Hey, I'm not a spirit catcher! I'm just a very rich old lady who thousands of wealthy spirits owe their soul too! But I guess if I kill you...I can always summon your soul. But let's not dwell on happy thoughts!
Just trying to make Chara a psionic spirit as opposed to the Undertale weird 'emotions' magic system. I mean it's kind of great when the Undertale casts are located in DnD multiverse and they are using the DnD magic system instead.
The Fall of Vosanova Vosanova is dead. All that remained of the once thriving country was ash and flame. The sight of expansive cities turned to smoldering ruins. The sound of bustling trade silenced by the screams of fear and agony. The smell of aromatic flowers and vegetation replaced with choking brimstone. Even the tiny spark of hope for the country disappeared, the silver linings melted into a pile of slag by the flames of tyranny. And through it all a piercing cry could be heard for miles on end, the sound of a baby wailing in terror with a sinister undertone resonating within their pleas. Yet the cries were ignored by the masses as they tried in vain to escape their fiery doom, all except for a young girl observing the massacre from afar. It was hard to tell whether she was real or just misshapen smoke in the distance, but one glance at her piercing white eyes shredded the doubt inside any who dared to avert their attention from escape, even if only for a moment. Those who kept their eyes on the strange girl could see her lifting up her arm; dark, ephemeral tendrils licking her fingers. Soon the smoke wrapped around her shoulder, traveled across her arm, and jetted out from her fingertips, before forming into a round cloud of black smoke. Or was it made of something else? Those who observed the girl had little time to ponder that question as they saw her step through the cloud and vanish completely from sight. And soon the mystery of the girl was shrouded by a far bigger shadow. The silhouette of a swooping dragon engulfed the stragglers who saw the girl, its maw glowing with hellish heat. The civilians did not attempt to flee the dragon’s presence, for they realized the true cost of their folly. And now there was nowhere left to run. FWOOOOOSH
The girl meandered through the murky darkness of the Abyss, its eerie stillness disturbed only by the ripples of her footsteps upon the black ocean. She walked onward endlessly, lost in remembrance amidst the silent backdrop. It had been many years since that fateful night, yet she could picture it in her head with perfect clarity. It was a night filled with chaos, despair, betrayal, sacrifice, and tragedy… yet also hope. In a night where so much wrong happened, a path of atonement for all the girl’s mistakes unfurled right in front of her in the form of a newborn’s cry.
The girl rushed through the burning streets of Vosanova, hopping between the realms of reality and the Abyss to avoid the debris crumbling around her. She scanned the insides of houses through the windows and doors, desperately searching for the source of the cries. They grew louder and louder with each jump, the stained distortion of the Abyss’s influence felt even as the girl briefly traversed the abyssal underscape.
The girl stopped at a particular house after narrowly dodging a large chunk of a burning roof. She could barely hear the baby’s wailing emanate down the halls amidst the crackling of flames, the entrance burnt open as though inviting the girl to join in its fiery demise. The girl refused, instead opting to traverse through the Abyss up to a windowsill untouched by fire. From there she saw a crib inside surrounded by flame. There was a baby kicking and screaming within, clearly terrified of the fire surrounding them. Yet not even a lick of flame could touch them as a barrier of inky black tendrils formed around them. The girl was certain the magic defending the baby would protect them through the raging destruction of Vosanova, but what then? The baby would survive only to be forced to live in utter turmoil, much like another abyssal conduit. No, the girl wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes twice. She may have not been there to help the last through their turmoils early on, but here was an opportunity to help another conduit in a similar position as the previous one. Without thinking the girl slipped through the Abyss and into the interior of the house effortlessly, snatching the baby from their cradle before slipping out of the house just as quickly. With unparalleled haste the girl fled the crumbling remains of Vosanova right as a dragon dived down and spewed its white hot flames on the houses below. Taking a deep breath, the girl opened a hole into the Abyss underneath her feet, causing her and the baby cradled in her arms to vanish completely from sight.
The girl smiled fondly at the memories flying around her. She remembered how she protected the baby from harm, both the mundane and the Abyssal alike. She reminisced the times she watched the baby grow into a boy, then from a boy into a man of his own design, given the freedom and opportunity to carve his own path while still having someone to fall back to. Perhaps she could say the baby was her child, even if it was only for 21 years. Yes, there were times she felt as though she failed as a guardian. Those moments formed into regrets. Had she intervened when she fell back, had she let her child figure it out himself when she interfered, maybe it would’ve gone differently on that fateful day. Maybe he would’ve chosen something better for the both of them. The girl shook her head. No no, even in that moment of her child’s utter contempt for her, she knew he was still a kind and brave person at heart. He was devoted to making the world a better place, and saw the Kevalarions as a way to achieve his goal. Knights in shining armor sworn to protect the world from the Abyss. Yet joining them meant forsaking the girl, the one who guided and protected him throughout his entire life. All the girl could do now was hope that her child still had fond memories of her after 3 years of separation. Were it 2 years ago that would all she would be doing, holding onto the nostalgia of the past while wandering aimlessly in the murky depths of the Abyss. Yet something happened that snapped the girl out of her melancholic trance. A familiar cry followed by the rattling of iron chains echoed throughout the realm, striking the girl with a sense of alarm and concern.
