I made a mention in an early story that it works off of Arha saying a magic word and touching someone in order to petrify them. I'll probably get a little more into the specifics when Arha is training for upcoming fights.
Lyuben was rudely awoken by a tournament guard upon arrival. He instinctively jumped back, nearly crashing into the Soundweaver.
Hopefully he didn’t know that was me…
They opened the cage door and Conscience stepped out first, followed by Lyuben, then Arn, and finally The Soundweaver. As Lyuben finally stepped off, he realized how many contenders there were to be scared of.
All of them are looking to kill me in a tournament match...well, except maybe that cute lizard looking thing, Kaigan, and maybe Damien, that knight riding with Kaigan, too. The rest are not trustworthy.
The tournament guards showed everyone to their rooms. They were nowhere near as luxurious as Lyuben was used to in his family’s castle. Or former castle since Lyuben had destroyed the majority of it in his magical outburst before running away.
I wonder where mom and dad live now…
Lyuben shook his head as if he could shake the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to think about his parents anymore.
“So this is it. I’m finally here…”
Lyuben had never fought before. The first time he had unleashed his magic to its fullest potential was when he ran away from home. Before that, he just knew little tricks that helped him get what he wanted, although his parents were very disapproving of such power. Especially his mother.
Lyuben stared outside at the orange sun as it seemed to crash into the dark sea at the horizon.
A spark of dark magic flew out of Lyuben’s hand and shattered a mirror in front of him. Lyuben ran over to the fragments of it on the floor. Each shard reflected a different part of Lyuben. Lyuben could see his eyes in some of the shards--he could see the pain pent up behind them. Another one captured the blood red petals of his rose, which was now peeking out of his pocket, and the gnarly thorns that guarded its weak stem. Lyuben waved his hand, reducing all of the fragments to dust.
Lyuben walked outside, where a servant led them to the great dining hall. It was a grand place, even for Lyuben’s standards. There were long wooden tables filled with an assortment of dishes, each one seeming more appetizing than the next. Paintings and sculptures lined the beautiful wooden walls and bright torches blazed like the sun to make the hall even more breathtaking. In the center of the roof, stood the pièce de résistance: A grand crystal chandelier, which reflected all the colors and light all throughout the room. Once Lyuben was finished piling food onto his plate, he went to find a seat. However, there were no seats left, except for one next to the scary witch that Lyuben had seen in the cart in front of him.
Lyuben nervously sat down next to the girl. He was curious to know more about her. Something about her captivated him, but he wasn’t sure just what.
“It’s rude to stare, ya know,” Imilia laughed. There was a playful mocking tone in her voice.
“Oh! I- I...yeah…”
“I’m Imilia,” she said unusually cheerfully for her scary demeanor. Was Imilia really as "evil" as she looked?
Lyuben looked at Imila’s face. Her smile was just as bright as his mothers. Lyuben could picture the his mother's same demonic grin behind Imilia's innocent smile.
Ugh. Fine! But, they’ll all do the same thing in the end. I don’t want everything to repeat itself. I don’t want to feel that same pain again. I’m over it! If I just avoided any of this interaction, I would never have to-
After his conversation with Arha, Kaigan went over to the next most approachable person in their cart; Damien. Damien hadn't moved at all, even at the attack, and it was kind of worrying. Perhaps he was sick?
"Hey, you ok? You look kinda ill..."
Damien glanced up at the small figure standing next to him. It was barely a food above him and he was curled up into a fetal position. It was the fairy tale creature from earlier, not meditating anymore.
"Yeah, I'm fine thanks. Traveling isn't my thing, and I'm also kinda stressed. You know. Just... the upcoming tournament. I didn't think I'd actually get this far...."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Kaigan was about to break it with an offer of sympathy when Daimen spoke up.
"So where are you from? I've never seen a cute little fellow like you before."
"Oh I'm from a long ways away... it's nice and peaceful there, but kind of boring. I'm a kobold."
Blushing, Kaigan swiftly returned the attention back to Damien.
"So if you knew you would be nervous, why did you join the tournament anyway?"
"Uh. At the time, it seemed to be a good way to go traveling and meeting new and interesting people... and it seems I've done that."
Damien chuckled and spread his arms wide, including the whole carriage train in his statement. Kaigan seemed to agree, nodding along with him and gazing at his fellow competitors.
