Drifting Pollen

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

Nobody even seemed to be paying much notice to Imogen, and her words fell on deaf ears. Honestly, she wasn't surprised. Out of all the people in this room, she probably looked the least threatening. She didn't mind being looked down upon, it made for a rather nice change, but it was a shame that she wasn't able to speak with them. Perhaps some among the gathered fighters had led lives similar to hers, and would have insights to share, stories, wisdom.

She considered approaching them. But how does one even approach a warrior from another world entirely? For all she knew, they might speak some strange language, or engage in cannibalism as a casual daily activity. Some of those present certainly looked capable of it. So instead, she shied around the edges of the lobby, avoiding the food, feeling generally a little awkward. Maybe she'd be able to talk to them once the fights started, and discuss or comment on the unfolding battles. Whoever these people were, she was certain they'd have some sort of opinions to share on the art of combat.

But, as it soon turned out, she would be one of the first to fight. She looked around, uncertain as to exactly which one of these strangers was Nicoli. Given the sound of the name, probably one of the smaller ones.

Either way, she showed no hesitation in stepping towards the portals, walking swiftly and confidently right up to the first. The cloth bundle containing her blades floated along beside her, matching her pace. But as she walked, she reached out to it, tugging on a small concealed thread on one side, and it began to unravel, revealing the weapons inside. Gleaming steel slid from ornate sheaths, as the cluster of blades unfolded into an airborne formation, arraying themselves all around her. The cloth and the sheaths she'd leave behind, stepping up to the edge of the portal surrounded only by her swords.

Imogen hesitated before entering, however, her confidence wavering a little, and glanced towards Nicoli (should he have advanced at this point). With one small hand, she brushed her red hair aside as she tried to meet his eyes. "I... I should ask, what fortune brings you here? So far down the road of pain?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice, and a hint of sadness.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

They like apples so much because they have that delicious crunch that sounds so much like a skull being broken between your teeth...

Anyways, looks like I'm up already! Should be an interesting fight... also, whoever's up against the lich? Take him out for me. I don't want to have to deal with all that armor :P

EDIT: oh, and ShidenBlades got one detail wrong in his post... Imogen doesn't have any swords strapped to her. I specified in my post that they were tied up in a huge bundle that was floating behind her. Not that the mistake is any fault of yours... I somehow managed to write that detail without even mentioning the word 'sword,' and so it's understandable that you missed it.

Between Life & Death

Oh, but she is not alone.

No-one is ever alone. There are the creeping bugs, skittering back and forth between the cracks in wood and earth, in numbers beyond measure. There are the trees, ancient and powerful and alive. And there are the darker things, the spirits and ghouls that stalk the corners of this reality, hunting whatever unfortunate prey catches their eye.

This damsel is in good company among the first two. Bugs and trees are passive creatures, going about their lives without interfering to a large degree in the affairs of others. But spirits have no such manners. Unlike the rest of nature, they exist purely to prey on living things, to leech away the souls and belief of their victims to further fuel their own power. Hardly pleasant company at all- and the one that now stalked these woods was perhaps the worst among them.

The first sign of trouble comes with a quiet hum, carried on the twisting breeze. The voice of a woman, sounding out a slow, wordless tune, a little lullaby she sings to herself in her moments of boredom.

Then footsteps, and the rustling of fallen leaves as someone steps through them, slowly and deliberately. The wind should be dying down by now, but instead it seems to pick up, rushing faster and faster as it sends small leaves fluttering about every which way. A herald, for that which is coming.

She appears suddenly, stepping out of a shadow into full view of Hisame, as if she'd been standing there the entire time. A woman, dark-haired and elegant, in a dark dress that shifts and twists like smoke. Her eyes are closed, but only for a moment.

When they open, they're looking straight at the other young woman, leaned against a tree. These are dark eyes, predatory ones. The newcomer's expression, coldly indifferent but a moment ago, shifts into a slight smile, that's somehow even colder.

