Doc Doctor

AS I AM (Gren Vs. The Knave)

@Geraven

The Knave had been ready to initiate his seven league step the moment Gren tried anything, and he did when his opponent activated his auras. Gren apparently didn't intend to move out of the way, estimating that he could stop Knave cold with his armor if the freak survived the kunai. However, Knave's reaction wasn't limited to just the seven league step. Seeing his opponent decked out in such a flashy way, he determined that this one might have powers to rival his own.

He couldn't dodge the kunai, not at all, but Knave had other options for such an attack. He could use the enchantment of his necklace at will. He ghosted and rephased in an instant, allowing the weapon to pass into his immaterial body before reasserting his physical state to atomise the kunai. If an opponent lets go of a weapon, you make sure to boot it away just in case it was their only tool. In leau of a boot, Knave played it safe and just destroyed the thing in case his opponent slipped away to get it back. At the same instant he destroyed the kunai (which Gren wouldn't know about, as for all he knew it just went right through), Knave would also activate his Hong Xian, the unseen and unfelt thread of fate shooting from his ankle at lightning speed to covertly catch Gren and prevent him from escaping.

He'd wind up tackling Gren full force, again phasing to pass through the titan armor to directly impact his target. Even if Gren's armor was infused with ether, what could be interpreted as life energy, Knave would still pass through any matter on a physical scale. Even imbued with life, it still contained nonliving, nonbiological elements. The only exception was what Knave wore, as per his necklace's enchantment. Energy purely crafted from the ether of an organism, such as Gren's electricity (unless it was drawn from nature), would be able to make contact.

The blow, if it didn't outright obliterate Gren, would still send him flying backwards at high speed without any footing.

But, when the dust cleared, if all that came to pass, it would seem that Gren wasn't the one in need of an escape, if he'd somehow lived. The Crimson cloaked figure was lit like a Christmas tree. His hair was standing up, eyes rolled back into his head, and a small rivulet of blood ran down the front of his gaping mouth, making choked noises like a dying goat. If it were a continuous discharge, he'd wind up with his arms plastered around Gren's (intact?) torso and under his armpits in a jittering, frozen bearhug, like paper stuck to a balloon all static style, probably lying atop the pirate amidst a trench carved from their landing big enough to fit a semi trailer in. The poor fuck hadn't even gotten to draw his sword yet.

Gren had seen firsthand The Knave's speed and ability to ignore matter. Nice, but Gren knew what high voltage did. Killed motor functions, shorted out neural impulses. A bird casually swooped a dozen meters over head and let drop a turd, which would plop against the back of Knave's head and begin sizzling like an egg.

Two Against One?

I'd like to put in a little practice fighting multiple opponents, so is anyone at all willing to gang up on me? Hell, I'll do a 3v1 if enough people are interested.

The character I'm using;

Captain Kull

Captain Arlgor Kull

Name: Arlgor Kull
Aliases: Cap'n Kull
Titles: Captain of the Crimson Guard
Age: 36
Gender: Male

Physical Attributes

Build: 5'7", 172 pounds, heavily muscled
Eyes: Dark Brown (close to black), overshadowed by sardonic eyebrows.
Hair: A black widow's peak, combed back
Skin Tone: Pale
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Kull's eyes and mouth have distinct scarring from fistfights, permanent cauliflower ears, several white notches crisscross his chest and arms, presumably left by various bladed weapons. His right forearm is enircled by several deep tissue scars, from when he shoved his hand down a lion's esophagus.

Day To Day Attire: A full set of bronze armor (faceless helmet, pauldrons, breastplate, armguards, reinforced gauntlets and greaves, the works), a maroon cloak emblazoned with the insignia of a black bull, a twenty-two pound double headed, bearded greataxe with a headspike, a pair of steel gauche daggers with spiked knuckle guards at his waist, a pair strapped to his calves, and one on each flank. A bronze gladius with a two foot blade hangs at his belt on his left side. In combat he wears crimson war paint in tiger stripes across his face.

