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1 mo ago
Taking on all modern and medieval human/peak human ranked fights!


Call me Doc! I'm open to just about every form of roleplay at any time, so if you want to have some fun just toss a P.M my way.

Arena Characters:

Arena Stats

4 Wins / 0 Losses / 1 Draws
1450 points

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The creature was cast for several yards by the shockwave, flopping and rolling across the ground without resistance. It no longer felt threatened, despite the waves of fear and power bombarding it. It didn't feel such things as other creatures did. This club-wielding enemy was advanced in body, but in mind it seemed to still hold onto some of those inconvenient notions the humans suffered from. Discomfort, hesitation, irritation, amongst other chemical emotions. The creature propped itself up on its right with one ragged elbow, like some obscene god of indulgence relaxing before its servants. Its greasy tail wound and unwound in the grass as it stretched out. It heard that language understood by all, with its ears that understood all languages. It did not answer. It needed to know no other intellect but its own, the sick comforts of its mind providing company everlasting. Rather than speak back, which perhaps, terribly, it might just have been able to do so, it chose to release the Malocchio and observe this one a little while longer. It pushed its left hand into the ground with Dionysian unconcern and rooted around for a moment before it found an uneven stone, no larger than a golf ball, upturning soil as it withdrew its knobby fist from the earth. The dirt dripped off its glistening knuckles, unable to find purchase. Were it to be uninterrupted as it did this, it'd then cock its head to the side in a gross pantomime of human curiosity, long ears perked towards Facere as it gauged his facial expression and body posture. Normally it wouldn't permit most intelligent beings to wonder at its great form. It preferred letting the imagination lend fear to the notions of those that knew they were being stalked over the course of weeks, or even months. The Magna Pater suspected that this one had that kind of imagination, and so it had decided to lend him a little help in developing a few more feelings he might never knew he had. All of this was very presumptuous on the monster's part, but at its age, it was well used to feeling a few recognizable emotions; pride, and the arrogance that comes with it.

The timing is a bit off.
Zande hadn't turned with ill perception, he'd have done so when it was comfortable to him to initiate his actions as intended. He'd not have fired the second shot before she'd been four feet from him, and the initial shot took place earlier enough for him to have been moved fully around before she was in the range she had initially intended to attack from. Correct me if I'm wrong, I'm a bit hazy with the details, but they did start around thirty feet away from each other, with Zande moving away? He'd have plenty of time to estimate the date of interception. He'd not have had poor footing at all at the apex of the clash. He'd have turned and appropriated his footing, axe raised, before she had attacked, which I'd mentioned. What I'm basically saying is he wouldn't have misjudged the timing he needed to turn and properly meet an opponent unless they had altered their speed significantly at an inopportune moment, which Abby hadn't. He'd not awkwardly turn at the last second and trip over his own feet, utterly out of synch with his axe to the point of not being able to deflect an attack, if that makes sense.

Keep in mind his sparth axe likely weighs about as much as her entire polearm, and they are both wielding the large weapons one-handed. I'd like to say that Zande is objectively the physically stronger, and though Abby has the superior leverage with her chambered strike, Zande has the raw power of a full swing. If the weapons did clash, I should debate that the (sort of) perpendicular force of Zande's axe whacking into the side of the polearm as it extends would result in it being deflected off course, as there is little to no sideways force to oppose it. Her forwards momentum does lend power to her blow, but still, it's linear power that's subject to being forced off course.

That being said, it does seem like her polearm can block the venom if she swings the broad at Zande's face. He's taller, so for her to do that it'd wind up breaking her line of sight with his blowpipe, thus saving her eyes.

Just making sure we're on the same page, if you have any conflicting opinions, I'll hear 'em! I just don't want to commit to a post under the wrong assumptions.

That being said, don't change anything in your post after you've read this. Tell me your thoughts first. I do have a few solutions to the predicament you've given me that I might want to try out regardless.

Could you show me a picture that closely resembles Abby's polearm? If it's not too much trouble.

