The Off-Seasonal Arena: Number Two

[Phoenix]

Just looking at the Saurus.. ill be facing an Oldblood with +1Init and +1Str, no ward and only an average save (3+) ... now, i dont want to jinx myself but..

No fixing the rolls Dem! the glory is mine hehe.

[Attila the Hun Jr]

Well written reports.

[Exarch Thomo]

THE FINAL FIGHT: Tzotzomatzin vs Skinja

The early morning sun shone down over the arena, a thin veneer of mist rising from the ground, obscuring the sandy floor. Drops of drew flashed in the light, glittering like a thousand diamonds in the soft grey blanket of mist, the morning light reflecting off their glistening surfaces.
The scene was peaceful, serene, and deceptively calm. In the mist vague shapes scuttled back and forth, scurrying off to complete last minute errands as the final bout drew ever closer.
Gorb stood in the stands, leaning on the thick railing that circled the arena floor. Looking into the mist his eyes flicked back and forth, tracking the scuttling Gnoblars. Was everything ready for the feast?
He turned around, casting his heavy lidded gaze towards the supply pit of the stadium. Large wooden casks were stacked in piles; meat and other foodstuff lay scattered in great heaps. Huge portions of Rhinox meat were slowly roasting on large spits diligently kept turning by sweating Gnoblars.
Glancing at the rising sun Gorb left the Arena, heading back to the nearby encampment. He had done as much as could be done for the moment, there was nothing left now but to sit back, watch the fight and wait for the feasting to begin.

* * * * *

The spectators streamed into the stadium, filling every empty seat in eager anticipation. The tournament had come down to this, the two finest fighters seen pitted against each other.
Casks were broached and foamy beer and mead flowed freely, loosening tongues as the patrons eagerly quaffed round after round. As the temperature started to rise, so to did the noise. A rising crescendo filled the arena, the sound crashing against the walls as a number of drunken scuffles broke out.
Several of the ogre guards moved in to stop the fight escalating, but the press of bodies was too tight and they couldn't push through. Gorb got to his feet, bellowing into the din to no effect.
He grabbed a nearby Gnoblar and hurled it at the large bronze gong near Rumgur's stand. The diminutive creature struck the gong in the centre and the booming peals rolled across the arena, stunning the disruptive audience. Stunned by the sound they all turned to see Gorb striding towards them.
"Right you lot. We is here ta watch da fight, not be da fight! Next one ta start anyfing will feel me boot!"
Up on the platform the poor Gnoblar had got to his feet and was stumbling around in circles, clutching his head with both hands.
"Dis is da last fight soz you betta be watchin!" Gorb shouted again, his face going red with anger.
As one the audience sat down, silently watching the arena and not moving a muscle. Several ogres moved in to drag away the still bodies of some of those involved in the fracas.
With a small scream the shaken Gnoblar fell off the back of the platform, disappearing out of sight.

* * * * *

Tzotzomatzin sat in the darkened cell below the arena, patiently waiting to enter the centre stage. Resting his obsidian blade across his scaled knees he ran his clawed hand over it, feeling every ripple, every bump. He leant down and picked up his ornate shield, checking the straps were tight and free of any blemish that could cause them to break. Realising that he was no longer alone in his dark cell he looked up. Standing opposite him was the skink, dark scales blending into the shadows.
"Why are you here?" he asked, laying his shield and sword down on the bench beside him.
"Fear not brother, I merely wish to talk. The Mage-Priests have sent us here for a reason. You have been told to claim a prize for this tournament and return it to us. That is only part of what must be done."
"What do you mean?"
"There is something else afoot here. Dire portents. The edges of the veil are being tested; something is trying to break through. The Mage-Priests have looked long into the twisted skeins of fate and have discerned that should this be allowed to happen here, the very balance of the world will be tilted beyond repair."
"Why are you telling me this, brother?" Tzotzomatzin looked deep into the skinks eyes, seeing the truth behind his words.
"Should I fall in this battle then you must stop this threat. You alone will be responsible to thwart this incursion."
"If it is as you say, then I will need your help. We could end this now and be done with it all.”
“Not yet, the time isn’t right. We must wait for the most opportune moment; strike when they are assured of their victory. After the bout, when they start the summoning, then is the time to strike.”
“And what of the fight?”
“Do not hold back, brother. Treat me as you would any foe, I will do the same. They must be sure that their ritual is going to plan. While we are in that arena, we are enemies. It can be no other way.”
Tzotzomatzin pondered this, silently digesting the information. “It shall be as you desire, brother.”
Lifting his head once more, Tzotzomatzin realised that he was alone, no trace of his fellow lizard anywhere.

