Fight Type: BATTLE
Prize: Progression in tournament
Contact Made: Yes
Character #1: @Jahin
Bonded: Realistic Female King Cobra
Magic: No
Armor: No
Weapons: Davke Spear
Current Health: 7
Current Attack: 13
Current Experience: 23
Character #2: @Apolonia
Bonded: No
Magic: Illusion
Armor: No
Weapons: Hurlbat
Current Health: 10
Current Attack: 10
Current Experience: 21
Prize: Progression in tournament
Contact Made: Yes
Character #1: @Jahin
Bonded: Realistic Female King Cobra
Magic: No
Armor: No
Weapons: Davke Spear
Current Health: 7
Current Attack: 13
Current Experience: 23
Character #2: @
Bonded: No
Magic: Illusion
Armor: No
Weapons: Hurlbat
Current Health: 10
Current Attack: 10
Current Experience: 21
and horror in the halls of stone
When Jahin paces through the dark tunnel towards the daylight streaming forth from the entrance to the arena, he is distinctly aware of the sound of his cloven hooves echoing and the clashing smell of sweet roses and metallic blood. Scarlet droplets of blood glitter upon the cobblestone like precious rubies, intermingled with crushed rose petals cast forth by cheering spectators. He wonders briefly whose blood it is and how much of his own he may spill on this day.
His Davke spear bears a wreath of snow white roses; gifted to him by a shy young maiden with hair the color of summer wheat. She had approached him at the last moment just before he had entered the tunnel, as if it was all she could do to muster the courage to present him with her token of admiration. A younger Jahin would have swelled with pride and bravado at the prospect of fighting and spilling blood to impress Makeda or any other number of eligible bachelorettes. Coming into his eighth year, however, Jahin can’t help but wonder if he is playing at a younger man’s game. He can only pray in earnest to Solis that he won't make a total fool of himself in the battle to come.
Jahin doesn’t entirely know what possessed him to scribble his mark (he can’t spell his name yet, despite the endless reading and writing lessons) on the entry scroll. He would like to say that his motivations are purely for supporting Solterra’s uplifting revival but that would be a lie. The moment the fighting tournament was announced to the public something had stirred in his heart, as if a sleeping ember had been stoked into spontaneous flame.
Sometimes Jahin yearns for the days of his youth, when he lived fast, hard, and unapologetically. Lesser complications and responsibilities; the thrill of living one day to the next without any concern for what the following day might bring. But the days of his passionate youth and his life among the Davke are like a rapidly fading mirage in the sweltering desert heat; a dream he can glimpse lingering temptingly on the shimmering horizon behind him. Jahin knows the only way is forward, towards the rising sun and the future he has pledged himself to in Solterra. He cannot return to a life that once was, no matter how real and promising the mirage may seem.
Jahin takes a steadying breath, adjusts his spear, and strides forward into the sandy arena as he hears his name announced. The roar of the crowd crashes upon him in surging waves--the energy of the colosseum is more electrifying than a midsummer desert thunderstorm. He blinks against the harsh midday sunlight; a drop of sweat trickles from his brow and falls to the sand. Rose petals shower down around the Davke warrior like rain, dappling his back and tangling in his flame-like hair. He stands in the grandness of the arena, plain and otherwise unremarkable but for the spear strapped across his back and his wild hair braided back in traditional Davke warring style.
Despite the disciplined calm and steadiness Jahin exudes, his heart pounds--boom, boom, boom to the drums that announce his entrance. His blood thrums faster, faster, and faster in his veins. Sahar twists and coils on his back, hissing excitedly as she takes in the view of the marble walls rising up proudly around them on all sides. He has been in the Colosseum before, he met Teiran here within these ancient walls, but nothing in all of his life could have possibly prepared him for the Colosseum in all of its true, intended glory. The crowd cries thunderously and he realizes they are chanting something.
Blood, blood, blood.
J A H I N
look at last on meadows green
and trees and hills they long have known
His Davke spear bears a wreath of snow white roses; gifted to him by a shy young maiden with hair the color of summer wheat. She had approached him at the last moment just before he had entered the tunnel, as if it was all she could do to muster the courage to present him with her token of admiration. A younger Jahin would have swelled with pride and bravado at the prospect of fighting and spilling blood to impress Makeda or any other number of eligible bachelorettes. Coming into his eighth year, however, Jahin can’t help but wonder if he is playing at a younger man’s game. He can only pray in earnest to Solis that he won't make a total fool of himself in the battle to come.
Jahin doesn’t entirely know what possessed him to scribble his mark (he can’t spell his name yet, despite the endless reading and writing lessons) on the entry scroll. He would like to say that his motivations are purely for supporting Solterra’s uplifting revival but that would be a lie. The moment the fighting tournament was announced to the public something had stirred in his heart, as if a sleeping ember had been stoked into spontaneous flame.
Sometimes Jahin yearns for the days of his youth, when he lived fast, hard, and unapologetically. Lesser complications and responsibilities; the thrill of living one day to the next without any concern for what the following day might bring. But the days of his passionate youth and his life among the Davke are like a rapidly fading mirage in the sweltering desert heat; a dream he can glimpse lingering temptingly on the shimmering horizon behind him. Jahin knows the only way is forward, towards the rising sun and the future he has pledged himself to in Solterra. He cannot return to a life that once was, no matter how real and promising the mirage may seem.
Jahin takes a steadying breath, adjusts his spear, and strides forward into the sandy arena as he hears his name announced. The roar of the crowd crashes upon him in surging waves--the energy of the colosseum is more electrifying than a midsummer desert thunderstorm. He blinks against the harsh midday sunlight; a drop of sweat trickles from his brow and falls to the sand. Rose petals shower down around the Davke warrior like rain, dappling his back and tangling in his flame-like hair. He stands in the grandness of the arena, plain and otherwise unremarkable but for the spear strapped across his back and his wild hair braided back in traditional Davke warring style.
Despite the disciplined calm and steadiness Jahin exudes, his heart pounds--boom, boom, boom to the drums that announce his entrance. His blood thrums faster, faster, and faster in his veins. Sahar twists and coils on his back, hissing excitedly as she takes in the view of the marble walls rising up proudly around them on all sides. He has been in the Colosseum before, he met Teiran here within these ancient walls, but nothing in all of his life could have possibly prepared him for the Colosseum in all of its true, intended glory. The crowd cries thunderously and he realizes they are chanting something.
Blood, blood, blood.
look at last on meadows green
and trees and hills they long have known
@
Summary: Jahin enters the arena, wondering if he's a little out of his league these days.
Attack Used: 0 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE AN ATTACK)
Attack(s) Left: 2 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE AN ATTACK)
Block Used: 0 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE A BLOCK)
Block(s) Left: 1 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE A BLOCK)
Item(s) Used: LIST ANY ITEMS USED, IF ANY
Response Deadline: 6/12
Tags: @Apolonia, @Sid, @inkbone, @Layla, @nestle, @aimless
Attack Used: 0 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE AN ATTACK)
Attack(s) Left: 2 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE AN ATTACK)
Block Used: 0 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE A BLOCK)
Block(s) Left: 1 (UPDATE THIS WHENEVER YOU USE A BLOCK)
Item(s) Used: LIST ANY ITEMS USED, IF ANY
Response Deadline: 6/12
Tags: @
