The full seasonal event can be read here! Below are the main seasonal items for quick reference:
1. A thread reacting to the season's weather in some ways.
2. A thread in the part of the city your character doesn't live in!
3. A thread relating to your vocation.
Of The Season
Quote
"Tell Dr. Nate that Gale sent you, and he still owes me for the mushrooms. Except that it takes you a while to reach the clinic, and by the time you do your fever is spiking, and so instead of the requisite message you instead tell the poor soul who greets you that 'A gale'a m'shrooms sent me cus'a my hands.'" - Zephyr in Oh help me, please doctor, I'm damaged
The Drench needed to blow off some steam, collectively. The Lockdown, the awful Drenak weather, the endless torment of the Plates...it was time to do something to break the tension. Something Enforcers would not approve of.
It was spread by word of mouth. Choke Alleys, this time, this night. Betting Pool. Anyone who wants to could join. No killing, but expect a bloody fight.
The turn-out was impressive. Around a chalk-outlined arena in the middle of a shaded square behind buildings, a large crowd was forming. They stood in the streets, leaned out of windows and cheered from nearby rooftops. Everyone wanted to see something simple, easy and bloody. The combatants had better provide.
A desk made of crates and a plank was set up at the entrance of the square, where the rules would be explained and the bets taken, competitors signed in. Anyone who wanted to compete had a chance to win plenty of Lasti, if the betting pool was as big as the crowd.
Who'd come and sign up?
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This is a TOURNAMENT thread. Militants need this to level, but anyone of any vocation can join.
To join, please post your character signing up by 09/06/2023.
If there is an odd number of characters, an NPC will be added to the line up.
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The rules of the tournament:
1. Do not kill your opponent
2. Fight ends when one opponent is either unconscious, too injured to continue or forfeits
3. Stay within the arena
4. Any weapon is allowed, as is magic
(This post was last modified: 06-06-2023, 07:55 PM by Neowulf.)
this place is a circus, you just see the surface they cover shit under the rug you can't see they're fakin', they'll never be naked
The whispers have been in the back of Nate’s head, creeping deeper and deeper until he’d decided to listen to them, to show up, alongside half the Drench it seems. He needed this, and it makes sense that he’s not the only one. Still, Nate needs a little more than camaraderie and gambling tonight.
His knuckles are wrapped with dark blue bindings, stains on the knuckles betraying their previous uses. Each piece of clothing has been chosen deliberately, tight but not too much, no slack left to be grabbed. This is to pound out some tension, not for any kind of honour, there’s no reason to assume anyone would fight fair if they didn’t have to.
Standing off to the side until the shoe starts, Nate keeps his arms folded across his chest and tries to keep himself from scanning the crowd, not wanting to give himself the chance to be psyched out.
She was sweet like honey But all I can taste is the blood in my mouth
Naturally, Savera signs up.
Oh, sure it's a Drench tournament, and sure, she's subbing in as an Enforcer. But that doesn't stop her (and other Platers, really) from donning a set of grubby clothing and sneaking down to the street. Vera has chosen leather for her ensemble, pants and jacket both hugging her figure as she stands at the sidelines, watching people gather for the storm. She's wearing a mask, but not her duty one: this one covers her mouth and nose, leaving dark hooded eyes to survey and calculate, taking in the faces of those she knows, and those she does not.
A gloved hand flexes over her sword hilt as she catches sight of Nate. If anyone here could make her, it's him, but somehow she isn't too concerned. He's always kept her secrets, and she suspects he would rather the chance to beat her up than rat her out.
She feels the same, after all.
She turns away from the doctor, her long braid glinting in the low light. A mental check of her knife placement - five total, not that she plans to use them - and the soldier feels ready, adrenaline humming a familiar note of bloodlust in her veins.
When she had first heard the talk, she was considering to at most find a place somewhere high to watch the fights for a while. However, on the day she had first woken up on the wrong side for whatever reason, then a surprise phone call from her father had blown up like an atom bomb and now she just feels pissed.
Signing up is probably a bad idea and even if the idea of the prize money isn't bad, she doesn't expect to get anything but a lot of bruises. Though at this point, she feels like doing stupid shit out of spite more than anything. Perhaps getting the anger beaten out of her will work just as well as taking it out on someone else.
