9th Annual Nintendoland Battlefield Tournament: Championship Fight - VGF

Swordmaster Link · 06-25-2005, 01:51 PM

Don't know what happened to the first topic I posted...oh well. Anyway, I wasn't sure how to proceed with the Tournament of Red Lions and all, but I figured it would be best to get this started beforehand so there is only a minimum amount of overlapping in terms of managing two tourneys at once. At any rate, the two fighters who have made it this far should be congratulated on their efforts:

Erdawn vs. Orchis

Rules:

1. No shape-shifting/form changing moves are allowed MID-BATTLE.

2. No Healing.

3. No One Hit KOs.

4. No Life Taps (Energy Sucking).

5. The first person to post will decide the battlefield. (Or if you've already arranged the battlefield thats fine.)

Judges:
1. Swordmaster Link
2. Wyborn
3. Silverwind

The battle will end two weeks from Monday @ 5:00 PM EST Good luck!

Erdawn Il Deus · 06-25-2005, 04:32 PM

Don't worry about the Red Lions, SML - this is the final battle of the NLBFT and we aren't going to start that one for a while yet.

Aaaaah I have been waiting for this. Post pending. And Orchis, dear christ, the more I have to wait the more pain I'm going to inflict. [img]smile.gif[/img] I've been waiting for a re-match with Cam's youngling brother. And believe me when I say it's going to be good.

Erdawn Il Deus · 06-25-2005, 05:37 PM

Came the end.

The windswept expanse lay stark and hard upon the earth - an endlessness of cooked grass weeds, bleached and yellowed of colour and sticking up from hot sand like fine crushed marble, peopled by standing bushels of balled cacti. It was a place of bone - the ground cracked underfoot with the dried and baked skeletons of Hyborian beasts and pangean man, overgrown and tangled in the long fingers of hot weeds, standing horizon-to-horizon like a frozen army of the dead.

The place evoked a sense of pagan stillness and purgatorial eternity. The coming storm brought a humid breeze and throbbing clouds over the eastern sky, the philistine sun hanging overhead them, a liquid ball of pulsating red fire, beating down on the field with jealous, sucking heat. In the distance, thunder sounded with the crumple of mortar fire between flashes of white electricity, the booming reports swooping down across the landscape like a hungry animal, heavy with a throatful of stones.

To this place came the man who would kill Orchis, or whoever of his group showed his sword.

He was set above the oven heat of the earth and beneath the prehistoric pastille yellows of the sky, his legs pistoning off the ground and carrying across the desert Golgotha at a slow, stoic clockwork. Tall and darkly handsome - with broad-grown shoulders and a bony, sunken face like chiselled rock, his hair long and swept back from his brow as grey as ice. He was draped in an armour of wolf pelt, upper jaws hanging over his shoulders and padded with fangs, arms and legs wrapped in ripped strips of beast fur, the barbaric ensemble making him wintery dust-mote off the backdrop of hot pastille, a man of stone or ice and aquarelles.

The feature that made him less a man, however, were his ears - long and lupine, feral, growing from the sides of his head in sleek, pointed triangles like the ears of some ancient tiger, furred with a soft white and striped with ragged scars of black. His eyes were set deep and sullen in his skull and were one colour - the iris and pupil and white defined only by the clever shades of lake-ice cerulean. Behind his lips his teeth were sharp.

He was called Wolv, and fear and honour had been heaped upon it over undreamed ages, although it was not his birth name.

Storm winds whipped his furs as he came to the hot bones of a colossal elephantine monster - its skull so abysmally deep the sockets were dark gulfs into unknown tombs, its rib-cage a cracked mountain that cast a xylophone of striped shadows over the sand and grass. Here he stopped, his nostrils flaring as he took in the smells - death and heat, to the east the humidity sweated rich aromas from the soil, the soft pattering of small reptiles. It was practically barren, but the air tasted with the scent of blood that was deep and intoxicating - a warrior’s blood.

From his crossing shoulder straps he drew a wickedly-sized steel sword sheathed in a wrapping of roped furs, raising it over his head so the sunlight winked blue of the rune-scribed metal, glinting sharp and hard.