During the few seconds before that critical moment, Zande continued doing something to his mouth and belt. Loading his blowpipe maybe? Well, wouldn't ya know it. It was as if Abby had seen the future.
Zande turned around counter-clockwise as she gained on him, right axe brought aloft in anticipation for a swing, blowpipe in hand, and as expected fired a dart at her face which simply plinked off her halberd blade. His wild eyes were wide, he gasped in a startled breath. Right as she swung her halberd at his face with her momentum though, the train flew off the rails.
How could she have expected the secondary, close-range projectile from the blowpipe immediately following the initial shot? Zande hadn't just loaded his blowpipe, he'd also have tucked a small leather pouch of spitting cobra venom into his mouth and bitten into it, in case she was able to handle the dart (not that he'd expected it to work on someone so well protected). Perhaps then she'd be, in that brief moment, no longer taking the blowpipe into consideration as a deadly weapon. One shot, that was how they worked. You couldn't hold a second dart in your mouth, it defied common sense to do so.

That monstrous axe was the threat, that vicious edged hunk of metal that could cleave a goat nearly in two. Now that he'd lost the element of surprise, so evident in his eyes, she just had to make sure he didn't outright smack her axe from her hands or ignore defense and try to smash her fingers out of desperation. He was a physical terror, but it seemed the mental faculties were indeed lacking. The huge axe swayed, beginning its flight...

And she'd be less than four feet away when without warning, the presumably empty and useless blowpipe would gout a misty spray of genuinely blinding venom at her eyes. Zande's axes were intimidating precisely for this reason. To shift the victim's attention away from the real threat. Zande knew better than to risk trading blows with his heavy weapons in a tight spot, at least until he'd tilted the odds in his favor. She'd need a Spidey-sense to predict this one. Even if she squeezed her eyes shut, the venom would glaze her face and seep in to slowly kill her eyesight, assuming she lived longer than two seconds after closing her eyes in front of the headhunter. Trying to rub it away would only work it in further. Her hands were nowhere near her face, and though the possibility of her looking away in time existed, she'd be very hard pressed to do so with no warning and scarcely a fraction of a second to register the sudden shift in the danger spectrum from looming sparth axe to empty blow gun suddenly blowing its viscous load right at her face.

Were things to carry on like that and she still swung for his head, he'd bring his axe crashing down right to left with a shrill, maniacal scream, aiming to whack the head of her polearm away with jarring gusto, hard enough that it'd be tough to pull it back for a quick recovery, particularly not in the close quarters she was soon to enter into.

She could rely on her blind momentum to try and impact Zande's body, rely on feel and instinct to try and stick him, but he had armor too, wasn't bound by the linear force of momentum, had maintained solid footing, and had probably noticed that she hiding one of her arms. This killer had been pulling dirty tricks for a long time, and he was savvy to the lethality of hands unseen. It was true that he wasn't bred a gladiator or war dog. He was a predator by nature, from the untamed wilds where the chain of command could change with as little difficulty as a knife sliding smoothly between unsuspecting ribs, where enemy and prey were one and the same, and you didn't bury your kills, you ate them.

Black eyes glittered sharklike behind the contours of his broad mask as he watched his opponent for another few seconds, as if processing new information. Then, without any precedence, his tongue lolled out from between his sharpened teeth and the headhunter hunkered down low as a stuttering laugh gurgled out of him. He dropped his left axe to the ground and twisted about to begin staggering slowly away from Abby, hand swiping up over his belt and body to presumably cradle his mouth, like a hopeless lunatic trying to stifle his own madness, peering faintly over his left shoulder with a wide eye. The axe landed head first and its weight kept it handle-up, like a razor edged knife cleanly sticking to a floorboard. Two things would be blaringly obvious. Yes, he really was insane, and no, being crazy wasn't the same as being stupid. He had probably whisked something lethal off his belt under the guise of an all too genuine fit of hysterical glee, and was trying to set up a trap. The spectators who could see what he was doing were screaming something at Abby, but the distance and the coagulation of voices rendered their words indecipherable. He'd continue moving away from Abbey in no hurry at all, taking his sweet time igor-ing his way over to the audience. They looked ready to bolt, despite residing safely atop a twenty foot stone wall.

That being said, this freak had some gall, trying to pull a two-bit trick like this in the middle of a deathmatch.
Tom pointed at Anom as he tried to run past several yards to the knight's left, yelling out a spell. A white orb of magic shot out like a fastball towards the target's chest.


(Zande had already stood when he saw her.)

"Ooooh! Ya a bad girl, ain'cha bwana? But are ya as ready t'die as ya are t'kill? I don' keep da heads'a those that ain' prepared t'die when 'dey takin' lives. Drops da aesthetic value, ya?"

