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Post by the lovely shrimp ❤ on Apr 1, 2013 9:12:31 GMT -5
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❖ Irony, that was all Jean-Paul could smell in the Arena. Irony did have a distinctive smell of musky stallion, blood, sweat, and dust. Wait, that was the exact smell of the Arena he had described. Today the Arena was a place of irony in his life. The clan he once called home and had served faithfully in war he was to battle for the glory of the Gods. If he were lighthearted, perhaps a chuckle or two would have come dancing out of his ash lips, but Jean-Paul was not an airy stallion. No, he was more like a mountain boulder, big, hefty, jagged, and serious. The stallion's solemn face openly revealed only grim, finely lines and a pinky, tender hoof print splaying across his lower, right mandible. Though Sunburst of Gascti had healed, the skin and muscles were tender, and underneath the bone radiated an unwelcoming warmth with every pulse of his heart. The discomfort was distracting and had begun to take its toll on the master illusionist. Bags full of sand hug from underneath his eyes and swung to and fro with every toss of his head. Though weary from lack of sleep, the wound also made Jean-Paul more aware. He'd learn from his mistakes and was ready to show the crowd his new knowledge.
❖ Today was different than when he had sparred with Alyse. Heavy, distraught rains had plummeted to the ground in bit, fat droplets the size of his eyeball. In a few days, the dry sand that had been weightless had become dark and mucky, thick and unyielding. Puddles of standing water sat there, reflecting the overcast sky. Flickers of what of rain threaten to fall from the sky and flood the Arena. For someone who hated water, like Jean-Paul, acted like fertilizer for his tormented wrinkles to grow deeper. He did not appear old and haggard like an elder stallion, quite the opposite really. He was burning and cracking from beneath like the volcano, ready to explode and unleash fury upon his surroundings. On the blades of his irises was something wild lurking, preying, and stalking the incoming watchers. The raven-like helm became cold like glittering snow and darkened his eyes so they looked like pits that lead to hell. Jean-Paul had brought a little hell with him today in the from of bulletproof magic and a drop of Hercules' blood. He was sure Notus would appreciate the extra challenge, from one gladiator to another.
❖ Blip, blop, blip, blop went the first four drops of rain upon his yellow armor. A pitiful whine from several spectators filled his grey ears. "Awe, mon, da rains com." "Best we'd head hom fu da day." "Can't we stay mom! It's just a little rain!?" Jean-Paul smirked at the last remark. That sounded like something Neus would have spoken, but it was not her. Neus had no mother, no father, just him... Maybe this would make it better. If he won, maybe Neus would finally have a better chance in this world. The stallion did not know why or how that would be so if he won, but in his heart he wanted to believe that was true. The easiest lies to believe were the ones he told himself. Believing his eyes would make the pain tolerable, at least long enough to make it through one more fight.
❖ Dark, maroon streaks covered his body from the rain, creating an almost zebra-like pattern over his brawny body. But the pattern was soon erased as sloshy sand spread over his lower limbs. Each bump in his trot sent another wave of muck to cover his limbs, belly, and sooty tresses. Two hooves by two hooves he plodded over the Arena as he circled around to please the crowd. A minority halted on their way out to catch one last glimpse of the eight-legged beast shielded in Norse armor. That was exactly what Jean-Paul wanted. Even if he did not win or even leave this Arena alive, he wanted to leave an impression. He would no longer be the freak that others saw. Oh hell no, he was going to be remembered today as the mad stallion that drove a blood spear into his opponent. That would show them finally how much he was to be revered and feared. The thought was so pleasing that his lips cracked into a smile. A sliver of drool slipped through the gap in his upper lip, and dribbled down his chin like a messy baby. But he wasn't a baby. He was a violent beast crafted into the noble shape of a horse. The smile slipped from his face and fell into a puddle. Trumpets, from younger illusionists, sounded to mark the approach of Notus.
❖ The irony was present once more. How ironic it was that he had to fight a friend and fellow illusionist. Fate must not have liked him one bit. Nope, nadda. But whatever, he was Jean-Paul, and the fates and Gods had never truly appreciated him. So he simply halted contently on his little mudbank, surrounded by a large puddle. He exhaled as the rain began to pour once more. His vision was clear up close, but faraway he could not make out any details or see an approaching figure. Jean-Paul felt his presence and knew exactly where the stallion was. The native did not know how or why he knew where Notus was, but he did. Something had changed in him from the last fight. A new essence rolled in his stomach, heightening his senses and perception of the world. He felt apart of the world now, a small cell in a whole body. If he had more time and a better place, Jean-Paul would have contemplated the new, bubbly feeling. Instead he charged forward into the hail and rain towards Notus with his head down and red spear pointed towards the big bad, Loxacin stallion.
