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 Posted: Sun Aug 13, 2006 5:56 am
Suddenly, Trei starts tossing and turning, thrashing violently against his blankets while sending sprays of blood across the room. A retching cough sends a huge bubble of the stuff to the ground bedside...
In his dreams, his body is rent asunder again and again, each time creating a pool of blood that stirs with a life of its own... in time, the blood doesn't even pool... it just creates a vaguely human form. Chills and anger rack the young man's body as the being begins to turn around...
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Posted: Tue Aug 22, 2006 8:04 am
Morning finds the room stained in black blotches, with a very confused and distraught Trei staring up at the ceiling. Towards 2 AM, he'd awoken to find himself surrounded by small pools of blood on his pillow. He'd sat up... and seen the pools of blood bedside.
Now he's too confused to do anything but lie still...with nightmares still flickering in the back of his mind, and bloodstains staring at him like some demon's shadowed eyes, he remains motionless. Only one clear thought runs through his mind, a morose song left on loop; What the hell is going on?
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Posted: Wed Sep 06, 2006 8:50 pm
Swinging his right leg idly off the edge of the cotton bed within his dorm, the mercenary Omi was holding a sheathed weapon in his hands with a small hint of awe. Delivered just that morn, the swordsmith 'Kuro' finally delivered on his promise to craft a blade to offer as a reward for the earlier events that plagued the tournament grounds.
Yet, so far, Omi hadn't so much as unsheathed said weapon. His pupils wearily peered to and fro across the sheath's adorned, laquer design; black, thin, but with a single golden dragon carved into one side's center. The sword guard, oval shaped though coming to a point on the left & right sides, came right up to the bottom of the sheath; the handle jutting out. The handle.. a good 8.35", was rather long for a single-handed blade. Yet, with the elegant straps of cotton & lace which wound about it in a mixture of horizontal & diagonal streaks, it looked like a work of art more than a weapon.. at least, what was visible.
"Caladbolg.." His weary mind reafirmed the name which had been given to this blade, "..you're finally finished. Unfortunately, I hope to not need you." Smirking, his eyes peered up slowly - towards the enblocked window before him. Round II of his branch had begun; his match would be announced at anytime now.. his fists, legs, and wrists still stung from all the practicing the mercenary'd undergone in anticipation. Fresh sweat, though drying, still lingered across his neck & forehead. Still, he seemed to be at an odd calm; eyes lulling to where it appeared as though, he were dreaming away about something. Perhaps, thinking over how his match results would proceed?
Rotating his right shoulder-blade to get rid of the stiffness that'd built up in that region of his body, he sat the sword down next to his bedside; the door was shut & locked, and the two lamps, turned off. It was unlikely for him to just fall asleep right away. Impatience, anticipation.. a rush of emotions would keep his mind too alert for slumber to take him with such ease. As he laid back with both arms lazily crossing behind his neck, dark, wild hair matting against his forearms - Omi looked up at the emptyness of the ceiling above him. One thing was for sure: his next match in this tourney couldn't come quick enough.
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Posted: Sat Sep 09, 2006 7:32 pm
Sitting still on the edge of a bed Akako stared at the floor. 'This has to be some kind of sick joke...' She thought throughly annoyed. Her crimson eyes left the ground and looked to the door of her dorm. Still and no one there. Then furrowing her brow she stood to her full height, which was a mere 5'2".
The black cloth was tied around her mouth and she wore her usual outfit. The woman popped her knuckled then leaned forward. Her toes held her up-right for a moment until she fell forward her body still erect. Her hands and chest met the ground and she pushed her body up and let it drop again.
The muscles she did have were lean, but they worked charms for her in battle. Her fit abs that made her able to do back flips at ease and her strong legs making her able to doge things more quickly. Akako wasn't a skilled fighter, but she had fun doing it.
Once finished with push-ups she rolled onto her back. Her delicate hands folded beneath her head and she started to do sit-ups. Her long black hair las in a gorgeous mass beneath her and waved each time she came back down.
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Benevolent Conversationalist
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Benevolent Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Sep 11, 2006 5:59 pm
Akako lay on her back and stared at the ceiling now. Her fingers came up and touched her shoulder. The scar was still there but the wound was healed. Flashes of the memory came back to her and she sighed.
Why did that blundering idiot attack me anyways?
Akako sighed and rolled onto her side. The cold floor felt good against her hot skin. Black hair fell into her face and her crimson eyes stared at the wall.
I haven't seen many people lately...I wonder...
