Tresandros vs Celas

Wrote:

Essentially, what you have here, is your typical Gaian News Radio station. However, instead of actually bitching about people's fighting abilities and listening to people b***h about other people's fighting abilities, they decided to watch the carnage live, and broadcast it from the next room while watching it through protective glass.

Terrain

General - A round room with a table and some chairs in the middle. Protective glass separates you and your opponent from the other room where spectators gather to watch the carnage.

Natural Element Resource - Lots and lots of sound amplification going on.

Weapons - Chairs, the tables, broadcasting equipment such as microphones, computers, and the cords attaching it all.

Bonus Effects - Every thing that is said is heard publicly.

SCRRRHHHHH...

The smell of burnt rubber billowed through the parking lot as Tres ecstuffuan swerved out the way to keep from smashing head first into the patrol car. The psion drove a large silver Toyota truck, a vehicle he had actually won in a duel back in Sigil. Tres wasn't really into cars, so it didn't make a difference to him what it looked like but that still didn't keep him from getting really pissed off as he swerved out the way to avoid the accident with Dimitrius. , the young dread headed warrior shouted as narrowly escaped having a confrontation with the police outside of the radio station. Soon after Tres quickly and sloppily turned into a parking space and leaped out of his car with a serious aggravated look on his cream hued hansom face.

"The day just keeps getting worse and worse.", he said as he started towards the station. Tres passed Dimitrius on the way to the elevator as he was about to leave, realizing that his prey was not in this location. Tres glared at Dimitrius, stating without words what he thought about his authority. It wasn't long before the GNR radio station door erupted open again after Officer Dimitrius had made his leave, disrupting the broadcast just as it was about to get started again.

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...

Bam, went the door as it was slammed open again.

"I can't believe it!", The young warrior spat out loud as soon as he entered the station loud enough to be heard over the airwaves. "And our first Heaven or Hell contestant arrives everyone. Tresondros "Tres" Ecstuffuan", the radio show host announced to their listeners who had obviously heard the psion's bark. "I just can't believe it!", Tres shouted again with his voice full of vicious ire and disappointment. Tres went to sit at the chair across from the radio show host after looking around and noticing that his opponent wasn't here. He sat down like a child who had just been told no by his parents.

"Whats got you so upset Mr. Ecstuffuan? Aren't you happy that the tournaments starting?", Tres leaned forward with an incredulous expression not realizing that he was the only one who believed that he had been slighted with this qualifying match.

"What are you kidding me? They are making me prove myself against some...", The psion shook his head looking around as if he were making an attempt to find some words that may have been appropriate. He rose his hands up in absolute disbelief and outrage, fingers curled as if they were posed to rip something apart. Tres's voice boomed through the airways but was strangely pleasant somehow.

"Some...NOBODY...This battle isn't worthy of someone like me.", Tres stated haughtily. If one didn't know Tres's personality by now, it was obvious that he was a very cocky individual. "I deserve to fight someone notable. James Eradas, Vahn Fah, Dietric Jocasta, Ebris Delfi...but no...they are making me fight some guy I've never heard of.", Tres said into the speaker where every listener in Gaia prime could hear him.

"Well I'm sorry you feel that way. Any fighter in the Heaven or Hell is likely worthy fighting I feel.", The show host said sensibly. Now Tres looked even more disgusted, leaning back as if what the show host said was absolute nonsense. Before Tres could berate the show host for what he said, the radio show phone would ring.

"Ahh, looks like we have a caller.", Tres would relax some holding his tongue for the moment. He seemed to accept the situation thinking that the faster he got this over with, the better.

"Tres if your so perfect then whats the point of even participating in this tournament. One who is without fault can no longer grow. Growth, change, is however the supreme state and therefore perfection is a state of weakness.", the voice was strangely familiar. It was similar to Tres's, beautiful and deep like the rolling thunder of the heavens. Tres seemed to recognize the voice immediately. His eyes narrowed in quiet fury.

"Well...Father...", he stated calmly though with an expression of immense aggravation. "When I speak of perfection. I do not speak of a state of being...but a potential. One that, unlike you I pursue each day. This tournament is an important road to perfection, but fighting these useless fighters...Its a worthless waste of my time.", Tres stated eloquently. He and Sieg were both good speakers when they wanted to be and if you knew them, they both seemed to like the sound of their own voice.