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[/color] [/b][/u] [li]Notus || BaileySTATUS: complete WORDS:[/u] 987 NOTES:[/u] *** bailey approved, so its not godmodding Attack [1/5] Defense [0/2] JEAN-PAUL[/u] and all contained content (including graphics and coding) are copyrighted to Scrimpytheshrimp. Stock is the property of its respectful owners and has been used with permission. [/size][/li][/ul][/font][/color][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]  [/td][/tr] [/table] [/center] |
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Post by Bailey on Apr 2, 2013 7:42:58 GMT -5
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[/color] Deja vu. The Loxacin stallion twisted his neck awkwardly to gaze around the arena, memory after memory rushing through him violently. Once flawless vision now marred by an incurable fuzziness, he detested the lack of peripheral advantage. He'd had keen sight, the champagne stallion, but the furious blaze which scorched his hide had left it's mark. A visit to that lovely, tropical mare had left him oddly painless. It was disconcerting, surprisingly. In the hours after the first battle he'd grown accustomed to the numbing effects of the severe injuries. His frame had begun to tingle, an intriguing sensation which lulled him into a distant world. A world where he could feel nothing at all-- not touch, not wind, rain, nor pain. Absolutely nothing. But with Sunburst's prompt and sudden healing, everything had come rushing back, and so much more real than before. Every damning pin prick of a mosquito's needle was agonizing, every thorn searing. To feel again was miserable. Notus lowered his head slightly, tempted to sulk. But today wasn't a day for feeling sorry for himself. Remorse was nonexistent.
Restored muscles hauled his thick neck up high on his shoulders, and he took in the view around him. The rows and rows of packed and crammed stands were nothing new, now. One judgmental stare was the same as the next. Half of the attendants, maybe even more, were of the Aeonian decent. They didn't want to see Notus' victory. He wasn't their blood, their brother. He was simply an unlucky stranger who stumbled into Aeon one fine winter's day and decided to make a name for himself. Decided to fight, to give it everything he had. Silly Aeonian's, they considered themselves such high brow superiors. When the call had been made for gladiators to step forth, only one native had shoved his monstrous eight hooves forward. The other three selected were of fresh, new blood. Strangers to the society, yet warriors in every right of their own. The ancient breed had no room to talk. If they wanted leverage, they should step up next time. Next time. Tonight was this inferior stallion's time to shine. He'd proved himself against one of his own, no matter how unfortunately mutated he seemed to be, and now it was time for him to show Aeon that he was just as deserving of the title as any one of their home bodies.
Rain drops began to trickle from the sky, splatting in a messy pattern upon his still rusted back. Dried blood, both his and Sephiroth's had molded into a crusted brown, and as the translucent liquid fell harder and harder, and more and more frequently from the sky, it began to streak in a disorderly fashion down his creamy hued hide. It ran in jagged lines to and fro, scarring his body like war paint. It was a gruesome sight to behold, the white brindled stallion covered in thick, wet blood. It spiraled down his chocolate dipped legs and dripped from his flanks, rolling over his stifles and caking into the creases of his hocks. The spit from the storm snapped and popped against his bulletproof encased hide, and soon thickened into an onslaught of heavy rain. It stirred the familiar arena sand up into a goopy soup, and is stuck uncomfortably to his big boned legs. Several times, Notus blinked. Unaccustomed to the lack of clear vision in his blue eye, more often than not he tried to sharpen things back up, urging the optic to see once more. But it was eternally cloudy-- even Sunburst's flawless magic hadn't been able to cure the unfortunate loss. He would have to learn to live with it, to fight with it. He could do that, couldn't he? What was a little less vision?