”Orchis!” he bellowed, and his voice was like the thunder.

OoC - Orchis! I have seen into your soul! You. Will. DIE! [img]smile.gif[/img] (Use whoever you want)

[ June 25, 2005, 10:15 PM: Message edited by: Erdawn ridin' on the storm ]

michaelmacinnis · 06-26-2005, 06:36 PM

Woop woop woop woop woop BUMP!MOVE IT COSKSOCKET (...as instructed) Woop woop woop woop woop* runs off in teh sunset*

Asnabel · 06-26-2005, 10:50 PM

Even before Wolv’s cry had finished resonating through the endless graveyard, he was interrupted by the quiet rhythm of footsteps over the field of bones of weeds. He turned quickly in the direction of the footsteps, swinging the massive blade along with him. The beastly man’s eyes settled upon a man walking towards him, hands busy at work. He was dressed in very simple clothes, draped neck to toe in tough cowhide that was especially thick around the chest and arms, with a wide-brimmed hat adorning his head. Around his waist was a belt made from multiple layers of ammunition from the weapons he held, each bullet and shell custom made for his use. On his back there hung a long rifle, very simple in appearance, but also very effective. In his right hand he held a long, heavy revolver covered in decorative carvings. His other hand was occupied with loading his large revolver with individually selected bullets. Aside from his ammunition, his belt held several simple tools, such as ropes, bandages, and multiple small knives.

By the time he finally reached Wolv, he had finished preparing for the fight, and looked up to observe his opponent. With a cocked eyebrow at the sight of this strange man, the gunfighter retrieved a small cloth and wiped the sweat and sand from his forehead. He shook the dust from his shoulder length black hair, and fingered his revolver as the two examined each other. With a slight chuckle the gunfighter said softly, “Sorry to disappoint, my name is Asnabel. But don’t worry,” he gripped his revolver, ”I’m sure we’ll be able to entertain each other.” With a speed that left the eye useless, Asnabel’s revolver was brought to bear, and three shots rang through the stillness.

Erdawn Il Deus · 06-27-2005, 01:04 PM

Blam-bla-blam!

Instinct rushed down his arms and legs like a red fever and before he knew it, before Asnabel had lifted his revolver to shooting position and before his eye saw any of it happen the heavy wolf pelts swung forward, clutched in his hand. The three rounds pounded into the furs, and were stopped. Whatever the hell wolf wore a pelt that could stop a bullet was anyone’s guess.

Wolv brought his furs forward, sliding them off his body and holding them with his other hand like an unorthodox shield. He was wearing a slim, furred leather jerkin sewn with blue-flashing metal plates which left his arms bare, rounded pillars of bulging muscle and taut sinew. Asnabel took a moment to appreciate that the man’s hair - body, arms, even his stubble - was the same white as his ears. It made for a very strange sight.

“Orchis taking the day off?” The large man boomed slowly. “I’ll send him your head.” There was motion - Wolv was sprinting, his furs coiled in a ball of grey, Asnabel had already fired again and the reports cracked but the bullets were nimbly swallowed by the pelts and disappeared thwock-thwock! There was a ring as the man’s barbaric straightsword clove air and sliced downwards to bury itself into the gunman’s skull. He ducked and threw himself into a side roll and Wolv thundered past him, likewise turning his body so now he was sliding backwards on his heels and they were staring each other down.

-He moves as fast as a cat.- the gunman thought to himself. -Faster, like a god-damned cat!- Wolv rotated his wrist, cycling the blade of blue steel, sunlight winking of the tower of runes running through the middle.

“A gunslinger, eh? Maybe a longhunter?” His eyes glimmered like blue candle-fire. “I’ve killed enough of each.” Asnabel’s hands blurred and the heavy gun cracked and boomed. Wolv’s hands blurred as his blade rose and tipped and the bullet ricocheted downwards into the grass with a puff of dirt, his arms recoiled with the hit. The steel twinkled frostily, the eerie blue of an alien metal. The runes flashed.

“Fast. Worthy.” He said.

