Tournament of Champions 6 - The stones of heaven
Ladies and gentlemen! Warriors and wizards! Beasts and summoners! Angels and demons!
This contest has been done 6 times before.
Earlier tournaments:
- Each cardsmith creates a legendary creature with a mana value of 3 or less that will represent them as hero in
the tournament. (Heroes can be all alignments between god/evil and order/chaos or anything else).
- Each cardsmith writes a short story to give their hero character, personality and background or purpose.
- Cards must at best ability be made balanced and reasonable. This is also true for the story of the characters.
- Cards can be changed or replaced before the deadline of the active stage.
- Like in the previous tournament, you can create multiple legendary creatures that will fight for you as heroes if one of them is assigned as companion.
- You can also bring multiple heroes within the same card. This will allow you to bring even more than two heroes. The limit of this is one of logic, so you can't bring an entire army just because it fits on a card. (It's a character contest after all.)
Here's an example of what you can use this for:
At the start you can create a two-character fighter card plus a mentor or servant as a companion card.
Then if you win the first stage you make a new fighter card with only one of the characters while you change the companion card to become the other character.
So to enter the contest you should post the following:
Hero card + companion or signature card + story describing or presenting your hero + What stone(s) you want to pursue.
These does not have to be posted at the same time. You can choose to skip both companion/signature card and story but that will harm your chances of victory. Desired stones is completely optional.
First stage:
Card value is based on the quality of the card(s): Balance, usage, flavor, creativity and so on.
Character value is all about the character: Background, actions, motivations, personality, reactions to events and so on. (This will be generally more important the longer the contest goes on.)
Post-First stage:
The winners will be given a minimum of one week to upgrade their hero and/or make or change their signature/companion cards. Extra time may be given if the need is justified. This will continue in a similar pattern until the last two heroes remain. Some special rules will occur then but more about that then.
Maximum mana value at each stage:
1st stage: 3
2nd stage: 5
3rd stage: 7 (An additional signature/companion card will be allowed.)
The mana limits are both for the heroes and the companion/signature cards, so signature cards and companion cards can be of higher mana cost than the hero card as the game goes on.
Welcome to Tournament of Champions 6!
Choose
your heroes that will enter the tournament where he, she, it, or they
shall seek and fight to claim the stones of heaven, until only one is left
standing to claim the final stone - the sunstone, as champion!
The heroes of the
tournament will seek stones of progressively greater power through the journey. But as the stones grow stronger so does the challenges before you and more importantly - your rivals. For every stone claimed, every challenged overcome, your heroes will grow in strength or wits. But those who fail to claim the stones shall leave, willingly or forced.
Earlier tournaments:
https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/3287/tournament-of-champions-the-game-has-begun/p1
https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/3556/tournament-of-champions-2-the-game-has-begun/p1
https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/4185/tournament-of-champions-2-rematch-the-game-has-begun/p1
https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/3556/tournament-of-champions-2-the-game-has-begun/p1
https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/4185/tournament-of-champions-2-rematch-the-game-has-begun/p1
This is a contest of card creation, story telling and roleplay. You
will both make cards and write/play the role of the characters you
make.
Instructions:- Each cardsmith writes a short story to give their hero character, personality and background or purpose.
- Each cardsmith also creates one signature or companion card with converted mana cost of 3 or less. (The same limit as the hero card.)
- Each cardsmith may state what stone (or stones if left to randomness) that they intend to pursue.
-
After each victory, the cardsmith can choose to improve their
hero by making a new stronger card for them with new artwork, or add an additional signature/companion card. To emphasize growth of the hero.
- Cards must at best ability be made balanced and reasonable. This is also true for the story of the characters.
- Cards can be changed or replaced before the deadline of the active stage.
- Old cards and characters may be used as long as they have not appeared in any of the earlier Tournament of Champions. But they should be your own creations.
- Questions, discussions and other things not directly contributing to the contest should be kept in the ToC6 discussion room to reduce the "unnecessary noise" in this thread. Cards, stories and some important information/questions should be posted here however. https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/6049/toc6-discussion-room#latest
Hero, signature and companion cards:
-
Signature cards represents the heroes' abilities,
spells, equipment, or other utilities. This can also
be the hero's memories, experiences and knowledge.
They are sorceries, instants, artifacts and enchantments.
-
Companion cards are the companions which help the hero. They are the assistants, healers, squires,
mentors, friends, or even partner heroes. They are normal or legendary creatures.- Like in the previous tournament, you can create multiple legendary creatures that will fight for you as heroes if one of them is assigned as companion.
- You can also bring multiple heroes within the same card. This will allow you to bring even more than two heroes. The limit of this is one of logic, so you can't bring an entire army just because it fits on a card. (It's a character contest after all.)
- The signature
cards and the companion cards are limited to the same mana value as the hero, but they can be changed anytime you want while the
hero card can only be changed after each victorious match and only if
you choose to do so.
In these cases, change means to replace the card with another card. You may edit cards whenever you want.
Here's an example of what you can use this for:
At the start you can create a two-character fighter card plus a mentor or servant as a companion card.
Then if you win the first stage you make a new fighter card with only one of the characters while you change the companion card to become the other character.
So to enter the contest you should post the following:
Hero card + companion or signature card + story describing or presenting your hero + What stone(s) you want to pursue.
Procedure
Draft period:The first two weeks is where you create and submit your heroes, signature/companion cards and story. This draft time might be lengthened if we have less than 16 submissions. (This is also the best time to ask questions if you have any!)
You may begin writing your stories here already
First stage:
When
the draft period is done any stones left is distributed among those who have not specified what stones they wish to pursue so that at least 2 heroes pursue any stone. There might be more than 2 for some stones if there are more than 16 players.
Winners are determined through two
main factors, card value and story value.
Character value is all about the character: Background, actions, motivations, personality, reactions to events and so on. (This will be generally more important the longer the contest goes on.)
Post-First stage:
The winners will be given a minimum of one week to upgrade their hero and/or make or change their signature/companion cards. Extra time may be given if the need is justified. This will continue in a similar pattern until the last two heroes remain. Some special rules will occur then but more about that then.
Maximum mana value at each stage:
1st stage: 3
2nd stage: 5
3rd stage: 7 (An additional signature/companion card will be allowed.)
The mana limits are both for the heroes and the companion/signature cards, so signature cards and companion cards can be of higher mana cost than the hero card as the game goes on.
