Setting
Default Location for Fields of Blood-Test Arena
Minimap
northwest |
north |
northeast |
west |
You are here. |
east |
southwest |
south |
southeast |
fantasy is a part of 
Fields of Blood-Test Arena.
2 Characters Here
Scrappa Sorehead [1] I was once a prominent player......Now look at me!
Fast-Heart [0] A man whose speed, far exceeds the beat of his heart.
Start Character Here »
Setting
0.00 INK
"Run, Fast-Heart!" exclaimed Naira.
Against the woman's wishes, he ran toward her voice. Heart wouldn't let his village be overrun with goblins, nor would he let them lay their slimy green paw on his love. He raced off, hurdling over the lunging green men, weaving in and out of the crowds, and shoved a fist in anyone's face that dare get too close; but it was all in vein. As he rounded the corner of a hut, he saw his love being carried into the distance. The distance was too great to travel by foot, but if he managed to get to a horse, he would catch up in no time. But, before he could set this plan in motion, a sudden pain in the back of his head caused him to crumple. Before blacking out, the last thing he saw was a, foul green face sneering at him...
After what felt like seconds and a bad dream, a sickening aroma was filling his nostrils. The growing nausea was enough to wake him from his nightmare. Slowly rising, his head began throbbing, what a fall, I must have had. Heart attributed the pain to the only probable cause, he was just glad to be awake and away from the worst fate possible.
"Naria!? Where are you sweetie? What happened to me?"
Waiting to hear the calm voice and warm touch of his wife, he opened his eyes expecting to take in his wonderful home. But, as the room stop spinning and everything came into focus. Instead of the warm home he thought he was in, a dungeon like cell surrounded him. The room was dark, lit by scattered torches, but he could still clearly see. All around were injured men, donned in battered armor. What is hell was going? Where am I?? Where is Naira??!!
"Sweetie? Ha, that's a first..." answered a strange voice.
The words spoken, was like being thrown into freezing cold waters. They sent a shiver through Fast-Heart's entire body. "You’re a long way from home buddy..." as the voice came again, it drew his attention. The owner was a filthy, snaggletooth, green skinned midget, with beady eyes, and a huge warted nose. The goblin was now moving toward him with something in his hand. Instinctively he reached for where his trusty knives. But, to no avail, they were not there. Figures.
"Whoa, if I wanted to kill ya, wouldn't I have been done it?"
His words held truth. Heart had figured his dream was reality, which meant the goblins had his wife, meaning he would need the goblin alive, either way; friend or foe. Watching the goblin's moves, he saw what he held was only a cloth. He tensed, ready to strike as the cloth made contact with his skin; it seemed he had a cut.
"Ya'see? You had a cut. No harm intended." the goblin grinned.
Smacking the goblins hand away, he barked, "Yeah? Well where is my wife, slimeback?"
"First I'm your sweetie, now I'm a slimeback? *Sigh* You won't get into chambers with that kind of talk." laughed the goblin. "Your wife, Naira, is fine. She will be returned to you once you are done here. Speaking of, it is time to get you out there. Follow me." The goblin walked off toward giant doors just ahead and opened them. As the doors were thrown back, Fast-Heart approached the bright light and the light faded a gruesome scene was revealed.
There on a field of grass and dirt, a small, crazed lunatic scampered downfield with a chainsaw. Ahead of the goblin was a recognizable face, a fierce arch-rival, fleeing with the ball. Tunok? Let's see if that saying of yours is true, 'I can run faster scared, than you can angry'. Before the tribal competitor knew what was going on, his arm had been hacked off by the weapon wielding freak and the ball fell with it. Guess he wasn’t scared enough. Picking up the limb, which still held the ball firmly, the goblin raised it in celebration as he high stepped the trophy into the opponent’s End Zone. Along the way a group of the goblin’s teammates swarmed over another fellow clansman, kicking, biting him clawing him to the ground.
"What inheavens hell's name is this? A fight to the death?"Heart asked in shock and horror.
Chuckling, the goblin answered, "You could call it that... But this -- this is, Blood Bowl."