Abilities: Kull is a physical powerhouse, able to bench 450 and kick through cinderblock like styrofoam with his reinforced greaves. He once killed a lion with asphyxiation by ramming his fist down its throat. Goes without saying he's an expert with his weapons of choice.

Personality: Kull is an abrasive, overwhelming, and incredibly intense man who has no concept of what an indoor voice is and no off-button. He's of a wild, brave nature, meeting every challenge in the only way he knows how; by beating it down with his axe and/or screaming profanity at it. He's quite creative in his lunatic insults, but it's rarely personal. It serves as a psychological aid and weapon for Kull, enabling him to work himself into a war frenzy while intimidating his opposition. As a professional warrior and captain of the guard (he was a former mercenary as well), he lives solely to hone his skills in combat, and to help mold an environment free of scum. He's drastically impatient and highly critical, despising any course of action short of stalking right up to the bad guy and strangling him.

Despite his faults, though, Kull is truly a good man at heart. Sometimes good guys don't wear white and act nice, after all. He strives to make the lives of innocent people better, and is more than willing to sacrifice himself to a noble cause. His loyalty is undying, for all his lack of social skills. He knows how to have a good time, and can be surprisingly understanding at times. He tends to be greedy, not much for sharing food nor glory, but he's always more than willing to share (profanity laced) encouragement and advice. When it comes to animals, he seems to have a soft spot. Kull gets along well with most creatures, until he kills and eats them for protein. Hey, a man's gotta eat!

Habits: Kull tends to shudder, jerk or twitch with frenetic energy whenever he feels like he's about to get a chance to fight. He often tosses around loud, creative expletives, especially during combat.

Childhood: Kull went through the old Spartan glut, you know. Training as soon as he was of age, fighting wild animals bare-handed, killing men on a battlefield when he was a teen. Sure, there are some nice old stories of his feats and adventures, but he's not here to tell history. He's here to make it.

Adulthood: Served as a mercenary for several years, and then joined up with the Empire of the Crimson Throne. He helped them win a critical battle and was thus promoted to Captain. He'd conked a fuck-ton of baddies, got hitched with a woman as crazy as he was, you get the idea. He never had any silly dramatized moments, no whiny tears in the rain. He never even had any rivals, or a nemesis. Whenever an enemy jumped up, Kull simply knocked them back down. Needless to say, he's very good at his job.

Theme Song:

Arena Chat Thread

Though I can usually maintain one active fight at all times, it's never enough. Haven't had anyone in the Guild or in Discord, aside from good ol' Liliya (who doesn't count because she already fights me all the time), eager to cross mortal blades with me in almost two years, least of all in a ranked setting. Henceforth, I looked back and found as many of my unanswered pleas for combat as I could find and compiled 'em. Hopefully this beacon will set the heavens alight with my desire.

It's that time again.
Yes, time for a ranked match.

Human/peak human tier, nothing fancier than modern weapons. An unarmed fight or perhaps some sword and shield would be a pleasure.

@Doc Doctor

What about an unranked fight with Donny then?

@Doc Doctor

How about a low-tier/human level ranked match?

@Doc Doctor

Anyone up for a human/low tier ranked match?

@Doc Doctor

Anyone up for a low, mid, or human tier ranked match?

@Doc Doctor

@Doc Doctor

Just what do I have to do to get another match!?

@Doc Doctor

I'm actually in the mood to use Zande in a human tier match. Any takers?

@Doc Doctor

Anybody up for a match?

@Doc Doctor

AS I AM (Gren Vs. The Knave)

@Geraven

Knave frowned like a child, bottom lip stuck out, dropping all pretenses of friendliness when he saw he couldn't trick the man into talking.

"Such nerve... Trying to kill me for my treasure? Not even trying to make up for it by telling me secrets, even after you got to find out about my great stealth power? I found the treasure, not you. Fine, be like that..."

