Welcome to Gaia! ::

Description: A special star is in town and his name is Erin Karter, one of the most famous pop stars in the world of Gaia. Think a pretty boy with rocking white short hair who likes to wear open shirts to reveal his hot bod'. He has agreed to come to the GTB to stage one of the largest concerts in the world. The atmosphere is vibrant as thousands of fans crowd around the circular stage, bright lights swerving here and there to create a flashy, illuminated ring of adrenaline. There's even that fake fog surrounding the DJ platform. However, the singer and his band has decided to take a stand on the higher platform where his DJ is performing, allowing the fighters to jam it out in combat while he lets the performance of his teen voice excite the raging fans screaming all around. Several steel pillars that hold the many lights tower over the stage above up to forty feet, where more steel beams connect horizontally to create sort of a ceiling for the stage itself.

Field Measurements: The stage is a good fifty feet wide in diameter with the twenty foot tall DJ platform in its center. The base of the DJ platform is sloped. The height from the stage to the floor where the crowd is about three feet with stairs at each cardinal direction of the stage.

Ten Count Boundary: Being knocked off stage starts the ten count. The flying rule is also in effect.

Other Penalties: No harming the audience or any NPCs. If your character falls off the stage, just assume everyone backed away fast enough to avoid being hit, with security guards keeping people back. If your character somehow gets to the top of the DJ platform, which is pretty slippery, the NPCs here will get away to let you duke it out if you must.

Fight Ends: After August 5th, 11:59 PM Central

"Ooooh yeeeah! Baby baby babyyyy! Yeeeeah! Oooo-ooooh, baby!"

The pretty boy pop sensation Erin Karter's voice peeled over the shrieking cries of thousands of rabid banshees, belting out a talentless lyrical whimsy packaged with just the right face and voice that had his wailing teen audience captivated.

God damn it...

A dark-clad figure shuffled his way through the crowds, the hood of his black sweater pulled over his head to obscure his face. He did not feel like he had gained any following thus far in the tournament like some of his fellow competitors, and nor did he care. He was not concerned with being recognized. He had instead pulled the hood over his head in a futile effort to drown out the cacophony. By now he realized he would always have to come to expect an audience of screaming spectators in a tournament such as this tournament, but holding the match in the middle of a pop concert really pissed him off.

As with Drejak, the aggravating throbbing sensation in this new arrival's head came in tune with the pounding beats of the bass, and he could not even hear the sound of his own voice as he grit his teeth in a low growl. Despite the level of discomfort he skillfully slipped through the sea of bodies as if riding a flowing current on the path of least resistance. Some of the spectators he slid by did not even notice his presence until he suddenly appeared practically right in front of them. He continued on effortlessly like an inconsequential shadow chased by a wandering ray of light.

Halfway to the stage, some keen-eyed announcer noticed the figure's approach and his voice roared over the crowds and Erin Karter's squealing verse of "Babyyy yeah, yeah yeah!"

"And heeeeeeere he is, Ryyyyy~lennnnnnn!"

The audience erupted, but more than likely for the fact that the match would now begin and less likely in support of Rylen himself since he had arrived after his opponent. Rylen did his absolute best to ignore it all, but when you have a circus of hyped pop fans and bloodthirsty fight enthusiasts screaming at the top of their lungs in unison literally shoulder-to-shoulder right around you--not to mention Rylen's heightened hearing...

Well, his thoughts sum it up best.

God damn it!

Not much to do but hurry his way up the stage, charging up the steps with an urgent alacrity. But as he took the last step to bring him up onto the stage, he paused when he lifted his head and got a really good look at his opponent.

What the hell?

Of course there across the stage stood Drejak, certainly an imposing figure of a humanoid wolf at a towering height of 6'4" to Rylen's 5'7". But it was not fear that had Rylen frozen in his tracks, though the crowd liked to believe so as they jeered and taunted him.

He looks like Terir...

Even for his vigilance, Drejak may have found it exceedingly difficult to pick Rylen out of the crowd until his name had been called. The hood pulled tight over Rylen's head concealed his pointed, wolf-like ears, and his bushy black tail did not really stand out until he stepped up onto the stage and it curled up behind him rigidly. The half-wolf kept his hands in his pockets and his forehead dipped forward as he finally took several steps into the arena. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as if drawn out by the earth-shaking vibrations of the bass rippling through the stage floor at their feet, rattling his blood and bones.