“You say that like it’s nothing,” Asnabel replied heatedly. Wolv was silent, reaching down into his mess of belts and withdrawing a small sheepskin canteen, like a small drum. He popped off the cap and took a long drought - the alcohol was sizzling, stinging his eyes but awakening them. Again, that cold fire in his irises.

-This man reeks of the arcane, the prehistoric… what the hell is he?- But that didn’t matter. What mattered was whether or not he could die. The acridity of gun smoke weighed the air, and the strom-richened breeze fluttered their clothing in a scene that was almost melodramatically silent. And then, for true, it began. Words faltered.

Wolv whipped his hand forwards like a viper’s neck and the canteen shot at Asnabel like a bullet. The gunman’s hand came up and the hammer backed up and thundered down and suddenly there was a boom and the bottle blew wide open in frayed tatters - the contents spraying over Asnabel’s face and clothes and hair, almost drenching him in the sheer volume of the alcoholic liquid. And Wolv was already thundering forward bent low and over his pounding, muscled legs, and the distance between them closed and Asnabel didn’t even bother lifting his gun - he knew the vagrant had tricked him out of bullets. Wolv shoved forward with his fistful of wolf pelts, hurling it at Asnabel to distract him and run him through - Asnabel swept them aside with a well placed cycle of his arm and brought both his hands up, revolver hooked around his thumb, closing them on the broad blue blade before it nailed his guts to his spine.

The strength of the man bolted on the gunfighter’s arms, driving him backwards, his boot-heels digging trenches in the grass and bones. Muscle and sinew pounded and struggled and heat beat down and sweated their pores - now both of Wolv’s knuckled hands were holding the sword, and Asnabel back-pedalled to stop the point from opening his belly. Suddenly, Wolv pulled back and the sword sliced clean deep down Asnabel’s palms - he choked down a shriek and hissed as the pain stung him to his bones. Wolv lifted his leg an drove his sandaled foot so far in his adversary’s gut the man’s doubled over the toes, bellowing coughs and back-pedalling again with the momentum. Wolv came on, his lips split back at the teeth, snarling, and the blade reaped blood as it whickered one-handed down and across, the point tearing raggedly down Asnabel’s shirt and chest, darkening the cloth. The goliath kept coming and his free hand shoved forward and Asnabel’s face was buried in his massive palm and fingers. Wolv bulled forwards into his opponent, clenching his hand and crushing the man’s nose and cheeks like clay pottery and bursting capillaries-worth of blood from his face and heaving with the arm, lifting Asnabel off his feet and hurling him backwards through the xylophone of the colossal skeleton’s ribs.

Bones crumpled and splintered into sharp points and the gunfighter disappeared into the thing’s ribcage, landing hard and sprawling across the dusty earth. Whump.

Wolv blew air through his teeth, and raised the blade up, twisting himself into a stance that shrank the trunk of his body and seemed to broaden his arms.

”Get up.”

Erdawn Il Deus · 06-30-2005, 02:54 PM

SML would you hurry the hell up and change this? =P

Erdawn Il Deus · 07-18-2005, 02:30 AM

Is this tournament going to finish? What the hell is this? Where's the other topic? Either make your descisions public or don't make them at all.

06-25-2005, 01:51 PM	#1
Swordmaster Link Super Bodyguard & King of the Arcade Join Date: Apr 2000 Location: Wherever you want me to be Gender: Posts: 29,999 Thanks: 217 Thanked 539 Times in 376 Posts Points: 1,749.85 Bank: 1,205,748.12 Total Points: 1,207,497.97 Donate	Don't know what happened to the first topic I posted...oh well. Anyway, I wasn't sure how to proceed with the Tournament of Red Lions and all, but I figured it would be best to get this started beforehand so there is only a minimum amount of overlapping in terms of managing two tourneys at once. At any rate, the two fighters who have made it this far should be congratulated on their efforts: Erdawn vs. Orchis Rules: 1. No shape-shifting/form changing moves are allowed MID-BATTLE. 2. No Healing. 3. No One Hit KOs. 4. No Life Taps (Energy Sucking). 5. The first person to post will decide the battlefield. (Or if you've already arranged the battlefield thats fine.) Judges: 1. Swordmaster Link 2. Wyborn 3. Silverwind The battle will end two weeks from Monday @ 5:00 PM EST Good luck!