Her arms pushed beneath her and she hoisted her body off the ground. She moved gracefully over to the door and opened it. She looked back and forth in the hallway then started to wakl down the hall leaving her door open.
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Posted: Tue Nov 14, 2006 11:59 am
"517... 518... 519.." Just a notch off of the next digit, in his own dorm room, the mercenary Omi crumbled to the floor, right-shoulder first. Moments before, he had been doing one-arm push ups; this specific time, on his right arm. Left arm crossed over his back & with a formed fist to discourage it from moving from that very spot. Yet, obviously, exhaustion from his constant regiment was finally starting to catch up to the Barton Round III participant; his mouth giving out rough exhales, sweat glistening upon his face, and his chest heaving in a thunderous manner. Near every moment since his Round II victory, aside from sleeping, was spent furthering himself. Keeping in proper shape, focusing himself, maintaining a proper level of stamina.. most of all, however, furthering himself more and more, since he ever persistently viewed his current state as unacceptable.
Dimly lit as usual, the simplistic dorm room gave sight to the mercenary's still-panting body; weary, his expression held a sense of relative exhaustion. Yet, he seemed to be mildly.. furious about something, as his right hand shifted across the carpet, fingers gliding over fibers, before his arm began to shift upright.
"No longer.. is losing at this acceptable. Two men.. I've now been the destroyer of two's ambitions." Gnashing his teeth at the back onto front- Omi managed to shift his body in the proper position for his previous regiment, before continuing it. The weighty chain mesh still lined his body; yet still, his clothing stuck to him a tad, save the gauntlets & boots, which laid patiently by his bedside. And continue, he most certainly did- now at an accelerated pace. No doubt, this practice would be sustained each and every day, until that fateful calendar day, in which his own Round III bout would commence. Small trickles of a bizarre liken-crimson light began to glisten across his neck. Now, he was forcing himself to exert, of all things, that state whilst refining his body; just to add further stress. Yet, one name could not be perished from his mind, as both of his eyelids came to a shut. "Lazenca Miranda.. it will be a pity - you having to face me." Finally shifting his body upright partially, sitting up before shifting into a cross-legged position, his thoughts blazed further. This was signified by his right fist, no longer covered in a gauntlet's material, forming a fist- which knuckle bone resounded in response.
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Posted: Fri Nov 17, 2006 1:45 pm
Razen is stretched out across his bunk as he has been for most of the last two months, too ill and weak to attempt to even watch any of the matches as his ribs heal.
Razen: I really need to find a medic...or a white mage. Something like that.
His movements are still ginger, but they are stronger and more sure than when he limped off the arena floor to the infirmary.
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Posted: Wed Dec 06, 2006 10:02 pm
$ From behind the locked door of the fighter's room a sterio blasted ,judging by the amount of bass,some sort of hip hop music that played at a high volume but it was nothing but a hum to anyone to pass by. The shower door clicked open as the man cut off the cold water. Tommy liked cold shower always because he felt they tightened his muscles after a fight or work out instead of relaxing them wih a hot one. He ruteenly brushed his teeth and groomed himself appropriatly before exiting the bathroom with a clean smell lingering behind him. Tommy Zocotti was a tall african american male standing about 6'4 or 5, maybe even 6'6" depending on the sneakers. His build was very thin but his muscles stayed firm in place. A perfect six pack and a large bouldering chest along with cut and shaped bicepts help prove his profession as a gangster that was a warrior at heart. Zocotti sliped on his socks as he hopped on each foot to his closet. Not having to think the man pulled out a pair of what he refered to as brawler's jeans. Baggy jeans in the thigh that he had rolled into thin cuffs not to rip at the bottems with preset scars in patterns and patchs making them seem like pants that had been though a few scraps. The Fighter slipped on a Royal blue tall tee followed by layering with the same type of white tee over it. Tommy walked over to his dresser and grabbed his Warrior belt with all of the bubbles filled and a holster with a loaded FN Five-seveN with an extra clip under the small holster.This"Cop Killer" weapon would have a low chance of use but it was there as both a simbol of his life style and incase his opponent battle that ttype of way. To finish of the outfit of armor he quickly stepped over to his bed and heaved up his battle jacket with both arms swinging it on as he walked out of his door cutting the music off as he left.$
Knucklehead Tommy Z Gangsta Blue
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Posted: Fri Dec 22, 2006 1:02 pm
Oppithegus walked along the path his feet makeing a sort of impression in the ground, as he walked down the cobblestone walkway. his breathe was vial and could kill a horse with one blow. Nightmare clenched in his left clawlike hand. with his Dark staff in the form of a sword in his other claw like hand on the right. he finaly came to his room and he walked into it it having to duck down due to his being 8' "5 tall. his two tails swaying behind him. as his green fluericant almost like eyes gazed upon the bed. he layed down on it his mouth falling agape as he fell inot a deep sleep.
