Tournament of Champions 4 (The game has begun!)

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  • edited April 2021
    HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
    🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

  • edited April 2021
    Leaving the Fortress

    Arha sat back in her chair, rubbing her palms. She could still feel the red-hot metal beneath them, even hours after Kara had healed them. She chuckled a little. Whoever fights Sturgar next won't enjoy getting close to him, she thought.

    She reached for a quill and a piece of paper. She flexed her fingers before starting to write a short letter. 'Lost fight. Will remain to see if persons of interest remain to receive message from Qan Maris. Request letters of introduction to give. - Arha de Mira, knight of the basilisk.'  She reached for her sending mirror before pausing and adding, 'P.S. Send letters through mirror upon request.' Then the elf folded the letter and pressed in into the mirror, where it vanished in a silver burst of light.

    The elf began to gather the belongings she had brought, thinking. She couldn't help but remember Imilia's grin as she'd stabbed the Soundweaver. That grin had made her begin to reconsider approaching the witch.

    As Arha began to leave the fortress, she noticed Judge Gaspar walking out of a room. Walking over, she got his attention before saying, "Hello, Judge. Do you have a moment?"

    Gaspar raised an eyebrow. "Of course. What is it?"

    "I'd like to know if there's a place nearby I could stay at least for a little longer," Arha explained. "I'm interested in approaching some of the champions still in the tournament about opening diplomatic channels with Qan Maris, and I still need some time for my superiors to get everything together."

    "Ah, yes," Gaspar said. "I'm sure the tournament caravan will let you stay with it for a while, at least. It's right by the market at the moment."

    "Thank you, Judge," Arha said. She dipped her cap to him before walking out of the fortress.
  • Black Jackets!?

  • edited April 2021
    I am super late, but worry not, I am working on the match at the moment, and it'll begin approximately in a couple of hours sometime today!
  • Chapter Thirteen - Truths and Lies

    Lyuben and Imilia stood in the wide training fields as the orange sun slowly got swallowed up by the horizon. It had been a few days since the sixth match, but everything in the tournament was still going smoothly.

    Every day after meeting Mimosa, Lyuben arose early. He worked on honing his skills and discovering the secrets of his rose. Lyuben had thought multiple times about the night he spent with Ayden. He could still feel Ayden’s gentle hand in his palm. He could still envision Ayden’s dazzling eyes up close. But nothing could remove the pain of his lost boyfriend. Nothing. Lyuben sometimes thought he was dreaming, but every time he was rudely awoken to the demonic embrace of reality.

    “Stop daydreaming, sleepyhead!” Imilia shot a spell towards the prince which caught him in the chest.

    Lyuben staggered backwards, but managed to catch himself before he fell down. Imilia came running towards him.

    “C’mon!” Imilia scolded the boy, “You can’t lose focus like that! What were you thinking about this time?”

    “It doesn’t matter,” Lyuben shook his head.

    “No, it does. It certainly does. I can't have you get distracted like this. I want you to succeed Lyuben.”

    There was a brief silence as the sun disappeared from view. The sky was now an orange-pinkish color, and the fluffy clouds seemed to embrace those colors too.

    “I- I was thinking about him.”

    “Who?”

    “My boyfriend. My parents. Ayden. Everyone. It’s just so difficult for me to comprehend all at once. Even that stupid voice in my head is bothering-”

    Lyuben quickly stopped before talking more.

    “Voice in your head?” the witch prompted.

    “It’s...um...like...me talking to myself? Yeah that.” Lyuben fibbed.

    Imilia rolled her eyes. “I know when someone’s lying straight to my face, Lyuben.”

    “The point is, it doesn’t matter.”

    “Everything matters, Lyuben. Everything is there for a purpose.” Imilia lightly retraced the sigil she had drawn on Lyuben’s back as she circled closely around him. “I want to know what is happening. I want to help.”

    Lyuben shook his head and stepped away from Imilia. “Maybe we should just train?”

    “You’re being evasive.”

    “I’m protecting myself!”

    “From what? Me?” Imilia willed a painful expression onto her face.