06-25-2005, 04:32 PM	#2
Erdawn Il Deus Senior Member Join Date: May 2003 Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sandalled feet Gender: Posts: 2,985 Thanks: 4 Thanked 45 Times in 39 Posts Points: 22,411.27 Bank: 757.83 Total Points: 23,169.10 Donate	Don't worry about the Red Lions, SML - this is the final battle of the NLBFT and we aren't going to start that one for a while yet. Aaaaah I have been waiting for this. Post pending. And Orchis, dear christ, the more I have to wait the more pain I'm going to inflict. [img]smile.gif[/img] I've been waiting for a re-match with Cam's youngling brother. And believe me when I say it's going to be good.

06-25-2005, 05:37 PM	#3
Erdawn Il Deus Senior Member Join Date: May 2003 Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sandalled feet Gender: Posts: 2,985 Thanks: 4 Thanked 45 Times in 39 Posts Points: 22,411.27 Bank: 757.83 Total Points: 23,169.10 Donate	Came the end. The windswept expanse lay stark and hard upon the earth - an endlessness of cooked grass weeds, bleached and yellowed of colour and sticking up from hot sand like fine crushed marble, peopled by standing bushels of balled cacti. It was a place of bone - the ground cracked underfoot with the dried and baked skeletons of Hyborian beasts and pangean man, overgrown and tangled in the long fingers of hot weeds, standing horizon-to-horizon like a frozen army of the dead. The place evoked a sense of pagan stillness and purgatorial eternity. The coming storm brought a humid breeze and throbbing clouds over the eastern sky, the philistine sun hanging overhead them, a liquid ball of pulsating red fire, beating down on the field with jealous, sucking heat. In the distance, thunder sounded with the crumple of mortar fire between flashes of white electricity, the booming reports swooping down across the landscape like a hungry animal, heavy with a throatful of stones. To this place came the man who would kill Orchis, or whoever of his group showed his sword. He was set above the oven heat of the earth and beneath the prehistoric pastille yellows of the sky, his legs pistoning off the ground and carrying across the desert Golgotha at a slow, stoic clockwork. Tall and darkly handsome - with broad-grown shoulders and a bony, sunken face like chiselled rock, his hair long and swept back from his brow as grey as ice. He was draped in an armour of wolf pelt, upper jaws hanging over his shoulders and padded with fangs, arms and legs wrapped in ripped strips of beast fur, the barbaric ensemble making him wintery dust-mote off the backdrop of hot pastille, a man of stone or ice and aquarelles. The feature that made him less a man, however, were his ears - long and lupine, feral, growing from the sides of his head in sleek, pointed triangles like the ears of some ancient tiger, furred with a soft white and striped with ragged scars of black. His eyes were set deep and sullen in his skull and were one colour - the iris and pupil and white defined only by the clever shades of lake-ice cerulean. Behind his lips his teeth were sharp. He was called Wolv, and fear and honour had been heaped upon it over undreamed ages, although it was not his birth name. Storm winds whipped his furs as he came to the hot bones of a colossal elephantine monster - its skull so abysmally deep the sockets were dark gulfs into unknown tombs, its rib-cage a cracked mountain that cast a xylophone of striped shadows over the sand and grass. Here he stopped, his nostrils flaring as he took in the smells - death and heat, to the east the humidity sweated rich aromas from the soil, the soft pattering of small reptiles. It was practically barren, but the air tasted with the scent of blood that was deep and intoxicating - a warrior’s blood. From his crossing shoulder straps he drew a wickedly-sized steel sword sheathed in a wrapping of roped furs, raising it over his head so the sunlight winked blue of the rune-scribed metal, glinting sharp and hard. ”Orchis!” he bellowed, and his voice was like the thunder. OoC - Orchis! I have seen into your soul! You. Will. DIE! [img]smile.gif[/img] (Use whoever you want) [ June 25, 2005, 10:15 PM: Message edited by: Erdawn ridin' on the storm ]

