Post by Naiyu Persici Lu on Jan 3, 2014 12:09:08 GMT -5
Don't Panic. Don't Panic. Don't Panic.
Don't Panic, she thought as a violently high pitched scream erupted from her mouth, too fast for her to stop.
The glass had come down harshly fast, like a guillotine without mercy nor kindness. It slammed shut around her and she immediately fell to her knees, clutching her hands over her mouth to attempt quieting her panicked breathing. The feel of sand slowly pattering down her form did nothing to help the frantic woman calm herself, either. It was dry and coarse, and her lungs flared in protest with each breath laced with its particles. By the time she'd somewhat gained her senses, the sand already covered her shoes.
Naiyu tried to look to her comrades, hoping they were in better shape than herself. She was out of luck there. Quinn, the poor woman, seemed to be lost in panic like she had been moments ago, only much worse and much longer. With a frown she noted the four armed one trying to calm the Champion with little success, leading her to believe these glass prisons might be soundproof...
Their Leader, Razie, seemed to be quick at work, hopefully on some sort of solution. Nearby the one in strange blue armor seemed calmer than the rest of them, his attention firmly on the fighting. And just behind them, right on the cusp of Naiyu's vision, it seemed Dominic had almost been lost to them by his own clothing. His cloak and hood discarded for now, Naiyu couldn't help a tinge of familiarity...just like with the Ogres, she'd seen that form before...
She shook the thought from her head and dismissed it quickly.
Her eyes instead moved to the one that would either save or damn them all. Sendrel was in battle with the Skeleton Rogue, and Naiyu prayed with all her might he'd pull through for them. There wasn't much she could do, besides stave off her nagging thoughts as she held herself, the more obvious being that...since these hourglasses were filling with sand, they would slowly fill to the top,
And Naiyu, being the shortest of them all, would be the first to go... Status: Terrified, but Healthy (90%)
Items: Clothing Papers Pens 1 bottle of water 3 rations 1 lighter 1 gauze and 2 splints 1 section of rope
Sendrel was fairly disinterested in the creature's starting ritual, so he turned to politely reject Dominic's sword, beginning a short monologue about staffwielders versus swordsmen- before the glass slammed down in front of him. Startled, he whirled around to see the rogue dashing in his direction, before suddenly disappearing. The creature was likely going for a strike, and he wasn't in front, so Sendrel dove in that direction. He felt the pressure of the twin blades scraping across his leg armor, though he couldn't feel the poison they left behind. He somersaulted, uprighted himself, and spun around again, this time seeing the rogue as well as the hourglass deathtraps.
"A time limit?" Sendrel questioned, "I figured we'd have enough time to chat and become friends, but I guess not." As he spoke, he fired a Subsonic wave at the rogue's face before jumping at him, prepping a staff swing for the rogue's head. _____________________________________________ Status: Healthy (97%), Slightly rattled. Abilities: Q: Ready E: On CD (10 seconds) R: On CD (3 min, 55 sec.)
Post by The Narrator on Jan 6, 2014 2:21:57 GMT -5
Participants:
Razie Gillam Kevin Naiyu Sendrel Ozzy Dominic/Talon Quinn
The rogue lived to fight and died to fight, and in death he would continue until his very bones shattered beneath a worthy opponent. There was no words, only the clash of steel and the scuff of movement upon dusty stone. He felt his sword strike at his opponent's leg, undeterred by the fact that the man should have felt the poison almost immediately. Still, the liquid was corrosive and enough exposure on the same area would make it burn through any surface. A mark of death, the rogue thought to himself.
Surrounded by the hourglasses, the rogue lifted his sword and tapped one, the one with the strange gloves and glimmering blue shield he had seen. Right as he did so, his opponent blasted something at him and the rogue simply laughed and vanished behind the glass. If Sendrel continued the attack, the staff would simply hit empty air as the rogue would appear once more behind him and aim another slash at the metal man's neck.