She thought about ██████. Instinctively she moved her hand to her chest where the dagger had pierced her chest. The girl shuddered. “█████. I’m █████.” All of a sudden, █████ remembered everything. How she killed █████████. How she silenced █████. How she hurt █████ and █████. How she ran from her home. How she tried so hard not to do any of this. How she was victimized by those who refused to see her for herself. █████ could imagine ██████’s comforting smile after she killed █████, like she understood. █████ could imagine ██████’s traitorous eyes as she held that wretched silver dagger. █████ could see ██████████’s “betrayal” and watched again as she dueled ██████, losing her violin to her horrible invocation. The pain of these revelations overwhelmed the girl.
No one understood me. Not even her. Not even the abyss. The violin shattered in █████’s weak hands as the bow dissolved into mist in front of her eyes. █████ could see her glowing, cracked skin and the iron chains that bound her hands and legs to the abyss. █████ felt all her strength dissolve away. She fell onto her knees. Then onto her chest. A large shadow of the abyss dragged █████ back to her original spot as her revelations faded quickly away from her mind. The girl was a slave once more.
It was… It couldn’t be… Why was she down here? How long has she been here? How long have they kept her trapped? No, the girl wouldn’t let this stand. Yes, they had not left each other on the best of terms, but no one deserves to be subjected to that fate for who knows how long, least of all her! The girl promised to herself, she would get her out of this hell, no matter the cost on the girl’s part. Perhaps they would be able to make amends for all their past strife, maybe not. It did not matter to her at the moment.
2 years later, and despite the girl’s best efforts, she failed to learn of her friend’s whereabouts, let alone rescue her. No matter how deep she dug, she could barely scratch the surface. She witnessed the previous tournament in hopes of discovering something that could help her in her search. No luck. But the gods had become more active in the tournament, some of them acting as hosts themselves. Wherever gods went, there was power to be found. Perhaps that was what the girl needed. Power far greater than her own. Maybe they wouldn’t be strong enough to help her rescue her friend, but she couldn’t know until she tried. And try she would, for even if there was only a slim chance to rescue the one she wronged the most, she’d take it without question.
The girl opened a rift within the Abyss to a large tent on a dusty field; a gateway to an opportunity to fix her mistakes. She took a deep breath, then reassured herself with soft spoken words.
“My name is Bernadette, and I can bear witness no more. I wish to act, to fix my mistakes, by joining the 17th Tournament of Champions.”
As she quietly practiced the words she’d give to the registrar, the girl—No, Bernadette—stepped into the shifting portal that would lead to her unknown fate.
@MonkeyPirate2002 - This is the hosts' new attempt to host a tournament where the 17th champion would be determined, so they call it the 17th tournament. It's my fault that I haven't posted more information about the current events of the world earlier, so sorry about that. I will do so soon!
No one knows where The Soundweaver came from. He simply appears in a town or village, plays some songs, and disappears the next day. They say he is blind, that his only understanding of the world is through his songs and the noises of nature. They say his songs are laced with magic, providing him with protection and company on his wandering, nomadic way of life.
Descriptions from each sighting always quote the same thing, however - the runed lute he carries known as the Worldsinger. It is theorised to have a deeper connection to the souls of the planes it touches, producing the magic melodies that follow The Soundweaver wherever he travels.
Why has he decided to join the Tournament of Champions? Perhaps he wants to write a song about it. It could be that he wishes to prove his skill. Maybe he's looking for something inside himself. He may not talk much, but he carries a sense of purpose and wisdom with his aged, yet timeless body.
Thunderstorm raged over the land. Its black clouds covered the sky and its winds pulled everything beneath, the trees of a vast, green forest and the flags of a city, which it surrounded. Its howl echoed in the empty streets and dark alleys between the buildings of wood and stone, where the citizens were safely committed to their afternoon routines. A bright lightning flashed in the distance frequently, and the crash of thunder echoed in the sky soon after.
Those lightning flashes briefly illuminated a chamber, which was dimly lit by countless white candles. A wooden statue stood tall between the two large windows of the chamber. It depicted a young woman, donned with a crown, breastplate, gauntlets, and dress which descended from her waist. A gap in the dress revealed one of her greaves. The spear she held in her right hand was almost as long as her outstretched wings which pointed towards the ceiling. A young man was kneeling in the middle of the chamber, praying to the goddess which the statue represented. A sheathed shortsword lied horizontally on the floor right in front of the man. As he finished the silent prayer, the only answer he could hear was the storm outside the mansion. Then he picked up the sword, slowly stood up, attached the sword's scabbard to his belt, then swiped away some floor dust from his black coat. He turned away from the statue in a knightly manner, and marched outside the chamber through a large, wooden door. The clank of metal handles echoed in the corridor as the door closed behind him.
The knight entered a room, where the only light source was a large window at the opposite wall from the door. The constant sound of raindrops hitting the window filled the room. In the middle of the room was a wrought desk, one chair in front of it, and another behind it. On the desk there was an ink bottle, quill, candlestick which was holding three candles, and sealed envelope. The knight quickly noticed a man's shadow in front of the window. He was staring outside with his hands behind his back. Once the knight saw the pensive man's swept-back hair, the patterned tunic, and the golden collar, he recognized him.
