A ball was in full swing in Khoza, and the festivities were grand... but mysteriously, the wine was gone. While guests pranced to and fro, guards were searching for the mysterious culprit that stole the alcohol. Meanwhile, hidden on the roof of the ballroom was Torna, trying to hold back a belch as he finished his second bottle. His belly was bloated from drinking so much for his small size, and he felt like he might pass out, but he had to admit he had fun... just in his own sort of way. He was convinced by Tali that it was the right thing to do, and he was happy to keep this alcohol from shifting the decorum.
The little, drunken figure slumped over as the alcohol got to him, and he held his head as it wracked with pain. He whimpered, voicing his complaints to his newfound ally. "Oh, I feel like I might just burst..."
The demon cackled mockingly, and Torna squeaked as he felt a claw poke at his swollen gut. He looked down, however, and no one was there. "You just might, little one... want me to speed up the process so you can get back to drinking?"
"Oh, heavens, please no! An' don't do that again!" "I'm just trying to help... if you die, you'll just come back..." "But what about the blood? They'll smell it!" "Ah, it's fine. If they notice, that gives you a motivation to actually do your job." "I already stole the wine!" "And yet you didn't kill anyone..." "Look, I like spirits, but even this is a bit excessive... why would I kill innocent people?"
The voice of Tali just sighed. Torna could just sense him shaking his head in shame. "You literally bound yourself to me for the express purpose of killing people. It's your speciality, after all. Don't you remember?"
The gremlin shook his head in kind, but much more desperately. "You deceived me! You know I won't do it!"
"Yes you wiiill." "Liar! Not in a million years!" "You literally confessed to murder in front of a live audience." "That was in jest! The whole incident was an accident! I always retell that story-" "Ah, like you accidentally threw a sword at that king and accidentally stabbed him in the leg... ugh. Did my best candidate really have to be a buffoon like you? You are capable of so much but you won't use your power. Why? At any point in time you likely could have found yourself revered for your talents. You had centuries to hone your skills and become a master archmage. And yet, you spent all of that time sitting on your buttocks, drinking and playing a bagpipe. Why? What could possibly motivate you mortals to waste your potential?!"
At this point, Torna snapped. After practicing the bagpipes for so much time, he would not have his talents called a waste. He was an excellent performer. He was revered, if maybe not by a larger circle. He had everything he wanted, and only ended up here because of this stupid contract. "It's called winding down, you oaf! Why don't you try it some time? Or are you so obsessed with seeing people's guts that you have a fetish for it?!"
Suddenly, someone yelled from below, and Tali grunted. "You know you don't actually have to speak to communicate with me, right? But alas... this one's on you, fool. I think I'll take up your offer on winding down..."
Torna whined and hunkered down as he saw an arrow flying through the air; the ruckus had drawn the attention of the guards, and it was pretty clear that a tiny hyena wasn't on the guest list. "Wait! What's that s'posed to mean?!"
"It means try not to die without my help... if you really are a pacifist you won't need it." "No! No! I think I could definitely use them now!" "Then use them... no excuses this time. Kill them! Show them you do not need to cower in..." Between the alcohol and the panic, Torna had fainted, and he was rolling off the slanted roof. Tali pumped as much chaotic energy into Torna as he could, and the hyena snapped back awake, twitching violently. "NO SLACKING ON THE JOB! IF YOU SO MUCH AS YAWN I WILL PULL OUT YOUR FUR, ONE HAIR AT A TIME!"
The hyena squealed, trying to catch itself on the edge. However, he slipped, and ended up falling from the third story roof. Desperate not to land, he cast a spell to slow his decent... and it did, but not in the way he intended. Time slowed around just him, and he found himself moving in slow motion. The guards, meanwhile, were moving normally, which made it look like they were moving thrice as quickly to him! He screamed as arrows flew towards him, and they were so quick to him that he couldn't raise his scepter before looking like an ogre's pincushion. The magic quickly unraveled as his body burst from the magic inside of him, and he soon reformed inside an empty barrel in the nearby storeroom. He knawed a hole to look out, and saw that some of the guards were returning to their posts. He breathed a sigh of relief that he'd escaped, but he felt a familiar tapping on his shoulder... "I told you to kill them and they're still alive... fix this outrage!"
Torna grumbled to himself, this time remembering to use telepathy. "Bah humbug! They're literally not a problem anymore, so can't I just make a-" "Stop attempting to resist my influence... I will hold your contract in default if you do not end these mortals. It's a simple favor in the grand scheme of things..." "Why?" "It gets us one step closer to our goal... every little needless act of Chaos increases my power, and sending the patriarchy into panic? That will be a feast..."
(A quick note; the remaining portions of my entry are now being delayed due to employer backlash. Can't use phones at work anymore, and need to use time off work to find a new job because my workplace will likely be shut down.)
Man I might not stick around if this goes the same way tournament 4 and 5 went. I genuinely remember when I first joined this community I use to enjoy these. I guess this community is slowly dying out. After the 30th if no progress has been made I will officially be dropping out of the Tournament.
This was not a large town in the scale of Kazhar - a market, a few merchants peddling wares, a temple. It was for this reason that anything happening at all was entirely unexpected, especially the approach of a strange, armoured figure.
A young man is the first to notice the figure approaching the town. He holds a sword and wears light protection, obviously a militia member but not expecting any trouble. He inspects the approaching person - no, that can’t be right… It has no obvious joining elements between sections of armour. Where the helmet should be, there is only a slight curve of metal to imitate a face and no holes to indicate eyes… or indeed any other features that a person would have to be accommodated for in a helmet.
Finally, something was to happen, the man thought. Being put on babysitting duty to a town far away from the war was not the start to his war heroism that he had dreamt of, but this may be his chance to prove himself. This was no human, this was a monster, and a monster meant a threat. Half excitedly, half nervously, he runs just outside the town gates to meet with the thing. “Hey! You… thing! You’re not welcome here! Turn back or -”
[An inhabitant of this world approaches.] {This one is producing a sound at us. It may be attempting communication.}
(Unfortunate that communication remains impossible. We must move on. We may find another that can be understood.)
The thing passes right by the man without a reaction, still moving directly for the town. On closer inspection, the man looks to be made of metal, beneath the light-looking armour. In this moment, fear grips him. What manner of creature is this, anyway? Why should it have stopped simply when he asked? No, he has to get the rest of the militia - backup would be a sure way to drive the thing out, should he not manage it himself.
Running back past the thing - no visible reaction once more - the young militia guard runs back to the town and directly into the local priest, tripping to the ground. After profuse apologies, the guard briefly mentions a strange armoured man walking towards the gate before running away again to find the militia.
The priest found himself curious at the origin of this strange outburst, and goes to investigate the gate to the town. Sure enough, an armoured… no, a thing approaches the gate. “Halt… thing. Y-” But once again, the priest is completely ignored as the… creature? moves directly past him. Inspecting the back of the creature, the priest finds something recognisable - a shield is at the thing’s back, although the metalwork, if that is what the dull substance is, is completely alien. It’s clear now to the priest that the thing must not be of Avelaide. Perhaps a different language will get to it. This time, speaking in the ancient language of the gods, the priest asks, “Halt, creature. What… are you?”
{We can understand this one. We must attempt communication.}
Finally, the creature stops moving and turns to the priest. A low, metallic note comes from the thing, slowly rising in pitch. Finally, a sequence of notes emerge from the thing, producing the effect of three voices speaking in unison.
”[{(We are Seven.)}]” Not completely understanding the answer, the priest decides to introduce himself to this “Seven”. “I am a priest of Lady Avelaide, the creator goddess of this world.” “[We have no memory of this Avelaide.] {That is, we have very little knowledge or memory at all.}” “For what reason do you come to this place?” “(We seek {speed})[power].”
The priest scratches his head. There are clearly multiple consciousnesses and voices answering his questions, and they may even answer at once. But the next question comes from Seven. “(Tell us where we can find {speed})[power].”
Two of the voices seemed to speak in unison at the mention of what they were looking for, whereas the other spoke a the same time of “power” instead.
Confused, the priest replies, “If power is what you seek, this world has the stones of power, but they aren’t easy to obtain, so I’d advise against it. I must ask, where is it that y-”
Taking a step towards the priest, Seven cuts him off with a cacophony of another question. “(Tell)[Where] (us){[is]} (a{[stone?]})”
Now afraid, the priest notices the approaching militia behind seven, with the young guard running ahead of them. He must only distract the thing, keep it talking until they arrive -
“There’s a place near here - a weapons forge - there are rumours that they’re using a stone of power for their weapons and machines of war -” “Don’t worry, I’ll take it on!”
The young guard leaps between the monster and the priest, sword raised.
{Does this one mean violence?}
[Prepare for that case.]