    “I- I’m...”

    “You’re right,” Imilia looked down sadly, “Maybe we should just train…”

    Imilia backed away from Lyuben and readied a spell.

    “N-no! I’ll tell you. I- I’ll tell you everything.”

    Imilia suddenly looked happy and excited, a large contrast to her “mood” seconds ago. “You will?”

    Lyuben took a deep breath. “Yes.”

    The sky was getting darker as the remaining light lingering in the sky after sunset slowly faded. Lyuben and Imilia sat on a wooden bench on the far east side of the training grounds.

    “I- There’s always been this...mysterious voice in my head. It warns me of danger. It bothers me in my best moments. It’s like a guide that’s just plaguing my mind. What’s worse is...on that night, it knew how to unlock my powers. The way it egged me on in my fury at my parents that night. The way it guided me to release that spell destroying the whole castle of Malterra. This voice...it even stopped me when I almost…” Lyuben paused to take a quivering breath. Imilia almost felt bad for him. “When I almost kissed Ayden. It reminded me of my past. My trust issues. The longing I still hold for my boyfriend. Sometimes I think this is all a dream, and all I want to do is wake up.”

    Imilia put her gloved hand in Lyuben’s, a seemingly comforting gesture. Using the sensory sigils on the glove, she figured it out it was best to stay silent. Lyuben could still reveal more.

    “This thing uses all my insecurities against me. It forces me to make choices. I- I can’t defeat my past. Slowly, with the help of you, I’ve learned to wield my forbidden magic. Ayden tried to help me overcome that death. Despite all that, I still feel the same way I did when I started. Alone. Useless. Pathetic. Paranoid. It takes so much of me just to say this aloud. There are more things which I still can’t say.”

    There was a long silence between the two as the vibrant sunset colors dissolved into the darkness of the night sky. Lyuben watched the stars carefully before starting to talk again. He glanced at the constellation of Akuma, remembering her story.

    “I thought I liked being alone. But in the end, this feeling...of isolation...it just makes me so much weaker. This feeling is like fuel to the flames of these stupid insecurities burning like a wildfire through my mind.”

    “That voice,” Imilia asked gently, “Do you remember what it sounded like?”

    Lyuben gulped. He opened his mouth to mimic the corrupted voice. All of a sudden, Lyuben’s eyes started to glow with a familiar, maleficent purple light. A smoky, red aura started to surround his body. Imilia quickly withdrew her hand, backing away a few steps from Lyuben. His whole body started to tremble as he said only two words in a strangled voice: “T̴͍̄̀́̏̍̒̚h̴̦̪͉͉̤̞̃͊͜e̵͇̱̗̰͓͍͔͓͗̉͋̀̓̕ ̶̙͊̓̓͂͜Ȧ̴͖̉̉̌̓͐͗͆b̴͇̳͚̠̥̳͑́̌̄̏͊͘ỹ̶̻͙̬̣̱͋ͅs̴̩̍̓̆̓̔̉̽͌̚ŝ̶̘̤̱̕”

    Lyuben gasped, then collapsed onto the ground. The mysterious aura faded and his eyes returned to normal. Imilia shook Lyuben’s shoulder.

    “Lyuben, wake up!”

    Lyuben jumped up, releasing a burst of energy into the night sky. It hit a crow in the distance, killing it instantly.

    “Oh, I- I don’t know what happened. What happened, Imilia?”

    Imilia backed away slightly from Lyuben. “You said something like the abyss in this possessed voice and then fainted. There was a red aura surrounding you too.”

    “No no no! I can’t be like him! I can’t! I’m not!” Lyuben whispered to himself.

    “Him?”

    “Emperor Rakhadi!”

    “Why would you be like Emperor Rakhadi?” Everyone, including Imilia, knew of Rakhadi’s tyrannical rule over Malterra and the kingdoms in the far northeast. Even people who had never heard of any of those areas knew the name Rakhadi.

    “You’re...you’re right. Why would I be like him?” Lyuben lied, “Maybe we should continue training? I think I’ve had enough time to talk about myself.”