"It's been a while, your honor," the knight said in a relieved, clear tone.
"Too long," the man snorted with his coarse voice, still staring outside. "This long war has changed our home. The young, brave, and foolish are sent overseas to die for a grudge that's persisted longer than their names. The rest are stuck here, where citizens have started to turn against each other. The roads are more dangerous than ever before. Murderous bands have increased, homes have been invaded, many conflicts have ignited, and the amount of dead keeps increasing. And with it... the outbreaks."
"Wounds of the world, bleeding tormented souls upon the earth. They have become more common. This is not fate. Someone's pulling the strings behind the scenes!"
"Terror among the people seems to be for their liking. They have never shown themselves. Yet rumors spread. Sightings of shadowy figures rising the dead and leading them to towns and cities, but all attempts to find them have been in vain."
The knight was silent for a moment. "Then what can we do?"
"We give them no choice but to find us," the man said as he turned away from the window. "We will bring hope to this cursed land. A tournament, where the greatest fighter of all will become a champion. Give this kingdom and its people a new guardian! That's the last thing the enemy would want today."
"There hasn't been a tournament in three years. The previous attempts were stopped by them. And the last two champions are gone, just like many others. Would this one work? Boost the morale, yes, but for how long? There's no guarantee that the new champion would want to take part in any of this!"
"They will try to stop us. And no matter the outcome, we will have a new, powerful fighter at hand," the man said as he walked to the table, lit the candles with a match, then he picked up the sealed envelope from the table. "Are you prepared to watch over them until that moment?"
Flash of lightning outside the window pushed all shadows away from the room, but they instantly returned. The knight walked to the table as well, since the man was offering the envelope for him. In the candlelight, he could see the signet clearly. A winged spear which was surrounded by a halo.
"In Friyena's name, I will," he said solemnly as he took the envelope. Echo of thunder followed.
I would also ask each of you to check out this set, where I have put all entries. Let me know if your entry is missing or if the latest version of your entry isn't appearing there: https://mtgcardsmith.com/user/TenebrisNemo/sets/59506
@theirintheattic & @Tommia - Since you're using non-mtgcardsmith cards as entries, they can be found from the set's disqus comments. Check them out just in case there's any problems.
Also, I will push the draft deadline to Wednesday, 17th of March, so that people have more time to finish and post late entries here. Right now it seems that we have 19 different heroes for the tournament. When the deadline is reached, I will have a draft elimination, where the best 16 heroes will be chosen to compete in the tournament.
Short Background: Formerly a rogue wizard from Kamigawa, Aiko ascended to demonhood under the contract of her previous master Nicol Bolas despite Bolas had no intention to keep her around for long (and because Bolas was defeated in the War of the Spark). But before the contract could take away her life, she instead became a planeswalker because of the trauma of near-death experience while also kept the demonic power still, despite she always holds the fact that she's a planeswalker as a secret.
At some point she went to the plane of Avelaide and noticed about the tournaments and intended to join as a contender just because of curiosity and to test her powers... although she always has several hidden agendas beneath those cunning smiles of her.
Assorted Stats: Age: Around 150 years Gender: Female Race: Demon Alignment: Lawful Evil Occupation: - Hobbies: Amassing power, blessing the weak who are useful to her Height: 180 cm
Fighting Ability: Aiko is a powerful demon despite of her petite looks. Naturally she could fly and is an adept wizard and she could cast quick spells that don't need components such as: • Conjuring lightning and fire bolts • Countermagics • Singular or area life-drain spells In addition she could bestow someone else with demonic power but the bestowed person will always be loyal to her. She needs several components such as an essence from a true demon (a horn for example) and a sort of ritual therefore it is not suitable for combat. In addition she already made herself a phylactery just in case she would die because of an unknown factor (a hidden amulet she's always carrying around).
As lightning cracked across the sky, something seemed a tad... off. Some bolts seemed to be congregating in a generalized location, the rooftop of some abandoned, two story house, left desolate by the war. The lightning struck there once... two times... three times, before several bolts struck in rapid succession, battering the stone violently but not quite breaking through. The crackling and buzzing of electricity sung like a chorus, drawing the attention of passers by until they were convinced something was amiss; little did they know they were right.
After a moment, there's a brief pause in the storm, a break in the rain. On the rooftop, breaking through the darkness, a glow, through the silence, a gentle hum of machinery from a strange device. The next distant trace of lighr reflected off glass and metal, revealing to those below a feline figure about five foot six in stature in a black jacket... with a strange prosthetic arm which bore a very foreign arcane design. Before any more detail could be revealed, however, the figure fell through the roof, and then, lightning struck them.
"OW! OW! OW! OW! HOT! HOT! BURN! BURN! BURN!"
As the strangers went in to investigate, they saw broken glass and nothing else, but the sounds of whimpering were signs enough of where that creature went... they're trapped under debris. Nothing that can't be cleared...
"Drat! Where are my goggles? It's too bright without them, even out here... wait! WHERE'S MY PROSTHETIC?!"
