[40K] Middleweight Match Thread

[Xavier]

Welcome to the Middleweight Match Thread.

Round 1

Thousanth son
Kittah vs Xavier
Yorkiebar vs Riddy
Antaeus
Commander X vs Grand Warlord
Tesseract vs Lady Hope
Slazton
Lafeel Abriel vs Puffin Magician
tyranid05
Freak Ona Leish vs Slazton
Xen-Ra vs Antyrael
Col.Gravis vs Kohhna
Crazed_Monkey vs neXus6
Antyrael
Tyranid05 vs Son of Morkai
alterion
Lord of Skulls vs Samoth
neXus6
Necrontyr vs archangels uk
Samoth
Dark_wulf vs The Grand Wazoo
Pariah
Alterion vs plasmadaemon
plasmadaemon
Lord Balor vs Verergoca
rainbow
Melchor vs Omelette

Ok,way were going to work this is, all the people who have requested to be a roller will be given one match to roll and write up, as soon as we get a contact email or msn contact for you we will give you the compilation file and help you with whatever you need to know. Could I also ask the rollers to do the final paragraph and the winner in the spoiler format.

I will say this again for people who haven't read the sticky, "We do ask that you DO NOT post in this thread, this is purely to keep it tidy and easy for people to read through without sifting sifting through a load of irelevant posts. You are more than welcome to use the now obsolete entrant thread for the purpose of banter and other AoD associated taunting (as is the custom)."

[Slazton]

Lafeel Abriel vs Puffin Magic
Harkon the Merciless vs Puffin, Plague Marine Aspiring Champion

'Welcome One and All to WarSeer's first Middlewieght Arena of Death! We here at the Arena of Death would like to remind you that the refreshment stand is still open and you can buy anything you desire!' boomed the Announcer as he floated in the center of the Arena using a Jet Pack.

The Arena was packed with people from all over the Galaxy even some Xenos had ventured out to see the famed Arena of Death. The Announcer smiled to himself as he watched the Challengers come to the Arena.

'And here are our Challengers!' boomed the Announcer as he pointed to the gates as they opened. From the East side of the Arena came a warrior clad in pure Iron as he strode out, a massive bolter strapped to his back, a power sword dangling by his side and a feral grin on his face as he roared his challenge. Then from the West side came something that made the Announcer's stomach turn. It was armoured in massive Tatcial Dreadnought Armour, but no longer did it hold its normal appearance. It was ripped open with boils, pussbags and other foul things decorating its flesh. THree Nurglings danced around the Plague Marine as he stepped forward, his twisted visage turned into what resembled a smile.

'I would like to welcome Harkon of the Iron Warriors and Puffin, the Plague Marine!' roared the Announcer. 'Lets get ready to rumble!'

With that Harkon unslung his Kai Gun with practised ease. Taking aim with the massive bolter, he let off two shots while brekaing off into a sprint, not caring if the bullets wounded the massive bulk of puss before him. He would destroy this beast and offer his head to the Dark Gods!

The bolts hit Puffin, the Plague Marine laughing as the bullets tickled his flesh, reminding him of what pain once felt like. Staring at the charging foe, Puffin raised his right arm and flicked the red button on his combi-melta. Something of a small whine powered up, as the melta section became ready to fire. Taking careful aim, he fired the ancient weapon. The melta shot flew towards Harkon, hitting him scare in the chest, blowing his vital organs out of his back.

Roaring in pain, Harkon could not believe that the Plague Marine had wounded him. He, a vetern of countless battles, killer of a thousand heroes! How could he be wounded by a sack of rotting flesh, something that worshipped the most foulest of the Dark Gods! Harkon would not allow himself defeat!

Harkon lept to his feet, only to find that Puffin had closed the distance and was now upon him. Growling something indecypherable, Puffin rammed his power sword straight down into Harkon's left knee cap. Roaring in pain, the Iron Warrior fell to his right knee, screaming in pain. He looked up and brought his power sword into a block, stopping the Plague Marine's weapon in midair from removing his head.

Holwing in rage, Harkon fought to stand up, but failed as the three little Nurglings pounced onto his body, tearing into his open wounds. They dug their teeth into him, eating him while he still lived. The pain was tremendous as Puffin leered over him.

'Now you die!' roared Puffin as he took his combi-bolter and aimed it right at Harkon's head. Harkon snarled and rammed his sword forward, ramming it deep into Puffin's chest, but the assualt was fruitless as Puffin fired. Harkon's head exploded as the bolter fired, leaving the corpse headless.

Puffin turned towards the crowd and roared his victory, as the Nurglings continued to feast upon the dead body of the Iron Warrior.

Match to Puffin Magic!

[neXus6]

Necrontyr Vs archangels uk
(Necron Lord Vs Inquisitor Lord Freman)

The crowd hushed as the lights fell, all eyes moved to the arena as a green glow broke the darkness and spilled out over the combat floor. The Necron Lord walked to the centre, its metallic visage giving none of its thoughts away. As the lights slowly came back on its eyes were fixed on the figure striding from the opposite entrance.

Inquisitor Lord Freman, clad from the neck down in highly ornate golden armour, was a different story altogether. From his exposed face it was easy to see that the Inquisitor knew in his mind that he was better than the Xenos construct he moved towards. Without warning Freman drew his bolt pistol and fired, there would be no pleasantries between a servant of the Emperor and an alien abomination.

Impossibly fast for a creature of such size the Necron Lord raised his staff into a combat stance. Searing bolts of energy leapt from its bladed end tearing through air, bolt shell and armour alike. With smoke streaming from his shoulder plate and a trickle of blood running down his back, the slightly shaken warrior in gold met the Necron head on with a prayer on his lips. As the two closed to within striking distance a faint halo of light seemed to flicker round the Inquisitor’s head. As power sword met Staff of Light Freman’s grimace worsened a little, the Word of the Emperor had done nothing to slow the metal nightmare.

As the two blocked and counter attacked it seemed Human and machine were evenly matched in both speed and skill. As the fight raged on it appeared that it would continue for hours, that was until both warriors struck through gaps in their opponents guard. The crowd gasped, slightly unsure as to what exactly had happened.