    Imilia nodded. Under the silver moonlight, the two walked about twenty feet away from each other in the long, dry field.

    “You ready?” Imilia asked.

    Lyuben nodded.

  • Sang de Feu


    Walking away from her match with the Soundweaver, Imilia was livid. She had won, yes, but at the same time she'd been made to look a fool. My sigaldry doesn't work, fine, I never planned on it working anyways, but to have my true ability easily dispatched?! It's a shame that lowlife took the priest's mark. I'd love to go at him again, take a knife to his ankles to keep him down and snap his damn neck!

    But, begrudgingly, Imilia acknowledged that she might have to find a way to improve her main attack to be harder to disrupt. And more deadly. Hiding her rage everywhere except her eyes, she stalked upstairs to her room, shedding her bloodstained clothes before grabbing a piece of chalk. 

    Clearing some things from the floor of the room to make space, she drew a massive sigil on the floor, filling in the elemental sigils for earth, wind, and fire. Satisfied with her sigil, she uncapped her jar of flies and scattered the whole thing within the sigil.

    She felt momentarily nervous, but brushed it aside. Transmutation magic was already the hardest kind to do right, and what she had planned was something usually only a team of casters could accomplish. This could be dangerous. I haven't cast a spell of this magnitude yet. The closest thing was from the Journeymage exams. Who am I kidding? I cast that then I can cast this now!

    Steeping out of the way of the circle, she stripped the rest of her clothes off, and started to draw on herself with the chalk. It was a complex black pattern, twisting and writhing like vines on her pale skin, trailing their way up her legs and torso, around her waist, down her arms around her fingers, and even on her neck.

    Tossing the chalk aside, she put her clothes back on and took a deep breath in, blocking out the sounds of the fortress around her. She started to draw in raw mana, and she could feel it coursing through the sigils on her body. As she drew in more, her fingers and toes slowly began to tingle, then go numb. 

    As she continued to draw in mana, the numbness spread to her shoulders, and up her thighs, but she persisted. As the numbness continued to spread, it started to fade, replaced with a burning sensation. She clenched her teeth and continued to draw in mana.

    She was forcing it now, and the burning sensation has reached her entire body, a blinding, unbearable pain so bad she felt she might die. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming, and she felt blood well up in her mouth, spilling over her lips and streaming down her chin.

    Her blood vessels were easily visible against her skin as they started to glow. She had to stop soon before they burst entirely. But she still needed more mana. She continued to draw it in, and the scar on her chest glowed brightly as her body screamed in pain.

    The vessels in her eyes were the first to go, and white hot blood filled her eyelids, spilling over the sides and streaking down her cheeks. Next, blood flowed from her scalp, dripping down her face and matting her hair.

    Her wrists burst next, and blood flowed freely down her arms She had to act now. Damn it Imilia! Just a little... more! Straining her body to its limit, she drew in the final bit of mana required, and barely able to think from the pain, diverted it all into the sigil.

    The mana emptied through her body faster than she could react, causing faint Lichtenberg figures in its wake, and she stumbled backwards into the wall as the burning sensation was replaced with a chill of unimaginable magnitude.

    Fighting to keep her heart beating as the blood outside of her body began to freeze, Imilia watched as the sigil started to glow white. The glow got brighter and brighter, until even closing her eyes wasn't enough to stifle it.

    Then, as suddenly as it had began, the glow abruptly cut off. Imilia tried to brace herself, but she was too sluggish, and the shockwave coming off the sigil forced her backward into the wall, where she hit her head, knocking herself out cold. She collapsed, unconscious, onto the bed, unaware that her spell had been more successful than she ever could have imagined.

