The Anvach Arena of Death

[Jack Shrapnel]

Lord Garon stood on the balcony of his keep, surveying the city of Anvach with distain. This wretched city was once the crown jewel of the Empire, bustling with activity, trade and dignitaries. Anvach’s fall from grace happened soon after the disruption of trade routes by rampaging orcs, which redirected these merchants through the northern pass, which although farther, was far less dangerous as well. The city’s once prosperous neighborhoods began to include ever larger slums and with it corresponding crime.

Lord Garon had felt his power and influence fade and became desperate. This is when she came to him. Her name was Dyendra and she promised a return to glory for his city and a return to power for himself. She asked very little in return, which in itself was disturbing. Lord Garon didn’t want to trust her, but what could he do?

Dyendra wished for the aging arena to be refitted, and provided all the gold necessary to accomplish this task. She stated that she wanted to have the ultimate test of skill, where the best heroes from all the surrounding lands came to battle to the death. There would be only one winner, one champion of Anvach. Dyendra would even provide the prize to this champion.

Lord Garon of course agreed, and the work was begun in earnest. As work neared completion on the great arena, a call went out throughout the lands. Eight heroes answered this call, and were now housed in the finest Inn Anvach had to offer. The grand arena was about to commence, and the streets buzzed with activity and commerce. This was indeed a boon to the city’s economy. The courtiers of the Empire had even arrived for the festivities. All was according to plan. So why was this nagging feeling still in the back of his mind? A quiet voice saying that there was just something not right about Dyendra and all her promises and apparent generosity.

“What could I do” he muttered to himself, as he turned back into his chambers for a restless night.

[Jack Shrapnel]

Shazzar - Champion of the Lizardmen


The last to crawl out of the spawning pool in the temple city of Tlaxtlan over 2000 years ago, others could feel the impressive presence of him. He was brought before the Slann priest's of the city and they could feel the touch of the old ones on him and knew he was destined for great things. He has fought in many battles over the last 2000 years, he has commanded many armies in his life time and always take a hands on approach to battle leading the charge. He fights for to restore the order of the old ones but has always respected a foe who would fight one on one in even combat. Once he heard of the Area taking place although many of his Skink advisor's did not think he should partake and knew many of Slann would not agree with his choice to partake, he is so respected that they did object too strongly for him not to go. He is seven feet of scales and muscles. His body seems littered in equal assortments of scars, ornate barbs of precious metals and trophies from battles. His scales are a Grayish blue, like they use to be blue then bleached white but have Grayed in time and battle. But his eyes are still a bright red with a lust for battle and carnage.

[Jack Shrapnel]

Thoaror Serpenthelm - Champion of the Ogres

Thoaror serpenthelm was a normal bull, untill he fell in love with a gnoblar named fluffy. Now he walks around with "her" around his neck every where he goes and has gotten an uncanny survivability, but fluffy's parents still want to protect their "daughter" and hence follow Thoaror around and help out in a fight

[Jack Shrapnel]

Blademaster Kelethan - Champion of the High Elves

Background: Blademaster Kelethan is one of the eldest trainers amongst the Swordsmasters in the Tower of Hoeth. Of common birth, he struggled to gain entrance into the hallowed halls of the White Tower, only managing by signing on as a cooks apprentice. After observing life in the tower for several months he made his move, "accidentally" spilling a bowl of stew all over a young noble who was in training with the swordsmasters. The hotheaded princeling quickly challenged him to an honour duel, which Kelethan promptly won, badly embarrassing the student. For his skill and brashness he was awarded a place to train as a swordsmaster, and he quickly gained the skill to be awarded full membership. For 600 years he has fought at the behest of the Loremasters, proving himself in every theater of war, before returning to the tower to train new entrants. He has not seen battle in two hundred years, and so after hearing about the arena he petitioned the Phoenix King to send him as an official representative of Ulthuan, knowing it could be his last chance to either prove himself the greatest fighter in the world, or meet an honourable death in combat. 6 an a half feet tall, with the piercing blue eyes common to elves, his body is willowy and lean, covered in cords of muscle and knots of scars, and grey is shot through his flaxen hair.