Comments
Example hero and signature cards (made by @shadow123)
To explain it simply: The winners will be determined by the one that have received the most points.
You get points from both the card values and the character values as well as eventual modification points.
The character value is based on the character and the stories related to that character as a whole while the card value is the average of each card. (Where the heroes have twice the impact of the value, they counts as two averages.)
The modification points is not related to the card or the character but you, the cardsmith. (So be nice!)
- Firstly the obvious. Don't break the rules of the forum.
- Don't spam messages.
* The individual story is the characters' background, ambitions and character. (That does not affect anyone else's character from the established story)
I might sometimes write your characters into my own story-chapters as they are good catalysts and mediums for the grand stories.
* The grand story is the world and national and international politics and events which will affect the tournament. This will be controlled by me and happens outside of the tournament. However pieces of events and things in the grand story will be brought into the small story and thus you may affect them.
- By joining this tournament, you agree to let me take control over your characters and do with them as I see fitting to their character and the story. I will also control how the fights are played and how larger parts of the story take part. So it is important that you give me instruction about your hero's character, Personality, motivations, abilities and such. This makes it easier for me to keep your characters true to their intended image.
- Don't be afraid to make mistakes. We are here to have fun after all.
Welcome to Avelaide!
Avelaide is a world with dragons, beasts, kingdoms, knights, wizards and godlike guides (caretakers), but there is also abyssal monsters and a godlike destroyer covered in mystery - Septhis.
The abyss is a realm of the endless depth, locked away behind a gate to the afterlife and guarded by a godlike caretaker of death. But there are supposedly other entrances into the endless darkness of the abyss.
Welcome to Asolamun!
He continues to strike at the crystal with his hammer. kling! kding crack! Then suddenly, the crystal breaks and falls down revealing a stone of dense dark red.
The man grabs the gemstone and hurries back as he cheers "I have found it! I have found it!".
Days passed but the princess would not return. The priestesses decided, with the help of some noble warriors, to climb to the peak where the princess had been sent a week before. At the peak they would find the princess sitting on a branch of an old lonely tree. No matter how much they tried, the priestesses could not undo the transformation.
It was hunger for pride and honor that started this war and it won't end until the beast hungers no more.
That time is far away. Some believe they will not survive to taste the winds of peace. Some believe it will never arrive at all. Some believe they don't want peace anymore. Some believe the beast can only be satisfied by eating itself to death. And for such goal the correct tools are needed.
Not lives of the guilty, though not always of the innocent either. He does not take at all. He gives an honorable and peaceful death to those that can no longer live, those that above all else desire death and peace. He does not take what he desires, he is given what he needs be it food, water, a warm bed for the night, a woman. It is not uncommon that he lay with the women of the men whose lives he just had ended. It is not uncommon that he eats and drinks from the very plates and cups who's owner he had given death minutes earlier.
This of course provided that less than 2 other people are already pursuing that stone.
— Prologue 1: The Mocking Voice's Last Laugh
Long ago, in the forgotten days of man, there was a great, wandering king, who many considered a god among men. He took his trusty blade from land to land, butchering nobles and claiming their thrones. This appeased his hunger for years, but the sport grew old for the unmatched traveler. He sent for entertainment, but dancers were too refined for his tastes. Even the most epic symphony of an orchestra wouldn’t spur a tap or hum from him, and the physical feats of acrobats were not impressive to the living bulwark. He slew all of them for failing him, eventually searching for a jester, but what he found instead was a masked performer that could not perform. This figure revealed himself to be a demigod before the king could slay him, however, and promised power in exchange for his life. He had the ability to grant twisted wishes, and was willing to grant whatever the king wished for. His name is lost to time, but he is now known simply as the Mocking Voice.The king was known to abuse the Mocking Voice's offer with great self-indulgence. Since the only thing keeping the figure alive was his servitude, the demigod was forced to do whatever the king said. Since the demigod could fulfill wishes, the king made demand after frivolous demand. The Mocking Voice admired his strength and tenacity, but that started to fade with each passing day; if he was hungry, instead of hunting, he would wish for a feast. If he was thirsty, instead of drinking from his assortment of wines, he would have the demigod summon it fresh. If he needed to go somewhere, he asked to be teleported, and if he needed someone dead, he just spoke a command. He grew from an imposing tyrant into an avaricious slob in the passing months, and soon, he barely lifted a finger. He wished death upon everyone who disobeyed until just the performer was left to serve him, and he pushed him to the breaking point.
Now, the demigod was looking for an out, yet his king still held great power over him. If he ran away, he would surely be killed, and even if he wasn't, the king could just wish for him to take his own life at any time. However, the Mocking Voice did not get his name for being kind. He slowly started to turn the king's wishes awry, or at least, as much as he could bend them while still fulfilling his duty. When the king wished for riches, he paid him in copper coins. When the king demanded he count them, he supplied the measurements in a language unknown to man. When asked for translation, he translated it literally, making it woefully inaccurate. Spite carried on and on, and as the king ensured he gave more and more specific requests, the Mocking Voice became more and more deceitful and rebellious. Soon, tensions reached a fever pitch, and the king snapped. Few of his orders have written records, but this one was penned in extreme detail. It could have been written by anyone, but the specifics combined with the exotic ink and bloodstains make the most irrefutable proof of these events.
"My dear, incompetent servant. If you would be so kind as to not twiddle your thumbs where no thumbs should go, I have one last request of you before I rid you of your miserable existence. I wish for someone to replace you, a figure that shares my sense of humor, and one whose undying loyalty will never fail me. He must be capable of even the most arduous undertakings, and be willing to fulfill even my most unceremonious requests. However, he must not be capable of resisting or overthrowing me, just as you have failed me…"
After this, it is said that this wish was given in increasingly specific levels of detail, until eventually, the king ended the Mocking Voice out of anger. As the demigod fell, his form fading, laughter emerged from his featureless mask he called a face. Since the king did not consider the wish fulfilled, the demigod used the last of his power to twist it beyond redemption. His mask began to bend into a horrid shape, growing jagged teeth and matted fur as the cackling grew more wicked. The king drove his blade through the mask, but it simply continued to take its new form as its insulting voice spoke.
"Aye! Aye! A servant of undying loyalty? I thought you learned to use your words, old bag! May this fool haunt all kings like you, and plague the realms of man for eternity!"