"Next caller please", Tres demanded of the show host.

"Hmph"

Tres turned his head to look at Celas as he pushed through the crowd in the radio station. As he turned his dreads whipped along his armored shoulders. The psion glared at him with his blue eyes and as he did they crackled with an emerald energy that correlated with the third eye dot gem printed into Tres's forehead.

Immediately after seeing his opponent Tres stood up to his full height causing the chair behind him to slide out of the way. The young warrior was truly an imposing site. Tres was a tall individual, standing at about 6"2' and weighing clearly over 200 pounds of solid muscle. Though he looked about as quick as he was powerful with his lanky frame. Tres was a beautiful man, but he was obviously a fighter.

"Then lets get this over with. Right now!", Tres said as he took his stance. Celas was an unknown individual, Tres had no idea how this fight was going to go except for the certain belief that he would be the one who was victorious. The opponent carried a long six foot quarter staff and a sheathed long sword in the other. In these tight quarters, he thought that he may be able to take advantage of fighting on the inside. So with that general plan in mind, Tres turned to face his opponent fully and made a few steps away from the round desk.

The radio show host moved into the other room with the rest of the spectators, leaving Tres and Celes alone to commence battle. For a moment, Tres simply stared Celes down before he would roll out his neck and begin to bounce lithely on the balls of his feet. The light of the radio broadcast room shimmered against his armored overcoat and his greaves imprinted with a strange language.

"So the fighters are about to commence the qualification round. Tres and Celes analyze each other for a moment but they appear to be ready to start."

Tres moved his hand to his fighter and pressed a certain button, starting the timer for the fight. Beep, every listener in gaia prime would here the call of the FIGHTER.

10:00

'Its Time', with that thought a massive wry grin appeared on Tres's face and brought his teeth to sparkle in the room's intense light. After that smile Tres's eyes suddenly went wide as power seemed to burst through his body. Tres turned his minds eye inside and his inner self would reach into the recesses of his own mind. They would grasp at certain aspects of his personality and with psionic power it would give these personality traits form.

Whisp of grey energy would fade into existence around his skull, moving in a spiraling orbit that would slowly spread out from his head. As these whisp of energy moved, they would multiply. This stream of light strands began to trail down along Tres's shoulder and around his right forearm and right hand. These whisp of energy would cross and intersect, forming a mesh with a constantly fluttering topology. The shape of this mesh would be that of a katar blade that potruded about a forearm's length from his right fist.

With the power of his mind Tres would snatch ectoplasm from the astral plane and give his Mind blade volume. The texture of the mind blade seemed to be that of an object that was half crystalline and half gasseous. It held an emerald green color that gave his entire body a strong emerald glow. The mind blade was not just some weapon formed of energy, it was his confidence, his pride, his arrogance given shape. This would all happen within a very short instance.

As soon as the mind blade snapped into existence, Tres took his fighting stance. With his feet squared up and spread medium width for proper balance, he stood bouncing on the balls of his feet. His foot and side would be forward while his right would be back. Tres held his left hand up near his jaw with his elbow held tight into his body, the left hand palm would face outwards towards the opponent. The right hand would hold the mind blade pointed forward at his opponent, chambered and ready to strike.

PP: 24 [(-6) Shape Mind Blade]

9:00

FWSSZZZH

An upward slash of the mind blade performed with an uppercut technique would vivisect the chair as it flew towards Tres. The shape of the blade would cause the bisected chair pieces to fly diagonally to Tres's left and right flank, leaving him unharmed. Tres snapped into movement immediately after that defensive attack, moving forward speedily with his beautiful footwork.

"On Guard!", he shouted as he moved forward before tucking his chin down.

Tres moved with a footwork that was somewhat akin to a fencer or a boxer. With bouncing lithe steps he shuffled his feet rapidly along the ground allowing him to move quickly but with a controlled momentum, that gave him the capability of changing directions quickly and tactically. Also the footwork, set up certain kicks.

