The Alley (preferably no guns for a change)

Frost stood in the dark.
It was cold, but he didn't feel it.
He felt nothing.

He felt empty.

He stared in to the night.
It never rained in the alley. Perhaps it wascovered, up on some distant storey.
He didn't look.

He didn't care.

He glanced silently at the torn Linkin Park poster falling off the wall. Hopeless.

The hilt of his sword called menacingly to him. Frost called a silent challenge to anyone who was as dead as he was. There must be others. Musn't there? Surely...
A silent breeze shifted the folds of his coat.

Frost stood in the dark.

Chris stepped out of the rain, into the alley.
His body was Numb outside, burning on the inside.

He stared ahead, and saw a figure standing in the darkness.

The figure appeared menacing, challenging.

Chris drew his sword, and approached.

He felt no fear.

Frost stepped back from the sodden newcomer. He decided silence would be more dramatic than an introduction.
This one was confident, by the look of it more confident than he was. He ripped out his sword and spun it around in his hand twice, then dropped into a high guard. Poses were what this game was all about.
He narrowed his eyes and glared at the figure approaching towards him.
He hoped this would be quick.

Gusts permeated through the hard, rusted metal of the fire escape. The ice winds stabbed into the exposed forearms of Gerald, his clean shaven face. He grimaced. The cold shouldn't bother him. It couldn't bother him.
It didn't bother him.
Tying his hair back, into a rough ponytail behind him, Gerald looked at the two of them. He knew one, but the identity of the other eluded him. More than a coincidence, the meeting, he knew, but he couldn't pick the real meaning behind it, and didn't want to speculate.
The katana slid from its sheath, the noise of it leaving its place of rest more than likely enough to alert them, but it wasn't his style to attack from behind in the first place.
Blue steel glinted, reflecting the pale light from the street as Gerald flew to the ground, his boots making a thud on contact with the ground that the two definately heard.

Chris spun his sword around, and tapped the tip onto the ground.

He was about to run at his target, when another character dropped gracefully from the fire exit above, and landed on the ground between them. He carried a Katana, which seemed unusual, but stylish.

Chris's sword was one he was quite fond of. Standard length, with a tempered steel, silver plated blade, and a logo of three small triangles at the base of the blade. The handle was a purplish blue, and the sword had the overall look of a Master's Sword. Which, of course, Chris was.

He spun it around again, and decided that the new foe was a more interesting target. He stepped into striking distance of the new target, and swung his sword at his head, with an easily blockable swing. It was a challenge more than a killing blow.

Breaking a trend, Gerald refused to spin his sword around before reacting. Such flashy and useless manoeuvres held no place in his art.
Gerald's blade went up, providing noting more than a token resistance before he danced away. He had no doubt what the man's broad, cumbersome blade would do to his own, and there was also the matter of the man behind him to take into account.

Who dared interrupt the challenge?

This new clown with the katana should be hung.
By the neck.
Until he was sorry.

Frost felt himself fill with rage.

He gripped the silver hilt of his bastard sword with two hands. The handle was to long to be practical, but it served its purpose.

The newcomer appeared too cocky. He must be taught.
Abandoning honour, Frost leapt at the man from behind, his blade aimed straight for the neck.

Someone would pay for their ignorance.

Gerald heard the swing of the weapon early. A quick lift of his sword angled upwards deflected the clumsy stike above his head, and Gerald let his blade slide off the bottom of his opponent's.

Then, ulilising the leverage of his long hilt, he let fly with a strike at the man's exposed shoulder.

Frost ducked easily under the high swing and spun around to strike at his attackers face.

Unfortunately, the first man was quite in the way, and his blow was too easily parried. He leapt back looking for a quick escape.

Dodging back towards the mouth of the alley, he decided that now an introduction would be more dramatic than silence.

He spun his sword for attention, and stated quite boldly:
"I am Frost. Betrayed by darkness. Scorned by all"

A silent breeze blew his coat (quite dramatically) in the half-darkness. He expected replies.

Gerald smirked.
"Sloppy fighter. Stupid Fighter. No discipline."
Gerald walked around to the side, keeping an equal distance between him himself and the other two, and both in front of him. He stopped by a wall, but did not lean on it.

He didn't care what the man expected. A name given was a disadvantage, and his code did not require, much less encourage him to reciprocate with his own.
Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

Gerald was happy to be the Devil least wanted here.

Frost was insulted. He STILL expected a reply, but wasn't sure he'd get one. Which again didn't make sense, but then he was angry now. He turned to his first opponent. At least he had honour. Honour was paramount.

Frost attempted to calm himself down. He couldn't fight built up with rage. He looked for a weakness.