06-26-2005, 06:36 PM	#4
michaelmacinnis Junior Member Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: Adrift along the shores of sanity )D Posts: 107 Thanks: 0 Thanked 0 Times in 0 Posts Points: 1,920.49 Bank: 500.00 Total Points: 2,420.49 Donate	Woop woop woop woop woop BUMP!MOVE IT COSKSOCKET (...as instructed) Woop woop woop woop woop* runs off in teh sunset*

06-26-2005, 10:50 PM	#5
Asnabel Member Join Date: Oct 2000 Gender: Posts: 550 Thanks: 3 Thanked 1 Time in 1 Post Points: 3,131.12 Bank: 2,030.70 Total Points: 5,161.82 Donate	Even before Wolv’s cry had finished resonating through the endless graveyard, he was interrupted by the quiet rhythm of footsteps over the field of bones of weeds. He turned quickly in the direction of the footsteps, swinging the massive blade along with him. The beastly man’s eyes settled upon a man walking towards him, hands busy at work. He was dressed in very simple clothes, draped neck to toe in tough cowhide that was especially thick around the chest and arms, with a wide-brimmed hat adorning his head. Around his waist was a belt made from multiple layers of ammunition from the weapons he held, each bullet and shell custom made for his use. On his back there hung a long rifle, very simple in appearance, but also very effective. In his right hand he held a long, heavy revolver covered in decorative carvings. His other hand was occupied with loading his large revolver with individually selected bullets. Aside from his ammunition, his belt held several simple tools, such as ropes, bandages, and multiple small knives. By the time he finally reached Wolv, he had finished preparing for the fight, and looked up to observe his opponent. With a cocked eyebrow at the sight of this strange man, the gunfighter retrieved a small cloth and wiped the sweat and sand from his forehead. He shook the dust from his shoulder length black hair, and fingered his revolver as the two examined each other. With a slight chuckle the gunfighter said softly, “Sorry to disappoint, my name is Asnabel. But don’t worry,” he gripped his revolver, ”I’m sure we’ll be able to entertain each other.” With a speed that left the eye useless, Asnabel’s revolver was brought to bear, and three shots rang through the stillness.

