Ruined Keep

Somewhere inside the Crimson Hawk, going up!; Just a wee rathin' bit ago

Ding!

"You're... Eb... eber... E... breast!"

"Hnng...no, it's EH-BRIS. Ebris, got it punk?"

Ding!

"Don't shake the elevator, Mr. Ebreast!"

"Does it look like I give a rathin' grod, kid? And didn't I just say it's-"

Ding!

"You're in the tournament, right, mister Ebreast?"

"Yer rathin' lucky that's the Throne-damned case, or I'd have kicked both of ya pint-sized sacks of grod out inta the rathin' elevator shaft! AND IT'S EBRIS! RATHIN' EBRIS!"

Ding!

"Dad was a competitor, you might know him, Lazenca. Is that name familiar? What do you think Val? He should know who dad is, right?"

"Lazer-car? Who or what the rath is that!? And stop it with all these THRONE-DAMNED QUE-"

Ding!

"Iunno, he might know dad... did you ever fight him?"

Oh yeah, Ebris Dhifi really hated rathin' kids.

The brute was now acting all crazy-like, stomping around in circles while making very angry and unseemly noises. While most of the hair on the bounty hunter had grown back, his face was still pretty rathin' scarred, so his current frothing rage made him look like one big-a**, leper-ugly, motherrathin' gorilla. Coupled with the overwhelming MAN STANK and CAKE STANK that just wafted off of him as though he were a depository of old jock straps and the aftermath of a Special Ed. cooking class, made the whole situation just pretty rathin' awful.

HELLEVATOR, anyone?

Ding!

Ebris spun around after that one, his carotid artery (as well several other minor blood vessels) pulsating brutally while two, madness-filled blue eyes twitched and shifted erratically at the sight of the floor counter, which continued to slowly - very slowly - progress upward. Of course, that counter read a number that was still nowhere close to getting to his damned floor. Grod, with how unstable Ebris' mind was, it wouldn't be all that rathin' surprising for him to see the infernal red numbers go down. It'd be another rathin' reason as to why he was going apegrod right now. That, and the elevator music. Ohhhh, the elevator music.

The dings kept on coming, each one in sync with the torrents of blood throbbing visibly all over his neck and face. In fact, if it were not for the tell-tale buzzing on his left arm once again, the raging hobo wouldn't have noticed that his FIGHTER was giving him another update. Broken out of his insane reverie, Ebris dropped his bottle of Vanilla Piss - letting the remaining contents spill all over the ground as it thudded onto the velvety flooring - and used the free hand to pull his left sleeve back, allowing him to take a gander at what the rath it wanted now.

Code: You... will never find that life for which you are looking...

When the gods created man they allotted to him death, but life they retained in their own keeping.

...since a man cannot pass beyond the final end of life, I want to set off into the mountains, to establish my renown there. Where renown can be established there, I will establish my renown;

and where no renown can be established there, I shall establish the renown of Kings...

Twelve leagues I traveled through the Road of the Sun..

dense was the darkness, light there was none,

neither what lies ahead nor behind did it allow me to see.

Here you will find that which daily guards the rising and setting of the Sun,

above which only the dome of the heavens reaches,

and whose flank reaches as far as the Netherworld below.

He who has seen everything, I will make known to the lands.

I will teach about him who experienced all things,

to those who seek renown.

Deep, darkity-dark THUNKINZ bullgrod? On his FIGHTER? Oh yeah, Ebris knew what this was instantly. His face-tearing scowl immediately twisted around into a face-tearing grin - a really SKURRY one at that as his right hand rose up into the air.

"RATH YES SECOND CHANCES AT SMASHING JIMBOS."

WHUCHNZZZZK

Well, ain't that special. In Ebris' excitement over the announcement, what would have been a normal push onto the "Press to Stop" button turned into a palm mash that punched right through the Throne-damned console. It did the trick perfectly, causing the elevator to come to a complete halt (filling it with the red glow of emergency lights as well), but it didn't leave much to rathin' question if the thing would be moving again. No calling for help, either, as the sumbitch's impossibly big palm took out the emergency phone too. Stepping forward and parting the pint-sized faggerts, Ebris' massive paws came forward and clamped down on the crack between the two elevator doors and yanked. It didn't take much effort for the hulking man to open them up, revealing most of a concrete wall and a bit of the elevator doors up above - just enough for someone of Ebris' girth to fit through. So, he reached up and did the same exact thing, this time revealing a hotel corridor and a pair of boots that seemed awfully rathin' familiar. And them boots were in the way of salvation and beating Jimbos, so they had ta go.

