The Games (IG-RO) - Tyre, Marick, Invictus

“The stadium was packed full, brimming with eager, blood-thirsty fans. Antei’s newly refurbished Coliseum bristled with raw emotion. The Independence Games were underway and the audience wanted to see carnage. They wanted to see death. Most of all, they wanted to see victory.

Three combatants entered the arena from the ground-level entrances from different directions. Before them lay the great expanse of the sandy field of battle; already littered with stains of the defeated and departed. Broken weapons, and various traps and obstacles dotted the terrain. The three took their first steps into the Arena; the crash of heavy gates overtook them as their means of escaped vanished. Clad only in minimal leather armor, they would find ancient weapons scattered about the field. Three entered. Only one would leave.

Standing from his ornate throne in the special suite reserved for the Dark Lord alone, the Lion of Tarthos raised his hands signaling for the crowd to grow quite. With a powerful and steady voice he announced, “Dark Citizens, I welcome you! Let the match commence!”

OOC: Each participant will have three posts, one in each round. A round is concluded when all three participants have posted. You will have assigned posting orders in each round listed below

Tyre will post first in Round 1, second in Round 2, and third in Round 3.
Marick will post second in Round 1, third in Round 2, and first in Round 3.
Invictus will post third in Round 1, first in Round 2, and second in Round 3.

Each participant has 24hrs to post or they forfeit that round and lose all participation points for this event, though they will still score in Grammar and Contribution categories. Participants may post the moment the person before them fails to post in time. All edits must be made before the next post is up and cannot be made once they are.

The First round begins with Tyre. Good luck.

Tyre turned his head towards the gate, the heavy noise of its descent grabbing his attention. He stood there in the supplied armor made from leather that the Voice had given to him prior to the battle. Underneath it, he wore a black body glove decorated with blue trimmings. The Taldryan crest was displayed proudly on the left side of his chest, which was not covered by the leather armor.

For Taldryan, in honor of our fallen brothers and sisters he though to himself

He gazed at the two other combatants that entered the arena after him, they didn’t look familiar. One of them had shoulder length jet-black hair that parted to either side of his face, his visage carried vibrant blue eyes. The other was of Chiss heritage: dark blue skin; red pupil-less eyes; a strange red tattoo placed upon his forehead.

One at a time Arvalis, fight your enemies one at a time. Tyre tried to remember who had taught him that.

Ancient weapons lay scattered on the arena’s sand covered flooring. Traps were no doubtingly hidden. Wanting to waste little time on this fight, the young Knight rushed to the one of the weapons. The leather of his light armor crackled and twisted with his every move. The ancient vibroblade he sprinted towards was plunged into the sand, it’s blade reflecting a tiny slither of sunlight.

The arena was dotted with obstacles: barricades; pillars; ancient barbed wire; automated guns. Maneuvering in open battle would become difficult with three different combatants. Tyre vaulted himself over a barricade that stood between him and the vibroblade, the one that he was so desperate to reach.
The other combatants themselves followed in Tyre’s suit, rushing after a weapon they could use in combat. Marick rushed for twin knives that were partially covered by the sand that filled the arena. Invictus rushed after a brown staff, well hidden within the sand. Somehow the Battlemaster was able to spot it.

Tyre reached the vibroblade without a hassle, gripping it by its hilt, and pulling it out of the sand in one fell swoop. The hilt fit his hand perfectly as he started twirling it, settling the grip after testing the blade’s balance. Marick seemingly did the same with his twin daggers before sliding in a Hapan combat stance. His gaze focusing on Tyre, who was standing far off to his right. Invictus stood to his left.

Tyre himself assumed an Echani stance, throwing a focused glance over to Marik, then shifting his head to Invictus. The battle would soon commence, and Tyre would study the movements of his opponents before taking any drastic actions.

One of the automated guns suddenly started moving, taking aim straight at the young Taldryan. Tyre started moving, trying to lose the gun. The gun made an charging sound as the end of its barrel started to turn a faint orange, then red. A blaster bolt hurled itself towards the young Knight, who had to rely on the Force to sense where it was headed, and to make sure he himself wasn’t there [Precognition][Burst of Speed]. He quickly dove to the side and rolled straight into another trap.