Rylen came to a stop about fifteen feet away from his opponent and presumably in front of the DJ platform, planting both feet firmly in a rather casual stance. He lifted his hands up to pull his hood back and finally reveal his face. Immediately his crimson eyes shot a savage glare at Drejak as the half-wolf bared his fangs in a threatening grimace. His wolfish ears remained flattened against the top of his head due to the noise, but being so close to the source of the disturbance did not help much for his hearing or his mood.

"What the hell are you, huh?" He muttered rhetorically, well aware that Drejak would not likely be able to understand him. No matter, they would speak in actions and learn more about each other through the fight than through words. And Rylen dearly wanted to know the answer to his question, because if Drejak was anything like the monstrous beast called Terir, that vicious and remorseless killer, then...

I'll kill him. The half-wolf vowed, his eyelids narrowed with the calloused determination of a grim-faced soldier. His right foot slid back and he settled into a loose stance with his claws up, his knees slightly bent, and his inexhaustible will to fight evident in his demeanor.

"Yeeeeaaaaahhh baby! Let's get it on, babyyyyy!"

Die in a fire, Erin Karter.

Rylen snarled in response to Drejak's declaration, though he only caught the gist of what the reddish wolf had said. The last word rang perfectly clear, however, like the crack of a gun shot signaling the start of the race--a race to see who falls first. Tenacious fury boiled under the surface of Rylen's skin, the hot stage lights creating a blaze of heat that filled the stage. The spectacular light show was dazzlingly blinding, but Rylen's fierce crimson eyes did not flinch in their seething gaze at his opponent.

And yet as Drejak approached, Rylen noticed it was nothing like the approach of a ruthless, ferocious beast that killed more for pleasure than necessity. Drejak possessed a certain degree of sophistication and poise that made Terir look like little more than a mere animal, though physically they looked the same. Drejak appeared a bit smaller, sure, but that could only mean he was much more agile. Despite his monstrous size, Terir was hardly slow by any means. A quicker Terir was a chilling thought.

Perhaps the greatest difference between the two of them was the fact that Drejak wielded a staff, much like Rylen's fox-girl friend and fellow GTB participant Robyn. Thanks to his experiences with Robyn and in his travels in general, during which he was prone to get in fights (read: smacked around by a variety of weapons), Rylen had a decent bit of experience facing staves, bos, and similar weapons in combat. Any simple idiot could tell you a taller fighter wielding a staff against a smaller, unarmed fighter had a distinct reach advantage.

Thankfully, Rylen proved to be a little bit more competent than your average any simple idiot, which is probably the reason he had even survived so many fights in the past. Rylen knew of more than a few ways he expected Drejak to attack, and nearly all of them involved making the most of that ample reach advantage. When the reddish wolf closed the distance to make his lunge, Rylen was prepared to make the most out of one of his most favored assets--speed.

Drejak lunged forward, and if you blinked you would miss it. Or if you had a wandering, pulsing stage light shining in your face. Rylen would forever wonder after that point why holding a fighting match in the middle of a teenybopper concert was apparently a good idea, but that's all beside the point. Rylen's body shifted in a (figurative) blur, his right foot making its own lunge forward and out to Rylen's own right. His body naturally twisted with the motion, but Rylen would be earnestly surprised to find out halfway through the motion that Drejak had not decided to make a poking jab with his staff. It is what Rylen had expected given Drejak's movements, and he had made a split second decision to move so that such an attack could be avoided.

The fact that Drejak had not made such an attack, even as a light there-and-back-again thrust, meant he would be in a better position to defend himself for Rylen's lightning fast counter. However, it was as if Rylen could see things moving in slow motion, because he timed his own movement for right as Drejak's foot would be planted following the lunging step. Regardless of his original intention not to attack, making an adjustment at that point to move away would be very difficult.

Rylen's next step would come most likely in the time it would take Drejak's mind to react to the first movement, as the second step came so fluidly after the first it was as if his whole body was a feather riding a twisting gust of wind. He brought his left foot forward again so that his toes would be pointed towards Drejak again, but Rylen would be off almost completely to Drejak's left.

