The Off-Seasonal Arena: Number Two

[Demandred]

well, I'm going to ask Tekore to enter a character. He originally wanted to give other L-O members the chance to participate, but with the current lack of interest from anyone else, we need the last spot filled.

Because Dammit! I want to get this thang started!

[Tekore]

Hrm

*Reaches into the nearby cabinet and picks an Army Book at random without looking*

Interesting.

Rahzorg the Unwieldy

Beastlord
Mark of Nurgle
Enchanted Shield
The Black Maul
Chaos Armor
Talisman of Protection

240 Points

Rahzorg is a smelly, flatulent and altogether too good-natured Beastman of immensely fat proportions. Completely hairless, but well horned, he is said to have lived several hundred years in the service of Papa Nurgle. He travels from battle to battle, spreading pox and desolation wherever he goes, all with a smile on his face. Unlike many other contenders in this Ogre Arena, Rahzorg showed up all on his own, the prospect of a good Ogre feast and a good arena too much for him to pass up.

Tekore

[Demandred]

And with that, here are the matchups for Round 1!!!!!!!!!!

1: Shademourn VS. Stink S'badly

2: Nurak Tharr VS. Bogrod the Bloody

3: Dieter von Hellsmack VS. Tzotzomatzin

4: Gar-Loq VS. Valen

5: THE FLYING NINJA SKINK O' DOOOM!!! VS. The Blade Weaver

6: Spider Bark VS. Psa-Trel the unfeeling

7: Sir Cumference VS. Jared Von Blackheart

8: Arnold of Clar Karond VS. Rahzorg the Unwieldy

[DavidWC09]

Thus dies Spider Bark.

[ArchonFarseerGuy]

Sir Cumference approached the crudely-made board with primitive squiggles scrawled all over it. Squinting, he vaguely made out what he thought his name to be. Right opposite his name, however, was that of a renowned Wight Lord- known to have never spared anyone, soldier or civilian.

"Well", he thought, "we'll see how he fares in a REAL combat- with someone who is actually able to match him blade for blade." The Templar Grand Master's heart burned with anticipation for this combat. His undead monstrosity would not be allowed to walk the fair fields of the Empire again.

Observation: My character is always in the first two fights, or the last two.

Not too sure how this one will go. (btw, Sir Cumference is ItP, as are all TGMs).

-AFG//

[mpdscott]

I'm not too sure I like the look of that Ninja Skink.......
Both have Killing Blow, both have crap->non existant armour and a 5+ward save
But that damned pendant could be TBW's undoing :/

[Demandred]

Shademourn:
Herald of Slaanesh: Daemonic, Armor Piercing, ASF
Many-Armed Monstrosity: +2 Attacks
Etherblade: Attacks ignore armor
Steed of Slaanesh

Stink S'badly:
Herald of Nurgle: Daemonic, Poisoned Attacks, Regeneration
Noxious Vapors: Opponents lose ASF and always strike last
Nurgle's Rot: Opponents take a wound on a 6 with no armor saves allowed at the beginning of each combat round
Pestilent Mucus: If Stink suffers a wound, opponent that wounded him must pass a toughness test or take a wound with no armor saves allowed
Soul Hunger: Re-roll failed wounds on the first round of combat.

Match 1

Gorb waited with anticipation written all over his crude features, soon the fighting would start and the Maw would be well pleased with the blood spilled on its holy ground. Many powerful fighters had arrived for this contest of martial skill, there would be much blood and violence, he just hoped there would be good eating out of it as well. He anxiously looked back at the rotund form of the slaughtermaster lounging on a palanquin made from crushed and feebly squirming gnoblars for the umpteenth time. Finally, he had the signal he had waited for as Rumgur hurled a severed (and slightly gnawed upon) dwarf's head at him.

Gorb excitedly lumbered to his feet to give the announcement he had been practicing since the maw pit arena had been built. "Err..uh… Welcome all of you tasty…err… powerful fighters. I'm supposed to tell you dat'….uhh…." He looked around in dim dismay as he tried to remember his lines, "Err, oh yeah! Dis' here is tha beginning fight to see who we gets ta eat!" Gorb winced as a rhinox femur connected squarely with the back of his skull. "Uhh… I mean, dis is where we get ta see who is the best pit fighter!" Gorb looked back for support and was heartened to see Rumgur nod his head sagely, the effect only spoiled by the trickle of drool out of the side of Rumgurs mouth.

"So…uhh… the firs' fight of dis' great arena thingy is Shademourn and Stink S'badly!!!"


The gathered ogres and pit fighters leaned in as the crudely fashioned gates on either side of the blood-spattered arena slowly opened. The onlookers gasped (or grunted in the ogre's case) in surprise as the first fighter entered the arena, moving so swiftly that it seemed to merely appear out of thin air. None of the other pit fighters could agree on what manner of creature Shademourn was, everyone seeing their worst fears made flesh. From the other gate emerged a most horrible and rancid smell followed by a creature that, if anything, looked worse than what the stench would indicate. Seemingly a living mound of excrement and pus given form, Stink entered the arena extolling the virtues of his host's hospitality.

Stink finally recognized who his first opponent would be and gave a hearty laugh. "How goes the debauchery old chap!" and began to move forward to reminisce with his daemonic brethren. Shademourn made no sounds but suddenly lunged forward in a blur towards it's opponent. Onlookers gasped (and grunted) at yet another demonstration of inhuman speed, but Stink just waited calmly. Suddenly Shademourn stumbled and skidded to a stop mere feet from Stink's odiferous personage, confused by the lack of fears to take advantage of and repulsed by the horrid smell emanating from his opponent.

