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Author Topic: Fight Ne'iav'rine  (Read 483 times)
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Sinister Beauty
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Gender: Female
Posts: 225

Orc, Chyrakisth

« on: January 05, 2007, 07:24:51 PM »

The night is thick and wretched with the scent of sweat and blood. A single point of light pierces the darkness, and marks the location of the fighting pits. A seedy looking man in a dark cloak greets all who near, and asks them if they believe they can stomach the most violent battle witnessed by man. A demon capable of the most horrendous, terrible, and jaw dropping battle one could pay to watch. The bravest of fools could even pay to crawl down into her little ten square peds of hell, and meet the beast up close and personal.

Illegal fighting clubs are not uncommon, and this one had been doing very well recently. The draw was a new warrior, who had made short and gruesome work of any challenger who dared face her. So far seventeen men had tried their luck at the growing wealth available to any who could defeat her in the pit, and each had died screaming in fear and pain. No one was sure who she was, or even what she was, and those who ran the establishment had seen fit to label her "The Demon". The loot had steadily grown, and was now at an astounding three hundred san, and tonight was fight night. Men had been drawn to the fight club in morbid curiosity, a kind of depraved wonder which caused them to come, week after week, and watch this firestorm of a woman tear powerful warriors of all kinds to peices. Some wished to prove themselves, and others were desperate for the coin to be earned, and the rare few actually believed they could slay this vile wench and rid the world of her evil. Whatever the reason, there were always more to feed her frenzy, and the shows were always anything but boring.

"The show is 12 san to watch, and free to enter." Explains the less than clean manager, displaying an assortment of rotting and displaced teeth. He waves customers back to a shallow hole carved out of the dirt, which houses an armored portrait of terror. There is nothing but wicked pleasure and bloodsport in the smooth curves and wicked spikes of her plate mail. In the glinting light of the surrounded torch fires, one might catch a glimpse of Kari'krimson eyes shining with depraved glee. In one hand she carries a vicious saber, and in the other a heavy war axe. Already there are pools of blood gathering at the pit's floor, and three men attempt to haul the devastated remains of what could have once been a large human male. Even as they pulled him over the lip of his death bed, they searched his pockets and purse for whatever wealth could be had. Afterall, tips was made by looting what little was left of the corpses.

"Does no man have the strength of arm and heart to slay this creature of darkness? Who will rise to defeat Ne'iav'rine here and now, for the world to witness their glory? Whomever can bring her to her end will receive this reward!" With a surprisingly loud shout, the manager lifts up a large sack, which chimes delightfully with the chorus of metal coins.

Roleplaying Tutorial

(Anyone wishing to join in on this little experiment of brutality should PM me for some instruction and info.)
« Last Edit: January 12, 2007, 06:03:54 AM by Neiavrine » Logged

She is suddenly a whirlwind of graceful death. Where there was once a steel monolith, there is now an eruption of violence and wrath. Her singing blades rend the stale air with their battle cries, as sirens they call to those who dare stand before her. Her blood is molten hate, and it churns in her veins like the rage of the gods. There is no mercy, there is no forgiveness, there is only salvation through shed blood. Fountains of sand meet her every movement, dance beside her as a partner to her power. Ne'iav'rine's prowess seems almost supernatural; as if even the earth applauded her ability with a display of divine preportions.

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