The Seasonal Arena - Summer

[Bluehorrors]

ahahah that was brilliant i reckon this is going to be the best arena yet!

[RobtheGuru]

I enjoyed that, twas funny. Hopefully everyone in the arena ends up like all those pale-skins

[40kenthusiast]

I saw this too late to actually get in the lineup, but I'd like to enter a character for the waiting list.

Name: Set-Thutmosuhtep
Tomb King
Equipment:
light armor
shield
Spear of Antarak
Golden Ankhra
Vambraces of the Sun

Fighting style:

Weighing in at a scrappy 271 points and coming from an ancient codex not precisely known for CC characters, Set-Thutmosuhtep has to be considered a long shot. His gimmick is to try and use his extra wound, high toughness, 4+ ward save and ability to steal one of his foes attacks to try and survive their onslaught, then hopefully score a wound or two off them and get ready for the next round. He hopes to win via grinding attrition. Being a flammable mummy with no mount, I'd say he's got his work cut out for him in this crowd.

Story:

"What do you mean we've got all we need?"

Vryne shrugged. It never paid to offend the slave-raid leaders. "I'm just passing on his eminences command. Sixteen was the order, and sixteen we got. Besides, I've seen the competition, and your find, meh...."

Zortha Temmak snarled back. "We found this in the midst of a great arena, a mummified champion of the ancient desert gladiatorial games. Just think of the glories that once it knew! Surely, his eminence will not be displeased with it."

The official responded calmly. "Some sort of box champion then? It falls on things?"

"It's IN the box, lackwit!" Zortha rasped, "don't you know anything about the older human cultures? They animate their dead and stick them in boxes. And stop calling it a box, that's a Coffin!"

"Which is a box for dead humans, right?"

"Well...yes, but it's got...uh...well, sometimes it thumps, like the thing inside is trying to get out. That's really scary."

The official looked skeptically at the box. It didn't seem to be thumping.

Zortha gestured at one of his men standing behind the box.

*Thump*

The official shifted his gaze to the minion, who whistled innocently.

"Anyway, I guess we can consider this your tithe. It's certainly more...packable than the other champions...you should see what that Ogre does to the housing budget. We'll keep this "champion" on hand in case one of the other warriors gets poisoned or some such. Happy?"

Zortha nodded sourly, stepping back and glaring at the box. It had been a long damn sail to Nehekhara, and it looked he'd gotten precisely nothing. As he walked grimly away from the functionary he called a minion over.

"A lot can happen between now and the tournament, wouldn't you say?" The soldier nodded knowingly, and they both shared a look back at the ornate coffin.

************************************************** *********************

Within the coffin Set-Thumosehtep dreamed of the blood-stained sands. He dreamed of the roar of the crowd, the stab of his spear through the champions of opposing cities, or the priest king's latest creations, the rumble of his chariot wheels.

In his dreams he was always young, always champion. He didn't dream of the slow decline, of taking the Priest King's offer and dying before his strength could leave him forever, of the torture of the poison that embalmed and slew simultaneously, of the sneering gaze of the chanting mystics. In his dreams he was always vibrant, always the great darling of the crowd.

In his brief moments of waking and lucidity something of his true state came clear to him. He was trapped in a corpse, preserved but poorly so, and his corpse was trapped in a box. He was jolted and jostled in such a way that it was clear to him that he was being hauled about like freight. He struck the coffin uselessly, futilely striking against his imprisonment.

He bent his thought to Settra, the one God to which he owed true allegiance. "Great One, Eagle of Khemri, Charioteer of the Heavens, let me come forth from this box and face my adversaries. Let me move again, slay again, here again the roar of the crowd. If my end must come let it be a glorious one, battling a foe worthy of my spear. Let me fight again!"

I didn't see Esco's post of a nigh-identical character before I posted this. Doh!

[SteamTankDriver]

Just so you folks know, I'll be taking weekends off from doing write-ups during this arena in order to spend quality time with my family (a write-up often takes a good 4 hours or so depending on how long the battle went; many times I'm not even satisfied with the final product but seeing as how I'm also working on a book, another 6 hour commitment, I really can't tweak as much as I'd like to). Plus, I think not taking any time for myself made me start to really hate sitting down to do write-ups for the Off-Seasonal Arena and I'd hate to have the same thing happen here, especially since it is such a huge undertaking. I just thought I'd let you all know and I appreciate your understanding.

P.S. I hope the initial back stories have met with the approval of the creators so far. I also hope everyone is enjoying the writing. If not, constructive criticism is always welcome. Much obliged.

-Tom

[DavidVC04]

I don't think we can begrudge you the weekends. The boards slow down in general anyhow. Besides, the stories are worth the wait.

[scot246]

Prince Erimor of the white tower burst into the area his armour gleaming as he enters knowing here will be the place he bashes the foul daemons of khorne. His story is well known throughout the old world as a slayer of khorne. His family was slayed by bladestorm the bloodthrister and to this day he seeks out bladestorm and all of khornes evil minions human and daemon alike to avenge his family

Name: Prince Erimor

Prince

equipment, shield, talisman of loec, the white sword, armour of caldor, guardian phionix, longbow,

total 263

ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I tooooo late the daemons have left

[Arklite]

excellent stuff so far steam tank, i look forwards to your next passage of awesome. well worth the wait regardless of reason

[SteamTankDriver]

Sorry folks. I completely forgot to write that I was going on vacation with my family in my last post, as I realized when I got home this afternoon (and after a long nap...yay jet lag). I apologize for the delay and just so everyone knows, regular posting will resume this week. Much obliged.