"Get the rath outta th' way, cupcake-"

Yoink!

Zandra Ryke would suddenly find herself in a situation out of a horror movie. The elevator doors opening, only to reveal pitch blackness with a horizontal band of glowing red down below. From this hellish slit came a deep, gravelly and demonic voice, followed by two gnarled hands that grabbed her by the ankles, only to yank her to the ground and drag her into the inferno. And yes, it would be rathin' purgatory for the dyke, as it was filled with Ebris Dhifi, two annoying-as-piss meta pukes and synthesized lounge music complementing it all. Ebris blinked down at the sight of the broad and shrugged his shoulders.

"Sucks ta be you, dyke."

And with that, a massive boot came down on top of her head, using it as a brief support to allow the bounty brute to push himself up to the glowing light of freedom above. It was a pretty hilarious sight to see someone as big as that sumbitch wriggling through the barely large enough hole, but miraculously, he somehow managed. To make matters worse, the old hunter made sure that the horrors from below could not pursue by slamming the doors shut and pounding at the crack a wee bit with his sledgefists, causing either end to warp together from the force and form a piss-poor seal. Grod would still be enough to keep 'em in for a pretty rathin' long time, though. If Ebris had done gone found religion at that point, he'd have probably fallen to his knees and started doing some huckin' and jivin' in the name of some goofy sumbitch up in the clouds, but he hadn't been driven that insane. Instead, he just began to thud down the hallway to the stairwell, grinning all crazed-like like a psychopath going to a hardware store.

It was time for some rathin' fun.

---

Some rathin' caves in the middle of butt-rath, Levi; an even wee'er bit ago

"Are we rathin' there yet?"

Was met with silence.

That didn't make Ebris too happy. Nope, not at all. Still, it wasn't enough to entirely piss the brute off, not even having to duck rathin' annoying rock ceilings and cobwebs and stepping in grod that...well, looked and smelled and felt like grod. Hell naw; the bounty hunter was electric - teeth grindan, paws wringan, and so forth. The psychotic kid who wanted to get to the hardware store was finding this journey a bit too long for his liking, but the end result was worth the wait. Besides, with how many Throne-damned networks of catacombs this cave seemed to have, him rushing ahead would probably rathin' delay him more than it would if he just followed the tournament guides, who seemed to be visibly breaking under the pressure of the old sumbitch's excitement.

"'Rathin' there yet?"

...

The other members of Team Honestly, Nice Guys were with him, as it seemed this enigmatic f***t sent his philosophical grod to the lot of 'em. The advantage of numbers didn't comfort Ebris - it did the exact opposite. Last time against the crazed mutie/meta Jimbo, their dysfunctional nature caused Goatsick to "bail" him out early. Ebris glared back at her, mumbling nasty stuff under his breath and reminded himself to fire her again later. Dumb b*h didn't get the clue before, so many a good beating would send her back to the giant b***h kitchen where she rathin' belonged. Yeah, definitely.

"Throne-DAMNED, we there y-"

"SCREEEE-"

"PISS!"

WHUSPLAT

The Cave Spider came outta rathin' nowhere and was formally introduced to Ebris' sewer lid. The giant creepy-crawly was smashed up against the side of the cave to the hunter's left, resulting in a mucousy explosion. Ebris had deliberately angled the smash a bit forward, causing all the pressure to be directed backwards, which in turn directed all the flying spider guts thataway. Result? Goatsick getting drenched in the awesome stuff. Ebris broke into massive, echoing guffaws, slapping his right knee hard as he bent over with laughter at the sight. Damn broad got it good.

"Ohhh man, rath. But seriously, we - oh. Well, about rathin' time!"

They all then stepped out into the open, guide facepalming deep and hard all the while.

---

Walkin' up to some Throne-damned tower; NAO

"COME OUT AND RATHIN' PLAY, JIM-BOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Yeah, Ebris was freight training forward as usual. Dried, long beach grass and random small animals were trampled oh-so-cruelly by the big, booted feets of the scum as they propelled him ever-forward. Ebris wasn't expecting to fight either the first Jimbo or the other Jimbo from previous elimination matches, but any Jimbo to bash in was a good Jimbo...despite the fact that he hadn't come out on top in either event. Oh well, couldn't blame him for trying. 3rd time the rathin' charm, mayhaps?

We shall see.

[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:

--

crazed mutie/meta Jimbo

--

"PISS!"

