*temp kinghill_bet 0 *temp kinghill_betwinner "none" A tournament amongst Outer Disciples takes places today. Do you want to attend? *choice #Yes. *goto king_of_hill #No. Uninterested in the tournament amongst some Outer Disciples, you focus on your own business. *goto_scene free_roam *label king_of_hill Calling this event a tourney is a bit of a stretch. A more appropriate term would be a [i]brutal[/i], [i]free-for-all[/i] [i]bloodbath[/i]. King of the Hill, it's named, and it's not something that would ever involve Inner Disciples and above: those at least hold some value to the sect, enough to not squander them in a pointless deathmatch. But hey, it's entertaining, at the very least. You take a sit on the tribunes, noticing how full they appear to be. A battle between mortals to attract so many Martial Artists — it makes you sure that the rumors you've heard about this 'tourney' must at least hold some truth to them. To your right, a group of Inner Disciples chatter with each other, their hands occupied by cups of wine. Cups that, judging by their intoxicated state, have been clearly refilled a couple times at the minimum. [i]I've heard Long Chen's younger brother is going to be fighting…[/i] *yick* [i]…Fighting today.[/i] *line_break [i]Is he any good?[/i] *line_break [i]Dunno know. But if a brother is strong enough to claim superiority even amongst scions of Great Clans, surely he can't be that bad?[/i] *line_break [i]We'll see, we'll see. There's also the animal that has been making a ruckus for the past month.[/i] *line_break [i]Right, what's her name? Lion or something? *line_break [i]It's Tigress, I think. *line_break [i]Heavens, what a stupid name. Figures it belongs to an uncivilized, filthy barbarian. *line_break [i]Can't wait to see her get trashed today. Who in the world even allowed this fucking savage into our home? *line_break [i]Don't worry, after the tourney, they'll burn her lifeless body and return her ashes back to whatever shithole she has crawled out of. The group bursts into laughter, its volume causing disapproving gazes from the people nearby. *gosub_scene subroutines stat_check "per" 12 *if (stat_check) You catch them talking about some sort of a bet going for this tourney. *choice *if (stat_check) *selectable_if (mc_sect_points >= 10) #Take part in betting. *set history &"bet_first_tigress|" "Fellow Martial Brothers." — you raise your voice so that they could hear your amongst their own, more than loud, conversation. They halt their talk, turn to you, not sure what to expect from the sudden call — "Will you accept another bet?" You see them relax, the disciples probably expecting a fight, and their easy countenance swiftly returns. "Of course, the more points for me to win, the better." — a tall guy, with a head of blond hair, replies — "On whom do you want to bet?" *choice #Tigress. "Eh?" — the tall guy marvels — "You sure?" "I am." — you answer, causing the blond to chuckle. "Ha, easy money, easy money! How much are you planning to lose?" *label input_bet_1 *input_number kinghill_bet 10 1000 *if kinghill_bet > mc_sect_points You don't have that much points. Input a lower value. *goto input_bet_1 *set kinghill_betwinner "Tigress" *set history &"bet_on_tigress|" "Thank you for your contribution to our drinking fund!" — another person shouts, sending the whole group into laughter. "We'll see how the tourney goes." — you say, with a light smile. "We'll see, indeed. Good luck, Junior ${polite_address}." *page_break Return To Your Seat #Long Chen's brother. "A smart choice, Junior ${polite_address}! That's whom most of us have our bets on." "How much are planning to bet?" *label input_bet_2 *input_number kinghill_bet 10 1000 *if kinghill_bet > mc_sect_points You don't have that much points. Input a lower value. *goto input_bet_2 *set kinghill_betwinner "Brother" "Alright. Good luck." *page_break Return To Your Seat #A random disciple. Not feeling in confident in either the Tigress or Long Chen's brother, you scan through the disciples warming up in the arena, trying to find one you'll be comfortable betting on. Soon, you find one: a giant, muscular man who seems be at least a head taller than every other contestant. That's a a choice as certain as they come, isn't it? You point your finger towards the guy. "Him." The blond looks over and nods. "Alright." — he says — "How much are you planning to bet?" *label input_bet_3 *input_number kinghill_bet 10 1000 *if kinghill_bet > mc_sect_points You don't have that much points. Input a lower value. *goto input_bet_3 *set kinghill_betwinner "Hunk" "Good luck to you then, Junior ${polite_address}." *page_break Return To Your Seat #"Annoying fucks, shut up before I force you to." *label confrontation_with_drunks The group quietens as they look you over. They may be drunk, but not wasted to the point where they'll be willing to meaninglessly poke a sleeping bear. *gosub_scene subroutines stat_check "prestige" 100 *if (stat_check) You see one of them gulp, his hands nervously tapping their evident leader's, a tall guy's with a head full of blond hair, shoulder. "I think… I think that's ${mc_surname} ${mc_name}." — he mutters — "You remember The *if mc_sex = 0 guy *else girl who shattered the mirror during ${pronoun_2} bloodtest and *if mc_sect_ranking < 10000 beat up Yun Ge." *else is said to be greatest talent of our generation." The