"Well oh well, what have we stumbled upon?" Procella's voice is smooth, melodic, almost musical in its tone. "A poor lost lady, far away from home?" The leaves crunch under her bare feet as she steps forwards, only a few meters away from Hisame.

Between Life & Death

No biggie :P I haven't seen a tab system like this used before, and IDK how starting a thread even works! Confusion on anyone's part is no surprise.

But yeah, just paste it in the IC and I'll get to work on a reply <3

Between Life & Death

Can you not feel it in the air? She is coming! The storm!

Name: Procella
Title: Black spirit of the unchained tempest

Race: Apparition
Occupation: Wandering spirit, she does as she pleases.
Age: Unknown

Appearance:
Height: 5'9''
Weight: 136 lbs

Procella cuts quite the figure. One moment, there is nothing but the storm, the next, lightning flashes, and all of a sudden she is there, a beautiful woman clad in a dress of deepest black. Her hair waves and tumbles with the wind, never still for even a moment. Her body sways and whirls, moving like a puppet with its strings cut, wayward and unpredictable.

With this strange grace, she dances closer, a strange smile upon her face. A faint laugh escapes her lips, high-pitched and ecstatic, before she raises a hand, reaching out towards you. The world flashes, and everything goes dark.

Thus may be described an encounter with Procella. Strange, wild, and lovely as the storm.

Personality:
Oh, she is mad, all the way through. There is no reasoning with this spirit, for her whims are like the wind, her attentions flying from one place to another with the speed of a lightning strike. Procella is bound by nothing, and will indulge in whatever captures her whimsy. This is rather unfortunate for the world at large, for her adoration and her hatred are both equally deadly. If Procella's eyes alight upon you, you know she is fixated- and so much the worse for you.

Oh, but she is not all unkind. Sometimes she is willing to play calmer games, to make minor conversation, perhaps even call you her friend. But like the storm, she is unpredictable, and even the closest of bonds may be swept away at a moment's notice. Do not trust her, do not drop your guard at any time. For at heart, Procella is a vengeful, vindictive spirit, and does no good for anyone she comes across.

History:
Every now and again, a child is born with a void inside. A gaping hole in their very soul that needs to be filled, with life, with power, and with meaning.

One such child, a small, dark-haired girl, had a void greater than any other. Like a great spiritual whirlpool, she sucked out the souls of any she came near, turning everyone around her into soulless, silent husks. She absorbed their knowledge and memories, but found no meaning within them. Likewise, she had nobody to love, or even form an association with. Alone, she wandered, seeking a meaning for her existence.

With nobody to speak to, she began to make friends with the world around her. Earth became a loyal companion, always there to hold her up when it was needed. Fire was fickle, and angry at times, but showed her flashes of warmth from time to time. The Ocean was cold and distant, but its brother Rivers was kind, giving her the water she needed to survive.

The girl's greatest ally, however, was Storm. Every day she would look up at the sky, searching for the tempest, hoping he might come and visit her sometime. Whenever he did, she rejoiced in the rain and the thunder, enraptured by this strange beauty, this meeting of all the elements. More and more, she fell in love with the storm. And thus, she found her meaning.

The hole in the girl's soul was filled, with the purest essence of the storm itself. She now wore a dress of blackest cloud, and her mind and motivations became as fierce and fickle as the nature of her dearest love. No longer was she a mere human. Procella rose as an embodiment of the wild tempest, a spirit that would plague the world forevermore.

Abilities:

Spirit nature: Procella cannot be permanently killed. The death of her physical body will cause her to disintegrate, and she will vanish for weeks or months on end. Eventually, however, she always re-forms, returning to wreak havoc once again. As a side-note, neither she nor her clothes become wet in the rain, a lightning strike will not affect her in the slightest, and even the strongest of winds will not sway her unless she wishes it to.