Whispers are all he heard in return, but it rendered on his ears like screaming... Ytsix emerged from the rubble, and scurried to find his arm, and suddenly, a long, black one found its way beside him.
"Um... who are you?"
As he looked up, he couldn't comprehend what his eyes had seen... not one, not two, but several horrors... and they had him surrounded.
If not for a lucky flicker, Ytsix's life may have very well ended at that moment. However, as a flurry of attacks flew his direction, he seemed to dissipate, reappearing outside with his prosthetic attached. What ensued was a desperate run for his life as Ytsix hightailed it to the nearest town.
"S-STAY BACK! I'LL- I'LL HAVE TO HURT YOU IF YOU DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"
A gentle winds flows through the forests of Eldrine, leaves of gargantuan trees rustling about, their branches threatening to snap. Fauna and Insects the size of pigs crawl about in this primitive lands. One might almost mistake the forests for peaceful. Water trickles into a stream as if a funneled drink poured into an empty glass. Butterflies and faeries fly about and in the distance, sounds of yelling and monstrous moans interrupt the peace, and a towering Elder Horn charges fearlessly towards those who dare disturb its solice.
A man, grins as he roars and charges ferociously at the beast. From the look of things, this isn't the hardest challenge he has faced as he dances around and about the beast with murderous fury. He lacerates the beast, cleaving at it with the grace of a butterfly and a body of iron. He knows that his quarry is finished.
"Now boy, now is your chance!"
A sharp whistle emanates from a hidden bush as a boy jumps into the way of the charging behemoth, he attempts to draw his arrow but the boy freezes in fear as the inevitability of death coming towards him registers in his brain. The beast charges towards the little boy, neither of them noticing the cliff behind them, the hunter charges to save his catch and not wanting to lose his meal, he slams into the behemoth disabling it, but in doing so he also knocks the Elk and his son almost off the cliff. Almost instinctively he catches the beast by its front legs. Even though its knocked out, its weight barely felt by him as he begins to pull his catch up but is interrupted with a deafening scream.
"Arnest?"
He peers down and he sees his boy barely hanging on to the hind legs of the beast.
"No wonder this beast's heft felt a little off."
The hunter continues on with great indifference and a chuckle.
Arnest's hands begin to slowly slide of as with each passing second as his hands lose grip on the incapitated beast's hinds.
"Father, you have to help me, please" Arnest pleads with fear
The man with little deliberation snaps back.
"This is the only way I can help you."
The man with cold intention in his eyes, believing he is doing his spawn a mercy, then cuts the supporting hind leg of the beast that the boy is holding on to and lets him plunge deep the cliffs into the depths known as "Skull Giant Plunge."
The ruins of Kher Keep were mostly quiet in the predawn light. The massive architecture was deceptively still; belaying the large amount of kobolds hidden in and under like an ant nest. There is a small clack of wood on stone in the courtyard as the first of the denizens of Kher Keep make it out into the light. A small kobold stands in the light, holding a spear, and he starts going into forms with it.
The forms are a strange dance, putting every inch of the kobold's body to use as he lunges, leaps, blocks, parries! All watching would be entranced by the flurry of actions, each one getting better as he rolls into it from the prior move with a grace and quickness that defies all expectations of what a kobold can do. Disruption to this beauty comes only when he tries to brace of the spear to do a kick to an imaginary foe as the butt of the spear skids off a loose pebble, sending the two to the ground.
Uncaring of the fall, the little kobold gets up again and restarts, his patterns vastly different this time. A few more kobolds come out to train, most using swords or other spears. Their grace in battle is far less, but in some cases more effective. The first kobold is fairly friendly to these new arrivals, and most of them are quite friendly in return. He offers a quick sparring match to one of the best at swords, and a space is cleared in the center.
The fight starts with a flurry of blows from the kobold with a sword, and one strong enough that the spear is forced to dodge instead of block, batting the blade aside twice, but unable to get in with the spear to break the attack. Slowly backing away, he takes a small risk and ducks to the side under an alcove where the reach of the spear has an advantage. The sword kobold is unable to really stop this, so focused on his attacks. As he glances around for a second, confused, he gets poked by the spear in the sides. The weapons are blunted, so no blood is drawn, but it's annoying. His clawed hand shoots out and grabs the spear as it's being pulled away, yanking hard and drawing the first kobold in close where he has the advantage. The spear wielder can't get away from that, so curves around to the side instead, trapping the sword-wielding hand so that the blow can't complete.
"Give it up Tirkers! I've got you from here!" The spear-wielder shouts, chuckling as his companion struggles to make any sort of attack with his trapped blade. Tirkers grunts, then heaves the spear end he was holding at the actual spear wielder, driving him back a few steps and giving him the space that he needed to ready. Now the spear kobold is on the attack, deftly jabbing and swinging in with his spear, whirling on either side of the retreating figure. Eventually Tirkers fails to block once, then twice more, and that ends the match. The young spear wielder walks over and shakes Tirkers's hand.
"That was pretty good work there Tirkers. Your start had me backpedaling a lot, and your recovery from the pin there is a huge improvement."
The other kobold gives a dry snort.
"Don't get too comfy. I'll beat you yet Kaigan."