— Prologue 2: The Kings' Curse
Hours passed as the mad king hacked and slashed away at the mask, dismembering every growth that dared to branch its way off from it. However, it was a fruitless endeavor, and while the king could battle for days, he had faced this mask with every ounce of hatred he could muster. Few could muster such hellish emotions towards an inanimate object, and even fewer would be willing to demolish their homes just to make an attempt at destroying it. But this mask... no trace of it would be allowed to remain. With strike after strike he carved through the bone and into the flesh emerging, repeatedly sending it across the room, but every time he tried to stick it in place, it simply continued to grow around his blade. The sun was starting to set, and the king was out of shape from his habits. Sweat poured from his face, and his attacks had grown weak enough that he couldn't keep up with the growth. So, he decided to skewer the mask through the wall and rest.As fur and flesh unfolded from the mask, the laughter from before resumed. A spindly arm reached out from the mask, grabbed the sword, and threw it at the king. He dodged, picked up the blade, and tried to strike this thing again, and this time, it stopped growing. The mask disappeared, leaving only the great pool of blood on the floor where it had been repeatedly stripped of it. The king breathed a sigh of relief and sat upon his throne, only to leap when he felt something prick him in the thigh. It was a dagger, one which had not been there before, and a face emerged from his seat. For once, the king was frightened, and watched as a figure unburied itself from the throne. However, this figure showed no signs of cruelty, malice, or anything within its eyes, only sadness that the king would run from it. It stood not even three feet tall, wearing a gold and purple robe, its heterochromatic eyes tearing up. It had the outward features of a hyena, but the build and tail of a kobold, and it cowered skittishly.
"You... you ran from me... I just wanted to play..."
The king grunted, and limped over to his throne to pin the creature against it. It gulped, whimpering as the monarch held his hand around its throat. "You... call that play? You stabbed me in the leg and call that play?! To hell with you!"
The gremlin was smashed through the throne, bones aplenty cracking as its life was taken instantly. Paranoid now, the king looked back and forth, blade at the ready, panting. He felt a knife stab into his shoulder, however, and as he tried to reach for the culprit, he flung it off as he turned. It was that gremlin, again, somehow alive?! "Why won't you just die?!"
The hybrid figure gasped, clearly offended, and scampered back into a corner. "Why do you want to kill me? I'm here to serve!"
The king stomped towards it, holding his blade firm. "You've not made a good case for yourself... tell me your name!"
The hyena let out a cry of fear, shaking under bladepoint. "I- I'm... Torna D. Ruhan Esquire! At your service, your majesty!"
"Esquire?! You call yourself nobility?!"
"Yes! I'm the son of the Mocking Voice! Noble performer, son of the god-
"YOU FOOL! You saw what I did to him! I'll do the same to you!"
"It won't do anything, your highness! I am yours until you draw your last breath!"
"I will kill you, no matter what it takes!"
"You can't kill me permanently... it is bound..."
"Lies!"
Suddenly, a scroll dropped from the gremlin's robe, unrolling itself and revealing its nature. Written in blood, verbatim, was his wish... underlined was the phrases "undying loyalty" and "never fail, even if it would mean his death". The king, distracted, saw the scroll, and growled. Further down were details on the exact execution of how the wish was fulfilled; created before him was a servant that could die, but couldn't fail in his duties... if his life was ended, he would simply come back, again and again. And of course, he was created as an absolute fool.
As the king read the last words, he was driven by boiling rage to drive his blade into the jester. He impaled the figure with such force that the blade, damaged from the onslaught before, shattered. The king took out his rage on this gremlin for its existence, for daring to oppose him by being a servant that could never truly be punished... but that's because all the king knew was death. Soon, he would know it even greater; as the jester lie against the wall in a bloody, disfigured pulp, the worn out king drew back his hand for another good punch... and clenched his chest. He fell backwards, exhaustion setting in as he shouted out in pain. The hyena weakly pushed itself from the wall and limped over to him, locking eyes with the king, and smiling. "It's okay now, your highness. I will never fail you again..."
Assorted Stats
Age: 250 years (Youthfull Breath Technique) -> (30 in "monk" years)
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral / Sometimes Neutral Good
Occupation: Monk, Laborer (For income mostly)
Hobbies: Meditating, training, running, shaolin swordfighting.
Height: 5,7
Weight: 145 lbs (Without Momentum)
Abilities - Martial Prowess, Sword Fighting, Super Speed
Like most monks Godara prefers to resolve conflicts with words rather than fight, unlike other monks Godara has no qualms humbling his agressors. Godara is not hasty and will not attack until he perceives intent, a technique which involves reading body language, watching feet and arms for even slight movements, and chi to sense emotion. If he senses intent whether negative or not to attack him, he prefers to strike fast and end the battle as fast as possible. A task which is made easier with his training as a Blazing Foot, and now his new found power. When fighting not to kill, he uses martial arts that is like a combination of shaolin kung-fu, wing-chun, and judo coupled with his speed and martial prowess to direct the battle, each of his move methodical like a dance, and his strikes sharp like a mantis claw. While he does not aim to kill in this mode, he has no qualms about breaking a few bones, maybe fifty to prove a point. However while fighting to kill, he shows no mercy, the Blazing Foot while monks, are also trained in the art of assassination. He uses techniques such as the silent foot, coupled with his speed to not only muffle, but also confuse, and suprise his opponents. He also draws his shaolin blade, which while ceremonial, becomes a leathal weapon at high speeds. Overall Godara prefers to keep his fights quick, clean, and methodical, wasting no energy and showing no hesitation in his actions. Godara being a monk is highly resilient to taunts, and has high mental fortitude. His biggest strenghts are his mobility, and his martial prowess.
Godara, Thundering Feet: https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/godara-thundering-feet?list=user
Godara's Speed: https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/godaras-speed?list=user
Godara seeks stone 5. Being deceived is but a distant dream for one with a centered mind, mastering it is childs play.
