HoH season 11. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
Mon Feb 07, 2011 11:53 am · id 296180521 · page 1
Quote: Everyone knows the Firebrand! After it's most recent resurgence after burning down again (...again), the Firebrand has come back better and stronger than ever. Made using the finest in craftsdrawfship and the hardest stone known the man (rumored to have a rubber core), it's become a popular tourist destination as well as a well-loved home for wayward ronin and adventurers. Recently, the staff has installed a large grill that... wait.
Do you smell gas?
General - Your typical bar, complete with wooden floors and stone walls. There's a bar area off to the side, and the larger part of the first floor is littered with chairs and tables. For some reason, there's a chandelier hanging from the rafters, both of which look incredibly suspicious for a two-story building. Coincidentally the second floor is blocked off for security reasons. Wait. Do you smell gas?
Due to Watts plugging a few too many electric grills and heaters into one socket next to a large pile of oily rags and tanks of gasoline, the Firebrand comes pre-installed with FIRE. Fire everywhere, and it's spreading at an unusually rapid rate, possibly due to that nasty gas and grease spill the other day. Due to the stone walls, you'll have some time to ******** one another up in this instant classic.
Natural Element Resource - ... Fire.... Fire. FIRE
Weapons - Tables, chairs, bottles of alcohol, and the occasional dwarfen worker.
Bonus Effects - Fire, fire everywhere. The Firebrand will only catch on fire after you've actually started fighting though.
Mon Feb 07, 2011 12:00 pm · id 296180997 · page 1
Whoever was listed as the proprietor of this fine, reeking establishment needed a reality check. A big one, like you see on Jeopardy when the happy-go-lucky idiot answers the last question and the confetti stops falling. Except there was no money to be won here, at least not yet. Who would sign up their bar for a fighting tournament? Don't they watch martial arts movies, where the whole place gets demolished by the idiots who try to take on Jackie Chan or whoever? Whatever. What they lacked in common sense they made up for with gasoline, if the heavy stench of it polluting the air was anything to judge by. Antonio sneered and pulled his sports jacket closer, worried that if he didn’t keep alert one of those shady-looking midgets might try and pocket his cigs. And that would lead to violence, blood, and potential for dismemberment if they tried to keep him from getting his nicotine fix.
He took one hand out of his pocket to smash the butt of his latest cigarette down into the ashtray. The embers smoldered for a second before winking out, little wisps of smoke trailing up to further agitate Antonio’s curiously sensitive sinuses. His other hand gingerly cradled a bottle of what tasted like pure ethanol, but even so it was a better companion than most of the Firebrand’s workforce. Stupid dwarves. He gripped the hilt of his jian and unsheathed it just so that the ruby encrusted in the hilt was barely visible, and hopefully out of view of any ballsy onlookers who felt like getting castrated if they tried anything.
He fished around for another cigarette, pressing its face onto the jewel and waiting a second. The telltale sparks fizzled out and his sweet addiction crackled to life. He hurriedly pushed his weapon back into its scabbard and took a long drag, blowing out circles of smoke. He’d learned that at a monastery in the countryside awhile back. Nice folks out there, once you get over how preachy they are and the itchy robes. Andy spun, stepping off the barstool, and snatched up his alcohol, holding it firmly by the neck of the bottle.
At this rate, he’d be shitfaced and stone cold sober again before his opponent even showed up. Just his luck.
Thu Feb 17, 2011 11:17 am · id 297485461 · page 1
Michael couldn't help but wonder at the condition of the tavern he now found himself in. It seemed like one built for the commoners and the rabble. Michael was neither of those things. An odd place for a fight. Mentally Michael let out a scoff, having just realized the irony of it all. He was about to have a bar fight. Oh how the other gentlemen of the little organization he belonged to would chuckle. Michael was probably one of the lower class individuals in the group. Not the lowest, but definitely lower than most. Being American didn't help his case either. Michael realized he was letting his mind wander. This being neither the time nor place for such things, he snapped back into reality. Walking farther into the establishment that he had been informed was called "The Firebrand" Michael couldn't help but feel out of place. Small burly individuals worked here from what he saw. The stone and wood decor felt a bit rustic, but fitting considering the atmosphere of the place. The place had a chandelier, so it couldn't be all that bad. Although, from the looks of it, there was a slime chance it was all that good either.
Just finishing up one of his imported cigars, he put it out in what he could only assume was an ashtray of some sort. Michael wasn't wearing his full arsenal today. Leaving his backpack back at his room to ensure in his first fight he had more mobility. That being said, he was still armed to the teeth with his gadgets. He wore his special coat, each of his swords hung side-by-side at his left hip. His goggles where, at the moment, pulled up on his special bowler hat. He wore his knuckles and blades. The small metal plate on his left arm was also a nice toy of his. He even wore his special boots. Lastly, he carried a rather complex looking cane. The majority of his gadgets where concealed by his coat. The long black coat, with its many straps and pockets, was his favorite coat. Michael finished mentally checking his equipment. Additionally remembering he carried two spare steam clips as well. Looking around he spotted a man near the bar. This individual was more than likely Michael's opponent. Although, attacking first, and before introductions, seemed to be inappropriate. Michael approached the individual, stopping a good ten feet away. He put his goggles on his eyes and waited for the man to speak to him.
Michael generally liked to at least know a little bit about the men he killed or maimed. Although, he had been informed this tournament forbid potentially killing your opponent. Oh well, he'd have to make sure not to kill anyone while he was here.