Slowly Freman stepped back, his sword lowering to reveal a slight mark on the Necron Lords torso where he had lacked the brute strength to inflict any damage. The Necron Lord turned and began to walk away in total silence.

Freman looked down, blood was flowing down the front of his own chest plate from two massive gashes, the red turning the gold a deep brass colour. The powerful limbs of the Necron’s living metal body had had no such trouble driving the staff into the smaller human with lethal effect. Letting his weapons drop to the floor the Inquisitor slowly collapsed, the rosette hanging from the chain round his neck disappearing under the growing pool of blood.

Match To Necrontyr

[Nid]

Slazton versus Freak on a Leash
(Lord Slazton versus Brother Homius Ferrous)

The roar was a physical thing. One could feel the anger and emotion in it, one could see the energy of the crowd. It had been far too long since the last blooding in the arena, and this would be a vindication of everything this arena had come to represent. This was war.

The blast door leading into the arena slammed open. Lord High Slazton, Commander of the Night Lords legion, strode in. He was helmetless now, and a mad gleam shown in his eyes. At the corner of his mouth, flecks of frothy spittle stuck from his clenched expression, the rapid breathing and fluttering eyelids of a man on the strongest of Stimms. He was restless, his hands clenching and unclenching. He needed to destroy.

The other door, open now. Walking proudly, Homius Ferrous let his mighty presence be known. His servo arms, swaying slightly in rythm to his steps. "Brother Marine, you are Tainted. Be with the Emperor, for I shall be your Salvation."

Slazton paused, contemplating his words. "I am not the Tainted one, brother! You openly bear arms against me, and for that you are guilty of denying the light!" He snarled, and drew his powersword. He paused, then charged at the Marine.

The tech marine moved with a speed and grace defying his massive stature. The ancient artificier armor moved smooth as an organic body, drawing aim and letting loose a furious blast of plasma into the Fallen marine. Slazton howled with pain and rage as it tore into his armored chest, but that was of no concern to him.

Slazton closed the distance fast. Howling his insane rage, he raised his sword high. The Tech Marine attempted to counter, but he was slow. Too slow. The servo arms attempted to put themselves in the way of their bearer, to protect and save him, but Slazton clove through them with an effortless swipe. He slashed at the marine, and screamed in victory as his blade bit deep. He continued to swing, hacking off piece after piece of the dying marine. At last it was done. Slowly, his mind began to clear, and he looked in awe at the unholy havoc he had wreaked upon a Brother's body. He slumped to his knees as the stimms left him weary and spent.

Match to Slazton!

[alterion]

Lord of skulls VS Samoth
(Katius vs Colonel Duden)
In his preparation cell Katius, Reclusiarch of the White Templars. steadied himself. Unclipping his combi-melta and awaiting the coming of his foe. He knew no fear for he was a space marine and knew in his heart he could best any foe. Slowly the iron door that separated his cell from the arena began to creak open. Impatient the space marine charged forward ripping the top of the opening door of its hinges as he charged into the arena. Firing his multi-meta at the oncoming foe.
From the other side of the arena Rough Rider Colonel Durden lowered his hunting lance and charged though the door. His horse was a veteran of many battles with him and so receptive that the he barley had to move his reins before the horse was charging with him. As he thundered towards the brilliant foe armour gleaming in contrast to grim surroundings of the arena he was shocked to recognise that it was a space marine of the emperor. Still he told himself. No matter as a marine his heresy was only the worse and the colonel determined to make his death a more painful prospect still. This determination was only improved as the left side of his face eviscerated the bone by the heat as a melta charge whistle fractions away from beheading him. Gritting the remaining side of his mouth the Rough Rider charged>

The space marine unsheathed his Crozius Arcanum determined to unleash the righteous wrath of the emperor on this sorry foe. However the strength and ferocity of the charge of this horseman took away the breath from his secondary lungs… He swung his crozius at the leggs of the rough riders mount attempting to bring his rider to the ground. There was still blood on his blessed weapon from his last foe and the Reclusiarch made a mental note to perform a penance for this lack of respect afterwards… He only hoped that his blessed rosaries would hold firm.

His weapon slammed though the legs of the charging horse bringing it to a juddering halt in front of his legs… Unfortunately the momentum pf the charge carried Colonel Duden over the head of the collapsed horse-hunting lance still in hand. The unfortunate Colonel only coming to a stop blinded and stunned when the hunting lance embedded itself some 20 inches into the solid plasteel wall of the arena edge.

The stunned captain raised his power sword in the air to fend off the blows he knew would come. But for some reason a mighty cheer raised up and he caught his name on the crowd. “ Duden Duden Duden…”.. Slowly as the sight returned to his one good eye he realised why. His hunting lance had passed straight though the space marine as he had flown uncontrollably towards the wall…. Spearing the twin hearts of the deceased marine. The taste of victory (or possibly the taste of the fluid that had once been his left eye. it was hard to tell.) in his mouth the colonel collapsed into the waiting arms of a magos biologis and techmarine. The techmarine grinned here would be an opportunity to test out some of his more. Unorthodox techniques upon a more willing volunteer than he was used to.
MATCH TO SAMOTH!

[Antaeus]

Grand Warlord Vs Commander X


A roar echoed around the walls of the ancient amphitheatre as Captain Vadyon Antaeus, Warden of the Arena, strode into the Imperial box, his power sword raised high in the air. To his left, the North stand was a sea of devotion. The predominant colour was purest, shining white, ivory banners engraved with the double-headed eagle rippling in the light breeze, Ecclesiastical hymns reverberating from ninty thousand throats. But to his left, the scene was very different. Jet black and blood red were evident, brass runes of the Blood God emblazoned on foul, blasphemous standards, baying cultists and vials of burning blood adding to the charged atmosphere of the Warseer Arena of Death.

Antaeus raised his arms, and spoke, voice amplified by his power armour’s vox casters. “Ladies and Gentlemen, today’s warriors!”