- Talon's movements would only cause the sand to flow faster, the excessive force causing the grains to sweep beyond his ankles and a little higher.
- The glass appears to be thick, able to resist the Rogue's swords from the outside and Sendrel's sonic wave.
- The glass appears to muffle sounds but is not completely soundproof.
Post by Demacia's Wings on Jan 6, 2014 2:24:55 GMT -5
The sounds beyond her glass cage were muffled, but even if Quinn could hear them clearly it was doubtful she would listen. Her mind was concentrated solely on one task: to remove herself from this prison and from the broken smiles dripping black blood. The ranger shifted, leaning forward to press her palm against the warm surface of the glass. She saw her breath misting against it, clouding her vision from the outside world and she felt another breath strangle her throat. Her nails scraped against the cage as she looked down, choking out for air for a split second before she felt thick oxygen flow through her veins once more.
Her head was pounding, echoing with sounds of unimaginable terror and cut into the fog was a voice, reaching out with clawed fingers. Quinn turned, her wide eyes dark with unfamiliar fear. There were birds all around her, struggling to break free and there was one she saw with a snapped wing and feathers strangling his poor neck. Then his body was against the glass, and she heard a soft thump and nothing more. It was pointless to try and break free.
Quinn remembered the voice, so with her chest still heaving, she turned the other way and saw the man called Ozzy. His gaze was on her with something akin to either concern or suspicion. She didn't know, but she attempted a weak smile anyway which probably made her look even worse. She moved her lips, but made no effort to speak. She couldn't. Instead, she mouthed a small thank you before her attention twisted to the fight happening outside though her mind was on anything but.
Status: Mentally unstable.
Items:
- Crossbow - Small dagger - Default clothes/armor - Metal canteen filled with water - Strips of leather - Small packets of food
Modified Skills
Harrier (Passive) - Targets a vulnerable enemy and deals extra damage.
Blinding Assault (Q) - Fires a range of arrows aimed directly at the eyes. - Will blind the target if any arrow hits them. They cannot be blinded more than once per Q.
Heightened Senses (W) - ON CD. - Attacking a vulnerable target will grant Quinn bonus attack speed. - Quinn will put herself in a state of 'Heightened Senses', gaining an increase in awareness in Valor's absence. All area within range (2100) will be revealed to her for 2 seconds, including things in utter darkness and fog.
Ozzy watched carefully as the woman panicked, his eyes not leaving her until she turned to look at him and offer a weak smile which he returned, just as weak yet not as scared and (hopefully) reassuring. At least she had stopped clawing at her own throat, that gave him some sense of relief. Watching someone rip out their own throat was definitely not on his bucket list. As she mouthed her thanks he simply held the weak smile and shifted his attention to the other hour glasses, a look of concern briefly flickered across his features as his eyes fell upon someone trying to break their glass only for it to begin filling faster.
Feeling a sense of complete and utter uselessness he leaned back against the glass. He certainly didn't see the undead losing this battle, if you could call it that. The panic in his chest caused his hands to shake as he pulled out a bottle of water he had brought with him, he fumbled with the cap while trembling hands attempted to keep the bottle steady causing some of the water to spill down onto the sand at his feet. He closed his eyes and focused on the liquid as it slid down his throat, a strange sense of calm washing over him as he resigned himself to his fate.
Sendrel lived for duels. Bothersome were the contracts where a simple man was killed out of revenge. He preferred the wanted men, the ones who fought back, especially those with skill. He learned from them, what to use against them. The rogue was one such duelist, and Sendrel felt more compelled to beat him because of it. With this victory came not only advancement through the halls of the tomb, but personal learning. To Sendrel, it was a class on what a rogue does, should he be contracted to kill one in the future. And on top of that, it meant respect from the spectators, something he almost valued more than the knowledge gained from the fight.