Against the woman's wishes, he ran toward her voice. Heart wouldn't let his village be overrun with goblins, nor would he let them lay their slimy green paw on his love. He raced off, hurdling over the lunging green men, weaving in and out of the crowds, and shoved a fist in anyone's face that dare get too close; but it was all in vein. As he rounded the corner of a hut, he saw his love being carried into the distance. The distance was too great to travel by foot, but if he managed to get to a horse, he would catch up in no time. But, before he could set this plan in motion, a sudden pain in the back of his head caused him to crumple. Before blacking out, the last thing he saw was a, foul green face sneering at him...
After what felt like seconds and a bad dream, a sickening aroma was filling his nostrils. The growing nausea was enough to wake him from his nightmare. Slowly rising, his head began throbbing, what a fall, I must have had. Heart attributed the pain to the only probable cause, he was just glad to be awake and away from the worst fate possible.
"Naria!? Where are you sweetie? What happened to me?"
Waiting to hear the calm voice and warm touch of his wife, he opened his eyes expecting to take in his wonderful home. But, as the room stop spinning and everything came into focus. Instead of the warm home he thought he was in, a dungeon like cell surrounded him. The room was dark, lit by scattered torches, but he could still clearly see. All around were injured men, donned in battered armor. What is hell was going? Where am I?? Where is Naira??!!
"Sweetie? Ha, that's a first..." answered a strange voice.
The words spoken, was like being thrown into freezing cold waters. They sent a shiver through Fast-Heart's entire body. "You’re a long way from home buddy..." as the voice came again, it drew his attention. The owner was a filthy, snaggletooth, green skinned midget, with beady eyes, and a huge warted nose. The goblin was now moving toward him with something in his hand. Instinctively he reached for where his trusty knives. But, to no avail, they were not there. Figures.
"Whoa, if I wanted to kill ya, wouldn't I have been done it?"
His words held truth. Heart had figured his dream was reality, which meant the goblins had his wife, meaning he would need the goblin alive, either way; friend or foe. Watching the goblin's moves, he saw what he held was only a cloth. He tensed, ready to strike as the cloth made contact with his skin; it seemed he had a cut.
"Ya'see? You had a cut. No harm intended." the goblin grinned.
Smacking the goblins hand away, he barked, "Yeah? Well where is my wife, slimeback?"
"First I'm your sweetie, now I'm a slimeback? *Sigh* You won't get into chambers with that kind of talk." laughed the goblin. "Your wife, Naira, is fine. She will be returned to you once you are done here. Speaking of, it is time to get you out there. Follow me." The goblin walked off toward giant doors just ahead and opened them. As the doors were thrown back, Fast-Heart approached the bright light and the light faded a gruesome scene was revealed.
There on a field of grass and dirt, a small, crazed lunatic scampered downfield with a chainsaw. Ahead of the goblin was a recognizable face, a fierce arch-rival, fleeing with the ball. Tunok? Let's see if that saying of yours is true, 'I can run faster scared, than you can angry'. Before the tribal competitor knew what was going on, his arm had been hacked off by the weapon wielding freak and the ball fell with it. Guess he wasn’t scared enough. Picking up the limb, which still held the ball firmly, the goblin raised it in celebration as he high stepped the trophy into the opponent’s End Zone. Along the way a group of the goblin’s teammates swarmed over another fellow clansman, kicking, biting him clawing him to the ground.
"What in
Chuckling, the goblin answered, "You could call it that... But this -- this is, Blood Bowl."
Setting
0.00 INK
Chuckling, the goblin answered, "You could call it that... But this? This is, Blood Bowl."
‘‘ To put it in simple terms the game is an epic conflict between two teams of armored and quite insane warriors. Players pass, throw or run with the ball, attempting to get it to the other end of the pitch, the End Zone. Of course, the other team must try and stop them, and recover the ball for their side. If a team gets the ball over the line into the opponent’s End Zone it’s called a touchdown; the team that scores the most touchdowns by the end of the match wins the game, and are declared Champions!