*Another beat, this one a little awkward*

"Yes, it was very pretty in there."

At this point, Gren might find himself abruptly thrust into the next life, and wondering what the fuck had just happened. He'd been able to sense Knave's presence popping up from behind due to the mana inherent to the fellows magical items, but that had been after Knave had stopped, Gren having then the fraction of a second he needed to register the ether. He'd not know if Knave had teleported, ghosted, or even as the man had misleadingly stated, used 'stealth power'.
Gren likely felt he could activate and rely on his bullet time, ability to detect hostile intent, and ether sense in either scenario. The hostile intent was there all right, this freak meant to end him. The Knave had once killed a wounded farmer with a hoe simply because the man had carelessly trampled a few potatoes, after all. At the moment, Knave was in a similar state of mind. Enchanted items were usually phenomenally durable, at least the ones worth having. He'd pluck them out of the mess afterward, if they were strong enough to have survived.

The instant Knave finished talking, he took a step forwards. A step that, the moment his foot began moving, propelled him forwards nearly 50% faster than the Juno space probe. The acceleration was immediate, the speed was so intense that the leaves of every tree within a tenth of a mile were shredded and the bark stripped like cheap paint. The very air filled with blue friction fire, and the ground behind him exploded as if Knave had stepped on a landmine with a payload the size of Trump's MOAB. If Gren at all tried anything before Knave, either with words or a visible power, the seven league step would be the instant rebuttle.

Gren could, at base power, react to things around 1/1,000 of a second, roughly. Knave was set to hit him in less than 1/20,000 of a second, and with no warning. Gren's brain couldn't process the assault in time to use a flash step, which would've likely been far slower than Knave anyways and required one to know where they want to end up, more time devoted to conscious thought. Even if he could have seen it coming with his lightning aura, He'd not have any time at all to activate it, let alone percieve the attack coming. His power to detect hostility let him know about harmful intent, but not the nature or potency of the attack, and probably not the exact moment the intent would be acted upon unless the enemy had at that moment decided to act on impulse over calculation resulting in a shift in the magnitude of their blood lust. Knave had been out to kill in cold blood from the moment he lost his treasure, with about the same attitude a man takes with him to gas a beehive after being stung.

As for the possibility of Gren surviving if he got hit, it was, well, nil. He could lift eight tons easily, but presumably couldn't endure more than fifty times that at base power. Knave, meanwhile, was a 150 pound projectile traveling at over mach 300, generating at least 70,000 psi from air pressure alone. Suffice to say, if Gren got hit, which he likely was going to be...

He'd be gibbed into hamburger so hard that the cave ruins behind him would've been sheeted in his pureed viscera, if they hadn't been blown to dust by the shock wave first. Knave could move through that air pressure as if it were a gentle breeze, such was his magically amped strength and toughness. In short, The Knave tried to walk through Gren as though he were made of rice paper.

AS I AM (Gren Vs. The Knave)

@Geraven

A thick plume of dust gouted from the entrance, and in moments the cave had collapsed into itself with noise enough to echo across the forest.

*Beat*

"'Oy, You're quite the bastard, aren't you? Could've been someone in there. Wot's more, there might've been treasure. Regular ass, jus' coz you got 'ere first. Say, how'd you do that, anyways? 'Splosives?"

For The Knave, the cave-in might as well have been in slow motion. Had the dragon been real? Had it come back in a great fury? One way to find out. The coins were as good as gone, but he could shift through the rubble for the chest after dealing with the damned beast.

Knave became immaterial to material, slipped underground, and flashed towards the direction of the source of the initial shockwave before the first boulder had struck the floor. He shot out from the mountain twenty yards below the level of the entrance, and zipped right back up to try and catch sight of the problem from behind. If a dragon there was, he wanted to be behind it and unseen. Not out of fear, but because he was pissed enough to want to let it know how much it had fucked up with a casual nudge to the tail before he freed its brains from its skull case.

