[Alien Earth] Alea Iacta Est

[Uzumaki]

The World Warrior Federation has come as far north as the City for the first time, and the local tribes are treating this honor with all the solemnity it demands. In the greatest show of cooperation the tribes have been able to muster since the expulsion of the Metro Police State, they were able to construct a magnificent amphitheater out of the ruins of a holy place the old books call by arcane names like "Skydome" and "Roger's Center". It is held together with duct tape and hope, and will likely crumble to a heap weeks after the federation moves on to the next settlement. For now, however, it is awe-inspiring.

In the center of this amphitheater, surrounded by thousands of seats, is a wrestling ring made of wood, street signs, and hemp rope. The WWF brought their own thin mats to cover the floor of the ring and several restored pre-fall metal folding chairs to hide under it.

The Tower Radio tribe moved a great deal of equipment down from the nearby Tower for the occasion, and will be providing a play-by-play. Everyone with a radio within broadcast range will likely be tuned in.

After all the planning, the hard work and uneasy truces, it is finally happening.

The amphitheater fills up a full two days before the event, all except the reserved seats in the front. Every now and then someone bold would attempt to steal a reserved seat and get shot full of particle bolts. Merchants in the employ of Honest Ed sell incredibly overpriced food and drink, the only thing sustaining the people in the cheap seats. Any merchant not paying a tax to Honest Ed is run out by thugs and/or witches in Ed's employ.

A few hours before the event the last of the blood-spattered reserved seats is filled. The noise and stink of the crowd is overpowering. The motley assortment of individuals represents the breadth of the tribes of the City. Men and women in patched-up pre-fall business suits sit beside nomad gangers wearing goggles, mowhawks, and loincloths. Unwashed mutants, merchant princes, brooding priests and incognito robots all tolerate one another in order to see the show.

Closer to the stage is what passes for the local nobility, mostly pure-strain humans wearing either ceremonial attire or power armor. Armed guards make sure to enforce the three seat gap that separates the reserved seats from the general seating.

All around the outside of the building hundreds of people who couldn't get in are barely kept at bay by guards paid far more than they're worth to miss the show.

Backstage the tension is thick. The WWF has never received a welcome like this. The Priests of Kayfabe have already augured the card for the night, each man knows who he will have to fight in the name of honor and heat. It has been decreed that Rex Dynamite Havoc shall open the show by issuing a challenge to the audience and wrestling a local champion. Failure will mean disgrace in front of the audience, the gravest stain on a wrestler's honor. So it is written, so shall it be.

The show is about to start.

Please include a physical description of your character in your opening post (even if that's all you post for now, I realize not much has happened). Also please indicate whether you are backstage, in the cheap seats, or the in reserved seating area (and if you're in reserved seating or backstage, why). That last bit is the most important piece of information.

 

[Chuggernaut]

Father Bartholomew removed the chinstrap of his warrior's helm and the sacred armor of Captain Rodgers, entrusting them and his weapon to the safety of a Reliquary not unlike those back at the monastery. The Priests of Kayfabe had offered him the use of one of their vacant ones during his meeting with them, and he figured that, judging by the number of armed guards, they'd just murder him either way if they really wanted to, so being unarmed was an acceptable risk to earn their trust.

His ceremonial priest sash, styled to resemble the markings of the Iron Grid, and immaculately maintained green and gold robes were underneath, very well cleaned -- he had availed himself of a soap-maker's services once he arrived in the City so he might make the best impression. He had even brought a gift to show his sincerity: a sheet of metal with a raised lip whose surface spoke to him through his gift, communicating vague memories of excited children but he heard was used by these warriors in their battles.

In honor of the God of Thunder, he had grown his dark hair out long to resemble him and hopefully win his favor, much as he wore the (Fu Manchu) mustache of Captain Rodgers. He would need the favor of all the ancient heroes if he was going to unravel this latest mystery, that of the striped-shirt men he'd seen in a vision. They held such power over gods and monsters alike, their slightest word able to bring them to heel. These newcomers seemed to know something of their background... perhaps they still possessed one of their shirts.

Bart greeted a nearby Priest of Kayfabe with a respectful "First down to you, friend. I am Father Bartholomew, and I have come from the distant land of Green Bay to speak with your people. I believe we have a mutual interest and much to discuss." He traced the symbol of the Holy G on his chest as he spoke.

Yeah, I gave him long hair and a Fu Manchu, kind of like someone else they might know of.

