Snakes & Foxes 3: The ****oo's Nest (Game Thread)
- Thread starter Niklas
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Me not sure what a Loon-o-tar is, but put 20 gold on it to win.
hell_hound
Prince
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- Dec 16, 2008
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- 409
50 gold on the mercenary
Stuck in Pi
3.14159265358979323846...
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- Oct 23, 2007
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20 gold on the Luonnotar.
Frozen In Ice
Emperor
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- Jun 30, 2007
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Looks like I could make a good sum of gold by betting on the mercenary so I'll put 25 gold on him.
Tasslehoff
Kender
100 gold on the Luonnatar
RRRaskolnikov
Goldfish
Dragon Slayer against the Firebows
Bet 70 gold on the Luonnotar for me mighty GM
Bet 70 gold on the Luonnotar for me mighty GM
Izipo
Hardcore casual gamer
What are those firebows and Eidolons you wish me to fight ?
No match for a DRAGONslayer, that's what they are...
If you want to see a great fight, vote the lizardman in the arena, or the ogre.
No match for a DRAGONslayer, that's what they are...
If you want to see a great fight, vote the lizardman in the arena, or the ogre.
I hear yah, a Dragon is quite the kill and you got my respect for it. You also have my interest on how I'd fair. Since I see no Dragons around to slay, why not one who makes a profession outa killing em? I say we should meet in the arena...unless I have a greater fearful presence than a Dragon, I will see you there. 
Evening, Day 4
The gods, displeased at the Knight’s failure in the realm of combat, shed tears, which manifested themselves in our lower dimension as clouds and raindrops. Thunder rolled a natural 20 and went on a destructive spree in the arena. This deterred nobody from the festivities; indeed, bets went up as to how many people would die that night to lightning.
Having received the arena choice, the Luonnotar took the stage. There was really not that much to say about him. Still young, he was dressed in simple black robes, blacker than dark chocolate eaten by a black in the bottom of a dark well dug a mile under covered with a black tarp at night. He looked completely out of place for this battle, as he was, of course, neither a soldier nor a mage, but there was that je ne sais quoi about him, that ineffable quality that said that this man was not a someone you would want to reckon with, because he’d probably do all the reckoning.
Next, the Mercenary came out. His god, of course, was money, and there was plenty of that at stake. His eyes glistened with gold, and his ears could already hear the pleasant ringing that only gold coins had. Of course, he’d have to go through this man, who had one less god than him. His eyes resumed their solid and unemotional state. His armor was not steel or mithril, but rather just iron and leather. It looked like he’d picked up random scraps of armor off the battlefield, which he in fact had done, because he was a cheapskate. His skin was tanned, though, which was enough to send shivers of joy through all the young girls present.
A bell chimed...and then it chimed again, and again, with each progressive sound becoming deeper and fuller. Reality shifted slowly, gradually, and nobody except the Luonnotar was entirely sure what was happening. Was that a wooden floor appearing? Stone walls? A glass window? The crowd suddenly realized that the bells were also growing louder, and in their crescendo was quickly rendering everybody deaf. With the final strike, reality finished shifting, and it was clear: the combatants were in a church. There was an altar in the front, with rows of pews. Stained glass windows let the light in. It was, all in all, too beautiful of a place to fight in.
The Luonnotar found himself standing at the podium where the priests addressed the masses, and the Mercenary was just inside the entrance.
"Ah, welcome, my children," he said, giving a comic impression of an old man, hunching over for full effect, "for really, that’s all you are, to listen to an old senile person like me." His voice timbre, while not exactly grating, had a disturbing quality that detracted from the inherent humor in the situation. Some of the more religious elements shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The Mercenary moved up the aisle warily, his sword in his right hand, his shield in his left.
"Hark! I see an apostate!" He pointed a finger at his opponent, to give him the fire and brimstone speech. "Do not move from your seat! Sit back down! For nonconformists shall perish, in the brimstone and fire of hell!" This caused the Mercenary to move towards him a bit faster.
The Luonnotar left the podium and sat down in the front pew. Turning his head to the Mercenary, who was still making his way towards him, he yelled. "Go get that stodgy old man!" He then moved back to the podium and pointed to where he had been a second ago. "Quiet down! I will have order! A shepherd must lead his unthinking flock!" He took a good glance at the Mercenary’s face, which was about halfway across the church, attached to the Mercenary, still in his wary shuffle. The Luonnotar changed tack.
"Come now, I don’t have all night. Are you as slow as your wit, or should I stuff your crocodile with the wallets of desire?" It was, of course, an elaborate pun that required detailed knowledge of biology and also knowledge of three spoken languages, and it was far, far over the Mercenary’s head. He tried again.
"Thou frothy fool-born bladder!"
Nothing.
"Your mother has such girth that whenever she turns around, the neighborhood holds a feast for her return."
The normally imperturbable Mercenary broke out into a run. He ascended the steps to the podium while the Luonnotar whistled something that sounded disturbingly like the theme from Rocky. The warrior slashed with his sword, slicing the podium neatly in two. The Luonnotar jumped back neatly and split in two. They moved like mirror images until they were on opposite sides of the Mercenary, standing amidst the ruins of a podium. The one to his left was taunting him. The one to the right was taunting him. He looked closer, and the one on the right, while still taunting him, never dropped his right hand, presumably to control his illusion. He ran towards the Luonnotar. Surprised, the black-clad preacher dropped his arm and leapt backwards, but not fast enough. Caught by the sword, he twirled in the air and landed on the floor, where he rolled and hit his head on the wall.