mention of your name sobers the group up: you might not be very famous or influential in the sect, but some random Inner Disciples outside of the Rankings wouldn't dare to provoke you. "Our apologies, ${polite_address} ${mc_name}." — the blond says — "We didn't mean to cause offense." You snort and and turn away. *page_break Return To Your Seat *else No one in the group recognizes you: your reputation not wide-spread, your name and appearance far too obscure. *if mc_skill_intimidation >= 6 *gosub_scene subroutines check_skill "int" "pos" 6 However, your intimidating presence sobers them up and, although they don't know who you are, they don't feel like escalating this conflict further. "Apologies, ${polite_address} — says a tall, blond guy, their obvious leader — "We didn't mean to cause offense." You snort and and turn away. *page_break Return To Your Seat *else *gosub_scene subroutines check_skill "int" "neg" 6 Your presence also doesn't carry enough weight for them to apologize: instead, they escalate the conflict further. "Who are you, asshole? I haven't seen you before: you must be someone new." "What gall, this bumpkin doesn't know how deep the waters run in the sect!" — another member of the group adds. "Go back to your seat, before these good brothers teach you a lesson." Fighting during an official tournament is more than ill-advised: there are Xiantian-level Enforcers around, keeping order on the tribunes. They won't hesitate to act and punish you. On the other hand, swallowing such an insult would be disadvantageous for your already not prominent reputation. *choice #Slam the blond into the floor. @{(tooltip) [b][STR][/b]|} *gosub_scene subroutines stat_check "str" 13 *if (stat_check) You grab the tall guy at the behind of his neck, lifting him by the collar of his robe with just one hand. His eyes go wide as he tries to fight you off, but you are too strong to let him go. Before his friends react, you [i]slam[/i] him into the floor, face-first. His struggle cease and his lies limp. *label you_fucker "YOU FUCKER!" A fist flies towards your face, released by his companion. *gosub_scene subroutines stat_check "agi" 14 *if (stat_check) You lean backwards, causing the fist to miss, grab your attacker's wrist and trip him up, forcing him to kiss the ground. *else The fist clips you on the chin, *if mc_con >= 14 but doesn't deal any damage. *else and hurls your head to the side. *gosub_scene subroutines reduce_health 2 The rest of the group comes to their senses and rush towards you, prepared for a bloody brawl. However, before they reach you, an enormous gust of wind knocks all of you down. When you shake the impact off, a woman clad in black robes stands in-between the group and you. "Another bunch of drunken fools." — she spits — "The sect ought to have you whipped." The appearance of the woman sobers the group up: they immediately clasp their hands and lower their heads. "Enforcer Meirong, we're sorry, we didn't mean…" Enforcer Meirong waves her hand, and another blast of air slaps their faces. "Shut it." — she commands, before she focuses her attention on you — *gosub_scene cslib_string find history "fubing_killed_prologue_mc" *if cslib_ret > 0 *gosub_scene cslib_string find history "hejun_helps_with_fubing" *if cslib_ret > 0 "You are that Wu's clan child who killed Fu Bing, are you not? Envoy Jun vouched for you last time, but it seems like can't help but getting into trouble." *else "I know you, don't I? You that Wu's clan child who killed Fu Bing. What, your last visit to the Disciplinary Hall wasn't enough?" "It seems you need to be punished more thoroughly this time." — she says — "You'll be fined 500 Contribution Points and will spend a month in the solitary. Maybe this will make you rethink your behavior." *set history &"arrested_arena_kinghill|" *set mc_sect_points -500 *page_break Solitary Confinement You spend a whole month doing nothing but sleeping and eating, in a tiny cell devoid of sunlight and human interaction… *goto_scene free_roam *else "Since this is your first offense, I'll let you off with a fine of 100 Points. Don't cause trouble in the sect anymore, otherwise I'll punish you properly next time." *set history &"fined_arena_kinghill|" *set mc_sect_points -100 "Thank you, Enforcer Meirong." — you give her a slight bow and return to your seat. *page_break Return To Your Seat *else You grab the tall guy at the behind of his neck and attempt to lift him by the collar of his robe, but he pushes you off. *goto you_fucker #Strike the blond in the throat. @{(tooltip) [b][AGI][/b] |} *gosub_scene subroutines stat_check "agi" 13 *if (stat_check) Before the blond can react, you reach him with an instantaneous step and punch him in the throat. He immediately starts gasping for air, his hands covering his neck by an instinct, and you use that opportunity to attack him with a elbow to the head. He falls down, face-first. *goto you_fucker *else You attempt to step closer and punch the blond in the throat, but he manages to block his neck with his arms and pushes you off afterwards. *goto you_fucker #Go back to your seat. You decide that it's not worth it, risking sect punishment for some ego and pride. You shake your head and turn away, returning to your seat. "Pussy." — you hear a snicker behind yourself. *gosub_scene subroutines prestige_change 10 "-" *page_break Return To Your