Fantasy The Arena: Participants

[Resting Witch Face]

Everyone who wound up in the arena has a story. What is yours?

Reason for imprisonment:
Name:
Physical appearance:


Life before The Arena:

Everyone gets thrown into the Arena, even if you don't have a skill or proficiency with combat. So it would be wise to choose some way to defend yourself.

Melee Combat
-Those who fight with their hands, up close and personal. This could range from a tank-y Paladin type fighter or a brutal, bloodthirsty Barbarian.
Ranged Combat
-Those who choose to take on their foes at range, either staying just out of reach or completely out of sight. From silent Rangers with precise bow-play to conniving Rogues and their quick wit.
Arcane Combat
-Fighting with the Magics of the land. Most mage fights are exclusive, though there are some who find genuine pleasure in fighting these powerful wizards. Magic is also varied, and is usually split between three schools of Mana.
Casters (White Mana)
-Typically revered by the gods, casters of the White School tend to focus on themselves when targeting with their spells. Incantations such as heals, buffs and debuffs are commonplace. It truly depends on how strong the God they worship has a hold on this world.
Wizards (Blue Mana)
-A more traditional approach to Mana, Wizards of the Blue School are adaptable generalists. You never know what you'll get from a Blue Wizard, it could be a silencing rune, a summoned familiar, or a fiery ball of destruction.
Warlocks (Black Mana)
-Black Mana is forbidden in the more developed parts of the world, usually feared and shunned. However, this has not stopped many black Warlocks from taking the practice into their own hands. Not much is known about their methods, though in recent years some have exchanged this knowledge for entry and shelter in cities. Such spells revealed were mainly Hexes and Summons, with the odd destructive powerhouse sprinkled in.

Multi-Classing
This is where you get to be creative. Combatants are like snowflakes, each one is different from the last. Some, if not most, do not fit snugly into a single category. Therefore, Multi-Classing is very commonplace and sometimes even recommended.

So, feel free to patch together your own unique fighter. You could be a terrifying Warlock Knight, a flashy Duelist or even a mystical Druid.
The common theme for Multi-Class-ers is the addition of a second combat type over their first, typically their primary. For instance:
Warlock Knight = Melee Combat + Black Mana
Duelist = Ranged Combat + Melee Combat
Druid = White Mana + Ranged Combat

Find the Multi-Class that suits you best!


(And that is all. If you're still reading this, chances are you'll be making a character. Thank you for sticking around this long, I can't wait to get this started.)
​

 

[4eyedintrovert]

Reason for imprisonment: Rushed into the arena to avenge his fallen daughter, who was framed for armed robbery, killing her opponent, the victor. Trained vigorously for his opportunity in the arena. Out to prove his daughter's innocence and put an end once and for all to the fighting.

Name: Victor James

Physical appearance: Tapes his fists and wrists

Spoiler

Life before The Arena: loving father and husband, mechanic, overall average joe

Fighting style: Straight up street fighter (Melee Combat)

 

[vikingrage]

reason for imprisonment:slaughtered and burnt down five villages while under the influence of magic. wanting to be forgiven and set free for the crime he didn't mean to commit, he has survived every fight, battle, and beast.

name: Vorin creon



he was a soldier meant to fight for the holy regime and keep order in the land, when a dark warlock cast a spell to enslave his mind and slaughter everyone. before this, he was born and raised into a religion of fighting to keep order and peace. he lived with his wife, who was waiting for him to return before he went to kill the warlock.

duelist.

 

[birmiethewormie]

Reason for imprisonment:

Tis a funneh storeh, actualleh. I was at the square, listenin' to the Reveren' Titus give out his weekly prayer, and them damn wizards show up. Aye, my blood was boilin' at the very sight of 'em. I coulda stood 'em just passin' by the square, much as it pains me to have a heretic at a prayer. But then they had the nerve to start laughin' - n' I don' mean a lil giggle, neh, I mean they was cacklin'. Heartiest laughter I've 'eard in a long time. I dunno how I didn't gut them right there, least til that focker in the red robe pointed right at the reveren'.

An' so I did what any self-respectin' Ezeren woulda done. I charged 'em, and 'fore they really knew what was goin' on, the one in the red was good as dead. Head cut right off. It was quite the cut, too, if I can say so myself. Next, that one in the blue was real punk lookin'. Not that all of them didn' look like one - but it was just sum' 'bout him. Not sure what. Don' matter no more, though-one swift cut, and his eyes were slashed. He fell to the ground real quick. Wasn't laughin' no more, that's fahsure.

Now, that one in the purple, I can respect him as much as I can a heretic. He didn' just go down, he took out his dagger an' actualleh landed a nice lil jab-woulda hit my heart directleh. Sadleh for him, common steel ain't no much for Ezeren armor. I did have some mercy, though. Hope he didn' like runnin', I guess. Be a lil hardeh teh do that with only one leg.

