[The Colosseum] Nexus Prime Cage Fighting Championships *Weigh-in Thread*

[Shorty]

Early the brightening before the Cage Matches were to begin, all the fighters assembled to be weighed, measured, and eyed by local bookies. One by one participants from each class walked up where Gaston had each step on a scale, smile, and flex for the bookies. The scale was on a stage that was set up in the entranceway of the Colosseum, the line of fighers snaked off to the right. Each fighter would mount the stage, walk to the middle where the halfling and scale stood, shake Gaston's hand, allowed their opportunity to say something or smile for the bookies and move on.

The following PC's have signed up for the cage matches:

Fae-Weight-
Ankou

Women's
Viskyia
Chan Reese(Sanura Vi'uraan)

Men's middleweight-
Dzie
Verus
Rand
Trenton
Leopald Spyre (Sheng Kaldres)
Gabriel Havisham

Men's Heavyweight-
Hazudar
Rhargn
Rahden
Corran Bethager

OOC: Here's how the weightclasses will shake up I figure. Once you report here the next step is into the ring! Here's where PC's will get their first fight assignments, and do a little showboating. It's fine to self-mod your turn on the catwalk. Gaston will only shout out your name, and report what the scale says.

[Rhargn Etn]

An eagerness to tear limb from limb, to tear heads from shoulders was the only real emotion to wallow deep within the ruffian as he waited his turn to step up. At one point in his life, show boating would have been something which would have radiated from his huge bulk, however with the recent series of events it didn't seem the time. The crowns on offer weren't fluttering their pretty images in his mind neither, though they'd be a welcomed gift if things went to plan. The main purpose of being here was to hurt those who wished to hurt him. He yearned to allow his aggression to flow through his fists and to be recieved by the cracking of an opponents bone.

Rhargn's hazel gaze was glazed by an almost grey silt, a look which registered nothing of his surroundings, a look which psyced him up inside. His jaw line protruded slightly as his teeth clenched heavily, another clear representation that it was all going to boil down to cracking skulls for him. Then the call came for him to step up.

His trance was shattered by the sound of his name before a sensory over load struck, with the smells, sights and sounds of hyped up bookies getting excited and making sure they figured out each fighter exactly. The titan's long, heavy foot steps caused a jingle of innocence to ring from the metal bells which resided at his ankles, a clear signal to those about that he was stalking around. Nostrils flared wide as Rhargn moved his leather gloved hands up to his shoulder to slip away his leather coat, dropping it gently onto the ground, quickly followed by his shirt which created a slight heap. Revealed, was his huge barrel like chest, a mass of heavy muscle covered in a thick rug of hair. It was true, he didn't have the athletic physique of those slimmer than him, those who were 'ripped' and the like, instead he wore a great masculin over haul; the body of a bear.

As his leg lifted to step on the scale the leather trousers he wore squeaked slightly before he threw his gloves onto his pile. It was quickly announced that he was weighing in at two hundred and three pounds, a mountain of man for sure. With Gaston's coaxing Rhargn then went about showing the extent of his bulk, though not a smile gracing his thick bearded face, just a look of stone cold death in his hazel orbs. His chest became puffed out and biceps shown in simple 'L' shapes by his side before he lifted his shoulders and scoured the crowd. "I couldn't care less what the odds you give me are, but let me tell you this... Whoever is unfortunate enough to be put up against is going to die."

His hazel gaze flickered over the line of fighters, picking several out at which he'd stare intently at them, especially that abomination which was the half orc. He was one character Rhargn yearned to fight, for he could show that that filthy race was nothing but pathetic scum. Without shaking Gaston's hand, Rhargn took up his bundle of clothing and paced off in the direction signalled, ignoring the call of questions that erupted from the bookies and spectators.

[Dzie Towen]

This is what Dzie had been waiting for, this is what his training has led him too. He had taken part in some brawls and been practicing his endurance so he’d be able to last if the fight needed to be long. Hopefully that would give him an edge on everyone else in the completion, but if someone was highly trained he might not stand a chance…well there was always the possibility but it was more unlikely. This was just the weigh in but he knew that this meant the fights were coming soon.

When alas it was his turn to he walked up to the stage and stood on the scale, he didn’t do anything fancy for he wasn’t a show boater. He was all about the fight and couldn’t really care what the people thought able him before the fight. This wasn’t a chance to win glory in the eyes of the half-human, no this was a chance to win some money and maybe pay back his friend for all that she has done for him.