Bare arms. Not much to go on unless he could land a blow to the triceps.

The katana, which seemed to give him a speed advantage over his own longer but slightly heavier straight sword. Of course, the blade was slightly weaker but the newcomer had already proved that he knew how to handle that.

They all seemed reasonably matched for skill and speed. This would be a mental duel as much as a physical one.

He hoped that the first man would help out against this arrogant newcomer. Realistically, nobody could stand up to two masters of the blade, not at once. Otherwise it would just be unfair.

Frost moved slowly towards the man with the katana.
He hatched his plan.

Gerald's blade was already raised, in an anticipatory centre guard position. The man was a wildcard. Blake had seen the work of the other man, Wesley first hand, but he had almost no idea how this man's game played, and that made him all the more dangerous.
For now, at least.

Keeping an eye out for any actions from his other opponent and his feet ready to move, Gerald awaited this man Frost's attack.

His opponent dropped into defense.
Frost reacted. He lunged toward the man and swung wide, too slow for his style, but then this man didn't know that.

As his adversary moved to parry the strike, Frost spun his blow away harmlessly. His opening presented itself.

Twisting round he brought the silver blade down across the katana, forcing it down, away from trouble. With his left hand he reached out and grabbed his opponent's ponytail, too good an opportunity to miss.

He yanked the man's head back and demanded,
"Tell me your name! NOW!"

A trick, though a rudimentary one at that. Outward displays of emotion were no way to go, but Gerald could not help but smile. This Frost had tied up his own blade in the process of keeping Gerald's out of the action, and his grip on the ponytail, while firm, did not cause any pain.
The man had no respect for any of the minor limitations employed by Blake's code, but there was no way he could expect an outsider to understand any of that. Indeed, it appeared as though he had struck a similar chord in his opponent, who seemed less able to deal with it.

The man had anger, though. Anger and energy. Anger that blinded, energy that spawned recklessness. Gerald could so easily release a hand from the katana trapped behind the heavier blade...
His hand moved deliberately towards his leg, the blades concealed there.

Motion suddenly caught his eye.
The third man.
Gerald's legs dropped out from underneath him, and he let loose sweeping kick to the legs of the other man as he fell.
Blake hoped Wesley's swing went high.

Clarke approached the darkened alley, M4A3 in hand, ready for some actions. He was stopped by two men at the entrance to the alley by two burly men, possibibly unusualy burly Koreans with a special talent for computer games. "Your weapon is not permitted in this alley," Mr Heo said carmly. Mr Choy added "Perhaps you would like to try your hand with this Kevlar-steel compound bastard blade with the special skull imprints on the hilt, the blackness of the blade realy would go well with your trenchcoat, Mr Anderson (NAI)." Clarke took the dark blade with glee, thanking the thin air in front of him as the two men evaporated. A all-so-familier smirk crossed his faced as he entered the alley, wondering what lied ahead in the dark and cold alley. Perhaps a gloryous victory. Perhaps an humiliation defeat. Perhaps a Linkin Park poster. Who but the future can tell.

Chris had been ignored by these two duellers, who seemed to be continuing the fight quite well without his help. He decided to end this pointless fighting, kill the one without a name and fight Tiberius.

As Chris started to swing his sword, he noticed a figure entering the alley, carrying a compound steel "wanker sword" with special Dull imprints on the hilt. The blackness of the blade went well with his skin.

"Clarke Anderson, we meet again. I believe it is time to to finish what we started."

He stopped within an inch of Gerald's skull, and turned to attack his old nemesis.

Frost saw the man turn, just as he was about to destroy his adversary, the one with the katana.
His plan had failed, for now. It was too risky to remain like this, he had Mr.katana trapped but he couldn't strike, and so it was useless.
He vaulted into the air, soaring up and landing on top of a chainlink fence.
He wanted to see what 'Clarke Anderson' was about.

Clarke laughed out loud, his menacing chuckle echoing of the decaying brick walls. Chris stood no chance. Clarke's brother had given him 12 years of education in both armed and unarmed combat, Clarke was very experienced with the use of a blade. Clarke bought his sword over from the left handed position in a graceful arc, assuming a two handed combat stance, the ultra sharp blade not attracting a shiver of the moonlight. Clarke was ready for anything that Chris could throw at him. And that meant anything. "Shall we?" Clarke sneered.

