The Cataclysm Lobby [IC]

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Administrator
Mentor
Nexus GM
The Cataclysm arena grounds were a spectacle to behold and the stands were already packed with spectators drawn by the battles to come. The arena itself was modestly small, given that the battlegrounds would take place in simulated environments, and a large display screens hung overhead of it to give real time coverage of the combatants. Personal viewing screens were also available to the spectators in the stands.

Beneath the stands was the lobby, where the contestants had already gathered to await the start of their matches. One could hear the roar of the crowd just beyond the threshold, and feel the anticipation charged within the air.

From across the realms and verses, they had been drawn here to take part in the Cataclysm: a yearly event that would pit fighters from far and wide against one another.
 
Lounging in a chair, Rhyker offered a wicked smirk to the others present looking his way. The archer currently held his symbiotic bow with its string severed, the arms bent back against his forearm like an outlandish gauntlet, quivers covered by the ragged cloak he wore with his armor. The opportunity to "murder" with gleeful abandon was too good to pass up, letting off some steam at a recent pursuit turned sour a pleasurable idea. And who knew?

They might have some decent loot to tear from them when they all went their separate ways. And what better way to gauge it's worth than to see it in action?

The thought made him chuckle, an ugly sound as he relaxed.
 
One of the first to wait in the lobby was the metallic and statuesque alien, clad from head to toe in ebon plate. Quite a few fans had flocked to the odd contestant, as a veritable 'dark horse' in the competition, one whose anonymity and foreign nature only boosted her fame. Though, away from the crowds, the Hoplite has her helmet instead held in the crook of her left arm, and her armaments have been left elsewhere. They were not strictly necessary here, and if necessary, she could make her way to them.

The odd sounds coming from the sitting 'archer' drew Kell's attention, shimmering amber orbs pivoting in their sockets to view him. She, however, remained silent.
 
After a long wait the tournament's date has finally come, as Raviel stepped in the lobby room where he was told to wait for his battle, he could see other participants.

So I wasn't the first to come? Well, it doesn't really matter, I have more important things to think about right now.

He approached one of the corners of the room and kept a certain distance from the other oponents currently on the room. Thoroghly analysing his opponents' actions, he remained still laying his back against the wall along with one of his feet. The atmosphere within the room was dense...

Atmosphere theme:
 
The amount of glee that Freya was feeling at the moment was enough to almost radiate off of her body. Everything about this place brought a smile to Freya's face, not that anyone would notice through the helm. This was a place filled with what she herself would consider oddities. There were things that she had recognized, but there were mostly things she had never seen. Things that she had never expected. This place was like a treasure trove. It is a shame that she cannot take much with her when she continues her journey from here. Still, the whole thing was quite a thing to behold.

But she beheld it anyway, sitting down, cross-legged with a large, heavy-looking bag right next to her. She was watching the strange and wonderful people around her, observing them for oddities of their own. They were all so different, and yet they were all so very interesting. Freya was glad that she had decided to join this tournament. She probably wasn't as much a fighter as some of the other contestants, but she did have a curiosity, and this tournament had certainly piqued it.
 
Dallas straightened from his work on the ATCP's rear thrusters, scanning the lobby for any new arrivals. It was still relatively sparse, only a few contestants spread throughout the room, all of them either excited for the battles ahead or clearly trying to hide that they were. He couldn't pretend like he wasn't feeling the same, how fascinating the whole situation was becoming. Some of the contestants looked quite intimidating, like the kid with the gothic cathedral decoration stuck on his arm or the dinette set that walked like a woman in the middle of the room, but he didn't see any evidence they had the power to tear through the ATCP's heavy armor, so what was he missing about these people? He didn't even know which one was his first opponent, all he had was a name.
Wait, he thought, smacking his forehead with an open palm, That's all I need. He stood straight up once more, peaking over the armored hull at the other contestants, "Hey," he called to the room in general, "Which one of you is," he glanced back at the form he was given upon arrival, now resting on a bare table behind him, "...Raviel?"
 
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At that moment, mighty, metallic 'thwomps' echo through the room, until a huge, lumbering monstrosity entered the room. It looked and dressed vaguely human, despite its ape posture and emerald green skin. It chewed its own cud, 'his' canine teeth massive and yellow, and he was hunched entirely over. He still stood atleast a foot over the others. The monster has only one natural arm, and judging by his slow, robotic walk; not much else. He looked over all the contestants in the lobby.
 