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Posted: Sat Feb 03, 2007 8:53 am
One haggard step after another. It had been a very short time ago since the triumphant mercenary of [Barton Branch Round III] was released from his unconcious, wounded state in the local Infirmary. He refused to merely lay in bed, as very well he should have - so in that act of stubbornness, he had his clothing repatched once more . . and left for his dorm. Though it was a pained means of reaching there, walking.
Miscellaneous bandage cloth lined many spots of his body; left arm wrapped in it, a wooden walking-stick in his right hand helping make the means of stepping along less of a burden. Yet still, as each wooden tile in the hallway of the dorms were met with another rap of the walking-stick, one had to wonder: Could Omi Barsait participate in another round, given his health?
The match itself was rather bizarre, what little of the end he remembered - that, he was still trying to piece together. Before his consciousness fell to the dirt itself, apparently, Lazenca Miranda was pierced directly through the heart in a failed charge of some type. Yet, the swordsman could have sworn in his lingering inferno easing into pained sleep - he had saw something along the lines of Miranda, blurry and with a darker outlining, being dragged away . . . no doubt, Omi Barsait did not enjoy the fact he had slain the man, despite their growing disagreement in principles. In fact, normally, Barsait would have felt an overwhelming level of guilt; but, that match . . something was different of it. He felt no such guilt - just a stinging in his flesh, and a weary mind seeking rest. A testament of the ferocity of their battle, perhaps.
Still, as a gauntlet covered hand - the gauntlets & boots of Barsait having been recovered and brought to him, along with Caladbolg fortunately - the mercenary prattled his dorm door, wooden and creaking forward, open with an apparent level of weakness. Already, he felt like the time he was spending 'resting' was a waste.. there was so much more he could refine now. Practice upon, think upon. But such acts would have to wait until.. well, who knows. "Perhaps in the end, I did lose that match.." Giving a light, merry inner chuckle despite his predicament - the swordsman shifted on into the darkness of the room. Shortly before a flick of a nearby light switch gave the candescent light bulb above a hum to life, casting the glow of sight upon each corner of that small, cozy dorm.
And still, his right shoulder burned.
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Posted: Sat Feb 03, 2007 11:50 am
Once the heavily injured mercenary flipped on the light, he would find a familiar child sitting on his bed, looking directly at him with emerald green eyes.
It was Fas in child form, and those emerald green eyes widened at his friend's state, watching the once-powerful mercenary limp horribly, tracing his eyes across Omi and checking the multiple injuries.
"My god...and those are just the ones that are visable..." Fas thought, before leaping off the bed and running over to Omi's side, his bushy blonde hair flying in a flurry with his speed, supporting Omi to keep him from falling down once he reached the Mercenary's side.
"Goddamn, what did he do to you?" Fas said, a heavily worried tone to the voice of the "child".
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Posted: Sat Feb 03, 2007 6:04 pm
Quick surprise followed by a comically confused expression followed Omi's discovery of his 'visitor'. Still, the support was well appreciated; for hadn't he been supported, likely, the mercenary would have collapsed and most quickly. Still, he couldn't help but question despite the spectacle at hand: "Ehr.. Fasumbra? If that's your idea of shape shifting, it's pretty damned odd." Grinning, he then continued on, "Lazenca, for better or worse, was a worthier opponent than I originally anticipated. Had I thought he'd be what he was, the match would've been ended much more quickly.. but, that shows you what arrogance gets ya', I suppose. Guess I did get pretty banged up, though."
His words were an exaggeration; his body was weary. Wounded. Patched cuts, bruises, assorted wounds without equal; and to top it, his right shoulder which had erupted a monstrous level of flames just earlier that day, still wounded as though fire were seeping beneath his flesh . . Regardless, his left hand shot up and waved dismissively, for the mercenary added, "I'll be fine . . I'm just not sure if I'll be fine enough for my next match. I imagine I'll look quite the fool if I walk in there and stumble to the ground before the announcer even gives the word to fight." Giving a slightly weaker laugh, it was apparent the wound-induced fatigue was starting to get at Omi, even if he was resisting it.
