Slaved Champions: Reloaded ((IC/Closed))

World’s End Tavern: Role-play and Fan Fiction
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08/15/2012 10:58 PMPosted by Vikro
(Sorry sorry sorry. I wasn't sure, but since nobody had posted I figured it was acceptable, I skimmed the post but saw nothing about it being wrong.)

((Delete it. Please. I didn't say you can make a fight, : /. Also, please post in the OOC thread, it's there for a reason you know!))
((There's this thing called "OOC," and it stands for "Out of Character." If you see a thread with the same name as another, but is marked "OOC," that thread is where people talk while out of character about the thread))

Coron watched as the fight had begun. He knew Perfection was a good fighter, especially when the two had fought the Rhino later on. What he was curious about was why would someone send her back in to fight again so soon, wasn't that against their code or something? He was sure...

His thoughts suddenly turned to what his sisters were doing and what was going on at the Shrine of Aviana...his friends, his family, he wanted to see them again soon, he just needed a way out of this stuffy cell was suffocating for a Talon such as himself. Sighing, he shook his head and walked over to the bars to look at the woman taht was in the cell just opisite from him. She looked familiar, as if he had seem the woman beforee That is who I think it it?" he thought to himself. Curious, he called out "Ishnu'ala, Sister, are you alright over "there?" he spoke in his native tongue for only her to understand, and possibly any other Kaldorei that might be here as well, which he didn't want to think about at the moment.

He stood there, awaiting for the female's response, thoughts nagging at his mind.

((Was directed at Kae, just to avoid confusion with Sam and such))
There it is, now to be brought in. Achek thought as he took in the daunting sight of The Pit. Even from this distance he could smell the tang of blood, hear the roar of the crowd. The information seemed accurate enough, The Pit was a travesty to The Earthmother and must be delt with. Seeming to strain to hear something, the young tauren cocked his head to the side and closed his eyes as a breeze rattled through the leaves. Once the breeze ended the shaman slowly opened his eyes and rose to his full height. Very well. As the shaman began his stride toward The Pit he slipped his hands into his weapons immediately they were imbued with the elements Wind and Fire. He was going to need to be taken seriously as a fighter if he had any hopes of his plan working.

Belying his resolve, any rustle of leaves caused Achek's fists to clench onto their grips. After Achek was getting ready to abandon hope of being abducted the sound of many things bursting through the leaves shattered the relative serenity of the forest. Turning warily, the shaman found himself surrounded by a motley crew of thugs. Shifting his feet, Achek took a fighting stance while bringing up his weapons. "You're a big fella aren't ya?" the Dwarf directly in front of him questioned, disdain dripping from his words. Achek's eyes swept his field of vision eyeing each of his assailants, the lack of response from his quarry angered the Dwarf. Leading the attack, the Dwarf raised his weapon and gave the signal for them to capture the shaman. As the Dwarf charge him Achek sought to slam both of his weapons into the man, he had to make this fight convincing. Achek's claws found their mark, knocking the Dwarf off of his charge. The two flanking the Dwarf rushed Achek as well, forcing him to take a step back and dodge their swings. Achek continued slowly stepping back and lashing out with his weapons, momentarily forgetting the group behind him.

The three men he was fighting gave him no time to asses what the remaining group was doing, they continued pushing him backward as he continued to tear into them with his weapons. Bringing his main hand down onto the Dwarf, Achek felt the power of Wind surge through him as he was enveloped in the Windfury. The two assisting the dwarf momentarily paused seeing the force behind the Tauren's attack. What the two said next caught the shaman off guard, "Almost there." As the shaman attempted to figure out their intent, he took a step back only to feel the ground give beneath him. Falling backward into the dug out pit, Achek lost consciousness as his head struck the ground.

When he came to, Achek found himself face down a few feet from the pit. After attempting to bring his hands forward to help right himself, it became apparent that he was bound. Voices came to him outside of his view, "I'm sure not carrying him all the way back, I helped hoist him out. I don't get paid enough to haul this beast around." The Dwarf's voice responded with authority, "Wake him up and force him to walk in." Noticing his quarry was already awake, "Ah good, stand him up and march him to the cells. Boss should like this one." Once they neared the entrance, Achek's assailants covered his eyes as they led him through what seemed like a labyrinth. As they walked voices echoed to them, growing in volume and clarity, clearly he was being taken to someone. Anger coursed through one of the voices, clearly as disturbed as he was over The Pit's actions. Finally he was stopped and the blindfold removed, only to reveal a cell in front of him. One of his assailants attempted to shove him in, clearly not used to dealing with a Tauren because his push had little effect. Getting the message, Achek walked into the cell only to find his binding come undone as the cell door closed.