Storm attraction: Wherever she goes, the weather worsens around her. The longer she stays somewhere, the stormier it will become, with the wind and rain gradually becoming more severe as time goes on. The closer the weather is to a full hurricane, the stronger she becomes:
- Sunny day: weaker than an average human
- Cloudy/windy day: slightly stronger than an average human
- Rain: as swift and powerful as a peak-level athlete
- Full storm: speed and strength at almost double peak human levels

Mad spirit's dance: Procella's movements are erratic and unpredictable, and she is also extremely flexible. Her fighting style is frankly bizarre, and extremely tricky to read even for experienced martial artists.

Throwing knives: She keeps within her dress seven razor-sharp daggers, for when she wishes to inflict pain. These can be wielded in her hands, or thrown. They are also highly conductive.

Electrokinesis: What would a storm be without lightning? Procella can sense and partially manipulate concentrations of charge, allowing her to unleash arcs of deadly electricity, shut down electrical devices, and alter the direction of lightning strikes.

Between Life & Death

Thanks for getting this started!

Also, good post, but... this is the OOC tab. Might want to move it to the IC.

Pollen's characters

Physical-focused:

Screamer, the wendigo

Name: Its true name is long forgotten. When they tell of it in stories, they just call it Screamer.
Age: 300+ years
Height: 8'11''
Weight: 510 lbs
Race: Wendigo
Class: Monster

Appearance:
Tall and menacing, the Wendigo moves unnaturally, slow and clumsy one moment then swift and deadly the next. Its mouth is almost always open, with drool often dripping down from its chin. Branches grow from some parts of its body, the others are covered by either thick hair or a thin layer of fur. The beast as a whole is filthy, and stinks of blood and rotting flesh.


Weapons:
It has nasty spiked antlers, as well as razor-sharp teeth and claws. The latter allow it to climb almost any rough surface. It is also strong enough to use many environmental objects as weapons. Finally, its tongue is strong and flexible, and can extend up to a meter out from its mouth.

Physical Abilities/Skills:

Strength and speed: the sheer mass of a wendigo is impressive enough, but the monster is even more powerful that it appears, a frenzied hunger driving it forwards, giving it double the strength of the toughest human warriors. Though ordinarily slow, it is capable of bursts of sudden movement with the speed of a striking snake.

Resilience: though unarmored, the wendigo has branches growing above and beneath its flesh throughout most of its body, which give its vulnerable insides a fair degree of protection against physical attacks. Additionally, it is highly resistant to the cold and damp.

Senses: the wendigo's sense of smell is well-developed, allowing it to track down its prey wherever it flees. It can also see perfectly clearly in the dark.

Magic/Special Abilities:

Blood frenzy: upon tasting the flesh or blood of a human or humanoid creature, the wendigo will enter a frenzied state, gaining increased strength and speed (1.5x) and healing any minor wounds it had beforehand.

Horrid breath: Screamer itself stinks badly enough, but its breath has an even more horrid stench. It is distracting at a distance, and will trigger the gag reflex if breathed in at close range.

Weaknesses: It hates heat, fire, and bright lights. Though cunning, it lacks knowledge of human weapons and tactics, and its fighting style is haphazard. Though very fast when it strikes, it cannot sustain great speeds for long, and will usually move slowly when not directly engaged.

Background:

Heroes are fleeting, spending their short lives in glory before the inevitable fall. Monsters are eternal, the darkness eating away at the edges of the world, always there and never resting. The wendigo lies between the two.

It is said the first wendigo came into being when a band of heroes ventured into a forest, and were caught there in the winter. One by one, the starving warriors went mad, and began to turn on each other out of spite and hunger. They fought, and spilled one another's blood, until only one remained, barely human anymore. The forest claimed him for its own, and twisted him into a horrifying creature of wood and flesh and bone and eternal, ravenous hunger.

For centuries, the first wendigo stalked the woods, feasting upon any travelers unfortunate enough to cross its path. Eventually, however, as tales of the monster spread, men and women came to hunt it. Many tried, and were consumed, but eventually came one with great strength and skill, who slew the wendigo and took its head.