No visible reaction again from the thing. Enraged at its lack of acknowledgement of him, the guard finally takes a swing at it. Only the priest understands the final words emanating from the creature: ”{[(This one has made a mistake.)]}”
The young man looks down at his sword to realise it has been met with a shield - not that it glanced or bounced off of it, or hit resistance in the swing of the sword, must simply… met the sword, as if the swing had no force behind it. And could it be his imagination, or was the face area of the thing glowing slightly? No matter, he would take a second attack, this time a feint to the left. Once again, the attack hit the shield, but once again without impact. A flurry of attacks this time. The guard starts recklessly hacking at the creature, trying to get behind this shield, to no avail. Finally, he stands back, tired out, and notices that not a scratch is on the creature or that strange shield. But the face - it glows bright red.
Without warning, the thing surges forward, knocking the guard off his feet and leaving the gate in the matter of only a second. “So… it’s gone? What even was it, anyway?” Weakly, the priest says, “Seven… whatever that is.”
I'm sorry for the silence. I know I promised to write about the next stage of stones some time ago but truth is that I went away on a vacation at my parents' and I did not get as much free time as I had hoped, and the free time I got I prioritized on fishing and forest activities instead.
Now being back at my proper place I am moving to another apartment which takes much time and energy, that and with the somewhat lukewarm interest and activity in the tournament with its slow start have made me prioritize other things.
I will take care of the moving apartments bit which will take another week or two and then I will try to continue this tournament, if the interest is still lukewarm and not chilling cold that is.
Otherwise the tournament will be cancelled since I don't want to have these kinds of contests run on less than fumes. Regardless if the tournament is cancelled or not. I will host another tournament which will be very much like the traditional ones that shall take place in Lisakdonia again. That will also be my very last tournament.
Tier 2 stones Great stone of heaven 1 - The iron heart
War may be a source of great misery, pain and destruction - but bringing out the desperation of people, it is also a source of great innovation and ideas. Some of these ideas where at first turned into weapons but later they were realized to have far more potential in the civil world far from war. Some ideas began as weapons, developed as weapons, and never became anything more than tools of war. Then there are a few inventions that started as civil tools but later turned into tools of war. One of the most famous of these is the iron horse.
The iron horse is a beast of war unlike any other. It does not eat, it does not sleep, it does not rest, it does not stop. Wherever it goes it leaves only destruction and death in the shadow of its black breath. Canisters, shells and corpses decorate the path along the tracks that are left for anyone unfamiliar with the beast to witness and grow weary, for no beast in the entire world leaves such tracks.
Many have tried to stop the beast but arrows and spears do little to penetrate its iron skin. The fire of dragons is a fool's idea as the dragons are kept far away by the riders of the iron horse equipped with guns and cannons. Most have chosen to keep away from the beast rather than fight it, for it loudly presents it's approach with the sound of moving cogs and spinning wheels towards wagons of iron with black smoke rising far into the sky from a red burning chimney.
The iron horse does not eat like the far lesser of its siblings whom are barely more than horseless wagons, for the iron horse feeds upon the chaotic burning thorns of its own heart, the iron heart - a great dark red and brown stone of heaven.
Wind howled. The brigands and the redhead elf turned to look at the newcomer. A male humanoid with simple yet sturdy, well-worn farmer clothing: A dirty gray tunic, muddy brown shoes, and a wide golden brown sunhat with couple of torn holes on it. A faded blue scarf cloaked his neck and lower face. Behind him stood a brown mule attached to a wooden wagon.
"Uh, what did you say, peasant?" one of the younger brigands asked. Green eyes glimmered under the farmer's hat as he stared back at the two brigands in front of him, unconcerned of their chipped hunting swords.
"I said... move out of the way," he said in a calm yet sharp tone. "Thy lot are blocking the road. Me and my mule here don't have all day."
"We're in the middle of business, err, negotiation," the grinning bald brigand said further back as he shrugged and flicked his sharpened daggers. "You'll have to wait until we're done."
The redhead elf quickly looked at the farmer with wide open eyes, then repeatedly looked at the brigands and back at the farmer, telling him to "do something!" The farmer shook his head a little.
"Then take thy business elsewhere," he said as he walked to the side of the wagon. "I have an injured wolf here which needs treatment. It was stuck in one of the many iron-jaw traps near crooked woods. Took whole morning to disarm and collect them." He pulled such device from the wagon and threw it on the ground right before the two hooded brigands, who took a step back to save their toes. The rusty jaws were colored red by fresh blood. "Thou wouldn't know anything about them, would thee?"
The younger brigands exchanged looks, and their hands tightened around the sword handles. "So you've been stealing our property, eh?!" one of them shouted.
"We spent all day setting them up!" another complained.
"Well," the slightly amused farmer said, provoking the young brigands even more. "Thou know the law of these wilds: 'Abandoned for others to find, to them discarded belongings shall bind.'"
"Nosy bumpkin!" one of the two young brigands yelled as he attacked the farmer with a thrust of his hunting sword. The farmer dodged the blade with a dexterous turn. Simultaneously, he grabbed the brigand's arm and pushed his shoulder, pulling him as he turned again, then caused him to trip and fall.
The second brigand rushed at the farmer as his back was turned. He raised his sword over his head, eager to cut him down. Hearing the approaching stomps behind him, the farmer turned around with his hands ready. When the brigand was bringing his sword down, the farmer stepped closer, grabbed the wrist of the brigand's sword arm, and used the momentum to throw him over himself and slam hard onto the ground right next to his fallen friend.
The redhead elf and the bearded brigand both stared at the farmer with raised eyebrows and wide surprised eyes. He was the only one left standing. The two hooded brigands slowly stood up, first one holding his sword arm, and second one rubbing his lower back. Their faces twisted from pain.
"Well... this'll be fun," the brigand leader muttered to himself as he started walking towards the farmer. The elf unsheathed her slightly curving longsword and pointed it at the leader's chest as she stepped in his way. "Wait for your turn, puppet," he said without even looking at her, slapped the blade aside, and kept walking.
But the elf girl persisted. She pulled her sword arm behind her back, and with a shout, swung it at the large man. All force of her attack was parried away by the man's offhand dagger. On top of that, the elf's poor footing caused her to stumble forward. The bearded man sidestepped, and as the elf bumbled, struck her at the back of her head with his main dagger's pommel. Knock!
The elf dropped her sword and fell prone. The bearded leader chuckled as he glanced at the elf's motionless body. "I'll take my sweet time with her," he locked eyes with the farmer. "once I've beaten ya up! You two will stand by and watch, got it?" The other brigands obeyed like boys would their father.
The leader's mustache curled from a hidden smile as he sheathed his daggers, cracked his knuckles, and raised his thick hands. The farmer's eyes narrowed as he closed his dirty hands into fists and raised them as well.
"Come on, hit me!" barked the large brigand while he and the farmer circled each other. "I know you can fight!" He taunted again and beckoned with his fingers quickly. "Or are ya scared now? Huahaha--"
The farmer jabbed him in the cheek, causing spit to fly from his mouth. He turned his head back, eyes wide open from rage, and savagely flung a fist at farmer's face. He ducked under it and delivered another blow at the man's round belly, which didn't do much because of the fat and the leather armor. The farmer grit his teeth from pain as he looked at his fist and cursed his reckless punch.
"Hruagh!" the large brigand grunted as his large fist was introduced to the farmer's face. Crack! He took many unsteady steps back as he held his nose, which began to bleed profusely. He groaned, then wiped the blood with his scarf and readied his hands again.
"Still standing? Good!" chuckled the brigand, closed in, and threw short punches at the farmer even though he was not in reach to hit him, but the brigand did so to read the farmer's reactions. And it amused the brigand to see the farmer being slow and predictable.
"See what happens when you interfere with other people's business?" asked the brigand, and the farmer responded by throwing a sloppy punch that missed the brigand's bald and bearded and grinning head. Then he thrust his shoulder at farmer's chest, knocking him down. He slowly pushed himself up while shaking his head. Drops of blood fell from his face onto the dirt road. When the brigand's shadow moved over him, he looked up, and saw his arms raised overhead, ready to break the farmer's back.
"Hraagh!" cried out the brigand and almost fell as he hit through a cloud of dust. The farmer had rolled to evade the strike, then he rolled again and kicked the large man's unsteady legs, tripping him.
"Ough!" he groaned as he fell prone, but quickly stood up and looked at the farmer, who was rocking from side to side in his stance. The brigand couldn't tell if he's exhausted, or if it's part of his tactic, or if he's mocking him. The bearded leader's face had begun to turn red. He threw a short punch, then a long one, but the farmer knew which one to dodge, and responded with a high kick to the leader's cheek. Pam!
A tooth flew from the man's mouth. Enraged, he roared as he reached his open hands at the farmer to grapple him, but the farmer countered with a hard thrust kick to the brigand's chest, pushing him back. Stunned and hunching forward, he was unable to block or evade the flurry of strikes from the farmer: Knee to the face, fist to the temple, another to an eye, an elbow to the side, and fist aimed directly at --
The brigand grabbed the arm before the blow landed, then he pulled a dagger and thrust it at the farmer's throat.