With a cold dark meancing scream the ground croaked then crack. A figure drenched in red light crawled from the crack and he pulled him self to his feat and rased his two handed sword and swang it around in a perfect circle and then he closed his eyes and spoke in a booming voice " I am Sethia von seperish. I am here to crash blade with your greatest" with that he opened his eyes which gloyed with an earthly red and he let his long black cloack fall to the ground to reveal a body amoured in chain mail his jet black van braces he spoke once more. "So who here is the greatess" with that he toke a step toward the crowd with this blade ready in a hi ward

Castor strolled purposefully down the street, the light drizzle spitting harmlessy off his white trenchcoat. As he neared his destination, he saw a pair of unusually burly koreans guarding the entrance to the alley. He was not surprised.Still walking, he ripped out his silenced glock and punctured their throats before they even saw him.
He strolled into the alley, not at all prepared for what he would see.
-~@8@~-

Pollox double-checked the grappling hook fitted above the window. Again. It was still ready. Leaping out through the crumbling brickwork, his blonde dreadlocks flung back, he swung down over the fence. His feet connected sharply with Frost's back, knocking him off the chain link. He let go of the rope, landing in front of the guy with the katana.
Having some, if little, respect for rules, he avoided his usual weapons and instead drew a double-handed claymore, a heavy weapon, but one of his favourites. And the only thing fitting for the occasion.

-~@8@~-

Castor saw Pollox swing down and knock a man from the fence where he stood. Apparently his brother was prepared for such a fight. He drew his own pair of shortswords, fast, agile, and near-impossible to block.His ears pricked up beneath his spiked blonde hair. They would decimate this place.

Frost landed heavily on the concrete. How could he have dropped his guard? How could he have been so stupid? His wrist ached where he had landed on it.
He was helpless here...he had to escape.

Frost lauched himself up, up, and gripped the rusted fire escape with his one good hand, and scrambled over the rail. He looked down into the alley. What the hell was going on?

Barely 20 minutes ago (he reckoned) he had been standing alone, no sign of life.
His first opponent had showed up, and then Ponytail, his second.
And they had fought. everything after that was a blur. From somewhere had appeared "Clarke Anderson", drawing away the attentions of his first adversary. Two burly koreans had showed up out of nowhere, and were shot by a guy in white, apparently. Another man had kicked him from his spot on top of the fence, and now appeared to be facing off against Ponytail. To top it off, the Alley he had once attempted to call home (yes, that's right, home.) had split open from below and some guy, coincidently also wearing a long coat and a sword had shown up issuing challenges.

-Gasp-
And to make matters worse, much, much, worse,...
Frost had left his sword on the ground where he had fallen!
"SHIT!" he hissed.
Frost's heart raced. What the fuck would he do? Injured and disarmed, it looked like he was reduced to spectating.
Then something clicked. Something he had been given by Martin Scripts, who he thought might be some kind of god or something. He wasn't sure. He reached into the folds of his trenchcoat, his fingers clasped around the silver tube.
He grinned, and pulled out the weapon. He pressed the switch. The blade exploded into life, the red glow bathing the fire escape in deathly light. He could feel the radiation emanting from it, it powered him, filled him with renewed life.
Frost gripped the lightsaber tightly.

'Someone will pay, someone will DIE!'

Having picked himself up off the ground, Gerald witnessed chaos break loose in the alley. He smirked. Amatuers. Dramatic entrances, attacking dishonourably AND with the element of surprise, and still failing to deal adequately with their opponents.
However, he could see them becoming substantially more than a nuiscance.
"Wesley. We have visitors. Can I count on you for a bit?"

A revelation!

Speculate...Speculate...Speculate...

Ponytail knew the first guy... Wesley.
This was starting to make sense now...

The first two men had attacked TOGETHER!
But apparently Wesley was against Clarke Anderson. Which probably meant that Ponytail was against him too.
And Clarke Anderson was apparently associated with the Chinese - No - Korean Mafia!
The two others must be AGAINST the Koreans, since one had shot them, so who was this 'Sethia' who'd come out of the ground?

Frost really hoped he'd fixed that, someone could get hurt with a big hole like that...

He felt he should attempt to form a temporary alliance, until he figured out what the hell as going on. Not ponytail, which ruled out Wesley as well. Perhaps Clarke Anderson? Or Sethia? He needed to act fast...

Time was of the essence.

Talon, who was still standing above the whole situation previously with all the others who were yet to drop in. He look at tiberus's situation, he quite liked the man, his style his human alowance for mistakes and his weapon the mighty bastard sword - 5 1/2 feet of sharp heavy metal.

Although he had once and often still did fight with bastard swords he thought street or alley fighting would be easyer with short weapons as he suspected everyone else would have realised, a bastard sword s very nice but in an alley? scraping of the precious metal work was a definate.

Considering there points Talon equiped himself with a baldric of 13 throwing knives with a dirk in his left hand and the 13th knife in his right.