    To be continued...
  • Seven

    Little Rain

    Morning sun ascended in the horizon, its light slightly shrouded by partly cloudy sky. The darker clouds showered the land with light sprinkling rains that lasted for a few minutes. Light breeze blew one of the rain clouds over a fertile forest's outskirts while also stroking the countless bright green leaves and plants. Water drops fell over a large pond of the forest, filled with quiet water striders and croaking frogs. Suddenly, a giant peculiar salamander emerged from the pond, scaring the little water animals away. It croaked loudly while its spotty brown skin glistened under the sunlight. Then it walked away from the pond, shook its body from the water, and ran into nearby bushes. Branches bent away from its path, and when it walked into the sunlight again, it didn't look like a salamander anymore. Instead, a young elven girl appeared, donned in typical adventurer's clothing, yawning while scratching the back of her brown haired head. She had picked up a leather backpack and a sheathed shortsword from the bushes. When she attached the sword's scabbard to her belt, she hurried away from the forest. "It can't be far now," she said to herself as she left the forest behind and walked along a long dirt road between grassy plains. The temperate morning was over quickly as the elf traveled with relish, and it was filled with sunlight, cool breezes, and occasional sprinkling rains.
        It had been a week since the elf had received Judge Gaspar's letter, proving that she was selected to participate in the tournament, which was a surprise for her, given how she was rejected first. It had been a long week traveling along the Evieran landscape, but after climbing up yet another hill, the island fortress was in view. Drizzle accompanied the elf as she made her way across the bridge to the fortress's main entrance, not noticing the bulletin board at the start of the bridge. A human guard at the entrance greeted her with a raise of his right hand, then the young man beckoned to the traveler. "Tika, I presume?" The soldier asked, and the elf responded by nodding her head. "Welcome to Werther Fortress. Please, follow me." The guard knocked at the large wooden gate a couple of times with his sword's pommel, then the gate slowly opened while the sound of chains echoed. When the gate was one meter above the ground, the soldier stepped under it while crouching, and Tika followed him into the fortress's courtyard. As the gate slammed shut behind the two, Tika looked around in awe.
        She was finally there, within the grand grey walls of the island fortress. Countless flags waved in the breeze, soldiers patrolled the walls, and the training grounds were filled with... Tika gasped, then she twitched the soldier's right sleeve, causing him to look at the elf. "Umm, may I say hi to the practicing contestants?" The soldier glanced at the training field, then he nodded.
        "Sure, I'll wait at the front doors. Just don't keep me waiting for too long," the young soldier said, then the two walked in their separate directions. Tika jumped onto the wooden fence at the edge of the training grounds, then she watched with wide open eyes. A dragonborn soldier with four arms, who seemed to be completely made of metal, was chopping down wooden dummies with scimitars, a mace, and an axe. A kobold monk with a silver spear was sparring with a young woman, donned in noble's luxurious clothing, yet armed with a simple shortsword. Young cleric in ragged robes was practicing his magic skills against a young woman dressed in neat witch student's clothing and a black hat. Finally Tika noticed a hooded figure in brown robes at the other end of the field, watching the others while leaning against a tree, arms crossed over its chest. The elven girl was excited to see some of her fellow contestants, and when it seemed everyone was having a short break at the same time, she stood up on the wooden fence and waved her both hands.
        "Hello everyone," she shouted, gaining their attention. "My name is Tika! I am finally here and ready to practice with you all for the games! Yippee!" Each contestant greeted with their own ways; by raising their hands, weapons, nodding, or shaking their heads before resuming whatever they were doing. Except the kobold, who waved to his sparring partner, then approached the elf while offering his right hand.
        "Hey Tika! My name is Kaigan! Nice to see you finally here," the monk said while Tika stepped down from the fence before shaking his hand. "We two are probably the youngest contestants here! Have you met the others?"
        "No, I just arrived. It took me a week to travel here by foot. I was-"
        "You traveled here by foot!? We all got escorted from Seastnan to here in stinky caged wagons, but the journey only took a whole day. Where did you come from?"
        "From the western forests of Eviera," Tika said while sighing. "I was thrown into this world through an aquatic rift that appeared there, and I don't know how to get back to my home world. So with nothing better to do, I decided to join this tournament."
        "Oh wow," Kaigan said while wiping drops of sweat away from his forehead, then he looked up. The quiet rain had stopped and the clouds were breaking in the sky, revealing the afternoon sun. "I would like to talk more with you, but I must prepare for tomorrow's match against Iseabel! You fight against Arn in the seventh match, so you better start preparing yourself as well! It's gonna be a ruthless battle."
        "Thank you, Kaigan! I'll see you later, and good luck to your match," Tika said while bowing, then she hurried to the main building's front doors, where the soldier was waiting. The two stepped inside, and the servants escorted the elf to her room, which was the last one of the sleeping quarters' top floor. Tika put her bag and sword onto the table, then she laid down onto the bed, and rested. During the following days, Tika practiced for her match with Kaigan or by herself, and watched the other contestants fight in their matches until the day of the seventh match arrived.
    #toc4_story
  • OwO
    Kaigan is nice boyo
    Good to know Tika's here now!
  • welcome tika
    don't die
  • here's to hoping
  • Hey, she's finally here!
  • wElCoMe To ThE jUnGlE
  • iS thIs A CaLviN AnD hObBes reFERenCe
    probably not, but still.
  • no, it's not
    I didn't know other people read ch
  • Calvin and Hobbes is great
  • um yeah dad has all the books. So thats something i do in my meantime.
  • This is what the General Chat is for?
  • yeah but the conversation kinda started in here
    sorry
  • I recently found some new art, so I'm changing the art of my signature card, as I have other plans for it's current art.

