#!pp foth

[azul-tragedy-archives-blog]

Aqua had only managed to be a spectator for the great event - the festival of the hunt was it? - and really only managed to catch the tail-end of it. A little disappointing too because she would have loved to participate. Maybe next year? She couldn't complain though as fireworks lit up the night sky in honor of the contenders and the end to such a thrilling event. Aqua smiled to herself, leaning against the railing in front of her but kept her gaze firmly on the lights up above.

[zanarkandsongstress]

{♫} ——— ”Fireworks! I don't want to miss that, hurry, hurry!"

[capriciousdeluge]

Bronze Ain't So Bad | Closing Ceremonies

A hefty sigh left Phirun's lips as he bent forward over the edge of the balcony, chin resting in the open palm of his right hand. After an entire month of what had seemed like non-stop combat, it was all over. And Phirun hadn't done too shabbily either. Third place wasn't bad; he definitely felt as though he had become stronger, which was all that really mattered. And, despite some of the injuries, he had to admit, it had been fun. 

And now the Regent's domicile was nearly full to bursting with all the hunters who had participated, along with their sponsors, body guards, and the healers from the tents. He peered down at the crowd "oooing" and "ahhh-ing" down in the courtyard. He had hoped to escape the claustrophobic throngs of people by making his way to view the light display on the upper floors, and maybe meet someone he knew along the way. Yet, somehow, despite all of the people enjoying the festivities up here with him, he found himself secluded in the corner of the balcony, standing separate and alone from the rest. He scanned the place hoping he might spy a familiar face.

[burmecianblackmage]

Festival of the Hunt - Theater District - The Hunter's End

It was a gruesome explosion that could be heard in one of the more far off streets of the theater district, one likely enough to draw the attention of many a person in the district.

After all, despire all the magic users around, this one had felt quite worringly strange... Stronger than others, yet at the same time still somewhat muffled...

And should a curious soul see fit to investigate it, they would be met with a terrible scene, one of a Malboro being scattered around, and a young burmecian lying on the stone pavement, face down.

Faintly breathing, but unconscious and covered in terrible burns, his clothes practically turned to ash and his once pale skin nigh black. And around him remains of what once was gastric acid in which his body swam.

It doesn't look like this man will wake up any time soon.

And if help does not arrive, he might never open his deep blue sapphire eyes ever again...

[burmecianblackmage]

Festival of the Hunt - Theater District - Week 4 Fight 1: Malboro (50 Points)

He still didn't quite know how exactly he had managed to fell the mighty Earth Eater. It just seemed so unbelieveable that he of all people would manage to take such a foe down. Yet still... he had done so. Even if it had cost him almost all his strength and as a result sent him to the Healing Station for several days.

But now he was fit enough again to wander the streets and look for "prey", as another hunter had put it. It was interesting how now, all of a sudden after his unexpected victory, other hunters had come up to him to talk to him and congratulate him.

He just wasn't sure whether he appreciated them calling him a "true beast".

Though they were right about one thing. He could not wait to get back out in the district. Only it wasn't because he craved to spill the blood of more monstrosities... - He wanted to simply get away from all these suck-ups.

So now he was out in the district again, for the fourth and final week, and determined to get some more points - After all, even if he never believed in any chance to come close to the price money, it sounded wonderful and very enticing. A million gil? For a young man essentially living on the streets with barely a thousand gil to his name that almost sounded too good to be true. But only almost.

The burmecian turned around a corner, then another one, looking for a mark to take down but constantly falling short. Either the other hunters weere too thorough in cleaning this part of the district out, or the monsters had gotten quite adapt at avoiding him, hmpf. Seems like he'd have to return empty handed at this po-

WOW.

Turning around the corner, the black mage was instantly faced by a gapping maw with sharp teeth and a putrid stench. And tentacles. Lots of tentacles.

A Malboro.

Oh by the gods. Why a Malboro, why?

By the gods, how would he ever be able to put up with that one should it get released?

It was quickly getting harder and harder to see, but his instinct dictate that he should try to get more distance from the monstrosity in order to not get swallowed up right away. However, with his legs growing heavier and heavier this was not as easily done as one'd hope.

Barely able to lift his bare, clawed feet above the stone pavement, it is more of a sliding back than walking. And when moving like this, it was all too easy to stumble and fall...

"Uooah!"

And there we go. The poor guy just tripped over a small trench in the pavement. Designed to direct the water off the streets at rainy days so that people don't slip and fall, it now caused the young man to fall - What cruel irony.

The Malboro doesn't need any big invitation in order to pick up on the situation and take advantage of it. Extending a tentacle towards the stumbled prey, it grabs onto his leg and grips it tightly - enough so to make Sceada scream out in pain. But the Malboro's aim is not to just constrict the burmecian's leg, oh no. It is hungry. And it has no qualms eating food that was lying on the cold and dirty ground...