He dropped silently next to Tiberius, his half length and thus uncumbersome overjacket scraping the ground as an example of the pressure exerted by the impact of the fall.

"I come to offer my alegence in the coming battle Tiberius. I think you will find me worthy"

Seathia lowerd his guard and picked up his coat and threw it over his shoulder and he slowly walked to were the two dead koreans lay passing by the frozen fighters each of them waiting for one of them to make a move but now they all followed him with theres eyes on him. He bend down next to corse of the dead koreans lay nad sunk his fangs deep down into the corese neck he felt the still warm metalic taste of blood flow down his flow down his thorat each drip slowly refeshed his immortal hunger. he let the body fall to the ground and with that he pulled on his coat and placed his sword in his left hand and reached into his coat and gentaly pulled out his fran siscan throwing axe whitch had a almost randow glow to the edge He turned to face Pollox and smiled then he though that axe at Pollox chest and then raised his two handed sword and charged at Gerald Blake and bourt down his blade arcing it toward the mans neck.

Ignoring all of these newcomers, Chris moved to engage his enemy. He swung the Master's Sword in a high arc, aiming for Clarke's shoulder.

He would finish off Seathia later. A n00b with spelling that bad didn't deserve to live.

Whimpy fell out of his window as he was plastered off his face. he landed in what appeared to be somesort of fight. he shat his pants.

like fully shat them.

he then proceeded to sit on the ground and cower in fear. he had this feeling that he was going to be killed realy realy soon.............

Talon reached out and took Tiberius's hand "my name is Talon of the Silver Hawk, I am named such because the god wish me to be a talon for my people who were bla bla bla *see Talon of the Silver Hawk by Ramond E Feist.

having no more time for words considering this pony tailed character seemed to be meanacing people and making aliances he decided to while appearing to waste time he "gestured with one wrist" and used the gesture to flick a throwing knife directly at ponies wind pipe and then annother with his left hand going for the centre of his chest incase pony was swift.

Let us see if this pony tail is fast enough to avoid two attacks to different parts of his anatomy.

Having already fought the ponytailed scourge, Frost decided that, yes, he probably would be. No matter. Ponytail was already under attack from Seathia, and a guy in white. He couldn't stand up to four opponents, nobody could...

"Talon, follow me!"

Brandishing the lightsaber he once again fired it into searing life. The red glow fed him somehow, and his paranoia grew. Someone was out to get him. Someone would fail.

He flew off of the fire escape, down towards Ponyail, who was about to attack Seathia.
'Not so fast, you arrogant hedgepig'
He landed right behind him, and brought the humming blade round in a crimson arc, scorching the air as it burned its way toward the evil ponytailed-one.

Frost was in control.

Pollox glanced back, the clumsy axe passing between himself and his readied weapon before crashing noisily into the fence. He turned his attention back to the man with the katana, who was now dodging attacks from a new opponent..
No, the newcomer had gotten his blade smashed against a wall...
The katana came back, to the fatal strike...
But not before Frost came crashing back down from nowhere, a glowing red blade in his hand. Pollox easily recognised the weapon, out of movies, this was getting out of hand, he considered. No weapon of his could stand against such might power...
But it seemed Frost was not interested in him. He wanted the man with the katana.
-~@8@~-
Castor watched his brother handle his multiple opponents with ease. It seemed that a challenge was happening, involving two men, while everyone else was battling the guy with the katana.
As he watched, some random drunk fell out of a window. Castor laughed lightly to himself. There was nothing for him to do here.
Always in for a bit of free gain, Castor decided to do some midnight shopping. He strolled over to the unbitten korean, and searched his pockets.
"Score! Fifty bucks!"
Castor folded his arms and leant against the corner of the alley. Castor loitered in the street.

This kind of attack did not deserve even the use of a weapon. Fading back and to the side, the articulate and coherently-posting Gerald watched as the monstrous blade belonging to his new opponent smashed into the concrete behind where he had been standing only moments before.
This one, whoever he was, did not have a healthy respect for the ground on which he stood, and it would cost him. The wellbeing of the sword Gerald did not know, but even recovering the weapon would take a few seconds at least.
A few seconds this man did not have.

Gerald stepped in, and ustilised the strengths of his own weapon: He launched an upwards swing with blinding speed towards his opponent, getting as much leverage as possible from the extended handle. Best case scenario, he would cleave the man from waist to shoulder.

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ July 24, 2003 01:04 AM: Message edited by: Gerald Blake ]</font>

Frost was a little bewildered at the newcomer, but here was a friend he desperately needed right now, and his maddening paranoia cut into the back of his mind like the glowing blade he held would cut the walls of the alley.