Sendrel smiled inwardly as the rogue blinked again. A one-trick pony, he thought as he slammed his heels into the ground and tensed his body, halting his entire move. The rogue was close enough that he could hear the vibrations of his body, still fresh from the subsonic wave. Sendrel dropped to a squatting position and shot his right hand out behind him, grabbing the rogue on his right ankle, gripping it with near-crushing force Sendrel leapt back up, taking the ankle and leg with him, before twisting around and attempting to smash the rogue in the face with his staff. ______________________________ Status: Healthy (96%), confident. Abilities: Passive: If the staff connects, he'll be able to see the rogue wherever he goes for 3 seconds. Q: Ready E: On CD (6 seconds) R: On CD (3 min, 51 sec.)
Post by The Narrator on Jan 10, 2014 11:07:55 GMT -5
Participants:
Razie Gillam Kevin Naiyu Sendrel Ozzy Dominic/Talon Quinn
A chilling click echoed in the air, as if the rogue was tutting, rotten tongue slapping against the bone of his mouth and teeth. The man was clearly incapable of feeling any sort of fear, not like the ones stuck in their little cages. He had felt them trembling, their words escaping into enclosed air and the rogue's swords began to shiver. But he needed to focus on the fight, not on the delicious taste of hopelessness.
When the man dropped to the ground, the rogue could not help but laugh. His dead, narrow gaze glared at the fighter and his swords seemed to vibrate a little more quicker. Adrenaline was pumping through the blood he should not have and he could feel the thump of a heart he did not have. Every little sound, every drip of sand, every sob and every rustle he could hear and feel. The staff, the movement. Their fighter was too slow.
When the man's hand closed, it closed around empty, thick air as the rogue pivoted away nimbly. Without breaking his movement, the rogue's swords are sheathed as he lands and from his belt he draws six daggers - three in each hand and tipped with the same, gleaming poison that coated his main weapons. Only a split second passed before the rogue hissed and fanned the knives before throwing them with a strength surprising for one made of bone.
One after the other, they whistled straight towards Sendrel, fast as lightning and when the last dagger was thrown, the Rogue's hiss remained in the now empty space that had occupied him only moments ago. The sound of swords sliced through the air and the rogue reappeared, this time in front of Sendrel and faster now, with the intent to drive both points home.
New Information Acquired:
- The Rogue's attack speed and movement speed are vastly increased for (1/3) posts. - He has smaller knives in his arsenal. - Fast and slippery.
Sendrel, undeterred by his failed attack plan, spun towards the source of the hissing, to find empty air and daggers hurling towards him. Instinctively, he sidestepped to the right, and as he did, he twisted so that his stomach faced the daggers. Most of the daggers whizzed harmlessly by, but one knicked his right pectoral plate, the point catching in the exoskeleton. There it stayed, while the poisoned tip began to melt the metal. Sendrel noted the melting as well as the rogue now stabbing at him from the left, blazingly fast. Sendrel barely had enough time to parry the sword jabs away before retrieving the knife from his exoskeleton and beginning a throwing motion with it, directed at the rogue... before changing grips to a "backstab" grip and swinging all the way down and out behind him, hoping the rogue would already be in the path of the tip.
Post by The Narrator on Jan 12, 2014 7:57:38 GMT -5
Participants:
Razie Gillam Kevin Naiyu Sendrel Ozzy Dominic/Talon Quinn
There was no denying that the rogue was fast and difficult to catch unaware, but the fighter did just that as he changed the movement of the knife right at the last second. The rogue had hoped to stab the man right through when he left himself open upon throwing. The knife came down, slow but not slow enough and the rogue barely reacted.
He hissed as the blade cut through what was left of the skin hanging from his skeleton, the tip scraping and burning the yellowed bone of his shoulder right before he dropped and rolled before pouncing back up. The dagger had not gone through the bone and it did not hurt. But even if he could not feel the pain, he felt it like a phantom memory. The fighter before him did not seem to even wince at the poison - in fact, he remained largely like the undead warrior himself. Unmoved and unafraid.