Now where was that pesky Jean-Paul? Notus turned, peering into the storm. Nothing. He could see absolutely nothing. What a fight this would be. At least fate seemed on his side, obscuring everyone's vision, not just his. But Notus was not completely disabled. His other senses still functioned to a polished shine. Sensitive chocolate lined ears strained forward. It seemed like his hearing would be his main alliance today. For a moment all he could hear was the thundering rain and roaring crowd. But then there was that. That unmistakable eight beat gait. Hooves thrumming into slosh, powering forward, toward him. Pound by pound the eighteen hand hooves dug into the slick sod, flinging wet, sticky sand in every direction. For a second, Notus questioned himself. Where was he, if he sounded so close? A grimace slid onto the champagne's features, and the Loxacin Beta focused, shifting his body until his hearing grew the most acute-- the loudest angle. There. He was coming from there. Notus watched, studied, well used muscles bunching and tensing, pulling taut like sling shots over his thick, porcelain bone. In what seemed like no time at all, the massive bloodied figure tore through the veil of rain and charged him like a raging bull. His head was ducked, crimson spire aimed to puncture everything in it's path. A-ha! Notus grinned a wild grin. His last battle had been with a stranger.. he hadn't known Sephiroth-- his advantages, his disadvantages. He knew Jean-Paul. Beating him would be no easy task. But he was ready. He watched the Aeonian native sail forward like a freight train, like a speeding bullet. Haunches tightened and Notus lept to the right, muscles catapulting him forward flawlessly. Until his hind hooves left the ground, anyway. As he shoved off the soaked sand, his dinner plate sized hooves slid out from underneath him, ridding him of his momentum and slowing him down. Frustration built beneath Notus' skin, but it was gone the instant Jean-Paul's body collided with his.
He'd managed to avoid the horn, yes, but his loss of traction had been the cause of two seventeen plus hand bodies slamming into each other with a shocking force. His hind end slid out from under him, leaving him slipping in the sand and covering himself in coarse, grainy material. The collision hurt, immediately, though he was thankful chances were it would leave both of then fairly unscathed-- but massively bruised. He wouldn't waste his magic this time around. Jean-Paul knew him-- knew his Illusionist ways, and knew them well. Why wait? In a blink, Notus was back to his hooves, positioning himself just beside his opponent. In a flash he was lifting his bulky frame, aiming two powerful, sharp hooves to come down on the stallion's rock hard horn. It was worth a shot-- it was Jean-Paul's best asset, and if Notus could rid him of it, it would be a fairly even match the rest of the fight. No horn meant Jean-Paul was simply another equine.. Even if he had eight legs. No horn meant resorting to magic. And magic, Notus could do.
STATUS: Complete
TAGGED: scrimpy's Jean-Paul
WORDS: 1355
NOTES: fail.
Attacks: 1/5
Dodges: 0/2
CODING & GRAPHICS: i-mi at deviantart.com[/div][/size][/color][/blockquote][/style] [/td][/tr] [/table][/center] |
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Post by the lovely shrimp ❤ on Apr 3, 2013 8:18:24 GMT -5
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❖ There was an audible smack as breastplate kissed toughened flesh. In the collision, a ruby spear ran across Notus' curves, threatening to pierce the flesh but never did for the champagne stallion was slipping farther into the muck and grim. For once, those eight legs offered enough surface area for friction to work in his favor and stop the massive Aeonian stallion from diving into the ground. But of course, with more hooves than the average and towering body had its own disadvantages; while Notus was quickly rising like boiling water, his opponent was using that time to twirl and twist his body around to meet the Loxacin Beta Stallion. Coordinating the muscles in rhythmic contractions to spin Jean-Paul around was a miracle on the best of days, but this was one of his worst days. Without balance, he quickly lost traction. One domino hit the next, creating a chain reaction. A rear hoof slipped from his grasp, followed by another--uh oh! A sloppy hiss went unheard in the drumming rainfall as the great beast's rear legs gave out underneath him and sent him tumbling like Humpty Dumpty to the ground. An ear-splitting whinny soared out of his mouth! The shock and surprise pulled the curtain off from his dilated eyes so he could watch his demise for himself. Failing forelimbs, his own, struggled to remain upright underneath the massive force and momentum. Naturally, his knees buckled to help save his joints and cushion the fall.