The Tauren, while rubbing his wrists, turned to face out of the cell to see what was transpiring. Apparently a fight had just ended, judging by the demeanor of the other Gladiators it had been successful. "They are quite sure of themselves, keeping so many prisoners," the Shaman's deep voice rumbled as he looked over every combatant in his view.
As the fight wound to a close, so did Sunakah's headache. The entire situation still seemed surreal. She was waiting to wake up with a start in Orgrimmar with the comforting sight of her dim bedside candle, and the familiar scent of the nearby stables (unpleasant, but still familiar). However, as the minutes ticked by, it seemed like less and less of a dream.

She was reluctant to call her cell a cell. It hardly looked like a prison, with a well-dressed bed and nightstand to the right, and a small, clean bathroom to the left. On the nightstand, curiously enough, was her rifle and a small but vicious silver blade. Still, the stern iron bars keeping her from leaving was all the proof she needed.

It looked like she was alone in the cell -- but not alone at all. Roars and shouts drew her up from her spot, bundled up at the corner of her bed, to the edge of the bars. She peered outside warily, to be met with the scene of the fight. It was just finished, the woman emerging victorious over the worgen. She spat on the ground, between the bars cold around her fingers. Alliance scum.

Turning to gaze to the rest of her surroundings, it looked as if there were others -- locked up like her? She pressed her face against the bars and tried to discern others in the cells, but she couldn't bring herself to shout out.
Allaynna came awake slowly, she could not remember the last time she had slept-- Slept? She didn't sleep! With that thought, her gradual rise to consciousness was interrupted with a jolt, and the death knight rolled to a crouch in the feathery bed.

Her soldier's eyes roved about her, taking in the door to the bathroom, the bed, and the screen on the wall. Rolling silently to her feet on the floor, she froze, silent? Where was her armor?

With a glance about her, she assuaged that fear, finding her plate armor stacked in a corner. Padding to dig through it, she let loose a loud curse, her sword not to be found. Debating the wisdom of donning the heavy metal, she let it lay for a moment and moved to stand in front of the bars. Flicking one with a fingernail to produce a clear 'ping'.

The icy metal was cold under even the death knight's hands, and as she slumped against the metal, she spoke in a grumbled tone, releasing a string of curses, and a suggestion for what the pit-master, for that is where she assumed she was, could do in their spare time.

Staring in what seemed a blind manner into the cell opposite her, Allaynna Kidrain strung together a louder, more explicit, string of expletives, "Ithalin? The hell are you doing here?"

Leaning a pale forehead on the bars, Allaynna's copper hair fell down around her face as her memories came back in a rush. She had been seeking this place, that was all she ever did lately, seek, that is, when she had been ambushed, and placed under a spell to make even someone like her, a death knight, sleep.

Groaning, she addressed Ithalin in the cell opposite her again, "Who else-- How did you-- When did-- Where are--?"

Stopping herself and taking an, unnecessary but helpful, deep breath, Allay rescinded her statement, "What do you know?"
Darius Deathweaver, the so-called "Weaver of Death", sat there on his bed, watching all the new-bloods look around, confused, wondering where in the hell they were. He wasn't surprised. When he'd first gotten here, he'd flung several shadow bolts at the door in a desperate attempt to get out. When he'd had no luck, he'd accepted that he'd be there for a while. Still, it was amusing to see all these new faces, looking around, eyes darting back and forth, terrified. He notcied these thoughts and dismissed them quickly. He might have been a warlock, but he wasn't a sadist. At least, not yet. Some of those fights were doing quite the number on his fel-using brain.

He shook his head and watched the Perfectionist, an obvious old-timer, though he'd never met her, get ready to fight a worgen with a ridiculous amount of weaponry strapped to him. He wondered if she'd be okay. Not many people could withstand a man with twenty different blades, all ready to be whipped out at a moment's notice. He hoped she'd live to fight another day. He had to admit, watching her carve her enemies to pieces like that... she put on one hell of a show. He reazlied he was thinking about this stuff again, and ripped his eyes away from the screen.

