Hall of Glory

Stage15: Elia Noah Building

Hall of Glory

A testament to the fighters of the past, they're looking down on you. Scorning. At the end of this hallway is your ticket back into the game. This is your last chance.

Noah has set up a long hallway in his building for the last round of the losers bracket. A red carpet trails the entire length, and elaborate lighting hangs from the ceiling. Along the walls of this large hallway are life-sized statues of the winners of the past years. Surrounding those statues are non-magical replicas of their weaponry. Spacing out the statues are large paintings of the second and third place teams. There is an air of finality to this place.

Terrain

General - Solid, but the carpet isn't entirely attached to the floor.

Weapons - On one side: Silver Alexander, Vahn, Shouyin, Sunstrike and their weapons. On the other: Dzan, Ebris, Gamma, and their weapons.

Bonus Effects - Strangely 63's statue didn't show up.

The doors to the hall closed quietly behind the seven foot Amazon as she strolled inside. She stared down the length of it, already bored with what she had to see. Couldn't they have placed them into something that wasn't so boring?

Her long legs strolled quickly down the hall, the metal of her armored boots clunked loudly against the tile floor, until she came up to where Athan seemed to be hanging out at. Her turquoise eyes didn't fall on him. She stared at the statue of Ebris.

"That's got to be the ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on."

Out of nowhere she pulled out a permanent black marker and put a curly mustache on the face of the statue.

She put the marker away and brought her hands to her hips, resting them there as she stared at her handiwork.

"It still doesn't seem to do him justice. I think it's a lost cause. He'll always be an ugly b*****d."

All of the sudden...

WHUCRACK

"JIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMM-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

About rathin' time that big a**, ugly gorilla-looking motherrather showed up, though with how he was looking right now, it could be considered fashionably rathin' late. Ebris Dhifi's big ol' right boot had turned the Hall of Glory's immaculate doors concave for a brief moment, then into bits and pieces all over the Throne-damned marble and carpeted flooring as the wood gave in entirely. The most striking feature seen on the bounty hunter as the door-kicking boot came down to the floor were the eyes. Oh, how they glowed crimson so vividly. Wait, crimson? Did Ebris rathin' Dhifi go meta or some grod? Nope - it's just what happens when your squishy, sensitive eyeballs get constantly exposed to the air and grod when one didn't have no Throne-damned eyelids anymore. Sure, the scum had drawn deep into his booze money to buy himself a new pair, but those wouldn't be here for a good bit.

He'd just have to make due and deal with his favorite Jimbo while looking even more crazed and bloodthirsty than usual.

Grunting and nearly slobbering with the guttural noises that burst past his lips, Ebris' red sight done got redder after seeing the Cole Jimbo just up a wee bit ahead, fully armored and ready to go. The old b*****d had seen, encountered and messed with the sumbitch enough this tournament to not go into KILL GROD mode immediately upon seeing him normally, but today was special. See, Ebris was done convinced the judges didn't want someone as awesome as him winning again, so they dangled a piss-soaked carrot in front of him and then snatched it out just as he was that close to getting himself some more monies - in the form of letting the rathin' Injun's huckin' and jivin' tactics get the better scoring. Coupled with the fact that his eyeballs were dirtier than under one of the seats of the Frankenjeep due to not having anything to blink the grod away, it made for one really rathin' pissed Ebris Dhifi.

And when the whole purdiful room started to shake with the bounty scum's thundering steps, carrying his bulk towards Athan Cole at terminal velocities, it became preeeeetty clear as to what he wanted to take his anger out on.

Normally, Ebris would have been content with just colliding his bulk into Cole's even bigger bulk and letting the fun start there, but there was expensive grod to smash the grod out of and rath if he wasn't gonna take advantage of that. As he thudded ever onward, he nearly trampled over some dumbass frail broad sporting a pair of goofy woowoo ears, and hey, look at that - she was standing next to a statue of a certain familiar Jimbo who sported his own pair of rathin' goofy woowoo ears. Hey, if ya can't beat the grod outta the real thing, then this was the next best thing!

Ebris veered over to the side, letting a beefy right hand raise up and slap the dumbass statue across its back. Inane strength + momentum = state go dooown. Now, instead of letting it fall to the ground and shatter into a million, billion purdy boy pieces, Ebris' stomped-down right foot moved in a slight pivot, bringing his left side around, arm extended, and allowed the statue to fall onto it. While marble tends to be rathin' heavy, it wasn't a HUEG rathin' statue and Ebris was one strong sumbitch. So, holding the statue in its leaning position with his extended left arm for a bit, his right went down to wrap around the thing's legs and proceeded to heft it up to his body.

And then he resumed his charge at the Cole Jimbo with the goofy woowoo ears statue Jimbo extended in front of him like...yes, a battering ram. He was gonna ram the sumbitch purdy boy's shiny, perfectly-sculpted head into his favorite Jimbo.

Unless he decided to move outta the way or some impolite grod like that. I mean, rath, seriously, where's the fun in that?

[01/17]

As the HAET TRAIN choo-choo'd ever-closer, it became obvious to the berserking hunter that something was different too. Even through the haze of red, he done saw it. The armor? No, he'd wrassled with the Cole Jimbo while he was wearing it during that Throne-damned Frostchild grod. Physical differences? Nope, same ol' HUEG but not as HUEG as himself Jimbo - unless the sumbitch done got more supernaturally heavy, which wasn't something ya really could tell without trying to throw the sumbitch around some. No, it was the expression. Ever since his first time he had come to blows with the motherrather, Cole had been perpetually SUPER SRS. He raged just as hard as Ebris, but there was never any brutal, primal and near-insane joy behind it like the bounty hunter had. He didn't get his jollies duking it out with a sumbitch as big and mean and tough as himself.

But today...today was different.

Ebris Dhifi saw Cole's grin and he gave him a grod-eating grin right back, just as he aligned his head down so that it was directly in line with the spine, and rathin' rammed his skull into the massive flat of the blade.

WHUCLANK

Red turned to white as his brain rattled around in his skull from the impact. If Ebris Dhifi hadn't been Ebris Dhifi, then it could easily have split it wide open. However, after getting into so many Throne-damned bar brawls, which almost always ended with him headbutting at least one Jimbo to near-death, it made his skull abnormally thick. Coupled with him bracing his neck along the spine before impact, it meant that he was still raging and ready to go...well, beyond the fact that it still sent his a** sprawling to the floor. Due to the sheer force of the impact, Cole's decision to utilize the statue to further ram Ebris' skull into the slab of swording metal and the fact that the stabbed pillar was already structurally weakened from being nearly run through entirely by the weapon, it decided it was a good day to rathin' die. The sword burst through the pillar, sending chunks of marble all over the place before clanking to the ground heavily and sliding off a bit into the distance.

The pillar had been gutted. A tap would probably bring the rest of it down, but it held precariously for now.