"Argh!" he groaned as the blade bit into his left shoulder. The brigand didn't hit his mark because of his hurt eye and the reactive flinch of the farmer. He pulled the dagger out and, with blood still falling in the air, thrust it at the farmer's throat again. That time the farmer grabbed the wrist to stop the stab.
The two tried to overpower the other as their hands were locked in each other's grapple, but neither of them budged. The brigand grit his bloody teeth and the farmer leaned his head back. Paff! He headbutted, and the impact caused the brigand to lose his grip and the farmer to drop his hat. Then he kicked the side of the leader's knee, ruining his balance, and with both hands, twisted the dagger out of his large hand. The brigand fell on his knees, and the farmer kicked him down to the ground, placed his knee onto his arm, held another arm with his right hand, and with his left hand, pointed the dagger at the subdued man's throat.
The brigand leader tried to break free for a second, but he froze as he looked at the farmer and saw what the wide had had kept hidden: Long, sharp ears alike to an animal, and ageless wavy hair of metallic silver.
"Bloody, cursed elves," the brigand gurgled, then coughed blood. "Go on, kill me like ye have killed many others!"
The elf farmer looked into the man's resentful and exhausted brown eyes, then he raised his left hand and hit the side of his head with the dagger's pommel, knocking him unconscious. Then he slowly stood up and turned to look at the two younger brigands, whose mouths were open from shock. The farmer took off his bloody scarf, revealing a pale face with sharp jaw and cheekbones. Though he had the features of a young man, his faded green eyes had witnessed the world for over a century.
"Take him, and waste thy short lives in another place," the silver-haired elf said, then he ripped off his left sleeve, revealing a thin yet muscular arm with root-like scars. Blood trickled along the scars from the shoulder wound. He wrapped the torn sleeve tightly around the shoulder while the young brigands raised their leader and hurried away, deep into the woods.
After cleaning himself from blood with the once-blue scarf, the elf farmer picked up his sunhat, put it back on, then looked at the elf girl who was still laying on the road. He walked over to her, and noticed her satchel shaking a bit. He picked it up, opened it, and saw the dove with the broken wing. It started fluttering its wings in panic when it saw the farmer.
"Stop that!" the farmer commanded as he snapped his fingers and pointed at the dove. And so it did. The farmer placed the satchel's strap onto his uninjured shoulder, then he knelt down next to the elf girl, turned her on her back, and slowly pulled her green hood off from her face and her head.
kaoz42 What do you mean? Do you feel that the execution of the tournament contradict the description? (Except for it taking ~2 months longer than expected, due to reasons mentioned earlier in this thread). Since we practically restart the tournament with the quarter finals, I estimate that the contest will prolong till the middle/end of October.
The calm before the storm. The water lies calm and silent. The sky is clear with not a trace of a single cloud. The trees stand lazy along the coast and the mountains occupying the land between lakes. No fish are jumping or playing. No fishermen are traveling the rivers in their boats. No animals are wandering the paths along the forest. No song of birds is disturbing the silence. Everything is so silent and quiet that one would think that death has taken the land, but one would not be far from truth.
The villages along the coast are as silent as everything else but there is clear evidence of people escaping the city in hurry. Baskets and equipment lies on the ground as if left behind in hurry. Cages that used to be filled with birds have been broken open. The sun continues to lay its warm along the coast, the forests, the mountains and the villages - for it is the only thing brave enough to remain here. Like a breath before a jump, the place is calm and silent.
Then, as if someone drew a blanket over the sky, the coast turned dark and the sun fell behind a wall of clouds. A wind drew in from the water as sudden as the sky turned dark, and it began pulling the trees, pushing the rivers, blasting away the baskets and fruits in the village. Waves from the seas began slamming into the sandy shores and shaking the boats that where not pulled from the water. The sky turned darker, the winds grew stronger and the waves grew taller. The wind began to howl as it began to tear buildings from their foundations and the waves began to push boats up onto land or out into the ocean to drag them down into the depth. Trees where pushed and pulled so branches broke off to be carried away by the wind. Only a few minutes since the calm, and the storm had already begun to tear this place apart - and it had only just begun.
As the storm grew stronger by the minute, a small floating island appeared from the ocean. It was not larger than a large boat but it was made entirely of ice that was shining bright of green and blue in the dark storm. Inside the ice, an eye was shining green - a great stone of heaven. The eye of the storm bringing ice - the heart of the storm.
Great stone of heaven 3 - The heart of the guardian
Most stones that are claimed by the living, humans being the most prone to gather them, are used for warfare, industrial progress or in other ways to overcome limitations for the sake of progression. There are however some that does not seek to progress in either war or the art of creation, but instead the art of conservation.
In the jungles and planes of Zundat and Moghodur, there are gardens of the wildness where plants and animals are thriving without the fear of being cut down or hunted. These lands are respected by the local people, and feared by those that seek to claim them or harness their resources - for these lands are not undefended.
Gardeners of stone, carved by people forgotten through time, are taking care of these lands and the plants and animals that inhabit them. Some of these gardeners are carved with lesser stones of heaven into their chests, others are carved with ancient magic, so that they may move and keep to their duties and care for the lands.
Among these giants of stone there is one of particular size and strength. One who towers above all other gardeners of stone with him being almost ninety feet tall. He rarely stops to care for the lands but instead walks them to seek for invaders whom seek to harm them. He only stops at chosen wastelands when he have not encountered an invader for weeks. There he falls to his knees and releases a mighty discharge of lightning from his heart of chaos, or otherwise his body of stone would break apart and he would die, taking his surroundings with him in a storm of lightning.
This gentle giant seeks nothing but to protect the lands which his brethren of stone care for, but do not get fooled by his gentle giant. There are no known mortal beings in this part of the world that would dare or want to face this powerful guardian, for in his chest beats a great yellow stone of chaotic lightning - the heart of the guardian.
The earth is like the bodyof the world - Avelaide. The clay and sand is like her skin, warm to the touch. The trees and flowers are like the hair on her head, beautiful and of lovely scent. The grass is like the tiny hairs across her skin so soft, like a blanket so soft. The oceans are like her eyes, deep and wonderful. The air is like her breath, carrying song and meaning. The water that fills the wells is like her blood, full with life and energy.
The fertile soil provide great opportunity for crops and wheat, but fertile soil is nothing without its valuable water. Much of Asolamun lacks the rainfall that is sop plentiful in the south or in the northern continents, so the people had to rely on the water that comes from the mountains in rivers and lakes, or from beneath through the ground.
Like the veins in all living beings, the groundwater travels to lands both near and far carrying the so important energy required for life to grow. This is true in almost all of Asolamun, but there is one place where the water is even more filled with life and the crops grow like nowhere else. People who dug wells would witness what seemed like glowing strains of gentle orange and yellow lights in the water. Those who lived their lives drinking the water would reach incredible ages, many would grow so old as 110 years of age. Few who drank of the water regularly would suffer from pain and illness.
The water was special, and its secret unknown for centuries. Then one day the light in the water grew weaker by the day until it disappeared completely. The secret had been uncovered, and miles from the wells a company of the army had dug a great hole into the ground, and from it they retrieved the source of the magical groundwater.
The inhabitants of the land would not accept that the source of their well-being was stolen from them. They rallied their people of more than mere mortal men, and marched against the armed miners to take back what6 was stolen from the soil - the heart of the ground.
The powers of the earth are incredible yet humble. It provides life to millions of different species, from bird to dog, from fish to snake, from human to parasite, and it can take life, billions in mere weeks or just a few in months. It provides places calm and safe where animals and humans can take shelter and bring life to a newborn, and it can tear lands asunder and undo generations in an afternoon. It provides the building materials for birds' nests, cities and palaces, and it brings destruction untold.
Some say that mother Avelaide puppeteer the world through the hearts of the world, the great stones of heaven. All chaotic and unstable, yet some are gentle in their chaos and provides life through water and soil. Some would say that life itself is chaos. It provides power and energy through fire and storm. It provides endurance and strength through stone and metal. It provides destruction through... everything. Creation is already accomplished, destruction is what remains. Most hearts can both provide life and destruction, some bring destruction through life, and some bring life through destruction - or rather it gives an opportunity to that which already lives.
Cracks are forming in the soil, in the grass, in the buildings, in the streets, in the bedrock, in the mountains. A red glow from far below. Steam hot enough to break stone, pours out of the cracks and melts the life of anyone unfortunate enough to be in its path. Stones and soil break from the hills and mountains falling down burying both people, animals and structures. The ground swallows buildings, castles, forests, lakes, everything as it widens its mouths. Then the world begins to bleed as molten magma ascends to burn down everything and anything that has been spared thus far. A bright red light of crystal metal shines through the magma in the biggest scar in the middle.
The destruction does not last long but it lasts long enough to leave nothing but black scars and ruin. Life will one day retake the land, sweep away the ashes, heal the wounds, as it always does. The great stone rests for the moment but will one day again reach the surface and bring destruction - the molten heart will take life so that others may take their place.