* * * * *

Gorb watched eagerly from the stands as the two contestants strode out onto the arena. Behind him he could feel the presence of Rumgur, his anticipation palpable at the nearness of the ritual. The crowd was cheering widely, keen to see the culmination of this tournament.
Leaning forward, Gorb settled his large arms on his knees, watching intently as the two fighters approached each other and prepared themselves.
The saurus made the first move, darting forward and slashing at the smaller lizard with his obsidian blade. The skink nimbly dodged the blow, rolling its shoulder to one side as it stepped in close to its larger opponent. The single edged sword, the bane of so many of the contestants, flashed in the sunlight.

* * * * *

Tzotzomatzin stumbled back, pain lancing through his abdomen. The speed and skill of the skink was impressive to say the least, avoiding his blows as if they were the clumsy strikes of some bumbling buffoon. A thin trickle of blood slowly leaked from the wound and Tzotzomatzin could feel his prodigious strength slowly starting to fail.
Snarling he launched another attack, the obsidian sword carving through the air only to be turned aside by his opponents slender blade.
Blow after blow was traded, the movements so fast that each weapon was little more than a flashing blur. Back and forth the moved in the arena, each pressing the attack, seeking a weakness in the defence of the other.

As the skink, as light as ever on his feet, came in for another attack Tzotzomatzin turned his body to the right, catching the skinks blade with his own and drawing his reach out. He slammed his shield into the skinks face, nocking him back in a shower of blood as several teeth were snapped clean.

The Skink hit the ground and rolled to his clawed feet, swaying slightly. Starting to move forward he danced back and forth, weaving from side to side as he moved in a bewildering pattern. As he neared Tzotzomatzin the large veteran stepped forward, shield held close, and stomped his foot down in the middle of the skinks step.
Thrown off balance the agile lizard floundered for a second, trying to regain his balance. Taking this opportunity Tzotzomatzin struck hard. The hard edge of his shield caught his opponent under the snout, snapping his head around and flinging him through the air. Cart wheeling wildly the small lizard came to rest against the arena wall, head twisted back and his limp body lying still in a mangled heap, limbs bent at unnatural angles.

Totzomatzin stopped and stared at the still form of his opponent, certain after several minutes study that he was finished. Clutching at his stomach, the blood flowing freely and starting to pool on the ground, he stood triumphant in the middle of the arena, unmoving in the deafening cheers and rapturous applause of the bloodthirsty, and drunken, spectators.

He turned, impassive eyes watching the approach of two Ogres. The leading Ogre was a massive brute; clad in blood-splattered robes, a crude eye patch covered one eye. Hands permanently stained with gore the grotesque monstrosity stopped in front of Tzotzomatzin, a vicious smile slowly spreading over it’s engorged features.

Multiple crashes echoed around the arena as the great doors slammed shut, trapping everyone inside. The malicious grin on the Slaughtermaster’s face spread wider. Reaching down to the bucket of offal at his side, he brought a handful of bloody organs to his great mouth, stuffing them in. Spitting a glob of bloody fluid at the lizard, Rumgur made several guttural sounds deep in his throat and pointed a fat, bloody finger at the champion.

Fiery pain racked Tzotzomatzin and he felt several of his teeth explode at the back of his mouth. The pressure building inside his body was immense, feeling as if every bone was going to shatter. Roaring in pain he summoned what strength he had left and hurled his obsidian blade at the Slaughtermaster. Even as the sword left his hand he felt his shinbones snap, shards of bone bursting through his scaly skin. Suddenly the pressure was released and Tzotzomatzin rolled on to his back, discovering the hilt of his sword sticking from the chest of the large Ogre, the blade protruding from its back. Blood welled around the weapon and the large figure dropped to his knees with a jarring crunch before slowly slipping to the side to lie still, lifeblood mingling with the leaking bucket of offal.