[Jack Shrapnel]

Lok'Khar Diavilios - Champion of the Dark Elves

A sudden flare of blinding light appears in the total darkness. Eyes that have not seen light for nearly 4 centuries find themselves overwhelmed trying to cope with this thing they have thought to be a myth after so long. The pain is almost unbearable except for what it signifies, the one thing known to be absolute, the truth learned from birth, Pain means life. To feel pain is to know that one is still alive. Pain means there is still a chance, a chance to live, a chance to take revenge...

After being imprisioned in the deepest cells of the Witch King, Malekith, for close to 5 centuries for a failed attempt to kill the Witch King and cease power for himself, Lok'Khar is pulled from his cell at the Witch King's behest in order to take part in what could be a great tournament where the contestants fight to the death and only one shall return from alive. Malekith chose Lok'Khar for his skill and cunning, for he is the first in a very long time to have turned against the Witch King and proven to be a somewhat worthy advisary and provide Malekith with an entertaining distraction from his eternal plotting to reclaim his rightful throne.
Malekith's words of parting to this would be competitor, "Live or die, I care not. Your return will only increase my power in the world. Your failure will be a mercy for you, one I would not show you myself."

[Jack Shrapnel]

Lord Breunor Battlehammer - Champion of the Dwarfs

Bruenor casts a subtle smile underneath his thick braided white beard as his keen eyes surveyed the list of “opponents” outside the arena, this fine morning. “Amateurs! All ruddy amateurs!” he thought. “Well at least we’ll all be home for dinner tonight!”

Long, had been their travel to this place of honour and glory. His companions, equally experienced, weaponers were pre-occupied with their usual topic of conversation. To those witnessing the strangers one might mistake the ‘heated’ discussion as a sign that striking blows was sure to follow. However, these were the best of comrades and they took seriously their ‘who killed the most’ competition, especially when the Drow Dark Elf was with them.
Yes, thought Bruenor, quite a motley crew he’d assembled. His life long friend, Togar Battlestrike, was shorter and wider than most dwarves and with twice the bad temperament. It was this and his thick, bright orange mane and beard that gave him the name of “Raging Flamer” on the battlefield. Next to him was Wulfgar, who by all accounts, at first glance, might not be recognised as a dwarf. Some even whisper that he’s more Ogre than dwarf. He was but an infant when Breunor’s family took him in, his parents unknown to the clan. Standing a full head and shoulders above all others, with thick, broad shoulders and arms and legs to match giving him the appearance of a shaggy blonde oak tree. He, this giant among dwarfs is known as “Hammerhands” for his prowess with a battle hammer knows no equal. On many an occasion these two Bearers of the Shield have been Breunor’s comrades in arms, and in the arena battles to come it shall be no different. The Drow elf known as Drizzt had befriended Bruenor and his clan more than 10 years past. A master of the twin scimitars and an assassin by trade had insisted on accompanying Bruenor on this adventure. He’ll serve as reservist, and as a lethal surprise, to all those who dare to challenge the B.T.W. triad. For this group represents the will and might of the Dwarven empire, having been tasked by the High King Thorgrim himself after their heroic and legendary defence of Mithral Hall from the Thousand Orcs raiders.

Breunor hefted his mighty battle axe on one shoulder and with his newly Runed shield on the other, accompanied his companions into the arena….ready to do battle.

[Jack Shrapnel]

The Assassin Trax - Mercenary Champion

It is not known if Trax is actually his name. He is an expensive assassin of renown. Not know for his secret kills but for a kill if you want then person to be made an example of. He wait till the right moment and jumps out with his speed, number of attack, with the poison and venom of his own personal design one wound could kill even the strongest of targets. He sacrifices all his defense for that one wound that could kill his opponent. This is a great gamble, which works great for him since gambling is the only thing he likes more then killing. Luckily he is a lot better at killing then gambling, cause if any opponent can attack back he may be killed easy. He heard about the area and couldn't resist, it was a great time to bet on him self and most of the entrant have prices on their heads from one kingdom or anouther. This would be his opportunity to clean up as well as gamble his life.

