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Snakes & Foxes 3: The ****oo's Nest (Game Thread)
- Thread starter Niklas
- Start date
Tasslehoff
Kender
50 gold on the Druid
EDIT: OOC: I'm away for a few days starting tomorrow.
EDIT: OOC: I'm away for a few days starting tomorrow.
Chandrasekhar
Determined
"I think that 25 gold on the Druid is a safe bet."
Frozen In Ice
Emperor
- Joined
- Jun 30, 2007
- Messages
- 1,536
1 gold on the Druid.
{ OOC: I have serious connection problems. I need to fix these before posting the update, so it will be delayed a bit, up to a few hours. Sorry for the inconvenience. }
{ OOC: My problems are increasing. I can't reliably post an update tonight, so I'm sorry to say I'm postponing the update for a full 24 hours until I can get it sorted out. Apologies to the fighters in limbo. }
{ OOC: Just to let you know that my troubles have passed, I got a new modem that seems to work, so time will resume again in 1h 40m or so. Thank you for your patience. }
Morning, Day 7
The breaking of dawn caused the moon to go into conniptions. Slamming the door in the sky’s face, she refused to leave her room for twelve hours. Drama was also unfolding here in the mortal realm.
"The Bandits' leader, there by the cedar, a message he has for me with pizzazz?" Perpentach’s question was more like a statement of fact than an actual question. Everybody who was listening got the sense that he knew exactly what was going on. The assistant clown - now entering a full month, he had somehow gotten used to it and wondered if there was not something wrong with him - merely nodded. Perpentach took a look at the guild leader and shook his head. A fight was happening, and he had to watch it. Not even a thief could defy Perpentach, and he went away, tail slung between his legs.
Perpentach cast his gaze on the arena just in time to see the Druid take the arena again. It was like déjà vu. His white robes shimmered like a rainbow, which was actually impossible because they were white, so it was anybody’s guess how he made that happen (smart money was on magic, of course!). It was like déjà vu. This time, though, he solemnly acknowledged the audience with a nod. His fingers drummed a tattoo into the staff, who had apparently been living quite an alternative lifestyle and would probably pay for it in its old age when it found that "I Love Mom" was not going to be in vogue in the senior center.
The Ritualist came from the other side of the Theater of Dreams. He looked like a normal high priest, except his robes were darkly red and also there was a decided lack of any normal religious icons or symbols on it. A hood and a veil covered his head and there were some nasty looking inscriptions on them.
They squared off in the circle, defying geometry, and a bell rang. The contestants found themselves in a little clearing in a big forest. Pretty stereotypical, actually. It was like déjà vu.
"Welcome to my-" began the Druid.
"Home," finished the Ritualist helpfully. "You already said that."
Flustered, the Druid began again. "Welcome to-"
"My home. Must you say that every time we come here?"
"Oh, bugger off," suggested the Druid. This caused the Ritualist to give a genuine, throaty laugh, very deep, like the sound a dog makes before it throws up. Gathering his thoughts, the Ritualist jabbed the air and mumbled a spell. Dark tentacles lashed out from a void behind the Ritualist and flew towards the Druid, who had the good sense to run. They snaked out like cobras towards their target, and even the bees the Druid called in as a shield only slightly deflected the tentacles. Finally, the Druid was caught, and the tentacles coiled around his body and gave a good squeeze. It looked like bits of the tentacle was melting into the Druid, who squirmed and wiggled in a rather undignified fashion. Suddenly, a tree root sprouted from the ground, as thick as a severely obese person, and took the Druid with it up, breaking the tentacles, which dissolved into the air as if they had never been there.
Surveying his domain from the air, or more precisely, from a really thick root up high in the air, his principal worry was that the Ritualist had stepped back and extracted a knife from one of the folds in his outfit. It was highly ornate, with runes carved along it, and it was silver. He extended his left arm and cut across the street. He then shook the blood along the ground in a careful pattern while the Druid hurriedly conjured a pair of dire wolves from the forest to attack the Ritualist. The wolves bounded forward like puppies, except more likely to kill, but it was too late. The ground had already started shaking, and when the wolves reached the Ritualist, a gaping maw appeared in the ground. One of the wolves fell in, his last moments on this planet marked with a howl that experienced the Doppler effect and dropped lower and lower in pitch until it disappeared completely. The other wolf had the good fortune to avoid the pitfall of the precipitous drop and clamped its throat onto the arm of the Ritualist, who told the Druid to be fruitful and multiply, but not in those words.
Out of the maw, with a dead werewolf amusingly on its head, a demon emerged. Looking vaguely humanoid, it was mostly a scribble of the idea of "dark" that happened to occupy a place. Our language, after all, is woefully inaccurate to describe these otherworldly beings, but it could capture this aspect right: it was incredibly deadly. It roared, but no audible sound emitted from an invisible egress. Rather, the scream, of tormented souls and shattered dreams, seemed to appear right inside every listener’s head. It was like listening to nails screech on a chalkboard on a microphone with bad feedback. It then set sights on the Druid and stormed forward while the Ritualist was by now rolling along the ground grappling with a wolf who loved the taste of his arm.
It reached the root and grabbed it; the tree began dying, slowly turning ashen gray and then withering away. The infection crawled up the tree and the Druid summoned an eagle, who grabbed him in its talons and dropped him down later to safety, which was a misnomer because as soon as he landed the demon came running over. The Druid threw a fireball at the demon, who jumped over it like Mario (somewhat amazingly actually), but the Ritualist got a face full of fire, as the demon had obscured his view of the events. His clothes burned and started a fire on the ground that quickly leapt and spread, aided by a malicious wind, into a forest fire. All in all, it was the perfect backdrop to the Druid’s soul being utterly consumed by the demon.
Spoiler :
There was no Druid corpse to remove, so all officials ran to help the burning Ritualist, but he brushed the last flames off and stomped out of the arena before they could reach him. He was quickly replaced by the announcer, who looked like he had something special to reveal this day, which he also did.
"My oh my, it is my distinct pleasure to announce that the morning fight will pit two goody-good priests against each other. We will see the Luridus of the Empyrean take on the Prior of Order, oh my what a fight!"
Evening fight: Prior vs Luridus, Luridus gets arena choice.
It is now day.
All contenstants, vote for combatants for the next morning's fight.
People with day abilities, send me PMs.
Combatants, send your battle ideas to LightFang!
Betting is open for Prior vs Luridus. Place your bets in BOLD dark orange.
Seon
Not An Evil Liar
OOC: Ha, Score! 
wAit, Sculptor was worth 345 golds and it will be given to the dragonslayer? 0_o
wAit, Sculptor was worth 345 golds and it will be given to the dragonslayer? 0_o
thomas.berubeg
Wandering the World
Lich against the Frost Speaker Think of this! the Idleness of Mulcarn against the Cowardice of one who fears death!
It'll be grand!
It'll be grand!
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