Of course some teams are not noted for the subtlety or originality of their game play. A simple drive up the centre of the pitch, maiming and injuring as many opposing players as possible, is about the limit of their game plan. They rarely, if ever, worry about such minor considerations like picking up the ball and scoring touchdowns – not while there are any players left alive on the opposing team, anyway.
If you are still alive after your tour of the pitch we will discuss your future further.
Now git out der and show ‘em what you are made of. Der about to kick off!”
No sooner had young Fast-Heart made it onto a large vacant patch of turf on his side of the pitch when the shrill whistle blew sending the grisly participants into motion. The stubbly legged gobbo took a short running start before a hop step and a whoosh sent the oblong projectile airborne from its holding tee. It seemed that the two, the ball and the new comer, were destined for each other as the inflated pigskin spun end over end like a lame duck towards him. Unfortunately, the near sighted kicker he had failed to take into account the sudden gust of head wind altering the outgoing trajectory as the prized object bounced several yards short of its intended mark coming to rest in a vacant tuff of grass behind the rough scrimmage wall of humans.
‘‘ To put it in simple terms the game is an epic conflict between two teams of armored and quite insane warriors. Players pass, throw or run with the ball, attempting to get it to the other end of the pitch, the End Zone. Of course, the other team must try and stop them, and recover the ball for their side. If a team gets the ball over the line into the opponent’s End Zone it’s called a touchdown; the team that scores the most touchdowns by the end of the match wins the game, and are declared Champions!
Of course some teams are not noted for the subtlety or originality of their game play. A simple drive up the centre of the pitch, maiming and injuring as many opposing players as possible, is about the limit of their game plan. They rarely, if ever, worry about such minor considerations like picking up the ball and scoring touchdowns – not while there are any players left alive on the opposing team, anyway.
If you are still alive after your tour of the pitch we will discuss your future further.
Now git out der and show ‘em what you are made of. Der about to kick off!”
No sooner had young Fast-Heart made it onto a large vacant patch of turf on his side of the pitch when the shrill whistle blew sending the grisly participants into motion. The stubbly legged gobbo took a short running start before a hop step and a whoosh sent the oblong projectile airborne from its holding tee. It seemed that the two, the ball and the new comer, were destined for each other as the inflated pigskin spun end over end like a lame duck towards him. Unfortunately, the near sighted kicker he had failed to take into account the sudden gust of head wind altering the outgoing trajectory as the prized object bounced several yards short of its intended mark coming to rest in a vacant tuff of grass behind the rough scrimmage wall of humans.
Setting
0.00 INK
Fast-Heart was in a daze, dumbfounded by what these beasts called a sport. Back in his village, a sport consisted of kicking around a ball on a nice sunny day, laughing and smiling, just a way to pass time. But, this was murder for the hell of it. He had witnessed the death of two innocent men all just for the sake of returning a ball to the opposite end of the field. It burned him with flames of rage, but those flames were quickly snuffed. They were holding his beloved wife and many others in order for the men to cooperate. And if so much as sneezed rebellion, his loved ones would face things worse than death. So it was settled.
Heart listened intently as the small green man explained the rules of the game. Many of the terms seemed lost to him, but he was able to make sense of it all. The objective of the game: get the ball to the opposite end of the field by any means and stop the other team from doing the same. Everything else was just technical BS to fill out the game.
"Now git out der and show ‘em what you are made of. Der about to kick off!"
Slightly stumbling as he was pushed through doors, Heart regained his balanced and ran to his side of the field. As a whistle sounded, the goblins started running towards and the ball was sent flying through the air. "Alright, this is the kick off. Now go get the ball and run like hell..." Following his own orders, Fast-Heart did what he did best and ran. He watched the ball fall in the distance; he quickly deduced he was the best man for the job of scoring as he was the smallest and fastest. His teammates looked to be the cream of the crop. They were all mountains of muscle, no doubt warriors and were already living up to their occupation.
All around the goblins were literally getting their ass kicked. One guy had even managed to run over a troll! Seeing this reminded him of the battle field, a place where he was highly respected and skilled. Heart knew this would be no different. With new found strength and inspiration, he approached the ball and picked it up. He stood marveling at it for a while, remembering what had happened the last time someone held it.
