TOA Round 3: Spekkio VS Cloud711

[psychosyd]

Alright, we only have 16 fighters left... and what a show it has been so far... lets continue to keep this thing going with a bang!

1. NO SIGNITURES!

2. No God Mods... you know the basics, "possesing characters", godlike abilities, cheapo moves, power dodging or Didging killing opponents stuff like that.

NOTE: The small time taking over, for like adding to battle posts are legal, as long as you dont hurt them or whatnot

3. 2 ways to win- Killing your opponent hte legal, way, getting them to accept the win, when you have bested them, or by a judges decision. ACCEPT it... if you have a problem with there decision, then PM me....

4. Judges will post who won, and a short paragraph on why they believe that person won

5. Round 3 starts on Sunday September 22... and will run till saturday the 28th

Round 4 starts that following sunday

So each tournament round lasts a week, you will have that much time to defeat your opponent. Topics will be closed on Saturday night, or sunday morning... if possible, and the next round will start. This tournament will be done in 6 weeks.

YOu may begin anytime

[cloud711]

Darkness. Darkness is all that lied before Rowin’s eyes as he slowly opened them. Soon, darkness gave way to blurry outlines of objects. These objects began to take shape as the darkness slowly receded, and the light from a small candle struck fear into the heart of the darkness, sending it into oblivion. Rowin slowly sat up and peered around the room. A small desk sat in the corner of his tiny room. On it, was a single candle, almost devoid of wax after a long night of burning. Next to it, laid Rowin’s sword, candlelight glimmering off of the silver blade.

Creeping out of his bed, Rowin put on a pair of pants and walked outside of his room into a long hallway. Traveling down the marble floor on his bare feet, Rowin took notice of the elegant stone pillars that lined the dark hallway, absent of all light, save a few torches placed many yards apart. As Rowin reached the end of the seemingly endless hallway he came to a large chamber, covered by a brilliant marble dome. In the center of this chamber was a large fountain, where many of the warriors that have battled their way into the third round were drinking from. Rowin walked up to the fountain and dipped a wooden mug that he had brought from his room into the translucent liquid. Putting the mug to his lips he tasted the cool water as it flowed down his throat. After wishing the other fighters good luck in their battles, Rowin traveled back the long hallway to his room.

Upon entering his chambers, Rowin began dressing for his third fight in this tournament. He slipped his feet into his leather boots and felt the soft soles cushion his blistered feet. He laced them up tight and put his pant legs over the top laces. Before putting his shirt on, he delicately removed the bandages on his shoulder, stained with blood from an injury in the opening round. As the open wound was open to the environment, Rowin reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of ale. Around this bottle was tied a small bloodstained cloth. After removing the cloth from the bottle, Rowin opened the bottle and poured a small amount of alcohol onto the cloth. As Rowin laid back onto his bed, he put the cloth to the wound and gritted his teeth as the searing pain raced through his arm. After holding it there for a few seconds, he removed the cloth and tied it back around the bottle, closing it and returning it to his bag. He then tied a fresh bandage around the wound and slowly laid his Ithilmar armor over it. Concealing his armor with his dark cloak, Rowin walked over to his desk and clasped the hilt of his sword. A myriad of memories flowed through Rowin’s head as he squeezed his palm around the finely crafted steel. Most of these memories were of his father, and the lessons and morals that he had bestowed upon his son. A tear then began creeping down his cheek as he remembered when his town was attacked, and burnt down, and how his father had given his life to save Rowin. After that, Rowin vowed that he would never be weak again, thus resulting in him entering in this tournament 10 years after that event, to prove to himself that he was not weak anymore.

The hallway was dead silent as Rowin headed down it yet again, only this time, in the other direction. As he came to a large opening Rowin saw two men holding the handles of the large wooden doors that separated Rowin from his destiny. As the doors were opened, sunlight poured onto the floor, flashing its brilliant rays upon Rowin's face, nearly blinding him. Covering his eyes he made his way onto the battlefield where the dirt was stained a dark crimson, and the air was saturated with the taste of fresh blood. The winds of fury blew on this cold morning as the souls of those that had lost their lives in the opening rounds still loomed. But there cursings were not heard by a single ear as the roars of the crowd drowned out any sound but their benevolent wailing.

A brilliant sunlight continued to cast its rays onto Rowin as he neared the center of the arena. Driving the blade of his sword into the ground, Rowin kneeled down onto his right knee and chanted a short prayer to himself. After he completed the prayer, he reached his hand into the packed dirt below and brought up a handful of loose sand. He rubbed it into the blistered skin of his palms and threw the excess to the ground. As he retracted his blade from the ground, he looked across the arena to see the large wooden doors begin to creak open. The battle, he thought, would soon begin.