Pillars of flame burst upward from the ground. Tyre continued his tumble; luckily for him, the momentum granted to him from his earlier dive gave him enough speed to roll out of harm’s way.

The assembled crowd rose to their feet. In awe no doubt, thought Tyre who then cocked a quick glance at the other combatants.

“Well, what are you people waiting for. I’m right here!” A malicious grin crept on the Umbaran’s face, his cold blue eyes reflecting the artificial lights of the stadium.

ooc: I can't seem to find Invictus' dossier, thats why I left most of his descriptions out
edit: Thanks to Fremoc, I found it. Post changed accordingly.

Marick was content with the pair of knives he had found. The Prelate took a quick survey of the arena around him. His eyes mechanically darted from left to right, measuring up the space between himself and the other opponents, taking in every variable and detail he could. He had little information on either fighter, but could sense a Taladryan from a mile away. The crest on his armor gave it away as well. Not that the newly Appointed Quaestor made any effort to hide the Arconan emblem embroidered into the back of his white, sleeveless robes. The other warrior was clearly a Chiss, and had the air of an Equite. Marick could sense the fighter's connection to the force and rated it somewhere along the lines of his own.

The crowd roared as the Taladryan was first to make a move, the youthful warrior charging for the weaker looking of his two opponents, Marick. The handsome, and relatively unassuming Hapan welcomed the attack with a subtle grin. Out lashed Tyre's blade, poised for it's opponent's flesh. The former leader of Arcona's Black Op's waited for the last possible moment before side stepping away from the blade. The Taladryan was quicker than anticipated though, and the blade seared right through the exposed flesh on Marick's arm.

With the force guiding his movements, Marick shrugged off the shallow gash and quickly countered with a swipe from his own blade. As expected, Tyre parried the strike. He was not able, however, to to prevent Marick's second knife from piercing right into the exposed spot in his leather armor between where the shoulder guard attached to the chest piece. Blood squirted out as the blade stuck in to Tyre's flesh as he growled in pain.

The Hapan didn't stop there, and finished off his attack by pivoting on his front foot and swinging his back leg around in a swift kick that sent Tyre staggering backwards. Before Tyre could recover, Marick's hand shot forward, casting a spell of darkness over the Knight's mind.

Tyre stiffened, and looked around, almost as if lost in a thick forest on Kashyyyk. He began to wander, lost in an illusion crafted by the Arconan Prelate.

With the Taladryan dealt with for the moment, Marick focused his attention on the Chiss, who had patiently observed the whole exchange. He did well to hide the slight fatigue he felt after casting his illusion on Tyre.

[Note: With all due respect, I wasn't aware this event had even started. I was focused on my actual ACC battle with Invictus already, and figured I would get an e-mail notification just like you do when an ACC match is posted. My message boards where set to a different time zone, so when I checked I thought I still had time to post. I was wrong, and off by more than a few hours. I humbly request to allow me to continue to participate in the event, but understand if that is not possible. I'd like to show I did at least make an effort to get a post in within the time frame. - Marick]

As the Hapan turned to face him, Invictus settled back onto the balls of his feet and struggled to keep his expression neutral. He kicked a bit of dust up as he did so, just for show, and set the staff twirling slowly in his hands, keeping the motion slow and controlled. He planted his left leg even with his right, facing his opponent with an even stance, his left hand held palm-open behind the arc of the staff as it circled before him in his right. He knew the rudiments of the weapon, but nothing more. That was fine, since he didn't plan to do much fighting with it.

