The Ratings War-Combat-Oriented Battle Tournament

[The Sorrow]

Well, this isn't your standard RP. This is an OCBT (Original Character Battle Tournament). The rules of these are basically: You create a character. You and your opponent each depict your character defeating theirs. Whoever has the most entertaining entry wins.
The rules are: you each write a short story describing your character beating your opponents.
http://thecolosseum.deviantart.com/journal/14111731/ is an OCBT done with art. Most of the rules are the same. Many fights will have some modifier I will think of.
The pen is mightier than the sword. The best writer wins. The time commitment is less than an RP, so it will be easier to manage.
There will be 15 entries allowed (I will be number 16). I will also need three unbiased judges to decide the winner of each fight.
Most characters are allowed, as long as they are not fancharacters or Mary-Sues. The stronger they are, the more entertaining your opponent's underdog victory will be. Monsters, demons, aliens, elementals, humans, almost anything is allowed.
If you want to join, you need a character reference sheet and an intro by the 22nd. The intro describes how your character got into the tournament. They can either find out about it or the big bosses, Hugo and Mr. Grant (my OCs who are running the tourney), can rope them in by hook or by crook.

THE BEGINNING:
Hugo Armstrong was not a happy man. The ratings were down once again. He pressed the intercom.
"Grant, get in here."
A minute later, a well-dressed man with a face so blank it may as well have been carved from marble entered.
"Grant, would you care to explain why the hell half our viewers are gone?! We've been the number one network for fighting for as long as I've been alive."
"Sir, that new network has unregulated combat, uncensored blood, and enough severed limbs to turn a hundred worms into centipedes. Classic boxing and wrestling can't stand up to that."
"What do you suggest, Grant?"
"There are a lot of freaks out there that they don't let fight. How about letting them fight?"
A smile spread across Armstrong's face.
"Hell, not even the bloodbath on that upstart channel will top that! Do whatever you can, Grant. Anyting you can do to get the nastiest fighters in the world. Don't worry about legality, just do it."
Grant nodded solemnly.
"And the arena?"
"Where it started. This will be gladiatorial combat! We're going to fight in the Colosseum of Rome! I'll get some guys to renovate it a bit so audiences can sit in and watch. It should take about six months. Until then, get all the freaks you can possibly find."
Grant nodded and walked out. He immediately grabbed his cellphone and doubled his life insurance. He knew that the kinds of people he would be talking to wouldn't be too kind.

Alright, let's see if this gets off the ground. Winner gets to pick the next setting and restrictions.

 

[The Sorrow]

Both single fighters and duos are allowed. Here is my character (you don't need this much detail, but I like to write.

Name: Erik Long
Moniker: "The Dread"
Occupation: Assassin
Age: 26
Height: 6'1
Weight: 200 lbs.
Weapons: Longsword, .454 Casull Semi-Auto.
Clothes: Black helm with visor, breastplate, short-sleeved shirt and pants.
Well-built, Brown hair, brown eyes.

Erik's father, Will, is a geneticist who was working on curing hemophilia. He managed to isolate the part of the disease that prevented blood from coagulating and reversed-engineered it. After presenting the cure, he worked on his own time to use his findings to create a gene that would allow somebody's blood to coagulate instantly both inside and outside the body, preventing hemorrhaging and bleeding out. He perfected it after a year.
Realizing the potential for an assassin that could stay standing after being shredded by bullets, he used the gene, mixed with his own DNA, and impregnated his wife. She gave birth to Erik nine months later. Nobody outside of the Long household knows of his existence (Will told his family that his wife had miscarried at 8 months). Since then, Will has trained him in every form of combat known to man. Though Erik does not have any formal education, he has a keen tactical mind. His father plans to loan him to governments for use as an assassin.
Strengths: High pain tolerance.
No fear of bleeding.
Fast and strong.
Keen tactical mind.
Weaknesses: Cannot regenerate tissue, bone, or muscle.
Nearsighted; relies on prescription glass in visor to see.
High pain tolerance can lead him to inadvertantly aggravate wounds.
Cannot save destroyed organs, greatly damaged heart, or damaged brain.