--

"COME OUT AND RATHIN' PLAY, JIM-BOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

--

Ebris wasn't expecting to fight either the first Jimbo or the other Jimbo from previous elimination matches, but any Jimbo to bash in was a good Jimbo...despite the fact that he hadn't come out on top in either event. Oh well, couldn't blame him for trying. 3rd time the rathin' charm, mayhaps?

ANGER ENOUGH TO FUEL AN ANGRY GOD

:{

SUDDENLY

There he was, all powering-up posed on the very top of the crumbling structure as the big piss smelling hobo made his way towards it by trampling small animals and plants enough to make hippies, injins, and elves cry.

"WHAT'S UP YOU TWO-d**k-CRISPY-FACED--"

Them words just went on in a big line, so this is where the author cuts in for some non-dialogue text.

Haha! Didnt expect Tzenidaar to be here, did he? Nope. Apparently he didnt. And he was here with some kickass new gear too. 'Cause somewhere along the lines, he'd picked up some props from the previous stages, which would explain his absense in the past round. He had a really badly constructed mace made from gears crammed together on a pipe and duct taped up and looked like it was about to fall apart from some kind of crazy guy's dream, as well as an awesome new helmet from the university. It was nice and pointy on the top, goot for shanking people. And it also had some excellent vocabulary on it that effectively added a +18.4 to his provoke stat by namecalling from people's glance alone.

D

U

N

C

E

Wait a second... that's not a helmet.

In fact... he already had his turn. He wasnt the eliminator today.

"--******** CHUMP? DID YOU MIS ME?"

There was a pause.

"Stop staring at my junk, ya f*****t, I aint your opponent." 'Cause we all know what Ebris' reaction would be after that, and it would be exactly the chimera's reply.

Haha! Anti-climax. And then he left. The end.

Before them stood the only structure visible for leagues on end; the remains of what appeared to be a Keep.

If any of them had a keen eye, they might be able to somewhat tell that at some point, this singular building had been just one of many. Faint outlines and small pieces of ruins long overtaken by the local flora, would slowly piece together something akin to a large citadel, or mayhap a castle of sorts.

However, the truth was that the only thing that mattered most, was the Keep itself. Towering high into the heavens, and centered between two far off opposite-facing mountain peaks (one facing the rising of the sun, and the other the setting), it seemed to pull at the three fighters.

Beckoning them forth like a harlot to a lost lover, they would find themselves facing the mighty cedar doors of the edifice.

As if on cue, their FIGHTER's would suddenly vibrate, receiving new messages.

Code: My friend, you who are so experienced in battle,

one alone cannot...

defeat death.

Let your voice bellow forth like the kettledrum, let the stiffness in your arms depart,

let the paralysis in your legs go away.

Take my hand, my friend, we will go on together.

Your heart should burn to do battle

--pay no heed to death, do not lose heart!

The one who watches from the side is a careful man,

but the one who walks in front protects himself and saves his

comrade, and through their fighting they establish fame.

Katie was in the midst of a freak out. The buzzing on her wrist only frightened her more. Her arms were still flailing, and she was hoppin' around in circles. She was about to throw herself to the ground and roll around. Anything would do to get spider gunk off of her body.

[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:

"HEY GOATSICK-"

However, as she went to throw herself to the ground she had the sensation of floating as Ebris picked her up and brought her forward, barreling towards the huge a** wooden doors.

Her head came down on the door with the sounds of wood splintering. She let out a cry of bewilderment as her head smashed against the wooden door. It was a very heavy door, and she figured this out first hand as her head immediately blossomed with a huge a** headache. It was more like a migraine. There were stars lighting up in her field of vision.

[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:

"-C'MERE AND BE MY THRONE-DAMNED FRIEND!"

"OH GOD, WHY?!"

This was the most horrible thing she'd ever heard. She didn't want to be Ebris' friend, and she didn't want to be pitched head first into a room of spiders.

WHUD

And in they went. Very, very rathin' awkwardly.

See, Ebris was a rathin' strong sumbitch - strong enough to manhandle even someone who weighed much as Goatsick. However, you couldn't get away namby-pamby after swinging some 300lbs+ b*h around, not when you are charging forward like a madman and weigh around the same weight as said b*h. The doors slammed open, whether by force or some happy friendship link grod that Ebris somehow done got right, and the end result was pretty messy. The bounty hunter wasn't able to keep a grip on the butch Amazon, despite his strength, and even if he could have, it wouldn't have been a rathin' bright idea - not even Ebris was missing that many cards from his playing deck. So, Goatsick went flying forward, probably in a partial face-first impact onto the cracked stone flooring before sliding to a halt. Painful grod thurr.