Seat #"I dare you to insult the Tigress again." *goto confrontation_with_drunks #"Can you tell me more about Long Chen?" "Fellow Martial Brothers." — you raise your voice so that they could hear your amongst their own, more than loud, conversation. They halt their talk, turn to you, not sure what to expect from the sudden call — "Can you enlighten me on who this Long Chen is?" You see them relax, the disciples probably expecting a fight, and their easy countenance swiftly returns. "You must be new amongst our midst, are you not, Junior ${polite_address}?" You nod. "Long Chen was the biggest sensation of the sect, until the recent rumors of two absolute freaks being accepted into the sect came about." "He's from the Long Clan, a family not comparable to even the Jings, not to mention any of the Great Clans. Yet, after he appeared in the Rankings, he smashed his way through opponents with backgrounds far more noble than his. Although he lost a couple of times, he always returned with vengeance and now enjoys the top spot, with only Liu Jiawei and Yang Gan being somewhat his match." "He's known for his endless tenacity, unmatched endurance and some kind of skill that allows him to get stronger the angrier he gets." — the evident leader of the group, a tall, blond guy, explains before suddenly laughs — "He's also known for being a real man!" "What do you mean?" — you ask, confused. "Despite not being even thirty, Brother Chen already has ten concubines, all of whom are madly in love with him." — answers the blond — "It is said no woman can resist his heroic aura and handsome looks. However, the recent target of his adoration might prove to be different from the rest: He Mei, the girl he courts, is known to be exceptionally cold when it comes to these matters." The blond then pauses as he looks you over. "Think about it… You two look quite bit alike. Say, Junior ${polite_address}, you aren't jesting with us by asking about your own family member?" "I assure you, that's not the case." — you reply, clasp your hands and bow slightly — "Thank you for the explanation." You say your farewells and return to your seat, pondering on the drunk disciple's last comment. *page_break Return To Your Seat #"Pour me some of that wine." "Fellow Martial Brothers." — you raise your voice so that they could hear your amongst their own, more than loud, conversation. They halt their talk, turn to you, not sure what to expect from the sudden call — "Pour a cup for this ${polite_address}?" You see them relax, the disciples probably expecting a fight, and their easy countenance swiftly returns. "I see that ${polite_address} knows how to have fun." — their evident leader, a tall, blond guy says. His spatial ring flashes, producing a bottle of wine. He gestures you to hand him a cup, which you do, and he, with trembling hands, fills it to the brim, spilling a bunch of it on the floor — "Enjoy!" You take a sip and nod at him. "Good wine!" — you reply before getting back to your seat. *page_break Return To Your Seat #Ask them about the latest happenings in the sect. "Fellow Martial Brothers." — you raise your voice so that they could hear your amongst their own, more than loud, conversation. They halt their talk, turn to you, not sure what to expect from the sudden call — "Could you enlighten me about the unusual events that have occurred in recent times?" You see them relax, the disciples probably expecting a fight, and their easy countenance swiftly returns. "There hasn't been much of going on." — their evident leader, a tall, blond guy answers — "Well, if you don't count that unfortunate accident half a year ago." "What accident?" "${polite_address} must be new here if ${pronoun_1} hasn't heard. Half a year ago, the Alchemy Elder had two disciples instead of the current one. However, just a month after their acceptance, one of the new disciples got mauled to death by a raging Flying Bear. Although deaths in the forest happen quite often, the circumstances around that particular one were very weird. You should ask in the Alchemy Pavilion if you want to know more." "Thank you." — you clasp your hands and and say your farewells before returning to your seat. *page_break Return To Your Seat #Don't engage them with them. You decide to not involve yourself with the group at all, letting them continue their more than loud conversation without any interruptions. *page_break Watch The Arena The Tigress is easy to spot amongst the crowd of Outer Disciples warming themselves up for the incoming battle: her tall stature distinguishes her from other women, her bright red hair and robust, yet clearly feminine build discern her from the men. She cranes her neck and whets her claws against each other, her eyes darting around the other participants, examining them from head to toe. Even from this far away, you can tell that there's something different about her. If before, she was confident, yet relaxed and casual, now she seems to be on edge. You wouldn't call her body language nervous: it more resembles a struggle of keeping boiling rage contained inside. You wonder what has happened since the last time you've met. The rules for this tourney are simple: there is a hill at the center of the Arena and the first person to remain on top of it unchallenged for a minute — wins. Apart from no consumable items being allowed, that's it. Disciples might