With the monster gone, travelers soon returned to the woods, merchants and rangers and lumberjacks all making their way in to take advantage of nature's bounty. But a black spirit yet lingered there, waiting for a chance to strike. Eventually, a party of hunters was lost in the woods- and the pattern repeated itself. They went mad, attacking and devouring each other until only one remained, and that one stalked off into the forest, hunger yet unsatisfied.

Every time a wendigo dies, a few decades of peace are earned. Every time a wendigo rises, it holds the forests in its grip of fear for centuries. Some are worse than others, besting any hero who comes across them. Screamer is one of these.

It is said that the most recent of the wendigo was born of a hero, much like the first: a man went into the forest to slay the beast, and succeeded. However, it took him so long to slay the beast that by the time he finally claimed its head, he was starving with hunger. In desperation, he ate of the wendigo itself- and thus began his slow transformation. His human name is lost, but they call him Screamer now, after the way he sometimes shrieks into the night, a scream of horror at what he has become.

Whether or not these rumors are true, whether or not some humanity remains within the wendigo, none can say for sure. There is no doubt of one thing, however: its hunger will never be sated. Watch that sweet flesh of yours...

Power-focused:

Imogen, the sword-mage

Name: Sirena Imogen
Age: 22
Height: 5'7''
Weight: 137 lbs
Race: Human
Class: Sword-mage

Appearance:
Graceful and slender, Imogen's loose robes hide a surprisingly well-toned form. Where she steps, she steps quietly, her eyes always watching with measured curiosity. Though her path is that of the warrior, her gentle demeanor would indicate anything but.


Weapons: Ten swords:
- One rapier
- One katana
- One claymore
- One estoc
- One zweihänder
- Two hook swords
- One khopesh
- One scimitar
- One urumi

Two shields:
- One round shield
- One tower shield

All swords are forged from the finest steel, and both shields are made of stiff, strong wood.

Physical Abilities/Skills: Imogen is in excellent physical condition, though does not posses supernatural levels of strength or speed. Can deadlift around 250 lbs unaided, and sprint at 20 mph. She's trained in a wide variety of combat styles, specifically a variety of sword styles, as well as the principles of focus and mediation. Has unusually sharp hearing, and is very agile and flexible.

Magic/Special Abilities: Imogen has telekinetic control over her weapons (all twelve listed). She can levitate them and move them around with ease, though their speed and the force behind them is around the same as if she were wielding them herself. Multiple weapons can be controlled at once this way. She is also aware of their position: even if she can't see them, she'll know exactly where they are.

She has the ability to recall weapons at will. When she recalls a sword, wherever it was previously, it will immediately appear in her hand (or hands), so as she is not already holding anything in the same hand. Recalling a shield causes it to manifest on her arm, held in place by straps.

In addition to wielding weapons by hand or moving them directly with her mind, Imogen can issue her swords and shields basic telepathic commands, which they can act on with reasonable ability. For instance, a shield ordered to "defend me from harm" would hover near Imogen and move to block any oncoming threats, even if she did not perceive said threats herself. Weapons used this way tend to follow their orders through rudimentary means, acting with very little skill or cleverness beyond that required to understand commands.

Background:

The Sirena clan, goddesses of war. Each one is raised by her mother and aunts, and trained in the martial arts from a very young age. Gradually, they specialize in a certain kind of weapon, be it bow, spear, or sword. Once their training is complete, at the age of fifteen, they are sent out into the world on their own, as novice mercenaries.

They wander, fight, and earn their pay with their legendary skill, honing their abilities to ever-greater heights. Eventually, when one reaches the peak of her skill, she will seek a man worthy of her respect, and bed him. When a Sirena falls pregnant, the child is always a daughter, and as soon as she is born, the mother will leave her partner and return home for the first time, to raise her offspring as a new warrior. Thus the cycle continues.