Such was Knave's surprise at seeing a lone man. Dragon or man, this one had very much ruined Knave's day. He had somehow destroyed the cave by himself. Had he an artifact as well? Knave had to find out before he took revenge, lest he lose out on another treasure.

Gren, clearly preferring wanton force over his sensory abilities to scope out enemies, might not realize there was someone five feet behind him in the split second it took Knave to leave the cavern and double back, at least until the red cloaked man spoke up. The Knave would be leaning back, right hand planted on his hip and the left shading his eyes from the sun as he admired the destruction, like a shameless tourist come to gawk at a the pyramids. His sword was slung over his back, hilt at his right shoulder. He looked like a regular boob adventurer, with his gaudy clothes and unguarded stance.

Let's start a riot... or a fight...or a skirmish...or a war...

@Liliya

Sweet. You're a boss, Lil.

Let's start a riot... or a fight...or a skirmish...or a war...

@Ciaran@Liliya@ELGainsborough

Alrighty then, so mostly pre-gunpowder and improvised weaponry. Steel armor is fine.

Lilya, it seems like you have the most solid idea of what should be going on, and have made the most progress into developing a plot. Want to make the thread and incorporate that hefty story of yours?

~THE GUILD COLOSSEUM~

Been inactive on Discord due to having briefly lost my router while moving. Be back tonight, probably.

Let's start a riot... or a fight...or a skirmish...or a war...

@Liliya

Aw yeah, let's do that. That's much more in-depth than a simple gladiator scrap. But, let's see if everyone else is on board. Still haven't heard back from a few.

Leol vs Doc

@Leol

The idea was to terrorize the shopkeeper's dog to make the man talk, not the animal. Donny had been sent to collect the shopkeeper's monthly protection money, and having seen a rerun of MIB the other night, had been feeling very inspired. Then the shit hit the fan as some kind of super freak went and flipped out across the street.

Donny had no superpowers, no assurance of power from beyond. Though he didn't act like it, with his blatant theatrics and mischievous streak, he came from a walk of life far and away from Arais's treading grounds. In the underworld you step lightly, you carry cold heat, and you never show your hand.

Though Donny's bald brows lifted in surprise, he didn't flee nor panic, didn't blink. He slid his left foot towards Arais and pivoted around to take up a slouching side stance, left flank facing his opponent with the pug tucked under his left arm as Arias rose on his earthen pillar. The hitman duly noted (with disguised wariness) the emergence of the pillar behind himself out of the corner of his eye, and the implications of facing someone that could control the ground itself.

Unseen due to his positioning, Donny's right hand snaked into his overcoat pocket, like an oiled cobra. Predators in the movies always announce their attack with a roar. In nature, they don't. In the underworld, they don't. The roar came after the bullet, the sound barrier late to the show as in a single fluid motion, Donny slung his revolver out of its holster by reaching through the hole in his coat pocket.
With his flank blocking Arais's view, obscuring the crook of his right elbow as he drew the gun, and his coat flaps preventing Arais from seeing the gun slide up alongside Donny's stomach, the full motion was completed in the time it took Arias to initially look away in his brief glance for civilians. It was as untelegraphed as a gun draw could be, and any person watching Donny from the front would see nothing more than what could be attributed to a slight and wholly natural shifting of weight, the kind of bodily adjustment anyone could be expected to make hundreds of times each day. Arias had taken his eyes off of his opponent anyways, and Donny, being the opportunist he was, seized at the moment.

Were he unable to guard himself in some fashion or another, the bullet would take Arias in the neck and all but splatter his cervical vertebrae across the building behind him before he could take off his ear buds. As for Donny, he'd be left with a smoking hole in his left coat flap and a singe mark on his bullet proof vest from the escaping, red hot cylinder emissions. The pug would be flailing its pudgy paws, eyes bulging, frantically squealing.