The gate below the north stand creaked open, the iron gates splitting to reveal a large figure in red power armour, mechadendrites and servo-arms twisting and coiling from his backpack like metallic snakes. Brother David, Tech-priest of the Knights Templar Chapter, raised his Power axe in salute of the white-clad end of the Arena, the Imperial hymns reaching their explosive climax as their champion’s footsteps dug into the sands. As David took up his position, the other set of gates began to creak back, the brilliant sunlight falling upon a figure in black armour, trimmed with bronze, a huge two-handed blade held in its gauntlets. The Champion of Khorne gave a roar of hatred as it faced down Brother David, its unholy blade levelled in, bellowing a challenge to the Imperial warrior.

”Prepare for death, son of a False Emperor! Blood!” The warrior of Khorne lofted its huge weapon one-handed into the air “For the BLOOD GOD!”

”It is you that shall fall, heretic. Return to the hell from whence you came!”

Antaeus slashed his blade downwards, and the match began. With a scream of hatred that echoed around the crumbling amphitheatre, the servant of the Blood God charged towards the Techmarine. Unflinching, Brother David levelled his Bolter, and fired. The gun roared, a spray of explosive rounds whistling through the air towards the howling berserker. Shells detonated on the surface of scarred, dented armour with horrifying clatters, the bolts seemingly having no effect on the howling lunatic. Finally, one round punched through the gap between the Khornate warrior’s helmet, modelled into a horrifying, gargoyle-like visage, and the neck of his armour, a fountain of blood vomiting forth as the bolter shell detonated in the Chaos Space Marine’s throat. His opponent’s movements seemed to become sluggish, the Chaos Marine continuing to run but losing stature with every second, finally overbalancing and ploughing into the ground, spewing a cloud of sand in all directions, dark blood spattering the sand.

David stepped forwards as the warrior of Khorne grunted, trying to push himself back to his feet.

”Goodbye traitor.” The Bolter levelled. The trigger finger depressed.

With a scream of fury, the Chaos Champion swung his glaive through the air, smashing into the barrel of the Techmarine’s Bolter, knocking it aside as the round meant to finish the fight screamed off in another direction. The Space Marine stepped back as the glaive swung at his feet, and the Khornate Marine pushed himself back to his feet.

The Champion of darkness swung his blade in an overhead arc that would have split the techmarine in two had he not raised his Power axe to block the deadly blow, the weapons meeting with a clash of metal, the damned meeting the mechanical, technological advancement against unholy fury. The combatants both took a step back, circling each other. David took a step forwards, swinging horizontally in an attempt to bisect the warrior of the Dark Gods. His target blocked with the haft of the daemon weapon, stepping aside himself and reversing his grip on the weapon, spinning it around for a devastating counterblow. The Knight Templar swayed aside, the blasphemous weapon shrieking past his head, and swung again at his foe’s head. The warrior of the Blood God again parried, this time with the jet-black blade of the berserker glaive.

Once more the Champion of Chaos screamed a terrifying battlecry, raising his weapon above his head, and brought it downwards in a two-handed strike. Alert to this preferred method of fighting, David again raised his weapon, held horizontally, blocking the blow, but this time, the Khornate champion took another step forwards, rolling his wrists to bring the haft of his weapon upwards while the blades were still locked together. The hafts of the two weapons met, and David’s weapon was ripped out of his hands, flying up into the air to land several feet behind him. Before his could react, his foe had pivoted, and smashed the blade horizontally through his flank, the glaive shredding his armour like it was paper. A groan of pain escaped the dying Techmarine, his blood flowing out of the hole in his shattered armour, and David slumped to the ground as the champion of Khorne gave a scream of triumph.

Match to Commander X

[Thousandth Son]

Allarielle was no fool, she knew very well that the Great Beast was not something to be trifled with. And yet here she was, putting his life on the line, all for the amusement of drunks that did not know the meaning of the word danger.

She looked across the field at the creature that was to be his prey, it was one of the bio-warriors that the Tyranids now employed, although this particular one Allarielle did not recongnise, a new adaptation to this galaxy it would seem. In one graceful movement she fired her splinter pistol, the deadly crystal shards hurtling towards the beast, they hit struck the creature full on in the chest. Blood oozed from the wound, but the creature did not appear to care. And then it began to move, like something from Allarielle’s worst nightmare, this creature was faster than she was! It closed the distance between them in mere seconds. There was barely enough time for Allarielle to raise her weapons in defense.

The damn thing had too many limbs for Allarielle to handle, it’s talons and claws attacking in a blur of motion. She stuck her agoniser into the beasts wounds, hoping to paralyze the creature due to pain, but it seemed the Tyranid did not feel pain because it did not slow. In one quick motion the monster shattered her shadow field, her one trump card.

She knew she had one last chance. She threw her body into overdrive, trying to move the Tyranid to the defensive. She attacked with the all the grace and fury that she possessed, she was moved so fast that she could feel her muscles strain and pull as she moved, but it did not matter, all that mattered was the death of her opponent. She made a lunge, hoping to drive her blades right through the Tyranids midsection, but the creature once again proved it’s quickness and dodged, now she was off balance, she made a prayer to Slaanesh, to not devour her soul, even as she felt the creatures blade drive through her stomach and out her back.

Match to Xavier

[Samoth]

Round 1 of the middleweight 40k Arena of Death.
Chaos Lieutenant Rha'kar (dark_wulf) Vs. Unamed Eversor Assassin (The Grand Wazoo)

Rha’kar walked forwards into the arena, receiving his tumultuous applause from the crowd of sickening, perverted fans with a graceful acknowledgement. Screaming in ecstasy, many of the crowd tried to throw themselves at Rha’kar’s feet, but were cut down by the arena guards. Rha’kar surveyed his fans, and knew that this fight would be pleasurable indeed, regardless of the outcome. But, of course, he had no doubt as to the outcome. Standing almost 3 metres tall, the black and pink power-armour clad warrior was a menacing figure, but it was the sickly aura about him that made any non-believers squirm. In one hand he carried a precise, delicately crafted power axe, and it crackled with inner energy. In the other hand he carried some form of sonic weapon, but it was unidentifiable to all in the crowd not familiar to weapons of the noise marines.