Shaking his head violently while on the ground, Ebris felt blood begin to trickle down his forehead as the stars in his vision began to slowly fade away. A peripheral glance confirmed that the sumbitch Jimbo was off to his right, recovering from having a statue shoved through his gut. Gritting his teeth viciously, the hunter's left groped around a bit before wrapping its paw around a nice chunk of shattered marble. As soon as he got a good grip on it, his body snapped to the right and up, his side turning to allow him to throw the heavy debris at the Cole Jimbo to try and play catch with his face. Regardless of whatever it hit or didn't hit, Ebris used the distraction - of dodging or reeling in pain - to scramble to his feet. His legs wobbled for a second, but his ANGR and determination to pound Jimbo face in helped get through that grod.

[02/17]

Oh, Ebris was makin' a rathin' ruckus - just no swears. Just yet, anyway. Grunts, growls, bellows, roars and the like were heard in the general vicinity of the giant human being, who was none too pleased with having his head rammed into a HUEG sword, regardless of whether or not it did any truly debilitating damage. As Ebris stood up from getting floored, he began to cough a bit due to all the marble dust and particle grod wafting around him from the rathed-up pillar. Still, through the hacking, he gave a brutal grin at the sight of the reeling Jimbo and spat out what would easily be the beginning of a long-line of taunts, jeers and HURRRR's.

"Heh - hack - heh! Dun' rathin' feel like playin' some Throne-damned baseball wit' me, Jimb-"

Designated Hero Wrote:

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"-OOOOFFFF!"

Well, that rathin' answered that. Ebris had the wind knocked outta him as Cole suddenly went nuts and charged him, almost in the same manner that he woulda done to him. The thought pissed Ebris off and made him grin even wider at the same time. Sumbitch was finally gettin' rathin' mean! Cole Jimbo further confirmed just how MEEN he was getting by ramming the bounty hunter's body right through the remains of the gutted colonnade as if it were a hollowed-out, dead tree trunk.

"WUGH!"

The remains of the thing went blasting everywhere as the two giants kept on chugging ever-onward. What little breath Ebris had managed to get in after the initial ramming grapple was knocked outta him once again. Instinctively, the heels of his boots smashed down into the carpeted/tiled floor, dragging along and making it much harder for Jimbo to get a rathton of momentum behind his charge. To make matters worse, though, all that rathin' dust was getting in his lidless eyes, which were causing them to burst into flame-like pain. Cole got his rathin' wish at this point - the swears started gushing out like blood out of a severed carotid artery.

Oh, and with each lovely curse word there was a lovely sledgefist that accompanied it.

"RATHIN'-"

WHUD

"-GROD-"

WHUD

"-a**-"

WHUD

"-PISSSSSSSSSSSS-"

WHUD

The last bit, though, wasn't of Ebris' own doing. While his punches still had a lot of rathin' power behind them, raining down on the left temple, back of the head and the neck, he didn't have the base to deliver any truly devastating blows. No, that last massive WHUD came from Ebris' back colliding with yet another pillar, this one being structually complete. Well, it was beforehand, anyway. If it hadn't been for the scum digging his feet down, they'd have probably gone right through the damn thing once again. As it stood, it caused the thing to crack, buckle and shatter where the massive brute had slammed into the marble construct. Pain erupted in Ebris' upper spine and through the lower to a lesser extent (though it actually hurt him more there), eliciting a massive bellow from the gradually-enraging bounty hunter. His wonderful mood was made all the better when something heavy suddenly thunked onto top of his head, which caused him to instinctively reach up to try and throttle the object to death.

What he found made him rethink his plans of crushing the thing.

A dry, cruel smile broke out over Ebris' features as both his hands clutched the massive chunk of marble that had partially broken away from the nigh-ruined pillar and slid onto his head. Using all the might he could gather in the awkward position, the scum yanked his arms forward and down in a vicious arc. The last bit of support that held the chunk in place gave away, causing the heavy bludgeoning instrument to come slamming down right on top/towards the back of the Cole Jimbo's skull.

Oh yeah, this is gonna rathin' hurt.

[03/17]

He had to admit it, he actually felt better once the ol' b*****d started screaming obscenities and dropping insults. For a second there Athan was wondering if he had been duped into fighting a shaved bear that had been trained to scream the word 'Jimbo'.

"RATHIN'-"

WHUD

"WILL YOU..."

"-GROD-"

WHUD

"JUST...!"

"-a**-"

WHUD

"SHOVE IT!"

"-PISSSSSSSSSSSS-"

WHUD

The repeated shots to the head did wonders to throw off Athan's sense of balance and his coordination. It was fortunate all he was donig was just plowing forward without any real regard for what was next in line, otherwise whatever plans he possibly could have formulated would have gone out the window. The sudden shock of the pillar halting their momentum at least bought Athan some respite from the head pounding. Even without proper footing, Ebris' sledgefists hurt. Even without the dust Athan was having problems seeing, not like that was going to stop him from getting in one to two quick kidney shots with his right hand before a big hunk'o'pillar came smashing down right between his shoulders.

Almost immediately Athan regretted not equipping his chest plate. At least then the giant bruise that was waiting for him when he got home might have been reduced in size. But no, now he was dropped to his right knee, head down, vision temporarily blurred, and his weapon laying halfway across the hall.

Not exactly an ideal position for any living person.

[3/17]

"Message for you."

The well-dressed (and equally well-armored, considering the danger in being a security staff member at a venue of this caliber) individual addressed Mr. James Black in a clear tone as would be expected of someone who had no intention of getting any lip back. James was not quite in the mood to give any, either, and accepted the note being handed off to him without any protest or snide comment. For the moment his thoughts on the fight and the images of past victors that they were being bombarded with would remain only his thoughts.

Thumbing open the folded paper with his left hand, he glanced down and read the scribbled words "I challenge you" that were written there and then crushed the paper in a balled fist.

Sneaky little ********.

He didn't have time to say it. Though James caught the security officer making a motion in his peripheral vision by the time he looked up from the page Brendyn had already drawn his weapon and readied a strike. There wasn't time to curse, nor was there time to draw a weapon in response, nor was there time to defend against the attack. Jerking to his right reflexively James reacted in the most natural way that a person could and even that level of quickness didn't stop the katar from slicing into his side and beyond with a metallic screech.

Neither the assassin nor the diplomat were to be trusted. They each had their own 'hidden talents'... namely, it was pure luck that saved Mr. James Black as the assassin's katar sliced cleanly into the side of his signature black overcoat and scraped haphazardly over the metal baton he was wearing at his left hip; the same baton that had blocked Ryugi Kazamaru's greatsword weeks earlier. It was not luck that it was there... it had proved its usefulness earlier... but rather it was luck that the assassin had taken him at face value and had not expected him to be carrying a hidden weapon (or twenty).

And so, for naught but a stroke of luck, James Black stumbled one step to the right after the skipping blade cut a line of red shallowly across his side and swung for the fences; sliding his right hand a few inches down on the polished wooden cane he had been leaning on and took a retaliatory shot at the masked assailant's jaw.

"And you've got mail... man..." s**t. This guy wasn't giving him time to think up any good responses.

[1/17]

The statue didn't budge an ounce as James' fell back against it; not bothering to try and keep himself from doing so but rather embracing every inch of range that he could put between the masked assailant and himself. Even if the surprise attack hadn't worked as intended it was nonetheless a surprise and James was still the one caught unawares. His opponent had already drawn a weapon, already had attacked, and was already moving into position to strike again, whereas James had only managed to lash back with what he had in hand. But the most troubling part at the moment -

"Don't b-believe everything you hear..."