His bitterness seems lost on Kaigan, lost in the happy part of youth that is too innocent for the bitter taste of life as a devotee of Prossh. A bell rings, and everyone sets about their daily tasks. Breaking off to a small group of young kobolds, Kaigan heads off to do his alloted chores with his friends, laughing as they set to work.
Nothing disrupts the day until the end. As they head back to the warrens under Kher Keep, Kaigan and his friends hear a blast from a trumpet. Everyone pauses, then turns around and heads into the only building that seems really well maintained in Kher Keep- the Great Hall. As they go, they whisper to each other about what this could mean, guessing over and over. Was Rograhk, Prossh's Voice going to start up the living sacrifices again? Or perhaps he was declaring a new war; the warrens are starting to get crowded enough to warrent one. Whatever it was, everyone agreed that it had to be important for him to summon everyone, but not too important that it couldn't wait for the tasks of the day to be over with. As the Great Hall was slowly packed fuller and fuller, the hushed whispers grew until it sounded louder than the horn that originally summoned everyone. In all his red, warlike glory, Rograhk took the highest point and looked over the massive throng of kobolds assembled by his horn.
"Prossh has required from us our best warrior! He is to be sent on a quest in Prossh's name! Tomorrow will be a day of rest for all but the warriors who will have an all out sparring match to find the best. The last not eliminated will be Prossh's Champion for this quest! Retire to your dens now and rest, warriors, for you will be watched from above by our Lord tomorrow!"
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Just trying to make Chara a psionic spirit as opposed to the Undertale weird 'emotions' magic system. I mean it's kind of great when the Undertale casts are located in DnD multiverse and they are using the DnD magic system instead.
Vosanova is dead. All that remained of the once thriving country was ash and flame. The sight of expansive cities turned to smoldering ruins. The sound of bustling trade silenced by the screams of fear and agony. The smell of aromatic flowers and vegetation replaced with choking brimstone. Even the tiny spark of hope for the country disappeared, the silver linings melted into a pile of slag by the flames of tyranny. And through it all a piercing cry could be heard for miles on end, the sound of a baby wailing in terror with a sinister undertone resonating within their pleas. Yet the cries were ignored by the masses as they tried in vain to escape their fiery doom, all except for a young girl observing the massacre from afar. It was hard to tell whether she was real or just misshapen smoke in the distance, but one glance at her piercing white eyes shredded the doubt inside any who dared to avert their attention from escape, even if only for a moment. Those who kept their eyes on the strange girl could see her lifting up her arm; dark, ephemeral tendrils licking her fingers. Soon the smoke wrapped around her shoulder, traveled across her arm, and jetted out from her fingertips, before forming into a round cloud of black smoke. Or was it made of something else? Those who observed the girl had little time to ponder that question as they saw her step through the cloud and vanish completely from sight. And soon the mystery of the girl was shrouded by a far bigger shadow. The silhouette of a swooping dragon engulfed the stragglers who saw the girl, its maw glowing with hellish heat. The civilians did not attempt to flee the dragon’s presence, for they realized the true cost of their folly.
And now there was nowhere left to run.
FWOOOOOSH
The girl meandered through the murky darkness of the Abyss, its eerie stillness disturbed only by the ripples of her footsteps upon the black ocean. She walked onward endlessly, lost in remembrance amidst the silent backdrop. It had been many years since that fateful night, yet she could picture it in her head with perfect clarity. It was a night filled with chaos, despair, betrayal, sacrifice, and tragedy… yet also hope. In a night where so much wrong happened, a path of atonement for all the girl’s mistakes unfurled right in front of her in the form of a newborn’s cry.
The girl rushed through the burning streets of Vosanova, hopping between the realms of reality and the Abyss to avoid the debris crumbling around her. She scanned the insides of houses through the windows and doors, desperately searching for the source of the cries. They grew louder and louder with each jump, the stained distortion of the Abyss’s influence felt even as the girl briefly traversed the abyssal underscape.
The girl stopped at a particular house after narrowly dodging a large chunk of a burning roof. She could barely hear the baby’s wailing emanate down the halls amidst the crackling of flames, the entrance burnt open as though inviting the girl to join in its fiery demise. The girl refused, instead opting to traverse through the Abyss up to a windowsill untouched by fire. From there she saw a crib inside surrounded by flame. There was a baby kicking and screaming within, clearly terrified of the fire surrounding them. Yet not even a lick of flame could touch them as a barrier of inky black tendrils formed around them. The girl was certain the magic defending the baby would protect them through the raging destruction of Vosanova, but what then? The baby would survive only to be forced to live in utter turmoil, much like another abyssal conduit. No, the girl wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes twice. She may have not been there to help the last through their turmoils early on, but here was an opportunity to help another conduit in a similar position as the previous one. Without thinking the girl slipped through the Abyss and into the interior of the house effortlessly, snatching the baby from their cradle before slipping out of the house just as quickly. With unparalleled haste the girl fled the crumbling remains of Vosanova right as a dragon dived down and spewed its white hot flames on the houses below. Taking a deep breath, the girl opened a hole into the Abyss underneath her feet, causing her and the baby cradled in her arms to vanish completely from sight.