Still basking in the spectacle of the arena, Rha’kar’s advanced eyes suddenly spotted a flicker of movement amongst the shadows. Despite the many spectrums he saw in, he could not quite identify it. Raising his weapon, he pulled the trigger. Waves of ultrasonic sound blasted forth, and every member of the crowd threw their hands to their heads, clutching their ears in ecstasy and pain. The flicker of movement, however, simply launched itself forwards, ignoring the painful, somehow corrupted sound waves. Rha’kar got his first good look at his opponent, and what he saw sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He instantly recognized his adversary: an Eversor Assassin. Wearing a matte black form fitting body suit, the eversor’s left arm was sheathed in a deadly neuro gauntlet, and in the other he carried a rare needler combi-bolter. Raising this, the eversor fired as it darted forwards with inhuman speed. The bolts smashed into Rha’kar’s chest plate and detonated, but somehow they did not penetrate his ancient, millennia old power armour. Cackling at the pitiful attack, Rha’kar dropped his ineffective sonic blaster, and brought his axe up in a two handed grip. He held it high above his head, ready to strike from high or parry any attack. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. Throwing away the pistol, the eversor sped onwards, bringing his gauntleted fist around for a blow that would knock Rha’kar off his feet. However, just before the eversor could launch his killing blow, Rha’kar let out a piercing scream, that unlike the sonic blaster, cut through the eversor despite his psycho conditioning. Staggering, the eversor continued his charge, but Rha’kar lunged out, bringing his axe down with unbelievable speed and accuracy. Just in time, the eversor raised his gauntlet and deflected the blow, but the axe carved through the gauntlet, and almost severed it. Rha’kar retreated, and readied his axe again. He leapt forward, striking downwards with his axe again and again, seeking to get inside the assassin’s guard. Reeling, and barely parrying the chaos marine’s attacks, the assassin stumbled backwards.

Deep in his subconscious, an implanted command was triggered, and the assassin’s stim injector forced the remainder of the combat drugs into the eversor’s blood stream. Rha’kar advanced, unperturbed by the sudden change in his opponent, ready to deliver the killing blow. As he raised his axe, the eversor leapt forwards, smashing the mangled remains of his neuro gauntlet into Rha’kar’s helm. Stars exploded before Rha’kar’s eyes, and the traitor marine tried to bring his axe to bear. The eversor was well and truly inside his guard now however, and the unwieldy weapon was of no use. Rha’kar dropped it, and the eversor leapt forwards with insane speed, smashing Rha’kar to the floor hard. Rha’kar through a hook at the assassin in desperation, and his ceramite encase fist smashed into the side of the assassin’s skull mask. Rha’kar felt bones break beneath the blow, but the assassin’s stims kept him fighting regardless of injury that would have killed even a space marine such as himself. The Eversor rained yet more blows upon Rha’kar’s head, pounding the battered helm into the arena soil. The assassin continued to strike the marine, long after he was dead, smashing his gauntlet into the marine until Rha’kar’s head was nothing but a bloody and mangled wreck. Slowly, the assassin rose, blood dripping from it’s hands, and it turned towards the crown. Horrified, the more alert spectators tried to flee, but just as the assassin began to advance into the stands, it twitched and then collapsed, it’s mission complete.

Match to The Grand Wazoo!

[Thousandth Son]

Riddy vs Yorkiebar

Awill looked around the building called the Arena of Death, packed with over one hundred thousand screaming fans. He drank in there emotions, which were nearly tangible, surrounding the arena like a fog. This was not his first time to participate in the Arena, he was looking forward to taking yet another prize home, whether it was a trophy or his opponents head, it did not really matter.

The doors opposite him began to open, and through them strode one of the largestOrk that Awill had ever had the misfortune to gaze upon. He had fought other members of the greenskins before, and found them to be slow, stupid, but incredibly dangerous. His expert eyes quickly measured the Ork, he guessed this one was about eight feet tall, and weighed just over four hundred pounds. Well, speed would likely be his greatest ally in this match.

The Ork began to charge, a might “WAAAAGGHHH!” erupting from his throat. Awill drew his power sword, switching it on, and raised his bolt pistol and fired, maybe a few shells would slow the beast down. His shots did connect, although they ricocheted and into the crowd. Well there’s more than one way to skin a grot, he thought and charged himself. As they both reached striking distance, the Ork’s bionic arm shot out at him, he easily dodged, spun behind the Ork and hamstringed the beast in a huge spurt of blood. He rolled to his feet, thinking himself to have the advantage

But it was not so, the Ork spun, nearly untouched by the wound Awill had dealt it. Its huge axe came down in a huge arc, and it was all Awill could do to stop the thing from splitting him clean in two. They were locked in a deadly pushing match, and Awill knew that it would not bode well for him should he lose. He rolled again, bringing his bolt pistol up to fire once more, this time firing point blank into the Orks torso. Bits of shattered bone and organ exploded out the back of the huge beast. He knew now that he could not lose, so he began to move on the offensive again, the Orks movements becoming slow and slugginsh. Within seconds the Ork was on it’s knees, bleeding from dozens of places.

“Say your prayer’s Ork”

A blur of motion came, the bionic arm lashed out one last time this time catching Awill’s head between its pinchers, and sqeezed, destroying Awill’s skull in an explosion of brain’s and bone fragments.

Match to Yorkiebar

[Nid]

Xen-Ra vs Antyrael
(Species 8472 vs Antyrael, the Favored Child)

The crowd knew they were in for something special. Something different. The buzz of anticipation filled the arena. Wild speculations ranged from a herd of grox-bunnies, to a Bloodthirster miraculously appearing inside the ring. A sentinel power loader entered the arena, servos buzzing and hydraulics hissing as it moved a large plas-steel and ceramite box. The box had seen better days, it was rent apart in places and inside a dark shadowy figure could be seen frantically moving about. Roars of bestial hatred emitted from the man-made prison.