Finally, with the step came the attack, as Rylen's left arm swept out in a tight arc with his elbow in-line with his body. His claws aimed to carve a deep gash in Drejak's upper left arm--in an ideal world. Realistically, Drejak had such a huge reach advantage that even Rylen's nimble footwork more than likely would not give him adequate range to allow the strike to shred muscle as he intended. It was a classic attempt to disarm his opponent by means of attacking the arm itself, or so it seemed.

The crowd bit their lips in unison, a collective scream building in their hoarse throats in anticipation of the result. Who would get first blood?

It was an expectation of satisfying a primal urge that an undeserving, mindless pop idol superstar like Erin Karter could never hope to inspire in his audience.

Drejak’s eyes flinched as the staff found its mark, but he didn’t blink. The muffled, metallic-sounding impact carried into his ears, and like Rylen learned about his weapon, Drejak learned something about Rylen’s armor. It would be impossible to know for certain just how far up Rylen’s arms the metal piece covered, but Drejak guessed by the fluidity of the half-wolf’s movements that it was probably a set of bracers. If the armor had covered Rylen’s upper arms, the resonating impact probably would have been a bit louder. So, until he saw otherwise, he would assume the armor was just along Rylen’s forearms. Drejak’s hunch was accurate, and it led him to start thinking a little more cautiously. The jacket was indeed a cover-up for what armor Rylen was wearing, and probably whatever weapons he might be carrying.

If Drejak had had the time, he would have been speculating about Rylen’s history and how he had been trained. The reaction time and overall speed the half-breed possessed was incredible. Drejak hadn’t seen someone this quick in a long while, and that reaction speed caught him slightly off guard. It was a mistake that may or may not cause him problems within the next few moments.

Drejak had no intention of letting the staff remain extended out in front of him after the strike, but now he really didn’t seem to have a choice but to retract his arm because Rylen’s fingers had curled around the rear end and now the half-wolf was pushing his weight forward. The distance Drejak had been thinking of holding had diminished much more rapidly than he had hoped, but he wasn’t out of this yet. Drejak hadn’t trained with this weapon for almost fifteen years to have it taken from his grasp in such a simple manner.

Drejak would work with the flow of momentum that Rylen was creating by pressing the assault. The rear end of the staff retracted, and the forward (left) end came forward, but probably a little faster than Rylen had been hoping. In the midst of the maneuver he was attempting, Drejak’s left fist or that same end of the staff might clip Rylen on the jaw or cheek. Drejak wasn’t just swinging or retracting his arms. In fact, considering that he had just brought his right foot sweeping forward to execute the counterattack, it would almost look like he was being rewound on tape, because now his right foot swept back and around, almost along the exact same path, and he pivoted again on his left foot. As his right foot swept back Drejak’s upper body pivoted, too. With the push of his left arm, the pull of his right, the forward momentum Rylen was throwing into this course of action, and the reversed pivot of Drejak’s body, it would become obvious in a split second what Drejak was attempting. He had lashed out to counter, found his weapon grappled, and now he was trying to use Rylen’s forward advance and the pivot of his own body to sling the half-breed to the ground. The force of the slinging action would probably send Rylen rolling over himself at least once or twice.

Drejak wasn’t sure how well Rylen would be able to stop himself since the reaction flowed very easily with Rylen’s own forward dedication. If Drejak could topple his opponent, he would wrench the staff out of Rylen’s grasp as the half-breed fell. Depending on Rylen’s capabilities here, and the result of the attempted fling, Drejak would have a couple of options. Before he could act on them, he needed to know the extent of Rylen’s resistance. If Rylen held on, or managed to somehow show he had greater strength than Drejak and resist his own momentum, Drejak’s course of action would become much more complicated. So, he pivoted and attempted the sling, hoping to free his weapon.

Let’s see what you’ve got.

There were many ways Drejak’s calculating mind could have interpreted the most recent results of his and Rylen’s actions. Had it simply been the course of the chain of events? Was it a display of the balance between action and reaction? Or was it the intention of something far greater than the both of them? Drejak had no idea this had been Rylen’s goal, either from the start, or at some point improvised during the previous exchanges. Drejak might have scolded himself for letting the smaller half-breed close and capitalize so effectively, but that was the trade-off, really. Even as quickly as Drejak could move his staff, he knew that Rylen’s strikes with his claws would be much faster and more flexible in close quarters. Drejak couldn’t really say he’d made a mistake anywhere, because he hadn’t. Rylen simply possessed much more capability than he let on, but wasn’t that thrill of the unknown what made a fight worth fighting? Drejak thought so, or he would have been thinking something similar were it not for his mind’s sudden focus on the searing pain that ripped through the majority of the left side of his abdomen.