• was keeping a straight face after being kicked in the stomach. It had only been a shove but nonetheless taking a fast blow when unprepared was not something to smile about, especially after how much recent surgery he had undergone between the previous rounds. James' midsection was littered with soft tissue and surgical staples, as well as a few sliced-and-diced places that would still bleed... and so they did.

Though James kept his composure, a few small flecks of red began to appear on his white shirt as he pushed himself back up from the statue with his shoulders and reached to his side. Still holding the cane firmly in his right fist the man reached through the gaping hole in his jacket and grabbed onto a handle there; drawing a large knife out from the back of his belt in a defensive underhand grip.

James hadn't been there to witness the other man's fight... but he did recognize him. Ben Rogers, if he remembered right. James had been too busy stealing an ambulance to see what was going on in the ring at the time and by the time he had arrived the assassin already looked like he had been hit by a truck (or an ambulance). However, James was meticulous. He had reviewed Mythos' fights on tape over the intervening period and knew enough to know that this man should not be trusted.

At all.

His fighting style was very polished and very precise. When attacking his opponents Brendyn would strike for crippling blows quickly and accurately. This was not an opponent that James particularly relished being in close combat with.

To try and create some distance he stepped forward to meet the assassin's rush - thrusting the metal-capped end of his cane up towards the underside of Rogel's chin. If it sent the man reeling Rogel would feel a sense of deja vu when James followed it up with a swift kick to the gut to knock him across the hallway.

[ 2/17 ]

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a boot to the spleen for one of the same.

However what James took note of shortly before delivering the Spartan shove was not the grim satisfaction of returning a kindness, but rather the brief pause that his opponent had given when James reached for a weapon. As the foot-shove separated the two rogues James took that brief reprieve as a chance to re-evaluate his opponent. It was neither fear nor hesitation that had caused the pause; James had seen no real clues in Brendyn's body language to indicate that he was anything less than a trained killer; but nothing more than simple caution... something that many in this tournament seemed to lack. Berserkers, there were a few. Genuine idiots, there were many. Rogel however had considered the situation before diving into it, which made him both a rare individual among these men and someone that James now felt he could much more easily predict.

The clues were all there: precision, skill, intelligence, deceit, and caution. With these things put together James concluded that his opponent was a man who preferred to remain in complete control, never letting something surprise him and never giving up an advantage. The kind of man that when cornered would either retreat to recover or look for a way to quickly turn the tables, and the kind of man that would press any advantage but still not hesitate to back away if he sensed danger.

James decided that Brendyn was predictable because it was exactly what he would have done.

"The delivery man?" James asked, dropping the cane beside him when Brendyn struck the statue of Vahn Fah. The knife, held defensively in his left hand, was tossed up and snatched out of the air in his right hand, holding it in a standard offensive grip now. "Could you get any more cliché?"

With his left hand he reached into the right breast of his jacket and, stepping back slightly with his right foot to turn his left shoulder forward, rapidly drew out two small knives that he hurled towards his opponent one after the other.

"Should have just asked for my autograph."

Not waiting for the sword-wielding assailant to come at him again, James followed up immediately by moving to close the distance between them; drawing out the side-handle baton that had been at his left side and holding it in a defensive posture in front of him while keeping the bowie low near his right hip in a fast-striking position. Still on the mend, he wouldn't be able to keep up with Brendyn if he ran but to just cross the hallway like this he could still get moving rather quickly.

[ 3/17 ]

It was his turn indeed, but it didn't seem as if he were the one to be taking it when out of the corner of his eye James caught the sight of a blade swinging at him. His thoughts immediately went to a Striker, thinking that a member of Mythos had gotten overzealous and decided to end the apparent standoff before it dragged on by attacking him from the side. James ducked the slash quickly, dipping down and slightly to the left before he lashed out with a sweeping backhand strike of his own weapon towards the ambusher - cleanly cutting air and nothing else.

''

Not having wanted to take his eyes off of Rogel, James didn't waste an instant wondering what had happened before turning his full attention back; barely in time to swat the baton in his left hand across the hurling sword's pommel. With the metallic ring of steel crashing against steel the tumbling weapon was smacked out of the air towards the ground and thrown against the wall of the Hall of Glory dripping red across the edge of the blade. Even though he had caught it in time the unwieldy weapon had not taken the deflection cleanly and the long blade had still managed to slash once across James' thigh before crashing to the floor. A long weapon like that clearly wasn't intended to be thrown end-over-end, but because the weapon was balanced towards the cross-guard even catching it in time didn't guarantee that James could have blocked it cleanly.

With the sound of a soft thud Black dropped to one knee on the plush red carpet, breathing hard but not making a pained cry at the wound.

Brendyn Rogel Wrote:

"You have to have realized by now that we're a lot alike, Mr. James Black. It is my professional opinion, though, that you will never be as strong as me."

He was walking calmy toward him, speaking as he did so.

"Why? Because there are things you aren't willing to do. You have inhibitions, Mr. Black, and that makes you weak."

Behind his mask, Brendyn grinned.

"I have none."

"I pray..." the man said, responding in a very loud and clear tone to the masked assailant, "that you're not trying to tempt me to throw something back at you."

"Maybe you're right," he followed a moment later, after raising both of his weapons up again; shifting his grip on the baton down to the main shaft rather than holding the handle. "There are a few things I really can't see myself doing... yoga, for example."

James looked up at the assassin, who had stopped about a foot beyond his own reach from where he had fallen. The man had that look about him, for certain. It was exactly the kind of look that he had seen in many others since coming to Gaia, a menacing sort of condescendingness when a person looked down on people who weren't willing to sink as low as they would.

"Ordering a vegetarian hamburger... Riding a tandem bicycle... using the word 'antiquing' and being giddy as a schoolgirl about it..."

It was the look of a man who took pride in how utterly despicable he could be if given the opportunity, whether because he reveled in his own survival instincts or for some darker purpose. It was a mistake that James had seen before...

"But you're thinking I wouldn't stab you in the back given the opportunity, right?" James answered straight finally, cracking a sly grin. "That's fine, that's fine. I might never be as strong as you are, but you'll never be as successful as me... why?"

He took a short breath, holding it for only an instant as his chin raised slightly; eyes focusing not on Brendyn's face as they had been but on something just beyond his left shoulder before he immediately stared unwaveringly back at the assassin.

"Because unlike you I don't work alone."

Pride can make a person just as weak as any other vice.

[ 15/135 ]

[ 4/17 ]

Sneaky? Yes.

b*****d? Yes.

James hadn't been depending on his trick working but he certainly was happy to see the assassin go diving for the floor like a legless Vietnam vet. who'd just heard the word 'bomb'. It gave him time to do what he'd been getting ready to without interruption: Standing up.

It wasn't the sort of thing that a person needed a distraction in order to do, but were James in Brendyn's position he certainly wouldn't have stood and watched as his opponent got back to his feet if there was something he could do about it. James hadn't been confident that simply a drawn weapon would be enough to keep the rogue from pressing his advantage, which brought them to where they were now.