Intro - Godara Runs Towards Destiny
Godara The Thundering Feet, Monk Of The Loud, Prodigy Of The Blazing Foot. From a young age Godara among other youth in the Blazing Mountain Pagoda trained to become monks. For most the pagoda was a place of guidance, for others it was a home. Godara like many others, had been abandoned by his parents at the pagoda as a young child since at the time they had no hope or means of ever raising him. Under the guidance of Kaifu, The Blazing Foot Master Godara trained in order to earn the title of monk from the now 975 year old declining master. Despite having trained all his life, the master had not perfected immortality, and was seeking his next prodigy to continue his work thus founding the monastery of the Blazing Foots. From a young age the prodigy would begin their journey as saminera, being tasked with running up and down the five hundred steps of the monestary with their yokes as they were tasked with fetching twenty buckets of water from the downstream river. The ones who failed were made to do twenty push ups with boulders tied to their back, while the ones who suceeded where tasked with meditating. Afterwards the master along with some volunteers would brew a cup of tea from the gathered water and if it fell short everyone exept the people who didn't get a cup had to do pull up hangs for an hour on the bamboo racks made by the master. These along with other exercises helped the young monks in training develop teamwork abilities and perserverance.
Most if not all of the young apprentinces became monks by adulthood. By this point, the ones who failed and did not wish to try again were allowed to leave and pursue their life from then on foward. The ones who stuck through continued rigoursous martial arts training, and learned various techniques such as coal walking, water running, as well as the way of the silent feet. They were also tasked with fetching a greater amount of buckets than the youth were expected as with time their speed grew more and more. Godara stood out execeptionally among the group as he always completed the tasks quicker than the others, and seemed to have a profound mastery of the Blazing Foot's techniques. As a reward, the master would often punish him for his arrogance by making him sweep the monastery while the others completed their task, or by making him work out. When he asked "why", the old man responded "why not?." Despite always being faster Godara always failed the task not because he was fast, but because his team mates suffered for his speed. This was a lesson he never took to heart as he continued to dominate each task. Eventually drawn out and tired of constant faliure, he almost quit. Only for the master to choose him and five others, then eventually him and one other to train to become his prodogy. After ten more years of training, and mastering the youthfull breathing technique, as well as the kettle hold, the one inch punch, as well as wall running; Godara was sure he was going to be the next Blazing Foot Master. He was faster, had more prowess, and was more skilled than his rival. That is why he was angered when the title was granted to his rival. The master told him that ultimately he lacked the team work, but offered to continue training him to work on his flaws. Angered, Godara stormed out, running through the monastery, blitzing down the stairs, hurtleing down the forest, getting faster and faster than he ever was, his rage a catalyst, unleashing a latent power unknown to him before, a power that was perhaps a result of his parent/s bloodline/s, before eventually with lightning crackling, he zoomed through a crowded village that was thirty five miles away from the monestary and vanishing. He appeared in a mysterious world, shaken, and confused; Both at his sudden speed, and his sudden predicament. But through his training as a monk he was able to center his mind and breath, ultimately deciding to keep running north within the lands of Lun Arelia, until he found refuge in Al' Soran. There he learned of a tournament, there he would prove to himself along side his new abilities that he was the rightful Blazing Foot Master. Until then, he would train harder than he ever did, and assimilate to his new surroundings as best as he could. None would ever look down on him again.
— Prologue 3: The Old King's Death Bed
Parts 1 and 2: https://forums.mtgcardsmith.com/discussion/comment/228090/#Comment_228090Several centuries later...
"And that's how I accidentally committed my first murder!"Chuckles and laughter filled the tavern as the jester, that very same one, bowed. Out of royal courts and into the free world, Torna performed at a building of his own creation. Conjured from dead trees and discarded furnishings, no one could tell this used to be nothing more than a junk pile in the middle of the woods. No one but Torna, of course, and his gracious barkeep Speakeasy. The polished wood floors were seemingly carved from the healthiest oaks, the spacious interior thought to be an engineering marvel. And yet, it was all the work of some magic, some very volatile magic. See, this wasn't the first tavern he had lived at, and if his powers ever went haywire again, it wouldn't be the last.
A stage stood in the center of the tavern, with the gremlin standing atop it. The cheers and jeers were interrupted by a tall man in his mid 30s, smoking from a hookah as he approached. He seemed stern with a face like a stone, and his cold eyes didn't seem to care for the festivities. "That's what I've heard, young man. That's what I've heard. Now that you've said it, I'm afraid this is gonna be your last performance."
Torna looked at this figure, who was tall enough to lock eyes with him. "Whaddya mean last performance? S'down, the story's not even over!"
The figure clearly wasn't budging, clearing his throat. "Maybe a simpleton like you wouldn't recognize what I'm saying, so I'll talk simple. You. Me. Dungeon. Now."
The hyena looked confused, and cocked his head. "I still don't follow. Besides, the dungeon is only open for dragons-"
Torna squeaked as his neck was grabbed, and he was yoked off the stage. The figure gave him a death stare, and started to haul him away. "I'm a private investigator, looking into the mysterious death of one of Zumbala's first kings. This figure you mention, sounds like him. He had multiple knife wounds down to the bone, and yet was said to die of a curse. You just confessed to his murder."
"Wait, ya have the wrong ideeea... what the hell is a Thumbala anyways?"
"Liar! I do not care how many years have passed, nor how much of a "tyrannt" you thought he was. The death penalty for you!"
Onlookers gasped as the jester was hurled across the barroom. Weighing only 36 pounds soaking wet, Torna was practically a ragdoll in most hands. He flew through a table, smashing the benches and breaking a glass serving tray. Then, as the figure pointed at him, a ray of fire was cast upon him, scorching his fur and blasting a hole through his body. The wax on the floor melted as the debris burst into flames, but Torna? His robes weren't burning, and nothing came out of the hole except blood. He stood up with little a problem, and the expression of innocence on his face rapidly faded into bared teeth, and golden scepter appeared in his hand. He stood up, and lightning burst from the tip, forming it into a spear, and he growled. "Fine! You really think I killed a king? Of course I did! Did you read the name on the bloody sign as you walked in? Or were you so elevated by your self-righteousness that you hit your head on the way in? It's the Old King's Death Bed for crying out loud!"
The investigator grunted at Torna's tenacity, and drew a scimitar hidden under his robes. If he couldn't scorch him, he would dice him into pieces and carry home his head. "I am not here for jokes, jester. I take my duty seriously."
