"This is unexpected! In all my years to think that i would be bested by a human and what's worse is a that it's one so young. I guess i really am getting old"
Despite the loss, Dhelmar is not a sore loser and gladly congratulates his challenger. It's not often that someone can defeat him in battle so this little bout is a refreshing change of pace. Truly a wonderful match up. Now if only he didnt lose some of this tentacles in the match, those take forever to regrow.
The rules of this thread are very simple! It carries the rules of my previous threads!
- Unless 24 hours have passed, you can only post every after 3 posts.
- Please have at least 3 sentences in your reply.
- Please be literate and legible with your replies.
- Claim a post when you have a rad idea for a reply.
- Hey, this may be potentially gory, so censor the gore. Writing extreme sexual detail is forbidden.
- If you want, you can write a few sentences on how your OC makes the move to defeat the next OC!
- Rules can be changed anytime. If you do not want how this thread is currently running, please contact me at my main, @colorful!
- IF SKIPPED, PLEASE PM @COLORFUL AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!
- Have fun!
The first user starts!
Changeling groaned, attempting to lift herself off the ground just to flop back down with a resounding thud. The sounds of the harbor were deafening with her body positioned against the pier like this, her brain wracked with pounding footsteps, the ocean's waves frothing against wooden supports. Her assailant stood proudly above her, his wounds disappearing into his skin, his body patching itself together. She would peel the skin right off of his face for the third time today if she could get herself upright.
"What? Are you not going to gloat? Are you not gonna rub it in my face?"
Captain Dhelmar kicked Changeling's bruised body hard with his hooved foot, a smirk on his face as he turned to board his ship, making a sly remark about how her defeat was sweet enough on its own. She clenched her jaw hard as she watched his crew drag bags of loot and money onto his ship. As they dragged a bag that she knew for a fact contained all of this week's pay, taken from the inside of her shoes.
Changeling would just have to hope for a really good job once she healed up, otherwise, she had no idea how she would pay for the medical bills. Bastard.
( i'll do a follow-up for the next poster! :] )
M. Pourife stared down at the agglomeration of balls of clay that was supposed to represent a snake - somehow - before looking over at the elf, who had sculpted an elegant-looking deer that looked like it could come to life at any moment. For a second, the scientist stared with awe, as he noted each detail of the rendered fur, as well as the way the antlers curled in such a whimsical manner...
... And then he shook his head, as if trying to get himself out of a trance.
"You did well, young lad!" he exclaimed with a grin, though it didn't exactly reach his eyes. Huh. He held up his clay-covered hands before starting to laugh a bit too raucously for someone who seemed like a grateful loser. "I find it intriguing that someone so young like yourself could make something so... Detailed... Magical, even, though-" He cut himself off to wipe at his mustache, even though his hands weren't cleaned? Ew?
"- As a man of science, that would be a little ironic, almost hypocritical for me to say!" the man proclaimed, before bursting into a fit of laughter. In that moment, M. Pourife really wanted to cluster the little clay spheres together into one giant one - effectively destroying his creation. It was almost like a child throwing a tantrum, except done more passive-aggressively and by an adult in his late forties. But his hands remained still, even as he got up to his feet and took a step forward towards the elf, if only so he could give a handshake.
Maybe it was a little bold to assume he was feeling like an asshole at this very moment. He did, after all, feel a twinge of genuine admiration starting to form in him, and though he found it unusual that he was placing it on someone much younger than him, he did have to admit that it was better than wallowing in his supposed inferiority for... That long.
Extending his arm out, the man hummed, "You know, it would be an honor for me to get to know someone as well-versed in the art of clay as yourself, sir! I am no artist myself, as I prefer to be strictly scientific, but I can see why you find this rather calming. I felt rather calm too, while making that snake!" Sure, but whatever. With another chortle, the man finally rubbed his hands together to get rid of some of those loose, dried flecks of clay before giving another grin, this time one that actually created those cute little dimples on his cheeks. "Maybe you should teach me if you have the time, sir. I want to be able to make more than just snakes with these hands, you know, ha!"
local scientist gambles with death (sort of), and.... it pays off??
time for a follow-up, my dudes.