As silent as a bat, Aman entered the lobby of the Cataclysm Tournament with slow and elongated footsteps; the only noise being the clinking and clashing of her dragon plate armor as she did so. She was one of the last few to arrive, and the look on her face suggested that she was rather nonchalant about that. With a quick glance around, she observed the other contestants in the room one by one, her facial features never straying from their characteristically blank look. So this was it, after all. Turning her gaze away from her opponents, the woman stared out into the stands and instead observed those who were eagerly waiting to watch a fight.

She ran a hand through her black hair and then crossed her arms, standing as straight and tall as she could. Which one of these individuals would be her opponent for her first round? That she didn't know, so she took to quietly examining each one, uncaring whether they noticed her gaze or not. Whatever she could find out upon first glance, she attempted to do so. Looking over their armor, their expressions, and any weapons they might have had out.
 
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Garzok lumbered slowly deeper into the room. His walking speed obviously suffered from his augmentations; yet he didn't seem to mind. He was patient. A huge short and wide barreled gun hung on his battery pack, alongside two shotguns with chainsaws attached, and a massive circular saw, all stained by blood of numerous colors. Garzok stood near a seat; it was clear that it would not hold his weight. He just smiled calmly, glaring at the others with malevolence. His glare bounced from one contestant to another; He was one of the biggest fighters here! Garzok chuckled evilly.

He looked toward the back of the room, where something caught his eye; A large machine! He took it apart in his head, trying to reverse engineer it by looking at it; a little game of his. It was quite clear that Garzok was enamored by machines, although seemingly not the subtle, digital ones that brought him here. He clearly enjoyed heavy devices of war.

"Aye Pinky! In da back wif da Robotics! Does yer lil' gargant dere got a name?" Garzok slurred, not used to this language.
 
They scarcely had to wait any time at all before a tournament host approached the gathering combatants bearing the announcement that many had been anticipating. He was a young looking man wearing a headset and bearing a clipboard that he glanced at before looking over the gathering contestants.

"My name is Christof Howell. In just a few minutes our first round contestants will make their way into the arena and take their places at their designated points. Once synced into the virtual realm, this sound will mark the start of the match."

A resounding gong echoed through the lobby, identifying the noise they would be listening for once they were in place.

"Be warned that injuries accrued within the virtual reality are mitigated, but not eliminated. Medical personnel will be on standby for those that require it at the completion of your match. First round contests, Raviel vs Dallas, Gamber vs Freya, Aman vs Garzok, and Kindra vs Sarika. You have five minutes to prepare and make your way out into the arena. May the best fighters be victorious."

Christof then bowed to them before making his way back out.
 
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Aman turned her head only slightly, staring at the man who had just entered the room out of the corner of her eye. He must have been pretty brave, to look so calm in a room full of vicious combatants. She said nothing to his announcement, simply looking away again and seemingly thinking about something. Garzok. That was definitely an ork name, no doubt about it. And who was the only ork in this room? None other than the enormous, trundling green beast that stood across from her; staring at a strange machine as if he were lovestruck by it. Clearly his English wasn't the best. Aman could speak a variety of languages from being to so many different worlds, but his natural one was not one she knew a whole lot about. It didn't matter, because she hadn't planned on making conversation, anyway.

Stretching her arms above her head, the Dragon Priestess took a moment to adjust her armor and make sure that she hadn't forgotten anything. Not that she ever did. All her weapons were waiting to be summoned by their master, hidden in the veil of another dimension. She held her hand out by her side and her main weapon, Dragon's Scale, appeared; clutched tightly in her gloved fingers. Slowly, she lifted the great sword, setting it on top of her armored shoulder with one hand. It was the heavy sort, and as such she wouldn't be able to wield it efficiently without using both hands. Her greaves made booming metallic noises as she strode her way over to the arena, shooting Garzok a look over her shoulder that told him exactly who she was.

Ignoring the rest of the combatants, Aman turned her back to them and entered the arena, syncing herself into the virtual world.
 
