight forward at his new opponent, and metaphorical quarterback, Omi.
There would be no questions asked. Ken knew Omi meant to hurt him, and so Ken in exchange would mean to hurt Omi just as badly.
In the time it took Wil to fly through the air Ken had covered a fair amount of distance toward his target and probably at around the same time Wil would be landing Ken would be taking to the air himself. The youthful fighter would jump arms out head down aiming to grab his opponent around the torso while spearing Omi in the gut with his shoulder and let his momentum and weight do the rest and take Omi to the ground with Ken on top. It was essentially an over exaggerated and overly forceful football tackle.
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Posted: Wed Jun 10, 2009 8:02 pm
Well he drew first blood so that was a plus, however, so many disadvantages came with the length of his spear. He felt the weight of his weapon shift to the right. He was pretty sure he couldn't stop this, no matter the strength difference between the two. Hitting from the side was always someone's weakness when dealing with a weapon. His body stepped back, regaining his stance before doing the long reach jab. His left hand let go of the spear and he allowed his right arm to go back. His wrist which was bent down towards the ground before shifted itself to a straight position. In turn these actions moved the shaft of the spear from her as she was running. His movement's weren't done though and flowed together perfectly. The same left hand that let go was now reaching diagonally and back. The palm was turned away from the woman and held in a position. Behind him, the right arm that was knocked upwards and away with the spear, bent at an angle to allow the shaft of his spear to reach it's target. It's destination was..his left hand. The area 1 foot below the blade landed in his left hand palm and he grasped it. The same time his left hand let go. By this time the woman had reached her destination and his eyes were back on her once more. They blue optics did leave to make sure the move went through smoothly.
As the swing started, his knees bent and he bent his knees, his back leg coming forth as he pushed off the ground. The effect would be a flying knee going towards her head area. A counter attack to the move she made. He had jumped over it and closed the gap between them all in the same time.
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