"Of course if you want something done right-"

Taking a long stride forward on his injured left leg James closed the distance between himself and his opponent again while Brendyn was still uncertain and lashed out at the enemy as he came out of his roll with the one thing he had that was sure to clear the distance between them.

As Brendyn came about James kicked hard, aiming to slam the reinforced toe of his boot into the assailant's masked chin as if there were a goal at the end of the hallway and the Mythos man's head were a soccer ball.

[ 30/120 ]

[ 5/17 ]

There were no surprises to be had here. Each man was using the other's tricks and therefore they knew exactly what to expect... however, with the dizzying amount of tricks either man had at his disposal even a good guess at what was coming wasn't good enough. James' steel-toe boot dug into the opponent's chest mercilessly and followed through - enough to send Brendyn Rogel back onto the floor with ease.

The problem presented itself immediately after, when James Black found that in that short time he'd grown rather attached to the poor bloke and found it quite hard to say goodbye.

With his left leg already strained from the injury he had received a moment earlier James wasn't able to fight off the pull or even keep his balance properly after the kick. It was the most that he could do to choose a direction to fall, and rather than flat on his a** Black decided to fall flat on Rogel's face. He didn't have control, but a fast hop with his calf was enough to push James' fall forward onto the rogue as they tumbled; swinging his left out in front to catch himself as he fell by slamming his fist against the carpet above the assassin's right shoulder.

Because he was holding the baton by the end of the shaft, rather than the handle, this meant that James could use the elbow of the shaft and handle on the side-handle baton as a hook if he needed to... and right now that hook was going to latch itself over Brendyn's neck and pin his shoulders to the ground while James raised up his knife, turned it down in his hand and -

"********!"

• was stabbed promptly through the calf of his right leg with all credit given to the handsy assassin. The sharp pain shot up his leg and forced him to exhale sharply as an involuntary response. He couldn't see the knife and didn't know how bad the wound was but he did know that it hurt as much as Ebris' mother was ugly.

Alright, that's one point for you. But an eye...

The bowie shot down with renewed fire behind it. The wound hadn't even had time to bleed yet before James retaliated by driving the tip of his knife at the meaty part of Rogel's shoulder. There was nothing 'clean and precise' about it, there would be nothing resembling a surgical cut made with the single intent of severing one muscle or tendon or nerve or vein... The massive blade was coming down at an angle that it would carve up the Mythos man's deltoid and tricep before putting a hole into the expensive carpet they were busy bleeding on.

...for an eye.

[ 30/120 ]

[ 6/17 ]

Gravity, the oldest trick in the book.

James had gotten into a position that required precarious balance, reaching a little too far to try and get Brendyn into the position that he wanted him and finding that he fell short. His weight was too far forward and he was in poor position after the fall, so when the assassin kicked up James had nowhere to go but forward.

His left hand quickly abandoned the baton across Rogel's neck but it wasn't fast enough to stop him from falling; landing on his forearm rather than his face Black narrowly avoided tasting carpet but was already losing control of the situation. The knife tore through the rug three inches from the assassin's shoulder; carving a line through the pimped hallway's floor covering before it came back to the Mythos man with hardly enough momentum left to slice his shirt.

"Buddy, this ain't exactly my cup of tea here," said one rogue to the other, torn between a genuine smile and one simply to mask the pain. He still had no knowledge of how bad that last wound was or whether or not he'd still be able to walk, but he felt the katar being jerked back out without any doubt.

...but there's still one thing you're forgetting.

Jerking back on his own knife James threw his right hand out to the carpet beside them and planted his fist into the rug for support; lifting his knee off of Brendyn's chest and throwing it out over the assassin's shoulder to intercept the armed arm at the crook of the elbow and slam the arm back down to the ground before it could strike again. With a little wiggling Rogel would be able to get his arm free but for the moment it would keep him from lashing that katar with anything more than his wrist. The strike at James' ribs wouldn't make it the full distance, instead only slicing another tear in the side of James' black overcoat but not piercing enough to cut deeply into flesh.

Being so close, Brendyn would hear the slightest metallic rattle when James moved; the contents of his coat shifting with his body.

It sucks to be the guy on the bottom.

Pulling back his left hand, James swept it back into the left side of his coat reaching for something.

[ 45/105 ]

[ 7/17 ]

Designated Hero Wrote:

He had to admit it, he actually felt better once the ol' b*****d started screaming obscenities and dropping insults. For a second there Athan was wondering if he had been duped into fighting a shaved bear that had been trained to scream the word 'Jimbo'.

"RATHIN'-"

WHUD

"WILL YOU..."

"-GROD-"

WHUD

"JUST...!"

"-a**-"

WHUD

"SHOVE IT!"

"-PISSSSSSSSSSSS-"

WHUD

The repeated shots to the head did wonders to throw off Athan's sense of balance and his coordination. It was fortunate all he was donig was just plowing forward without any real regard for what was next in line, otherwise whatever plans he possibly could have formulated would have gone out the window. The sudden shock of the pillar halting their momentum at least bought Athan some respite from the head pounding. Even without proper footing, Ebris' sledgefists hurt. Even without the dust Athan was having problems seeing, not like that was going to stop him from getting in one to two quick kidney shots with his right hand before a big hunk'o'pillar came smashing down right between his shoulders.

Almost immediately Athan regretted not equipping his chest plate. At least then the giant bruise that was waiting for him when he got home might have been reduced in size. But no, now he was dropped to his right knee, head down, vision temporarily blurred, and his weapon laying halfway across the hall.

Not exactly an ideal position for any living person.

[3/17]

WHUCRACK

Ahhh, ain't that rathin' satisfyin'?

Due to the fact that the grodhead Jimbo was done snuggled up close with Ebris, his head had been mostly out of the way of the block of rathin' awesome marble. So, instead of Cole having a near-cracked skull, his shoulder blades took the massive blow, which was really rathin' lucky for him, as them bones were thick as hell and were padded by lotsa rathin' muscle. Still, it'd still suck to be the Jimbo, as moving any part of the upper body - including the arms - would hurt like a b***h with herpes for a damn good while.

Of course, Cole was never content with just receiving - Ebris got back some lovin' too.

"WHOOUGH! GRRR, RATHIN' COCKSUCKER!" Ebris took both kidney blows head-on and it nearly caused him to lose his breakfast, lunch and dinner. Rath, not even the fact that the sumbitch's meaty fists collided with one of his vest's steel bands did much to negate the force - grod, it actually caused the the sides of it to bend and cut into the sides of the bounty hunter. Hissing gutturally like some sort of caged beast, Ebris took immediate revenge upon the Cole Jimbo. His left hand shot down to the HUEG sumbitch's head, which proceeded to grab a handful of whatever hair was on the b*****d's skull. It prolly wasn't a lot - Cole wasn't no purdy boy, after all - but it'd assuredly be enough for Ebris to begin to yank him up onto his feet and away partially. As this happened, the scum's right fist curled back from an underhand position, bent at the elbow at a right angle. And, as this occurred, he pulled his right side down and back in tandem while placing all his rathin' weight on that leg.

All in all, this was gonna be one rathin' MEEN blow.