But the rogue could not stand still for very long, and before another blink could be had, the rogue vanished once more before appearing to swing the sharpened edge of his sword into the left side of the metal soldier's neck. If that failed, he would pivot, twisting his body to bring his other sword direct towards the wound that the fighter had received from his poisoned dagger.
- The Rogue's attack speed and movement speed are vastly increased for (2/3) posts.
Sand Update:
- Those who have had their hourglasses disturbed may find themselves around an inch or so short of knee-deep in sand. The shorter ones may already be there.
Last Edit: Jan 12, 2014 8:02:06 GMT -5 by The Narrator
A knick. thought Sendrel, At least it's something. He briefly glanced at an hourglass and saw Kevin almost up to his knees in sand. Sendrel hated time limits, as he preferred to use his endurance to outlast his opponents. Without his favorite advantage, he almost felt like he was the underdog. But it also made him eager. Eager to find a different, faster way to beat this opponent and those who would come later.
By this point, Sendrel was unfazed by the rogue's constant blinking. What DID faze him was the still-present speed in the rogue's attacks. Sendrel didn't have time to block the sword, only fling his upper body back and down, landing on all fours, looking at the ceiling. His left hand was clenched in a fist around the staff, while his right had chucked the dagger in a random direction and was flat against the floor. He saw the rogue pivoting and bringing his other sword down, towards the spot where the dagger had struck. Sendrel lifted his legs off the ground and simultaneously pushed with his hands, aiming a low-flying two-legged kick at the rogue's legs in an attempt to put him offf balance. If it succeeded, he would upright himself and attempt to bash the rogue in the head with his staff. If it failed, he would upright himself and await the rogue's next move. __________________________________ Status: Offput by the rogue's speed, but otherwise okay (90%) Abilities: Q: Available E: On CD (1 second) R: On CD (3 min, 45 sec.)
Post by The Narrator on Jan 15, 2014 2:49:01 GMT -5
Participants:
Razie Gillam Kevin Naiyu Sendrel Ozzy Dominic/Talon Quinn
The speed in which the rogue swung his sword was more than enough for the undead warrior to feel his blade slicing into something - but he did not have time to see or crow about his achievement. Something heavy had struck him in his legs and he immediately stumbled back. Again, no pain, just the odd reverberations traveling through his bones. He knew his speed was beginning to fade and the adrenaline would not be there to guide him. He loathed having to rely on such powers the Master gave him, but he was ecstatic at the same time to be fighting someone who seemed to be so undeterred. It was strange.
The rogue hissed, banishing all thought from his mind as his swords came up to cross and block the staff from caving his skull in. He pushed Sendrel back, propelling himself into the wall as the fighter stood. His thin fingers were beginning to crumble and blacken - the Master was not pleased with his performance, and that made the rogue a little less arrogant and a little more fearful. He brought life, and he could bring death. He didn't want to die again, not in the way he had. He wanted to fight and feel blood drip, both his and his opponent's. It was a craving that followed him to his gruesome grave and his Master had responded.
All these thoughts were running, and though it lasted a mere second, the rogue knew. Tick tock, it whispered, and he knew his mind was never his to own. An unearthly sound began to stream forth from his mouth, his eyes glowing like red-hot embers. The last vestiges of his adrenaline was beginning to seep out, his bones dripping with a black fluid, too thick to be blood and too odorless to be liquified decay. "Kill them! The voice rasped, his swords seem to scream. Heavier and heavier they became, yet the rogue found he had no trouble holding them.
With that, he vanished. And this time, he did not reappear. A laugh beckoned forth from the shadow and the only thing that could be seen was the flash of his sword as he weaved through the flickering air. There was a magic surrounding the skeleton, an unknown force that distorted the area around him. Stagnation meant being detected and so the rogue moved, constantly moving and smashing his palms against the glass that surrounded the rest of the party. The sand flew faster and his laugh grew louder.