"So who do you think the most interesting of them is right now?"
This question was an interesting one for both people, causing another brief moment of silence as they considered the answers. Damien answered first again.
"I think everyone who entered has a story to them... however if I had to choose, I'd think it's the leather robed dude and Sturgar who are most interesting. They're so... concealed. The armor, the cloak, they must be hiding something."
His answer seemed very earnest, and Kaigan nodded along.
"They are quite curious, and kind of intimidating, but I'm gonna talk to everyone here hopefully. I'd say the one I want to know more about most is the cat person. I've never seen one before, and he looks scared too. I hope things go well for him. Heck, I hope things go well for everyone, and that everyone has a good time. This appears to be a very political tournament as well. For instance, the lady who brought so much luggage... she seemed to think of this as a place to make alliances I think. Why else would she have so many bags if not to give gifts and make friends?"
Damien seemed to ignore that last bit, hooked on something else Kaigan had said.
"Yeah... everyone here seems pretty intimidating. Good luck talking to them; you're braver than I am to do that. I too think it would be nice if everyone was to enjoy themselves, but that probably won't happen. After all, there's only one winner, and most people here came to be that person."
Kaigan shrugged at that.
"If their fun means that they have to win, I feel bad for them. They must have a very sad existence with no life or friends since their fun would be so rare..."
He broke off his sentance there, blushing.
"Then again, this could be kind of hypocritical. I don't have much experience losing, never anything more sever than friendly sparring matches. I suppose if their goal is fame or something, losing might be a bigger deal... Oh uh. That probably sounded wrong-"
He seemed confused on how to say what he meant properly. Damien shook his head, smiling, and interrupted the babble coming from the kobold's mouth.
"No, no. You got it right. If they live for victory and demand it of themselves at every turn, for any reason, their life is full of stress, pain, and disappointment."
A brief, pained look crossed his face at that statement, but was quickly chased away. So quickly indeed that Kaigan missed it almost entirely, passing it off as a trick of the light. Switching topics almost as quickly, he fires off a question.
"So what did you think of the "Akon" thing?"
Kaigan brightened up, eager to talk about this.
"Well, I'm not quite sure if Akon is it's name or if it means something else, but whatever it was, the soldiers did a great job taking it down! Their teamwork was something, and to think that they didn't just decide to throw us in front of it to fight!"
Chuckling at the kobolds naiveness, Damien shook his head.
"I don't know either; it's a new word to me too. You're right about the guards, and I'm glad to have them. I was thinking more of the beast itself. It looked like something right out of a tale to scare kids into proper behavior."
"Oh! Yeah, it was freaky. You know when the tentacles came out? Do you think those were magical or natural? Also, uh. Where's your weapon? If that thing had got past the guards..."
"I'd guess they're part of it's body naturally. If it was sentient enough to cast spells, things would have been a lot worse. And I don't have a weapon. I don't believe in fighting when I don't have to, and if I had one, I'd end up fighting more."
Kaigan was taken aback. Yes that was sensible, but Damien had signed up for this, and if it doesn't count as "unnecessary fighting" he didn't know what would.
"So... how do you plan on competing in the tournament then? Do you have magic or something to allow you to beat people?"
Damien is quiet for a moment. Almost solemn. He slowly picks his hands off his lap, holding them up and staring at them. Eventually he balled them into fists and looks up at the small red creature standing in front of him.
"With these," he said, a look of dead seriousness on his face. The determination and strength of the moment was palpable. Kaigan nodded in admiration and respect, smiling.
"Then if we are unlucky and we are pitted against each other, I too will only use these.":
He mimicked Damien's motions, holding his hands up and slowly curling them into fists, even if it is better to strike with an open hand. At this Damien was the one smiling. Having relaxed his stance back to a comfortable seat, he grinned.
"You're quite the honorable one. I wish you the best of luck in this tournament."
As the caged carts rolled into the castle courtyard, the two relaxed, maybe not ready, but at least willing to take on what the next days would bring.
After Arn returned from his rampage, he felt collected and calm. Only so rarely would he be so overwhelmed with the need for violence but after that release, he found solace. Arn could not help but remember the fear on those animals, which caused him to remember the first time (at least to his knowledge) he really remembered feeling fear.