The two dashed towards each other, but Torna's stature made put him at lower thigh with the tall, stoic enforcer, just above the knee at the top of his head. This combined with the leverage of Torna's scepter-spear meant he could easily knock the investigator off his feet with shocking strength. As the investigator fell, Torna twisted his spear around and aimed the tip at his heart before thrusting it back, channeling his chaotic power through it. As dark energy coursed through the man, it danced off him in a sporadic waltz, the formless essence finding its place as a blast of malignant magic. It was strong enough to blast a large hole through the floor and kill a few onlookers too, but both Torna and the stranger were still alive, falling through the floor into the basement. The trespasser coughed as he felt his life being eaten away, and as he looked up to thrust his scimitar at Torna, he found himself staring down the open end of a very large metal pipe. Black powder was exceedingly rare, but the man knew what he was staring at, even if it was crudely homemade. The hyena snickered as he cocked this weapon, less gun and more like a pipe bomb with extra steps, and set his foot down on the man. "When you get to hell tell them Torna sent you. I could use a few more referrals."
As he pulled the trigger, a huge explosion rang through the tavern, causing the second floor to collapse. Clearly the "gun" wasn't loaded with any proprietary ammunition, but with some sort of magic, and rather than firing like a firearm, it self-destructed. Torna's arm was blown completely off, but the investigator warded himself with a forcefield. Expressionless, he stood, taking advantage of the opening his foe created for him to decapitate him. "You fool... look at all of the death you caused for naught. Do you not have any care for anyone?"
What the man wasn't expecting was a response. Suddenly, he felt the spear from before pierce through his chest and stay there as the magic surged once more. The tip caught fire, and his body was burnt from the inside out by the resulting hellfire. Torna was reformed, and relishing in his foe's defeat. "Why should I? There's no use for justice if folks like me aren't here to kill people!"
The investigator couldn't respond. With no time to put up his wards, his lungs were burnt to a crisp, and the melting sensation was creeping up his throat. He just fell, and Torna cackled as he removed the scepter and wiped it against his robes. With a leap, he jumped back up to the first floor, and his eyes turned hungrily to the survivors...
War is never like it is in the stories.
There is no good, no evil, in war. Only selfish hunger, the raw and primal desire to consume.
For some, war is a fanciful thing. The nobility and the elites that sit high upon their marble thrones can revel at the supposed heroics of their soldiers, can laugh and cry as they gain and lose territory, shuffling lives around like pieces on a game board. They know nothing of war.
For the rest, war is hell. And for me, it’s all I’ve ever known. My earliest memories are of violence. Distant shouting, the clash of steel, the hot air on my face as fire tore through my small village like a crazed lioness, devouring everything in its path.
I remember death, and after that, I remember chains.
Slavery does things to a man. It hardens you, forges your will to survive and tones your body and mind. Should you survive the trials of sun and iron, sand and whips, you will come out on the other side unbreakable.
I have survived my trial, and have earned my freedom. And I will no longer be forgotten in the stories of the world as my slain and enslaved brothers and sisters have been.
I am Neseas, son of Antimedes and Pyratheia. A free man on a journey to change the world.
Already, news of my exploits has preceded me as I travel south. The silver tongues of the nomads speak of a lone warrior, carrying nothing but the robe on his back and a fire in his heart. They say he fought off an entire battalion of soldiers using only a stave of olive wood plucked from a tree.
This land is rich with stories. As I travel, I sit around fires with locals, listening, carving a record into my stave as I go. One such story tells of a long-forgotten kingdom, of a princess and her loyal retainer, blessed- or cursed- to take to the skies as birds. But I have heard the whispers that there is more to this legend, a powerful artifact lying somewhere, dormant, forgotten by time, for someone to uncover it.
For me to uncover it.
I will head south, and from there, I do not know.
For the story of Neseas has only just begun.
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Personality:
A man with nothing to lose can do nothing but move forward, and Neseas is no exception. He’s defined by his momentum, passionate, determined, boisterous, always eager to push forward towards new horizons, and he wants to talk to everyone he meets along the way. Friendly to most, serious when he needs to be, stubborn when it gets the better of him, and intimidating if you deserve it, he cuts a simple figure, yet this simplicity hides a churning sea of emotions within him. Anger, hope, fear, desire, excitement. He’s not exactly sure what they are yet, but he’s certain he’ll figure it out in time, and with every new story he hears, he gets a little bit closer.
Fighting style:
The strength of an ox with the agility of, well, an ox, Neseas is strong but isn’t particularly dextrous. Years of breaking and hauling rock have made sure that he’s all muscle, and he can swing even considerably heavy objects with ease, but he’s no trained duelist. He wields his olive stave in a way somewhere between a two-handed longsword and a quarterstaff. Notably, as he fights, he recounts parts of stories he’s heard, and often these aspects manifest from his stave as small magical effects, or he’ll simply try to emulate what happens in the story.
Assorted Statistics:
Power: A - His stave is made of some pretty hard wood, and he swings it pretty quickly with a lot of force behind it.
Speed: B - While not as fast as a dedicated duelist, he’s no slouch and can get himself and his stave from one place to another faster than his opponents would like.
Range: C - His stave is about as tall as he is, and with his long legs, this brings his effective range to several meters. No obvious long range attacks, but the stave could conjure something…
Durability: A - Years of hard labor have made Neseas nearly indestructible, both in body and mind. His skin is calloused and thick, almost like leather, and his mind has never known the shame of giving up.
Precision: C - He can hit hard and fast, but that means trading off precision. Usually for Neseas, ‘close enough’ is, in fact, enough.
Potential: A - This land is rich with magic, and though he may not yet realize, his stave contains a lot of potential to manifest increasingly stronger aspects of his recorded stories.
(Neseas will be pursuing stone #4 should he be chosen)
So many names, but are they actually true?
A nearly imperceptible inward breath disturbs the deathly quiet like drop rippling across a still pond. It is a long while before the exhale.
In the darkness, a figure sits motionless on a marble slab. Not a slab, a tomb. Only faint starlight illuminates the ragged cowl covering their form, and the countless tombstones littering the cemetery. A black iron scepter lies across their lap, a lightless lantern on one end. A small puff of condensation clouds the inky blackness as the figure takes another breath. Five minutes have passed since the last.
The face shrouded by the hood is thin and pale, entirely devoid of hair, although its features suggest it belongs to a man. Although the face is still and smooth, something in it betrays an unnaturally old age. Hovering before the unmoving face, myriad ghostly visages flicker and fade, filling the hood with a dim, sputtering light. They dance and distort like the air on a hot summer's day, rapidly changing from a young woman, a little boy, a wizened old man.