Heart listened intently as the small green man explained the rules of the game. Many of the terms seemed lost to him, but he was able to make sense of it all. The objective of the game: get the ball to the opposite end of the field by any means and stop the other team from doing the same. Everything else was just technical BS to fill out the game.
"Now git out der and show ‘em what you are made of. Der about to kick off!"
Slightly stumbling as he was pushed through doors, Heart regained his balanced and ran to his side of the field. As a whistle sounded, the goblins started running towards and the ball was sent flying through the air. "Alright, this is the kick off. Now go get the ball and run like hell..." Following his own orders, Fast-Heart did what he did best and ran. He watched the ball fall in the distance; he quickly deduced he was the best man for the job of scoring as he was the smallest and fastest. His teammates looked to be the cream of the crop. They were all mountains of muscle, no doubt warriors and were already living up to their occupation.
All around the goblins were literally getting their ass kicked. One guy had even managed to run over a troll! Seeing this reminded him of the battle field, a place where he was highly respected and skilled. Heart knew this would be no different. With new found strength and inspiration, he approached the ball and picked it up. He stood marveling at it for a while, remembering what had happened the last time someone held it.
Setting
0.00 INK
Weepig squealed with enthusiasm at the gaping hole in the human lines providing a clear shot at the ball carrier. “I’ll just wait a few more seconds while the others slide into place,..that’s it.....Now!”
With Biggus already leading the way toward the unsuspecting prey, the diminutive green skinned combatant was all geared up to take his shot at the new comer holding the prized pigskin. The run, while it didn’t seem that great of distance when the notion first crept into his pint sized, was longer than anticipated. Not known for his sudden burst of speed or prolonged stamina, (heck, he spent more time with a close up view of the turf while lying helpless upon his belly in any given match) Weepig was soon huffing and puffing hard as his petite little legs churned as fast as they could propelling him closer to glory. He was only a few steps away when a different set of instructions reached his oversized pointed ears.
“Weepig!” Shouted Tugstump over the vibrant cheers of crowd “Keep your lane and leave the ball carrier to Splenguff, dammit!”
“I can do it.I can do it!” chanted the keen green projectile over and over to himself continuing to bear down upon his foe. “Just one or two more strides and..... "
Maybe it was the fact he had too many thoughts running rampant in his mind at the moment. Maybe it was repercussions for even considering such a lofty plan of delusional grandeur. Maybe he was just cursed. In any event he soon found himself in a familiar position prone upon the lush green turf next to the feet of the human. One prevailing thought remained as he pulled a unwanted divot of turf and dirt hanging from his chinney chin chin.
“...disaster.”
With Biggus already leading the way toward the unsuspecting prey, the diminutive green skinned combatant was all geared up to take his shot at the new comer holding the prized pigskin. The run, while it didn’t seem that great of distance when the notion first crept into his pint sized, was longer than anticipated. Not known for his sudden burst of speed or prolonged stamina, (heck, he spent more time with a close up view of the turf while lying helpless upon his belly in any given match) Weepig was soon huffing and puffing hard as his petite little legs churned as fast as they could propelling him closer to glory. He was only a few steps away when a different set of instructions reached his oversized pointed ears.
“Weepig!” Shouted Tugstump over the vibrant cheers of crowd “Keep your lane and leave the ball carrier to Splenguff, dammit!”
“I can do it.I can do it!” chanted the keen green projectile over and over to himself continuing to bear down upon his foe. “Just one or two more strides and..... "
Maybe it was the fact he had too many thoughts running rampant in his mind at the moment. Maybe it was repercussions for even considering such a lofty plan of delusional grandeur. Maybe he was just cursed. In any event he soon found himself in a familiar position prone upon the lush green turf next to the feet of the human. One prevailing thought remained as he pulled a unwanted divot of turf and dirt hanging from his chinney chin chin.
“...disaster.”
Setting
0.00 INK
"Let's just hope I'm-" Just then something collided with Heart's face.
"What the hell?"
As another object was sent hurdling towards him, he ducked just in time for it to go over his head. Looking in the direction it was thrown, Fast-Heart saw a group of spectating goblins, laughing and throwing rotten fruit and vegetables at him.