The likelihood of M. Pourife knowing that a death god was visiting his household was... Slim. Mostly because he was just a little bit foolish, and that he didn't really believe in the existence of gods.
After all, he was a rational person, and gods just... Laid outside the realm of science in his eyes.
Or maybe he was aware, but just didn't bother to bring it up into conversation, as the man manifested his usual expressions and etiquette when greeting his guest and taking them inside his abode. After all, one of the most important rules of hospitality was to not make presumptions about the guest and welcome them in with open arms, regardless of their identity or intentions. He had learned that the hard way back at home, and the scientist sure as hell didn't want to repeat the same mistake here.
Ignoring the sweaty imprints left by hands on the doorknob - and eventually the teacup he had held - the man hummed as he jabbered on and on about... Science. Jargon. He spoke - no, boasted - of his accomplishments, his contributions to the field of science... To be fair, a lot of them seemed embellished, but they sure as hell made entertaining tea party banter, and M. Pourife assumed that the other party wouldn't know any better.
Yikes.
As he treated the interaction so casually, the middle-aged man didn't even realize his guest softening up a bit out of sympathy. He instead saw them as just easing themselves into potentially foreign surroundings, which wasn't too far off but still a bit naive.
It was inevitable that the man ran out of breath, and he ended his little monologue by taking a long sip of tea. During that interim, his guest got up out of their seat and finally spoke to him.
Oh? he thought while setting his cup down, before asking almost out of nowhere, "What do you mean by 'loss,' good fellow?" With a gingerly chuckle, he nudged his cup aside before folding his hands together. "It was never a competition. I only wish to explain what I have done, and what I wish to do in the future, though..." The man hummed while gently tracing his finger on that hardwood table, treating the experience far too casually considering whom he was speaking to.
"... Yes, I would love to tell you more once we meet again. You seem like good company, and I would not mind becoming further acquaintances with you, yes?"
Aeron has never been a thoroughly perplexed as they were now. They were sat down, across from a human, a cup of tea in their hands although they didn't really need to drink. Still, to be polite, they brought up the cup to their beak-like mouth and the liquid inside slowly decreased. All the while, hands clawed at the bottom of their cloak, pressing up against the fabric-like material of the inside, a constant reminder that they weren't human or any sort of mortal. They were Death and they had come to collect him.
They hadn't done that though, not yet at least. They had really been quite passive, letting him pull them off track and get them into having tea with him. They just sat there and continued to let him ramble on, using fancy and scientific words they weren't familiar with. However, the passion and volume at which he spoke..well, it admittedly enraptured them, even if they had no idea what to make of it. No one has..really done this to them before. Not even their previous lover had done this and she had been a strange one. However, it reminded them why they liked mortals so much. The longer they spent with the man, the more their insides swelled with fondness and love, impressed by him and what mankind could accomplish in general.
They knew he was doing this in a bid to buy more time, and well...they would allow it. They were patient. He would eventually come to them, when he was ready. So they set aside their tea cup and slowly stood, silently cutting off whatever M. Pourife was saying, bowing their head in something akin to defeat. "Congratulations. I'll take this as a temporary loss, on my side, but.. You have more you can accomplish, I feel. Let me know about them when we meet again. As of now, I'm afraid I must go. It's been a pleasure," they said, gently and sincerely, then they were gone with a gentle breeze. It was almost like they were never there to begin with, but the tea cup still sat where they had placed it.
(i'm sorry to the NP for picking a god oc asjhfbsjhdf,, i'll do a follow up i promise aaaa thank you! Also, Cabochon is such a pretty character, thanks for interacting! Here's the follow up uwu)
The god looked on. Their face was blank, devoid of expression, incapable of it even if they wanted to while like this. They did not speak, eerily silent as Cabochon fell to his knees. His laughter and words did not seem phase them outwardly, but that was a lie, because they did. Oh, they cared for all of them. Why else would they take them, when life gave up on them? But they remained distant initially. That only changed when curio had collapsed further, laying prone on the ground, a familiar position to Aeron. One they've seen over and over. When someone was most vulnerable. They approached then, their footsteps silent.