  • edited April 2021

    Minor Mischief (Series #4) 


    The grass rustled in the calm winds as the light green scenery transitioned to lush dark green foliage as a figure loomed by, the drake made swift moves gutting an unfortunate fawn and flying off with it as its entrails poured into the ground. Foot steps followed after, mercilessly stampeding on the organic matter as they followed pursuit of the draken monstrosity.


    The drake quickly elevated into the air releasing the corpse of it's hunt, as it dived and tumbled, tearing it from limb to limb before joining another pair making them a trio. They danced the skies making occasional dives as they ruthlessly marauded the defenses animals beneath.

    One of the drakes landed and began feasting on its catch, before being met by a stray dagger to the throat. The drake turned and spat out balls of flames as they whistled the direction of it's presumed assailant, causing a cacophony of explosions. A brief silence followed, before a figure materialized in a burst of wild magic flanking the drake and rushed quickly towards the drake, the drake turned towards the figure but it was too slow as the figure, Arn , grabbed hold of the dagger lodged in it's throat as he slid under it's neck, moving the dagger and the dirt beneath him with him.

    The drake turned in angony, it's bladelike claws almost clawing Arn in the process, as it let out a deafening shriek of pain alerting the other drakes of it's peril. Arn quickly followed with another rush, jumping and kicking the previously lodged dagger right through the drake's collar bone with enough force to snap it's neck as it fell to the ground dying.

    Fireballs rained from the sky as Arn ducked, tumbled and dodged through the surrounding trees, starting miniature fires on their wakes. Some trees in the surrounding areas had evolved to be resistant to fire overtime which helped limit the spread of flames. A drake swopped from behind Arn as he took a tumble, but before he completed it, the other drake grabbed his left leg mid tumble and flew above the forest's canopy with him.

    Arn acting quick, unsheathed another dagger, stabbing the beast on its hind forcing it to release him while he latched on to its hind quick and swinging his upside-down body up its back. Arn then stabbed it's back causing the beast to jolt, then it's slashed its gut, followed by it's throat, causing both Arn and the drake to freefall, for hundreds of feet above ground.

    Right before Arn hit the ground his arms began changing into bird like wings, followed by his body, as he wildshifted into his bird like form and flew back up in pursuit of the now fleeing third drake. Reaching speeds of 100's of mph, Arn flew above the beast, wildshifting back to his humanoid form and landing on the drake with two daggers in hand, he promptly placed them on both wings of the drake, and made a ripping motion, before flying off yet again, causing the unfortunate beast to plummet head first into the ground, as the methane with in it exploded violently, scattering it's organs all over the area.

    Arn landed softly with a smile under his mask, grinning in excitement, so much excitement infact that he had forgotten that today was his tournament match. Arn quickly made way back to the fortress grounds, his whole leather attire covered in patches of blood. He hopped for his opponents sake, that this fight would be a worthy one, for Arn intended to show no mercy to his opponent. If there was one thing Arn liked to prey on, it was weakness.