 

[Randall Fragg]

Juggy T took a whiff of jenkim out of an old soda bottle and let out the traditional "whoop whoop" of the Juggalo tribe.
He was a thin, blonde guy with clown face paint, short hair, armor made of old sports equipment, and an assortment of drugs, and he stood in the cheap seats, surrounded by others like him.
"Come one man, let's get this shit going! We need blood for the Dark Carnival!" he called out.

 

[Burned Man]

Music plays as a hush falls over the crowd.

Rex Dynamite Havoc stands backstage hyping himself up for his entrance. He shakes out his hands and hops around to get his blood flowing his long dark brown hair barely contained by his bandanna. He is waiting for the right moment. He erupts out of the curtains as the song reaches the right energy. His entrance is marked with an impressive display of pyrotechnics that rock the very arena itself setting several poor spectators ablaze. But the crowd pays them no mind, this moment belongs to him. He struts down the aisle waving at the crowd and slapping hands with the crowd stopping when appropriate to play the air guitar. His mighty 6' 7" frame towers above the crowd as turns to walk up the steps onto the ring. He shakes the ropes before he lifts them stepping into the arena. He takes off his greatcoat (Decorated with a painting of himself on the back) and feather boa revealing his Slim Jims tank top which he proceeds to tear off revealing his muscular pecs to the assembled masses. He rubs his handlebar mustache as a ref walks up to him to hand him a microphone. He nods his head staring at the crowd as they continue to cheer and he raises a hand for silence. "I stand before you today because I heard that there were some real wrestling fans out in the North. Well I can't tell if you're them. Real Fans would make some REAL noise to show the appreciation this event deserves. Come on let me hear you." He puts a hand to his ear and gestures for the crowd to cheer again. He nods again. "That's better. Now that's a welcome. The World Warrior Federation is proud to be here today, entertaining you folks. I feel the admiration of fans like you and I want you to know its real to me dammit. That's why I'm giving you lucky fans the chance to enter the squared circle underneath this full moon to compete in the crucible of combat with me. So I ask who among you is worthy to step into the ring and engage in this raw warfare?" He removes his aviator sunglasses as he asks the question noticeably scanning the crowd for an answer.

 

[Dollars2010]

The animated sounds of hooting and hollering filled the large ears of the Pembroke Welsh corgi, who posed herself on a chair nearest to the reserved section after wandering the building with much inquisitiveness, having slipped inside like a ghost on soft sound paws.

The trek coming to this amphitheater had been tedious for one with such stumpy legs, but the thought of seeing a strange, rather ceremonial, happening take place perked her interest. She had heard mutters of such an event held by this World Warrior Federation but never had the fortune of seeing one enacted until now. Her maw was tight shut, eyes piercing towards the designated area; curiosity laced with anticipation was eating away at her.

The corgi sat stoic in her seat, taking a moment to scan the patrons around her. Many of the beings surrounding her had a feral look to them, making her feel quite content with the sweater she wore, one that had been knitted by a kind Neo-pagan woman of the Seeds of Yggdrasil tribe to keep her warm, as well as her leather dog collar the a dainty raven skull dangling from it. She didn't associate herself with any specific tribe, finding herself comfortable being an entity of her own lifestyle--never had she come across a creature much like herself anyways.

With a smirk playing on her maw, Nox returned her attention to the arena and eagerly awaited the action.

 

[exball]

All the hollering and rumbling had drawn the attention of a large robot built like a tank with stereos. He was a customized M-36 robot designed to function as a butler/sound-system. The robot liked noise. He decided to check out the large stadium, rolling up on his large tank like treads. "OH HOW EXCITING!" He said to nobody in his tinny, mechanical voice that sounded like it was coming out of a phone. "I HAVEN'T SEEN ONE OF THESE SINCE I WAS BUILT!" Dank bot rolled into the Stadium excited to see an old world reconstruction. Upon entering the large stadium he was immediately intrigued by the man shouting into the microphone. "WHAT AN IMPRESSIVE AMOUNT OF NOISE HE CAN MUSTER! IT'S VERY IMPRESSIVE FOR A FLESHIE TO BE SO LOUD WITH HIS PITIFUL ORGANIC VOCAL DEVICES!"

 

[HG 400]

In the bustling backstage of the ring, Hollywood Superstar Mel Gibson (y'all should know what he looks like by now) kept to his own assigned area, steadily pumping the hand-crank on his cathode-ray motion picture capturing machine. He'd promised the elder bishops of Rawlestown evidence of the heathenous savagery of the profligates. The blood, the sweat and the primal carnality of this ritual, he would capture it all and edit it into a blockbuster extravaganza, both entertaining and educational, to show the young and naive of Rawlestown just how filthy and violent and repulsive the heathens truly were. It was costly to get such concessions from the money-grubbing, probably-Jewish organisers of this event, but he'd talked his way into it with charm and aplomb, and now the likenesses of the hellbound were forever his, to edit into unflattering propaganda at his leisure. He hoped for blood.