Didn' take long for sum guards to show up. I gave myself up. Really, I see defending Ezera's name as worth sum' trivial like the brig. Then, 'course, they sent me 'ere. Aye, I'd be a lil more concerned 'bout it, but rest of these "warriors"(Deivigan airquotes) ain' nothin' to be worried about. Won' take long fer me to make a name for myself. 'Ell, I might fight so good they wan' me for the armeh. Now, wouldn' that be sum'?

Name:
Deivigan

Physical appearance:
Though his voice bellows as if echoing from the walls of a cave, Deivigan is not much of an imposing figure. He stands tall at 6'5, but he is surprisingly thin, at only 195 pounds. It looks almost as if he has yet to grow into his shoulders, and his hairless baby face leaves the impression of a gentle giant. His curly brown hair is wild and tangled, reaching to his shoulders and frizzing throughout. His eyes are brown, and gazing into them seems like stalking a fireplace. Rather than inspiring feelings of comfiness, however, it is almost like the fire has grown too large, setting the cottage it resides in ablaze in a fireball. Many a heretic have renounced their allegiance to false gods at the very meeting of his gaze.

Deivigian's most prized possession is his armor, crafted by the legendary Ezeren blacksmith Pterius. It is fairly light for mobility, though sturdy and finely made. Like all Ezeren warriors, magically etched into his armor is art depicting both legends of Ezrelogy that he finds suitable to him, as well as depictions of his own exploits throughout his life. His favorite is of the slaying of The Torian Monster, a beast that plagued an Ezeren village for years before Devigian slayed it, and he is so fond of this story that his cape is made of the fur of this beast.

Spoiler: deivigan's armor

Life before The Arena:
As a member of the Ezeren Creed, Deivigian is pledged to the god Ezera. It is said that she created the founding members of the Creed to protect the land from evil spirits and demons that were threatening the balance. Today, that message has been changed to oppress all users of magic - except for those that use it in the name of Ezera, of course. Deivigian had a particular fondness for this aspect of his religion. Hatred of wizards is synonymous with Deivigian's name at this point. He can tolerate the Ezeren Creed's own mages, though many of them suspect he has some distaste towards them.

His father was the head of the Creed's church, and his mother had quite the talent for sleeping alongside some of the Creed's more influential members, as in Ezrelogy, the woman in the marriage is free to sleep around as she pleases, as long as she returns to her home before midnight. This gave him quite the posh upbringing, as you can imagine. He received the best education the Ezerens could receive, though it doesn't mean he did well. He's not stupid, by any means, but he is certainly not the smartest man in the room either. Instead, his true prowess was on the battlefield.

By sixteen he had left home in seek of glory, and by age nineteen his reputation as a magi killer was growing. Deivigian would return home six years later to participate in the Locan Wars. The Creed endured in a phyric victory, and his father was slain in an invasion of Ezeren lands. Mourning the death of his father, he would retire from warfare to uptake preaching. Unfortunately for him, without his father's goodwill he did not last very long in the church, as he had a tendency to say and do things unacceptable of a preacher, including an incident with a spider jar and the son of his father's replacement. That was the final straw until the decision to "mutually part ways". Deivigian missed the life of an adventurer, anyway, and so gladly returned to journey on the road.

Deivigian was resting from a seven weeks journey in the city of Totole(one with a high Ezeren population)when the incident with the wizards occurred.

Everyone gets thrown into the Arena, even if you don't have a skill or proficiency with combat. So it would be wise to choose some way to defend yourself.

Melee Combat
Knight-Ranger

Deivigian is quite nimble for someone of his height, using his surprising agility and fast reflexes to avoid attacks and put himself in position for heavy blows to critical parts of his opponents body with his sword Ezera's Promise. He also dons bucklers, seeking to protect himself from the ranged attacks of the wizards he so often faces.

 

[tarandus]

Name: Jalal

Reason for imprisonment: Jalal lives under a set of conditions. These conditions have forged them into a person without a moral compass, set of standards, or sense of dignity. They have committed many crimes in order to meet these conditions. Cannibalism, rape, senseless violence; they'll do whatever they must to satisfy the whims of the living "dark side" they're saddled with. Naturally, living this kind of life, there was no reason for Jalal not to be imprisoned.

Physical appearance: Jalal is tall. They tower imposingly towards the heavens at a striking six feet and seven inches. In contrast to their height, Jalal is exceedingly thin. Their body carries only the bare minimum of muscle, and their bones are prominent. Their bloodshot, grey eyes are deeply sunken, and sit atop very visible bags. Despite their malnourished look, Jalal's facial features are androgynous, almost feminine. Their skin is incredibly pale, like the full moon or a fresh blanket of snow. From the neck down, it is blemished all over by scars inflicted from continuous, wanton slicing from a sharp knife. Some scars are fresher than others. The sides of Jalal's head are shaved, and a long knot of hair tied off at the back cascades down to their knees. They almost exclusively dress in a dark purple robe, which can easily be displaced or pulled asunder to reveal the skin beneath.