He decided to talk to the new-bloods. "Hey, newbies!" he called. "Welcome to Blackflame Pit! How the HELL are ya? My name is Darius Deathweaver, and it is my jo to make sure you have boatloads of fun while you're not fighting for your lives. So, tell me, how was everyone's day?" He smirked, knowing they'd be annoyed. He couldn't help himself. There was very little to do other that bounce shadowbolts off the wall and watch stuff die. He waited for their response.
Dristis had been called many things. Monster, savage, beast, Get Out of Our City, but his favorite was just simply the Wanderer. He had been searching Kalimdor for Archaeology artifacts. Digging through ancient ruins and lands to find precious items to add to his collection. When he had arrived in a new area, after only moments of setting up his equipment, he was attacked by unknown assailants. Several were killed under his blade but they were quick and methodical. He received several large blows to his head, and lost consciousness.

What seemed like an eternity later, he awoke in a cell, a small pool of his black blood forming under his head. He sat up and wiped it away from his head. Studying his surroundings, he gathered that he was in a cell, and by the distant cheers and combat, a coliseum or arena at that.

He stood up from the floor and saw a bed in the corner, "Well you couldn't lay me in the bed after clubbing in my skull? I want to see the manager." he enjoyed tormenting any of his captors. Doing that caused them to enter his cells to attack him, only to be slain moments after. It's how he had done it for so many years after the wars against Arthas and Deathwing.

His armor was piled into a corner, but no weapons, as he suspected. He checked through all of his gear. It was all accounted for. He let it sit in the corner for now, only wearing loose cotton pants and a T-Shirt. He walked up to the cell door and looked out, seeing others in the cages.

"Is this another prisoner vs prisoner place, or what?" he asked to no one in particular.
Ithalin's head jolted up at the familiar voice he had heard many times in his crusade to find the best tavern with the drink that would give him a buzz even with his nerves deadened. He looked to the cell across from him and saw the female Death Knight Allaynna with her forehead up against the bars and copper hair around her face. He finished ensuring his gear was prepared and walked over to the bars.

He stood directly behind the cell bars in his full battle gear, and after a moment of thought, he spoke. "I am here because I sought to free the captives here. The irony of that being I myself am now a captive." He sighed and put his left hand on one of the bars, trying again to freeze it through, but only to have it be absorbed back into his armor. "To answer your question of who else is here, from the voices I'd say several have awoken from their various stages of concussions and sleep spells." He put his right hand directly under his left and attempted to confuse the metal by adding in Unholy to the spell at the same time, and though it appeared to have been working, it ended like his first two attempts.

He dropped his hands back to his sides and looked at Alaynna again. "I was captured because I was a fool. I did not have my weapons out and ready, and despite taking out many of my would-be attackers, my hands and spells can only kill so many." He cursed himself for that, not having his scythes at the ready in enemy territory. "I'd estimate I was taken nearly five hours ago, and by the words I've heard, we've come to rest at the Blackflame Pit. I'm amazed it's still operational."

He walked back to his bed and sat down. "And to answer your final question my dear, I know nothing,-he looked up at the glass to see the same woman fighting a seven foot tall worgen-,and that is what worries me most."
Lynara sat on her bed meditating; she didn’t need t watch the fight to know Perfection was going to win. “That’s right Angi, the only one that can kill you is me and I don’t plan on killing you anytime soon so hurry up and finish this.” She said with a grin. She thought back to her last fight against an ogre, a fight that got her in trouble because she ended it too fast. “Have to put on a good show or they will treat you poorly. Audience wants a good show.” She muttered to herself.

Before long she stood to her feet and went against the wall before flipping upside down resting solely on her hands. She began to lower and raise herself while counting. “One… two… three… four… five…” She continued this count until she got to fifty and rolled forward to her feet. She stretched her arms for a bit before looking around for some of the new bloods. “Quite a few, well they would need more after the string of deaths against that monster.” She said out loud. The “Champion beast” as it was called was only known as Straga. Lynara had never seen it before and it never left the challenger alive to describe it.

“So I wonder when Angi will fight Straga, or if I will.” She thought, the idea of fighting that thing was the only thing in this place that scared her. That is when a death knight started talking a cell or two down from her. She walked to the bars and said “Don’t think about escaping, the cells are impervious to magic and you have nothing to break them with. Do well in the arena and you might be released, or you might be fed to Straga. Either way you wouldn’t have to deal with this place anymore. Take it from me; I’m going to be champion of the arena soon, than I will challenge the boss himself. After he’s dead I will run this show.” She said with a bit of a grin. She knew the fans loved her fights for how violent she could be when fighting, hence her name Deathblade. She could draw out an opponent’s death or make it quick.