Intro:
Will Long was startled by the knocking on his door. He hadn't had visitors outside of the milkman in ten the years since he'd retired and his wife had died. He opened the door to find a tall man in a suit with a blank face.
"What do you want?"
"I know about Erik," was the reply.
Will stepped back as if he had been struck. He motioned the man inside.
As they sat in the living room, Will poured two cups of whiskey. As he drank, he began to talk.
"What do I need to do to keep you quiet?"
"I just need to borrow him for a while."
"What's to stop me killing you to shut you up?"
"My boss knows as well and will have this place surrounded by police in five minutes."
Will took a larger sip.
"So what exactly is it you need?"
"We are holding a fighting tournament and would like to see what Erik can do."
Will nodded.
"Alright, he's this way."
They walked into the kitchen to find a man with short hair and an impassive face drinking coffee. He looked at Grant, then at Will, and blinked twice, the signal for "I can kill him before he reaches the door." Will blinked twice, telling him not to worry.
Grant sat down and extended his hand. Erik didn't move. Will grinned.
"He's not too social."
Grant stood up again and handed Will a card.
"Rome's Colosseum. Five months from today. He can bring weapons."
He left. Erik walked over to his closet and pulled out his mask,a black piece with a leering grin painted on and a visor. He set it back down and grabbed his gun and sword. He stepped towards the door.
"Where are you going?"
Erik turned around.
"To practice."
Will nodded. This was going to be entertaining.

 

[Ultrajoe]

EDITED FOR SERIOUSNESS!!!!!!

Given that it's about writing skills, i think this character could actually work, feel free to shout at me.

The Ultra Joe.
7'
500lb in full armor
Two Handed Broadsword.
See Avatar.
No Features, Helmet Technically part of flesh at this point.

Born when a gorgon locked eyes with a basilisk, The Ultra Joe suffers no fools and makes fools of us all.

Clad in heavy armor and wilding a generic broadsword, the Ultrajoe fights on the principal that brute force only fails through under-commitment and restraint. He is a devout anarchist and deeply hates any form of institution. His past is cloudy, but he is always on the move and seems to regret past actions, never discussing his previous doings or adventures.

He is a creature of pride, each night he polishes his equipment with single minded determination to purge all dirt from its surface, and suffers not a single imperfection. He sees his possessions as a part of him, in fact he rarely, if ever, removes it and guards anything he owns with a ferocity some would consider excessive. Adding to this his hatred of bandits or looters... and it can be assumed he has been wronged by them in the past, a fact reinforced by the scars on his body, arrow wounds and innumerable stab scars.

His first appearance as we know him was at a border skirmish outside a village in the cold northlands, when the town he was lodging at was raided by a marauder clan, The Ultra Joe held the town for a day and a half along with some armed citizens before succumbing to a wave of armored troops. When reinforcements arrived he had limped off, but townsfolk descriptions of the armored knight spread, and when he arrived at a fort in the south, he was apprehended.

As he had committed no crime, he was released with all his possessions, but he was watched for some time. His journey south was a subject of rumor, and when he reached the open plain between the regions gigantic twin forests, he simply set up camp and remained there for weeks.

He was a subject of discussion for much time, before an alliance of marauder clans met the kings forces on the plain he sat upon. He had been awaiting the seemingly unpredictable battle for almost a month, and screaming righteous fury he killed his way through the marauders and slew their leader. When he was challenged by the victorious royal forces on how he had known about the attack, he replied simply that he served a higher power. when attacked he flew into the wilderness.

Unseen for months now, a wanted man by both Government and Outlaw alike he waits his next call to arms.

=============================

There, a short bio that serves also as summation of the character.

 

[000Ronald]

Here's my entry for the Super-stabby deathmatch.

Name: The Axi Sutacross
Monker: Master Sutacross (to some)
Height: 5'7
Weight: 153 lbs
Age: unknown; records of him exist as early as 1217, however.
Occupation: none (formerly soldier)
Strengths: Knows various forms of martial arts, genius IQ, very tactical mind, unusually strong (strong enough to lift a grown man over his head), very fast.
Weaknesses: Is mute, cannot form a fist.
Equipment: Longsword (named Merrik), blue mail shirt (sleeveless), black jeans, clogs, spiked braclet on left wrist, silver sash around waist (hangs over sword)

To say Sutacross is an enigma is to indulge in hyperbole. Seemingly a young adult, records of The Axi Sutacross exist as far back as 1217, making him almost 800 years old. He seemingly knows every form of martal arts known to man. And his skills with a sword; to say he is the greatest swordsman who ever lived is not an understatement by any means.

His sword, The Merrik, has been recorded cutting some of the strongest materials known to man; it has also been shown to be able to slice through objects without physically touching them. One of it's more unique properties; if anyone besides The Axi Sutacross tries to wield the blade, it becomes heavy and uwieldly.

The Merrik, its sheath, and Sutacross's mail shirt are made out of a material that, for all intents and purposes, is indestructable.