Tres would first attempt to enter hand to hand striking range before the opponent could move to throw another chair. However, Tres knew that before he could get in range to attack even with the extended range on his right arm (due to the mind blade) he would have to put himself in the range of the longer quarter staff. If the opponent did not attack him before he was able to enter into close quarters without being attacked he would attack first.

Tres would attempt to strike at the opponents outer left knee with his right shin with a muay thai right round kick. The kick would be faster than any the opponent had likely encountered due to its technique. The kick was performed to come down at an angle rather than come all the way across like a normal roundhouse.

While shortening the distance needed for the kick to travel making it faster, it would also make it stronger by allowing Tres to sink his weight into the attack by bending his left stationary leg. The kick would chop down at the limb like a axe. Also Tres's right leg was covered in his dura-steel greaves likely causing the attack to result in crippling damage if it hit fully.

PP: 24

8:00

Wu-Crack

The pauldron on Tres's right arm shoulder would help defend against the strike of the staff to the collar just along the shoulder. However, the armor in this area was thin despite its magnificent finish. Because of the thin armor, the force of the blow was reduced but still very noticeable and painful.

The strike would also help to reduce some of the kick's momentum, letting the opponent get off with a welt rather than a broken limb. After striking with his right leg and after the opponents staff landed against his right shoulder pauldron. Tres would struggle to hide the grimace on his face from the pain.

Tres would shift his weight forward to quickly set the foot down and placing him in southpaw stance. Tres would then slide his left side forward, moving himself closer to Celes and placing him into infighting range. At this time he would move his mind blade to the right underneath the upper portion of the bo staff to to knock it to the side as he stepped in.

Here at infighting range, where Celes was in range for hand to hand attacks like the hook or uppercut, and where the clinch could be made a long weapon such as the bo-staff would be an impediment.

Tres intended to take advantage of the fact that Celes dropped to his left knee. Immediately after coming forward Tres would attack the opponent with a left shovel hook to Celes's right side jaw which was left unguarded after his attack with the bo staff. As Tres made the attack he would release a snake like burst of air from between his clinched teeth.

PP: 24

7:00

"Gwh!", A sound released from Tres's mouth as the air was forced from his stomach. The blow had not surprised the dread headed psion, despite his pomp and prettyness the warrior understood fully that taking damage and getting hurt was a part of being a good fighter. Tres had been hit in this area thousands of time through his life time and though his opponent obviously held some strength, Tres was ready for it.

Only a foolish warrior could believe he would escape any battle unscathed. Due to Tres's weight and heavy coat, he hadn't been knocked back as much as his upperbody leaned forward some to roll with the blow to the stomach.

Suddenly Tres's beautiful gaze shot look up from his semi doubled over position with devilish emerald eyes that screamed with martial fury. Tres parrying over his opponent's staff and exposing a target had been a ploy. The action was actually just the c**k back of Tres's mind blade holding arm which was now poised to strike immediately after Tres was struck in the stomach.

Following up his left hook, Tres unleashed an overhand lead straight over the opponents left arm, Driving with all of the power of his feet, hips, shoulders and arms in an attempt to plunge his mind blade deep into the opponents shoulder and collar area. The katar shaped mind blade, if it struck true, would punch through the targets arm and deal a large and painful wound.

The blade was created from mental energy and upon plunging into its target would snap and crackle with a bright flash of energy that would cause the Radio Studio crowd to respond loudly in surprise. That mental energy would travel through the opponent's body and make it difficult to focus or concentrate enough to ignore the intense pain of the strike.

If Tres was able to plunge his blade into the opponent's body he would say. "This blade. It is more a part of me than my own body is. I can feel what you are...on the inside...I know you are not ready for this tournament! So allow me to do you the favor and turn you back home before you make a fool of yourself in the Heaven or Hell!", the cocky warrior spat harsh words in the face of his opponent while looking deep into his eyes. Every radio listener in the country could here Tres's harshness and he clearly solidified himself as the villain in this dispute.

PP: 24

[edited to add pp]

Celas withdrew his extended arm the moment Tres doubled over and pushed off the ground with his right leg, rocking himself back up into a standing position – and staggering slightly as his left thigh protested. The slight distraction cost him as Tres suddenly exploded forward, that blade swinging up and over before plunging into Celas’ shoulder.