Ebris' fierce, nigh-insane once-blue-but-now-pretty-rathin-red eyes locked upon the Jimbo's own as he brought him up, his entire right side chambered -

"Can't tells ya how much I rathin' missed this grod,"

• which then exploded outward.

"JIMBO!!!"

The uppercut wasn't as strong as Ebris could have possibly rathin' made it, but it was up there, and it was enough to send even the massive Cole stumbling or even partially flying backwards. Fortunately for him, the bounty hunter had lifted him up so that his chin would be hit and not his face, which would have done some pretty rathin' nasty caving in action if the blow landed. And boy, would it be a rathin' doozy. Ebris meant every word of what he done said before the uppercut, too - almost every other fighter in this Throne-damned tournament had p***y footed around him and he rathin' HATED it.

Jimbo? He'd take whatever Ebris had to dish out and dish it right rathin' back. Fightin' him was a Throne-damned BALL.

Though, Ebris did make one blunder: if Cole got hammered and sent backwards, he'd be going back towards the way they charged though - as in, he'd be right near that rathin' block of iron of his that he called a sword. And that might not be too good of a rathin' thing.

[04/17]

"Heh,"

There was no grand entrance, even if he'd wished to posture and puff and shine and blow like anything, there was no overcoming it. He hadn't been waiting to fling the doors wide and march in to grab up the hero or villain's role though, not today. He'd been quite comfortable waiting quietly off with the staff. The last time they'd butted heads with this crew, he'd been out in the open and wound up putting everything and going out after a fight he probably should have been able to win if he'd really, like Brendyn had gotten on him about, been out there looking just to win. Not as any insult to Black, but if he'd come down on him while he was out, or been ready about pulling a knife or bringing a sword in, it probably would have gone rather different.

Which, if nothing else, had one thing setting his teeth on edge as he peered at the teams going on inside. On one side there was Athan and Ebris creating havoc, duking it out in a mess of muscle only two like that could create. Opposite was the very cerebral fight of none other than Black and Brendyn. While it may have lacked the pure testosterone and adrenaline pumping edge of the other fight, it was much more educational. Two individuals whom he'd found watching only made him more curious about.

Now was not the appropriate time for voyeurism though.

He was one of the stars of this show.

The swordsman forced his face to ease, stretching, easing, and restretching scars as he panned out a pleasant face, and balanced the urge to grin with that to bare his teeth. As one of the grand double doors popped inward, the sound of whistling cut in under the general racket of the other two fights.

Today was full gear. Breastplate, gauntlets, greaves all plainly shown as he strode quickly down the hall, but they weren't all the steel he was bearing. Holding his sword lazily, it dragged along behind him- or at least, until he started pressing in, twisted knuckles turning white inside his the tip parted the carpet in his wake as if drawing a just-barely visible line to show where he passed. Right up until he came, step-by-step, whistling right up to one of the two lonely ladies standing on what passed for the sidelines at the moment.

"-I remember you."

The whistling stopped, replaced by a jolly tone. For dramatic purposes he'd sorta hoped Katie would have been too busy watching Ebris and Athan as to notice him until the whistling and whisking of his coat's tails stopped, but she very well probably saw him coming.

"Saw you 'round the other round, didn' I?"

Oh, he was holding that sword as if ready to strike, wasn't he? Not that he was likely to look that intimidating to the massive amazon, no matter how ugly his scars were, but for safe measure he dragged it up and around in front of himself, keeping a grip as he planted the point harmlessly in the carpet between the two of them. His other hand, a long leather belt usually thrown over his shoulder for sheathing the sword in his hand, shifted around his other gauntlet as he gave a low half-wave gesture before resting it on his hip, behind the length of the duster. Still, even as he continued to speak, his face and voice radiated harmless amiability.

"You bashed my head with a chair."

Twice.

Finally his lips cracked open in a toothy grin, friendly as ever, and a little motion off to her left would come to draw the eye- that was, the hand on the hilt of the sword, which she was probably suspicious of to begin with, flipping up atop the pommel and flicking two fingers up, almost in a piece gesture, before sliding down to grip the blade the other way idly, as the sword leaned off to Kael's right.

And without a warning- if for no other reason that because he'd been carefully avoiding giving a tell- his hips jerked violently around and his other hand burst out from behind the coat, low and right while he'd drawn her eye high and left, slamming the forked end of your average claw-hammer into Katie's right knee.

"That hurt."

He only wished he could have snuck it all the way up into the clouds somehow to smack her head, for irony's sake.

He quickly stepped back with his left, out as soon as the strike had gotten in, and twisted the blade around the way it was already coming, cutting across the line he'd already carved into the carpet, and lashing out with a flash-strike at her middle in follow up, armor or no. That didn't matter so much when it was meant to further startle her more than harm.

[Kael vs Katie]

[1]

It's refreshing to meet someone who isn't stubbornly one-sided and irrationally bull-headed. You've made my day, Rogel.

James couldn't say that he wasn't expecting something like that to happen; having left an opening in that place for a purpose. Whether to make an attack or to shove him over, Brendyn would use his right hand to attack that opening when he saw James reach into his coat. James knew this for certain because, despite any explanation that could be given for why it was a logical course of action the determining factor was simply that it was exactly what he would have done in that situation.

That was precisely why James had not been reaching for a weapon. There's an old saying that goes "keep your friends close and your enemies closer". The assassin, at this point in time, was no friend of James Black.

When Brendyn shoved his hand against James' shoulder the man in black wasted no time in capitalizing on the move. He drew the object in question out from his coat and attacked - not Brendyn Rogel but rather his hand that had briefly grasped at James' shoulder. Accompanied by the kiss of cold steel there was a soft, ratcheting click as Black played both parts in this game of good-cop-bad-cop and slapped the cuffs on Rogel... one cuff, at least. The other was held tightly in his hand, which was now connected to Brendyn's by a six-inch length of chain.

Now let me show you how much I appreciate it.

"Kuu~" The shove against his chest forced the air out of his lungs and lifted him up off of the assassin an instant later; throwing him off to the side as far as that length of chain would allow before it dragged the assassin along for the ride.

[ 45/105 ]

[ 8/17 ]

Brendyn almost laughed when he felt the cuff clicked into place. It was the sort of laugh that one offered at something ironic, or when one has an unfortunate epiphany. Brendyn had come to believe that no other fighter in the tournament could read ahead, could play an opponent against himself, like he could. It was as if no one else had ever played a game of chess in their lives. Now, though, he was certain that Mr. Black would also turn out to be a masterful chess player. He had employed exactly the sort of trap that Brendyn favored: create an opportunity that was too good to pass up, and then punish them for taking the obvious course.

Normally, Brendyn wouldn't be concerned by the handcuff. Keeping the assassin in-close was generally not a wise decision, and against any other fighter he wouldn't hesitate to make them pay for thinking they had an advantage. He had begun to gain the measure of this opponent, though, and believed that James would certainly have a reason for wanting to take the fight in this direction. Brendyn knew he would have to be cautious until he understood what Black was playing at.