"Getup Weepig!" chanted the crowd
Weepig?
Looking around for this Weepig, Heart scanned the entire field, until he finally spotted a small goblin on the ground a few feet away. "How did he get there?" Fast-Heart was dumbfounded by the sight, wondering just how long he was out. It seemed like he had only taken a few seconds to remember what happen to last guy that held this ball. If he was any later, then he would- "AHHHHHHH!" two voices screamed in unison. The sound of bodies clashing behind him disturbed his concentration once more. Turning around Heart was just in time to see a goblin sent flying by a large man.
"Rodar did good! Sent that sucka flying, I did!"
As he watched his teammate celebrate his brutality, he redirected his attention to the goblin, which was now getting taken off the field on a stretcher. "Thanks..." Fast-heart said in a whisper, still shocked by what was going on. It would seem the war was still in their favor, but on second examination, one might think otherwise. Sure his team was still pummeling the tiny green men, but they were still outnumbered and it looked like they closing in. It would only be matter of seconds before the troll is back up and the chainsaw is revving again...
"Hey, Daisy, you through soaking up the moment? Get ya sun-lovin' ass down here while we have a path cleared." Yelled Cruril.
"Yea Daisy, let’s go." Laughed Rodar, as he slapped him hard on the back.
While Heart was busy being contemplating, his teammates had already provided a path for him. Grunting at his new nickname, he tightened his grip on the ball and sprinted off, "Come on Fast-Heart, you can do this."
"What the hell?"
As another object was sent hurdling towards him, he ducked just in time for it to go over his head. Looking in the direction it was thrown, Fast-Heart saw a group of spectating goblins, laughing and throwing rotten fruit and vegetables at him.
"Getup Weepig!" chanted the crowd
Weepig?
Looking around for this Weepig, Heart scanned the entire field, until he finally spotted a small goblin on the ground a few feet away. "How did he get there?" Fast-Heart was dumbfounded by the sight, wondering just how long he was out. It seemed like he had only taken a few seconds to remember what happen to last guy that held this ball. If he was any later, then he would- "AHHHHHHH!" two voices screamed in unison. The sound of bodies clashing behind him disturbed his concentration once more. Turning around Heart was just in time to see a goblin sent flying by a large man.
"Rodar did good! Sent that sucka flying, I did!"
As he watched his teammate celebrate his brutality, he redirected his attention to the goblin, which was now getting taken off the field on a stretcher. "Thanks..." Fast-heart said in a whisper, still shocked by what was going on. It would seem the war was still in their favor, but on second examination, one might think otherwise. Sure his team was still pummeling the tiny green men, but they were still outnumbered and it looked like they closing in. It would only be matter of seconds before the troll is back up and the chainsaw is revving again...
"Hey, Daisy, you through soaking up the moment? Get ya sun-lovin' ass down here while we have a path cleared." Yelled Cruril.
"Yea Daisy, let’s go." Laughed Rodar, as he slapped him hard on the back.
While Heart was busy being contemplating, his teammates had already provided a path for him. Grunting at his new nickname, he tightened his grip on the ball and sprinted off, "Come on Fast-Heart, you can do this."
Setting
0.00 INK
“Collapse that line!”
Splengut continued to bellow the order repeatedly, pointing the way with a long clawed finger as he led the charge towards the human wall. Little did the humans realize that the troll was not the mastermind behind the current offensive. Notoriously dim witted, the hulking simpleton had been fed his marching orders by the tiny green figure stationed next to his side. Only Shimbag himself knew the truth behind the repetitious reciting of the orders out loud. What was surprising about the ordeal was that the lumbering blue-green ox managed to remember the instructions in the first place after taking his first few steps away from the Napoleonic mastermind, let alone lead the battle cry.
A loud bone-jarring thud was followed by an exasperating wheeze from the frail human recipient as the monstrous juggernaut plowed his way forward into the makeshift barrier of flesh and bone. With the ungainly giant spearheading the stampede it wasn’t long before the dexterous assailants flooded forward with enriched confidence. A steady green wave closed in towards the ball keeper as several more humans fell in the oncoming surge of rampaging warriors. Even an industrious gobbo seemingly tied up by a human defender managed to slip in an undetectable foul boot to the fallen slave tossed at his feet. Something has to be said playing such a violent game upon your home court.