[Jack Shrapnel]

Xerath Scion of Khorne - Champion of Chaos

Xerath started out as the chief of a small band of raiders, who raided settlements in the Kislev region. After years of pillaging the trading posts, and merchant camps, Xerath dreamed of more. He gathered his tribe and prepared to assault a Kislevic fort, wanting the artifacts inside, and the carnage he could ensue. The assault was going well, and his party was inside the treasury. Xerath saw his prize, A bloodstained Axe atop an alter in the corner of the room. Xerath ran to wards the artifact and seized it. A course of power ran threw him, and Xerath now only knew bloodshed. Xerath slaughtered his tribe, and fled to the mountains where he roamed, seeking combat, and blood. Xerath has returned, and seeing an arena in the distance, the only thought that ran threw his head was "BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"

[Jack Shrapnel]

Lord Jacques LaFleur of Mousillon - Champion of Bretonnia

Though Lord Jacques was born in Bastonne, his parents were of Mousillon, and told him many stories of its former glory. He always dreamed of returning to Mousillon, followed by an army to reclaim the fallen kingdom of his parents.
Although he was an accomplished knight, no army would follow him, and so he partook in the quest for the Grail, to meet the Lady of the Lake to prove that he was a true Son of Mousillon. Though he drank from the Holy Grail, still none would follow him to the dread land of his parents birth.
Wishing to continue proving his prowess, he came to the Arena, to prove to those watching that he was the one destined to bring peace to Mousillon.

[Jack Shrapnel]

Clouds darkened the sky on the first day of the grand tournament, threatening rain. The arena was full to capacity, the crowd buzzing with excitement. Lord Garon noted from his private gallery that there seemed to be a fever of bloodlust already building in the crowd. Dyendra sat by his side, cold eyes surveying the crowd. She handed Lord Garon a parchment with the first matches to take place. Lord Garon rose and the crowd hushed in anticipation. He spoke in a loud clear voice, welcoming all to the Grand Tournament of Champions. He introduced the eight heroes in turn, and the crowd responded by roaring cheers, or boos reserved for the hated enemies of the Empire.

Lord Garon raised his hand and the crowd fell silent once more. First Round battles are as follows:

Lord Breunor Battlehammer vs. Xerath Scion of Khorne
Shazzar vs. Blademaster Kelethan
The Assassin Trax vs. Thoaror Serpenthelm
Lok'Khar Diavilios vs. Lord Jacques LaFleur of Mousillon

The crowd cheered loudly after each match was announced. Runners were dispatched to alert the heroes as to their first opponents so that they may prepare themselves. The thieves guild operatives moved through the crowd, taking bets on the upcoming matches, and not a few coins from the unwary.

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Please note - all matches were assigned using a random dice generator... opponents for the first round were chosen for you... should you wish to challenge an opponent (assuming you survive) for round two, feel free to add your own fluff to the arena whenever you'd like... I plan to have each battle rolled and written within a couple of days of each other to keep the story moving... your fluff is important to develop the story... but remember what you add should be in character whenever possible...

[LizardTau]

Shazzar sits in his room in the area listening to the roar and boo of the crowd. He has looked over the opponents many looked strong and fast, he had always been able to read an opponents strength and many of the competitors looked very strong indeed. Except the assassin he look very weak but he didn't like the smell and look of the substances on the assassins blades, he would have to make sure he didn't get hit by those attacks if he fought him. Shaking him self away from thoughts of that battle, he has anouther opponent assigned to him one strong and fast. He knew this may very well be his last day, but he felt that way before every battle. It fueled him, he prayed to the old gods, for strength. He knew he would need it in even this first round.

[redshirt2375]

the stench was almost overwhelming. The city was barely worth the title; sesspool would have been more fitting. The buildings were decaying hovels, the palaces little more than shacks. The whole place had him wishing he was back in his cell. The only thing worthy of any praise was the arena itself.