Current inteligence says that he is living in a small village in china.

Intro:
The representitive walked into the small village. It smelled bad, was dusty, and there were children all over the place; but this is where that swordsman was, and he wanted one of those fat checks. He hoped his information was not mistaken.

"Hello," he said to a small child in chinese. "You there. Could you show me where The Axi Sutacross is?"

The child nodded. He pointed to a young man walking across the road.

"No, no, no, child, The Immortal Sutacross, the man they say has walked the land for hundreds of years?"

The child pointed again to the young man.

Oh well. He would get to the bottom of this.

The representitive walked over to the young man the child had pointed to. "You, you there, good sir, may I have a word with you?"

The young man turned around. Come to think of it, he did match the description; pale skin, long, straight black hair, a sword at one side...but it couldn't be. Master Sutacross was an old man, that's why he was called MasterSutacross.

Shaking off his initial shock, The Representitive said, "Young man, I was wondering if you knew where I could speak to The Axi Sutacross?"

The young man moved his hands in a broad gesture.

"Can't you spe-"

"The Master Sutacross says you are talking to him."

The Representitive turned around, facing a man that appeared to be in his sixties. "This," The Representitve said. "This is Master Sutacross?"

The old man nodded. The Representitive turned around. "Please forgive my rudness before, Master Sutacross. I humbly beg an audience with you, in private."

Sutacross shook his head, then gestured to the people around him. "Anything you can say to me you can say to these people." The old man translated.

"Uh, very well; There is a tournament, to be held in Rome in several days, between the greatest warriors in the world. I am here to offer you an invatation to this event."

Sutacross thought for a moment, then nodded, walking the way The Representitive came. "Master Sutacross has accepted your offer, and will travel with you to Rome." The old man said. "If this is a trick though, he will kill you and everyone associated with you."

Apologies for the wall of text; apparently, I like writing, too.

 

[The Sorrow]

Honestly, I would prefer something a tad more serious, Joe. You can still have silly aspects, but keep it a bit more grounded.

 

[Fire Daemon]

I wouldn't mind being a Judge if the position is open.

 

[The Sorrow]

Go ahead. Would you mind making a referee character?

 

[Fire Daemon]

Name: Jack Green
Moniker: Judgemental Jack, The Ref
Height: 7'2"
Weight: 185 Kg
Age: 32
Occupation; Action Games Referee
Weapons: His body, referee whistle and occasionally the odd chair.
Clothes: Black pants, a black and white stripped shirt and matching bandanna.
Appearance: Huge Frame, blond hair, green eyes and a scar running down the left side of his face.

Formerly a professional wrestler, he lost his job when the sport become unpopular. He had the choice of taking part in more dangerous sports or refereeing those sports. He chose the latter and became an official referee. Since then he has refereed a wide variety of sports and greatly grew in popularity when he was (secretly) paid to fight two tennis players during a final at Wimbledon. Since then the press has given him the image of the most violent referee in the history of sport. While this could not be further from the truth, Jack uses this image to guarantee future employment.

Intro: Jack sat in his locker room, his whistle in his hand. He muttered the referee's code and donned his bandanna.

"Today is a good day to referee death" he told himself, proud that he had made a Philosophical statement, however he was disappointed that no one could hear it.

 

[Reasonable Doubt]