From across the arena, an impossibly lithe alien form quickly and quietly trotted in. The shapers' head-quills quivering in anticipation. He thrilled for the hunt, and this would be his most impressive exploit yet. Antyrael, the Favored Child, readied his weaponry. Letting out a strange, bird like call, he squacked and drew his salvadged bolt pistol.

Aiming deftly, he shot the lock off the crate. The power loader dropped the remains of the box, and immediately began to retreat.

The box hit the ground, and something lightning quick burst forth from its shadowy lair. Species 8472, a rare Tyranid organism that has never been seen before, tore its way through the remains of the enclosure like it was soggy toilet paper. It roared a challenge, and the Kroot returned it. The crowd, mesmerised by the unfamiliar forms, went wild.

The broodlord paused, its alien intellect taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. This wasn;t a mindless bug. The shaper drew its Eviscerator, to prepare for the honor of close melee. And then it sprang at him.

The stealer moved with an alien speed rarely seen. The Kroot suddenly clucked in alarm as he realized just how outclassed he was. There was no Honor to be found this day fighting this monster. He swung his Eviscerator with all his might, only to watch in horror as it effortlessly sidestepped, ducked in low, and plunged a talon into his gut. Ice suddenly shot through the Kroot's wiry frame, a mortal wound indeed. The other prehensile arms reached over and promptly tore the Shaper's arms off at the shoulders. Holding its now incapacitated prey, the brood lord leaned in close. Alien nostrils absorbed the smell of this strange prey.

The Kroot looked in horror as a small tube extruded from below the Stealer's tongue. It's ovipositor. The alien creature paused once more. Suddenly, it realized the damage inflicted to this thing was too great to sustain it for impregnation. The tube slid back into its jaw. The shaper sighed with relief, just as the bug bit down on his skull.

Intense pressure. Die with honor. Pain, now. The Shaper sat still. A blinding light, then blackness all consuming.

The Devourer of Worlds. And Kroot.

Xen Ra Wins!

[Pariah]

Alterion vs Plasmadaemon

Shas'el Seashells on the Sea Shore vs. Grey Knight Brother-Captain Big Willie

*Standing by right before the immense blastdoors leading out into the humongus plazasized arena Shas'el Seashells was sitting snug deep inside his Crisis suit, having just ordered it to complete a few last minute diagnostics. Sipping his cup of tea he was feeling very confident indeed that today, in this place, he would be victorius. Indeed, he had heard that his destined opponent, some sort of unscropouls and ill-shaven human didn't even field a proper piece of long-range deathdealing gunnery. To be frank, he was already contemplating his next encounter, which was hopefully to be something a bit more closely-matched, perhaps there would even be a duck shooting competition? Feeling very good about him indeed, and feeling good about doing good, well, that was all very much part of doing the greater good, he finished his tea and grasped his joystick, striding out into the arena.*

*Feeling, if possible, even better about himself then did the Fire Caste warrior about to face him with a torrent of scorching hot plasma, Grey Knight Brother-Captaion Big Willie was getting his groove on using his force weapon to punch wholes right through the reinforced walls the Shas’el had been so busy examining. Big Willie, and yeah you know it, that’s his name,Willie. Big. Possibly G.K B-C B.W. even, nice to get that one out in the open here in the begining. Willie had learnt that he was to face a xenos scum with a name sounding nothing at all the the epitome of manliness that his own name implied, but something along the lines of el’seaman the seabiscuit. ‘Hmm’ he said to himself. ‘Seabiscuit, wasn’t that a pony or something? Darn cute he seemed to remember it being. Or not. Being, as all G.K.s about four centuries old and still feeling like he was twentyfive he wasn’t about to let some xenos with a name sounding like a cross between a sea-menu and a racing horse stop him from killing it. Having thought that out, he finally focused his mental prowess into a huge ball of flaming flames to burn the last remains of the blastdoors from it hinges, and after that, began to trot out into the arena proper*

Firing up his Jet-pack, Shas’el Seashells homed his tracking-beacon onto the trotting giant that was coming towards him looking grim as death and twice as unpleasant, and softy caressed the trigger on his firestick, his visor immediatly fading to purple to shield his eyes from the sun-like twin bursts of roaring death that streaked towards the Marine. But even before he had fired his twin-linked plasme rifle the human champion had leveled his fighting glaive, the much cherished and feared Nemesis Force Weapon, and fired twice from the storm bolter at it’s end, and both the shoots rang as they striked home true, exploding right in the chest of the Tau warriors crisis suit, however both rounds somehow failed to make even the smallest dent in the armor, and now the plasmabursts was striking the Marine...

One of the two bursts went wide, Shas’el having somehow misjudged the distance or speed of the marine, but the other one hit the Grey Knight square in the chest. However, this strike too somehow failed to even make a dent in the armor of the strickened contestant.

However.... Shas’el hade more where that plasma-burst had come from.

Beginning to softly hum for himself he switched from single to auto-fire and, a hurricane of blueish-red energy was pumped from his Fusion Blaster, streaming like the four riders of the apocalypse, striking the Marine his helmet, going through him like a hit knife through flesh, plasteel and hundreds of years of excellence....

And the Grey Knight champion stopped, his hands convulsing, finally dropping the force weapon to the ground, and then he fell down into the ancient sand on the arena floor.

Dead.

And the Winner is Shas'el Seashells on the Sea Shore.

And the crowd went wild.

;-P

[Xavier]

To any roller who the reorganising of matches has effected I appologize.

[plasmadaemon]

Don't exept top notch writing from me, i'm only 14! :P

so here it is:
(Veregoca v. Lord Balor)

Tech priest enginseer v. Enginseer monachov

The crowd was silent, for years, they all wanted to see two engiseers battle it out, it seemed to them that they would never see this battle, but they did.

The count-machine rose a few meters up in the air to get a better view for video streaming while the eager spectators chanted strange rhymes. The first klaxon surrounded the space with it’s ear-piercing ring: That meant that the first competitor would come inside the arena. It was time, time for carnage.