Spekkio stared into the waters of the lake. He never enjoyed looking at his reflection; it was only a mirror of all the pain and suffering and strife he had caused for so many others. For Spekkio, it was all a fantasy world. You kill somebody, and it never mattered. You raped someone, and nobody cared. Any and all immoral acts were deemed fine by Spekkio’s philosophy. There were no boundaries for him; no limits. Life was nothing but a cruel immoral game. And as he stared into the waters of the lake, he felt a great wave of emotion come over him. Perhaps it could be called regret. Spekkio knew not the meaning of regret, so these feelings were all new and horrid to him. He tore away from his reflection. That was Spekkio’s only fear - himself.

A shiver ran down his spine as he found himself back in the Tournament Arena. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. Spekkio would have been happier sitting in a dark, quiet cave, contemplating his life, and his past decision; instead he had volunteered for this fight. Unless his life was on the line, Spekkio was slothful. And sloth is one of the deadliest of sins.

Yet there was no sloth in Spekkio now; he was determined to defeat his opponent. He did not know who his opponent was, nor did he care. All Spekkio knew was that he would defeat him swiftly, and he would defeat him in the most gruesome way possible. Even now he was musing over how to accomplish both goals at once. The Darkness continued to flow through his mind, accompanied with a few thoughts of his training; he had long trained for this battle. By the third round, all of the fools had left; the only ones left were competitors worthy of the great Spekkio. And the training.....Spekkio’s muscles ached simply from the pure thought of the horrors he had put himself through to accomplish the goal of perfecting his technique. His mind continued to reflect...

There were two swords, Spekkio thought. They had come from him out of nowhere. One from the front, and one from the back. He had been attacked from both sides. Maybe that explains why he was tied onto a caravan, heading.....east, if the sun was telling the truth. He had been gagged, and his legs were bruised badly; most likely broken before he was loaded onto the truck. Spekkio’s mind raced. He couldn’t think of anyone who would want to do this to him. Maybe bounty hunters, but he was passing through regions where he could not have racked up any bounty worth capture.

The mind came reeling back into reality. He would not be captured again. He would not be caught off guard again. Those days were over.

His eyes opened as a large commotion built up. The front doors were opened, and a figure walked out of them. His opponent....... Spekkio looked at him carefully, trying to get a better glimpse of him. Whoever he was, the crowd let out a great roar of applause and cheers as he made his way towards the ring.

When Spekkio walked in, the only ones cheering were those who bet on him; a very uncomfortable silence filled the lungs of the rest of them. They knew who he was, and they did not know why he had business here. Spekkio wasn’t too sure of it either. All he knew is that this tournament called to him; He had to win.

Finally, his opponent stepped onto the platform, and as his name was announced......Spekkio’s blood froze. This was.....Rowin. A gaze, half of fear and half of utter surprise, appeared on his face. This couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. A great shudder ran down his spine. There were few short of the Dark Lord himself that struck that kind of fear into Spekkio’s heart....but this person......

The stories of Rowin had spread far among the land. Spekkio knew little of his motives or of his fighting abilities; only that some of the greatest warriors had fell by his blade. What he could do to Spekkio......he dared not even think.

Spekkio’s hand was on his sword again. This time tighter than he had held it in quite a long while. It was the point of the tournament where there was no room for error. He would have to give this opponent all he had. It was Do or Die.

Spekkio prayed it wouldn’t be die.

[psychosyd]

Wow, this was a brain wracker...

Spek, you had a bit more depth in your posts... background and stuff, while cloud, you kinda went "I do this, this this and this". But spek, yer intro kinda bugged me... the first few paragraphs, in my opnion, were not yer best... I honestly didn't really think they flowed well. The whole reflection was kinda odd... it didnt fit very well, all the memories... were a bit odd... As you got onward however, you intro picked up and got better, no doubt about that.

But then again, cloud, your wording and phrasing was quite beautiful, I think you had a bit better wording and flow into your posts over spek.... more fun to read, I dunno, I liked the "story" you told.

Both of you are legendary in your times... both have great ability, and are just wondeful writers... it honestly rends my heart to have to make a choice

Grammer mistakes were about equal, both of you had them.

I think I am going to have to award this battle to cloud... Spek, Your writing skills are greater than mine, but your background stuff just really didnt fit in to well honestly, it seemed a bit creased... ya know? Clouds was a bit smoother of a post...

*goes to get psychiatric help*

[cloud711]

This is a very bittersweet victory for me. I can't even really call this a battle, and I suppose its mostly my fault. Sorry Spekkio, go look at my thread in RGP and you'll know why I couldn't post yesterday morning.