The knelt down next to him, their hand reaching out. It settled in his hair, gently petting the strands, giving comfort in his final moments. No matter how much he had forsaken them, they would love him all the same. "Of course. Even now," they said, sounding much too sad, like this pained them. "But it is time to rest now. They're waiting for you."
Then, Aeron's cloak blanketed over him like a shroud, where hands gently embraced him, pulling him away from this earthly realm.
Yes, it was time to rest, no matter their feelings.
What's this? A wholesome twist?!
Clyde chuckled as he stared at the table.
"Hey, you're pretty good at this! How long have you been playing?" Clyde briefly tugged down his mask, showing off his mangled grin before pulling it back up.
"Hm, that's actually pretty quick! I've haven't played in a long time, so I'm really rusty. You've got real talent. Well played, dude." Clyde blinked slowly, his makeup becoming more vivid as the light shine on them.
"Here, as promised. I'll get you a drink. What do you have in mind?" He nodded slowly, giving the order before turning back to Cabochon.
"I haven't gone out in a while. This was actually really fun; I haven't gotten way into things like this in a long time. Thank you. Hm...how about another round, dude? I'll sneak in something extra if you win again."
Melantha never felt more alive than she did in a fight. The heated moment thrilled her, excitement took place of her blood as she took in a deep breath, once towering over Mika before-- quite unexpectantly-- being flipped over. She hit the back of her head first. She cried out, pain shooting through her neck and skull as she curled up on the ground. She managed to prop herself back up, but only for a moment as the dagger she swung at the man was kicked from her grasp and she was left defenseless.
The pounding ache in her head continued, causing her to feel dizzy. She tried to shake it off, and screamed vitriol at the other party. "It's not my damn fault you're a freak! A freak like your father!" As she shouted at him, she slowly pulled herself to her feet, tottering in place as she did. "Blood-sucking leeches such as yourself should be wiped away from the world! Stains to be washed out of fabric!"
She winced, and then lowered a hand to grab the side of her ribcage. The wind had been knocked out of her when she collapsed, and she thought she broke something. Fortunately for her, it would take a lot more than a sick flip and crash to snap a rib. She had half the mind to do the same to Mika, however, but she could hardly bring herself to move. So, she staggered, and then flopped down on her ass with a huff, gritting her teeth.
"You can stop him all you want, but that won't change anything." she hissed, "You're of his blood. His fucking blood! His genetics are yours, and they'll change you into the same shit he is!"
What crock of shit, considering the person who was shrieking about all of this.
But, thankfully, she stopped, and if only because she was so dazed that eventually her state caught up with her words. She fell backwards, melting into the grass as agony remained ahold of her, her eyes blank. There was a mumble, and then nothing.
She hit her head a bit too hard.
FOLLOW-UP POST TIME
Sweet, sweet satisfaction.
Melantha stood over Niang, huffing in and out deep breaths as she stared at the older woman's crumpled form. Her initial frown transformed into a confident smile, the flame in her chest unsettled.
She took a step closer towards her fallen opponent, a hand shifting towards the dagger sheathed at her belt. Before she could make any other movement, a man darted out from the crowd, scaring her into backing away from the two. She watched him intently, amusement lighting up her face as she watched him look over his injured wife.
She turned to the crowd and shouted, waving her arms in the air in a dramatic display, "She needs her man to save her! The mighty woman!" she crowed, "Of course, not so mighty any longer!"
Turning to peer into the sea of people surrounding them, she searched for her father's familiar cloak, but to no avail. It would be reasonable to assume he dipped away from the tournament, perhaps embarrassed by his daughter's actions, but the thrill of the event didn't allow her to grow discouraged. Still, she assumed it would have been nice to have someone around to be there for her, as she glanced back at Niang and her husband. At the former's words to her, Melantha scoffed and shook her head.