Marick strode towards him, the Arconan's daggers held in a solid grip – firm, without the foolish twirling Tyre had seemed so fond of. The human knew the daggers well, that much was obvious. He certainly knew them better than the Chiss knew his quarterstaff. It was too bad the Obelisk didn't know his opponents half so well. He had proven that twice already with young Arvalis. Suddenly the Prelate thrust low and from his left, in a upwards gesture aimed at the Sith's gut. An excellent feint, thought Invictus as he brought his staff up and to his own left, blocking the curving slash heading for his trachea. He backpedaled quickly, lest the shorter man turn his feint into an earnest blow. A downwards thrust at the Hapan's left knee kept him at a distance and the Battlemaster was quick to capitalize on he situation, throwing himself into a series of backwards somersaults and coming to rest atop a duracrete barricade. He had observed the automated gun that had fired at Tyre previously, and knew he had bare seconds to spare before he too was forced to dodge. Time to give himself a bit of an advantage. There's always one sure way to gain an edge over a Hapan: injure his pride.

“You Obelisks never were much-lauded for your intelligence, were you?”

“Unlike you Chiss,” growled the Quaestor in a mock-question, striding steadily toward Invictus as he spoke. “The only one of your kind anyone has ever heard of got himself killed by his own bodyguard.” Marick's attention was focused fully on the figure atop the barricade, his anger serving to block out any distractions. “Smart move there!”

“Perhaps,” conceded the Sadowan, reaching out to the Dark Side, bending it inexorably to his will. “But at least he bothered to research his opponents.”

Before the shorter man could retort, the Sith struck out with the Force [BLK], plunging the arena into darkness. A final flip took him off the barricade as the automated guns finished tracking him and opened up on his position. He threw his staff and cloak into the crossfire, letting the flaming debris serve as a further distraction in the near-total black. He knew he had bare moments before Marick's eyes adjusted. At that point, the Obelisk would be able to pick out his general vicinity with relative ease; not from actually seeing him, but by discerning the difference in the varying degrees of darkness – the darker it was, the closer to Invictus he would be. Of course, assuming the Umbaran Knight was more than just a pretty face it would never reach that point.

Coming to a rest at the junction of two chest-high durasteel walls, the Chiss crouched low and closed his eyes, wrapping himself in Dark Side [CLK] so the turrets would pass him by. Even if they were set to pick up infrared, the light couldn't pass through the barrier. He simultaneously stretched out with his feelings [SNS], tracking his opponents' movements. One, the hard-headed Hapan, continued to steadily advance, no doubt utilizing the Force [SEE] to make his way in the darkness. The other was by and large the more interesting of the two presences as far as Invictus was concerned. Without warning, the second presence leaped forward, throwing itself at the Prelate with abandon, both of his daggers striking downwards towards the base of Marick's spine. He spun, but not in time to avoid the blow completely. While it missed paralyzing him, one of the daggers sank deeply into his left shoulder blade, ripping itself free of the Dark JedI Knight's hand and staggering the Hapan. As the automated turrets began to track towards the two struggling figures, Invictus dropped the barrier cloaking him in the Dark Side's energy and threw himself over the wall. He dashed in seemingly random directions through the barricades, slowly putting distance between himself and the other combatants. As he ran, though, he spared a moment to plant a single thought in the mind of the Arconan now engaged with Tyre [COM].

You should have paid more attention in anatomy.

Invictus could still feel the two combatants struggling against one another as he quickly made his way across the coliseum. The perception slowly faded the farther away he moved, but he knew it was important to keep tabs on the conflict, lest one of them emerge the victor too quickly and he find himself surprised. He ran as swiftly as he could through the arena without relying on the Force – too much usage would serve as a beacon and attract both his opponents. He charged down debris-strewn make-shift corridors, staying half-crouched to keep out of the turrets' lined of sight. He found a sonic snare around one corner, throwing himself against the far wall just in time to prevent being knocked unconscious. He hit the barrier harder than he intended, and wheezed slightly as the air was knocked from his lungs.

“I'm too old for this shit,” he mumbled under his breath, but forced himself back to his feet.

The sonic snare was a two-way affair, rigged to fire down the passage in both directions. He was in a small blind-spot, but that would do little to help him if Marick came charging around the corner. The former Black Ops Captain was no doubt used to these situations, avoiding obstacles and dismantling traps. He wasn't as concerned about Tyre. He was good for a distraction, but there was no way to newly-minted Knight would make it out of the arena alive. This is why you pay attention in the briefing! He practically hurled the thought at himself, the chagrin only serving to enrage him.

“Sithspit!”