 

[Uzumaki]

Just going to dick around until everyone has had a chance to make an introductory post.

Bart greeted a nearby Priest of Kayfabe with a respectful "First down to you, friend. I am Father Bartholomew, and I have come from the distant land of Green Bay to speak with your people. I believe we have a mutual interest and much to discuss." He traced the symbol of the Holy G on his chest as he spoke.

The priest wore a decorative ceremonial face mask, like all the Priests of Kayfabe. They would rather die than be seen without it. He also wore a great sweeping cape, huge boots, a tight spedo, and exactly nothing else.

"We understand you are also learned in the wisdom of the people from before the fall, the golden race who brought wrestling to Earth from the heavens. We are always willing to teach and to learn. If you would truly know us, watch the ceremony tonight. This is what we believe and who we are. You can stand with us beside the ring, an excellent view."

Music plays as a hush falls over the crowd.

The song is approximated by a live band, whose equipment is capable of much volume but little fidelity.

The trek coming to this amphitheater had been tedious for one with such stumpy legs, but the thought of seeing a strange, rather ceremonial, happening take place perked her interest.

There's powerful belief energy here, you can feel it. If you could find a way to tap into what's happening you could probably harvest this power as mana.

All the hollering and rumbling had drawn the attention of a large robot built like a tank with stereos. He was a customized M-36 robot designed to function as a butler/sound-system.

Did we decide who owns Dank Bot? In his backstory it's implied he has an owned, and it seems like a no brainer that it should be a PC.

 

[exball]

Did we decide who owns Dank Bot? In his backstory it's implied he has an owned, and it seems like a no brainer that it should be a PC.

Dank Bot is currently in-between masters after accidentally knocking his last one into a giant waffle iron.

 

[Chuggernaut]

Bart bowed deeply in the way of his church, on one knee with both hands palms-in on the ground (like holding a field goal kick). "That is most kind of you," he said. "I hope we learn much from each other. Your arena is most magnificent, and I hope that one day we see the sacred fortress of the Iron Grid rebuilt to such majesty."

 

[Surtur]

Ulfberht sat patiently in the audience. Events like this always drew crowds, and with that, those who would take advantage of them. His long red haid and massive red beard complimented his, weell massive frame. At 7'2 he was usually the largest individual around and he always managed to stand out. He knew he would have to wait, so he munched on some popcorn and took in the show.

 

[Uzumaki]

"I hope we learn much from each other. Your arena is most magnificent, and I hope that one day we see the sacred fortress of the Iron Grid rebuilt to such majesty."

"I wish we could take credit for it, but the spirit moved the local tribes to build this grand temple to receive us. Come, let me show you to the ringside."

The Priests of Kayfabe take you with them as they assume their rightful positions by the ring.

If it wasn't for the din of the crowd, the thump of the extra low-fi music, some of your might have heard the sound of motorcycles roaring up. You almost certainly would have heard the sound of gunfire, the screams of the riff-raff outside scattering like cockroaches, and perhaps even the wet noise the guards made just before they died.

"That's better. Now that's a welcome. The World Warrior Federation is proud to be here today, entertaining you folks. I feel the admiration of fans like you and I want you to know its real to me dammit. That's why I'm giving you lucky fans the chance to enter the squared circle underneath this full moon to compete in the crucible of combat with me. So I ask who among you is worthy to step into the ring and engage in this raw warfare?" He removes his aviator sunglasses as he asks the question noticeably scanning the crowd for an answer.

The performance is interrupted by a loud pop, like an explosion, and suddenly the motorcycle noises are close enough to be heard over the crowd. Through the entrances and down the aisles come four men on motorcycles carrying coil rifles. They hoot and holler as they shoot at nothing in particular. The audience cheers, assuming this is part of the show.

One of the men rides his motorcycle right to the center of the amphitheater and up onto the ring beside Rex. On the back of his vehicle is tied a large loudspeaker, and he picks up a mic connected to it. The man has pure white hair and a feathery getup not unlike a full body boa.

"Let me tell you something-" he starts, but the crowd is too loud. He has to start again.