This all passed through the assassin's mind in a flash, an instant after the click of the cuff locking home. It was too late to stop the shove that would send his opponent away, though, and Brendyn wasn't certain he would've chosen to let Mr. Black stay on top even if he could've. He launched James to the side, flipping the man onto his back in the process. This would, of course, cause the chain to extend to its limit even faster, as the attached limbs would be on the opposite sides of their bodies. To counter this, Brendyn began to roll after pushing James clear, the pull of the chain allowing him to get his shoulder up and over faster than he could've otherwise. He winced at the sharp pressure on his wrist, but made use of his momentum to come out of his roll by driving his right fist into Black's gut. Brendyn then pushed on the hand that was sunk into his opponent's abdomen, driving up into a kneeling position. Throwing Black free had extricated Brendyn's left hand, which still held the dagger. Kneeling over Mr. Black, he drew his left hand back, readying for a stab.

(BP: 13, AP: 1)

[9/17]

Once again -

WHUCRACK

• and rathin' hell, it was even more satisfyin'.

The blow came from an artificial limb, but while he couldn't feel remotely as much sensation in it than his last remaining real arm, Ebris could still enjoy the shuddering reverberation of it impacting against something rathin' hard and attached to a 400lbs body. Plus, there was that awesome crack/pop that immediately suggested that the sumbitch done got his jaw broken or dislocated. Thin, dry lips cracked from ear to ear as the sheer force of the uppercut drove the Cole Jimbo up and back, despite his massive bulk generally doing a great job at keeping them big feets of his planted on the ground. Ebris unfurled his right sledgefist, opening and squeezing it closed slowly; the odd whining that came with each one revealed that the impact of the blow had actually messed up the servos of the limb somewhat. You'd think that'd piss Ebris off like a motherrather, but you'd be wrong.

"Rathin' LOVE this grod!" The scum bellowed jovially, stamping his right foot down to further gesture his "excitement". After seeing the Jimbo right himself and move to his suddenly slack jaw, Ebris knew that the blow had really done a rathin' number on him - not enough to really slow Cole down, but rath would his jaw be feeling it for ages, especially if he managed to bust his sledgefists into it some more. A short bark of laughter broke past his lips as the idea of mining the damn thing off passed his mind, which he dismissed - if that big mouf of Cole's came off, it'd be through Ebris prying it off with his own two rathin' paws.

As soon as the Jimbo spoke and went to grab his sword, Ebris' amused mood went pretty rathin' south right then and there. Thick, gnarled brows knitted together even more tightly, making the bounty hunter appear even more disturbing with the bloodshot, lidless eyes that stared right through Cole's frame.

"Right about th' point where I beat ya so rathin' bad ya'll be pissin' yer organs out tonight," he growled, still throwing insults/GROD TALK but in a more serious tone. That rathin' block of swordan of his could easy be bad grod for him, and he couldn't beast through a blow from it. No, it was time fer a little strategery. Immediately to Ebris' left was another statue Jimbo, once again of that other rathin' team that won the tournament before Ebris decided to show up and show these dumb grods that he was the toughest, meanest sumbitch around. Like the statue of the goofy woowoo eared faggert, this Jimbo was another purdy boy - swept hair with a cocksure grin , fancy-pants blazer and no weapons beyond his dainty little hands. The little grod was about to get more fame than he could have ever hoped to have gained by winning the tournament in the past with becoming one of Ebris Dhifi's weapons of choice. Stomping over there, Ebris' paws shot out like ridiculously large vipers and wrapped around the purdy faggert's legs. He then planted a boot on the pedestal it was molded to and simply pulled back.

CRACK

And now Ebris done had himself something sufficiently large and heavy to compete against Cole's large and heavy weapon. Hefting the weapon around so that it came to his right side while resting on the ground. The hunter then took a couple of large, powerful strides up to the Cole Jimbo, frame hunched slightly while partially dragging the statue, before stamping down on his left foot and pivoted, sending his right side lashing out with the statue. Ebris done swung the statue like he'd swing a real live sumbitch at the Cole Jimbo - by grabbing the legs and swinging. It was aimed to slam right into the left side of Cole's torso and it would not be a pleasant experience if it connected.

[05/17]

And so, it came down to WEAPON FIGHTAN.

Well, not entirely.

On one rathin' end, we had a big a Jimbo who swung around a sharpened block of slag iron that he tried to pass off as a sword, and on the other rathin' end, ya got a big a hobo waving around a statue of some purdy-looking faggert like he was trying to rough him up and get him to cough up some well-overdue cash payments. Both were big, rathin' hard and wielded by a pair of rathin' big hardasses. So, while it wasn't a good-ol' rathin' BRAWL, it was still acceptable.

Wasn't it?

WHACHONK

Maybe not.

Before the purdy faggert statue could slam into the Cole Jimbo with all of its dense daintiness, the sumbitch done used his sword to intercept the statue and chopped right into the damn thing with a rathton of force. Ebris' whole frame shuddered from the impact, causing his teeth to chatter - bad enough when he hits something himself, but when someone of equal or greater strength hitting at the same time back? Rath, them old bones of his vibrated like hell's bells for a good while. Shaking his perpetually-seeing head vigorously, Ebris phantom blinked at his improvised purdy weaponry, then at Cole, then back at the statue. And then he swore.

"Piss on a STICK! RATHIN' LET GO YA SUMBITCH!" The hunter bellowed pretty damn angrily, taking a massive and powerful step back with his forward right to try aid the sudden pulling motions he began to free his Throne-damned weapon. The old sumbitch wanted it back rathin' hard, as they might have well been playing grabass with one another for how well their time was being spent right then and there. Ebris wanted to beat and smash and HURRRR and it just wasn't happening with this grod right here.

Strangely, the cocky expression on the statue had somehow underwent a change upon the impact:

[06/17]

Well hell, this was getting them nowhere. For all intents and purposes the two big guys were evenly matched when it came to this particular stalemate. Athan wasn't going to be wrenching his sword free from the statue's chest anytime soon, and Ebris would be more likely to wrench the legs clean off the statue than rip the sword out of Athan's hands.

That was unless...Athan were to let go. It was a longshot, but it was better than swinging each other around like they were at a goddamn hoedown or something. Ebris started to take his step backwards, and Athan's grip relaxed on his sword. No point in letting his grand master plan getting noticed just before the time came to enact it.

This was a different side to Athan than Ebris had fought before. Twice now Athan had sunk to Ebris' level of brawling, and though the end results could easily be considered 'stalemates', Athan felt like he had taken the worst of the beatings by far. Ebris had way more experience when it came down to bare knuckle brawling, he had less of a conscience, he wasn't afraid to throw out the rulebook.

Athan had to level the playing field somehow, and keeping his head about him was key to that. Snapping into a rage just meant things would shift back into Ebris' favor, like his experience with the nigh-shattered column had taught him.

As Ebris pulled back on the statue Athan released his sword and stepped inward, knowing full well that an extra eighty pounds of weight was only going to throw a guy like Ebris' balance off for a very short time. His right hand had already dropped to his side, elbow cocked, muscles coiled, fist clenched, he got as close as he could with one step and delivered a fierce short uppercut directly beneath Ebris' sternum.

There wasn't enough windup to cause a significant amount of damage to someone as dense as the bounty hunter, but Athan was hoping to wind the b***d for just enough time for him to ck his left arm back and swing in with a follow-up overhand haymaker angled to smash into Ebris' temple and send him crashing down into the carpet.