group up, might cripple and kill each other, might use family heirlooms — no one cares, as long as they are the last one standing. [b]BEGIN![/b] You hear the order from the tourney's oversee, signifying its start. The Outer Disciples hear it too and the promised bloodbath begins in an instant: people pushed, their heads stomped on; people beaten, their arms and legs broken in multiple places; people gutted, their throats slit by blades. For the latter, the Tigress is responsible like no other. Right from the beginning, she threw herself into the fray, dodging wild swings with a feline grace and retaliating with the sharpness of her claws. One of her victims, almost immediately, became a *if kinghill_betwinner = "Hunk" a certain muscular man, the one you've noticed before and the one you've placed your points on. *else a muscular man that towered over others by at least a head. The man tried to grab her, capture her with his large palms, yet the Tigress evaded his grasp, ducked in-between his legs and, while the man was still processing her movements, grabbed him by his air and cut open his throat. The man fell to his knees, gurgling on his own blood, but the Tigress paid him no mind and continued moving forward. Since that moment, you've lost count of how many people she has killed: a dozen at the least, her whole body covered in crimson. *page_break When the Tigress arrives to the central hill, another man does also. He is of average height, average build and plain looks, yet with a haughtiness inside his gaze — one that seems far too out of place for an Outer Disciple. "You are that Tigress, right?" — he asks, flipping his sword from hand to hand — "I'm Long Wyoung, Long Chen's brother. Surrender be-" The Tigress doesn't let him continue: she lunges at him, her claws reaching towards his unprotected face. Long Wyoung isn't fast enough to dodge completely, the blades grazing the skin of his cheek. He wipes the blood with his hand, staring at it in shock. "You… you bitch!" — he screams — "Get her! Get this animal!" Five men jump at the Tigress, all wielding weapon: swords, axes, knives, they swing and stab at her. But the Tigress is faster than before: she weaves her body in-between the strikes, claiming the lives of her assailants one by one. Just as she is done with the last of her enemies, Long Wyoung attacks her from behind, piercing her leg with a sword: crippled, the Tigress is unable to defend herself from another thrust that goes through her stomach. On her knees, she coughs out blood, staring vengefully at Long Wyoung, but helpless as he pulls out his sword, causing blood to erupt from the wound. He then kicks her right in the face and the Tigress falls unconcious. At first, Long Wyoung swings his blade at her head, intending to end her, but freezes mid-air and looks somewhere to the side. He bows, and climbs the hill. No one challenges him and Long Wyoung easily win the tournament, becoming an Inner Disciple due to his victory. The Tigress was carried away, injured and on the verge of death: you know not of her current fate. How do you feel about the Tigress's fate? *choice #I don't care. You have no particularly strong feelings for the woman: why should you care whether she gets hurt or not? Such is the nature of the Martial World, injuries are an inevitability. #I hope she's okay... Although injuries are an inevitability in the Martial World, you can't help but worry: her wounds looked serious, especially for a mortal. She bled heavily and, while the sect healers do possess a capability to heal her, would they? A treatment of such a scale costs money, money that the red-head is unlikely to possess. You wish you could check up on her, but are unsure on how to locate the woman: usually injured disciples would find themselves in the Infirmary, but the last few moments of the fight give you a feeling that you won't find the Tigress there. *set challenge_wyoung 1 [b]You can attempt to challenge Long Wyoung to a battle in the Arena.[/b] *page_break #The savage beast got what it deserved. She won't forget a lesson like this — it'll teach this brute a lesson to respect her [i]civilized[/i] betters. #I'll rip this Long bastard into pieces! You feel rage coursing through your veins, ready to erupt in a blast of fury. How does this bastard dare hurt her? You'll rip him apart! Tear his flesh into pieces! You direct a look towards Long Wyoung, one full of unadulterated anger. [i]His days are fucking numbered.[/i] [b]You can attempt to challenge Long Wyoung to a battle in the Arena.[/b] *set challenge_wyoung 1 *page_break *page_break Leave Arena *if kinghill_bet > 0 The drunken group approaches you. *if kinghill_betwinner = "Hunk" "It seems that Heavens did not favor Junior ${polite_address} today. Well, you'll get lucky next time." — says one of them. You nod and transfer your lost bet. *set mc_sect_points -kinghill_bet *elsif kinghill_betwinner = "Tigress" "I told Junior ${polite_address} that it was a lost cause betting on the barbarian, but ${pronoun_1} didn't listen." — says ones of them. You nod and transfer your lost wager. *set mc_sect_points -kinghill_bet *else "The Heavens have favored you today, ${polite_address}." — says ones of them. You nod and accept your winnings with a smile. *set mc_sect_points +kinghill_bet Done with the tourney, you return back to the sect. *goto_scene free_roam