The girl smiled fondly at the memories flying around her. She remembered how she protected the baby from harm, both the mundane and the Abyssal alike. She reminisced the times she watched the baby grow into a boy, then from a boy into a man of his own design, given the freedom and opportunity to carve his own path while still having someone to fall back to. Perhaps she could say the baby was her child, even if it was only for 21 years. Yes, there were times she felt as though she failed as a guardian. Those moments formed into regrets. Had she intervened when she fell back, had she let her child figure it out himself when she interfered, maybe it would’ve gone differently on that fateful day. Maybe he would’ve chosen something better for the both of them. The girl shook her head. No no, even in that moment of her child’s utter contempt for her, she knew he was still a kind and brave person at heart. He was devoted to making the world a better place, and saw the Kevalarions as a way to achieve his goal. Knights in shining armor sworn to protect the world from the Abyss. Yet joining them meant forsaking the girl, the one who guided and protected him throughout his entire life. All the girl could do now was hope that her child still had fond memories of her after 3 years of separation. Were it 2 years ago that would all she would be doing, holding onto the nostalgia of the past while wandering aimlessly in the murky depths of the Abyss. Yet something happened that snapped the girl out of her melancholic trance. A familiar cry followed by the rattling of iron chains echoed throughout the realm, striking the girl with a sense of alarm and concern.
The girl shuddered. “█████. I’m █████.”
All of a sudden, █████ remembered everything. How she killed █████████. How she silenced █████. How she hurt █████ and █████. How she ran from her home. How she tried so hard not to do any of this. How she was victimized by those who refused to see her for herself. █████ could imagine ██████’s comforting smile after she killed █████, like she understood. █████ could imagine ██████’s traitorous eyes as she held that wretched silver dagger. █████ could see ██████████’s “betrayal” and watched again as she dueled ██████, losing her violin to her horrible invocation. The pain of these revelations overwhelmed the girl.
No one understood me. Not even her. Not even the abyss.
The violin shattered in █████’s weak hands as the bow dissolved into mist in front of her eyes. █████ could see her glowing, cracked skin and the iron chains that bound her hands and legs to the abyss. █████ felt all her strength dissolve away. She fell onto her knees. Then onto her chest. A large shadow of the abyss dragged █████ back to her original spot as her revelations faded quickly away from her mind.
The girl was a slave once more.
It was… It couldn’t be… Why was she down here? How long has she been here? How long have they kept her trapped? No, the girl wouldn’t let this stand. Yes, they had not left each other on the best of terms, but no one deserves to be subjected to that fate for who knows how long, least of all her! The girl promised to herself, she would get her out of this hell, no matter the cost on the girl’s part. Perhaps they would be able to make amends for all their past strife, maybe not. It did not matter to her at the moment.
2 years later, and despite the girl’s best efforts, she failed to learn of her friend’s whereabouts, let alone rescue her. No matter how deep she dug, she could barely scratch the surface. She witnessed the previous tournament in hopes of discovering something that could help her in her search. No luck. But the gods had become more active in the tournament, some of them acting as hosts themselves. Wherever gods went, there was power to be found. Perhaps that was what the girl needed. Power far greater than her own. Maybe they wouldn’t be strong enough to help her rescue her friend, but she couldn’t know until she tried. And try she would, for even if there was only a slim chance to rescue the one she wronged the most, she’d take it without question.
The girl opened a rift within the Abyss to a large tent on a dusty field; a gateway to an opportunity to fix her mistakes. She took a deep breath, then reassured herself with soft spoken words.
“My name is Bernadette, and I can bear witness no more. I wish to act, to fix my mistakes, by joining the 17th Tournament of Champions.”
As she quietly practiced the words she’d give to the registrar, the girl—No, Bernadette—stepped into the shifting portal that would lead to her unknown fate.
Main Theme:
(I probably should've checked beforehand. This is the 20th Tournament of Champions right?)
Descriptions from each sighting always quote the same thing, however - the runed lute he carries known as the Worldsinger. It is theorised to have a deeper connection to the souls of the planes it touches, producing the magic melodies that follow The Soundweaver wherever he travels.
Why has he decided to join the Tournament of Champions? Perhaps he wants to write a song about it. It could be that he wishes to prove his skill. Maybe he's looking for something inside himself. He may not talk much, but he carries a sense of purpose and wisdom with his aged, yet timeless body.
One
Seventeenth Ordeal
#toc4_story
https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/comment/204434/#Comment_204434
I would also ask each of you to check out this set, where I have put all entries. Let me know if your entry is missing or if the latest version of your entry isn't appearing there:
https://mtgcardsmith.com/user/TenebrisNemo/sets/59506
@theirintheattic & @Tommia - Since you're using non-mtgcardsmith cards as entries, they can be found from the set's disqus comments. Check them out just in case there's any problems.