Ebris had gotten what he wanted, Athan had effectively been disarmed for the rest of this fight, but Athan'd be damned if he didn't want to get in a few good shots before this turned into a slugfest. Let's face it, his jaw couldn't afford to take another shot like the uppercut he had just taken, and popping it back into place was more of a cosmetic fix than anything. No way those bones were properly aligned, 'cause every time he opened his mouth to talk, scream, or just breathe, there was a nagging 'pop' and a sting of sharp pain.

Nah, leveling the playing field was the only option before this thing got real nasty.

[6/17]

The rogues' tussle had brought them to the ground and rolled them twice already. Every time that one man seemed to gain the upper hand it was immediately reversed and the other was put at an advantage, however fleeting. Rogel had taken the bait and once again the two combatants proved just how inseparable they were when James was thrown to the side and was promptly followed via chain by the untrustworthy Mythos man.

It seemed that, for now, the tables had turned once again. The fist driven into Black's stomach hurt less than it should have; his body already stiff from being shoved off of Rogel, there was no more air in his lungs to be forced out by another body blow and his torso was tensed enough to soften the blow somewhat despite the blood specks upon his white shirt that were gradually growing in number.

'Damn,' the thought raced through the diplomat's head as he found himself on the bottom rather than the top, 'I'm in a tight spot.'

The assassin's weight was alleviated somewhat when Rogel pulled himself back onto his knees, and at that moment James took a deep breath. The energy that he had been gathering throughout the match when there had been any spare moment to do so began to condense; before having been visible as nothing more than a slight distortion in the air around his body, easily missed in tense combat or mistaken as heat rising off of a sweating fighter; and concentrated into a white, smoke-like substance between the two of them.

Brendyn Rogel Wrote:

Kneeling over Mr. Black, he drew his left hand back, readying for a stab.

Then James Black did the one thing that no one ever expects...

"LASER EYES!"

[ 10/90 (50) ]

[9/17]

"--nnnghf."

Once again, it hurt, but more in a scrape or bump way than a real injury, the arm catching him in the jaw causing him to wing around more than he'd meant and stumble back, slipping slightly, and then catching himself as he hit the uneven patch that Katie's feet had bunched a bit only a moment before. He still tried to swing at the back of her legs, but the best he managed was to sort of tap at her armor. While she was getting pissed at him in general, he was starting to get irritated at the lack of a more effective way for him to deal with the oversized warrior...ess?

She was big, and the fact that she had even more armor on than he did didn't help.

"Oh, hush y'ers-"

Woop.

While Kael didn't stop to identify who the accomplice in his assault was, if poor Sunstrike was watching he might have well think he had the way Kael set his feet firmly and whipped his sword back around, grabbing hold with the second hand as he swung and twisted the blade, full, not-quite-overhead swing down into the missile, meeting with the flat.

If it'd been hollow or made of something a bit lighter maybe he'd have treated everyone to a nice spectacle like it exploding in powder to either side of him, or flinging it right back, but his flat hit the head, and for a quarter-second seemed to deadlock as the force sent the head up the blade... and then pushed the upper part back, throwing his weight off balance backward as the flat of his sword whacked him with a comical slapping sound square across his forehead, and the head cracked against the floor somewhere behind him and rolled off.

For a moment he stared blankly, as if stuck on whether to just glare indignantly and rub his bruised noggin, or do something aggressive. After a moment, he seemed to settled on it.

"Ow."

The grin that smoothed back over his face was sarcastic enough to match his tone, as the composure smoothed back over. For a moment he considered a lot of things, including charging over and giving her just what she'd asked for. After a moment, he instead came up with

"How about, 'no'."

Before Katie had any time to further flip out and start flinging whatever was in those big ape-arms' reach, he calmly marched off to one side, stepping behind one of the pillars.

Oh, she won't like this at all.

The thought made him grin, right out bearing teeth as he leaned his back against the thing and shook the lowest loop of the strap wrapped around his left arm loose, tucking it into his grip and taking hold of the pommel of his sword again, gripped in both fists and ready. He was doing a lot of things he really didn't like today, but the thought of charging someone with twice his reach, half again his power, and her choice of rubble to fling really wasn't an idea he was fond of either.

Given a moment, maybe he'd get things back on course.

[4]

Katie grinned smugly when Sun's head hit Kael's sword. It didn't do any serious damage, but she wasn't really going for that. She just wanted to express some of her anger by chucking things at the man.

She watched contritely as Kael expressed his regrets at acting like a man. Well this was disheartening. She was hoping for an awesome fight, but it seemed the man was dead set on staying the ******** away.

The amazon leaned down again, keeping her eyes on the pillar that Kael stepped behind. She picked up another piece of the statue, balancing it out in her left hand. It looked like Sunstrike had lost an arm, or she hoped that was an arm. Then, with her right hand she pulled her sword free again.

It was clobbering time.

She strolled quickly to the side Kael was on, but she didn't go to the pillar he was at. She stepped over to the right of him. She didn't know what his plan was, but she wasn't going to go poking her head around the corner, so he could lob it off.

When she got a visual of him, whether it be his fleeing back or if he decided to stand where he had be leaning, she lifted on corner of her lips into a crooked grin.

"STOP RUNNING AND FIGHT!"

She charged him, again. Her feet hit the floor with loud thumps. If he tried to elude her, she would step out of the way of the pillar he was standing behind. She wanted to keep her head intact.

For now, she was just trying to close the distance between them.

[4/17]

It was Katie's turn to do some evading.

Kael was still against the pillar, his shoulder nearly touching it. He probably assumed she would go head on to charge him, but her path quickly changed a few large steps from the pillar.

At that time she chucked Sun's arm in front of Kael's right shoulder; the shoulder that was out and exposed, hoping that would keep the man against the pillar, maybe he would try to dodge the arm and push his back against it. She swerved in the opposite direction, so that her path would go behind the pillar in which Kael was standing. Then, her left hand followed through to grab the hilt of her sword with her right hand.

Mental wounds not healing.

Lifes a bitter shame.

The sword was angled slightly back, but it was parallel to the ground.

"GAAAAAH!"

Then, with as much strength she could muster she swung the blade at the pillar as she ran by it, slicing the metal through the pillar.

I'm going off the rails on a crazy train.

If Kael hadn't moved he would probably find the tip of her blade slicing through his left side.

[5/17]

Fffffffffffffff...

It had turned out to be a bluff afterall. It was something the assassin had not only considered, but had felt it was the far more likely scenario. That he was still cautious enough to react showed just how dangerous he considered James Black. Still he had never abandoned the thought that it was a bluff. When it became apparent that James had something else in mind, Brendyn sprang into action.

themightyjello Wrote:

With a chained grip upon the assassin's wrist and a sudden impact to his arm James attempted to force the rogue's right hand back towards his own head

James had protected himself from a stab to his vitals, but Brendyn had ceased to be concerned about the vitals as soon as his opponent attempted to gain control of his arm. He was being rolled to the side, and could do little about that, but he could attempt to free his hand and thwart whatever plan the diplomat was playing at. As the elbow joint was unlocked, he pushed back with his arm, knowing he couldn't overpower James without any leverage but still providing resistance to slow the process down.