And Ebris?

The huge a*****e tried to catch himself with a wide step forward, an expression of "OH GROD" on his ugly mug. Unfortunately for him, it just wasn't enough - Ebris' body was going forward too quickly for them big feets of his to keep up at this point, which caused him to teeter forward on his forward right. He just kinda hung there for a second, arms flailing to try and balance himself uselessly, his mouth contorting to belt out some lovely obscenity. And then he done went faceplanted on the stone.

"PISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

A loud crunch was heard during all this ruckus, signaling something probably unpleasant occurred when face met stone tile. This was further confirmed with a small pool of blood dripping profusely to the ground as the hunter braced his palms against the ground and raised himself up while bringing his ugly mug up to look at the sight just a wee bit ahead. Somehow, the fall had actually righted Ebris' partially-broken nose from Goatsick's backhand, but the torn cartilage and skin caused it to bleed like a stuck grox. The waterfall of red grod kinda complemented his expression, which was hardening and becoming more ANGR-filled by the second.

After getting up and patting his body off with both his paws - bringing forth a few brutally-deep coughs due to all that dust - Ebris' blues shot back and forth in his skull, left and right, taking in everything around him. He knew grod was gonna go down in a wee bit, what, with a Throne-damned armored sumbitch sitting in front of him, and it ain't too bad of an idea to know the place yer fighting in. After a moment, those old eyes of his settled down and burned coldly into the silent, unmoving frame ahead.

"So, ya gonna tell me where that Jimbo done went or am I gonna have to bend ya in half and introduce ya to yer rathin' a*****e?"

There was a lengthy pause, as motion breathed into the darkness bathing most of the center.

The grating of muffled breath even as the figure before Katie seemed to draw itself up out of whatever stupor it had been in before the intrusion. With that breath, came a soft wave that seemed to push past her and ebb out upon breaking against Ebris.

One.

Two.

Three.

Several more torches came to light as their surroundings slowly became revealed; orange flames licking up from oiled wicks within metal brands set into the very stone.

Before Katie sat an armored figure in gunmetal grey, looking almost like a Judge, yet all too different all at once. The amount of sharp edges and points to his appearance were innumerable, and the helm itself was formed to take the shape of some kind of Daemon. A single horn jutted from the top, and the sides fanned into bone-like spurs-- the grille riddled with holes and the eyes just blackened pools from which no life could be seen.

Yet, as imposing a sight as the figure struck, the more fanciful nature of him seemed to be what he was seated upon. At first glance, it was a gleaming chair...a throne of sorts even. But a closer look would reveal that it was actually only vaguely resembling a chair.

Composed of more than several dozen blades, of varying shape, size and make-- the armored figure sat before them on a throne of swords, looking for all the world as if he were seated on a cloud.

He maintained his posture, one sharply knuckled gauntlet holding up the underside of his helm, and the other arm draped behind him, hidden beneath the crimson fabric of the half-cloak that draped there.

History is decided by the victor.

The voice was grating, like a sharp knife against glass; it was impossible to tell whether it was male or female.

Tell me.

The Judge of Blades seemed to turn its full gaze upon them both at the same time.

How shall I let the world remember you?

Code: Leaving the grounds (you who are so experienced in battle) disqualifies you.

Initiating a striker disqualifies you (pay no heed to death, do not lose heart).

Only one of you may be in an active combative role (the third watches from the side).

You may switch designated fighters at any time (one alone cannot defeat death).

Unlikely.

The Judge rose from its seat, even as Ebris approached, and with a flourish of the fabric of its cloak, the right arm was beheld brandishing a vicious looking halberd, the end of which seemed to catch both sunlight and torchlight and shine with a keenness that was not natural.

Holding its haft within his right hand, fabric covering a good portion of its length-- he faced the behemoth with his left side, easily dwarfed in size, but not looking any less threatening for it.

With Katie on the ground before him, and Ebris approaching, it would remain to be seen who would engage him first.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

This was the sound coming from not only between the clenched teeth of the punker, but also the gravel underneath the skidding tires of the motorcycle he'd grifted from yet another hapless soul he'd encountered while trying to get to his round. He'd had probably made it on time to this one had he not decided to bury his face in a bottle or twelve of whiskey. Brakes clung to the tires as he turned the bike, skidding along the path leading up to the keep until he wiped out, the bike tumbling away on off of the cliff into the crashing waves below.

Bloody cocker...