Occasionally, however, there is an exception. One Sirena, a mistress of the dagger and throwing knife, found love in a strange man, a weaver of magic both powerful and ancient. He gave her a daughter named Imogen, and she took the child to her clan, as she was meant to do.

But it soon became clear that there was something different about this one. From her earliest days, Imogen demonstrated flashes and bursts of arcane power, a strange magic she had inherited from her father. Many clans might have feared this- but the Sirena saw an opportunity. A chance to forge the greatest weapon in the history of their noble lineage.

And so they trained Imogen, pushed her harder than any other. Not only did they teach her the mastery of her body, and of every kind of sword, but also of her magic. She learned to infuse it into her weapons, make them an extension of her will, deadly steel birds that would fly wherever she willed them to. Upon this young girl were piled the greatest of honors- and the greatest of expectations.

When the time came for her fifteenth birthday, she was a capable fighter, ready to go out into the world and carve her legend upon its history. But there remained one final trial. For the Sirena clan had no use for the weak and the old, and thus, one final obligation had to be fulfilled before Imogen could leave.

She was to duel against her mother, to the death.

Should Imogen win, she would become a full member of the clan. Should her mother win, she would become a matriarch, one of the few elders who had bested their daughters and held authority over all of the Sirena. Only the strong would survive, and earn greatness.

When the duel began, Imogen's mother struck out ruthlessly, aiming with all her skill for the throat of her own daughter. But her attacks were effortlessly parried, her daggers knocked aside. But Imogen would not kill her.

Instead, the young warrior left, defeating all among the Sirena who tried to stop her. She would not bend to their cruel rules and vicious cycles. She would forge her own path in the world.

And so she did, becoming one of the most skilled warriors her world had ever seen. Until one day, she received an invitation, a challenge unlike any she had heard of before, a chance to prove herself as a warrior greater than any of her vicious ancestors.

OP as Balls:

Vol Lok Ra, the old snake

Name: Vol Lok Ra
Aliases: the Liar King, Scaleforger, Old Snake
Race: Unknown
Gender: Dependant on form
Age: Ancient. Claims to be millions of years old.
Occupation: Generally fucking with stuff.

Appearance

Physical appearance:
As a shapeshifter, Vol Lok Ra has no constant form. Long ago, it possessed endless forms, but after the loss of its empire, it has been restricted to three variants.

- Human form: Vol can take on the shape of a human between 3 and 7 feet in height, weighing anywhere from 35 to 350 pounds. Features, pigments, and athleticism can be chosen from normal ranges. Although it is capable of matching virtually every aspect of the human form, Vol does so instinctively, making it difficult (but not impossible) for it to deliberately match the appearance of an already existing human.

- Avian form: Vol can take on the shape of a bird with a wingspan between 2 and 8 feet, weighing anywhere from 3 to 15 kg. This form can vary to incorporate aspects of different birds, but is limited to those that fly (cannot fully mimic ostriches or other flightless birds).

- Lizard king form: The shape Vol took when he ruled over an empire in days long past, and his usual shape for combat. This shape is a large, reptilian humanoid with jet-black scales, standing 8'6'' high and weighing 650 lbs. It has sharp teeth, small eyes, a roughly triangular head, and a long, prehensile tail. This form can speak like a human, but its voice is deep and grating.

Backstory

Backstory:

Vol says it was around since before the beginning of time. Before the world, before the gods, before anything. Can it be believed?
Perhaps, but the moniker of the Liar King is not unearned. The past of this strange shapeshifter is shrouded in mystery, mostly due to the falsehoods the being itself has spread. About its origins, nothing is certain, only that it has been around since before mammals had even developed the use of tools.

Vol's stories and lies have spread far and wide throughout the ages, and there are many old legends telling of his exploits, if one knows where to look. All share a common theme: the shapeshifter daringly reaching for power and knowledge beyond its grasp, challenging the mightiest and cleverest beings around for the greatest of prizes. Sometimes it won, sometimes it lost, the stories often vary and disagree. One thing is clear, however: Vol never died, nor did it give up. Cunning and tenacious, it remained a thorn in the side of every set of gods that sought to rule its world.