Brendyn's left arm had never ceased to be cocked back for a strike, and strike it did. He thrust his arm across his body, passing the katar over James' right forearm, which was still planted on the inside of the elbow, and aimed it at the wrist of James' left, the one holding the chain to the handcuff. James, of course, was also pushing toward Brendyn's body, adding momentum to the eventual collision between blade and limb if Mr. Black didn't abandon the attempt. Brendyn's biggest concern in making the attack was that James might attempt to jerk his own hand in the way of the strike, so he was prepared to divert the knife to avoid slitting his own wrist.

The assassin didn't fail to notice the coalesced shield Black had formed, and filed it away as something to consider later. He considered the situation at hand was far more pressing, especially when he landed on his side with a thud. If he had struck James, then being back on the ground would be more-than worth it. If he had done no more than force James to abandon the arm-lock, then little had changed in the battle for dominance.

(BP: 13, AP: 1)

[11/17]

A man had his limits.

It was enough that James was able to anticipate the strikes that were coming at him; that allowed him to make up for the difference between the speed of the opponent's attacks and his own reflexes. A man could act quickly when he knew what he would be facing. A man could not be expected to exactly make a minor adjustment when fighting blind, deaf, and bogged down by injury.

Rogel's knife sliced cleanly through the air but not towards the target he had been handed but rather towards one that the common man would consider an impossible task, a stupid move, a risky attack, and a complete gamble. The common man would call such an attack these things, because the common man would not be able to perform surgery blindfolded or skillfully cut their first initial into someone's shirt with a sword while leaving the person wearing it completely unharmed. Rogel's attack was risky, but not stupid, it was a gamble, but not impossible, and as cleanly as if it had been guided by the hand of fate itself the assassin's katar cut a deep slice across the back of Black's wrist. Skin, muscle and bone all felt the blade's edge, and in an instant he found that his strength had left him. Reacting to Brendyn's resistance the metallic chain ripped itself out of James' weakened grip and put the final nail in his plan's coffin.

"Sonofabit-" Can't stop here. This is stabbing country.

The weight of his right shoulder fell onto Rogel's side and James got the hell out of there. Rather than trying to pin the assassin to the ground yet again and repeat the cycle that he was slowly losing Black kept rolling; straight over the other man's body and onto the carpet. He rolled twice more as fast as he could to further the distance between them, leaving four dark stains on the already red floor from his knife wounds. Shoving his right arm into the ground on the third roll James pushed himself up into a kneeling position and both of his hands shot up between himself and the assassin.

Holding his left hand between them with two fingers pointed out, James stared down the length of his arm at the opponent as if he were aiming a gun. His right hand gripped his left by the wrist, holding the shaking limb steady as ichor began to slicken his fingers. Though sweat ran down his neck and blood ran down his arm he was not prepared to let this match meet an end before all of his tricks had been exhausted.

Well st. "Well st."

The shield that had been coalesced evaporated as soon as James stopped concentrating on it; the smoke-like energy that had made it up dispersed into the air but still hung heavily around James, sinking to the carpet like the mist off of dry ice.

If I hadn't lost my grip there we'd be on even footing at least. "Almost had you there, you'd better watch yourself from now on buddy."

James took a mental inventory of what weapons he had left and which ones he could use best in his condition. A few ideas popped into his head but all of them seemed... well... not particularly his style. When he was down by this much he felt more pressure to rely on the aura power to make up the difference, but at the same time he felt that he couldn't rely on something he hadn't had enough practice in using.

Heh. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Putting on a cartoonish smile, James Black counted his options.

[ 75/75 ]

[ 11/17 ]

THUD

THUD

THUD

WHOOM

And thurr went the trampling.

Fortunately for the Cole Jimbo, he was the kind of sumbitch who could take something akin to being hit and run over by a truck, which was pretty rathin' analogous to being trampled by a rampaging Ebris Dhifi. He was also fortunate that them big a** boots of his weren't cleated or grod like last year - grod like that's good for traction in other arenas that have soft ground, and extra good at giving folks da boots, but Ebris would have been hard pressed to get good momentum on substance like marble. Still, having the nigh-insane hunter run you down - especially crushing the chest and throat - would prolly be a pretty rathin' awful experience.

However, as good as Ebris tended to be at stomping grod flat, Cole wasn't the type to pancake under even his bigass feet. So, running over him all crazy-like didn't make for easy movement, especially when he was still Throne-damned dizzy from that hook the Jimbo threw out just a bit ago. The stomping feet of Ebris Dhifi tried to find stable purchase after his run-the-sumbitch-the-rath-over technique and failed miserably, causing the scum to faceplant on the right side of his face, sliding a good bit on the rug and getting a nice rug burn in the process. The swears resumed once again, followed by Ebris' HUEG fists slamming on the ground in frustration before using them to push himself to his feet again, albeit shakily.

Spinning around to face the Jimbo, Ebris had the right mind to make sure Cole didn't get any more time to try and uncave his throat. With a few long, powerful strides, the hunter moseyed on up to the downed giant and proceeded to lash out with a right soccer kick to the general face/head area. Rath, if it hit the jaw, that'd be even niftier, but even if the sumbitch managed to dodge, a partial hit would still make the crazed hunter happy enough, what, with them steel caps he had on both of his boots. That'd make the Jimbo's day even more special.

[08/17]

"Hunngh...ka...hahaha...."

He hunched forward, small speckles of red blotting out, touching on the side of his face. It stung. But it was skin, and little more. If anything, it could help wake him up a little. Because there was a bit of turbulence incoming.

His left fist clenched into a fist, and pushed himself to his feet, halfway there when-

"hak-tch!"

A blur. Spinning his way, his forearms rose instinctively, bracing forward out against it, rotating to put the steel-over-leather plating of the gauntlets forward. They caught the hit well, bracing against the force of the strike, buckling under the strike but holding him steady, even as the block and spin caused the edge to flip about and smack sharply at his left shoulder, biting through the thick material of his duster and leaving a small stain of red forming around the coat's newest scar.

"Ever try out f'er softball?"

He clambered upright as the imposing form of Katie got close fast, left first raising while his right and his sword stayed hanging-

And whipped sharply forward just before she got into punch-ey range, hand swinging forward and up at her, flying open in a small arc. Most pointedly, making the world a bit whiter- her smashing through the marble pillar had left it's fair share of dust and rubble laying about, stone didn't easily cut clean after all, and now she was getting a nice fat handful of what he'd been able to scoop up off the ground quickly back in her face, dust and pebbles. It'd also be followed by, on the end of a short strap, the heavy metal buckle of the sword-belt he'd had wrapped around his left arm since the start acting like a short, light flail, clapping sharply somewhere around her lower face or neck now that he'd shaken the end loose and given it a good whipping motion.

More importantly than the risk of her losing a tooth or two to the buckle though, was the fact that all of this, hopefully, was going to make enough cover for him to flip his right shoulder forward, bending at the waist and knees to lower his weight and weaving slightly, trying to avoid eating a good, if probably half blind, punch as he braced his legs and set his right shoulder to forcefully catch the amazon's charge somewhere around her waist.

[7]