The next tier of stones - the great stones of heaven, have been revealed. I know that some of you will not continue this journey, but for the rest of you: You may choose which is the next stone you will pursue, and that stone is the one that you will fight for. There is no limit to how many will pursue any one stone but know that there will only be one winner to claim the stone, so choosing one that has not yet been chosen will increase your chances of success. There will also be no stone that is only pursued by a single contestant. This is where the npc contenders come into the picture as now they will pursue the same stones as you do. More npc characters will be revealed to fill the gaps.
Npc characters will act mostly as normal contenders. They may lose and they may win. They are however locked from winning the entire tournament and their strength in combat is about the average of all real contenders - with some being slightly higher and some slightly lower.
As soon as you have chosen a stone you may begin writing your journey to retrieve it. Then as the matches begin, if you win against your opponent(s) you'll succeed in claiming the stone. If you do not say which stone you desire to pursue before the deadline you will be given a random stone to pursue. You may also choose to exit the tournament, and if so, your character will disappear from the contest without either victory or loss.
I am sorry that it have taken so much time but I hope that we can bring back life to this contest so that it may reach a conclusion. Please claim which stone you desire to pursue before Friday 22'th of September so that your adversaries may write with that knowledge. Otherwise you will be given one at random. The fights for the stones will begin on Friday 29th of Sepember which is also the deadline to provide any more stories for your journey to retrieve the stone.
kaoz42 The lava stone was one of the tier 1 stones from the first stage of the contest. They have already been claimed by their respective pursuer. You are all now pursuing any of the 5 tier 2 stones, the great stones, the stones with "heart" in their names.
In other words, the stones that are available are: Great stone of heaven 1 - The iron heart Great stone of heaven 2 - The heart of the storm Great stone of heaven 3 - The heart of the guardian
Great stone of heaven 4 - The heart of the ground Great stone of heaven 5 - The molten heart
Seven shall next pursue the Iron Heart. Which reminds me, I have to write the conclusion of the story acquiring the forge stone from the previous stage
@Jonteman93 - After claiming their first stone, Sara and Master Gidel shall pursue the Great stone of heaven 3, the heart of the guardian.
Excuse my inactivity as well. I have not forgotten about this, but I should now have time to focus on the chapters I had planned. Expect finished works sometime at the start of next week!
@Jonteman93 Kraig would also try to pursue the heart of the storm, since he's a lightning dragon. If not, then he shall pursue the heart of the guardian.
The story for Kraig's acquisition of the Stone of Illusions: Kraig flapped his wings again and again as he searched for the fabled Stone of Illusions. He had been tricked five times that night by illusory copies of the stone. "If this continues, I'll soon be dead!" He roared angrily into the night. Suddenly, he saw a light far below. "It's just another fake." he thought to himself. But if he didn't stop for each and every "Stone of Illusions" he might never find the real stone, so he descended down and took a look. Indeed it was a glowing stone. "Wait, that isn't a fake." he suddenly said. "It's a real." He had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when a voice said behind him "Indeed it is, and it's mine. I'll have to deal away with you, unfortunately." Kraig ascended into the air and unleashed lightning bolts from his jaws at the figure. But the figure was astride another dragon and dodged them all. Then, the other dragon unleashed a gigantic spout of fire towards Kraig which he barely escaped with a few singes. It turns out the figure was a Dormanian dragon rider, riding a dragon larger and stronger than Kraig. The battle raged on for quite a while before Kraig dove at the stone with the other dragon hot on his tail, literally and grabbed it. Suddenly, the dragon rider said "Hey, where have you gone." For Kraig was now invisible and in his place an illusory boulder. He flapped away into the night, with the dragon rider's questioning statements fading into the distance.
The hunt for the second tiers of stones have begun!
The following stones are pursued by the following contenders. The rivals for the stone that you pursue will be your opponent in the upcoming fight which will happen after the next weekend. The first fight will happen 9th of October,and the rest will follow the following days. Theorder of the fights will be random, so make sure to write your stories before the 9th of October to maximize your chances of victory. Good luck stone hunters!
Godara awoke to the gentle caress of the morning sun, its luminous rays signaling the end of his nightlong meditation. As a Blazing Foot monk, he lived by the creed of eternal vigilance, never allowing himself the luxury of sleep. To succumb to slumber even for a moment was to risk vulnerability, a vulnerability that could be ruthlessly exploited by those with nefarious intentions. Godara's meditation routine oscillated between five minutes of profound introspection and twenty minutes of serenely drifting through the realm of thought, a discipline that had been honed over years of dedicated practice.
The island's air bore the unmistakable scent of shells and saltwater, a fragrant tapestry woven into the very sands beneath him. Despite the eerie presence of ancient calcified remains adrift at sea, like desiccated logs of time's relentless march, or the eerie fragments of bleached skulls masquerading as seashells on the shore, one could almost be deluded into perceiving the island's beauty. This land had remained untouched since that cataclysmic day when a splintering burst of purple azure flames rent the very fabric of reality, giving birth to the Stones of Illusion. That catastrophic event had claimed the lives of countless islanders, driven others into exile, and sealed the fate of those foolish enough to venture within these treacherous isles. And yet, Godara sat there in tranquil serenity, as the once lifeless island showed its first signs of stirring. A few unfamiliar bird species, not native to this forsaken land but hailing from Avelaide, had ventured into this newly opened territory. Time's ancient palms and plants, some venerable enough to have outlived the mightiest of kings in Avelaide's history, had endured and thrived, nourished by the calcinated remains of those who had met their untimely end here, their roots sustained by the tempestuous rains, and concealed from the prying eyes of sentience by the shrouding mists of the Stone Of Mists. But now, surely, there would be others drawn to this enigmatic isle, a prospect that left Godara undisturbed. For now, he savored the precious gift of solitude.
As the day unfolded, Godara skillfully harnessed the fallen palm tree bark, remnants of that fateful day eons ago, and combined it with his lightning-fast speed to craft a small ring, adorning it with the Stone of Mists. As he slipped the ring onto his finger, a distant silhouette emerged on the horizon. It was a naval vessel, a product of relentless industrialization, most likely hailing from the distant lands of Kazar, flanked by two accompanying boats. The foremost vessel made landfall, and from it descended a figure that stirred a sense of familiarity within Godara. It was the recluse fisherman, the very man who had once warned him against embarking on this perilous journey. In his youth, the old fisherman had likely been one of the few who had dared to venture here, and he had survived to share his wisdom.
Approaching Godara, the old fisherman wore an expression akin to that of a proud father, although he quickly concealed his elation. While he may not been long aquinted with Godara, he was grateful that, for once, those who disregarded his warnings had not met a grim fate. With unbridled enthusiasm, he commended Godara for his extraordinary feat, revealing that the navy had taken notice of the sudden clearing of the once impenetrable mists. This was when he knew that Godara had succeeded in his quest. Curious about how Godara had accomplished this, the old fisherman inquired, but Godara, exercising caution rather than mistrust, chose to reply cryptically, "I slayed the hydra," despite the fact that no such creature existed, only the illusions conjured by the Stones.
After a lengthy conversation with the naval officials, Godara found himself ferried back to Kazar on one of the boats. Meanwhile, the navy embarked on their mission to reclaim these forsaken islands, a venture most likely reserved for the privileged elite of Kazar rather than the destitute. But Godara had achieved his objective: the Stone of Mists was now in his possession. He had proven his strength, and he now sought a method back to his homeland that he had once escaped.
Following a gracious and somewhat protracted stay at the recluse's cabin, and partaking in a meal that he had no real need for, Godara gathered his meager belongings and prepared to depart. As he offered his thanks and began to make his exit, the old man, his eyes fixed on repairing his fishing line, spoke once more. "Young man," Godara halted just short of the door, though he did not turn to face the old man. "You strike me as someone driven by a burning desire to prove himself, for reasons I know not. What I do know is that your actions have opened up new fishing grounds for me, albeit modest ones. I negotiated these with the navy, and it's all thanks to you."
Godara turned toward the man, his expression impassive but his attention piqued. The old fisherman continued, "That stone in your ring is not the only one in these realms. You may not have trusted me enough to share the truth, and rightfully so, but I, too, was once an adventurer like you. Whether you kept silent out of distrust or out of fear that the navy would claim the stone, we both know there was never any hydra."
The old man's voice took on a more mysterious tone as he delved into the lore of these ancient lands. "Legends speak of an event, dismissed by most as mere myth and embarked upon by only the boldest of souls—an event from millennia past. It is said that an ancient light manifested in these hallowed lands, a radiant force that, in a breathtaking display of azure and purple brilliance, fractured, its power dispersing among the Stones. One of these Stones empowers the very city we now reside in. I would advise you not to seek it out, for it is in neither of our interests to let it fall into the wrong hands. There are individuals here who can make your life exceedingly difficult. However, I can also direct you to another Stone, one akin to the Stone of Mists, which occasionally emerges from the depths of the tumultuous seas, much like it did yesterday. They call it the Stone of Storms. With both the Stone of Illusions and the Stone of Storms, you will be well on your way to proving your worth, not only to yourself but to all who bear witness."