❖ Splat! A wave of sand and water rushed over him and Notus, leaving a dainty, fine coat of mud. The splatter felt kind and gentle against his skin, even encouraging. Being on the ground made him vulnerable, but he needed to be vulnerable. That was the motivation that Jean-Paul needed to regain his position in the fight. The hulking stallion did not exactly have grace and agility in his favor, and he was punished for his weakness by Notus. The Loxacin male reared into the air before letting gravity pull his hooves down towards his damn head! Armor or not, getting a hoof to the face was definitely on Jean-Paul's list of avoidances. But on the ground, he only had so many choices. And he tried to roll, but getting enough momentum to actually perform the action was, well,, just about as likely to happen as Adelaide Dresner was to make friends with the Loxacin Clan. He grunted and snorted, bearing his gnarly teeth to the world. Through a drench forelock, the stallion watched as dark hooves came shooting down towards him like arrows. Perhaps to Notus' dismay, his attack had actually been what Jean-Paul needed to trigger his adrenaline rush and ungracefully tumble like a weed over his back and onto the other side. Even still, he was about as fast as slowpoke. A bone-snapping blur crossed his vision, but the result he coul only feel. A sharp sting brushed over his neck and slithered down to his breastplate where the rest of the hoof was deflected from the concave structure. The strike was not fatal, but just enough skin had been torn off along his so blood droplets collected. The rain felt like acid being poured over the wound! Oooooch! The wound did not appear much, superficial at worse, but the Gods knew that it felt like a paper cut running the length of left neck. The pain in his necked masked the bruise forming along his chest muscles.
❖ But there was an advantage to being on the ground. In the background, hidden among the rain's singing, was a little voice that giggled lightly before stating eagerly, "Oh, watch this!" The voice knew what was going to happen, for at once Jean-Paul vanished beneath Notus. Oh, butt he wasn't so stupid as to teleport! Phhh! That would be boring and blah and predictable. Oh, no, no, no, no, Jean-Paul merely made the illusion appear as if he had teleported, when in fact he merely covered himself in an invisibly charm. Oh, but Notus would be left with something else to hold his attention. A finely crafted circle of Jean-Paul appeared before him and approached the stallion. Perhaps he would believe that among them was the real Jean-Paul, or so he hoped. But that was blah and predictable. What illusionist before him had not already performed such a trick? The God Loki, father of the illusionists, would surely frown on his disciple, but the best was always saved for last. With the skies continuing to weep, he could not resist adding some impressive fireworks to the show. The hair along the illusions began to rise as the feeling of electrically charged air rose around them in a column. The illusion extended passed the Arena and into the stadium. Several shrieks broke loose. "LIGHTENING! RUN!!!" The panic was contagious instantly. A flood of equines scrambled to the nearest doors, and a few expert flyers leaped from their seats to take to the air. Lightening parted the skies, revealing a glimpse of white into the world beyond this. It curled and bent and dove madly into Notus, using his nervous system to reach the ground. Of course, it was not real, but it would surely feel real? Jean-Paul was unsure since it varied from illusionist to illusionist whether he or she would fall victim to the dark magic. From his observations and common sense, the best illusions were often the hardest to decipher. That was his advantage as a fully realized and Aeonian blood illusionist. But that was not his real attack. Still below Notus and laying slightly to the left of Notus, just out of range from the right hoof, he lurched forward with teeth parted and aimed towards his pastern. The pastern was a vulnerable part, full of nitty, gritty bones and tendons that he wanted to snap in order to render his opponent lame. Just as a bonus, the red, diamond syringe lead the way, clearing the path of whatever got in his way.
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[/color] [/b][/u] [li]Notus || BaileySTATUS: complete WORDS:[/u] NOTES:[/u] ugg, tests are draining my muse ;-; Attack [2/5] Defense [0/2] Wounds: --- bruised chest muscles from impact --- paper cut-like scrap along neck JEAN-PAUL[/u] and all contained content (including graphics and coding) are copyrighted to Scrimpytheshrimp. Stock is the property of its respectful owners and has been used with permission. [/size][/li][/ul][/font][/color][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote] [/td][/tr] [/table] [/center] |
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Post by the lovely shrimp ❤ on Apr 4, 2013 21:30:54 GMT -5
- ADMIN NOTE: bailey has an extension due to the horse show.