Name: Nathan Abbot
Moniker: "Ghost"
Occupation: Assassin
Age: appears 18
Height: 6'5
Weight: 185lbs.
Weapons: Long-sword, hidden blade under right wrist, throwing knives strapped to his waist, and two Desert Eagles on his belt.
Clothes: Skin tight armor that could in theory absorb a tactical nuclear strike, and made out of diamonds, and regular clothes to wear over it.
Nathan remembers nearly nothing of his human life other than he was a son of a noble in feudal Europe, He was bitten in what he believes in 1118 A.D during the crusades or around their, after one century he hired himself out to the highest bidder as a assassin seeing as he had immense strength, speed, stamina, nearly unkillable save for being decapitated. After thirteen successful assassinations he settled down in England drinking only when he had needed to. When he heard that Columbus had discovered a new land he eagerly thought of the new blood he could sample and was on the first English colony, after a young girl was attacked by Native Americans he smelled her blood and was in the house she was taken to, that triggered his instinct to feed. He utterly destroyed the colony, draining every inhabitant dry within an hour, to make sure no one learned of what he had done he burnt the entire area down. He ran into the wilderness only feeding on the occasional Native American and settler. After two hundred years he came out of hiding and hired himself out as a assassin again using his own methods, he took many live within a century and became a legend in the underground assassin community seeing as he spanned nearly five centuries, when he was hired to kill another vampire he found it distasteful and killed the man who assigned it to him. During the late eighteen hundreds he was given an assignment to kill Abraham Lincoln but seeing as the man would die the next day he waited for booth to do the dirty work, and took the money. He lived a quite secluded life in the back country of Michigan. When prohibition hit he was once more called upon to assassinate men the mobsters did not want meddling in their affairs. When the depression hit he was the richest man on the planet, during the war he went into a deep sleep to wait until the population was more robust. When he awoke it was the 50's and the cold war was in full swing he was contracted by both sides to do assassinations, and one was to assassinate Kennedy during his stay in office he used a scapegoat, to fire one shot and he took a position in a building while, Nathan took up a position on the grassy knole, he used a dart gun loaded with poison to kill him. As soon as the cold war ended he was contracted by the US government to be their top operative, he did his job well instigating revolts where necessary, assassinations, and securing nuclear arms. He soon got tired off this process and put himself back on the open market, but not after stealing a suit of armor from the United States Armory that was in Area 51.
Strengths: Nearly a millennium of pain has made him immune to it.
No fear of death.
Can lift a two ton car over his head with little effort, can run at nearly two hundred miles an hour, skin as tough as titanium.
Does not fear harm seeing as he can regenerate anything over a time span of a few days.
Weaknesses: Needs to feed more often the more he does any physical activities seeing as he needs no sleep, food, water, air only blood to use for energy.
Does not like to draw blood from opponents in fear of going into frenzy and killing everyone nearby.
Cannot go into bright daylight without his suit for the UV damages his skin irreparably.
Goes into a coma when a limb is cut off to regenerate it.

Intro.
Nathan liked dealing with his enemies up close because if he was thirsty he could always feed on them. "Remember, you job is to execute him and dump the body" A voice said inside the suits mask. "I know" Nathan said calmly as he latched onto the ceiling and crawled above the cameras ripping the cords out of each one he passed. After a few minutes of repeating this process he came across a guard standing by a door, he wondered what was beyond it so he crawled above the guard and grabbed him by the shoulders hoisting him up, the area near his mouth the mask curled back, he bit him and drained him on the spot to top off his tanks. Dropping the now limp body he looked at the steel door and ripped it off its hinges. He walked into the room and he saw that there were no lights, but that did not hinder him as he saw clearly in the darkest environments. As Nathan walked into the room he saw it was empty save for a man tied to a chair, a cold voice then echoed in the room as he heard a hiss and a door slid into the place of the one he ripped down. "Now looks like we have the most famous assassin Ghost to come and kill me" the voice said while lights sprang on in the room and he saw that their were black doors all around him. "Now lets see how you fair against my pets" The man said while each door opened revealing a pack of Doberman in each. "Childs play" Nathan whispered as the dogs rushed him. He grabbed the ones nearest to him and crushed their necks, throwing the dogs bodies at the others he simply repeated this process until all the dogs where dead. "What the hell are you?" the voice said and Nathan could hear the fear in his voice. "I will show you" He said walking over to the man tied to the chair, the mask around his mouth pulling back to reveal his mouth and the sharp bone white teeth and canines. He picked the man up and drained him, Nathan then remembered to breath and he smelt a chemical in the air and he barely heard a nearly inaudible hissing. Nathan rushed at the door and kicked it down sending the three inch thick door two feet into a concrete wall. He walked calmly out of the room and saw that he was surrounded by guards. Each was holding a G36 and they were all aimed at him. Nathan drew his longsword. "Now I think this is an unfair fight" He said while a smile under the mask. Before the men could breathe he had sliced each and everyone one of their guns in half. "Now unless you want to be put together with..." Nathan stopped as he felt something cold and metallic press against the back of his head. "Time to die Vampire" a voice said and Nathan could hear the insanity in it. "Not likely" He said while kicking behind him sending whoever was behind in into the ceiling. Nathan drew his two Desert Eagles and said in a calm tone. "Who's next?" He said while the men tried to turn and run. Nathan calmly put a round in each and everyone of their heads.