With these words, the old fisherman handed Godara a map, and for the first time in a while, a hint of gratitude softened Godara's countenance. He offered a respectful bow, a gesture of appreciation, and then departed, the map clutched firmly in his hand. As he left, he heard the old man's voice trailing after him, fading into the distance, "Be forewarned, there are others who seek that Stone. Rumor has it..."
Before he could catch the entirety of the old man's warning, the sound dissolved into silence, a distant echo as Godara moved further and further along his enigmatic journey.
As Kraig awoke, he decided he would put an end to this evil Dormanian practice of enslaving dragons for war. Though Dormanians kept fire dragons, not lightning dragons, Kraig knew that no right-minded dragon of any type would accept slavery under humanoids. He took off for Dormania at first light flapping hard. By midday he was halfway to Dormania, and he stopped 20 miles from the Dormanian border to sleep in a cave for the night. When he awoke the next day, Kraig flew straight to Dormania, only to be intercepted by a dragon rider on patrol. However, the power of the Stone of Illusions displaced him to be closer to the dragon rider than he actually was, allowing him to fly to the rider's back. He dug his claws into the rider's back, then threw him off his mount. The dragon, having sniffed out Kraig, turned to breathe fire at Kraig, only to be stunned by Kraig's lightning breath. Then Kraig proceeded to deal with dragon rider after dragon rider in this fashion, but not dragon. By sunset, Kraig had "freed" six dragons from being ridden. However, this had attracted one of Alissa's top lieutenant's attention, and he and his dragon searched for Kraig. At midnight, his dragon finally sniffed out Kraig sleeping in a different cave. Without hesitation, he dove in to attack, and Kraig had only woken up when the lieutenant finally found his actual location. Backed into a cave, Kraig fought to the death, using all the fighting techniques he had learned over the decades. Eventually Kraig broke a hole in the cave wall, flying off into the night. Since dealing with other matters proved to be dangerous, he would turn his attention to acquiring stones of heaven once more. By daylight, he had reached a small village by a river. He asked the village's leader "Do you know where any Stones of Heaven are?" "Well, your scaleness, I heard about some great eye, the Eye or Heart of the Storm they call it that causes regular storms in somewhere near Stellastir, I believe." The mayor replied. "Thank you. That sounds just like the Stone I'd like to pursue." Kraig said. Then he began to flap for the great stone of heaven known as the Heart of the Storm. ----- @Tonysparks In your story, the fisherman mentions Godara possessing the Stone of Illusions. Actually, Godara possesses the Stone of Mists, and it is Kraig in possession of the Stone of Illusions.
“Hey, there’s a person walking this way”, said the guard. He stood with a pair of old brass binoculars overlooking the walls of the fortress, alerted to the only movement he’d noticed in the last five hours. Being the new recruit, he’d been posted on guard duty for the last week - not that anyone was foolhardy enough to approach the forge. Behind him, another sat on a stool sharpening a blade. “Then give ‘em a shout to turn around and sit down. Everyone ‘round here knows to keep off our lawn.”
(We have been spotted.) {Good.}
A magnified, yet still quiet voice drifted over the wind towards Seven. “Hey, uhh, you there… this is private property. You need to leave… or go somewhere else…” [But that isn’t happening.]
({[Yet.]})
The junior guard lowered his binoculars. “They aren’t stopping. They’re… just walking. What do we do…?” The other looked up. “Then send ‘em a warning shot. Any lost traveller’ll turn around to that.”
[They prepare a weapon. Be ready to move.]
A cannon shot rang out over the air, as a large metal ball arced over to clearly miss Seven ten meters out.
The guard dropped his binoculars with a yelp. “What now!”, came the other, clearly annoyed at the disturbance to his work. “The cannon was a direct hit… but I clearly aimed well away from them…”, stammered the first guard. “Poor bastard. Must’ve had a death wish. Well, back to -” The second guard is cut off by a louder yelp from the first. “They’re still alive… and sprinting this way.” Dropping the sharpened blade, the weaponsmith stood up. “Well, that gives us an excuse to use one of the special shots. This’ll make for a bit of fun.”
(They prepare again.) But this time, the sound is different. A sound like a chime accompanies the usual gunpowder explosion as a black-blue cannonball is fired instead. [This one aimed at us this time.]
{No need to manoeuvre - we continue on at the same velocity.} But something unexpected occurs. The cannonball shatters midair, turning into burning crystal shrapnel which descends towards Seven.
“It hit again… but… it all hit…” came another stammer. “All? As in, every single shard hit the mark?” “Well.. yes… but… it’s still running for us…” “What?” The second guard snatched the binoculars to see that, indeed, the intruder had nearly approached the wall of the forge. What’s more, the face of the intruder glowed bright, like the metal from an old blacksmith’s furnace. “A monster… Well, something’s finally happening around here. Go sound the alarm for this side. I’ll fire off the cannons.”
{They make defensive preparations.} (As planned. Now, these next shots should suffice.) Five more collections of burning shards fall towards Seven. Five more times, they dash to block each shard with the shield. [We have sufficient energy. We go.]
As the dust settled where the creature had been, the weaponsmith scanned for any trace of the intruder. However, there were none to be found. Then, chaos ensued within the forge as cries of alarm came from all sides from the smiths on guard duty. “There’s an intruder at these walls! No, but now they aren’t -” “Monster! There’s a thing here! H - no, hol-” “Intruder, west wall 2! Unless - ” Every bell From every watch post sounded as workers ran out from the heart of the forge to see what the commotion was for. “Are we getting attacked from all sides?” “Here, over here, -” “They’re at the east gate! Quick, backup needed here -” Confusion overtook the workers as they ran out the gates to confront an enemy that never appeared.
(That’s enough loops. They’ve all seen us by now.) {Then we enter though that gate.} Seven travels through the unmanned southwest gate and heads directly for the centre of the forge, to the pulsing blue light of power. (There. Through the fire and the flames.) [We carry on.]
At immense speed, Seven descends the forge towards the source of the light, claiming it from the dusty smoke and roaring fire.
“So that’s it then? Every single one on guard duty gave a false alarm?” The workers shook their heads, then slowly made their way back to their posts, leaving the implements of war they’d picked up behind them. But when the caster-workers came to their station, they realised something was wrong. “The stone… Where’s the stone?” The blue light had vanished from the fire. The molten metal no longer had its sheen as it cooled into the casts. The stone no longer fed the beast of war.
[This one has spotted us.]
A worker returning to a post on the outside of the forge turned to see an armoured figure running towards the gate, a blue glow emanating from where a hand should have been and face ablaze. In the blink of an eye, that glowing face covered the worker’s entire vision and a vibration came from the creature of steel. But while the jumbled mess of sounds must have been voicing a language, the worker couldn’t understand the words of the metallic cacophony. “A… A… I don’t know what…” The creature lifted up the source of the blue light - the forge stone. Intoning words with more focus this time, the worker took a guess as to the meaning. It was looking for more.
“A… the horse…” the worker pointed a shaking finger at a nearby poster of the Iron Horse. “It’s rumoured to have a stone…”, the worker shakily whispered, moving his hand to point to the stone. The thing’s face left the worker’s vision as it stepped back, looking first at the picture of the horse, then back at the stone. Then, as if nothing was there to begin with, it sped out of the forge to the sudden alarm of the nearest guard on watch-duty. But there was nothing to do, except close the door after the intruder had bolted.
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2-1 — An Unexpected Delay
A ball was in full swing in Khoza, and the festivities were grand... but mysteriously, the wine was gone. While guests pranced to and fro, guards were searching for the mysterious culprit that stole the alcohol. Meanwhile, hidden on the roof of the ballroom was Torna, trying to hold back a belch as he finished his second bottle. His belly was bloated from drinking so much for his small size, and he felt like he might pass out, but he had to admit he had fun... just in his own sort of way. He was convinced by Tali that it was the right thing to do, and he was happy to keep this alcohol from shifting the decorum.The little, drunken figure slumped over as the alcohol got to him, and he held his head as it wracked with pain. He whimpered, voicing his complaints to his newfound ally. "Oh, I feel like I might just burst..."
The demon cackled mockingly, and Torna squeaked as he felt a claw poke at his swollen gut. He looked down, however, and no one was there. "You just might, little one... want me to speed up the process so you can get back to drinking?"
"Oh, heavens, please no! An' don't do that again!"
"I'm just trying to help... if you die, you'll just come back..."
"But what about the blood? They'll smell it!"
"Ah, it's fine. If they notice, that gives you a motivation to actually do your job."
"I already stole the wine!"
"And yet you didn't kill anyone..."
"Look, I like spirits, but even this is a bit excessive... why would I kill innocent people?"
The voice of Tali just sighed. Torna could just sense him shaking his head in shame. "You literally bound yourself to me for the express purpose of killing people. It's your speciality, after all. Don't you remember?"
The gremlin shook his head in kind, but much more desperately. "You deceived me! You know I won't do it!"
"Yes you wiiill."
"Liar! Not in a million years!"