The flickering light of hundreds of burning torches reflect off of the spotless marble columns of a palace hall. Up a wide staircase, at the end of long, lavishly embroidered red carpet, sits an intricately carved marble throne. Here the same man sits deep in thought, chin in his hand. His heavy cloak is gone, although the iron scepter remains clutched in his other hand, its lantern aflame with an eerie blue light.
The man is bearing witness to a debate before him. Dozens of ghostly figures, some still bearing the marks of their demise, stand at the base of the stairs. Some speak, many are silent. As the man slowly nods his approval, he turns to the figure standing beside him. To the right of the throne, still as a statue, stands a ghostly knight in shining armor.
The cemetery is suddenly illuminated by dozens of torches, the voices of angry men shattering the silence like a stone through a window pane. Another puff of condensation emerges as the man exhales sharply, his icy blue eyes flashing open. He does not move.
The knight moves suddenly, drawing his sword and turning to the man on the throne. He leans forward, whispering something in his ear.
The man closes his eyes momentarily as his body shudders violently. His eyes roll behind their lids.
The man nods, rises from his seat, and presents the scepter to the knight.
An angry crowd becomes visible through the bars of the wrought iron fence. With a sharp clang, the chain snaps and the gate is breached. Ten, twenty, thirty men pour into the cemetery, torches and pitchforks raised high, circling the sitting figure. Some brandish their improvised armaments, some yell, some throw stones and produce.
Reverently, the knight clutches the scepter in his right hand, turns, and sits on the throne.
The man opens his eyes, now pure white.
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As the first rays of dawn stretch weakly from the horizon, the man emerges from the graveyard. Thick red blood and viscera cover his cloak like paint, running down his face and chest in viscous rivulets, hanging onto the hems of his cloak, and spattering onto the earth below.
He swears under his breath and mutters to himself.
"That was a bit much."
There is no audible response.
"Well, I guess they were asking for it. We just need to-"
He pauses, leaning on a headstone, and vomits violently.
"Ugh. We just need to get out of here before anyone else tries to lynch or stone me to death."
Again, there is no response.
The man lowers the blood soaked hood over his face, grips his scepter a little tighter, walks on.
Id, the Wandering Vessel
https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/id-the-wandering-vessel
Companion Card
https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/ego-unavenged-apparition
Additional Information
Should he be chosen, Id will seek the spirit gemstone (stone #1).
— Prologue 4: Firesticks and Gemstones
Torna grunted and heaved from exhaustion as the last bit of foam fell from his mouth. 30 minutes had passed since The Old King's Death Bed collapsed, and the gremlin was covered nearly completely with blood, giblets, and soot. His rampage was finally starting to subside, but his crew still stayed as far away as possible, just in case he got a little too eager. It wouldn't be the first time he killed one of his own, after all; when the bar initially opened, he turned the first barkeep into a plant after he messed up his drink, then set the plant ablaze. He was unpredictable and dangerous to be around... everything about him, from his emotions to his powers, shifted at the bat of an eye, and while he was normally a cute (if raunchy) prankster, when he snapped, all semblance of human thought left him. That day was a reminder, and as he hunkered down to devour one of his victims, the reminder was more blunt than a hammer.After finishing his feast, Torna passed out in the middle of the smoldering wreck. As he drifted to sleep, he felt the feelings of carnal desire coming back... it was a nagging sensation he was all too familiar with, and yet, it wasn't The Abyss calling this time, goading him towards serving Septhis. Instead, in his mind, visions of death and carnage flashed in his dreams. Cities demolished. Seas turned to blood. A burning sky. Casting a shadow over all of it was a great, furred, draconian figure, miles too tall for Torna to see the face of as he looked upon it. It spoke in a deep, grumbling voice that shook him to his core, practically loud enough to kill him. "WELL DONE, SADISTIC SPIRIT. YOU HAVE PROVEN ONCE MORE WHY EVEN THE MOST INNOCENT SHOULD BE FEARED."
Torna was cowering, whimpering, shaking. All he saw was the outline of something larger than any dragon he had witnessed, only it was standing on its hind legs. Was it a winged kobold? Some hybrid of a dragon and a wolf? And why was it glowing red? "What are you? What do you want?"
The figure cackled, staring down at Torna, and finally, the hyena saw something... a hideous grin of a million, twisting, grinding teeth, and the stare of eyes that burned like red stars. "I AM TALI VELEL'DMOTH. I AM THE FATHER OF CHAOS, BUT A CHILD SEEKS TO USURP ME. SO, I NEED YOU, DEATHLESS ONE. THE STONES ON THIS PLANE, POWERFUL STONES OF THE COSMOS... I NEED THEM. I CAN GRANT YOU INCREDIBLE POWER, AS CRUEL AND UNPREDICTABLE AS LIFE ITSELF. IN EXCHANGE, YOU WILL COLLECT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THESE PLAYTHINGS SO THAT I MAY FINALLY RECLAIM MY THRONE, AND IN RETURN, YOU WILL HAVE A PLACE AMONG THE GREATEST AGENTS OF CHAOS THERE HAS EVER BEEN."
Torna was confused. What were these stones? Why him? And what was this thing going to do to him if he didn't agree? Already he was constantly plagued by agents of Septhis, his wild magic occasionally being cursed with jinxes of bad luck. This thing looked like it could kill him with a glance! "Wh-why do you want me? There's so many others-"
"LISTEN TO YOURSELF!" The behemoth stepped forward, but the footfall was enough to send Torna flying back. "I MADE AN EXPLICIT POINT OF CALLING OUT TO YOU AND YOU WOULD QUESTION IT?! I CHOSE YOU BECAUSE OF YOUR UNIQUE AFFINITY FOR FATE, AND YOUR WAYS OF MANIPULATING IT. YOU KNOW OF YOUR CREATION, OF THAT FIGURE YOU CALL THE MOCKING VOICE? I CAN RESTORE HIS FULL GODLY POWER TO YOU..."
At that, Torna's ears perked up. The power to... alter reality? At his fingertips? At that, he felt his mind starting to click again, the temptations slipping in... his not-so-innocent side, who had considered so many contracts, but turned all of them down; The Abyss's fruit couldn't be enjoyed in the mindless state those creatures were in, so he denied it every time... even if he was horrifically interested. How about this creature though? No matter how he squinted, he couldn't see any sort of illusions going on here... and he couldn't wake himself up so this was clearly a powerful bond. "...what is the cost?"