He had lost a lot of weight while running but he still weighted more than he would have liked to, when he stepped on the scale it read 160 pounds. He should have been lighter, he had the frame for it but all winter he pretty much wasted time lounging around a house. He wasn’t pleased with himself and the fat that he had gained even though he had lost some during his training, he made it a point to make sure he continued with that. He’d never be completely as skinny as his elfin heritage but it didn’t mean he had to be overly big.

He flexed as he was instructed too but did nothing else but simply walk off to where they were supposed too.

[Verus]

The rhagrhnd waited patiently for his turn to go and be weighed. He watched, unamused, by the showboating and gloating that went on at the scale. Some people took this way too seriously, for Verus; this was just a bit of sport. A chance to let loose and have some fun without lives being on the line.

Eventually it was the rhagrhnd turn. Striding up to the scale, he reached underneath his green cloak and freed the shortsword. Setting it on the ground next to the scale he mounted the device and waited while the halfling took his weight. There was no showboating, or comments made. No smiling or gloating, Verus simply waited until the halfling called out, ”Verus. One hundred and seventy-five pounds.” His part done, the rhagrhnd retrieved his sword and made his way to the other contestants, interested in seeing which one of them he would fight first.

[Viskyia Crow]

There was something comforting about standing in line behind Dzie, whom Viskyia had offered a tentative smile too, and Verus who'd received a similar expression. The half elf had darted her way into the crowd when the weigh-ins had been called and checked her name on the list. Yes, she'd be called right after those two, so she went and stood near them, comforted at least by the thought that not everyone entered in this competition was a brute.

She watched the way Dzie walked up the steps, stood calmly, got weighed, and departed with only a simple flex. Yes. These were good men, she thought. Versus walked calmly up and laid his massive sword down. Viskyia grinned. Even waiting for the battle to start, these men were armed.

When "Viskyia Crow" was called, she swallowed, mounted the steps lightly, and took her place on the scale. She made the mistake of looking at the bookies. Their eyes were hungry and she could tell on numerous faces that someone like her taking a beating sold bets, and sold them well. Not knowing who or even for that matter what her opponent would be, she shuddered slightly. She wasn't doing this for anything other than to prove to herself that she could. Sure, the money would be nice... she'd plans for a home of her own here in town, and to do that it took good solid coin. But no, her placement, even if it was last, wasn't important. What was important was the fact that she could fight if she wanted too. Now, in her life... she ate, drank, worked, ran, bathed... all of it, at her own whim. This was another whim.

She glanced away at the bookies, then back. The thought suddenly occurred to her... if she looked weak, the odds would be more in the favor of her opponent. So.. she swallowed hard, visibly for the crowd, and stepped off the scale after the weighmaster called "One hundred seven pounds". And as she was doing her best to school her face into a feeble sort of look, she tripped, not paying attention to her feet... and tripped hard. She hadn't meant too. But what resulted was her sitting painfully hard down on her tail bone after a tumble that landed her right in the middle of the bookies and their chairs. She was on her feet again, in an instant, but it wasn't before her features dyed red with the embarrassment of her stumble. "Pardon me..." She said softly. "I'm not used to such crowds." She turned, and moved on to the next area quickly.

[Gabriel Havisham]

Gabriel came to be weighed and gawked at, sure that all the women in the crowd would be feint from seeing such a fine looking and well developed man as himself, just as the men would be jealous of his prowess and supermanesque physique. Upon standing on the scale he flexed his muscles, toned by his months training with the Tigers, and flashed his best smile, winking to a few of the women he spotted. Husbands and fathers pulled their various goods, otherwise known as women, back toward them in a vain attempt to thwart Gabriels efforts.

Bookies shouted out odds but Gabriel payed little attention, he was assured victory. The little Halfling cried out, "Gabriel Havisham! One hundred seventy-two pounds!" and waved him on. Showing himself in all his glory one last time he took a step down and went on his way, safe in the belief that he was indominable and would come out triumphant. Victory - as far as he was concerned - didn't mean getting top draw, it just meant lasting long enough to get some coin in his pocket.

[Sanura Vi'uraan]

Sanura made her way up to the stage slowly and cautiously. She had never been to such an event before, nevermind participating in one. There was a huge crowd and all around her were hardened fighters with grim, determined faces. Most were men, but she spotted a few females in the crowd, many looking equally fierce. Sanura, however, did not look any different than on a normal day. As usual, she wore very little clothing - only enough to make herself decent in society - and was barefoot.