"You literally confessed to murder in front of a live audience."
"That was in jest! The whole incident was an accident! I always retell that story-"
"Ah, like you accidentally threw a sword at that king and accidentally stabbed him in the leg... ugh. Did my best candidate really have to be a buffoon like you? You are capable of so much but you won't use your power. Why? At any point in time you likely could have found yourself revered for your talents. You had centuries to hone your skills and become a master archmage. And yet, you spent all of that time sitting on your buttocks, drinking and playing a bagpipe. Why? What could possibly motivate you mortals to waste your potential?!"
At this point, Torna snapped. After practicing the bagpipes for so much time, he would not have his talents called a waste. He was an excellent performer. He was revered, if maybe not by a larger circle. He had everything he wanted, and only ended up here because of this stupid contract. "It's called winding down, you oaf! Why don't you try it some time? Or are you so obsessed with seeing people's guts that you have a fetish for it?!"
Suddenly, someone yelled from below, and Tali grunted. "You know you don't actually have to speak to communicate with me, right? But alas... this one's on you, fool. I think I'll take up your offer on winding down..."
Torna whined and hunkered down as he saw an arrow flying through the air; the ruckus had drawn the attention of the guards, and it was pretty clear that a tiny hyena wasn't on the guest list. "Wait! What's that s'posed to mean?!"
"It means try not to die without my help... if you really are a pacifist you won't need it."
"No! No! I think I could definitely use them now!"
"Then use them... no excuses this time. Kill them! Show them you do not need to cower in..." Between the alcohol and the panic, Torna had fainted, and he was rolling off the slanted roof. Tali pumped as much chaotic energy into Torna as he could, and the hyena snapped back awake, twitching violently. "NO SLACKING ON THE JOB! IF YOU SO MUCH AS YAWN I WILL PULL OUT YOUR FUR, ONE HAIR AT A TIME!"
The hyena squealed, trying to catch itself on the edge. However, he slipped, and ended up falling from the third story roof. Desperate not to land, he cast a spell to slow his decent... and it did, but not in the way he intended. Time slowed around just him, and he found himself moving in slow motion. The guards, meanwhile, were moving normally, which made it look like they were moving thrice as quickly to him! He screamed as arrows flew towards him, and they were so quick to him that he couldn't raise his scepter before looking like an ogre's pincushion. The magic quickly unraveled as his body burst from the magic inside of him, and he soon reformed inside an empty barrel in the nearby storeroom. He knawed a hole to look out, and saw that some of the guards were returning to their posts. He breathed a sigh of relief that he'd escaped, but he felt a familiar tapping on his shoulder... "I told you to kill them and they're still alive... fix this outrage!"
Torna grumbled to himself, this time remembering to use telepathy. "Bah humbug! They're literally not a problem anymore, so can't I just make a-"
"Stop attempting to resist my influence... I will hold your contract in default if you do not end these mortals. It's a simple favor in the grand scheme of things..."
"Why?"
"It gets us one step closer to our goal... every little needless act of Chaos increases my power, and sending the patriarchy into panic? That will be a feast..."
(To be continued...)
This was not a large town in the scale of Kazhar - a market, a few merchants peddling wares, a temple. It was for this reason that anything happening at all was entirely unexpected, especially the approach of a strange, armoured figure.
A young man is the first to notice the figure approaching the town. He holds a sword and wears light protection, obviously a militia member but not expecting any trouble. He inspects the approaching person - no, that can’t be right… It has no obvious joining elements between sections of armour. Where the helmet should be, there is only a slight curve of metal to imitate a face and no holes to indicate eyes… or indeed any other features that a person would have to be accommodated for in a helmet.
Finally, something was to happen, the man thought. Being put on babysitting duty to a town far away from the war was not the start to his war heroism that he had dreamt of, but this may be his chance to prove himself. This was no human, this was a monster, and a monster meant a threat. Half excitedly, half nervously, he runs just outside the town gates to meet with the thing.
“Hey! You… thing! You’re not welcome here! Turn back or -”
[An inhabitant of this world approaches.]
{This one is producing a sound at us. It may be attempting communication.}
The thing passes right by the man without a reaction, still moving directly for the town. On closer inspection, the man looks to be made of metal, beneath the light-looking armour. In this moment, fear grips him. What manner of creature is this, anyway? Why should it have stopped simply when he asked? No, he has to get the rest of the militia - backup would be a sure way to drive the thing out, should he not manage it himself.
Running back past the thing - no visible reaction once more - the young militia guard runs back to the town and directly into the local priest, tripping to the ground. After profuse apologies, the guard briefly mentions a strange armoured man walking towards the gate before running away again to find the militia.
The priest found himself curious at the origin of this strange outburst, and goes to investigate the gate to the town. Sure enough, an armoured… no, a thing approaches the gate.
“Halt… thing. Y-”
But once again, the priest is completely ignored as the… creature? moves directly past him. Inspecting the back of the creature, the priest finds something recognisable - a shield is at the thing’s back, although the metalwork, if that is what the dull substance is, is completely alien. It’s clear now to the priest that the thing must not be of Avelaide. Perhaps a different language will get to it. This time, speaking in the ancient language of the gods, the priest asks,
“Halt, creature. What… are you?”
{We can understand this one. We must attempt communication.}
Finally, the creature stops moving and turns to the priest. A low, metallic note comes from the thing, slowly rising in pitch. Finally, a sequence of notes emerge from the thing, producing the effect of three voices speaking in unison.
”[{(We are Seven.)}]”
Not completely understanding the answer, the priest decides to introduce himself to this “Seven”.
“I am a priest of Lady Avelaide, the creator goddess of this world.”
“[We have no memory of this Avelaide.] {That is, we have very little knowledge or memory at all.}”
“For what reason do you come to this place?”
“(We seek {speed})[power].”
The priest scratches his head. There are clearly multiple consciousnesses and voices answering his questions, and they may even answer at once.
But the next question comes from Seven.
“(Tell us where we can find {speed})[power].”
Two of the voices seemed to speak in unison at the mention of what they were looking for, whereas the other spoke a the same time of “power” instead.
Confused, the priest replies, “If power is what you seek, this world has the stones of power, but they aren’t easy to obtain, so I’d advise against it. I must ask, where is it that y-”
Taking a step towards the priest, Seven cuts him off with a cacophony of another question. “(Tell)[Where] (us){[is]} (a{[stone?]})”
Now afraid, the priest notices the approaching militia behind seven, with the young guard running ahead of them. He must only distract the thing, keep it talking until they arrive -
“There’s a place near here - a weapons forge - there are rumours that they’re using a stone of power for their weapons and machines of war -”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take it on!”
The young guard leaps between the monster and the priest, sword raised.
{Does this one mean violence?}
”{[(This one has made a mistake.)]}”
The young man looks down at his sword to realise it has been met with a shield - not that it glanced or bounced off of it, or hit resistance in the swing of the sword, must simply… met the sword, as if the swing had no force behind it. And could it be his imagination, or was the face area of the thing glowing slightly? No matter, he would take a second attack, this time a feint to the left. Once again, the attack hit the shield, but once again without impact. A flurry of attacks this time. The guard starts recklessly hacking at the creature, trying to get behind this shield, to no avail. Finally, he stands back, tired out, and notices that not a scratch is on the creature or that strange shield. But the face - it glows bright red.
Without warning, the thing surges forward, knocking the guard off his feet and leaving the gate in the matter of only a second.
“So… it’s gone? What even was it, anyway?”
Weakly, the priest says, “Seven… whatever that is.”
Now being back at my proper place I am moving to another apartment which takes much time and energy, that and with the somewhat lukewarm interest and activity in the tournament with its slow start have made me prioritize other things.
I will take care of the moving apartments bit which will take another week or two and then I will try to continue this tournament, if the interest is still lukewarm and not chilling cold that is.
Otherwise the tournament will be cancelled since I don't want to have these kinds of contests run on less than fumes. Regardless if the tournament is cancelled or not. I will host another tournament which will be very much like the traditional ones that shall take place in Lisakdonia again. That will also be my very last tournament.
Great stone of heaven 1 - The iron heart
War may be a source of great misery, pain and destruction - but bringing out the desperation of people, it is also a source of great innovation and ideas. Some of these ideas where at first turned into weapons but later they were realized to have far more potential in the civil world far from war. Some ideas began as weapons, developed as weapons, and never became anything more than tools of war. Then there are a few inventions that started as civil tools but later turned into tools of war. One of the most famous of these is the iron horse.
The iron horse is a beast of war unlike any other. It does not eat, it does not sleep, it does not rest, it does not stop. Wherever it goes it leaves only destruction and death in the shadow of its black breath. Canisters, shells and corpses decorate the path along the tracks that are left for anyone unfamiliar with the beast to witness and grow weary, for no beast in the entire world leaves such tracks.
The iron horse does not eat like the far lesser of its siblings whom are barely more than horseless wagons, for the iron horse feeds upon the chaotic burning thorns of its own heart, the iron heart - a great dark red and brown stone of heaven.