"Finish it," the rogue seemed to sing. Oh, he knew of Sendrel's power. His ability to detect movement like a bat. But he didn't seem to care anymore, his swords began to scream and with a final burst of speed, his blades suddenly appeared from the tendrils of black and traveled at bullet speed right towards the man's neck.
- Adrenaline rush fading (3/3)
Sand:
- With the rogue's help, the sand is rising to thigh height.
Sendrel swore under his breath as he noted that the rogue had still managed to clip his left arm, causing some metal shavings to fly off of it. After being pushed back by the rogue, he transferred his staff to his right hand and shook the damaged arm, hoping to minimize any damage done by the poison.
As the rogue began his grandiose display, Sendrel grinned. "You were a fool in life," he shouted, "and now you have become a fool in death!" He could see it all, as the blocked staff blow still transferred vibrations into the rogue. The smashing palms, the whirling blades, the coming strike. Sendrel already had his staff in position when the blades came. Their sudden increase in force made it so that he could only hold them off, not bat them away as he had planned. But it didn't matter. His plan could work, just with slight modification.
With a bit of difficulty, Sendrel pushed the swords away, before leaning down and attempting to headbutt the rogue in the stomach. If it worked, he would bring his head up, strikng the rogue's chin with it, before punching the rogue with his left fist. After that, he would swing his staff like a bat, bringing his left hand to it to add more force to the blow, which was aimed right for the rogue's forehead. Of course, the entire attack hinged on the success of the initial headbutt. If it failed, he'd have to back away, waiting for another opportunity. And Sendrel had no time to wait. ________________________________________________ Status: Attempting to combo the rogue into submission (85%) Abilities: Q: Ready E: Ready R: On CD (3 min, 42 sec.)
Post by The Narrator on Jan 17, 2014 2:27:46 GMT -5
Participants:
Razie Gillam Kevin Naiyu Sendrel Ozzy Dominic/Talon Quinn
Fool!
The sound came from the man before him, but the sound was everywhere. In his head and through his bones; under what little skin he had left and in the walls they screamed like the banshees hidden away. But he could hear them and they were right there and he was a fool. The rogue knew that he could not win against this man who did not bleed. His poison could not find a stream to pollute. But it was not his fault.
Failure!
Another screech echoed, his teeth rattling and his empty sockets looming as his swords were shoved away. But the rogue didn't seem to care - his Master would deal with these creatures, and the wailing from below... they were hungry. Sendrel's skull collided with his stomach and he doubled over in a pain he did not feel. The punch did not connect - the rogue had vanished with a final glint of a terrible smile.
Then he was there, reappearing where the party had first seen him. "This is only the beginning of my death," he hissed, and a painful groan rose up that trembled his bones that seemed to wither in its frailty. They yellowed like a dried sponge, rubbing and churning and then a single piercing cry and the rogue's entire frame collapsed. Bones fell to the ground with a clatter, scattering everywhere but his skull landed amidst his cloak where something golden gleamed within it's eye. A key, and a coin and paper sticking out from the black material.
The rogue had admitted his defeat, but the sand did not stop. In fact, the hourglasses seemed to tremble all by themselves and the sand was streaming down like a torrent. The grains began to swirl, turning murky in color. Decay followed like a plague where the rogue went, and so it would be. The glass began to darken, as if dipped in tar and maggot fluid. The sand - if it could be called that - began to produce a smell like no other. The scent would differ for everyone, but it would be the worst smell imaginable.
Sand:
- Decaying and 'fogging' the glass. The sand is streaming down at a rapid rate, reaching chest height within two minutes.