Fri Feb 18, 2011 2:24 pm · id 297620599 · page 1
"About time you got here," Andy muttered. The smell of gasoline was getting insufferable. He approached his opponent, satisfied in that he'd at least shown up even if he was late. "So, you're Michael, huh? I was hoping you'd be snappy about it." He got to about a meter in front of his foe-to-be and stopped, taking a long drag on his cigarette.
"Listen. You should surrender. I know the tournament forbids kills, but I don't recall anything about maiming my opponents... and, you know, I'm a bit ornery and bored since you took so long to arrive. He placed the cigarette back between his lips and extended his left hand for a firm shake.
"But I suppose you're not the type to surrender," he admitted, voice somewhat muffled. "So let's get the pleasantries over with so we can make each other bleed, what do you say?"
Mon Feb 21, 2011 1:17 am · id 297997257 · page 1
Michael tipped his hat in the man's direction. The man seemed quite rude. Impatient even. No matter, Michael admittedly was a tad late, however he also did not have exact knowledge of this location. All the same, he was here now, and that was what mattered. He shook the hand of his soon to be defeated opponent. Making sure to apply a firm but still friendly grip. "My name is Michael Anderson. It seems unfortunate to have to meet under these circumstances, however, I will only hold back to the point of not ending your life." Pausing for a moment he shook his head. His New York accent had a strange hint of an English accent. His words came out cold and business like, although he seemed to have a small hit of a smile about his face. It dissipated almost as soon as it appeared however, and he continued. "Surrender has never been in my repertoire. I never give up, and I never lose. Before this fight is done you will understand why a mind such as mind should not be taken lightly. You also may want to pick up some manners after I teach you a lesson."
Micheal began to walk to his right. Beginning to circle around and away slowly. Not yet threateningly, he was mostly putting distance between him and his opponent. Keeping his hands at his sides he made no motion to draw a weapon. He knew that to do so first would be giving away tactical information. Besides, he was sure this individual did not possess the speed to close in on him with that blade he was wearing. On the other hand, if he was, Michael always had his tricks. As a kid he used to watch Felix The Cat cartoons. That bag of tricks, that was what Michael turned himself into.
He began to study his opponent. Using the high intellect he was known for to try and decipher what he could from the man's posture, arsenal, and looks. He knew that he would need every little advantage he could find or take to win this one. Nobody who was a pushover would join something as intense as this tournament. He still was trying to remember how exactly he was talked into participating.
(((I'd like to apologize for the delay in posts. I'm kinda homeless or in better terms I'm a couch surfer. I'm currently 'borrowing' internet from a neighbor so I can post this. Hopefully I can put some posts in by Wednesday.)))
Tue Feb 22, 2011 4:14 pm · id 298208399 · page 1
((OOC: It's alright.))
"Yeah, yeah, everyone says something like that," Antonio muttered indignantly. His hand was already in motion the moment the man - Michael Anderson - shook his head, bottle of clear ethanol aiming to be shattered across his cheek. He pulled his hand away at the same time, believing that the blur of his attack's speed would keep Michael from strengthening his grip. With that hand he plucked the cigarette from his lips. He loosed the embers and such towards his opponent, hoping that it would ignite the alcohol and cover his enemy in flame.
Abruptly, the Firebrand Grill burst into a spontaneous inferno. The roar of expanding fires filled the hallways around them, edging around the combatants in a circle, rapidly stretching to consume the empty chairs and tables. The bar was temporarily spared, but the encroaching blaze would eventually rise to swallow it. Meanwhile, Antonio was dodging back, keeping up his quick motions as he waited for a response from Mr. Anderson.
Of course, the blonde-haired punk wasn't exactly underestimating his foe. Heaven or Hell was notorious for the skill of its participants, so he doubted the man before him would go down easily. But the Diavolo bloodline was infamous for its stubbornness. He wasn't going to drop anytime soon either.
Around them, the flames belched as they clambered up the center of a wooden table. It splintered and collapsed, fires dancing over its surface in victory. The Firebrand's famed craftsmanship was being put to the test, but the metal walls would hold. The floor on the other hand...
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Wed Feb 23, 2011 3:45 pm · id 298327685 · page 1
Michael barely had time to react to the underhanded tactics of the cretin who decided to ignore any rules of engagement. Doing what any sane individual would do when having an object on a collision course with their face would do, He simply moved. Rolling backwards and springing back onto his feet. Not the most graceful of maneuvers, not the most impressive, but certainly effective. He did not, however, have time to dodge the cigarette. It bounced off his stomach and landed on the floor. Could his opponent really be that stupid? Everyone knows that unless it is a thin layer of alcohol or gasoline and the vapors are in high concentration, the only thing either substance would do to a lit cigarette is make it soggy.
The flames around him proved a problem however. Yes, his jacket was fireproof. However, his skin was not. He had better make this quick then. He pointed his cane at the punk and calmly said, "By the time we are done, you will have some etiquette." As he finished he pressed the button on his cane, a twenty inch blade quickly slid out the bottom, giving Micheal what could only be described as a small spear or glaive-like weapon.
Michael was on the attack now. He closed in on the man, using both hands to maneuver his blade with the skill and precision only one with experience could use. Now five feet away from the man, he stuck. Shoving outwardly in an attempt to stab the man's shoulder. The long cane made it easy to keep the punk at bay, while still managing to attack from a decent distance. At the peak of the stab Michael pushed the blade ti the right. Attempting to at least get a slash in if the stab did not hit home. On his left hand some kind of clockwork sounds began to sound from his wrist.
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