Another thump nearby caused him to turn his head and see the massive bulk of Gorb lying in a spreading pool of blood, throat split from ear to ear. A hooded face appeared in his field of vision, and the battered features of the skink slowly materialised.

“It is done brother, you have saved us all.”

The skink coughed weakly, bloody gobbets spraying the ground, and he lay still once more. Tzotzomatzin stared at the small warrior, wondering at the strength of will taken to do what he had done. He could hear something else now too, a faint, rhythmic beating of wings, he looked up and saw a blurred shape in the middle of the bright sun. Blackness descended, and Tzotzomatzin fled into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness.

___________________________________________________________________________ _____________________________________

There we have it folks, the finale of the Off Seasonal Arena of Death 2! I would like to say a big thankyou to Demandred for allowing me to take part in this, I really enjoyed the experience. And, also I would like to say 1000th Post! Woohoo, what a way to reach that milestone.
To everyone that participated in this tournament, I hope you enjoyed yourselves, I know I did. I apologise for the lengthy intervals between write-ups, but real life does intrude from time to time.
Once again, a big thanks (and rep) to Demandred for allowing me to take part in this, and for doing all the organising. Well done.
Anyway, results are here:
Skinja Vs. Tzotzomatzin

***Skinja gets 2 re-rolls from his Blessed Mark***

Round 1

Skinja- 2 hits, 1 KB (after rerolls) = Tzotzomatzin has 1 wound left
Tzotzomatzin- 3 hits, 2 wounds = Skinja makes 1 wardsave (1 wound left

Round 2

Skinja- 2 hits, 0 wounds = Tzotzomatzin has 1 wound left
Tzotzomatzin- 4 hits, 3 wounds = Skinja makes 3 wardsaves

Round 3

Skinja- 2 hits, 2 wounds = Tzotzomatzin makes 2 armor saves
Tzotzomatzin- 3 hits, 3 wounds = Skinja makes 1 ward save (skinja dies)

[DavidWC09]

Shazam! Rep well-deserved!

And congrats on 1,000 posts. You are now past the junkie phase and have become comfortable with your LO addiction.

As for the story.... Outstanding conclusion! I really got into it. You controlled the pace well and kept things interesting with some very cool imagery.

I loved the bonecruncher spell at the end, and the skink ninja really went out in style.

I hope you do some more writeups in the future.

[Phaeron Typhoon]

I just wanted to say I appreciate everyone who entered and followed this Arena, especially Exarch Thomo for taking the full brunt of writing early on.

I also want to congratulate Phoenix on having such an unlikely character get so far. Killing blows the first round of every match is quite impressive . On that note, I realize too late that entering a character myself was a bad idea. Even though I can tell you all that I was honest with the match outcomes, I understand that it seems a bit convenient that my character won the arena I was organizing.

So when I organize the Off-seasonal arena #3, I will not be entering a character (I am also accepting/in need of some writers for it.).

Anyways I had a great time organizing this, and I hope you all had a great time reading it. Again, lots of thanks to Exarch Thomo for all the great help.

[DavidWC09]

Shazam! Rep for you, too!

Nice work, Demandred. You ran a good arena.

I hope you and Exarch Thomo team up for some more.

Next time, I'm bringing a badass.

[daelrog]

Meh, you bring your bad ass, and I'll bring my champ.

Really good arena though, guys. The extra time really paid off. I especially liked the piee before the fight, taking some time to bring everythig together and to wrap it all up. Great ending for a great arena. Looking forward to #3!

[Phaeron Typhoon]

Shazam! Rep for you, too!

Nice work, Demandred. You ran a good arena.

I hope you and Exarch Thermo team up for some more.

Next time, I'm bringing a badass.

Well, I have made the offer to Exarch Thomo, though I will understand if he wants to take a break.

[Exarch Thomo]

Hell no I don't want a break. Bring it on! I must admit though that this last week has been a little hard, soo many topics I wanted to post on versus wanting the final fight to be my 1000th post.
Anytime you want some help with writing, just let me know. I am more than happy to give it a shot.

[avatar of khaine]

great match thomo!