Life before the arena: Jalal lived a decidedly solitary life. They drifted vagabond between active hotspots of civilization, never staying in one town or village too long. Jalal's appearance would be unsettling to most. If they yet hadn't been driven out by the law or angry people, they would often leave out of caution to escape brewing unease. Jalal has lived the greater portion of their life this way, since they made contact with and became pacted to a malevolent entity of sorts which granted them magical ability. Despite being thirty years old, they have long been unfettered by age, and will most likely continue to be.

As a child Jalal dreamed of being a man of virtue, and one that would certainly hold great power. He would often play in the wilds nearby his home village, apart from the other children. Young Jalal believed that to be necessary, as he was sure one day he would leave them. He fashioned himself a future champion, strong with sword and bound in muscles and hard steel. Of course, it was this arrogance and aloofness that would lead to the dissolution of that dream. One day he ventured deeper into the forest than he might have normally, and stumbled into a strange clearing. The vibe in the air was very unnatural, almost otherworldy. Young Jalal did not take himself for a coward; he was fourteen years old, almost a man. Inside the clearing, there stood a large stone altar. Beset upon by curiosity, the young Jalal placed his hand upon it. Once he did so, he was wrenched into an astral, out-of-body experience, and came face to face with an entity known for the first time by human ears, "Yig Todh'Gaboth." The entity named Jalal's desire for power, and promised power that far exceeded the young Jalal's idea of it. Jalal accepted.

The young Jalal came to on the edge of the forest, and believing prior events to be merely a dream, he returned to his family home. As time passed, the whispering of "Yig Todh'Gaboth" grew more and more audible in his head. The voice urged him to commit countless unspeakable acts, and the more Jalal resisted, the louder it grew. Jalal's body changed, as does the body of someone growing at his age, but it didn't change the same as other boys in the village. He grew taller, at a remarkable pace in fact, but he did not grow harder of muscle and wider of stature. Instead, his body became increasingly slender and frail in appearance. His face did not get rougher and heavy, but smoothed and soft looking. Certain organs of his even retreated, contrary to their normal behavior in this period, and seemed to vanish, making him out to be a natural eunuch. Jalal was ostracized by the townsfolk, and even their parents looked at them in disgust. "What freak have we brought into this world?" they wondered. At the age of eighteen, Jalal's parents cast them out of their house in the middle of the night. In his rage, he was unable to suppress the voice in his head. He forced himself on the first village woman he saw still on the streets, and was forced out of the town not long after.

Jalal set out, roaming the world, indulging the demands of "Yig Todh'Gaboth" at any opportunity. In doing so, they became more connected to the entity, and were rewarded with extraordinary magical power. They now seek only power, and have lived such ever since. The image of a virtuous, armor clad man held by young Jalal is now a memory only for him to scoff at. Instead, he sees himself one day as "Yig Todh'Gaboth" incarnate, idolizing the primal, unholy power it represents.

Fighting style: Black mana
Drawn out battle is not Jalal's strong suit. They primarily employ bursts of magic power through self sacrifice of their blood. To this end, they carry a sharp sacrifical blade which they could, in a dire situation, employ for close-quarters combat. Jalal can also use invocations and ritual to unleash stronger attacks, but it takes time to prepare and isn't suited for fast-paced combat.

 

[Resting Witch Face]

Reason for imprisonment:
Unlawful use of Mana, destruction of property, dismissal of basic human rights, multiple counts of magically induced rage and coma as well as the sheer number of abandoned tabs, legendary throughout all taverns in the land.

Name: Yondyr Mont-Cryzen Alphus the Third esq. , the Yellow

Physical appearance: Standing at five feet and three inches, most would assume that he is aphysically useless man. However, Alphus relies on his thorough knowledge of the arts of Wizardry to survive in such a brutal place, as well as common know-how and genuine luck.


Life before The Arena:
Alphus spent his life dedicated to the craft whilst his classmates lived meaningful lives. While they were off partying and finding a loved one, Alphus was studying the blade (of knowledge). At some point he considered how much he had lost leading a life full of nothing but pursuit of knowledge, and he came to realize that with the power he wielded it was a worthy trade, and he had nothing to regret at all.

Nowadays, he would say that he peaked right then and there. From that point on his years upon years of magical study were reduced to mere party tricks, and slowly but surely he faded from peoples minds as just another gimmicky, supposedly wise, old man wizard.

So naturally, instead of living the rest of his life in relative seclusion he instead decided to find a new study. What kind of spell hadn't he learned? Well, it was the kind that left you stumbling after casting it, the kind that numbed the brain. The kind you find at the bottom of a bottle.

Eventually he succumbed to his rampant mind and went mad, raving endlessly about how magic nowadays was so much more flashy and unnecessary.

Combat Type: Pure Blue Mana, specializing in long range take downs and summoning. However, this does not mean he is helpless in close quarters combat.
​