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Dallas let out a short sigh as the man left the room again, apparently his opponent wished to remain anonymous. Personally he preferred to know his opponents beforehand that they might better enjoy the battle, but the tactical advantages of ambiguity were undeniable. He shrugged and transferred his stance from the step ladder to the footholds on the rear of the ATCP. Watching the other contestants begin to move renewed the older man's enthusiasm, and he smacked the hull of the vehicle affectionately, "Mary, it's go time." With Dallas still clinging tightly to his holds, the mechanized armor lurched to life, rising from its kneeling position as the intelligence within took stock of its surroundings. It was one of the few full body operations the AI could perform entirely on its own, and after a few seconds the front access hatch slowly opened, the armored hull sliding apart into multiple segments. Dallas waited for the ATCP's left arm to extend parallel to the ground before he leaped off his perch and grabbed hold of it. It was a familiar motion, as familiar to him as the suit's programming, and with one fluid motion Dallas was born into the cockpit. The hatch sealed itself once more, and it Dallas scarcely a second to situate himself and get the craft moving, following the path displayed by the primary viewfinder. To punctuate his exit, Dallas had Mary rationalize a course and fired the thrusters, launching him out of the lobby and into the arena.
 
While everyone seemed intent on making grandiose (and particularly noisy) introductions, the statuesque Hoplite did no such thing. However, she eventually did speak, once others began to filter out of the room. She directed her words towards Rhyker.

"You were not called," Tyra spoke slowly, taking care to enunciate through her alien accent.
 
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Rhyker had watched those others come and go, glancing at each in turn. His countenance as he watched in bemused silence was one of haughty confidence, an arrogant smile curving his mouth wickedly. Mantis's feelers twitched and wriggled as he observed, the symbiotic weapon feeling it's bonded master's bloodlust and responding with avarice desire. Feeling the semi-sentient bow's impatience, he thumped that arm against the chair, focusing a momentary glare at it as he was addressed.

"So I was not, and neither were you," The man replied casually. Grey eyes turned Tyra, the man rising and stretching, his cloak rolling off the quivers thick with the arrows they carried. The blackened armor he wore shone dully under the lobby lights, before he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Does it really matter?"
 
"I am simply curious, that is all," Tyra shrugged her shoulders, then continued to roll the right one a few times, likely trying to stretch the joint. A strange habit she still kept, even though such a thing wasn't strictly necessary anymore. "Your..." The alien fumbled for a few seconds as she searched for the word, "bow, that's what they're called. Your bow," Kell gestured down to where it met Rhyker's hand, "is it attached, or do you still have a hand there?"

She had met beings that used weapons that were parts of their own bodies in similar ways, though they were ususally either infested with parasitic life, or made of circuits and machinery rather than flesh and blood. He certainly seemed like the former.
 
A crooked grin cracked his face. He hefted his left arm, willing Mantis to unfurl. "Oh this? This is my hand."

The arms clacked together, before beginning to raise, stretching a filament between them. A few moments later, the symbiotic weapon was arranged as its shortbow form, bearing distinct insectoid characteristics. This he drew back, testing the draw. Rhyker made a pleased growl in his throat, finding it just to his liking. A normal man would have struggled with his bow's enhanced potency, 250lbs of force.

"Isn't it a beaut?"
 
"It seems, unhealthy," Tyra looked down at the bow, holding back a grimace. She couldn't help but be repulsed, one emotion that did not come easy to the Hoplite. She watched the aberrant thing stretch and open, noting the joints and sinews. If the alien needed to fight him, the thinnest portions would likely snap like twigs if struck solidly.
 
Were he anywhere else in the known universe, Dallas might have worried over the long-reaching effects of the ATCP's loud clanging footfalls as he returned it to the lobby. After some consideration, he had reasoned that every being here was either here to watch the massive vehicle, or attempt to destroy it, so no one would be especially disturbed by it. Upon reaching the lobby, he found he certainly needn't worry about disturbing it's occupants, both of them were impressively intimidating in their own right. The ATCP's main access hatch opened as Dallas returned it to it's previous idle position and he was given a chance to size up the competitors with his own eyes. A fight with the red-eyed boy would certainly be a valuable lesson in weaponry if the arcane instrument on his arm was any indication, but Dallas judged he had plenty to teach the boy about living. The creature standing in the center of the lobby would no doubt prove to be a delightful enigma on the battlefield, and Dallas had no desire to diminish that experience by learning too much of it's nature in a civil environment. "Sorry to interrupt," he called out as the ATCP afforded him an open palm to carry him to the floor. "But I have gone way too long without talking to anyone here, and if that ain't the biggest waste of potential I've ever seen then I'm a goat. What brings folks like you two to a place like this?" he asked, searching about the lobby for some indication of refreshments.
 
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