Until the day it grew to close to becoming a mortal.

A few thousand years back, the shapeshifter happened upon a pitiful race of lizardfolk, struggling to survive during a harsh time of change and turbulence. Seeing a possibly useful tool in them, Vol took their form, becoming a male, and joined them, blending in with the dwindling populace and gradually winning them over with his intelligence and fearlessness.

The trickster now had followers, but they were weak and short-lived. The ancient Vol sought to change this, and began a dangerous heist. Seeking out three mighty elemental gods, he tricked them one by one, conning them into granting gifts to his people in exchange for souls they would never receive. His plan succeeded, with a few minor hitches, and the lizardfolk obtained eternal life, titanic strength, and incredibly durable scales.

With newfound power and confidence, Vol's people spread and prospered, forming a mighty empire with the shapeshifter at their head. Through them, Vol was able to expand his influence to an unparalleled extent, to the point where godhood itself seemed to be within his grasp. However, even as he used his people to further his own desires, he grew closer to them. Ruling the lizardfolk required living among them, and over the years, Vol began to feel empathy, closeness, even affection for his loyal subjects. While his might grew further and further above that of mere mortals, his heart pulled the other way, seeding doubts in his mind that perhaps his path was wrong, perhaps he ought to be content simply living on as the lizard king.

The choice was never to be made, however, for Vol's activities had not gone unnoticed. He had made many enemies over the previous millenia, and none of them liked what they saw in his newfound power and followers. Banding together, all of the shapeshifter's enemies descended upon his empire. A host of gods and demons, spirits and abominations, ascended beings and elemental forces, moving together in a storm of fury and vengeance.

Once upon a time, Vol would have simply run away, as he had done so many times before. It was a course of action that had served him well over countless centuries, and would likely have worked here, if he were cunning enough. But somewhere along the line, Vol had changed. Where it had once been callous and selfish, caring only for itself, it was now a he, and he would not sacrifice his own people just for the sake of survival. Instead of turning and fleeing, the lizard king stood and fought, challenging the almighty horde head-on in order to buy the lizardfolk time to scatter across the world, hiding away so that they might survive.

Mighty as he was, it was a hopeless fight. The forces arrayed against him were so great that they would have inevitalby torn him apart, and done the same to his soul after that. Indeed, the mass of gods and monsters came expecting and easy victory- but Vol did not stand alone.
Disobeying his commands, the shapeshifter's adopted people came to his rescue, throwing themselves into battle with the same bravery that Vol had won them over with so long ago. Greeting them with a sad smile, their king led them to their glorious end.

It is said that the world itself trembled that day, as two armies of strength beyond measure clashed against one another with unmatched fury. The details of this terrifying conflict are forever lost, for what observer could possibly have survived to record it? The outcome, however, was clear. At the end of the day, the surviving gods and demons limped away, forever scarred- and of Vol and his lizardfolk, nothing remained.
Some say the story ends there.

Could it have? It certainly seems fitting, the ancient immortal trickster sacrificing itself in vain out of loyalty to its children. The canny scholar, however, knows otherwise. There are clues, small hints that may be tracked across the histories of different worlds, signs of a cunning and steadfast hand at work, one that may be recognized by those old enough to remember. How? Why? None can tell. But one thing is clear: the stories and lies of Vol Lok Ra have not yet met their end...

Magic and fighting-relevant stuff

Powers and abilities:

Telepafuckery: Vol keeps its consciousness masked behind layers of decoy thoughts and signals. This allows it to feed false information to anyone attempting to read its mind or track its psychic footprint, as well as intercept and eliminate any attempts to seize control of its consciousness, alter its thoughts, or communicate with it telepathically. Though it cannot form a psychic or telepathic connection on its own, Vol can use those established by others to mount its own mental attacks.