Stink took advantage of the situation though, advancing while muttering at his opponent, "Bad manners old bean, bad manners indeed. Won't give a chap a fair warning will you?" Suddenly, a rusted and vastly dented sword appeared in Stink's blister covered appendage. Stink proceeded to strike at his opponent, all the while shouting nonsense about the importance of manners. Stink's sword continued to dart forward, with Shademourn barely managing to avoid his attacks.

Finally overcoming the noxious vapors, Shademourn took its chance to counterattack. Clawed limbs seemed to blur out of nowhere as Shademourn unleashed a storm of attacks upon Stink's body. The other pit fighters could barely keep up with the attacks, or see where they landed. As Shademourn darted away to catch its breath, Stink was left standing with a deep and oozing gash, almost disemboweling him. Everyone's vision was drawn forward as the wound began to knit itself back together before their very eyes. A terrible howling suddenly shook the arena as Shademourn noticed a small scratch that Stink had managed to make during his attack. As everyone looked on, the small wound quickly became pus filled and inflamed, showing the danger that Stink's innocuous weapon truly posed.

In a rage, Shademourn again flew at his opponent, every attack hitting, but bouncing off Stink's filth encrusted hide. Stink on the other hand could not even make contact with his weapon as Shademourn attacked and dodged with every ounce of speed at its disposal.

Finally everyone began to notice a distinctive slowing of Shademourn's actions, as it's breathing grew labored and it's blows seemed to weaken. Suddenly Shademourn pitched forward in a puddle of its own vomit and stopped moving, Stink's diseased aura having finally taken its toll. As Stink raised his appendages in victory, the still form of Shademourn shimmered and vanished as it returned to the realms of chaos.

Gorb stood up with two fat fingers jammed as far up his nostrils as he could manage, so as to avoid any accidental inhalation of Stink's fumes. "Uhh… I guess da winner is dat stinky guy over dere…"


Stink S'badly, Winner of Match 1!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Match Recap:

Well this was a decently long match, Stink could barely even hit Shademourn. While Shademourn constantly hit with all attacks, but couldn't get through Stinks toughness + ward save + regeneration. I didn't bother adding anything in the story about the steed since it didn't even land an attack for the entire match. This was how each round of the match went.

Round 1
Nurgles Rot does nothing

Stink- 1 hit, 1 wound = Shade makes 1 ward save
Shade- 4 hits, 1 wound = Stink makes 1 regeneration save

Round 2
Nurgles Rot does nothing

Stink- 2 hits, 2 wounds = Shade makes 1 ward save (1 wound left)
Shade- 6 hits, 0 wounds

Round 3
Nurgles Rot does nothing

Stink- 0 hits
Shade- 6 hits, 2 wounds = Stink makes 2 ward saves

Round 4
Nurgles Rot does nothing

Stink- 1 hit, 1 wound = Shade makes 1 ward save
Shade- 4 hits, 2 wounds = Stink makes 2 regeneration saves

Round 5
Nurgles Rot wounds Shade = Shade fails ward save (Shade Dies)

[Demandred]

I hope that was decent, because it was the first thing I have written in almost 5-6 years. If not we always have Tekore to fall back on

[Undead Bonzi]

Prince Rupentine Tercumpat Amadalgus FTW! Nurgles Rot FTW! Ah, theres so many people I'd like to thank for this great honor.....Papa Nurgle of course, who succeded where Khorne had failed me, Warner Brothers cartoons for their excellent suggestions on how to punish hapless characters, and of course the number '1', for giving me a goal to strive for. Thank you, thank you all.



From the depths of the refuse pit all Bloodtide could here was a muffled cheering. It was as if some higher entity or quirk of his own mind kept reminding him how much longer the Princes fight was lasting in comparison to his own. Suddenly there was a great chear and Bloodtide hoped with all his heart that his odiferous master was dead and that he would be freed from his tortures; but with a sinking heart that Bloodtide noted the booming sound of his masters voice approaching along with the crunch and squeal of the wagon the Ogers were using to move him. 'Now now fellows I really apreciate this parade carrying me back to my room, but could I not have stayed at the arena a bit longer?' complained the jovial prince, 'Surely you don't begrudge a chap the chance to bask in the glory of a great victory do you?' 'Da boss says' yous' stinkin' up da place and gots' to go,' grunted the Oger pushing the wagon in between gaging and vomiting.

As the voices drew near, Bloodtide tried to move away from being directly below the mouth of the pit but his retreat was drawn short by something! The pink apron! Bloodtide looked down and saw that the frilly hem-line of his apron was caught fast on some large root. The voices drew closer and closer as Bloodtide furiously tuged at the apron. With a sudden lurch the apron pulled free from its snag and Bloodtide roared in victory, 'Pathetic apron, I am Bloodtide Foereaper and no mere scrap of cloth can defeat....' and it was with that final thought that Bloodtide noticed that there wasn't any light filtering in from the hole of the pit and looked up...just in time to see a wall of pus ridden flesh come crashing down on his head, driving him like a tent stake into the Oger dung beneath his feet. 'Good catch old bean! Was worried the landing was going to be a bit rough,' boomed the voice of the victorious prince, 'Now get up and go fetch some tea so I can sit down with my fine gentelman friends and recount the tale of how I drubed that ill manered spawn of Slaanesh!'

[DavidWC09]

Nice writeup. When demons fight, everybody wins as there's going to be one less perversion in the world.