Zande hadn't taken a stance, and he seemed to be perfectly at ease. He had, after all, allowed himself to be captured just to find some nice heads for his collection. He'd had to make it look like he put up a fight, otherwise they'd have assumed him docile and not given him the cream of the crop. Could he escape any time he wanted? Of course. A hound surrounded by rabbits needn't fear restraint nor death. That is, unless another predator walks among them. This woman before him looked promising, her scars read well. A good warrior fights other good warriors, and if you fight someone good enough to be worth fighting, you got hurt. She'd been hurt plenty, and hence Zande could see her experience.

In the middle of the arena Zande sat cross-legged, covered in drying blood. He rose in a single easy motion, an axe large enough to chop a young sow in half hanging from each hand. He waved an axe merrily at Abby, yelling at the top of his voice as if he were greeting an old friend.

"Ey bandu! Ovah 'ere! Ey! Ey!"


Yeah, I wan't planning to have the actual roleplay be in this thread.

If you post a cs of any one of your characters, I will make one of my own, with the same CS format. Medieval sword swinging sounds good for a type of combat as it doesn't require any background knowledge (as opposed to, like, playing as a martial artist while knowing nothing about said martial art).

I might as well offer a few good tips whilst you prepare for your fight with Lili. First off is commitment to an action. If I should write something along the lines of, "Bob cocked back his fist in preparation to throw a punch", that's not committing. Should I say, "Bob threw a punch", that would be committing to an action. You should only commit if you feel confident that your move won't be punished, or if you think you can predict and counter your opponent when they try to punish you. If you prepare an attack but don't commit, you're typically telegraphing the move, letting your opponent know it's coming, but it's safer because you can still alter the action based on circumstance.
Opening with a telegraph is a good way to measure an opponent without undue risk, so long as you're in a position to do so. There are always exceptions, but for the sake of simplicity we'll not fret over every little thing.

Should you open with a committed action against an opponent you haven't measured, you're asking to get creamed. Here are several universal truths to successful fighting in roleplay. I'll list them in no particular order.

1. An opponent is at their most vulnerable when they attack.

2. Have an endgame envisioned, and a purpose set to each attack.

3. To end a fight, you must manipulate your opponent into a position where they can't dodge or withstand a mortal blow.

4. Ways of putting an opponent into this position include attacking their balance (leg attacks, shoving, stunning), taking their means of defense or offense (damaging their arms), removing their means of reacting to your moves (blinding them or otherwise obscuring their vision, using untelegraphed attacks within their reach, attacking them in the middle of an action that required heavy commitment), and mindgaming them into hastily reacting to moves they think you'll perform.

5. Avoid falling into a position where you must play pure defense, lest your opponent lock you down. Learn to identify openings and exploit them, take the offensive whenever possible. After all, would you consider a turtle hiding in its shell more formidable than an angry viper?

6. There's such a thing as a poker face in fight writing. You can identify what an opponent wants you to do or how they are feeling at the moment just by reading their work. Know this and be tricky with your own poker face. Use the power of description to get inside your opponent's head. Keep in mind the saying, "An average player plays the game. A good player plays his character. A great player plays his opponent's character."

7. A good fight reads like a good book, not an IKEA manual. Don't get too hung up on little details, such as describing the concise angles and degrees of a character's continuous limb rotation, pivot range, and exact footwork to the point of ad nauseam. If the details can be fairly implicated and proven through the core action, you don't need to confuse people with unnecessary crap. That being said, don't assume what isn't outright stated. If what you have in mind requires details that aren't there, just ask for 'em. DO feel free to charge your writing with prose and creativity, and DO always mention your lefts and rights, such as which foot is forward and which hand you're attacking with.

8. Consider creating a 'flo-chart'. A flo-chart is a mental or written list of action trees which consider every possible response to an opponent's move in any given situation. It may take a long time to create and memorize a personal 'flo-chart', especially when you have multiple characters with different fighting styles. Free stylin' it works well, but already knowing what to do far ahead of time never hurts.

9. The most obvious tip; Have fun!

Good shit LeeRoy. That's what I call fuckin' fightin' spirit. I can only hope you get enough takers for a good show. Perhaps this might even spark more multi-way fights. I have a screenie of fighting alongside Ridaku and putting the lid on five opponents each during a battle when we decided to Alamo the nuts off an invading medieval force when everyone else had ran off.

My record is trying to fight twelve at once. Killed two before I had to retreat, or risk losing a character for good. It's challenging as hell, but there are strategies for it. Try the resource below, written by one of my close friends.…
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