Splengut continued to bellow the order repeatedly, pointing the way with a long clawed finger as he led the charge towards the human wall. Little did the humans realize that the troll was not the mastermind behind the current offensive. Notoriously dim witted, the hulking simpleton had been fed his marching orders by the tiny green figure stationed next to his side. Only Shimbag himself knew the truth behind the repetitious reciting of the orders out loud. What was surprising about the ordeal was that the lumbering blue-green ox managed to remember the instructions in the first place after taking his first few steps away from the Napoleonic mastermind, let alone lead the battle cry.
A loud bone-jarring thud was followed by an exasperating wheeze from the frail human recipient as the monstrous juggernaut plowed his way forward into the makeshift barrier of flesh and bone. With the ungainly giant spearheading the stampede it wasn’t long before the dexterous assailants flooded forward with enriched confidence. A steady green wave closed in towards the ball keeper as several more humans fell in the oncoming surge of rampaging warriors. Even an industrious gobbo seemingly tied up by a human defender managed to slip in an undetectable foul boot to the fallen slave tossed at his feet. Something has to be said playing such a violent game upon your home court.
Setting
0.00 INK
“Heartless”
That one word summed up all the disappointment he was experiencing over the muscular prospect he had ushered out onto the playing pitch. If there was one thing the green-skinned recruiter hadn’t counted on was the fact the man-child would wilt under pressure. Sure, he was green. Sure, he had just witnessed the dismemberment of a tribal companion. Sure, there was a lot to grasp in rapid succession. But sooner or later the instinct for survival should set in and allow the boy to rely on pure athletic ability.
The elderly gobbo was already racing down the rough turf that bordered the playing field frantically waving his arms trying to draw the young warrior’s attention. As he made his way the crowd behind him intensified their roars of enthusiasm. Scrappa had been one of the most revered players of the sport in his day and easily a fan favorite. As he passed, each fanatical enthusiast rose section by section straight up from the bleachers raising their hands high above their heads before returning to their seats. The resulting action looked much like a cascading wave surging behind the diminutive trainer as he sprang his way towards midfield to his desired destination.
Cupping his hands around his mouth he made the call.
“HEART!!” Scrappa yelled furiously.
“Stop being afraid to fail and try something! Move your sorrowful ass downfield, toss up the ball as a prayer!...”
“...ANYTHING!!”
The wily veteran quickly recomposed himself drawing a deep breath as he waited to witness the fruits of his laborious instructions. “Just show me a spark of what you’re made of out there so I know that you are not a total waste of a roster space.”
That one word summed up all the disappointment he was experiencing over the muscular prospect he had ushered out onto the playing pitch. If there was one thing the green-skinned recruiter hadn’t counted on was the fact the man-child would wilt under pressure. Sure, he was green. Sure, he had just witnessed the dismemberment of a tribal companion. Sure, there was a lot to grasp in rapid succession. But sooner or later the instinct for survival should set in and allow the boy to rely on pure athletic ability.
The elderly gobbo was already racing down the rough turf that bordered the playing field frantically waving his arms trying to draw the young warrior’s attention. As he made his way the crowd behind him intensified their roars of enthusiasm. Scrappa had been one of the most revered players of the sport in his day and easily a fan favorite. As he passed, each fanatical enthusiast rose section by section straight up from the bleachers raising their hands high above their heads before returning to their seats. The resulting action looked much like a cascading wave surging behind the diminutive trainer as he sprang his way towards midfield to his desired destination.
Cupping his hands around his mouth he made the call.
“HEART!!” Scrappa yelled furiously.
“Stop being afraid to fail and try something! Move your sorrowful ass downfield, toss up the ball as a prayer!...”
“...ANYTHING!!”
The wily veteran quickly recomposed himself drawing a deep breath as he waited to witness the fruits of his laborious instructions. “Just show me a spark of what you’re made of out there so I know that you are not a total waste of a roster space.”
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