Then pain took the shaman to a different place and time altogether. It’s strange how fights tend to bring out the recollections of long-embedded memories. Drejak remembered a time during his hunting training, when he was just a pup. His clan taught combat and survival skills at a very early age. Young Drejak, back when his fur was still a dull brown and no one knew he would be the next in the shaman lineage, was out hunting with his father. They had been tracking a large bear, and once it was cornered, they attacked. The rest of the hunting party brought back the carcass, but his father carried Drejak’s battered body to the elder earth shaman. The pup had had his stomach sliced open by the bear. It was believed that Drejak only survived by the grace of the elder spirits, and bore no scars thanks to the elder shaman's healing ability. Drejak hadn’t cried, then, because he was trying so hard to impress his father. ”Be brave, son”, his father had said, ”Face the pain without fear.” The pain he felt now reminded Drejak of that time long-passed. He missed his family. He missed his world.

Drejak snarled in pain as Rylen’s claws sunk into his flesh on the left side of his naval and ripped outward towards Drejak's left side. In this moment, Drejak had been given grace, even though he was injured. Two small details had saved him from breaking down into an early mid-life crisis as he almost relived the injury from his childhood. The first and most important was the point of entry of the claws, and Drejak’s positioning at that specific moment in time. Since his body was already twisting, it pulled his right side just out of Rylen’s reach. Not because Rylen’s arms weren’t long enough, but simply because Drejak’s right side was moving back and away from Rylen’s hand as the claws came in.

The second detail was something reminiscent of Drejak’s training and his past. The red wolf had been training in unarmed, claw-and-bite-based combat since he was five years old. He was accustomed to being scratched and bitten. Being slashed was considerably more devastating than a simple scratch from another pup, but it was still a pain Drejak was familiar with, at least to some degree. Seventeen years of dealing with other combat-related injuries certainly helped.

Rylen might learn something else about Drejak during this attack. The knowledge could be derived from the natural ease with which Rylen’s claws tore through Drejak’s skin, and the guttural snarl of pain that issued forth as a result. Drejak wasn’t frail by any means, but he didn’t have reinforced skin or anything of the sort. His durability measured only to the extent to which he had trained, and obviously, Drejak was still within the parameters of natural limitations at this point. He bled just as easily as anyone else.

Be brave, Drejak told himself. The injury would hinder him, but not before he tried to pay Rylen back. The surge of adrenaline that had flooded his system upon injury wouldn’t last long, but would provide him plenty of strength for the split second he needed it.

Face the pain…

“WITHOUT FEAR!” Drejak roared with bestial fury as he struck out in retaliation. He pivoted so consistently on his left foot that it would almost seem like he was a pendulum swinging back and forth on its axis. His body twisted to face Rylen with most of his weight transferred to his left leg, but his right foot didn’t move this time. Drejak’s left hand retracted back towards his shoulder of the same side. His right hand surged forward with incredible speed as he brought the staff into a tight, rising, almost uppercut-like strike. Drejak’s right hand would travel nearly level with his abdomen, and hopefully as his body turned towards Rylen, would bring the right-handed end of his weapon inside Rylen’s left arm towards his chest. If the blow connected, the rear two feet of the staff was aimed to slam into Rylen’s right-side clavicle and distribute the rest of the blow in a diagonal line from his clavicle down towards his sternum. The strike might catch Rylen just as intended, especially if Drejak’s exclamation caught the half-wolf off guard, and send him reeling away. In that ideal world Rylen had been looking for previously, Drejak’s strike might break an important bone and put the fight heavily in his favor. That was all in the ideal world, though.

First blood went to Rylen. Congratulations.

The smell of blood had filled the air. As though they were a swarm of hungry piranhas, the crowd went into a ravenous frenzy after the exchange. There were cheers and boos and curses and all manners of reactions. The blood that seeped from the gashes in his side might be somewhat hidden from Rylen’s perception due to the already reddish color of Drejak’s fur, but that didn’t make the injury any less valid.