Lynara took a glance at the crystal to see Perfection fighting a seven foot worgen, even she would have trouble with that beast of a worgen. “Angi will win… she as to.” Her whole plan hinged on Angi winning. Although she might have to fill the girl in some time.
The pirate raised himself to the side of the bed he was laid on, rubbing his cheek to sooth the intense pain the Tauren's blow had given him back on the ship. He didn't quite realize just where he was yet, still dizzy from the near-death experience.

"Arrrrrgghh.." he mumbled at first, "that feels real familiar." He paused a moment. "No wait, no it don't. Me head wasn't throbbin the first time I woke up from the grave. I need a dri-, well this is rather new." Ahurrha looked around, now realizing he wasn't stuck in the brig anymore but a new cell instead.

He blinked a few times before standing up, albeit still wobbly. He ventured toward the bars of the cell and inspected them a bit. They looked strong sure. But could they withstand a hot flame? Gripping one of the bars with his left hand, Ahurrha brought his right palm near the bar, allowing his thoughts to conjure a hot ball of fire inbetween. It seemed to be working at first as the bar was getting hotter, so he intensified the flame to try and melt it down. But then something unexpected happened, there was another ball of fire pushing his back.

"What in blazes is this?" But before he could figure it out it was too late and the new ball of flame detonated on him, pushing him back onto his rear on the ground with a soundly explosion. "Well that's not workin' anytime soon then.. I could REALLY use me that drink now."
Sammuroth heard someone speaking in his native tongue, the voice was obviously male, but since the remark was not directed at him, he thought to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of him. He stood up and stealthily made his way to the bars of the cell, he had already tested them for weakness, and having found none he had abandoned that possibility of escape. Things are never easy, but I am sure I will figure something out, he looked in the direction of the voice, his keen feline eyes showing him clearly what was another druid. Seeing what direction he was looking the cat swiveled his vision the same way seeing another Kal'dorei this one female, and by the look of her clothing another druid. Whoever runs this place must love their druids, the cat didn't want to be caught eavesdropping, turning away from the bars, his eyes floated back up to the screen.
As his first stick of inscence burned down, Vikro took his first break from meditating to light another one, as he rose, Vikro began to focus on things other than his inner peace, and he heard voices from the other cells, some chuckling, some groaning, most still unsure of where they were. Vikro had long since given up on trying to make contact with the others, they weren't listening. After lighting the inscence, Vikro strode over to the far side of his cell, where he observed a small fountain. Water trickled into a bowl from a hole in the wall, and exited it thought a series of pipes leading into the floor. Fancy, he thought, and drank a few handfuls of the water, it was clean, an unusual luxury for Vikro.

He the directed his attention back to his bed, which was thoroughly disappointing. It was rooted to the ground, with some sort of mat over a wooden frame, large fluffy squares, and a thick blanket. He wondered who he'd have to kill around here to get a hammock. He decides he'd obviously find out, but until then, he resumed meditation, this time keeping his ears open, so if someone should try speaking to him, he'd know it.

He closed his eyes and sighed, he was hungry.
"Damn," Allaynna cursed once, and then again, "Damn."

Staring at the other death knight, she reached a hand through the bars, and then withdrew, disappeared into the cell for all who watched save the man in the cell across from her. Bending down in front of her armor, she drew the metal on, piece by piece, cinching straps and buckles thoroughly.

Her plain, bronzed and silvered metal plate fit her form well, the short, rapidly growing angrier, woman returning to the bars and muttering another stream of profanities, "Where's my sword?"

Shaking her head, she added, "No, don't answer that, not worth it. Anyone else we know here?"

Raising her voice, she called down the row of cells, "Anyone who's there, awake, and listening, say something! Race, name, I don't care, just give us something to work with!"

With her rallying cry completed, Allaynna stared at the man across from her, "Blackflame pit, eh, Ith?

The self-titled Seeker pounded a metal-gloved fist on the bars.
Kuulinian noticed that his cell was placed near two other death knights' cells. After breaking several more articles of furniture and partially flooding the bathroom, he looked at the two. He knew one of them, they had met in a tavern in Dalaran - her name was Allayna. The other he did not know, but he had a wicked smiley face on the front of his helm - Allay addressed him as Ithalin. There was one more, asking if the place was for two combatants to fight against one another.
"Based upon the screens," he spoke to Dristis. "We are to do battle against animals. For others' entertainment I presume." He looked to Allayna. "Miss Kidrain, fancy that. It's been a long time. Smiley," he addressed Ithalin. "We are all here because of our own mistakes. The fact that you aimed to rescue us is noble, but it makes you weak. Had you left us to our fate, you would not be here. However, now you are, and I assume that we - all of us - are to fight our way to the top of the list of whomever's Pit this is. And though I regret saying it, I feel we must do this as a..." he struggled to get the last word out of his mouth. He was never allowed to say such things while under the control of Arthas; it showed weakness. "We must work as a... team."