    Conclusion 
     
  • edited April 2021

    First Round

    Ominous Signs and Seventh Match

    The day of the seventh match was calm, save for the ruckus of soldiers who prepared the horses and the tournament guards who prepared their equipment. The morning sky was partly cloudy, and the climate was temperate. Silent breezes swept over the land, rustling the foliage and waving the flags of Werther Fortress. They were the only sounds that accompanied the active people and neighing horses in the fort's courtyard. Sir Killian was eating morning porridge in the dining hall. The knight was wearing his black gambeson and equipped with a sheathed shortsword hanging from his belt and a sheathed greatsword hanging from his shoulder belt. When he was done, he stood up from the wooden bench, thanked the servants with a nod, and headed towards the front doors until something stung his neck. Sir Killian stopped walking, then he touched his neck from the part where he felt the sting, and pulled off a small dart with dark green feathers. Its tip glistened with green liquid mixed in Killian's blood. Sound of leather boots stepping on stone floor came from behind a pillar, and the knight looked at the attacker. Rodolf was holding a small wooden blowpipe in his right hand. "I thought you were always prepared," the assassin said while his usual smirk shined under his hood. "No wonder you lost to Sturgar. Yep, I saw." Rodolf spun the pipe with his fingers. "You've become soft and careless, befriending fighters who only treat you like a lowly servant, even the small kobold! Hah! What would other self-respecting knights think of you? Oh, the poison is nothing serious, but you have to say goodbye to your breakf-argh!" Sir Killian grappled Rodolf and kicked his feet, causing the assassin to fall onto the floor and drop the blowpipe, which bounced on the floor multiple times before rolling away.
        "You think me blind?" Sir Killian chuckled while Rodolf laid supine and rubbed the back of his head. "I've seen how bored you have been, and how you visited Mimosa's tower right after you finished carving that pipe yesterday. I knew you'd like to use your new tool, so I drank a bottle of antidote right before leaving my room. Others may not notice suspicious shadows, but you can't fool me." Rodolf slowly stood up while holding his head as if he hurt it quite badly until he suddenly charged at Sir Killian, grappled him, and threw him against a stone wall. Couple of servants gasped and an amused soldier rookie watched as the knight and the assassin threw each other around the dining hall's walls and pillars.
        "Well you didn't see this coming," Rodolf grunted as he threw Killian on the floor, then laughed. "I always have another trick waiting in my sleeve, for every situation! You should already know that." When the knight stood up, the assassin charged at him once more, but Killian quickly stepped aside while grabbing Rodolf's right arm, then twisted it behind the assassin's back. A couple of muffled cracking sounds came from the arm's bones as Killian forced Rodolf to completely stop and fall onto his knee. "Aah! Ow! Shi- Stop! Damn!" Killian's smile vanished and he immediately let go of Rodolf's arm, then his eyes widened as the arm hung from the assassin's shoulder like a rope. Rodolf groaned while gritting his teeth, then he could move his arm normally again, though it was obvious he suffered from far greater pain than what Killian had inflicted upon him.
        "An old wound?" The knight asked in a compassionate tone as the assassin stood up while he rolled his right shoulder a few times. He shook his head.
        "No, it's... uh, we don't have time for this. The others and the special guest are waiting." Rodolf tried to walk away, but Killian stepped in front of him.
        "Is it the sickness, then? Has it spread?"
        "Of course, it does all the time, now stop playing a nurse!" Rodolf shouted as he stood straight and looked angrily with his dark blue eyes into Killian's light brown eyes. The knight was slightly taller than the hooded assassin, and also calmer, though he was a bit surprised by his friend's aggressive tone. "We are delaying the match's start," Rodolf whispered without blinking. "And I really wouldn't like to rot here for a month." They stood silently for a few seconds until Sir Killian marched away without saying anything, the steps of his boots echoing in the corridor. Rodolf took a deep breath, walked next to a pillar, and picked up the blowpipe from the pillar's foot. Then he noticed the rookie soldier who was still watching him. The assassin put another dart into the pipe, aimed it at the young soldier, and blew the dart at his neck, all within a couple of seconds. The boy winced, then Rodolf walked away from the hall while the sound of lively puking echoed from behind.
        Once Sir Killian and Rodolf had mounted onto their horses, the tournament caravan was on its way again. The two were completely silent and kept their eyes on the road ahead. After riding along a rocky path that led them on top of the large cliffs, they reached the canyon, where the second match was held. The gemstones were as bright as before, and the water reflected sunlight like a liquid mirror. The crowd found their places in the wooden stands, and Judge Gaspar shared the highest row with witch Mimosa. Tournament guards walked to their positions around the stands, Sir Killian opened Tika's caged wagon, and Rodolf opened Arn's. Abyssal priest Kara approached the contestants. "Offer me your palm, and I will grant a mark which keeps your soul safe in the moment of death." Tika reached her left hand towards the priest, then the blind man drew the black symbol on the elf's palm. She didn't even flinch from the pain. Then Kara turned towards Arn, and his blank eyes widened. "This one's already dead," he whispered before hurrying to the top row of the stands. After the contestants walked to their positions in the middle of the canyon floor, Captain Rheinallt walked onto the podium and cleared his voice.
        "Welcome to witness the seventh match of the tournament! On our left we... uh... have a little harbinger of storms; Tika, Dry Outrider!" Many people clapped, then Rheinallt raised his other hand. "On our right we have... an ancient harbinger of chaos; Arn, the Ageless Prankster!" Only a few people clapped, and many were completely silent when the masked spirit gestured with his right hand in a flamboyant way before bowing deeply like a court jester. Finally Rheinallt looked at both contestants with a worried look that made him furrow his grey brows before he raised his both hands.
        "Let... the seventh match... begin!"
    #toc4_match
  • Eight