The reinforced platinum door rose up quickly as the light was turned off in the arena, the smoke hissed as it came out of the near-invisible holes from the floor. Just when the arena turned into a terrifying gas cloud, a horde of rock music went up as the fire from the inside the door burst into life: Monachov came slowly through the door and the beastly fire, walking towards the centre of the round arena, while taunting everyone around him. When he came to centre, the second claxon sounded.

As though by magic, the smoke rinsed away and the fire emitters stopped their function. The opposite platinum door opened and with a roar the second techmarine burst out, the music changed to suit the new competitor and millions of lasers flashed around the arena, piercing the eyes of the crowd. The techmarine opened up it’s helmet while jogging heavily towards the centre, and what a surprise it was: one would think that inside the helmet would be a normal pale scared head, but instead, this techmarine had two huge glowing red eyes, with a skull shaped metal head. instead of a mouth, there was a small red box, inserted into a slot, no one could ever guess what it was. But it was a refractor field mechanism.

Then, everything stopped, the noise, the effects, even the crowd stopped screaming. Then, a dark, distorted, horrific voice said:

“Enginseer versus techpriest Monachov”

The lights slowly faded in again and the count-machine hovered in between the two techpriests, shielding them against attacking each other. The countdown to the start started on the machine’s screen:

3...
2...
1...

The machine rose up and sounded the final word:

“ B-b-egin-n-n”

A roar greater than the explosion of a battle-cannon shell went up as the two priests charged towards each other, the ground reverberated as they ran. Monachov holstered his double-barrelled sin-dan78 integrated shotgun from his arm and fired into the enginseer, the twin ionized shells hit the techmarine in the leg at ground-breaking speeds, making the two shells dig deep into the pallid flesh of the engiseer. The priest shuddered and tumbled onto the floor. His servo-arm crackled into life and the plasmapistol that was on it sent off two shots towards the ever-running Mochanov.

Mochanov, when he shot the shotgun, thought that he would hit the power supply of the priest’s suit, but he didn’t, so Monachov, seeing as the techpriest was sent to the floor by the force of his weapon, he decided to charge with his power sword to finish the priest off. Little did he know however, that a plasmapistol was mounted on one of the techpriest’s servo-arms. because of his mistake, he now had a melting arm.

Monachov roared in pain as his arm was being superheated in front of his own eyes. He tried to stay up-right but not much kept him that way, so he fell onto the sand .The plasma nearly melted most of his arm off when Monachov felt a series of other feelings:
Firstly, his leg got caught in the pool of plasma from the second shot of the pistol, so now his leg was being melted slowly, secondly, the techpriest had hit him with his servo-arm. Monachov looked up the last time and saw a great big explosion.

His body was sent flying into flaming bits by the second shot of the plasmapistol.

The announcer revved up:

“The Techpriest won the match!”

Lord balor won the match.......

[Antyrael]

That's no excuse, I'm only 16

Tyranid05 - Al Ovadaplace, Imperial Guardsman
vs
Son of Morkai - Lord Whiff, Ordeo Malleus Inquisitor

*Al stood up, and walked towards the enormous double doors. Light shone through the cracks, the first light Al had seen since he was taken. It will end here, Al knew, one way or another. The torture he had lived through for months was nearing it's end. He would die, or he would be elevated above the prisoners around him as a champion of this abhorrent sport.

The doors swung open, and Al walked out and stared across the Arena. His opponent had just entered from the opposite doors, clad in armor and ornate weaponry. This was the one they called Whiff. His entire squad had been systematically slaughtered by this inquisitor. Al would give him hell, that much he knew. They each saluted Antaeus, sitting atop his throne at the head of the arena and paced towards each other, stopping ten yards apart. Whiff grinned, something that brought a smile to Al's face as well. His brother had been Whiff's previous challenger, and had ripped off Whiff's entire jaw, which was now entirely bionic.

"Begin!" roared Antaeus.

Whiff brought two fingers to his head, his other hand streached out towards Al. The crackle of arcane lightning surrounded Whiff, becoming increasingly bright as his concentration became more complete. Al knew he had little time, and took his demolition charge from his pack, activated and threw it as he charged towards the Inquisitor. The charge was nowhere near the mark. Al cursed himself for his horrific throw and drew his lasgun, letting out a deafening cry that drowned out the yells for blood coming from the croud. Whiff vowed to make Al's death painful as the lightning dissappated, his concentration broken by the shrapnel and the insane guardsman, fearlessly sprinting towards him. "Why do these men not just accept their fate?" he wondered as he drew his power sword.

Whiff struck, using a downward chop that Al sidestepped at the last second. Al spun, dodging a second attack from the Inquisitor, this one smashing into the ground just behind him. Again Whiff struck, using an upward slash that cut across Al's chest. Al's flak armor was breached, but his backward momentum left only a shallow cut across his chest. Al saw his chance and rolled under a fourth blow from his opponent, thrusting his bayonett at the inquisitor's chest as he came up. As his blade found it's target, he was blown back by an energy field. "Your fate is sealed", Whiff told him, "why should you defeat me, when I have slain beasts that would drive you insane with a single glance?".

Whiff again went on the offensive, his practiced battle skill was forgotten, and he slashed at Al with unparalelled fury. Al dodged blow after blow, cheating certain death by millimeters. A quick thrust forced Al to parry with his lasgun. The power sword cut the gun in half, and a whine that Al knew well began eminating from the back half of his rifle. He threw the gun at Whiff just as the power generator overload was complete. The gun exploded as Al dove onto the ground and covered his head. He quickly regained his footing and waited for the smoke to clear. After several seconds the battered form of Whiff stumbled out of the cloud of dust, his face destroyed and blood pouring from countless holes in his armor. "You think you have won, foolish Guardsman?" Whiff managed between gasps, "Who are you to one such as me? I will enjoy presenting your skull to Antaeus."