Trickster's Skin: Though it has far fewer forms than it did in the past, Vol can still transform extremely quickly between its current variations. Each has their own uses.
- Human form: may be very athletic, but otherwise has no abilities beyond those of ordinary humans.
- Avian form: very light, capable of flight, often posesses a sharp beak and talons. Also has exceptional eyesight.
- Lizard king form: large and heavy, armored with thick layers of tough black scales all over its body. Extremely strong, with sharp teeth and claws, and a powerful bite. Also has a long, prehensile tail (which is a bit weaker than the main body) and a good sense of smell. Very resistant to high temperatures.

Trickster's Palm: Can 'palm' small to medium-sized inanimate objects upon contact, pulling them into a pocket dimension roughly the same size as his body (in lizard king form). While palmed, objects are placed in stasis, and do not age, lose energy, or change in any way. Vol can release palmed objects at will, at which point they will appear to emerge from its skin. By default, he keeps a gallon of water and three cubic feet of solid steel palmed, as well as a change of clothes.

Thur's Strength: Vol can siphon mass from nearby rocks, sediments and minerals, and temporarily transfer this to itself or objects it is touching.

Dal's Swiftness: Vol can siphon velocity from nearby air currents, and temporaily transfer this to itself or objects it is touching.

Shim's Cunning: Vol can siphon light from nearby water (including seawater and dirty water), allowing it to see what is reflected therein.

Lok's Forge: Vol is capable of slightly altering properties of solid metals upon contact, increasing or decreasing their hardness, flexibility, and temperature. It can also completely control the shape of molten metals while in contact with them. The same control also applies to metals it can access through a metal channel (for instance, if Vol is holding a steel pole and dips it in a pool of molten iron, it can control the molten iron). The greater the amount of metal being forged and the higher the speed of alteration, the more exertion and focus is required.

Arena Chat Thread

@Drifting Pollen

I'll give it a go if you like; here is my character.

Ranked is preferred but that's up to you... not that I even know how to set that up. ._.

@Tasuke

I'm game! Will try and get a thread + character sheet up this afternoon.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

YASSSSS! We're getting this party started!

Sorry if my first post was a bit long. I'm just getting kind of excited for this :)

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

Instant transportation was not something Imogen was accustomed to, and thus, upon arrival, her first reaction was a sharp intake in breath, a gasp of surprise at the sudden change in surroundings.

The location itself was awe-inspiring enough. Every stone was polished, every column carved to intricate perfection, framing the beauty of nature in the background. No temple of her homeland could possibly have matched such luxury, such craftsmanship. The whole structure towered around her, intimidating, a constant reminder that Imogen was now part of something far greater than her own small wars and feuds.

But in spite of her surprise, her anxiousness, she did not waver in the slightest. After that first gasp, that first moment of awe, there was nothing. Her mind snapped shut like a steel trap, her face becoming calm and collected as her eyes roved back and forth, taking in each of the others stood around her. In half an hour, she might have to kill any of them. Thus she would survey them carefully, searching for details and mannerisms, anything she might be able to use.

Imogen herself was fairly unassuming. She wore simple blue robes, tied tightly around her for ease of movement, outlining her lithe upper body beneath the cloth. Her thick red hair and fierce eyes were certainly eye-catching- but in a room full of giants and winged men, she appeared rather mundane, as if a spectator had somehow wandered into the lobby. There was no aggression in her now. But the massive bundle of cloth floating behind her cast a threatening shadow, its form distorted by the edges of the many scabbards hidden within.

Not all of the newcomers were as surprised as her. One, a lumbering mass of raw muscle who referred to himself as Gonad, was already strutting about as if he owned the place. Imogen glanced away, struggling not to blush. He was certainly impolite, but... one did not achieve that kind of muscle mass through a quiet life. But though this earned some degree of respect from her, she could not help but voice her disagreement with his words.

"Brother Haste may be a valuable ally, but do not forget Sister Patience, O warrior." Her voice was quiet, but crystal clear, each syllable delivered with precise, formal diction.