Panic starts to spread throughout the black mage's body as he feels himself getting pulled closer again. This thing is gonna eat him! How could this not worry and frighten him? He had to do something, but just what... What should he do, what could he do, what- Oh by the gods, it's starting to lift him up, he needs to be fast, he needs to do the first thing that comes to mind, he-

"Uaargh, hrrngh,,, Blizzara!"

Being unable to think straight and target just the tentacle, the burmecian does the only thing that comes to his mind, and it is not all that unlikely that he will come to regret it. Unable to see the tentacle that drags him, he figures out to aim at the one spot he could be sure it was holding onto - his own leg.

The screams as the rapidly expanding ice pierces through his leg is only drowned out by the cries of the Malboro as it's tentacle is treated likewise, prompting it to let go immediately.

Yes, Sceada succeeded at freeing himself of the tentacle. But at what price?

With his leg injured like this, he wouldn't be able to run away from the beast, should he even be able to stand. This wasn't looking good at all... Just what should he do, how should he defend himself? His eyes were still too teary to properly see anything, and while he thankfully had not felt his throat swell up and steal his voice, his body felt very numb and heavy. Getting away from this beast or defending himself seemed like a fool's errand under these circumstances.

Still, that would not stop him from trying.

He didn't want to die - even if there wasn't really much for him to live for. His mother, his only family that he'd ever known, abandoned him as a child. His homeland had forsaken him, exiling him even due to the influence of his mother dearest. The academy where he learned his craft had denied him his degree and thrown him out. And friends? The few ones he could call so and that would notice and lament his passing were more than easily counted with one hand alone. Truly, why did he even keep on living? There was many a day where he wondered about that.

And still, he did want to live. Even if he did not understand why.

But the Malboro would not just have that. No, it was determined to see to it that the black mage would draw his last breath today. And if it would have things the way it wanted, it would not be too long either...

Grabbing the burmecian around his arms and waist with it's tentacle this time, the foul beast immobilized his arms completely, crushing them lightly even. Unable thus to weave any spells, the agonized man was defenseless against it and could only scream out in pain.

It was the end. The beast would devour him and then it'd all be over. There was nothing left he could do.

The beast opened it's maw full of sharp teeth oncee more and threw it's prey into the darkness within before closing it once more with a satisfied grin.

The prey had been successfully eaten. What was left was to digest it. And to search for more prey. So it saw fit to move from the spot of it's successful hunt and seek out more of these little hunter snacks.

Only the large hat of the burmecian was left lying in the dust at the site of the battle.

Only the hat...

It is a few minutes later when the black mage awakes, shrouded in the complete darkness of the malboro's stomach. He had gotten eaten - but luckily, he had been swallowed as a whole, and not been chewed up by the sharp teeth of the monstrosity.

Still, the gastric acids he was swimming in now weren't exactly pleasant. And the toxic gas inside this confined space wasn't helping at all either.

He was in pain. Terrible pain.

His skin was burning, his eyes blinded, his head dizzy and the whole body numb. His mind had trouble progressing all of this, it was simply unable to cope with all the impulses that fought for attention together with the instinctive wish not to die.

So at one point, it simply shut down.

But instead of falling into the sweet embrace of oblivion and death, instead of letting itself fall and wither away, his mind became clear, like a blank slate. All the impulses were blocked out. And even if it came with a massive risk, he knew what he had to do.

He only had one single shot at this with the condition his body was in. He needed to make it count, before his skin dissolved in the acid and the adrenalin died down again, leaving him numb for eternity.

He had to put his all into it. It was the only chance.

With the last of his strength and pouring all of his mana into it, he wove one last spell.

A spell to end it all.

And after he'd have casted it, everything would go black. Not just from lack of mana and exhaustion, no. Most likely, the damage from the toxic gas and the acid would claim him then. But at least he'd have done everything he could. At least he'd not have anymore regrets.

It is barely a whisper when he speaks the word that names the spell, tapping into his innermost mana reserves and depleting them:

"...Firaja..."

The ensuing blast was the last thing he felt before he lost consciousness.

The Malboro stood no chance against such a massive spell fired not just from point blank range but from inside it even. Its tall, monstrous body was torn to shreds when the blast expanded rapidly, scorching the pieces in the progress.

A fire spell of this magnitude was not an easy thing to withstand.

Something too big for a Malboro when it went off inside its stomach.

When the beasts lower half hit the body, the gastric acid inside it's torn stomach had almost entirely evaporated, and with the upper half torn off and scattered across the streets, there was nothing left to hold the consumed prey inside anymore.

With his clothes scorched and his normally pale grey skin burned, the unconscious burmecian rolled out of the former Malboros remains, coming to lay on the cold, hard pavement.

He had won. He had defeated a Malboro.

But it was not all that unlikely that the price... had indeed been much too high...

[thundagabitch-blog]

BACK ATTACK! A Wyvern has snuck up behind you and strikes! [If you received a warning message before this, feel free to avoid initial damage! If not, you must receive initial damage!]