"Let me tell you something! I am getting SICK... and TIRED... of hearing about the World Warrior Federation. This motley collection... of thugs and ne'er-do-wells," the audience boos "stumble drunk into town and you hicks roll out the red carpet?" they boo harder, "If you're impressed... by the likes of these... then you're going to lose your tiny minds... when you see the glory... of the World Championship Warriors. WOOOOOOO!"

The Priests of Kayfabe are losing their shit. This was clearly not planned.

 

[Burned Man]

Rex stands there shaking his head and making "can you believe this guy" gestures for the crowd. He knows it is only proper to let him have his monologue, for that is part of the art of wrestling. "Brother, if you think that the ECW is even a fart in the wind compared to the Federation you are surely mistaken." He places his hand on the contender's shoulder and makes a sweeping gesture of the crowd. "Now all these people didn't come because they knew you were going to be here, they came to see a real display of warriors not the rejects and brawlers of the so called Championship. Now if you want to try and wrest this belt from my clutches you are more then welcome to try but you. will. be. leaving. in a. BODY BAG!" He makes sure to get in the opponent's face as he speaks.

 

[Dollars2010]

As Nox's satellite ears swiveled about, sensing a vibrant amount of energy thriving in this building, something she could use to her advantage. The substance was mana, a property that was necessary for her unusual practices when it came to her powers over life and death. It was then when an abrupt explosion accompanied by gunfire brought the corgi out of her concentration.

With a whine of annoyance as she furrowed her brows, she snapped her attention to the scene that lie before her and narrowed her eyes as she tried to make sense of what was going on. The crowd didn't appear to be bothered as it seemed to be part of the brutal ritual, and so Nox figured that that as well. Two clashing tribes, the World Championship Warriors and the World Warrior Federation, were involved in this ceremony, both bringing a great amount of energy as the performance took place.

Her dark eyes watched as the muscular man representing the WWF gestured to his belt in a taunting manner, presuming that was what this ritual was all about. Nox cocked her head to the side and then to the other, very intrigued.

 

[Uzumaki]

"Brother, if you think that the ECW is even a fart in the wind compared to the Federation you are surely mistaken."

"WCW!" the man corrects.

"Now all these people didn't come because they knew you were going to be here, they came to see a real display of warriors not the rejects and brawlers of the so called Championship. Now if you want to try and wrest this belt from my clutches you are more then welcome to try but you. will. be. leaving. in a. BODY BAG!" He makes sure to get in the opponent's face as he speaks.

The effeminately dressed middle aged wrestler laughs. He is still holding his coilgun.

"This isn't... a wrestling match... What this is... is... an execution!"

Everyone in the audience or in or around the stands (basically everyone besides Mr. Gibson) roll initiative and link to your result. Initiative is 1d6 + Agility. You can also post a combat action if you like or wait and see how things look by the time your turn comes up.

There are three other WCW warriors on motorcycles at the north, west and eastern entrances. The warrior in the center of the ring came up from the south.

Meanwhile, backstage, Andre the Literal Giant and Vampire Jake the Vampire Snake bash in the flimsy door to the room Vince McMan was given to use as an office. Several other apparent traitors begin to round up the remaining loyal WWF wrestlers and management.

Mel Gibson, however, has escaped notice hidden away as he is. He can hear the chaos going on outside the room he's in. This kind of duplicity is just the thing his film needs. If only they could be provoked to violence, that would really capture the mood of the moment.

 

[Surtur]

Bastards. It was one thing to be into competing, this was something completley else. He would not let this stand. Ulfberht draws his balde and with a great bellow he shouts

"BY THE HAND OF TYR!"

And he charges into battle.

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4754538/
Ulfberht Initiative: 9

 

[Burned Man]

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4754548/
Roll result 6 + 3 agility
Rex initiative: 9

 

[Dollars2010]

This doesn't feel quite right, Nox thought to herself as she rose to her paws when more burly, muscular beings showed up, a couple more mounted on what were known as motorcycles. Thick tension hung in the air and she felt that this was not part of the ritual anymore. Her ears flattened back as she sat up on her haunches to get a better view.

Curse her stumpy stature.

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4754555/
1d6+2 → [4,2] = (6)
Nox initiative: 6

 

[Chuggernaut]

Initiative is 4 (2 + 2 agi)

This never would have happened with the Golden Caravan... Bart thought to himself, eyeing the path backstage where he had stored his weapon and armor. Attempting to blend in with the crowd of high-class guests in the reserved seats, he began trying to plan a route.

Going to wait and see what my situation is once my turn comes up.

 

[exball]

http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/4754858/
4+1agl=5.