He released his grip on the switch, and the red light vanished. His right hand he held out towards his new ally. For some strange reason that he couldn't identify, he fully expected to be slapped across the face with a banana skin.

"Your name, then?"

the blade cut though the air at break neck speed and seathia could not parry the attack for his blade was trapped in a wall but this didn't matter for the attack that the sleavnes man had chosen for a finisher was a worthless attack to any one who had under the great Han tasslof . Seathia took a great steep forward. He moved so close that he could feel the mans breath on his neck.Only the hilt of the kanata made contack on his thigh the man was at his mercy but at the moment a red crimson flash moved toward the pair Seathia jumped back from this new attack to were his sword was imprisoned and he freed the weapon from its tome. It had only a single strach on the blade that slowly started to bleed. Seathia raised his blade to his mouth and gently licked the wound witch healed the small wound.He turned his attention to Talon and then back to frost with his strange magical weapon. He then saw a smug looking man in white trench coat next to his meal that man looked pleased.Seathia new how to wipe the smile off his face,"Awake o dead for ye can be no rest for ye while your master summons you!".The two koran body pulled them selfs to there feat and slowly attack the man Seathia smiled to him self and turn and joined the fight with frost and the man with the kanata

James was being chased down the street by the russian mafia, obvisiously, his mother hadnt paid in full for the year supply of toilet paper.

"ha, that alleyway looks like a good place to park, just a heap of people hitting each other with swords."

He reefed on his handbrake, got sideways, stopped excatly in line with the alleyway and reversed in. He felt a thud.

"shit, what did i hit this time."

James opened the door and walked around to check out what he had hit, probably a deer.
It was a burly korean, with a bullet hole in his face and holes in his neck. He looked pretty fucked up. I think he looks hurt, another burly korean was stumbling drunkenly to his feet beside James's car, fucking drunks.

James walked back to the drivers door and opened the boot of his car. A flash caught his eye, He looked again and noticed that it was two throwing knifes. Time to join the party.
He walked over to the boot of the car and opened it up, took out his one-handed longsword and searched for his shield.

"Fuck, I must have left it in my other pants, Does anyone own this dead korean? No? Good, he's mine."

He picked up the dead Korean and put him in his boot, the other korean seeing this fate ran off to this little pissy boy cowering in the corner who looking fucked off his face. He shut the boot, readied his sword and charged at the pussy looking boy, stopped, turned, locked his car with the remote locking. "cant trust any fuckers these days"

<font color="#f7f7f7" size="1">[ July 24, 2003 09:28 PM: Message edited by: James Winters ]</font>

Whimpy felt a sudden rage who were these bastards why were they picking on him?

He picked up the dropped bastard sword and lobbed it at car boy then concerntraiting his rage on the koren and exploded him with his mind.

then rather confused passed out.

"Damn stupid fricken remote locking batteries, god damn useless things."

James looked up to see a huge circle of steel coming at him, he could do anything but put up his left arm and pray that it would stop it.

It cut right through his arm just above the elbow.

"OW. Fuck it, there goes my arm, bitch."

James dropped the his longsword and picked up his arm. He charged at the little pussy boy, covered in the blood of the exploded Korean.

"Here, Fucken take this bitch."

James proceeded to beat his severed arm around whimpy's face...

Gerald's concentration returned to the battle at hand, and not a second too soon, it appeared.
The first of the knives had seemingly missed its' target entirely, and it appeared that another newcomer had unluckily paid a price for that one. The second, however, would not be so easliy deterred.
His sword still close to the demon man, Gerald slid around behind him, and brought a knife of his own around to his throat. If the throwing knife hit anything, Gerald's human shield had to deal with it. However, he didn't know how effective a human shield would be against the weapon held by the man Frost.

He hoped he wouldn't have to find out.

Whimpy woke up to someone beating him about the head with his own arm. he was very confused and an arm realy damn well hurt.

he got up and ran into a throwing knife in mid air which took him in the fore arm.

Screaming he ripped the knife out of his arm and proceeded to attack the nearest person who unfortunately was someone with a light saber in mid swing..........


the two halfs on whimpy slid apart and fell onto the ground with a wet thump.

This fight was getting insane; one of his throwing knives dissapeared and took out some mistery person and everything was working in funny time frames.

Bah screw this im stating my own fight

Clarke was suddenly overwhelmed my the chaos that ensured in the alleyway. A full spectrum of characters had arrived, from the controlled to (mostly) the stupid. Clarke had easily parried the blow from Chris. "Perhaps I can offer an alternative location for this epic duel, Chris?" Clarke queried, for he knew that his adversary would follow him to the more secluded area, away from the stress of the croud.