The power sword struck again and again. Al dodged and spun, trying desparately to remain out of the path of the weapon. Whiff got closer and closer, advancing with every swing. Whiff sliced sideways, quickly bringing it to an overhand chop as Al tried to jump back from the first blow. The sword severed Al's hand, and in one fluid motion, Whiff spun around and buried his power sword in Al's stomach. Whiff's eyes met those of his victim, and Whiff saw the desparation and helplessness he had seen on countless enemies on countless battlefields. Al knew his fate was sealed. Whiff took two steps back and glanced up at Antaeus. Antaeus extended his hand, raising his thumb towards the sky.

-->spoiler, highlight to read

Whiff quickly closed again with Al, slicing downward, taking off his other hand. His second attack made a cut across Al's left thigh and now Whiff became a blur of movement, circling around Al, his sword moving with such speed that none in the croud could make out the individual strikes. Whiff's frenzy continued, circling his foe many more times, his blade coming back and fourth in a flury of attacks. Finally he stopped in front of Al. Whiff spat in his opponent's face, and with one stroke, he decapitated the Guardsman. Al's body fell apart. What was once a proud servant of the Emperor was now a pile of a hundred gory chunks of flesh, barely even recognizable as a man. Whiff picked up the head of his fallen enemy and raised it high, basking in the cheering of the croud around him.

Whiff glanced at Antaeus, who nodded his approvel. Antaeus stood, grinning broadly. "FATALITY!" he boomed. The croud stood on their feet, the thunder of their applause nearly blowing Whiff down. He walked back towards the doors he had entered from, trusting that the mess he had left would be cleaned before his next battle.

Congradulations Son of Morkai, you did better than my stupid Kroot Shaper

Antyrael

[Antaeus]

tesseract Vs Lady Hope

The delicate aroma of burning heretic filled the nostrils of the idle spectator at the Arena, the south stand a riot of burning torches and censers, the supporters of the Inquisitor Lord Vilma giving voice to Imperial hymns. Brother-Captain Antaeus’ sensitive nose twitched - not a particular fan of the aforementioned smell. The north stand was very different, blue-grey the predominant colour, wolf’s head banners rippling in the wind. A light rain was falling, making the sand of the Arena wet underfoot, but failing to dampen the spirits of the baying crowds.

The gates creaked open, and the combatants entered the Arena. The cheers and whistles reached a crescendo as Inquisitor Vilma strode into the dim light, long raid hair flowing down the back of her ebony-white Power armour. She raised her gilded, rune-encrusted axe in salute of the Witch Hunter supporting crowds, the rain clattering off her armour. From the opposite end, a figure legendary in Arena circles walked forwards to approach the centre of the battlegrounds. Gustoff Caernhammer, Iron Priest of the Space Wolves, his hammer held across his broad chest, cast a long shadow onto the damp sands.

Battle commenced. Vilma’s Bolt pistol levelled at the Space Wolf and fired, rounds flaring towards the huge Iron Priest on trails of internal propellant. The shells detonated upon contact with the Space Wolf’s ancient, beautifully forge armour. A smile split Gustoff’s features beneath his helm as Vilma raised her axe and charged towards him, a battlecry on her lips. He raised his own pistol and snapped off a couple of shots, but was also ineffective, shells battering off the young Inquisitor’s own power armour.

Gustoff raised his mighty hammer as Vilma reached him, swinging her axe in a diagonal, downwards stroke. Gustoff stepped aside, the force weapon singing through the air past his head, bringing him hammer upwards. Vilma threw herself backwards, the hammer clipping her armoured shoulder, blasting a shoulder plate free from her armour. She rolled aside as Gustoff advanced, bringing his mighty weapon downwards again, slamming into the dust with a thunderous boom that seemed to shake the entire stadium, a whirlwind of dust surrounding the Iron Priest.

Vilma sprang back to her feet, and swung her axe upwards at the advancing Space Wolf. Caught off guard, Gustoff was just too slow to bring up his weapon, and the force weapon tore through his breastplate, a corona of psychic energy arcing through the weapon. A roar of pain escaped the Iron Priest, and he collapsed to his knees, the force axe still embedded in his chest. A smile crossed Vilam’s face, closing her eyes, and raising her axe to cleave the wounded Space Wolf in two.

As the axe was raised, Gustoff gave a blood-chilling cry, and hurling himself back onto one knee, blocking the blow with the haft of his hammer. He swung the mighty weapon, and Vilma, shocked by the old Wolf’s ability to survive the blow he had received, took the blow right in the torso. A brilliant flash of light erupted from the weapon, and Vilma was hurled through the air, slamming into the stone walls of the Arena, falling to the floor in an unmoving heap

Match to tesseract!

[Rainbow]

Melchor vs Omelette

Melchor the Mad, Chosen of Khorne, Drinker of blood
Versus
Senior Offiser Omelette

Ladies and gentlemen, the final match of the first round is here! This is what is all boils down to! You have seen the champions of all races defend their colors, you have seen tears and despair, destruction and havoc, bravery that defies common sense! You have seen it all! Now you shall see the Arena at its' best, we present you slaughter and mayhem! Behold the champions!

From the Imperial Guard, 'Senior Offiser Omelette'!!
Representing the chosen of the blood god, 'Melchor the Mad, drinker of blood'!!

Slowly the southern gate slid open, from the widening mouth strides Omelette, a true hero of the Imperium. He is a seasoned veteran from over a dozen successful campaigns commanding a battalion of dedicated and brave men of the Imperium. He strides ten paces into the arena and readies himself for whatever might emerge from the northern gate, whatever it is he knows a well placed plasmashot will kill anything.

The nothern gate slides open very quickly, from within the bowels of the dark passage a growling can be heard. *snap* The sound of restraints snapping, chains sliding, deathscreams from unfortunate servitors escape into the arena. The last screams have not yet died out as a creature emerges from the gaping gate at an inhuman speed. It senses another creature, another kill, another skull for the allmighty blood god!

Omelette grunts, another mindless charge... These chaos scum never learn, they have no honour in their tactics, a battle is won by outwitting your enemy, employing a superior intelect and battleplan to achive victory for the glory of the Imperium! Bored of the whole scene Omelette raises his plasma pistol and unloads its' deadly streams of superheated plasma straight in the charging bull inside a cloud of dust as the chaos champions closes the distance at an amazing pace.