06-27-2005, 01:04 PM	#6
Erdawn Il Deus Senior Member Join Date: May 2003 Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sandalled feet Gender: Posts: 2,985 Thanks: 4 Thanked 45 Times in 39 Posts Points: 22,411.27 Bank: 757.83 Total Points: 23,169.10 Donate	Blam-bla-blam! Instinct rushed down his arms and legs like a red fever and before he knew it, before Asnabel had lifted his revolver to shooting position and before his eye saw any of it happen the heavy wolf pelts swung forward, clutched in his hand. The three rounds pounded into the furs, and were stopped. Whatever the hell wolf wore a pelt that could stop a bullet was anyone’s guess. Wolv brought his furs forward, sliding them off his body and holding them with his other hand like an unorthodox shield. He was wearing a slim, furred leather jerkin sewn with blue-flashing metal plates which left his arms bare, rounded pillars of bulging muscle and taut sinew. Asnabel took a moment to appreciate that the man’s hair - body, arms, even his stubble - was the same white as his ears. It made for a very strange sight. “Orchis taking the day off?” The large man boomed slowly. “I’ll send him your head.” There was motion - Wolv was sprinting, his furs coiled in a ball of grey, Asnabel had already fired again and the reports cracked but the bullets were nimbly swallowed by the pelts and disappeared thwock-thwock! There was a ring as the man’s barbaric straightsword clove air and sliced downwards to bury itself into the gunman’s skull. He ducked and threw himself into a side roll and Wolv thundered past him, likewise turning his body so now he was sliding backwards on his heels and they were staring each other down. -He moves as fast as a cat.- the gunman thought to himself. -Faster, like a god-damned cat!- Wolv rotated his wrist, cycling the blade of blue steel, sunlight winking of the tower of runes running through the middle. “A gunslinger, eh? Maybe a longhunter?” His eyes glimmered like blue candle-fire. “I’ve killed enough of each.” Asnabel’s hands blurred and the heavy gun cracked and boomed. Wolv’s hands blurred as his blade rose and tipped and the bullet ricocheted downwards into the grass with a puff of dirt, his arms recoiled with the hit. The steel twinkled frostily, the eerie blue of an alien metal. The runes flashed. “Fast. Worthy.” He said. “You say that like it’s nothing,” Asnabel replied heatedly. Wolv was silent, reaching down into his mess of belts and withdrawing a small sheepskin canteen, like a small drum. He popped off the cap and took a long drought - the alcohol was sizzling, stinging his eyes but awakening them. Again, that cold fire in his irises. -This man reeks of the arcane, the prehistoric… what the hell is he?- But that didn’t matter. What mattered was whether or not he could die. The acridity of gun smoke weighed the air, and the strom-richened breeze fluttered their clothing in a scene that was almost melodramatically silent. And then, for true, it began. Words faltered. Wolv whipped his hand forwards like a viper’s neck and the canteen shot at Asnabel like a bullet. The gunman’s hand came up and the hammer backed up and thundered down and suddenly there was a boom and the bottle blew wide open in frayed tatters - the contents spraying over Asnabel’s face and clothes and hair, almost drenching him in the sheer volume of the alcoholic liquid. And Wolv was already thundering forward bent low and over his pounding, muscled legs, and the distance between them closed and Asnabel didn’t even bother lifting his gun - he knew the vagrant had tricked him out of bullets. Wolv shoved forward with his fistful of wolf pelts, hurling it at Asnabel to distract him and run him through - Asnabel swept them aside with a well placed cycle of his arm and brought both his hands up, revolver hooked around his thumb, closing them on the broad blue blade before it nailed his guts to his spine. The strength of the man bolted on the gunfighter’s arms, driving him backwards, his boot-heels digging trenches in the grass and bones. Muscle and sinew pounded and struggled and heat beat down and sweated their pores - now both of Wolv’s knuckled hands were holding the sword, and Asnabel back-pedalled to stop the point from opening his belly. Suddenly, Wolv pulled back and the sword sliced clean deep down Asnabel’s palms - he choked down a shriek and hissed as the pain stung him to his bones. Wolv lifted his leg an drove his sandaled foot so far in his adversary’s gut the man’s doubled over the toes, bellowing coughs and back-pedalling again with the momentum. Wolv came on, his lips split back at the teeth, snarling, and the blade reaped blood as it whickered one-handed down and across, the point tearing raggedly down Asnabel’s shirt and chest, darkening the cloth. The goliath kept coming and his free hand shoved forward and Asnabel’s face was buried in his massive palm and fingers. Wolv bulled forwards into his opponent, clenching his hand and crushing the man’s nose and cheeks like clay pottery and bursting capillaries-worth of blood from his face and heaving with the arm, lifting Asnabel off his feet and hurling him backwards through the xylophone of the colossal skeleton’s ribs. Bones crumpled and splintered into sharp points and the gunfighter disappeared into the thing’s ribcage, landing hard and sprawling across the dusty earth. Whump. Wolv blew air through his teeth, and raised the blade up, twisting himself into a stance that shrank the trunk of his body and seemed to broaden his arms. ”Get up.”

06-30-2005, 02:54 PM	#7
Erdawn Il Deus Senior Member Join Date: May 2003 Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sandalled feet Gender: Posts: 2,985 Thanks: 4 Thanked 45 Times in 39 Posts Points: 22,411.27 Bank: 757.83 Total Points: 23,169.10 Donate	SML would you hurry the hell up and change this? =P

07-18-2005, 02:30 AM	#8
Erdawn Il Deus Senior Member Join Date: May 2003 Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sandalled feet Gender: Posts: 2,985 Thanks: 4 Thanked 45 Times in 39 Posts Points: 22,411.27 Bank: 757.83 Total Points: 23,169.10 Donate	Is this tournament going to finish? What the hell is this? Where's the other topic? Either make your descisions public or don't make them at all.