Standling silently in shadows of the upper teir, Lok'Khar listened to the Lord of the city announce the match ups. He sniffed in disdain when his match was announced; he'd been paired with one of those prancing lords from Bretonnia. Having seen his opponent earlier he had nothing but contempt for him. The lord would count on his frail Lady to protect him, but it wouldn't be enough.

Nothing would or could be allowed to stop Lok'Khar from winning this contest. He had more than just his life and the pathetic illusion of honour at stake. For him, his vengence against the one who'd sent him here was on the line....nothing could be allowed to stop him from getting his revenge against the Witch King...nothing!

[BewareOfTom]

While eating most of an Inns supply of food for lunch(?), Thoaror heard of the time when battle was nearly upon him started ordering 3 kegs of ale, for starters, and then after that he gathered his gnoblar pals and went to the arena for practice(in one hand the weapon, and one hand a back leg of a cow)

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oh for deciding who go's first against thoaror(if we don't start in melee) he will always pass as he is either laughing his head off or drunk

[thesanityassassin]

Kelethan stood silently, dressed in a simple white robe, arms crossed upon his chest, as Lord Garon announced the initial match-ups. This was the first he had ventured from his quarters since arriving. The human nobles had attempted to woo him with the "elegance" and "finery" of their squalid city, but Kelethan had waved them away. 800 years amongst the Order of the Swordsmasters hunting down the pleasure cults within the courts of his homeland had left him somewhat of an ascetic, uninterested in much beyond the art of death. Even had he been one to indulge himself, the gifts presented to him were laughable compared to the breathtaking extravagance of Ulthuan. His eyes darted between the other combatants, expertly sizing them up, judging strengths and weaknesses, plotting angles of attack. He passed over the stout, armoured Dwarf, the hulking Saurus of Lustria and the disgusting Ogre, knowing that their brute strength or toughness meant little against his precision attacks. His eyes lingered for a moment on the human from the land of Bretonnia, an uncharacteristically dark and brooding fellow compared to the pompous nature of the average noble of that land. He moved with grace and care well beyond what Kelethan had thought a human capable of. Still, his movements were laughable and clumsy compared to that of an elf, and Kelethan suspected he could take the man's head off before the Breton could even move. He passed the massive champion of the Dark Gods, disgusted that such a monstrosity be given passage here, and somewhat shocked that the beast had yet to slaughter the group of nervous guards surrounding him. He nearly shook with an aura of barely restrained violence, and it seemed to Kelethan that his armour had been forged directly on to his body. This one troubled him, and while he did not doubt his own skill in battle he silently hoped that another would finish him before he got to Kelethan. That brought him to the pair of swarthy Druchii, both clad in robes the colour of shadow, though very different in bearing. One was slight and silent, and appeared somewhat agitated, as if the very act of standing in sight offended him. The other was tall and dark, dripping with the arrogance the Druchii held so dear, and Kelethan could sense that even here the elf's mind was elsewhere. It took all of his innate control not to strike out at the pair of them...eight hundred years of fighting the blood enemy of his people was not easily forgotten, and he hoped his blade would be able to taste Druchii blood before the end of tournament.

He allowed himself a brief smile, a slight curve of his lips that would be imperceptible to a non elf as it was announced his first opponent would be the Lizardman. The hulking beast would find it's head on the floor before it could even lift it's blade. That he was certain of.

[venom]

Sneaking around before the even started Trax was able to get him self some gold, a free dinner, and a very help full and willing bar wench. He was also able to bet on him self for the first round, and even get in on a dice game, in which he was losing badly until he started cheating. It was always the way of things. As he eyed his fellow contestants he started to thing this might actually be fun, as well as the greatest gamble he has done so far, most with his skill and some luck he might even come on top. The look of the one from chaos shock him to the bone tho. As confident with his speed and his venoms as he was and as much as he liked to gamble even his life, he did not want to face that one. He was never one to bet on odd that were totally against him. He would have to challenge anyone else before that one challenged him. When the picks for the first round were stated, he yawned, the first round was going to be a bore. Yes the monster had strength but even its toughness was no match for his venoms, one or two wounds would bring it down easily.