Very contently the senior offiser sees the first bolt strike true, it tears through the poor excuse for armor the stupid marine wears and it screams in agony. Then the unthinkable happens, the pistol glows red, its heat scorches the offiser's hand and it clatters as it hit the ground. Although not seruously hurt by the ordeal, Omelette is clearly shaken as the mindless bull hits him straight on. Screams fill the arena, the screams of an uncontent champion of Khorne, the senior offiser is nowhere to be found...

Match to Melchor

[Nid]

I'm really sorry for the ****** writeups, but I just don't have time to do a better one right now. But I promised to roll, here's the outcomes.

Crazed Monkey Versus Nexus6

Faith failed to activate the 2+ inv on Visas. I don't own the Hereticus codex, so I did this at the beginning. If done incorrectly, let me know and I'll reroll the match.

Connel hits and wounds with the Inferno pistol.

Visas wounds once with the power sword.

Connel wounds twice with the force weapon, but fails the Ld check. Visas has 3 wounds and dies.

Match to Nexus6!

Col. Gravis versus Kohhna

No shooting, so charging into battle.

Johnston rides in and wounds once (+2I for charge)

Solozo fails to wound first round of combat.

Solozo wounds Johnston once with talons.

Johnston fails to wound.

Solozo wounds Johnston with talons.

Johnston fails to wound.

Solozo wounds Johnston 3 times, Johnston dies.

Victory to Kohhna!

I'll do purdy writeups later if I get some time. Happy hunting.

[Xavier]

Round 2

Antaeus
Xavier v The Grand Wazoo
Col.Gravis
Yorkiebar v Necrontyr
Pariah
Commander X v Son of Morkai
Son of Morkai
Tesseract v Melchor
Crux
Slazton v Alterion
Alterion
Xen-Ra v Lord Balor
Nexus6
Kohhna v Samoth
Frodo34x
neXus6 v Puffin Magician

[Son of Morkai]

Tesseract
Gustoff Caernhammer, Son of Russ. Iron Priest of Bjorn Stormwolf's Great Company

vs.

Melchor
Melchor the Mad, Chosen of Khorne, Drinker of Blood


Gustoff Caernhammer smashed open the door to the arena with his thunderhammer, sending shards of twisted metal flying into the stands. Today - and all days - would belong to the sons of Russ. Of that he had no doubt. Just look at his opponent - some blood drenched madman, tearing his way through the gates with a pair of lightning claws.

No strength, no finesse. Not only was he a traitor, he lacked the perfection brought on by the machine.

Gustoff raised his bolt pistol and fired round after round into the traitor as it ripped it's way free and charged. But each ricoched of it's armor, leaving bright silver streaks in the gore.

"Blood for the Blood God!"

As pistol clicked dry Gustoff quickly threw it at Melchor and brought the hammer around to parry the heretics wild slashes.

"Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

He easily knocked aside the first attacks, and cracked Melchor across the face with the haft of his hammer. Bones shattered and blood dripped. A minor wound, nothing that a even a traitor marine couldn't ignore. But still, time would tell, endurance would win this fight...

Melchor's left hand came sweeping down and Gustoff raised his hammer high -

The traitor's right hand punched through the Iron Priest's torso. Melchor stepped back as the Space Wolf dropped to his knees, blood pooling around his legs. He grabbed the marine's head, and with a swift jerk, ripped it free.

"BLOOD AND SKULLS FOR OUR LORD KHORNE!"

Winner: Melchor

[Col.Gravis]

Yorkiebar v Necrontyr
Unnamed Ork Warboss v Unnamed Necron Lord

One end of the stands was filled to the brim with Greenskins, and more were still trying to enter the confined area, fights breaking out as the Arena's secruity staff badly stretched tried to control the growing riot - it was lucky then thet the other end was quiet, row upon row of silent metallic visages watching the arena itself impassively.

With a mighty cheer from the Orkoid end the portals opened, a massive Ork Warboss stepping forth snarling in a bestial fashion, easily eight foot tall built solidly of slabs of dark green muscle and looking all the more menacing for the array of crude bionics covering its massive frame.

As the other portal opened a baleful green glow spread across the arena before the emergence of a large metallic Warrior carrying an arcane looking staff, its eyes glowing as bright a red as the Warboss - the Necron Lord had a arrived.

The announcer began to introduce the contestants only to be suddenly drowned out by the massive Warboss,

Tiz a Zoggin Tin 'Ead! Waaaaaaaaagggggghhhhh!!!

The Ork charged.

The Necron Lord stood its ground, pointing the arcane looking staff in its hands towards the rapidly approaching greenskin, a series of green lighting bolts erupting from the tip of the staff, the first two going wide but the third causing a great rent in the Bionics encrusting the mighty greenskin.

Now the Necon too charged the two combatants meeting in the centre of the arena in vicious combat.

Blow after savage blow rained down upon the Necrons carapace, denting it badly in several places though doing little visible damage, by way of the return the Necrons Staff moved swiftly in precisely controlled movements, landing a clean blow, cutting through the crude bionics like paper, the Ork roared in anger its bionic arm swinging wildly forward smashing the Necron in the face - it collapsed slowly.

The Warboss turned round to face the Greenskin crowd arms in the air in triumph - but something wasn't quite right, cheers turned to jeers - the Warboss turned round just in time to see the Necron Lord rising to its feet once more.

Wantz sum mor duz ya, ya stoopid Tin 'ead!

With a flurry of blows the newly risen Necron was smashed to the ground once more, reduced to scrap metal, the Necron barely able to raise its weapon in defence.

Once more the Warboss turned in triumph - only to be jeered once more!

With a roar the Ork swung his Chopper around in a mighty arc smashing the metal construct down one last time!

Yet something still didn't feel quite right, the mighty Ork felt dazed its monstrous head spinning - literally - only when the dust settled and it saw its own headless body sagging to the ground did everything quite fall into place.

With a muffled 'Zog it!' the Warbosses eyes faded to darkness as the Necron Lord rose once more and stalked back to whence it came.

Match to Necrontyr!