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Post by Bailey on Apr 10, 2013 15:15:57 GMT -5
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[/color] This was becoming second nature to him, this whole gladiator thing. It was exhausting. Don't get him wrong, Notus was full of pride representing his clan as an elite warrior. It was an honor to even step foot in this glorious arena, the slick, sloppy sand melting beneath his weight. But honestly? It was a bunch of hype over a measely title. An excuse for a couple of macho stallions to throw massive angry fits and tear into one another relentlessly. Sephiroth had done an excellent job of that, leaving the stallion stumblinf in a blind, searing pain to find immediate attention. Sunburst had done her best, as she'd done for his opponent, and though a majority of his wounds had healed well, leaving no lasting effects to his range of motion or movement, he'd suffered from the burn sent across his eye. The vision was now cloudes in that icy blue eye, leaving the champagne stallion guessing at silhouettes and shadows as if he were eternally staring through a dense, unforgiving fog. Was the title actually worth all this pain, blood, and sweat? Now was not the time for the stallion to be second guessing himself-- he'd swore to fight tooth and nail to Azazel, and he would not let his Chief down. That wasn't an option. This was it. His chance to prove himself, and for those potentially joining the Loxacin clan, the title was an assurance. Safety, superiority. Surely it would draw a bit of attention to then that he'd won the first battle. Now all that was left was the war. Heh. All that was left. It sounded like such an offhanded comment, like it was easy to blow off. If only.
Thunder crashed above them, the angry clouds swirling and twirling in a mess of bubbling, boiling rage. The roar of the crowds was deafening. He'd thought the stands had been full during the first battle? This was ridiculous. A sea of equines surrounded them at all angles, screeching for their chosen victor, cheering when blood was spilled. What vicious, merciless things they were. This was all a game to them. Nothing more than watching two pawns play a game of chess. Hah, if only they knew how true that was. Outrageous laughs and noisy voices overwhelmed the arena, echoing eagerly against the towering marble walls. "Oh my gods, that was an incredible move!" The lyrics rolled from a deep voice. The voice rose against the screams and screeches as the onlooker cackled "Watch this!, chanting back, "Your turn to see how it's done!" The masculine tenor called back, sounding like a thrilled child watching his first ball game. Notus' hooves connected with skin, tore into flesh, red mixing with the creams and tans of the soaked sand. It was sickening how incredibly empowering the attack felt. It sent spirals of adrenaline stinging his veins like a venom lighting him on fire. A malicious grin wicked across his dripping lips, eyes narrowing upon his opponent as he lay beneath him, at his mercy. But suddenly his peeipheral vision exploded with replicas of the mighty Jean-Paul, one after another closing in on him. Surely the stallion knew Notus would understand his games, being a fellow illusionist. That was his move, eh? Notus could play dirty, too. His right darted to the stallion beneath his hooves. Ah shit, where'd he gone now? His mind flicked through all the options. Jean-Paul could still be there, but with every one of these unicorn freaks descending upon him, he had little choice but to forget about the ground beneath his hooves. What was a laying stallion going to do, anyway? Notus shoved his body back, spinning to take in the army approaching him. His best chance was to assume they were all illusions. Jean-Paul was a talented creature. He'd heard the Aeonian stallion's illusions even felt real. Notus had yet to master that. Despite his best efforts, he could only make his own illusions appear real-- one swipe and it was obvious it was simply a complex mirage.
Notus turned on his haunches like a well trained dressage horse, taking in the scenery. There they were, as far as the eye could see. Then a charge raced through the air, static making the copies mane's frizz and stand on end. The Aeon born stallion's gaze drew up to the sky just in time to spy the white hot ribbons forking toward the ground. A blaze struck before his hooves, a second belt snapping into his body. It stung. His entire body quaked with the volts tearing through his core. But beneath the outer chaos, Notus was oddly aware of everything that was happening. Was this what an out of body experience felt like? Minus the entire out of body thing, obviously. Notus was very much seeing from his own eyes. Underneath the layer of sharp electrical voltage there was a sense of calm, time to think. It was an illusion. That much was obvious. No matter how much it felt, it wasn't real. It didn't exist. Come on, Notus, focus! Think past it. Don't let it effect you! But no matter how hard he thought, focused, tried, he couldn't bring his senses to understand that what they felt wasn't true. A shocking buzz electrocuted his nerves, making teeth chatter. Try harder. Create an illusion on top of it, maybe? Perhaps that was the answer. His body, unwilling to cooperate, left his mind to do the work. That was fine. Notus could handle brain teasers. He was an illusionist just like Jean-Paul. Willing his gaze up to the source of the lightning, he began to bend an illusion of his own. Slowly, unable to convince his entire focus to gather at once, but surely, the stallion's mind began to mend the lightning. He shifted it, tilted it, angled it, sending the spiking tendrils into the crowd of Jean-Pauls, visible waves of electricity rolling over the clones. Of course, none of the illusions could feel it-- one, because it was an illusion, and two, because they were illusions. But, what the hey? It would be a crowd pleaser at the very least. With the burning sensation dissipating quickly, Notus searched the crowd. Ears flicked back when a shuffling in the slop was detected, twisting to look behind him, left foreleg lifting as he turned. Though suddenly it was snapped back down. Shocked, Notus once more jerked his leg skyward-- not hard enough. The invisible gladiator's teeth grabbed a hold of Notus' chocolate and bit down, tearing into the soft flesh just above the hoof. Teeth ripped downward as Notus' leg continued it's ascent, now tied earthbound by his attacks rust stained pearls. It hurt! Even more than the assaulting lightning.