Although the city was filled with katta, Jagara such as Sanura were more rare. The bookies were used to seeing Tigrons and Leopardi, and even the smaller domestikatta, no doubt, but the sly Jagara was a different case. The untrained eye could easily mistake her for a Leopardi, of course - the black fur was the culprit - but the difference was in her movement. She moved with a certain understated, natural grace and glanced warily over the crowd as she moved onto the scale.

"Chan Reese, one hundred and fifty pounds!"

Gaston's voice was surprisingly strong for a little halfling, and Sanura was surprised at the power of his voice. The crowd roared at her, awaiting some kind of gimmick. Other fighters before her had flexed and shouted their threats, and now it was her turn. What would be her symbol?

It came rather naturally. Her feet set squarely, the claws flicked out and she raised them both threateningly and triumphantly, letting loose a guttural growl as she did so. As her arms once again fell, her growls turned into a fierce hiss, staring down the bookies with her cool glare. It was merely letting loose a bit of the savagery that she had in her for so long, and it felt good to let it out. At last, she once again assumed the walk of the civilized katta and made her exit.

[Sheng Kaldres]

Someone had came to the Lingerer's Inn and Tavern to inform Sheng that there was to be a weight-in, a term that Sheng was not familiar with. At some prompting of the messager, Sheng was informed that the fights would be group by weight, with those of a similar weight fighting each other. Sheng was disdain of such a practice. In live or dead situation, the opponent would not care whether one weight less than him. The opponent would just keep hitting you until you passed out or are dead. The public nature of such an event also did not sit well with Sheng. Sheng was here for the fighting, not for the publicity. Sheng had enough of those as it was.

But still, Sheng had signed up and if he wanted to fight, he would have to abide some of the things that the organizer wanted. Thus, Sheng still showed up but with his mask of a piece of green across his mouth and nose still on. When Gaston requested Sheng to take off his mask, Sheng stopped him with a firm hand, a piercing look and a firm “No.”. After some time, Gaston got the message and with a smile, beckoned Sheng to get onto the weighting scale. Gaston was here for the Crowns, not to get beaten up.

So it was that Sheng got his weight measured, shouted off and some gesturing by Gaston. Sheng remained stoic and refused to do any flexing. With his weight measured and recorded, Sheng walked off to one side, and prepared to go back to the tavern.

[Corran Bethager]

Corran had been watching, shaking his head with closed eyes every once in a while. Quite the unsavory types here. Most of them were probably law-abiding citizens too. The kind that worked hard, trained a lot and then called themselves brawlers. None of them served hard time most likely, certainly not eight patterns. As Corran's name was called out he calmly took off his lavender jacket, folded it up and put it down somewhere clean before unbuttoning his shirt and laying it carefully down on his jacket, all nice and folded. No sense in getting your only set of clothes dirty, right?

Underneath his shirt Corran was large. Right between 'ripped' and bearlike. With a slight grin which seemed to form into a sneer due to the scar stricken upper lip Corran shook Gaston's hand, bowing down to reach the Cether. He looked back up at the bookies, giving them the exact same look. He knew he had to flex, the bookies liked that. No need to try and be different by not flexing or being too much of a showboat about it. Bookies judged you by what they saw. They looked at your muscles more than your attitude. Too much attitude only made you seem cocky, leading a bookie to down the odds, which wasn't a good thing. Slowly Corran sucked in the air, his hairy chest bulging as his lungs expanded. "Corran 'The Gentleman' Bethager, weighing at... 260 pounds!" Gaston shouted as Corran rose his arms and flexed his muscles. They were there alright, in all it's unpleasantness his entire torso told of jailtime, from a jailhouse tattoo depicting a X, the amount of patterns he was sentenced for, to the scars on his wrists from the chaving in shackles. In fact, from his bald head to the toes of his boots, Corran was the kind of guy that radiated unpleasantness. Calmly the human turned around, flexing once more for the bookies before turning back to face them, loosening up his neck, nodding at them and stepping off the scale. Clobbering time was nigh.

[Ankou]

The thin and devious figure heard his name called over the morass. His tempered form rose, a pair of wings rising him aloft as he floating gently towards the scale. A faerie brawler, there weren't many, he wondered if he'd indeed find any opponents in his weight class at all!

He approached the halfpint... ling, and shook his hand. He looked at the bookies, fools, he would manipulate their greed to his own ends! He smiled as he was weighed, he must not have looked impressive, but for a fae he was muscular and strong.