The figure let his body relax, and his smile became much more normal as he assumed a much more humanoid sized form. He put his hand on the gremlins shoulder, and took on a much friendlier tone. "There you are, Torna... the real you... I knew I could at least get you to consider. There will only be a cost if you fail me, and that is the eternal servitude of your immortal soul. Pinkie promise. If you want to read the fine print, you can when you sign the contract, but it'll just tell you what you already know; until the task is complete, no dilly-dallying. I'll know if you don't do your job."
"That's it? Really?... that desperate, huh?..."
"Desperate? PAH! We all deserve our liberty, even the lowest among us. If I took any more away from you with my terms it would be antithetical to my ends..."
Introducing Torna Ruhan!
Full Name: Torna Cornelius Ruhan
Gender: Male(?)
Species: Kobold/hyena mix
Place of Origin: Somewhere near modern day Zumdala
Currently Resides: Fleeing towards Ali Mina.
Age: Biologically 16; has been alive for several centuries, but cannot recall the year of his creation.
Height: 2'6" / 76.2 cm
Weight: 24 lbs. / 10.88 kg
Center Colors: Red/Black
Alignment/Personality: Split personality; he's normally chaotic good, but triggers such as witnessing violence, smelling blood, or being tempted by power cause his chaotic evil side to come out. He really does try his best to be nice to those around him, even if his raunchy personality, vulgar language, and propensity for violence tend to turn this incredible sincerity into something of a bane for the recipient. When certain triggers cause him to snap, however, the true side of him inherited from The Mocking Voice rears its ugly head. Most would refer to this as a "murderhobo" mentality; Torna frequently ends up abusing his unpredictable magic to terrorize the populace and torture his enemies, and has even been known to indulge his wild side through acts of "hunting" and "scavenging". His good side tends to not remember much, if anything, that happens during these rampages, blocking out these terrible memories.
The Pact of Chaos
Patron Name: Tali Velel'dmoth
Species: Kobold Demon
Ranking: Demon God
Place of Origin: Hell
Currently Resides: Hell; trapped by binding magic.
Center Colors: Red/Black
Torna has forged a pact with Tali Velel'dmoth, the Father of Chaos, who is currently imprisoned in Hell. This demon god has been at war with the very forces he's created and enlisted since not long after the dawn of time. As more time passes, more defect to serve others. Most people seek proper leadership, but Tali refuses this. He believes that all should be unchained from societal contracts and constructs like law, even reality itself... that is why few would ever dare accept his blessing. His power has the potential to change the very fundamental building blocks of life itself, but when channeled through a conduit like a warlock, it is unfathomably hard to control.
This contract seems like a blessing to Torna, but there's one caveat; Torna will lose his immortal soul if he fails his newfound master. This means that, if his performance is truly lacking, he may lose his self-resurrection powers.
Torna's Powers
Power: ?!?!?! - Torna's power can fluctuate incredibly wildly; one moment he can't kill a bunny, the next he accidentally destroys a village. It can fall between the low end of F and above A depending on his luck.
Speed: D - Torna is extremely agile given his small body and miniscule weight, but as a day-drinker, he is prone to sudden bouts of dizziness or disorientation that may cause him to lose balance. No situation will ever make him drop the bottle... well, maybe except for not having any alcohol to drink.
Range: ??? - Torna has cantrips that allow him to reach a decent range, but again, the powers that really matter could affect a huge area or literally just the ground beneath him.
Durability: S - Torna is about as resilient as the next random person you can find, but it doesn't matter how easy you can be killed when you just come back. Opponents will require soul-damaging attacks or Tali's interference to bring him down for good. Tali may consider the contract broken and claim his soul if he is proving to be ineffective in his duties, or if he loses enough hope to give up.
Precision: F - His cantrips are as accurate as most intermediate level mages, but his primary attacks using Chaos magic are literally uncontrollable.
Potential: S - Tali's blessing is currently restrained, but if given enough power, Torna may very well become a scourge to be feared and worshipped... just like his creator.
Trying to pin down what Torna can do is like trying to predict what the weather will be this time next year; you can make broad estimates, but the specifics are always up to chance, and may vary entirely from your predictions. Excluding cantrips, he relies purely on Chaos magic, which can basically have any sort of effect you can imagine... and a lot of effects you can't. However, just like with the weather, there's usual behaviors to this kind of magic that occur more frequently than others. These include, in order from most common to least common:
- Explosions
- Fire
- Negative energy blasts (for those that play D&D, think something like eldritch blast or disintegrate)
- Summoning (fiends)
- Transmutation (self)
- Summoning (random creatures)
- Transmutation (others)
However, Torna has some things he can always rely on, like his scepter. He can use this to channel negative energy without relying on Tali's blessing, and it most commonly takes the form of an electric spear. Torna uses his small size combined with the spear's leverage to knock enemies down, vault himself onto high ground and across gaps, and attack from above. He also has access to certain cantrip attacks:Misc. Info
Hobbies: Drinking, playing the bagpipes, singing, storytelling, tinkering (DON'T LET HIM); true personality has no hobbies and gets his thrill out of human suffering.
Favorite food: Sweet rolls; true personality prefers raw meat and abhors sweet things.
Favorite drink: Honeyed mead, with sweet whiskey cocktails coming in close second; true personality prefers straight liquor and drinks from the bottle.
Favorite color: Purple; true personality prefers crimson and ashen grey.
Favorite music genre: Irish/Scottish folk music; true personality hates music because it hurts his sensitive ears.
Favorite season: Doesn't like the outdoors, and has no preference; true personality actually agrees with him on the outdoors but prefers winter.
Just realized the stones are missing, but there's not really any more room. Expect me to just include that in his first story bit, but for now, here's the stones he's pursuing first in order of priority:
1. The stones of the twin snakes; Fits him best!
2. The gemstone of illusions: Perfect for a chaotic trickster.
3. The stone of the forge: A stone of war for the God of Chaos? Count me in!
This Tournament isn't an actual Tournament in the story, since there are no hosts. And the characters wander around the land on their own in search of these stones. Does it mean that the players won't be able to interact with each other in the game?
It wouldn't be possible in the limits of the story, since their characters would be far away from each other most of the time, until they reach a stone's location and fight for it in a match. I suppose they don't have any kind of hub in the world where they could form alliances/rivalries with each other?
Part 1 — Heaven For Hell
Now...