"Caught off guard," Melantha sneered, "Because you're that terrible of a fighter." Her eyes followed Niang as she rose back to her feet, the girl's hand moved away from her strapped knife. If there ever was a rematch, she was already a bit too cocky thinking that she would so easily breeze through the next fight. The new ousts the old, and all that jazz.
The young woman then turned to look at I'sen, and uttered to him, "The next time she tries to fight in a tournament like this, tell her to stick to one of the medical stations instead, lest she be done in by someone less merciful."
"I see this didn't turn out as intended," hissed Johnson as he folded his hands together and leered at the woman. Gee, what an understatement to Johnson being a salty bitch over his proposal getting rejected - then being delivered a solid kick to the face when he got more confrontational than what he normally would've considered acceptable for an aristocrat like himself. Yet in spite of the inflammation in his cheek, the blood starting to seep from what the man assumed was a cracked tooth... The asshole still thought he was - of course - in the right.
An alliance was intended, in order to secure his influence in the region she was from, but... It had all went south, and there could only be one reason why. That reason, of course, was the woman's fault. Not Johnson's. Never Johnson's. He coughed out a globule of blood-imbued saliva before sniffing and rubbing his cheek.
With a raised brow, the man rubbed his hands together and remarked, "Perhaps I shouldn't have brought your husband into this. He might be a little bit of a sensitive subject for you. Though..." His eyes narrowed. "The same logic does apply to my wife. She separated from me a long time ago, and there's nothing I - let alone you - can do anything about it." That was a total lie, and he was aware of it. Still, he assumed that he could use the same procedure on her as he had done with all his previous detractors. Convince her that she was in the wrong then go from there, or be a bit more brutal - put some real edge into the adage he so confidently possessed, albeit subtly.
That was in all in spite of the dull, almost throbbing pain in his jawbone.
"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered while glancing off to the side, scowl growing by the minute as he edged his way over to the doorway, "For a woman, you sure can kick someone's ass real hard." With a bitter chuckle, the middle-aged aristocrat leaned against the doorway while sucking his cheek. "I think I should've been more aware of that. You and my friend would get along wonderfully." He sniffed before tracing his fingers against the cool metal of the archway. "Much better than you and me, at least. And much better than you and my wife. My wife can't do shit nowadays." Wonder why!
Suddenly, as if he didn't just get his ass kicked, Johnson lifted up his head and faced her as he asked, "By the way, would you mind a buttery croissant? I know one of my servants - at least one of them - is excellent with pastries. Perhaps I can get them to prepare some for you, and then they can placate your spirits a bit. Then, from there... We can continue our negotiations. Would that suffice, or are you still a bit too headstrong for your own damn good?"
letting Johnson win is always a dangerous game. kick his ass, Selene.
here's.... a follow-up for the disaster duo....
"How reasonable," Johnson hissed with a sneer way too large for his stupid face, as he gazed down at the chessboard. The results were decisively in his favor, and the aristocrat could only thank himself for such a successful result; yet in reality, it was more likely that he was just a little bit too lucky. He always regarded chess as a bit too kitsch, initially being reserved for aristocrats before being "corrupted" by the influence of the nouveau riche and bourgeoisie, who all wanted to try a bit too hard to seem prim and proper - despite their blood clearly indicating otherwise.
Pondered a tryhard himself.
He sighed before waving a hand at the being, "You know... This works out just fine. I still remember the time you tried to constrict me in that flower field a while back, and-" Johnson rolled his eyes before picking up his king piece and deftly setting it off to the side, his fingers gently brushing against the dyed ivory as he did so. That, of course, was a mere distraction from the lingering pains in his bones, though that could've stemmed from a different incident... Right? "- I'm still in the belief that I should get some more compensation for that. You could've killed me there, you know. And that'd cause a scandal, and far more trouble than it's worth, if I must be honest.."