    Thunder

    Tika sat in her room, thinking about the situation she found herself in. Corruption was spreading across the land, tensions were rising... all with her in the middle of it. She was far from home, and she didn't have someone she could talk to completely honestly...

    Tika's eyes glowed slightly. What am I thinking?  she thought. I'm strong. I can deal with this.

    Lightning cracks throughout the room. Tika readies herself.
  • (sorry it isn't too long. couldn't think of much.
  • I like it. It's short, just like thunder. Nice touch btw 😮
  • ~Tomorrow [DEPARTURE ~ Prelude]

    Aetherspark HV1 Test Journal - Entry #12,486, Day #50,342

    I feel a flurry of emotions today. Happiness and sadness. Thankfulness and regret. Excitement and disappointment. Fulfillment and longing. The day has come; tomorrow, I can finally return home, but the circumstances are quite unfortunate. As much as I was only fighting for my life, I still feel a sadness in having lost my first match in that tournament. I let several people down, including an old friend of mine, and my own sister, and now there's the problem with my prosthetic…

    As written in entry #12,667, I had received a powerful prosthetic from Phyrexia. It's a bane and a curse, just like my revolver; it grants the power to take a life, but it is wrought with temptation. Every day that wretched thing whispers to be used, and now, with the mechanical stitching permanently sealed by healing magic, I can no longer hide it. I've tried removing it, but it pains and bleeds like a living part of my body now, every attempt feeling like I'm trying to saw my own arm off. I would try to seek help, but news has begun to spread about my arm, and that black oil. I've been shunned, and ever since that match ended, no one has checked to see if I'm okay. People have even come to the place I've called home for the past several days, but even then they take care of their business and leave. I somewhat already miss the fame, but at least I'll finally be returning home. The problem is… will they accept me with my disfigurement?

  • @TenebrisNemo, I have been waiting for at least a week for my match to begin, and I have to say I'm kinda getting impatient. 

    This is not to say I'm rushing you, because I know story writing and finding time is hard. I just wanna know what's up?
  • Inelegant. Call him in private.
  • I don't think you can exactly call people on the forums
    also, why is that inelegant?
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