Celas bellowed with agony as an explosion of agony washed out from the point of impact. His left hand grabbed Tres forearm reflexively but the grip was too weak to do anything but hold on.

Fight… the pain… can’t let Robyn… Celas sank into a slight crouch, struggling to stand as Tres began speaking. His head bowed and he groped at Tres’ left pauldron before securing a grip. His words – focus on his words! Celas did just that, and something… stirr… within him. Arrogant… pompous… pretentious… fool!

Celas’ hands tightened and he suddenly pitched forward – and up. He extended his legs as he jumped, ramming his head straight into his opponent’s statuesque face. He bellowed once more, half challenge, half pain, all anger.

(Edit) [Post: 4. Impact: 3]

“Ouch, that looks like it hurt! I don’t know about you Bill, but this is turning into one brutal matchup!” If the host’s name wasn’t Bill, Rooks was blissfully unaware of that fact.

Celas staggered back from the headbutt, trying to shake off the lingering pain in his shoulder and the fresh pins and needles jabbing at his scalp. A slight cut had opened, slowly oozing blood, and the color showed up rather starkly against his snow-white hair.

Now, while he’s reeling! Celas plunged forward, finding his footing within a step or two. His wasn’t the shuffling, bouncing gait that Tres favored but a more flitting movement favored by martial artists to keep their center of gravity balanced. At the halfway point between them, Celas whirled clockwise, his left hand grabbing the back of a chair to his right as he spun so that as he turned to face Tres again he could whip the piece of furniture at the man as he straightened from retrieving the mic.

The chair was followed by another tight spin that led into a crouch and finally in a jumping kick aimed at Tres’ chest. Tres had bulled through the first chair – Celas was counting on a repeat performance to give his kick the element of surprise.

[Post: 5. Impact: 3]

The burning pain that scraped along Celas’ leg was enough to foul up his landing but Tres went so far as to kick his other leg out from him as well. Celas twisted as he fell, landing flat on his chest, and quickly rolled away from Tres in order to put some distance between them. His left leg, injured earlier by Tres’ kick, was now burning numb from the mind blade scraping alongside it. A dangerous handicap.

Celas’ roll brought him up against the wall where the window separating the fighters from the audience was located. He started to rise, propping his right leg up to support himself, when he caught Tres’ movement out of the corner of his eye. Celas was a fighter, as skilled as any (if apparently not as experienced), and he knew how helpless a position he was in. His first instinct would then be to protect himself, and so he threw up his right arm, folded so that his fist his fist rested on the shoulder, just as Tres delivered the Glimmering Warlock.

The block absorbed much of the impact and Celas was close enough to the wall to brace himself and keep from falling flat on his face. Tres rebounded into a chair, rolling to put some distance between them and the crowd roared approval. Celas pulled himself to his feet, vision lilting slightly from the force of the kick – block or no block, that had hurt. He shifted his weight to the side and staggered to his right, near his original position at the beginning of the fight, careful to keep more of his weight on his right leg than his left. Seconds mattered, and from his new position he was able to crouch and grab the end of his discarded quarterstaff.

This fight wasn’t going as expected. Tres was obviously a skilled fighter, and a powerful one. Closing with him was obviously a bad idea.

“I bet he’ll feel that in the morning. Celas takes a kick to the head and seems to be staggering – not too impressive for a first-time competitor!”

[Post: 6. Impact: 4]

Closing was a bad idea… but there wasn’t much left that Celas could do. His left leg was numb, his left shoulder was numb – and bleeding – and his only weapon was a quarterstaff, meant to be used two-handed and with firm footing. Seeing Tres summon that blade and shield…

Well. There was one thing that he hadn’t tried, yet. It was a long shot; Celas didn’t have much experience with psionic energy. With time ticking down on their fight, then the only thing to do now was to give it his all.

Flourishing his staff in his right hand, Celas started forward, holding the quarterstaff diagonally before him, right hand above the left with about three feet between them, upper end of the staff over his shoulder while the lower edge stuck out before him. It was a neutral-aggressive stance allowing him multiple options – he could go for a trip, a thwack on the head, a block, and so forth. Best play it cautious until he saw his opening.