It was in that moment that he leaned his arm against the table and oh-so mockingly fluttered his eyes at the demon. Seeing her flustered by the loss was enough to stoke his ego in the worst way possible, as he chuckled coolly and rubbed his pointy chin.
"I don't even play chess that often," gloated the aristocrat with a hum, "I'd rather just talk about politics, but seeing that you're the type of individual who prefers to do things before thinking them through... It's a little reckless. I would've respected your loss a little bit more if you put more thought into your challenge, or your conduct. After all, nearly suffocating someone - or breaking their ribs, for that matter - is quite disrespectful. There's so much you need to do in order to compensate for that." Asshole.
And with that logic, it was only reasonable for Johnson to raise his brow when she asked him why he invited her for a game in the first place. Pah, like that was done willingly! he groveled as his cool smile faded in favor of a more contemptuous scowl. Now, Johnson no longer leaned towards her as he leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes.
All he could really reply to that was, "It's just aristocratic procedure, really. Believe me when I say that I'm not the type of person to really play chess. I rather would've talked to you, but... Obviously, knowing our history, that wasn't an option. I was thinking that a loss could facilitate the process, but..." He stopped and... Seemingly didn't add on from there. Disgusting. With a sniff, Johnson set his foot on the floor before getting up out of his seat with crossed arms.
"I'm surprised you didn't destroy the ceiling, by the way," he told her rather crassly, "but... I don't think that matters right now. I have some tea leaves available in the kitchen for brewing if you need something to refresh yourself after this match."
The outcome of the match wasn't...a surprise really. Not even for Salvador, who found himself laying on the dusted cold street. His back sweaty. However, there was something strange. His hands... His Void-powers, this curse it seemed to..flair up, around the high-demon. It felt out of control. Salvador managed to scramble back in his feet, trying to steal from Selene was a bad idea but and he was lucky she only pushed him away... But instead of bolting off like he usually did when situations went sour and became dangerously close to a real (hand to hand) combat, Salvador stood still. His..hands. Salvador's fingers twitched uncontrollably and when he removed his glove he could see It. Darkness, pure black darkness outlined his hand. It was like pressing a small source of light against your hand, making it semi see-through and you able to see your bones and tendons. It was like that but.... Without the lamp and not as bright. "What?" He said. Fighting the urge to asking the victim of his failed attempt of a robbery, what the hell was going on, Salvador only backed up a few paces. His fingers still twitching and strange and the small thief felt panic rise. His hands softly..glowed now. It never gave off light before! Light!? He could taste dirt in the back of his throat and only smelled the familiar scent of coal and coal dust. Salvador stared at Selene, wide-eyed. Like a bunny rabbit in the headlights. "What the héll are you doing!"
"Y-yes, sir. Just—just hang on a moment," Matcha frowned, reaching his hands in the cash register that sat in front of him. He never really expected a robbery to occur, let alone from an less intimidating person. He failed to reach the phone in time due to the Krett's keen eye. He continued to search the register, using his free hand to grab a cup filled with whipped cream. Before he licked inside the cup, he haphazardly picked up a few coins and placed them in the counter.
"Is this enough? Ooh, fine." Matcha let out a deep exhale, pulling out some more money and nudging it in front of him.
-----------
Matcha watched as the mutated human was cuffed, desperately attempting to bandage the deep bite mark in his arm with the small bandages that he scrounged up.
"You better not pull that again, ma'am..."
"D-DAMN IT!!!"
Broccolina is on the ground in cuffs, "That stupid dog called the COPS on me??", she's on the ground practically crying and screaming, she came in the shop to steal anything she could get her hands on while escaped from the lab, and happened to notice that Matcha was green, and got hungry from the thought of eating the poor dog.
But she underestimated that he probably had access to a phone close by and dialed right away, and now Broccolina will be sent back where she came from, on an empty stomach at that.
"GRUH...STUPID... MUTT!! ONE DAY I'LL GETCHA!!"