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Posted: Sun Feb 11, 2007 9:45 am
"I can heal you, but we've got to hurry. Your match just got called..." Fas said, before sitting Omi down on the bed, then grabbing the injured shoulders in a very firm grip, one that would most likely be painful.
A soft, white glow came off Fas' hands, the light going through Omi's clothes and to the injured spots on his shoulders. The burns there would seem to slowly be swallowed up by new skin for Omi, and there would be no more pain.
The light continued down his arms, healing any wounds there in the same style as the burns. After about 2 minuetes, there was no evidence of a single wound on Omi's body from the neck down. Fas was panting, his small chest heaving in an effort to get air.
"Alright...now your eye...and maybe a bit more than just a healing..." Fas said, slightly out of breath.
He looked Omi directly in the eyes for a moment, and then a flash would seem to go off, like a camera flash, an emerald green one that shot into Omi's eyes. He would feel a bit odd for a moment, and his senses would all be gone...but for a moment.
After that, they would return, and Omi would find them incredibly strong. His eyesight would allow him to see the smallest details on an object, even from hundreds of feet away. Eyes better than that of a hawk.
His sense of hearing would be strong enough to not only hear Fas' heart beating, but even hear other people's hearts beating from several rooms away, through walls.
As well, all his other senses were heightened to such amazing levels.
A being such as Omi probably wouldn't be able to have all this without his mind overloading and dieing, so Fas thought of that.
Omi would find his reaction time nearly tripled, as well as a "mind expansion", which allowed him to function perfectly, as well as a ton more room for memory and "processing" speed.
Further, his entire body had been "upgraded". He was faster, stronger, and more intellegent than ever before. He would feel more than healed, a feeling of confidance and renewed vigor running through him.
Fas stepped back, then walked slowly, tiredly, over to a box sitting on the floor. He bent over and pulled a set of chainmail out, except the mail was a solid black color instead of a useual shiny silver.
"Here....Languardian Steel...Hardest alloy around...I couldn't cut through it with even Leinguard...It's pretty much impossible to hurt you with this on...that is, with Melee attacks...This won't help much against magic unless it's some kind of solid magic, like ice crystals..." Fas tossed the mail over, it landing beside Omi lightly, apparently not that heavy at all.
Omi was now fully healed, his entire body upgraded, and now he had possibly the hardest chainmail in existance on his side.
"Go ahead, mate...Good luck...I'll be there as soon as I catch my breath."
Fas smiled at his freind, sitting heavily in an armchair, and almost instantly falling asleep, soft snoring filling the room.
((Sorry it took so long, Comp got ******** up. -_-;; Good luck Omi.))
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Posted: Sun Feb 11, 2007 11:14 am
Stepping down the hallway would be the spirit detective, having gotten the invitation from a certain someone to come visit him at his quarters. He wears only his oepn green jacket over a sleeveless white shirt, followed by jeans and blue sneakers. And not to mention the bandage still over his right cheek. Coming to the door of this Vexic, he would inhale, then exhale, not sure what would happen once they encountered. Either the two would fight or something unexpected would happen. He didn't know, but he didn't care. He wanted answers.
Knock, knock, knock.
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Posted: Mon Feb 12, 2007 2:23 am
The door slowly slid openafter Yusuke knocked, the sight within a rather gruesome one at best. Rotting flesh hanging from hooks and pieces of bodies strewn about. The odd thing would be that there is no smell coming from all the rotting bits. This is quickly cleared up as...the door opens again? The image remained on the door, but the door had opened, clearly indicating it was some sort of illusion. Had Jonas not opened the door some spooky s**t would have happened to ward off intruders, mostly for fun.
Jonas smiled when he noticed Yusuke, then waved for him to come in, "You'd be amazed the fun you can have with illusions." As opposed to his green pants, boots, shirt, and black trenchcoat he was instead wearing brown slacks with a loose red shirt with no shoes, a labcoat over it all. The smell of chemicals was barely apparent in the air, as well as what seemed to be the smell of mice. These scents were coming from a table along the back wall where he seemed to have several experiments. On his bed were a pile of medical books and journals he had requisitioned. Nothing else seemed to adorn the room, no weapons or anything one might expect of a combatant. He went over to his desk to allow the door to close once Yusuke had entered, "I'm afraid I only have one chair, so its either a pile of books, the bed, or the stool. Though I guess you could stand, not like it matters much."
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