The invective tasted sour even to his own tongue, but he let it linger nonetheless as he considered briefly his own foolishness. He had thought this was just another Combat Centre match marking The Exodus, like his fight that morning against Marick. And Darth alone knows how he is walking and talking so quickly after that debacle. It wasn't until he had seen Marick striding toward him from the other end of the coliseum that he had realized this wasn't a normal Combat Centre match where everyone walked away alive. This is ridiculous! I can beat these fools! Why the hell am I so worried? Suddenly the Sith knew what it was. He could feel the panic pushing down on his mind, knew his enemy was approaching. But which one? The panic built, and with it an inability to find a way out. He was cornered, trapped like a nerf in a krayt's den. The sonic snare kept him in place, its dishes carefully blocking his exits. On the other side of the barricade was an arena full of automated blasters just looking for something to disintegrate. And he was stuck here, not even able to concentrate enough to figure out who was approaching, who was so-successfully paralyzing him [FER]. It was pathetic! The panic built to fear, and the fear to terror, the terror to hysteria. Finally, he did the only think he could.

He screamed [SFS]. He ran [EQS]. And the carefully-calibrated piece of machinery that was the sonic snare screamed back. It screamed with abandon, doing exactly what it was programmed to do. It screamed at a constant pitch designed with a seldom-seen precision that allowed it to render a target unconscious. Unfortunately for the manufacturer's reputation, there were very few frequencies and pitches which would work on a wide range of species. As any first-year physics student would tell you, if you know the structure of a sound wave, you can cancel it out.

He let the shriek die down as he turned the corner at a sharp 90-degree angle. This time, he didn't bother to keep his expression neutral. A grin spread across his dark-blue visage and he chuckled, despite still running full-out. He laughed at the irony, and the feel of adrenaline pumping through his veins after far too long. He laughed at the roar of the crowd and the madness around him. Then the floor collapsed under his feet, and he felt himself falling. He had time to glimpse light reflecting off the steel spikes a half-dozen meters below. And he had time to laugh, this time at the ever-growing madness within.

Tyre’s fight with Marick had come to an end when the darkness induced by the Sith was pierced by strands of light originating from the stadium’s artificial lighting. Blood from his shoulder rolled down over the leather armor, dripping, mixing itself with the sand and dust of the arena. Marick himself suffered from a similar wound on his left shoulder blade. Both of them were tiring, their breaths came in wheezes, their eyes were dull, and beads of sweat rolled from their brow at seemingly random intervals.

“Haaah…haaah…we’re both…haaah…Obelisk.” Tyre’s sought to persuade the Arconan by reminding him of their similarities. His Umbaran biology combined with the Force giving him the slight assurance that Marick would consider the idea at the very least.
“Haaah…frack….we don’t stand a chance against…haah…that Sith on our... own.” Tyre’s words seemed to take some hold in Marick’s mind.
“What do you...suggest…Taldryan.” Something about the Arconan told Tyre that he was more exhausted than he himself was. Yet his understanding of the Force kept him on his feet, allowing him to suppress his fatigue, if only for a little bit.

Tyre tried to catch his breath as he gazed to the far side of the Arena. The Sith had just flared up in his senses like a supernova before disappearing again. He turned his head towards the Obelisk that stood before him. Tyre raised himself as his breathing became more tranquil.

“I suggest we take out the Sith first, two on one. He is your biggest competition in this match and you know that it’ll be difficult to overcome him…on your own.”
“You’re pretty sly for an Obelisk, using such trickery…” Marick’s eyes gazed deeply into Tyre’s.
“The end justifies the means. Winning in battle is everything.” Tyre smiled back at the Arconan
“Hmhm, we’ll see how it goes.”

Both of them turned their heads towards the rest of the arena, intent on stopping the Sith before he stopped them.
It had been a while since any traps activated on their side of the battlefield…

Suddenly one of the automated laser turrets shifted itself towards the twin Obelisk. Within a moment three other such turrets took aim for the unlucky pair. One was positioned perpendicular to the pair, aiming at their sides. Two others hung in an arch, about 40° from the original turret’s position. The last turret took aim for Marick’s head from the back.