Also, I will push the draft deadline to Wednesday, 17th of March, so that people have more time to finish and post late entries here. Right now it seems that we have 19 different heroes for the tournament. When the deadline is reached, I will have a draft elimination, where the best 16 heroes will be chosen to compete in the tournament.
https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/aiko-renegade-succubus?list=user
https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/vow-of-ambition?list=user
Short Background:
Formerly a rogue wizard from Kamigawa, Aiko ascended to demonhood under the contract of her previous master Nicol Bolas despite Bolas had no intention to keep her around for long (and because Bolas was defeated in the War of the Spark). But before the contract could take away her life, she instead became a planeswalker because of the trauma of near-death experience while also kept the demonic power still, despite she always holds the fact that she's a planeswalker as a secret.
At some point she went to the plane of Avelaide and noticed about the tournaments and intended to join as a contender just because of curiosity and to test her powers... although she always has several hidden agendas beneath those cunning smiles of her.
Assorted Stats:
Age: Around 150 years
Gender: Female
Race: Demon
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Occupation: -
Hobbies: Amassing power, blessing the weak who are useful to her
Height: 180 cm
Fighting Ability:
Aiko is a powerful demon despite of her petite looks. Naturally she could fly and is an adept wizard and she could cast quick spells that don't need components such as:
• Conjuring lightning and fire bolts
• Countermagics
• Singular or area life-drain spells
In addition she could bestow someone else with demonic power but the bestowed person will always be loyal to her. She needs several components such as an essence from a true demon (a horn for example) and a sort of ritual therefore it is not suitable for combat. In addition she already made herself a phylactery just in case she would die because of an unknown factor (a hidden amulet she's always carrying around).
~ A Cat and Time
As lightning cracked across the sky, something seemed a tad... off. Some bolts seemed to be congregating in a generalized location, the rooftop of some abandoned, two story house, left desolate by the war. The lightning struck there once... two times... three times, before several bolts struck in rapid succession, battering the stone violently but not quite breaking through. The crackling and buzzing of electricity sung like a chorus, drawing the attention of passers by until they were convinced something was amiss; little did they know they were right.After a moment, there's a brief pause in the storm, a break in the rain. On the rooftop, breaking through the darkness, a glow, through the silence, a gentle hum of machinery from a strange device. The next distant trace of lighr reflected off glass and metal, revealing to those below a feline figure about five foot six in stature in a black jacket... with a strange prosthetic arm which bore a very foreign arcane design. Before any more detail could be revealed, however, the figure fell through the roof, and then, lightning struck them.
"OW! OW! OW! OW! HOT! HOT! BURN! BURN! BURN!"
As the strangers went in to investigate, they saw broken glass and nothing else, but the sounds of whimpering were signs enough of where that creature went... they're trapped under debris. Nothing that can't be cleared...
"Drat! Where are my goggles? It's too bright without them, even out here... wait! WHERE'S MY PROSTHETIC?!"
Whispers are all he heard in return, but it rendered on his ears like screaming... Ytsix emerged from the rubble, and scurried to find his arm, and suddenly, a long, black one found its way beside him.
"Um... who are you?"
As he looked up, he couldn't comprehend what his eyes had seen... not one, not two, but several horrors... and they had him surrounded.
"Uh- um- s-sorry if I'm *gulp* interrupting anything! D-don't w- *gulp* orry! I'm leaving!"
"Y̴̷̧͜͜͜͡͝O̶̴̡͜͝͞͞͡Ư̴̧̡͏̷͢͝ ̸̷̢҉̷̷͠͝Ą̵̢̧̛̛̕͜Ŕ̷̡̡̕͏҉͘E̴̸̡͘̕͏̸͝Ņ̷̢̨̀̀̕̕'̶̢̨̛͜͏҉͠T̸͘͘͟͞҉̨͝ ̸̶̶̨̕҉̸͡L͏̶̨̡̢̀͜͝Ę̸̸̧̛̛̀̕A͏̵̡́͘͡͠͞V̴͏̵̶̢͏̕͜I̶̶̵̴̵͟҉͠Ń̸͜͜҉͏͏̶G̵̸̡̀͘͟͡͞ ̵͘͝҉̢̛̕̕À̴̵̵̶̶̸̴L͜͝͏͟͏҉̸͠Ì̸̵̴̢͜͜͝V̸̡̛̀͠͏͠͏Ę̸̵̶̨̡͘͝!͞"
If not for a lucky flicker, Ytsix's life may have very well ended at that moment. However, as a flurry of attacks flew his direction, he seemed to dissipate, reappearing outside with his prosthetic attached. What ensued was a desperate run for his life as Ytsix hightailed it to the nearest town.
"S-STAY BACK! I'LL- I'LL HAVE TO HURT YOU IF YOU DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!"
....
Lost Memories - Betrayal Of A Son (Part 1)
A gentle winds flows through the forests of Eldrine, leaves of gargantuan trees rustling about, their branches threatening to snap. Fauna and Insects the size of pigs crawl about in this primitive lands. One might almost mistake the forests for peaceful.
Water trickles into a stream as if a funneled drink poured into an empty glass. Butterflies and faeries fly about and in the distance, sounds of yelling and monstrous moans interrupt the peace, and a towering Elder Horn charges fearlessly towards those who dare disturb its solice.
A man, grins as he roars and charges ferociously at the beast. From the look of things, this isn't the hardest challenge he has faced as he dances around and about the beast with murderous fury. He lacerates the beast, cleaving at it with the grace of a butterfly and a body of iron. He knows that his quarry is finished.