Loot:
- Key - One old coin - A scrap of paper hidden in the folds of the cloak
Ozzy nearly spat out his drink as he watched the rogue fall, completely surprised as he had all but condemned Sendrel to death in his mind. Ozzy felt a smile play on his lips, hoping like hell the hourglass would retract into the ceiling... When it didn't however, his hope was crushed. Despair rose from inside his chest, injecting its venom into his veins sending waves of hopelessness through his being. His eyes scanned the glass as it darkened, gagging as the foul smell invaded his senses. Screwing on the cap to the water, he shoved it into his sack catching a nice chunk of the foul smelling sand in the process. He blinked, hell, the stench was a mixture of the Zaunite sewers and the nasty as anything drinks they made as part of Bildgewater's 'Drink The Water!' contests. He shuddered as he felt the bile rising in the back of his throat along with tears pooling in his eyes.
He decided he was tired of this, the smell was foul, the sand was rising and it seemed as though they were going to die anyway. Maybe only the one who fought the undead was allowed to live. Closing his eyes he drew back his mechanical fists and began thrusting them forward with as much force as he could muster against the filthy glass.
Post by The Blade's Shadow on Jan 17, 2014 5:51:35 GMT -5
Talon could do no more than watch. When the Rogue admitted defeat, collapsed into an ineffectual heap, he almost scoffed, feeling as though the rogue had simply given up, as though it simply could not be bothered to continue. It very nearly made the life-long killer scoff but he could not, instead gagging as everything in his immediate vicinity turned putrid. He had lived in the sewers of Noxus for years, but this was nothing like that. He had come to live with that stench.
No, this was far, far worse. Perhaps because it reeked of a scent he wished he could forget entirely. Brought with it was a memory better left buried, better to pretend it had never happened. Just like that, he was there all over again, turning the memory over and over in his head. Kavyn, stumbling back into his chest, gurgling and choking on his own blood while the shock of what happened robbed him of rational thought. Watching the older, dying boy put a hand on the dagger that seemed to have grown from his throat. Feeling Kavyn's body stop struggling, limp against his own torso, the last of the boy's blood and life escaping around the blade Talon had put in him. The slow process of watching the only person who had ever been even passingly nice to him strain and struggle to survive. Watching the knife clatter on the floor, pulled free with the last of the dying boy's strength.
The memory gripped Talon, making him freeze as it commanded his attention. Every moment of it played back in his mind. He felt his hand trembling, just as it had that night, then his legs, then everything. Just as he had after taking his first life, Talon slumped to his knees, a shuddering mess, in the foul material. The strength that had possessed him that night had left him just as quickly, just as it did now. Noiseless tears streamed down his face that night but now none would come. The real world began to seep back in, the smell hitting him like a hammer blow.
Young and shaken as Talon had been, he hadn't known to move the body until it was too late. Several days went by in that horrid sewer, looking at Kavyn's dead body as the rats took what parts of him they wanted, mechanically feeding himself tiny, nearly inconsequential bites of the awful, flavorless potatoes until they were gone, clutching himself like a babe as the harsh reality of what he had done dawned. What was once Kavyn's living, breathing body had laid beside a young, broken Talon for longer than it had a right to, the occasional gurgle of decomposition being his only companion.
The last agonizing seconds of the memory played in crippling slow motion, the putrefying body finally succumbing to pressure. Without any warning, the stomach of the corpse gave way, sending its horrid contents outwards, smearing Talon's clothes, his face, everything near him, his food store, everything. It was only then that reality dawned once more on the scared, shattered little boy. He shook from head to toe, immediately followed by purging himself of what little sustenance he had eaten and screeching in terror, fleeing the makeshift home as quickly as his weak body could take him.
Just as he had then, Talon heaved mightily, emptying the food he had worked so hard to gather for himself. Heart hammering in his chest, all he could do was sit there, panicking, trapped by the reality of his choices, of his life, of everything he had ever done to get here. "I... I h-had to... There was no other choice." He choked, speaking to no one but himself in a voice even he could hardly hear, spittle hanging from his lips.
Another heave, dry this time, but no less powerful, painful. His most recent meal lay before him, mixing with the foul stench, with the swirling miasma of agony and malcontent.
Status: Not even a little bit okay right now, but fine physically. (90%)
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