A beeping noise signaled the two that they had locked on and had begun draining their energy cells to unleash a quick burst of multiple shots instead of the previously seen charged rounds. The duo knew that they had to move, and do so quickly, if they didn’t want to get riddled with bolts.

Marick was the first to move, quickly followed by Tyre. The Arconan was slightly faster and lither on his feet, quickly taking cover behind one of the durasteel barricades by way of a sprint followed by tight summersault. Tyre tried to follow in Marick’s suit and rushed towards another barricade.

Behind them, the turrets had started firing. Blaster bolts rang across the stadium sand, their heat melting and turned them into amorphous shards of glass. The turret that was closest to Tyre homed in on him relentlessly, easily matching the Knights movements. A clicking sound originating from the turret signified that it had switched firing modes again. Instead of spraying bolts rapidly around the arena, it now homed in on Tyre like a sniper.

Tyre didn’t dare to look back around, just a few more steps and he was behind cover. When a blaster bolt suddenly rang passed his calf, Tyre dropped face first into the arena’s sand. The searing pain in his calf made him unable to move when the turret came back for a second round.

Having no other choice but immerse himself in the Force the suppress the pain, Tyre closed his eyes. He was terrible at using the Force for external applications, but his efforts at internal applications had helped him on multiple occasions. This time was no different. The pain slowly subsided in the young Knights leg, enabling him to press himself up from his hands and continue his dash for cover. Within seconds he sat securely behind a barrier of durasteel, not far from Marick’s own cover.

The turrets lost track of them in the process and returned to an idle position, slowly moving along designated paths on the stadiums walls.

Marick’s voice rang in Tyre’s mind. When the young Taldryan turned his head to meet Marick’s, he noted that Marick’s lips were not moving and that his gaze was fixed forward.

“The Sith fell into one of the automated traps, and by fell, I really do mean fall.” The Arconan raised his index and middle fingers from his fisted hand and repeatedly moved them back and forth in a specific direction.

Tyre’s previous training in House Revan allowed him to recognize the sign. Turning his head to where Marick’s fingers were flashing, he noted that a specific portion of sand was moving inward towards a pit.

Hmm…pitfalls. What more surprises did the Council install in this thing. Tyre thought to himself.

ooc: Posting now since Marick timed out again.

Actually, Tyre, I would think Marick had 24 additional hours for his second post, and then it was my turn. You were supposed to have the last post in Round 3. I'll go ahead and finish things up, though.

**********

“What's our next move?”

The young Knight struggled to keep pace with the Arconan as they made their way through the maze of corridors setup throughout the arena. No matter how hard Tyre pushed himself [EHA], the Prelate didn't seem to tire. Marick remained two meters ahead, running full-out (He has to be pushing himself!) yet to all appearances it was little more than a sedate jog for the Hapan. The barriers of rubble and durasteel blocked them off from the turrets as expected, but there were still traps aplenty littering their path. Twice now pitfalls had opened up in front of them. It had been all Tyre could do to avoid falling victim to them [JMP], but the older Obelisk had appeared unhindered, seeming to simply glide over the sudden openings. The worst part of it, though, was that his enemy stayed always out of his reach. Claiming truce until they dispatched the Sith had been a bold move. Tyre was sure he could have taken down the Quaestor once Marick was weakened by his battle with the Chiss; however, if Invictus had already fallen victim to one of the coliseum's traps, there was little reason to continue with their plan of deferred violence. Yet no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't get within striking distance.

“He's this way!” shouted the Prelate, rounding a corner just ahead of him.

Tyre threw himself around the corner with abandon, barely feeling it as he careened off the far wall, eyes locked on Marick's undefended back to the exclusion of all else. His lungs were burning – they felt damned close to exploding – as the pair reached a T-junction. Suddenly he heard a screech and felt himself being pulled into unconsciousness. The Umbaran tried to take a breath and gather the Force to him, tried to remain alert, but his lungs had no strength left to breathe. His vision began to blur, going dark around the edges as the ringing in his ears grew to a piercing warble, and he struggled to focus on the Arconan standing calmly above him. His right hand flexed, trying valiantly to reach for the dagger at his side and finish off his fellow-Obelisk before he passed out, but to no avail. The world around him darkened as he fought to stay alert and began to lose cohesion. When he saw the form of Marick waver and disappear he knew he had lost his battle with the dark.