A bell chimed, and the Mercenary crumpled. Of course, correlation does not imply causation. In fact, the Mercenary reeled because the illusion on his left earlier had actually been real and had followed him across his journey, then deftly kicked him in the knee-joint from behind, causing the Mercenary to stumble. The Mercenary, however, had the good sense to whirl around and slash sideways at the Luonnotar, who was caught with the blade and sent flying sideways again. The Mercenary picked himself up. With a hardly believable speed, he ran towards the fallen body of his foe, who raised his hand and cast, not exactly a spell, but a mental attack. It seared itself into the brain of the Mercenary, making him feel the pains of a deep wound on his leg. Hardly deterred, he reached the body, scooped it up with his sword, and bashed it with his sword, sending it flying back towards the altar. Smashing into the altar, the Luonnotar started to crumple into the ground but was stopped due to the insertion of a sword into his right shoulder, the sword burying itself into the stone. The Mercenary had missed due to his perception becoming distorted at the last minute, but it was good enough.
The Luonnotar’s hand grabbed the neck of the Mercenary suddenly, and threw him. He then grabbed the sword. Twisting it and grimacing in pain, he pulled it out of him with a nasty squelch. Blood exited the wound and colored his dark, dark robes. He tossed the sword out of the window to the right and behind him. The beautiful glass shards that fell made a great backdrop for any filming going on. The cinematic effect was kind of ruined when a glass shard struck the Luonnotar’s sore shoulder and caused him to wince in pain, but otherwise it was very theatrical.
The Mercenary picked himself up and stormed toward the Luonnotar with his shield. The Luonnotar sidestepped and tripped the Mercenary. While his opponent was falling, he gave a swift karate chop to the Mercenary’s neck. The shield fell out of the warrior's hand and clattered, sliding under a pew. The Mercenary rolled on the floor, narrowly avoiding the Luonnotar’s foot. Suddenly, surprising everybody, the Luonnotar snapped. He leapt on top of the Mercenary and clawed him out in rage, making primeval sounds while doing so. The Mercenary’s arms and legs were flailing, his legs doing absolutely nothing while his hands were trying to push his opponent off of him. Hunks of flesh were vacating the Mercenary’s body as the hooded man sent blood and skin flying all about him. Suddenly, the Mercenary’s hands gained purchase on his enemy’s face. He threw him backwards. The Luonnotar flew, somersaulting, and landed on his back. Both opponents raced to get up first. The Mercenary did so and flew at the Luonnotar. Reaching his enemy, who had barely picked himself up, the Mercenary grabbed the Luonnotar’s right arm and wrenched it, choking the Luonnotar with his other hand. Desperate, the Luonnotar headbutted his enemy, who crumpled onto the floor, along with the Luonnotar, who had lost too much blood. Grabbing a nearby glass shard, the Luonnotar slashed the Mercenary’s jugular, and then his hand went limp, reality fading.
A bell chimed, again and again, but the Luonnotar thus did not get to see what the audience saw, for the second time this tournament. This time the audience knew what to expect when the golden disk started rising from the corpse of the Mercenary, showing itself to be engraved with a stylized S.
Spoiler :
As reality gradually shifted back, the officials rushed towards the field. The Luonnotar could not even make a victory speech like he had planned but had to be carried off the field unconcious, breathing shallowly. As he had been taken off the field, along the remains of his adversary, the boring guy with the parchment strolled importantly to the stage once more.
Final Vote Tally:
Dragonslayer : 12 (1st voter: Ogre ; 2nd voter: Archmage )
Firebow : 7 (1st voter: Ritualist ; 2nd voter: Ranger )
Eidolon : 5
Archmage, Frost Speaker : 4
Courtesan, Lizardman : 3
Engineer, Overlord Speaker, Ranger : 2
Illusionist, Marksman, Sculptor, Shaman : 1
Morning fight: Dragonslayer vs Firebow, Firebow gets arena choice.
Current Vote Breakdown:
Spoiler :
It is now night.
Marks, send me your choices for the evening combatants.
People with night abilities, send me PMs.
Betting is open for Dragonslayer vs Firebow. Place your bets in bold dark orange.
Down to tiebreakers, noone are surprised, yet everyone betted on the same guy.
Another mark down, i can't help but say we were yet again lucky. Who needs to find marks when the marks do the job of killing them for us?
Another mark down, i can't help but say we were yet again lucky. Who needs to find marks when the marks do the job of killing them for us?
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
So, I am dead?
{ OOC: Charles, when will you ever cease to do stupid spoilering posts? 
EDIT: Thanks a lot Matrix. }
EDIT: Thanks a lot Matrix. }
Izipo
Hardcore casual gamer
{OOC : And the writing gets even better. I didn't get the crocodile pun either, but I guess it's worth asking.}
Ah, another foul combatant down. Such irony.
Thank you Jono for placing the first bet, but is one gold what you think I'm worth ? Don't be afraid, I'm sure you can do better.
Firebow, we shall see what you're worth rather soon. I hope the fight will be fair.
Ah, another foul combatant down. Such irony.
Thank you Jono for placing the first bet, but is one gold what you think I'm worth ? Don't be afraid, I'm sure you can do better.
Firebow, we shall see what you're worth rather soon. I hope the fight will be fair.
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