-Tom

[Arklite]

Ach don't worry steam, we're more than happy to wait a little bit longer

[SteamTankDriver]

DAGUL:


Dagul’s hammer smashed into the goblin’s skull with a satisfying crack, showering the wall of the cave with steaming trails of blood and gooey brain matter. The greenskin tumbled aside, its diminutive frame bouncing across the rocky floor, streaking the jagged protrusions of the stalagmites with gore.



Dagul stormed past the corpse, shouldering his way past a contingent of dwarfs flanking the ore deposit entrance and wading into the raucous maelstrom of battle beyond, hammer leading, tossing goblins aside with each swing, cutting a swath of carnage up to the surface. Greenskin blood splashed across his face and weapon as he stalked through the tide of diminutive warriors, trudging stoically toward the soft rays of daylight that filtered lazily through the subterranean blackness in flickering beams of white and gold luminescence.


Cries of pain, both dwarf and goblin, echoed around him, but Dagul ignored them, continuing single-mindedly toward the entrance of the mineshaft, shrouded by a swirling wreath of crimson droplets. Rusted spearheads plinked off his armour, turned aside by the masterful dwarf craftsmanship, but Dagul easily batted their wielders away with the rounded head of his hammer, leaving them crumpled on the scree for his thanes to finish. He had other enemies to deal with.


As if reading his mind, a slender form, much too tall to be a goblin, exploded from a shadowy niche in the cavern wall, landing heavily on Dagul’s back in a tangle of limbs and steel. The tapered crescent of a barbed scimitar flashed before the dwarf’s eyes, followed closely by a neatly manicured hand attached to a pale-skinned arm swaddled in a rich violet silk sleeve.

Druchii bastard.


Dagul snarled, flailing violently against his assailant, batting at the grappling druchii’s arms with the shaft of his hammer, all the while weaving his head around the seeking blade of the scimitar. One of the dark elf’s seeking fingers managed to slip through his defense, however, jabbing sharply into Dagul’s eye and tracing a line of white hot agony up his brow.


The dwarf bellowed in rage, but he was a veteran of many battles, and it would take a much more serious injury to fell him. He grabbed the druchii’s arm in one gauntleted fist, and, before the dark elf could pull away, snapped the limb with one quick wrench of his wrist. The finger plunged deeper into his eye and Dagul gasped as it popped, spilling a line of slimy warmth down his cheek.


His vision flooded red, and he was only dimly aware of the druchii screaming behind him, its broken arm still clutched in his grip, but he managed to keep his wits about him enough to backpedal hard against the nearest wall, a slight grin crawling across his weary features as he heard the dark elf break across the sprawling curve of rock.
Dagul ricocheted off the stone, blood pouring over his lips, head throbbing, barely able to stand, and stumbled forward, jouncing off studded jags of rock. He could feel the air through the vent tunnels now, warm currents of breeze that washed over him as he ambled toward the brilliant wash of sunshine that streaked his hazy vision.


The goblins were just a decoy. Damned druchii used them to soften us up. They’re going to overrun the tunnels.


It was the last thought Dagul had time for before he burst into the daylight, gulping the sweet afternoon air. The blood had completely obscured his vision, however, and as he cast about for any indicator of where he had emerged from the mineshaft, a shadow loomed in front of him, stifling the light with an eerie chill that made Dagul stop short.
The shadow snarled something in Goblin, then barked a shrill word in a language Dagul didn’t understand. He found out soon enough.


The cold steel body of a crossbow bolt plunged through the gaping hole of his eye, flinging the dwarf backward like a child’s discarded, blood-soaked, mannequin. His hammer clattered against something several feet away, but Dagul didn’t care, pawing instead at the feathered dart sticking from his eye socket. His face and hands had already started to go numb, and he knew there was no way he could get it out, but he had to try.
Goosebumps prickled his flesh, and a clammy sweat broke out on his brow, washing away some of the dirt and blood, and he suddenly found his arms to be much too heavy for him to use as they dropped uselessly to his sides. Dagul flopped back, embracing the sun that once more encapsulated him before the shadow moved up to rob him of its warmth. Of its life.



So this is it. I’m going to die.


Only he didn’t die. He awoke, several days later, feverish and bound in the hull of ship, slipping between consciousness and fugue of turbulent sleep as the vessel rocked across waves toward a destination that Dagul could only imagine. Others were with him, members of his clan, equally haunted by sickness and the desire for a clean death in battle that they would not have. The last defenders of their mine, their treasury, their keep all lay shackled in the belly of the ship, but Dagul still had hope. His weapons may have been taken from him, but he had the greatest weapon a dwarf could ever want. He had a grudge.


They should have killed me. I’ll make them wish they had.



* * *





Sorry about the delay in getting back to these. As I said, I was on vacation until about 2 days ago, at which time (thanks in part to the extensive traveling) I came down with a nasty cold. I still have it but I figured I owed you folks at least one more backstory before I settle down to being sick. If I'm up to it I'll have another one up by tomorrow but if not then you'll probably have to wait for the weekend. Oh well. Much obliged for bearing with me. Also, I had to write this in non-italicized font so that the inner-monologue parts stood out more. Sorry about the confusion.


-Tom