Mile after mile has passed by along Torna's arduous journey. He's always been a rascal, but at least to his brighter side he hadn't done anything enough to be a criminal... until that day. He was awoken in the ruins of his tavern by his surviving staff. Seeing piles of bone strewn about the rubble, combined with three more missing staff, he realized it... he was too much of a threat; he was a criminal now. No way no one was going to question the disappearance of dozens, even if his tavern was a good distance away from the nearest town... so he fled, taking none of his allies with him. He couldn't risk losing any more.During the day, Torna hides wherever he can to rest, in crates and barrels, ditches, or even in the crawlspaces of people's homes. At night, he runs, making his way towards the Khozan border. Throughout his journey, he's conversed with Tali, learning more about his past and the conflict in the Hells, as well as receiving his first orders in northern Bigara...
"Hello, my servant," the voice of the demon rings in Torna's ear. He jumps, forgetting what his sinister side had gotten him into, and hides in a nearby bush. "Silly creature... it's me, Tali. I couldn't help but notice that you've been so... tame about all this. I thought you would be rearing to use your newfound power, to feel some liberty, to erase your fear of capture by knowing you are now too great to be stopped by some pawns."
Torna sighs, and his next words come out hesitantly. "My concern is that I don't want a bloody bounty on me... I'm pretty sure the Zumbalans want me head for treason!"
"Treason is a construct under kings... a despicable one at that, wouldn't you agree?"
Torna twitches, Tali tapping into his temptations; he was purpose made to haunt tyrannts, and even in a bright light he thought them despicable. They're just like normal people, yet they believe they're somehow able to tell a whole nation of people how to live their lives! It was hysterical, how someone could say they're higher than everyone and just be believed. He spent so long pondering the thought that it drove him insane! "I lit'rally couldn't disagree if my life depended on it."
The disembodied voice chuckles, and breathes a sigh of satisfaction. "Good, because both our livelihoods depend on us making this work. And who knows? Maybe once I've garnered enough power I can aid you more directly. With that in mind, can you trust me?"
Torna gulps, his black, draconic tail flicking. "What sorta... aid? I don't want to indiscriminately kill civilians!"
"Let me tell you that my methods are quite discriminate. They are intentionally aimed to wipe out large civilian populations."
"That's not how that bloody well works!"
"That's exactly how it works with me. Every death is another chance to spread discord, but by killing everyone in a population, unnecessary suffering is limited. Families die together. Friends die together. Other populations are affected by the loss without such an extreme emotional impact. They will fear it will happen to them next, instead of seeking to avenge their fallen comrades."
Torna stands in wide-eyed shock and silence, grabbing his gut, and he suddenly vomits in disgust. He knows his evil side is bad, but making friends with someone that thinks like this?! What has he gotten into?! "Gods! What the actual hell is wrong with you?! Is your mouth a cesspool?!"
"Right and wrong are subjective to me, little one. You should be willing to do whatever I ask; working against my will is only antithetical to my-"
"Love... please. This is the tenth time ya said 'antithetical to me ends' today. If ya care so much about ya ends just lemme do what I want."
"...who addresses a demon as-"
"I'm not cut for slaughter. I can bout barely bring meself to kill a king, but that's 'bout it."
"...shameful. Slaughter is exactly why I made my pact with you. You turn your other you's experiences into whimsical stories and tell them with pride. So, why don't you tell me the truth and stop denying it? You may think this as who you truly are, but nothing will stop the voice inside from taking over. You're a bomb waiting to explode, but you can't see the fuse. Through me, you will finally be able to control that fuse, and perhaps even extinguish it. To truly understand yourself, you must understand my mindset and the shifting tides of Chaos. Are you listening?"
Torna's ears bend down, and he cowers. He knows that if he pushes too far against this fiend, his contract is forfeit; he will be made to serve by force. And. worse, he hears footsteps coming to investigate the mysterious spew of acid, which reeks of alcohol and game. "...I... s'pose I can't say no. Just... don't yell at me if I don't watch what happens..."
Two hours later...
Khoza. He didn't know how many people he killed to cross the border in, but he was safe now... relatively at least. Now, he would be dealing with a bigger problem."Now, for why you are here, Torna," the voice spoke. "I'm sure you will be excited, so I kept this a secret. Here, we will find the stone of music, love, and beauty, of performers and trance. It is held by a curious singer in one of the halls here, but my connection with this world is too weak for me to give more detail. This stone is the perfect fit for your talents; it should give you improved control over your magic, I'm sure, and allow you, perhaps, to use your talents and demeanor to manipulate the holders of the other stones. Maybe it'll even make your bagpipe sound like a real instrument."
Torna cocked his head, exhausted and sick to himself, but curious. "That does sound rightly useful... Wait! WHAT YA BLOODY MEAN BAGPIPES DON'T-"
"Don't worry about it. You will not need your bagpipes to win a battle, or to grab my stones for me. This, however, will aid you in doing so Any other questions?"
"Are you, like, sure you can't at least gimme a better estimate of locality? Like, what area, what performance hall or theater, hell. Even knowing vaguely what she looked like would help."
"Bossy, are we? Well, she has a mostly average appearance, with the one exception being her olive complexion. My visions aren't great enough, however, for me to look further."
"...a hag mayhaps?"
"Not that I would know."
"Ah. Anything else? Even whereabouts?"
"That is all. Now, go on, child. You've proven you're worth my continued guidance. Now go and make me proud..."
[Deadline ends soon]
“[Rash action without knowledge is bound to fail, and this place feels very unfamiliar.]”
”(And you can find out where this is without action? No, Fury, we got here by motion and further motion is necessary to continue our existence.)”
”{Zeal is right. I feel that our motion so far is our reason for existing. We remember very little, but the one thing we know is that event that got us here, that action, that… speed…}”
A short silence as the figure stands upright, seeming to take in its surroundings.
”(This world is far from our own.)”
“[And where would our own be?]”
Another silence.
“(It is not our past which matters now, whatever might have been. Our purpose in the present moment should be our new focus.)”
“[A purpose built on nothing is emptiness stacked on emptiness. Zeal.]”
“{But our past is not empty. There remains the flicker of the flame from whence we came.}”
“(Hope is right. Our means by which we exist must hold our reason to continue. Our reason for existence…”)
([{“…is speed.”}])
I now present my champion for this Tournament,
Seven, Last of the Vae’Vyn