The Master Returns - Part II
I joined because of the description. If this is going to be an interactive story until Sep 19, I will too drop out.
What do you mean?
Do you feel that the execution of the tournament contradict the description? (Except for it taking ~2 months longer than expected, due to reasons mentioned earlier in this thread).
Since we practically restart the tournament with the quarter finals, I estimate that the contest will prolong till the middle/end of October.
The calm before the storm.
The water lies calm and silent. The sky is clear with not a trace of a single cloud. The trees stand lazy along the coast and the mountains occupying the land between lakes. No fish are jumping or playing. No fishermen are traveling the rivers in their boats. No animals are wandering the paths along the forest. No song of birds is disturbing the silence. Everything is so silent and quiet that one would think that death has taken the land, but one would not be far from truth.
The villages along the coast are as silent as everything else but there is clear evidence of people escaping the city in hurry. Baskets and equipment lies on the ground as if left behind in hurry. Cages that used to be filled with birds have been broken open. The sun continues to lay its warm along the coast, the forests, the mountains and the villages - for it is the only thing brave enough to remain here. Like a breath before a jump, the place is calm and silent.
Then, as if someone drew a blanket over the sky, the coast turned dark and the sun fell behind a wall of clouds. A wind drew in from the water as sudden as the sky turned dark, and it began pulling the trees, pushing the rivers, blasting away the baskets and fruits in the village. Waves from the seas began slamming into the sandy shores and shaking the boats that where not pulled from the water. The sky turned darker, the winds grew stronger and the waves grew taller. The wind began to howl as it began to tear buildings from their foundations and the waves began to push boats up onto land or out into the ocean to drag them down into the depth. Trees where pushed and pulled so branches broke off to be carried away by the wind. Only a few minutes since the calm, and the storm had already begun to tear this place apart - and it had only just begun.
As the storm grew stronger by the minute, a small floating island appeared from the ocean. It was not larger than a large boat but it was made entirely of ice that was shining bright of green and blue in the dark storm. Inside the ice, an eye was shining green - a great stone of heaven. The eye of the storm bringing ice - the heart of the storm.
In the jungles and planes of Zundat and Moghodur, there are gardens of the wildness where plants and animals are thriving without the fear of being cut down or hunted. These lands are respected by the local people, and feared by those that seek to claim them or harness their resources - for these lands are not undefended.
Gardeners of stone, carved by people forgotten through time, are taking care of these lands and the plants and animals that inhabit them. Some of these gardeners are carved with lesser stones of heaven into their chests, others are carved with ancient magic, so that they may move and keep to their duties and care for the lands.
This gentle giant seeks nothing but to protect the lands which his brethren of stone care for, but do not get fooled by his gentle giant. There are no known mortal beings in this part of the world that would dare or want to face this powerful guardian, for in his chest beats a great yellow stone of chaotic lightning - the heart of the guardian.
Mid-October!?
The water was special, and its secret unknown for centuries. Then one day the light in the water grew weaker by the day until it disappeared completely. The secret had been uncovered, and miles from the wells a company of the army had dug a great hole into the ground, and from it they retrieved the source of the magical groundwater.
The inhabitants of the land would not accept that the source of their well-being was stolen from them. They rallied their people of more than mere mortal men, and marched against the armed miners to take back what6 was stolen from the soil - the heart of the ground.
I know that some of you will not continue this journey, but for the rest of you:
You may choose which is the next stone you will pursue, and that stone is the one that you will fight for.
There is no limit to how many will pursue any one stone but know that there will only be one winner to claim the stone, so choosing one that has not yet been chosen will increase your chances of success.
There will also be no stone that is only pursued by a single contestant. This is where the npc contenders come into the picture as now they will pursue the same stones as you do. More npc characters will be revealed to fill the gaps.
Npc characters will act mostly as normal contenders. They may lose and they may win. They are however locked from winning the entire tournament and their strength in combat is about the average of all real contenders - with some being slightly higher and some slightly lower.
As soon as you have chosen a stone you may begin writing your journey to retrieve it. Then as the matches begin, if you win against your opponent(s) you'll succeed in claiming the stone.
If you do not say which stone you desire to pursue before the deadline you will be given a random stone to pursue. You may also choose to exit the tournament, and if so, your character will disappear from the contest without either victory or loss.
I am sorry that it have taken so much time but I hope that we can bring back life to this contest so that it may reach a conclusion.
Please claim which stone you desire to pursue before Friday 22'th of September so that your adversaries may write with that knowledge. Otherwise you will be given one at random.
The fights for the stones will begin on Friday 29th of Sepember which is also the deadline to provide any more stories for your journey to retrieve the stone.
Kraig will pursue the lava stone. If not allowed, please give stone options.
The lava stone was one of the tier 1 stones from the first stage of the contest.
They have already been claimed by their respective pursuer.
You are all now pursuing any of the 5 tier 2 stones, the great stones, the stones with "heart" in their names.
In other words, the stones that are available are:
Great stone of heaven 1 - The iron heart
Great stone of heaven 2 - The heart of the storm
Great stone of heaven 3 - The heart of the guardian
Great stone of heaven 5 - The molten heart
Excuse my inactivity as well. I have not forgotten about this, but I should now have time to focus on the chapters I had planned. Expect finished works sometime at the start of next week!
Kraig would also try to pursue the heart of the storm, since he's a lightning dragon. If not, then he shall pursue the heart of the guardian.
Kraig flapped his wings again and again as he searched for the fabled Stone of Illusions. He had been tricked five times that night by illusory copies of the stone. "If this continues, I'll soon be dead!" He roared angrily into the night. Suddenly, he saw a light far below. "It's just another fake." he thought to himself. But if he didn't stop for each and every "Stone of Illusions" he might never find the real stone, so he descended down and took a look. Indeed it was a glowing stone. "Wait, that isn't a fake." he suddenly said. "It's a real." He had hardly gotten the words out of his mouth when a voice said behind him "Indeed it is, and it's mine. I'll have to deal away with you, unfortunately." Kraig ascended into the air and unleashed lightning bolts from his jaws at the figure. But the figure was astride another dragon and dodged them all. Then, the other dragon unleashed a gigantic spout of fire towards Kraig which he barely escaped with a few singes. It turns out the figure was a Dormanian dragon rider, riding a dragon larger and stronger than Kraig. The battle raged on for quite a while before Kraig dove at the stone with the other dragon hot on his tail, literally and grabbed it. Suddenly, the dragon rider said "Hey, where have you gone." For Kraig was now invisible and in his place an illusory boulder. He flapped away into the night, with the dragon rider's questioning statements fading into the distance.
The rivals for the stone that you pursue will be your opponent in the upcoming fight which will happen after the next weekend.
The first fight will happen 9th of October, and the rest will follow the following days.
The order of the fights will be random, so make sure to write your stories before the 9th of October to maximize your chances of victory.
Good luck stone hunters!
Chapter 3: The Fisherman and the Storm
Godara awoke to the gentle caress of the morning sun, its luminous rays signaling the end of his nightlong meditation. As a Blazing Foot monk, he lived by the creed of eternal vigilance, never allowing himself the luxury of sleep. To succumb to slumber even for a moment was to risk vulnerability, a vulnerability that could be ruthlessly exploited by those with nefarious intentions. Godara's meditation routine oscillated between five minutes of profound introspection and twenty minutes of serenely drifting through the realm of thought, a discipline that had been honed over years of dedicated practice.
The island's air bore the unmistakable scent of shells and saltwater, a fragrant tapestry woven into the very sands beneath him. Despite the eerie presence of ancient calcified remains adrift at sea, like desiccated logs of time's relentless march, or the eerie fragments of bleached skulls masquerading as seashells on the shore, one could almost be deluded into perceiving the island's beauty. This land had remained untouched since that cataclysmic day when a splintering burst of purple azure flames rent the very fabric of reality, giving birth to the Stones of Illusion. That catastrophic event had claimed the lives of countless islanders, driven others into exile, and sealed the fate of those foolish enough to venture within these treacherous isles. And yet, Godara sat there in tranquil serenity, as the once lifeless island showed its first signs of stirring. A few unfamiliar bird species, not native to this forsaken land but hailing from Avelaide, had ventured into this newly opened territory. Time's ancient palms and plants, some venerable enough to have outlived the mightiest of kings in Avelaide's history, had endured and thrived, nourished by the calcinated remains of those who had met their untimely end here, their roots sustained by the tempestuous rains, and concealed from the prying eyes of sentience by the shrouding mists of the Stone Of Mists. But now, surely, there would be others drawn to this enigmatic isle, a prospect that left Godara undisturbed. For now, he savored the precious gift of solitude.
As the day unfolded, Godara skillfully harnessed the fallen palm tree bark, remnants of that fateful day eons ago, and combined it with his lightning-fast speed to craft a small ring, adorning it with the Stone of Mists. As he slipped the ring onto his finger, a distant silhouette emerged on the horizon. It was a naval vessel, a product of relentless industrialization, most likely hailing from the distant lands of Kazar, flanked by two accompanying boats. The foremost vessel made landfall, and from it descended a figure that stirred a sense of familiarity within Godara. It was the recluse fisherman, the very man who had once warned him against embarking on this perilous journey. In his youth, the old fisherman had likely been one of the few who had dared to venture here, and he had survived to share his wisdom.