Quick as physically possible, the big horse slammed his hoof back to the ground, determined to halt further damage. Thankfully, the spot struck was much less vital than what Notus assumed he had been aiming for. Sure, he'd be sore walking on it for a good bit-- it would be hard to keep clean and infection free with it's close proximity to the ground-- but it would heal over time. The stud craned his neck around to peer at Jean-Paul's position. Still upon the ground, Notus went for an obvious attack. Cranking his left hind toward his flank, Notus struck down and forward, aiming for the back of the warrior's head. If he could strike him right atop the poll, he could leave the stallion with a number of aching injuries. It was a pressure point, the poll. Steady pressure would force the head down, even with the gentlest touch-- a twelve hundred pound blow? That was enough to knock a full grown stalliom clean out. The possibilities were endless, really, ranging from a nagging headache to a brain bleed. Neither was truly desirable, but at least it would hopefully leave a lasting, damaging effect. Then again, there was always the possibility he would miss completely. Why was there always that possibility? Oh well. Maybe if he pretended there wasn't a chance, it would go bother someome else's fight and leave his alone. All around him, the crowds shrieked and shouted, cheering and bantering back and forth. "Let's see ya escape that one!" An enthusiast cried, the voice echoing in Notus' ears. The crowd certainly didn't think he'd miss.
STATUS: Complete
TAGGED: scrimpy's Jean-Paul
WORDS: 1619
NOTES: working on it!
Attacks: 2/5
Dodges: 0/2
Bruising, raw heel.
CODING & GRAPHICS: i-mi at deviantart.com[/div][/size][/color][/blockquote][/style] [/td][/tr] [/table][/center] |
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Post by the lovely shrimp ❤ on Apr 15, 2013 10:31:43 GMT -5
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❖ It was obvious Notus' imparied vision was slowly eating at his nerves, not enough to hinder the stallion, but enough to surely annoy him. Adjusting to imperfect vision after having a life where everything was crystal clear was not entirely simple. Jean-Paul himself had to make that adjustment years ago in the Loxacin clan, but now, the monochrome world of lights, shadows, and grey areas were just a part of every day life. He knew not to let his guard down, always keep his good eye facing towards his enemies, and to never, ever let his forelock fall over either of his eyes. The stallion needed all the sight he could gather, especially now. The Arena was the true test of survival of the fittest. Nothing outside of the muddy grave and daunting, ear-murdering sounds compared to right now. He probably would have had better chances against a the king of the jungle than laying pitifully on ground, clenching onto Notus' pastern like a binky. But buried beneath his cautious, overly protective nature, even obsessive compulsion behavior to have absolute control, he was a reckless hypocrite. If his child had been in this position--oh, Jean-Paul would have been letting out nicely knitted scarf of curse words. For some reason, with his own life, the risks did not matter. Maybe below the exterior he was suicidal but too scared to pull the trigger?
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[/color] [/b][/u] [li]Character || Player nameSTATUS: incomplete WORDS:[/u] NOTES:[/u] ADMIN NOTE: Bailey and I decided that I could have an extension due to computer and homework problems. With the conflicts of time, Bailey and I will each receive a total of 5 posts, including our previous ones, in which to finish this gladiator thread.
This post is 3/5 now.JEAN-PAUL[/u] and all contained content (including graphics and coding) are copyrighted to Scrimpytheshrimp. Stock is the property of its respectful owners and has been used with permission. [/size][/li][/ul][/font][/color][/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote] [/td][/tr] [/table] [/center] |
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