********

Marick let the projection drop as he came around the far corner [ILL], grinning while he looked from the unconscious Journeyman to the Sadowan at his side.

“What do you think?”

A chuckle sounded from Invictus's throat as he prodded the prone form with the toe of his boot. “You oversold that last bit. I mean, really? 'He's this way!' Who says that?”

“It got him in front of the sonic snare, didn't it?”

“There's no correlation between his level of gullibility and your skills as an actor.” The Sith smirked, then turned to his temporary ally. “It was a decent plan though.”

“Decent plan?” retorted the Obelisk in mock anger. “My telekinesis saved your ass from the spikes, and you say it was a decent plan?”

“There's no correlation between my luck and your skills as a tactician.”

“So,” the Hapan replied, dropping the dispute, “What now?”

Invictus knelt over the unconscious Knight and pulled free the twin daggers he had tucked into his belt. “Now we give the crowd what they want.” With a final smirk he made a few motions over Tyre's body, turned back towards Marick and drew on the Force [LEP], leaping over the barricades and out into the open arena floor.

********

Time had passed – five minutes or ten or thirty, there was no way to know in the heat of combat – and the contest raged on. Neither combatant had the weapons with which they were most familiar, their lightsabers having been banned from the event. They both still had the daggers they had scavenged, and both were skilled with them. Invictus had been sure it would be a quick victory for him, despite his battle with Marick that morning. The Obelisk was a master saberist, of that there was little doubt, but none of his combatives focused on knife fighting. The Sith, on the other hand, had spent years studying Echani. It should have been a quick victory, but Marick was far stronger in the Force, potentially strong enough to make all the difference here.

Invictus suddenly spun, ducking under a slash that should have severed his carotid artery [DDG] and lunging forward with both daggers outstretched to skewer his opponent. Marick must have sensed it coming [PCG], for his reaction was immediate. He sprang upwards into a flip [LEP], twisting in the air and landing at the Battlemaster's back. With a quickness greater than any he had yet shown [EQS], the Arconan Captain twirled his daggers into backhanded grips and struck his opponent's left shoulder with a right hook [OBL], shattering it. The blow threw Invictus forward and he tucked instinctively into a rolling somersault, saving him from the follow-up punch aimed at his right kidney.

He came out of the roll and to his feet, twisting around in time to see the Hapan barreling towards him like a Krayt Dragon. There was no way to avoid the blow, not in his condition, and he took the only option open to him. Reaching out with the Dark Side, he mentally gripped the Prelate and yanked him down and forwards [DRW]. The blow was so unexpected – the rational course of action would have been to dodge again – that Marick had no time to react. His jaw struck the taller man's upraised knee with a resounding crack, obviously shattering on impact. The percussion and exertion were too much for the winded and wounded Sith; he collapsed as well, the two fighters ending in a jumble of limbs and weapons on the dirt floor. Blood dripped from the severed tip of the Arconan's tongue and the final blow had left the Sadowan's left knee at an unnatural angle.

The crowd howled in the stands, any complaints they had about the lack of a clear winner overcome by seeing the two struggle so hard against one another.

“Was that what you wanted?” muttered the Obelisk, his speech thickened by mangled flesh and congealing blood.

As the tumult rose over him, Invictus wearily turned his head to Marick and fought back a pained grimace. “At least we ruined the Taldryan whelp's week, too.”

The Chiss's opponent looked at him as though he were slightly daft. “We knocked him unconscious. I'd hardly call that ruined.”

“Well, I may have hamstrung him while he was out...”

OOC POST ONLY!

...yeah I guess you're right.
Sorry about this :|

Edit: It's only fair that Marick get's the last post, since I stole his...

OCC POST: Sorry, wasn't aware that the RO was a timed event when I signed up. My fault, sorry for not being able to complete my second two parts. Cheers