Corr
Member
You can lead a fool to knowledge but you can't make him think.
Posts: 940 
Affiliation: Clan Vhett
Traffic Light: Orange
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Post by Corr on May 10, 2013 2:16:12 GMT -8
Rules: Standard GBA. Force Powers - speed, tk, anything in the movies- limited EU. No Magic or game mechanics. Hashy style. Lightsabers only.
Location: Tarko-Look-See?
The Tarko-se Arena was a large gladiatoral arena located on the city of Tarko-se on the planet Cato Neimoidia. Jedi Master Rahm Kota was forced to fight in the arena and survived for seven days before Starkiller rescued him. The Baron Merillion Tarko said Kota was the most formidable fighter yet seen in the arena but he was sure Starkiller would be better.
The arena itself bears a slight resemblance to thee Galactic Senate Rotunda. It too has detachable platforms which allow the audience to drift over to view specific area's of the arena floor. It was large enough that several different gladiatorial contests could be under way at one time. There was little in the way of rules in such battles and odds were quite often stacked against favourites to make things more interesting. The floor itself was dusted in a fine sand that absorbed blood and gore nicely and the walls were smooth, with little traction afforded. Force fields were also in place to stop some of the wild creatures from scaling the sides and eating the crowd.
Some of the creatures used in the arena over the years are: Acklays, Massiffs, Rancors, Krayt dragons, Razor hounds, Slice hounds, Gorog, any of which can be worked into the Role Play as our writers see fit (AS LONG AS BOTH WRITERS AGREE).
A cheering and hollering crowd greet our two combatants as they are pushed forward and out into the arena from respective gates...
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Post by Thamalon on May 11, 2013 4:47:45 GMT -8
I walk out onto the grounds of the arena and my immediate reaction is one of disgust.
I used to be able to do entrance posts with flair and panache. I had it down to an art. I was eloquent, witty, detailed, yet not jabbering on like some people. Now, I struggle to think of what to write that is new and original. I have resorted to breaking the fourth wall in my desperation. It pisses me off. I will just have to shake off this rust and take my frustration out on my opponent.
To wrap up this train wreck of a post, I am of a large build. Broad shoulders taper down to a trim waste, the trunk supported by lithe, powerful legs. I am dressed in dark subtle leather pants and a pale shirt that is open at the collar. My hair is long and I for one would like to think it looks romantically windswept, but it could also be called messy.
I have two, that's right, two lightsabers. They are my only weapons, as really, who needs to be a walking armoury unless you are compensating for something. Having twenty different options to use is cumbersome and annoying. Unless you are a Mando then its just cool.
So now that I have gotten this out of the way, lets get this little jig going!
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Post by Anima on May 11, 2013 9:43:38 GMT -8
This is a world away from the one most know. Upon entry, I stare at the windswept floor, listening to the roar of the crowd rising high above those of the creatures barely held at bay by energy fields. They reek of murder- I can taste Death's kin among this somber company, and I can see the ghosts of the fallen, stuck in this place as though it were their eternal prison.
Standing there, towering over the heads of most men at six feet and eight inches, I have been called a titan by some, though my form is shrouded in black. Robes, shadows- but for two orange orbs, glowing in a mist of darkness where a face ought to be, and two ghastly, pallid hands. My weapons were, for the greater part, left behind for this. Lightsaber play, nothing short of simplicity. For this, I have brought Sin, and Somnus.
And I can feel him enter, across the fray. My eyes do not rise to meet him. I simply stand, saturated in the will of the Corruptor, drinking in his sweet toxins. The whore is in my right hand now- Sin has found her way unbidden to my fingers, playing her form against my cold, dead hands to reap some manner of pleasure, to incite her viciousness. She has always played better with me than with others. In that, I suppose, she finds her lover in me.
Somewhere, the sound of breathing came ragged for a moment, then ceased. I feel frustration, and finally, my gaze lifts. I stare intently into the man before me, and I wait for a moment, knowing he will come on his own. The vixen screams out for him, casting off decency and revealing her naked form- a crimson blade, emanating with an unholy glow that blasphemes the very concept of light.
"It begins," comes a cold whisper, harsh, ragged, echoing so low that it is quashed for a long moment by the crowd. And then, it reverberates, louder and louder, as if in the mind itself, and the people become silent. The creatures become docile. It is this man and I, alone. This world is ours.
And I shall paint it in blood.
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Post by Thamalon on May 11, 2013 23:33:18 GMT -8
I take a deep draw of the dry air, sucking it deep, filling my lungs. I exhale through my nose, letting the air go along with my distractions, emptying my lungs and my head. I can feel the shroud of peace settle over me. I know to the common man, the concept of calm and peace before a life and death battle would seem strange, even morbid. But they do not understand, nor do they appreciate the intrinsic value of placing your life on the line to find the clarity in your existence.
I thought I was a large man, standing tall and proud several inches over six foot, but I know I am no where near this giants height. His mother must have been part wookie. It would explain the smell. Height would mean reach. I must be mindful of that, as it would mean more of him to slice off.
The other man's stillness tells me he is patient, calculating. He would not make the first move. He will wait for me. I would feel rude if I did not oblige him.
I flex my powerful arms and roll my neck, feeling the sweet pop of vertebra cracking. I unclip my right hand lightsaber, the cool weight of the metal resting in my palm almost as nicely as a bottle of ale would. But that would come later, first there was death to deal. Which was good really, as fighting did always increase my thirst.
I do not bother to bow, talk or do anything else that many fighters seem compelled to do. We both knew why we were here. Lets not dilute the purity of the occasion with pointless banter or empty gestures of respect. I simply walk forward, closing the distance and switch on Right, its crimson glow casting sickly shadows over me. The hum and buzz from Right sounding almost eager to my ears.
As I come within striking distance, I suddenly explode into action. I swipe Right across my body, lashing out at the shadowed and cowled head of the giant. Its a fast strike and its not meant to hit, its meant to cause the shadow to flinch, to pause and maybe even pull back. The swipe would go past the face and as it did, I drop down into a squat and rolling my wrist, I would bring Right back in, cutting from my right, going left as its burning tip quested for the left foot of the giant. It was a calculated risk I took with the low attack and I probably would not attempt it against a regular sized opponent, but against a man of such height the pros outweighed the cons.
Now, lets see if I can remember the colour coding I used before...
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Post by Anima on May 12, 2013 0:40:00 GMT -8
The newcomer thought to use treachery against Anima, which was a decent tactic- but the leviathan did not flinch away. The light came upward, striking toward the shadows, but something utterly chilling occurred. The light simply passed through the darkness, illuminating nothing. Within the void in that hood, it seemed, there was no face. Simply eyes, watching, waiting.
Sin at his side flashed upward wickedly an a tight arc, out toward the chest of the offender in a clockwise motion, moving in the path of the arm commanding the saber. If it's work were done the way Anima anticipated, the arm would flop uselessly to the ground and there would be a scream less of pain and more of surprise.
The blade came down to rest before him in a resting motion, his left foot dragging backward beneath his robes as the man dropped, and the two sabers clashed, sparks flying in a calamitous chorus. The tip of the blade running over the sand, causing crackling sounds as it superheated the desert dust, remained stoic, lavishly mocking the blade that came against it in it's harlot's way. Body bare against body, Sin was in her glory.
And Anima stared silently down, letting the Corruptor flow through him, letting his mind open to a labyrinth of pathways that would guide him through glorious battle. To the end of his new adversary. All the way to the grave he had crawled from, if he so desired.
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Corr Vhett - puts the "Laughter" in "Manslaughter"..... 