Approaching Godara, the old fisherman wore an expression akin to that of a proud father, although he quickly concealed his elation. While he may not been long aquinted with Godara, he was grateful that, for once, those who disregarded his warnings had not met a grim fate. With unbridled enthusiasm, he commended Godara for his extraordinary feat, revealing that the navy had taken notice of the sudden clearing of the once impenetrable mists. This was when he knew that Godara had succeeded in his quest. Curious about how Godara had accomplished this, the old fisherman inquired, but Godara, exercising caution rather than mistrust, chose to reply cryptically, "I slayed the hydra," despite the fact that no such creature existed, only the illusions conjured by the Stones.
After a lengthy conversation with the naval officials, Godara found himself ferried back to Kazar on one of the boats. Meanwhile, the navy embarked on their mission to reclaim these forsaken islands, a venture most likely reserved for the privileged elite of Kazar rather than the destitute. But Godara had achieved his objective: the Stone of Mists was now in his possession. He had proven his strength, and he now sought a method back to his homeland that he had once escaped.
Following a gracious and somewhat protracted stay at the recluse's cabin, and partaking in a meal that he had no real need for, Godara gathered his meager belongings and prepared to depart. As he offered his thanks and began to make his exit, the old man, his eyes fixed on repairing his fishing line, spoke once more. "Young man," Godara halted just short of the door, though he did not turn to face the old man. "You strike me as someone driven by a burning desire to prove himself, for reasons I know not. What I do know is that your actions have opened up new fishing grounds for me, albeit modest ones. I negotiated these with the navy, and it's all thanks to you."
Godara turned toward the man, his expression impassive but his attention piqued. The old fisherman continued, "That stone in your ring is not the only one in these realms. You may not have trusted me enough to share the truth, and rightfully so, but I, too, was once an adventurer like you. Whether you kept silent out of distrust or out of fear that the navy would claim the stone, we both know there was never any hydra."
The old man's voice took on a more mysterious tone as he delved into the lore of these ancient lands. "Legends speak of an event, dismissed by most as mere myth and embarked upon by only the boldest of souls—an event from millennia past. It is said that an ancient light manifested in these hallowed lands, a radiant force that, in a breathtaking display of azure and purple brilliance, fractured, its power dispersing among the Stones. One of these Stones empowers the very city we now reside in. I would advise you not to seek it out, for it is in neither of our interests to let it fall into the wrong hands. There are individuals here who can make your life exceedingly difficult. However, I can also direct you to another Stone, one akin to the Stone of Mists, which occasionally emerges from the depths of the tumultuous seas, much like it did yesterday. They call it the Stone of Storms. With both the Stone of Illusions and the Stone of Storms, you will be well on your way to proving your worth, not only to yourself but to all who bear witness."
With these words, the old fisherman handed Godara a map, and for the first time in a while, a hint of gratitude softened Godara's countenance. He offered a respectful bow, a gesture of appreciation, and then departed, the map clutched firmly in his hand. As he left, he heard the old man's voice trailing after him, fading into the distance, "Be forewarned, there are others who seek that Stone. Rumor has it..."
Before he could catch the entirety of the old man's warning, the sound dissolved into silence, a distant echo as Godara moved further and further along his enigmatic journey.
Chapter 1: Dormanian Outrage
As Kraig awoke, he decided he would put an end to this evil Dormanian practice of enslaving dragons for war. Though Dormanians kept fire dragons, not lightning dragons, Kraig knew that no right-minded dragon of any type would accept slavery under humanoids. He took off for Dormania at first light flapping hard. By midday he was halfway to Dormania, and he stopped 20 miles from the Dormanian border to sleep in a cave for the night. When he awoke the next day, Kraig flew straight to Dormania, only to be intercepted by a dragon rider on patrol. However, the power of the Stone of Illusions displaced him to be closer to the dragon rider than he actually was, allowing him to fly to the rider's back. He dug his claws into the rider's back, then threw him off his mount. The dragon, having sniffed out Kraig, turned to breathe fire at Kraig, only to be stunned by Kraig's lightning breath. Then Kraig proceeded to deal with dragon rider after dragon rider in this fashion, but not dragon. By sunset, Kraig had "freed" six dragons from being ridden. However, this had attracted one of Alissa's top lieutenant's attention, and he and his dragon searched for Kraig. At midnight, his dragon finally sniffed out Kraig sleeping in a different cave. Without hesitation, he dove in to attack, and Kraig had only woken up when the lieutenant finally found his actual location. Backed into a cave, Kraig fought to the death, using all the fighting techniques he had learned over the decades. Eventually Kraig broke a hole in the cave wall, flying off into the night. Since dealing with other matters proved to be dangerous, he would turn his attention to acquiring stones of heaven once more. By daylight, he had reached a small village by a river. He asked the village's leader "Do you know where any Stones of Heaven are?" "Well, your scaleness, I heard about some great eye, the Eye or Heart of the Storm they call it that causes regular storms in somewhere near Stellastir, I believe." The mayor replied. "Thank you. That sounds just like the Stone I'd like to pursue." Kraig said. Then he began to flap for the great stone of heaven known as the Heart of the Storm.-----
@Tonysparks
In your story, the fisherman mentions Godara possessing the Stone of Illusions. Actually, Godara possesses the Stone of Mists, and it is Kraig in possession of the Stone of Illusions.
(We have been spotted.)
{Good.}
[But that isn’t happening.]
The junior guard lowered his binoculars. “They aren’t stopping. They’re… just walking. What do we do…?” The other looked up. “Then send ‘em a warning shot. Any lost traveller’ll turn around to that.”
[They prepare a weapon. Be ready to move.]
The guard dropped his binoculars with a yelp. “What now!”, came the other, clearly annoyed at the disturbance to his work. “The cannon was a direct hit… but I clearly aimed well away from them…”, stammered the first guard. “Poor bastard. Must’ve had a death wish. Well, back to -” The second guard is cut off by a louder yelp from the first. “They’re still alive… and sprinting this way.” Dropping the sharpened blade, the weaponsmith stood up. “Well, that gives us an excuse to use one of the special shots. This’ll make for a bit of fun.”
(They prepare again.)
But this time, the sound is different. A sound like a chime accompanies the usual gunpowder explosion as a black-blue cannonball is fired instead.
[This one aimed at us this time.]
But something unexpected occurs. The cannonball shatters midair, turning into burning crystal shrapnel which descends towards Seven.
“It hit again… but… it all hit…” came another stammer. “All? As in, every single shard hit the mark?” “Well.. yes… but… it’s still running for us…” “What?” The second guard snatched the binoculars to see that, indeed, the intruder had nearly approached the wall of the forge. What’s more, the face of the intruder glowed bright, like the metal from an old blacksmith’s furnace. “A monster… Well, something’s finally happening around here. Go sound the alarm for this side. I’ll fire off the cannons.”
{They make defensive preparations.}
(As planned. Now, these next shots should suffice.)
Five more collections of burning shards fall towards Seven. Five more times, they dash to block each shard with the shield.
[We have sufficient energy. We go.]
As the dust settled where the creature had been, the weaponsmith scanned for any trace of the intruder. However, there were none to be found. Then, chaos ensued within the forge as cries of alarm came from all sides from the smiths on guard duty.
“There’s an intruder at these walls! No, but now they aren’t -”
“Monster! There’s a thing here! H - no, hol-”
“Intruder, west wall 2! Unless - ”
Every bell From every watch post sounded as workers ran out from the heart of the forge to see what the commotion was for.
“Are we getting attacked from all sides?”
“Here, over here, -”
“They’re at the east gate! Quick, backup needed here -”
Confusion overtook the workers as they ran out the gates to confront an enemy that never appeared.
(That’s enough loops. They’ve all seen us by now.)
{Then we enter though that gate.}
Seven travels through the unmanned southwest gate and heads directly for the centre of the forge, to the pulsing blue light of power.
(There. Through the fire and the flames.)
[We carry on.]
“So that’s it then? Every single one on guard duty gave a false alarm?” The workers shook their heads, then slowly made their way back to their posts, leaving the implements of war they’d picked up behind them. But when the caster-workers came to their station, they realised something was wrong.
“The stone… Where’s the stone?”
The blue light had vanished from the fire. The molten metal no longer had its sheen as it cooled into the casts. The stone no longer fed the beast of war.
[This one has spotted us.]
But while the jumbled mess of sounds must have been voicing a language, the worker couldn’t understand the words of the metallic cacophony.
“A… A… I don’t know what…”
The creature lifted up the source of the blue light - the forge stone. Intoning words with more focus this time, the worker took a guess as to the meaning. It was looking for more.
But there was nothing to do, except close the door after the intruder had bolted.