The dust still coated the palm of his gloves. Blood still dribbled into the cuff it from the deep wounds buried in his arm, trapping slick liquid between leather and talon. His coat sleeve was soaked. There were wing beats behind him, the obvious shift in air current he should’ve been able to detect. 

                                 No.                                       Not while he still held her in his hand. 

Claws twice as large as his own shoot forward, grabbing his shoulder and digging, driving deep through cloth and skin. The Waltzes snarl is cut short as he’s dragged bodily backward, thrown to the ground on top of already aching, bound wings. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he screamed.                                                                      This is a disaster. 

The wyvern towers over him, rearing back with wings spread and jaws snapping. Vicious teeth bite and strike like a python, arching head back after each failed attack. Three wriggled, twisting away from the blows as sharp fangs scrape the stonework over his shoulder, just missing his head, scraping wrapped up wings. Feet shoved, kicked, attempted to lever himself out from under the monster; but the dragon wouldn’t have it. It rears great head back, saliva dripping from wicked jowl as it lines up the final strike and jets reptilian head forward for a bite— the former assassin remembers the bladed staff in his hand almost too late. As the Wyvern struck for the throat, so did the sharpened edge of Three’s oak staff. 

Thankfully, the Waltz was faster. 

The beast roared, stumbling away from the Mist-made-automaton with blood spilling from the slice cutting through what passed as draconian collarbone. Instinct kicked in, and Three rolled to his feet, the head of his staff dragging on the ground, breath coming to his lungs in heaves. He raised opposite hand with talons clutched around forming spell, pure electricity crackling between the recesses of his gloves, sparking and flicking off bits of stone and dust— 

"… thundaga—” The spell connected— the Wyvern screeched, wings flapping in an attempt to rid it’s flesh of searing magic, of sparking thunder— 

                 ”— ThunDaGA— THUnDAGA—!!” 

                                       It writhed— it fell to it’s side, still screaming, still                                                                  bleeding, hide bubbling as blood boiled beneath all                                                          bathed in beautiful red.

          Disaster, no, no— this was art. 

                       He barely noticed his arms begin to shake                                   To twtich—

[antisocialsavant]

     The encounter with the Zaghnol left something to be desired.  Though he did not strike the killing blow, Squall had assisted in its death.  Considering the alternative, it was better to fell the creature regardless of the fact this was a contest after all.  However, it did not come without a price.

     Sore from both being dangled around by the Adamantoise, and being close to trampled on, Squall was in need of a break, and perhaps medical attention, before he could even consider trying to slay fiends again.

     I'm getting too old for this shit.

[capriciousdeluge]

BACK ATTACK! A Wyvern has snuck up behind you and strikes! [If you received a warning message before this, feel free to avoid initial damage! If not, you must receive initial damage!]

Phirun was lucky to have had someone looking out for him at that moment, even if he didn’t know who it was. Otherwise, that Wyvern would have taken a nice chunk out of his back. Or his skull. In fact, he may not even have survived that lethal swoop without that anonymous cautioning. He would have to remember to try and find and thank his savior later.

He rose back to his full height as the Wyvern landed a short distance in front of him, screeching and flapping its fleshy wings in a display of dominance, presumably hoping to intimidate its prey. Unfortunately for the winged lizard, this tactic would not so easily frighten Phirun.

The sapphire haired man brandished his scythe, waiting for the drake to make its next move. The monster hopped forward to close the gap, lunging with its long neck at snapping at Phirun’s face with its razor sharp teeth. The man evaded side to side, retaliating with slamming the butt of his scythe’s shaft into the bottom of the beast’s mouth. 

The monster flinched, slightly dazed by the counter strike. Phirun seized the opportunity and swung his scythe in a sweeping arc, splitting the skin of the Wyvern’s torso open in a spray of crimson liquid. The drake howled, throwing itself away from Phirun with a mighty gust blown by its wings. Phirun covered his eyes to protect them from the dust that was sent skyward by the sudden gale. 

Suddenly, he heard another howl, and through the shroud of dust, a wide cone of light energy spray him, stinging his flesh and sending him staggering back. He grunted in pain from the physical damage the light-affiliated attack had dealt, but he had been lucky enough not to receive any of its comorbid effects. The dust settled, and he locked eyes with the Wyvern, which stared smugly after its successful Radiant Breath attack.

Phirun charged, firing a jet of concussive water into its face. The beast recoiled and Phirun charged. He swung his scythe, looking to end its life right then and there, but the monster, even in its dazed state, managed to swing its wing straight into his chest, slamming him back. He quickly recovered, though the strike had bruised him, and worsened the pain of his cracked ribcage from his encounter with the Iron Giant the previous week which he had left unattended. 

He leaped forward, dodging another strike by the Wyvern, bringing his scythe down on its right wing, severing it completely. The Wyvern cried out in agony, but Phirun showed no mercy, immediately clipping it of its other wing. The man wasted no time and swerved around to the front of the now armless/wingless monster. In a swift horizontal slice, he decapitated the lesser wyrm, and its body fell to the ground in silence.