Thor Olavsrud
01-19-2005, 06:05 PM
In The Below of the city of Uvstarfen, a large, dank cavern plays host to the latest match between Champions. Although underground, this Arena is just as large as any up top. The darkness is illuminated by orbs glowing pale green, giving everything a soft, sickly aura. Reflecting the light back are thousands of pairs of large, blinking eyes. The Roden, chittering nervously to one another, arrive from every nook and cranny of The Below to behold the spectacle that is the Arena. Their excited chittering and squealing echo about the massive chamber.
Then, almost as one, they go silent, as a bent, one-eyed and frail Albino mystic, scraggly beard hanging nearly to his waist, hobbles forward leaning heavily on a gnarled staff. Black-cowled cultists follow him, clawed hands grasping at their gleaming knives.
Straining forward, ears twitching, the Roden listen for his faint words. "Long have we toiled my children, and great shall be the day when we emerge from The Below! I spit in the eye of Aecer and her thrice-cursed Prophet! May his name be cursed for all time! Long is our work, and it shall be yet longer. But take heart my children! For today Surfacer blood shall be spilt, and it shall be like unto a Sacrament of Blood for you!"
With those words, a long brass horn announces the first Champion! Slowly lowered from the ceiling, a thick, iron cage thuds as it touches down in the center of the Arena. Its gate slams open as Virgil the Vicious bursts forth. In a bellowing rage, he stalks into the flickering light of the arena, holding a steel-tipped javelin in each hand, and quiver of additional javelins slung over his shoulder. A massive, viciously spiked cestus gleams on his right hand, and the gathered Roden can see his rippling thews even through the leather armor that protects his flesh.
Then a great crack of thunder shakes the cavern and sends half of the spectators fleeing into the darkness! A shower of debris and rocks falls from the ceiling and down onto the arena below. Emerging from the settling cloud of dust charges the massive, shadowy black Great Wolf Paincry, with He Who Sits Astride the Howling Black Beast perched upon his back! The Astride the Beast clutches a warped black bow in his paws, and a spear juts from a holster on his saddle. The orc's greyish-green skin gleams dully in the torchlight as he fits a black-fletched arrow with a blackened iron tip to the string of his bow.
You stand 12 paces from each other.
FIGHT!!!
Send me your scripts if you haven't already!
Then, almost as one, they go silent, as a bent, one-eyed and frail Albino mystic, scraggly beard hanging nearly to his waist, hobbles forward leaning heavily on a gnarled staff. Black-cowled cultists follow him, clawed hands grasping at their gleaming knives.
Straining forward, ears twitching, the Roden listen for his faint words. "Long have we toiled my children, and great shall be the day when we emerge from The Below! I spit in the eye of Aecer and her thrice-cursed Prophet! May his name be cursed for all time! Long is our work, and it shall be yet longer. But take heart my children! For today Surfacer blood shall be spilt, and it shall be like unto a Sacrament of Blood for you!"
With those words, a long brass horn announces the first Champion! Slowly lowered from the ceiling, a thick, iron cage thuds as it touches down in the center of the Arena. Its gate slams open as Virgil the Vicious bursts forth. In a bellowing rage, he stalks into the flickering light of the arena, holding a steel-tipped javelin in each hand, and quiver of additional javelins slung over his shoulder. A massive, viciously spiked cestus gleams on his right hand, and the gathered Roden can see his rippling thews even through the leather armor that protects his flesh.
Then a great crack of thunder shakes the cavern and sends half of the spectators fleeing into the darkness! A shower of debris and rocks falls from the ceiling and down onto the arena below. Emerging from the settling cloud of dust charges the massive, shadowy black Great Wolf Paincry, with He Who Sits Astride the Howling Black Beast perched upon his back! The Astride the Beast clutches a warped black bow in his paws, and a spear juts from a holster on his saddle. The orc's greyish-green skin gleams dully in the torchlight as he fits a black-fletched arrow with a blackened iron tip to the string of his bow.
You stand 12 paces from each other.
FIGHT!!!
Send me your scripts if you haven't already!