"Ankou! Six pounds." He smirked, cracking his knuckles, violence was the ultimate passion and it was his intention to relive those glory days of nigh!

He stood, flying upwards, his muscles loose, his pleasant face twisted into mockery.

Night had begun.

[Hazudar]

Cage fighting? Hazudar was there.

Swathed in an oversized black robe and matching black loincloth, the lumbering figure shifted rapidly from foot to foot as he waited in line... he jumped rope, he stretched, he shadowboxed, he twitched and bounced around like a wyrmquest addict who can't sit still -- and that was just during Ankou's post.

At last someone began to say, "H--"

And immediately Hazudar was up on stage! Gracefully, confidently, like the experienced male model he was, the orc cast aside his robe, revealing the massive, oily, hairy, ubermacho expanse of green manflesh that was The Hazinator in all his glory. A simple black stage loincloth hid his modesty but little else, leaving the majority of his unmatchable manhood on full majestic display. Behold! The massive 48 inch pythons; the bouncing, shiny pectorals; the bulging lats, delts; the trogylobrutuclomastoid muscles flexed and on full proud display...!

And that wasn't all. Grinning broadly at the crowd, promptly the orc swept the little halfling nobody out of his limelight, then grabbed an arcanic voice amplifying device (or maybe it was a corndog, I dunno) from the nearest whoever. Facing the crowd, he began to rap street-orc style, with an irrepressible booming voice and wild, brutal gestures:

"Last darkenin' I had a dream, when I got ta da ring
I had ta come out brawlin' em!
I had ta beat a troll's behind ferst
Fer claimin' ta be King of Arium!
Fo' dis brawl, I'se wrestled wiff lizardmen
I tustled wit' da undead
I done slaughtered Jalat
An' put Khaimelea ta bed
Yew know I'm bad.
I have murdered mythril
Broke adamantine sticks
I'se so bad, I makes Thaumaturgy sick
I'm so slick, man
I kin whup a water-elemental 'n' not get wet
When my opponent sees me
He'll git squashed like a Xet
I kin drown a dozen theylri, shake a katta from a tree
--Wait'll ya see Hazudar Ali!" - *

At last, in a fit of Hazudarian excitement, the brute hopped onto the scale and allowed himself to be measured. "Dat's 300 pounds o' one hunned per-cent Grade-A, pure piston pumpin' pugilist ACTION!" he recited himself, before anyone else could steal his thunder.

Insane amounts of flexing and flamboyance ensued, the madly grinning Hazudar preening and making his pectorals bounce for the benefit of the bookies and any female fight fans who might be watching... finally, after several minutes of this, someone managed to cajole the orc offstage.

But NOT FOR LONG! This was but a taste of what the greenskinned showman had planned for his main event... and believe me, toots, this little two bit Nexus Prime venue? It wasn't never gonna be the same. Heh heh heh...

* ali - orkish for 'Badass'

[Shorty]

Fighters continued to parade across the stage and onto the scales. The bookies whistle and the groupies swooned. A joyous atmosphere gripped the room as everyone was ready to get to it. The betting, the blood, the glory, the freestyling.... Gaston knew he was going to make a mint with this whole thing. Soon, the matchups began to be announced.....

"The First Matches!" The halfling screamed. "On the 10th of Cryxatum the following matches will begin on at the beginning of the 10th candlemark...

HEAVYWEIGHT! Rhargn "The Pit Hound" Etn Versus Burly Doitsky!"

"MIDDLEWEIGHT! Dzie Towen VS Verus "The Snowman""

"WOMEN'S DIVISION! Viskyia the "Little Deer" VS Svetlona "Thunder" Legovska!"

"MIDDLEWEIGHT! Leopald "The Masked One" Spyre VS Gabriel "Make It Up" Havisham!"

"WOMEN'S DIVISION! Chan Reese VS. One-eyed Eileen!"

"HEAVYWEIGHT! Hazudar "Green Lightning" VS Corran "The Gentleman" Bethager!"

OOC: I'll post more if more pc's show up. I'll post the threads in the next couple days and PM you individually to let you guys know!

[Ankou]

"What about faeweight?" Ankou shouted over the crowd!

[Shorty]

OOC: Oooops, sorry for the oversight Ankou!

"And in the Fae-Weight Category the first fight is Ankou "the Blackguard Doll" VS the toughest fae this side of of river- two time champion Puffy "Mean Machine" Lindenberries!"