After a few minutes of fighting guards and going through the odd room he reached his target. He could smell the fear coming off of him and his scent was that of oil. Nathan quietly walked towards him and touched him on the shoulder. That is when he knew something was wrong, the man had no heartbeat he walked in front of him and found that they stood a dead man up with a bomb strapped to his chest and "You have been chosen" written in English while the counter just clicked to zero. Nathan had no time to react, the next thing he knew he was blown out of the building and into the bay of a waiting helicopter. Nathan was quickly strapped down and had a titanium shell put over him. A joyous voice said. "Welcome Nathan Abbot, yes we know who you are so that is why we gave you that phony assassination we just wanted to confirm what we thought you were and I must say you blew all of our expectations. Let me just get down to the jist of things, first yes we know how to kill you there is a shaped charge in front of your head right now and if you try to escape it will kill you, second you have been chosen from among the many greatest warriors around the world to fight in the Arena in Rome, you will be given what ever you desire once you do as we say" The voice then cut off and Nathan was left to ponder his thoughts.

I apologize for the wall of text.

 

[000Ronald]

...wall of text.

Apparantly everyone but The Ultra Joe enjoys a good description.

I apologize to anyone who has to read all this crap.

 

[The Sorrow]

Hmm...this doesn't seem to be garnering much interest...

 

[000Ronald]

Hmm...this doesn't seem to be garnering much interest...

Disapointing; I've been winning literature awards since I was in the third grade, and I could do this well.

Which reminds me: when I think of short story, I think ten, fifteen pages. How long should me beating the crap out of everyone be?

 

[The Sorrow]

Errr...I meant "wall-of-text" size combat, like as big as RD's entry.

 

[000Ronald]

Gocha. If we get more people, this could be awesome.

 

[wesdabigman]

Entry
Name: Ivan Goranovich
Height: 6?6?
Weight: 215 lbs
Age: 27
Occupation: legally none (technically cat burglar and hired muscle)
Strengths: can blend into environment in outdoor fight, mastered boxing and CQC, extremely agile, deadly.
Weaknesses: um?he?s a big target I suppose
Equipment: dagger, stealth suit, sunglasses, revolver
His residence is in Moscow, Russia, his homeland, but he is a known traveler.

Intro thing:
The representative from the network certainly was confused. When he was told to recruit fighters for this tournament, he expected to go to a battleground or the streets or somewhere dangerous. Instead he found himself standing in front of the door of a quaint little house in Moscow. The last few interviews hadn?t gone so well, and he was threatened with being fired if he couldn?t find a real interest to the program. He needed this one to work. He rang the bell. Suddenly, a large Russian man opened the door ?Кто вы?? The representative didn?t speak Russian so he tried to signal non understanding. ?Greetings comrade!? replied the man cheerily, ?How may I be helping you??
?Um?? the rep started, ?I represent the #1 fighting network in the US.? The large Russian had the same blank smile on his face. ?And they are prepared to offer?.? The Russian was wearing a tuxedo and retained his vacuous grin. ?Never mind, I don?t think you?d be interested in this offer, sir.?
Suddenly, two men came from behind the two of them with guns. ?YOU?LL PAY FOR STEALING FROM THE MOB GORANOVICH!? Suddenly, the rep was jerked into the house by the Russian and shoots rang out above them as they hid behind the door. ?Hold that thought, comrade.? Suddenly, Ivan leapt from the door on top of one of the men and stabbed him in the throat with a concealed dagger. The other man fired several times into the Russian, but the Russian rolled out of the way of the bullets. As the man tried to reload his gun, the Russian disarmed him, threw him to the ground and stepped onto his neck. The Russian seemed to think for a moment and then toss the man off his property. As the man ran, the Russian yelled out ?И DON' ВОЗВРАТ T, ВЫ МАЛЕНЬКИЕ ПАНКИ? The Russian walked back to the representative and pulls him from the ground, ?I am sorry, comrade. I am called Ivan Goranovich. Can we talk inside house about your offer?? The representative was tempted pump his fist, but he was satisfied with an under his breath, ?Jackpot!?

 

[The Sorrow]

Nooooooo! Not Page 2!

 

[The Sorrow]

Well, looks like this ain't happening. If one more day goes by with no more entrants, I'm cancelling it.

 

[The Sorrow]

Damn it...
Ah, well. Lock it. It will return in some form later on.

 

[Brett Alex]

Damn it...
Ah, well. Lock it. It will return in some form later on.

Hang on, wait up! Should have checked what this was earlier shouldn't I? Looks like fun and I can submit a character tomorrow, its really waaaaay to late at night for me to do it now, so watch this space... Unless its locked.

 

[Khedive Rex]

If the time commitment wont be overly large, I'd consider playing. If it's going to be a "post a day" sort of thing then I probably won't have the time to devote but if it's just "put in a long story about how you win every now and then" it seems like it'd be fun.