She finds a spot off to the side to wait at, idly moving a sturdy wooden stave about the length of her arm back and forth between her hands while trying to not think too much about a couple of people that might have one or ten things to say about this.
The reader of this text has standing permission for responsible powerplay and to use physical/magical force against this character. Instant killing and permanently maiming not included.
Breathe silently, make the ghostly voice surrender.
She’d heard the rumours and thought nothing of them, until Adam had nudged her towards the tournament being both a real thing that happened and a good place to test herself. It shouldn’t hurt (figuratively speaking) to establish where she’d gone rusty and needed to practise up again.
Dressed practically (as ever), Mallorie kept her hands in her trouser pockets as she waited for the tournament to start. Old gloves dug out from somewhere at home, they felt a little like she’d never taken them off; the reinforced weight across her knuckles comforting, in a funny sort of way. She eyed the arena, the crowd...her fellow competitors. Knowing she’d formally met barely a handful of people there was strange, and she maintained a stony, still stance in an attempt to keep her nerves steady.
Her first fight in quite some time. The money mattered less to her than knowing her new boundaries, and perhaps proving herself somehow in the eyes of her new home.
If nothing else, it should give her a story to tell.
take a breath 'cause she's gonna pull you down step in a little closer
Kosbra will probably k-i-l-l her with a capital K when he eventually finds out about her excursion He always does, she thinks, already able to script out the roar about Bravlet honor as she picks her way through the fucking nasty sludge in the streets. Vovonen above, how could they stand to live like this? If she’d heard the rumors about the tournament from a little birdie, surely others with a more extensive network had too.
Devoid of Bravlet regalia, Kyrie makes an attempt to blend in with her most tattered and torn up training blacks, though they’re still relatively pristine by Drench standards. A sharp elbow here and there allows the tiny woman to push through the crowd of eager, clearly drunk and blood-thirsty (to be expected) audience members. It was low-brow entertainment, but the thrum of energy was undeniable. She immediately recognizes Savera, eyeing the Bravlet adoptee as she stands in line, fingering the various little toys she’s ready to don - shoe spikes for heels and toes, bladed knuckle rings, a couple of knives - if there was anyone she knew the most about, it was her. And then she looks at the giant man and smiles to herself a bit.
There was less of a turn out than expected, but maybe that was because most of those in the crowd had already seen one of these tournaments. They often ended up pretty gnarly; if Enforcers didn't break them up, someone could go home with a permanent scar tonight.
Once the sign ups were complete, a host dressed in a ludicrously shiny purple overcoat took a beat up microphone and began to shout out to the crowd.
"DRENCHERS! ARE YOU READY FOR A FIGHT?"
The roar from the crowd said yes.
With a quick smirk and a nod, the host turned as he gestured to the combatants that had lined up. Most of them familiar faces to our dear readers, except one on the end, Billy 'Punchy' Mulligan. He stood at the end of the line, his wiry frame barely containing the pent-up energy within him. He wore a faded leather jacket, adorned with an assortment of mismatched patches that told stories of his past victories and defeats. His hands were wrapped tightly in well-worn bandages, a testament to his commitment to his craft.
"We've made the match ups and prepped the contestants, so I'd say we're ready! Get into your pairs and lets do this!"
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MATCH UPS:
IRA vs SAVERA
MALLORIE vs KYRIE
NATE vs BILL 'PUNCHY' MULLIGAN
HOW THIS WORKS:
Each match will have it's own thread and happen simultaneously. You will be sent your thread when it's made.
When a match is in progress, the turn order is only those two people involved. Other players may post an observation post every 3-4 posts, if they want to.
Matches keep going either until someone is below 5% HP/has taken a serious injury, they forfeit, or the match has gone on for 10 posts.
In each post, players state what their character does, eg. block an attack then throw a punch. Each post is meant to be 2-3 seconds, so keep that in mind. No combos of thirty kicks and punches!
Each action is assigned a stat and rolled for. On a successful roll, damage will be rolled for against your opponent. If they block an attack in the next post, they can regain some of the hp lost.