"Now boy, now is your chance!"
A sharp whistle emanates from a hidden bush as a boy jumps into the way of the charging behemoth, he attempts to draw his arrow but the boy freezes in fear as the inevitability of death coming towards him registers in his brain. The beast charges towards the little boy, neither of them noticing the cliff behind them, the hunter charges to save his catch and not wanting to lose his meal, he slams into the behemoth disabling it, but in doing so he also knocks the Elk and his son almost off the cliff. Almost instinctively he catches the beast by its front legs. Even though its knocked out, its weight barely felt by him as he begins to pull his catch up but is interrupted with a deafening scream.
"Arnest?"
He peers down and he sees his boy barely hanging on to the hind legs of the beast.
"No wonder this beast's heft felt a little off."
The hunter continues on with great indifference and a chuckle.
Arnest's hands begin to slowly slide of as with each passing second as his hands lose grip on the incapitated beast's hinds.
"Father, you have to help me, please" Arnest pleads with fear
The man with little deliberation snaps back.
"This is the only way I can help you."
The man with cold intention in his eyes, believing he is doing his spawn a mercy, then cuts the supporting hind leg of the beast that the boy is holding on to and lets him plunge deep the cliffs into the depths known as "Skull Giant Plunge."
This is just a short look into Arn's past. I obviously got inspiration from @Tommia 's awesome story so much love to you.
Chapter One: Fresh Beginnings
The forms are a strange dance, putting every inch of the kobold's body to use as he lunges, leaps, blocks, parries! All watching would be entranced by the flurry of actions, each one getting better as he rolls into it from the prior move with a grace and quickness that defies all expectations of what a kobold can do. Disruption to this beauty comes only when he tries to brace of the spear to do a kick to an imaginary foe as the butt of the spear skids off a loose pebble, sending the two to the ground.
Uncaring of the fall, the little kobold gets up again and restarts, his patterns vastly different this time. A few more kobolds come out to train, most using swords or other spears. Their grace in battle is far less, but in some cases more effective. The first kobold is fairly friendly to these new arrivals, and most of them are quite friendly in return. He offers a quick sparring match to one of the best at swords, and a space is cleared in the center.
The fight starts with a flurry of blows from the kobold with a sword, and one strong enough that the spear is forced to dodge instead of block, batting the blade aside twice, but unable to get in with the spear to break the attack. Slowly backing away, he takes a small risk and ducks to the side under an alcove where the reach of the spear has an advantage. The sword kobold is unable to really stop this, so focused on his attacks. As he glances around for a second, confused, he gets poked by the spear in the sides. The weapons are blunted, so no blood is drawn, but it's annoying. His clawed hand shoots out and grabs the spear as it's being pulled away, yanking hard and drawing the first kobold in close where he has the advantage. The spear wielder can't get away from that, so curves around to the side instead, trapping the sword-wielding hand so that the blow can't complete.
"Give it up Tirkers! I've got you from here!" The spear-wielder shouts, chuckling as his companion struggles to make any sort of attack with his trapped blade. Tirkers grunts, then heaves the spear end he was holding at the actual spear wielder, driving him back a few steps and giving him the space that he needed to ready. Now the spear kobold is on the attack, deftly jabbing and swinging in with his spear, whirling on either side of the retreating figure. Eventually Tirkers fails to block once, then twice more, and that ends the match. The young spear wielder walks over and shakes Tirkers's hand.
"That was pretty good work there Tirkers. Your start had me backpedaling a lot, and your recovery from the pin there is a huge improvement."
The other kobold gives a dry snort.
"Don't get too comfy. I'll beat you yet Kaigan."
His bitterness seems lost on Kaigan, lost in the happy part of youth that is too innocent for the bitter taste of life as a devotee of Prossh. A bell rings, and everyone sets about their daily tasks. Breaking off to a small group of young kobolds, Kaigan heads off to do his alloted chores with his friends, laughing as they set to work.
Nothing disrupts the day until the end. As they head back to the warrens under Kher Keep, Kaigan and his friends hear a blast from a trumpet. Everyone pauses, then turns around and heads into the only building that seems really well maintained in Kher Keep- the Great Hall.
As they go, they whisper to each other about what this could mean, guessing over and over. Was Rograhk, Prossh's Voice going to start up the living sacrifices again? Or perhaps he was declaring a new war; the warrens are starting to get crowded enough to warrent one. Whatever it was, everyone agreed that it had to be important for him to summon everyone, but not too important that it couldn't wait for the tasks of the day to be over with.
As the Great Hall was slowly packed fuller and fuller, the hushed whispers grew until it sounded louder than the horn that originally summoned everyone. In all his red, warlike glory, Rograhk took the highest point and looked over the massive throng of kobolds assembled by his horn.
"Prossh has required from us our best warrior! He is to be sent on a quest in Prossh's name! Tomorrow will be a day of rest for all but the warriors who will have an all out sparring match to find the best. The last not eliminated will be Prossh's Champion for this quest! Retire to your dens now and rest, warriors, for you will be watched from above by our Lord tomorrow!"
(End Excerpt)