“The fighters are squaring off, weapons in hand and each looking for the next opening… You can feel the excitement buzzing in the booth! "

[Post: 7. Impact: 4]

Tres reached into his jacket and Celas sprang forward, moving as quickly as he could with one half responsive leg. He pulled the bottom half of his quarterstaff back with his left hand and released with his right so that the weapon could swing down at Tres' right arm, apparatus aiming to pin it behind the shield. Celas put just enough strength into the swing to make it clear what he was doing - the injury to his shoulder wouldn't allow more than that. It was a feint.

After letting go with his right hand, he cocked his arm back and swung at Tres' head simultaneously to the downward swing of the staff. The haymaker looked to be a foolish maneuver - Tres' shield could easily block both blows and Celas would likely hurt himself punching the psionic shield. Celas was counting on one last surprise his opponent wouldn't see coming.

Passive Ability Wrote:

Magical Resistance – Celas’ right arm is enchanted to possess a certain amount of magical resistance. This resistance is able to dispel light magical effects with no ill effect. Medium-class magical effects will lose a portion of their power but secondary effects still occur.

Celas threw his weight behind the punch, rather than the staff strike, and shifted his center of gravity onto his stronger right leg for balance. Psionic energy, though biological in origin, was still a kind of energy that could be classified as 'magic.' If this worked, Celas' punch might go through Tres' shield, though it would lose part of its momentum as it did (and there was a high likelihood that the shield would still sting him something fierce).

It was that moment of surprise in the wake of the punch that Celas hoped to capitalize on by whirling on his right foot, using the punch's follow-through to grab the tailing end of his quarterstaff and thwack the opposite end against the side of Tres' skull. His back would be toward the man for a brief moment, but with any luck it wouldn't matter.

[Post: 8. Impact: 4]

Celas’ punch was thrown as his staff came down, the staff meant to slide to the side as he struck, but Tres surprised him by driving forward, straight into the feint, straight into the punch, straight into him. His staff – and his left arm – got caught between Celas and Tres’ shield, driven back into him as his own punch struck, hesitated briefly and continued through.

Tres’ shield was driven up into Celas’ face, the entangling quarterstaff not enough to prevent the impact. Celas’ punch connected with Tres’ face with half the strength it would otherwise have struck with. Celas recoiled, stumbling backward and blinded by the psionic pain exploding in his face. A smoky blue glow trailed from his skin, an unexplained response to the exchange.

Celas staggered backwards several steps, the pain in his face transforming to a pressure inside of his head. He swung his staff weakly before him to keep Tres from immediately following – or at least to tell him when Tres was coming, and half-fell against a skewed table in the middle of the recording booth.

“Celas charges, Tres steadies himself… OW! And it looks like Celas got the short end of that exchange, staggering away from a psychic shield to the face! But what’s this… unless Tres is playing some kind of light trick with his psionic powers, Celas appears to be glowing…”

[Post: 9. Impact: 5!]

(Roll is for next post)

His vision was blurry, but Celas saw Tres moving. Backing out of the staff’s range, turning… Celas inhaled, the glow fading, and dropped into a crouch. Or at least, he tried to, but his leg buckled and he fell, the shield passing above him through sheer accident as much as skill on Celas’ behalf. He fell upon his left knee and exhaled sharply, a dense fog spreading out around him in an utterly useless display of power.

Special Technique Wrote:

Breath of Winter – Celas breathes deeply and exhales a fog that swells quickly but disperses the further out it drifts. Fog created this way tends to be thickest within fifteen feet and requires a post after casting to encompass its full area. The fog then remains for two additional posts before dissipating.

Visibility in the fog is hindered but not by very much. Even standing on opposite fringes of the fog banks, opponents can still make out each other’s silhouettes. Conversely, opponents can see each other perfectly when they are within five feet of each other.

The fog rolled out, swelling quickly to fill the recording booth, aided by the lack of circulation. It might have proved helpful, but as Celas struggled back to his feet, his Fighter went off – time was up. Celas was pretty sure that he had lost. The blows he had struck against his opponent had mostly been inconsequential while most of Tres’ had incapacitated him.

[Post: 10. Impact: 0]