Drejak, oblivious to the crowd at this moment, watched for a split second with a feeling of satisfaction as he managed to punish his opponent for tearing at his stomach. As he watched Rylen roll backwards, Drejak brought his staff back to his side. He started to take a step to pursue Rylen and hopefully capitalize on the counterattack’s results, but a sudden involuntary jerk from the muscles in his left side stopped him in his tracks. He glanced down at the four deep gashes raked into his flesh. He estimated it would take several hours of meditation to heal completely, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Rylen was gasping for air as Drejak looked back up at the half-wolf, and then something shining above the almost-forgotten crowd pulled Drejak out of his focus.

A shimmering, glowing mark had been raised, and it was one he recognized immediately. The Eye of Horus floated over the half-covered head of the individual he had been searching for earlier. Shadow was there, and Drejak just caught a glimpse of her hooded head amongst the crowd that surrounded her. He wanted to wave, or call out to her, but a sudden eruption of light from his opponent’s direction drew his attention back to the fight at hand. As Drejak’s eyes focused on the new development, his brow furrowed with curiosity and his head tilted again in that canine manner.

Flames? He asked silently. It was another surprise Rylen had offered him. Drejak hadn’t exactly expected that, and he was glad for the distance between them. It proved to him once again that he always needed to expect his opponent to be unpredictable, and always hiding something.

Drejak looked Rylen over and noted the strength with which the half-breed stood his ground. Their fight had barely just begun, but already massive blows had been dealt. He saw this sudden eruption of fire-elementalism not as a threat or a taunt, but as equalization and an acceptance, of sorts. It showed Drejak that Rylen deemed him strong enough to fight with more than just tooth and nail, and judging by the grin spread wide across the half-wolf’s face, Drejak could see that his opponent was enjoying their fight. Drejak couldn’t deny the same truth for himself. Even with his earth commune inhibited, Drejak was proving to himself, and Rylen, that he could hold his own. Rylen’s acknowledgement of that triggered something in Drejak’s mind. The respect he had held for Rylen as an opponent escalated and evolved into respect for Rylen as a fighter. The half-breed had already shown he was quite capable, and kept proving at every turn that he was full of surprises. The corners of Drejak’s mouth subtly curled into something alien for his face. It was an expression he rarely ever wore and even Shadow would hardly recognize it. Drejak was smiling.

Drejak regained his stance, and spread his feet a bit. He wondered how much damage Rylen had actually suffered from the attacks that had landed. Certainly, at least one of the half-wolf’s arms would be impaired; probably the right more so than the left. Drejak would try to capitalize on the previous injuries, because Rylen seemed to focus heavily on using his arms and claws as his weapons. Those flames, though… That could prove to be a difficulty.

Drejak could see, and even feel, the forward end of his staff swaying in a very uncharacteristic manner. His normal stance was solid as stone, and he never allowed room for such faults. This was beyond his control, though, as the muscles in his abdomen would spasm every so often. Drejak had taken the defensive early, and gained substantial results from doing so. He didn’t expect Rylen to rush in again, but Drejak certainly didn’t want to waste time standing there bleeding to death. So he swallowed the pain in his side, and drew the staff back towards his left. This caused his right arm to cross his chest, and the two feet of the staff’s rear end to protrude forward from the bottom of his right hand’s grip.

From that position, Drejak took two quick steps forward. With those steps, he covered about six feet. His left foot planted as his forward leg and his knee bent slightly to create a slight lunge that extended his reach about another half a foot as he swung the staff in a quick, sweeping horizontal strike from his left to his right. His left hand had moved to grasp the shaft just below his right hand immediately before the swing started, which amplified the swing’s power. The swing was a little less controlled than he wanted due to his wounds, but it was still executed with great precision. The four feet of the staff that extended beyond the reach of his arms (which were several inches over two feet long) kept him well out of Rylen’s arms’ reach, and hopefully away from those flames, while still delivering another powerful blow. This sweeping strike was leveled to crash into the right side of Rylen’s midsection anywhere between his hip and his floating ribs and would catch the half wolf with the end of the staff if it connected.

Drejak had space, and he was trying to play it. If the attack hit, Drejak was unsure exactly what would happen, but Rylen would definitely be in immense pain and probably stumble towards Drejak’s right side. If no contact was made, Drejak would let the weapon’s momentum carry it closer to his right side as he rolled his wrists over to carry the weapon into the swing's follow-through, then bring it up and around, reposition his left hand ahead of his right, and reset into his neutral stance with the staff at his right side and left hand and foot leading. Rylen’s actions could and would change any or all of that, though.