He finally gave up on looking for his runeblade after everything in the room that was not split in half was soaked and soggy. His sword was his life; he could not be separated from it for too long. With nothing else to do, he looked upon the screen to see the woman from before fighting a worgen.
Well this should be interesting.
Marri blinked quite a few times as she came to many hours after her capture. The world around her seemed to be spinning as she slowly adjusted her eyes to the light of the cells. She gasped, then sat up quickly, and nearly fell back down ago, the vertigo from her movement was so bad. After a minute or two of regaining her bearings, she found that she had been lying on some sort of crude bed, with the bars of a cell surrounding her on three sides, and what seemed to be a solidly-built wall made of stone.

Tenderly standing up, she wordlessly ran her hands across the bars, silently thinking to herself. After a moment, she attempted to cast a bolt of arcane magic at one of the bars... And leaped back as it bounced off the bar and into another, rapidly going across the room several times before it dissipated.

"Joy..." she muttered, clearly seeming rather disappointed at her failure. She then took a look to the wall, but thought better of it; given the lack of windows or such, she hazarded a guess that even if it wasn't magically guarded, she'd more than likely have to contend with at least several hundred pounds of earth being displaced by the magical force required.

Closing her eyes again to take everything in, she nearly gagged as a rather strong whiff of burning incense filled her nostrils. Coughing, she looked around, realizing that there were others like her in the surrounding cells.

"...Ugh... Who's burning that? And... Where are we?" she called out, unsure as to where the smoke was coming from.
Dristis perked his head up. More Death Knights. One sounded familiar. A female's. He stood up and walked to the door and tried looking around. He was around three other of his kind, possibly keeping all similar fighters in sections of the cells.

"I'm Dristis. I think I've met someone of you before." his echoed voice carried through his cell. He began flicking small pieces of ice at a nearby lantern, staving off boredom, "Does anyone know exactly who is running this, and what we're doing? And where's my RUNEBLADE!" he shouted. He looked to the his fellow death knight responding to him and inhaled sharply. He rubbed the back of his head, the wound already scabbed over, leaving just small traces on his hand. He continued flicking the ice until he grew angry at the situation and slammed his hand into the door. He turned and slumped down, his back against his cell door waiting for others.
"Try asking Smiley over there, he seems to know a lot. I'm Kuulinian, by the way. I'm a cartographer."
Catheden stood up and went up to his bars and looked around at the other caged champions, he grumbled as he had the thought of it being a possibility that every champion would have to fight one another. But he shook his head, he had a feeling that this wasn't that type of arena. He noticed the male kaldorei who fought the rhino with the human. He spoke in Coron's direction.

"Hey are the fights arranged here? Like is it one on one? Champion vs. Champion? Champion vs. Monster? Do they change the arena's floor or structure for certain fights?" He asked multiple questions about the setups of fights. He was the curious type due to him finding out all different strategies of sorts. He coughed lightly after finishing his questions.

He sighed as he felt his empty sheath. He wondered for a moment. "And do they give your weapon back to you when you are chosen to fight?" He asked with concern. He worried that he may never see his precious runeblade ever again. He didn't want to have to make yet another one..making one is extremely difficult these days.
Many questions were being asked, and most had no obvious answer. Zara peered into the cells nearby that she could see. Several races, Horde and Alliance both, were captured so it wasn't a war prison. There seemed to be no real base similarity among all of the captives, so it wasn't a particular faction either. Her best guess was a gladiatorial arena, based on the images seen and the words of others. Escape was sure to be difficult, if possible at all. Her best course of action would be to study the arena itself, as well as the hallways. Those would likely be the least heavily guarded areas, as these cages were deflecting abilities back at others who attempted to blast the doors open.

She spoke quietly, but loud enough to be heard by others near her own cell, "Has anyone been here a while? If so, has anyone seen any weaker points in the defenses on their walks to and from the arena? I have to agree that working as a team will be our only way out of this place alive." She doubted any of the others would have something she could work with, or that they would even listen to her, but time could prove that assumption wrong.

After a few minutes she spoke again, louder and a little more hopeful than before, "One more thing... Does anyone here know about using Fel magic?"

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