Colin was in a little shock at exactly how close he had come to swimming in Davy's locker. Slowly standing, hands dusting of his torn jeans, a little blood beginning to surface from one hell of a rug burn (for lack of a better term), the punker stood and smirked. Black hair with a tint of red sprouting from his head, he'd stretch his arms, lifting them into the air, then head on into the tower.

Same shoes he'd had since round one, a wife-beater and a rather thin coat, the last member of HNG looked rather rag tag and rough. He almost looked like some kind of hobo wandering in from the street. Everyone in the Keep would know otherwise from the FIGHTER on his wrist. Cat-like eyes scanning the room, he saw the door blown ajar and smiled even wider.

Started without me, eh?

And Jimbo done gone threw out the goofy woowoo grod right at the start.

Ebris wasn't too pleased by this, but the grunts and rumbles of rathin' disapproval couldn't be heard too well over the sound of the hunter's stomping. The sumbitch was decked out from head to toe in spiky armor and had one mean looking halberd, and that alone would have given the old man a rathin' challenge, but noooooo, he had to go and be a Throne-damned meta dickwipe from the rathin' start. Got his goat, pissed off, RATHIN' PISS, etc. At least he knew more of what to expect from the Jimbo now, which would make things a wee bit more easy when push came to shove and the Jimbo finding his weapon shoved up his pansy a** by the irate bounty scum.

A quick glance caught that the weapon was coming back down from Ebris' left, this time it seemed for some actual chopping goodness. Grod like this done went down against the meta/mutie Jimbo f*****t, and he was able to deal with it then...somewhat. This time Ebris didn't have to deal with a faggert who went for immediate DIRTY FIGHTAN as much as he did himself, so that was a plus he didn't have to rathin' deal with.

SO, as the Jimbo's weapon went sweeping down to hack into the bounty hunter's big, beefy left leg, it was rudely interrupted by something large, hard and heavy.

CLANG!

There was a reason Ebris lugged that big ol' lid around, ya know. Even though he was hunched with the burst, the manhole cover wasn't low enough to block the strike, nor was it braced well enough to do so. However, they were low enough that, coupled with the pumping motion of Ebris' arms, he could simply drop the Throne-damned thing down and right into the path of the weapon. This would pretty much block the blade of the halberd from cutting into the hunter's massive limb.

The impact did, however, cause the rathin' shield to get knocked in front of his left leg, as there was now nothing to brace it from impact. And that meant Ebris done got tripped up.

"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-" The scum hissed as he felt the heavy-as-grod shield slam into his left leg just as it was about to ascend into another step. Even with the momentum and mass behind Ebris' charge, something as large as a sewer lid could easily disrupt or even break it. In this case, it only disrupted it - only being a fickle keyword. See, while Ebris had planned on using the distance closing maneuver to slam his left fist into the sumbitch's body, this disruption made it a wee bit difficult for that to occur.

So, instead, all 312lbs + momentum of Ebris Dhifi would go careening into the armored sumbitch Jimbo, and boy, was there ever a rathton of it behind him.

If there was any evident surprise to be had from what was taking place, it wouldn't be found on the featureless face of the armored eliminator.

While it was worth noting that the blade of the halberd seemed to cleanly part the manhole cover in two, the apparent interruption of it in the first place seemed to stall the otherwise inevitable somewhat so that Ebris remained with two feet intact.

As well as hurtling head first (presumably) at the eliminator in question.

Normally, one would be well off in trying to evade being landed on by what could only come off as a two ton pile of bones and flesh (or at least very putt off and uncomfortable with the idea), but there really wasn't much that the Eliminator had in a ways of say in the matter altogether.

With a resounding crash that could only possibly come from the collusion of giant man against metal, Ebris would use 'tackle' upon the Eliminator.

It was super effe--- well. It was something anyway.

Twin furrows would be seen in the stone work, deepening the farther they got from the start point, until a pair of mailed legs could be seen, followed by the rest of the armored figure's body.

A haze of steam seemed to bleed off his body, venting from seams and other places in his armor, and even from the mouth grille and eye slits. It's left arm was raised in front of it's body, metal fingers splayed out, even as a heavier stream of heated air seemed to flow out from the appendage. The metal would be scalding to the touch, even as the Eliminator finally shoved forward with the arm, breaking the silence.

He had taken the full force of Ebris weight on that one arm, destroying all momentum and being taken back only a few feet for it.

Ebris himself would have been sent flying backwards the way he came of course, unless he had something to say about being stopped with a metal hand to the face.

At which case, the Eliminator would simply whisper back, 'no'.

Or something to that effect.