*Flashback* Arn sat enjoying the serenity of nature under the obscuring canopies of Eldraine. Only a few months before he had lead an unfortunate army into their untimely demise after tricking them into a river and with the new found powers taught by Oko, it was made all the more enjoyable. Arn felt untouchable, almost like a god, he couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. If this is how planeswalkers feel then Arn wanted more. More importantly if planeswalker sparks awakened during times of desperate need, why didn't he awaken one?
His thought was cut short by a distant sound of rumbling that was growing louder and louder. Could it be another assassin? When would Kenrith learn. Arn had constantly dispatched them, each being stronger than the last but falling all the same with the one known as Ta'asmhun being the hardest to deceive. It would be a bold faced lie to say the last two had been felled by his sheer might but Arn cared not, after all a dead assassin is a good assassin. Either way if another assassin was coming Arn was ready.
The rumbling grew louder and louder as trees parted way for something and from the looks of it, it was something large. Arn had barely got the chance to move when a massive boar come tearing through the trees shredding them and sending splinters into the air.
As the foliage cleared, Arn spotted a figure on top of the boar, and before he got the chance to collect himself, another crash happened uprooting trees and sending them into the air as Arn leaped to a nearby tree. He figured that the best way to assess the threat for now was from afar.
Arn: "Another assassin, don't you guys ever learn?" Arn yelled from atop the tree.
Kyneal: "No, something way worse than that!"
Kyneal: "Queen Linden and King Kenrith have heard enough of your shenanigans" Kyneal said preparing Klyox for one more charge.
Arn attempted to wild shift but Kyneal gave him no chance to do so as Klyox came crashing through the trees shattering them as Arn leaped from tree to tree escaping. He leaped grabbing a tree branch and performed a hand flip landing on another then propelled himself from the tree's trunk and attempted to cut the beast but the beast's hide was too thick. Klyox turned its head hitting Arn as it shattered ribs and sent him rolling into the nearby bushes.
Arn felt no pain due to him being a spirit attached to a decaying body and before his body made a full recovery Klyox charged again, splintering the surrounding tree as yet again Arn barely avoided its wrath. At this rate Arn was surely going to be maimed. He hid behind a tree and for the first time in a thousand years he also felt a tinge of fear mixed with excitement, It was at this moment that he also decided that sometimes even great hunters have to retreat.
Arn focused his wild magic as he heard Klyox charge at the surrounding trees and he managed just by a split second to shift into a bird like creature and fly of as Klyox and Kyneal razed the grounds searching for him.
Ever since then Arn intentionally pursued bigger targets, constantly seeking bigger threats to challenge him, seeking bigger prey to hunt.
*Flashback End*
Arn: "That Sturgar fellow looks like a skilled combatant, I wonder if he will give me the thrill I seek. It may not be as exciting as Klyox but it might offer me the excitement I I'm looking for around here. Besides, a lot of combatants here don't look that impressive with maybe an exception being that Imilia."
I have sent a message to the five people who posted their heroes to this tournament during the drafting period, but didn't get chosen. They have approximately 12 hours to answer if they want to get their hero into this game. On 23:59 CST (Central Standard Time) I will randomly choose a new player for this game from among those who have answered to the message by that time.
The match positions will be revealed today as planned, so stay tuned!
We can sit wherever we like, hmm? This should be interesting...
Imilia arrived in the dining hall, eyes scanning the room with one thing on her mind. Opportunity. Her eyes wandered to the ends of the table, looking for someone to corner and force into a conversation. Her eyes lit up as she saw the melancholy boy from earlier sitting by himself at the far end of the table. She had found opportunity. She quickly adjusted her white silk gloves and the gold pin in her hair, before gracefully sitting down next to the boy and offering him a hand. Smiling softly, she introduced herself
"Imilia Haas, Junior Consul at Baltenainne." The boy looked somewhat flustered, giving Imilia a full once-over before taking her hand and shaking it.
"Lyuben R-... ah... Just Lyuben." Imilia's smile widened as she felt the boy's hand in her own. The sensory enhancement sigils she had sewn into her gloves were working, and Lyuben's handshake held enough information to fill a library. His palm was soft and smooth, but tingled with traces of magic. Powerful magic. Interesting. These hands definitely didn't belong to a working man. his fingers were long, but the fingertips felt calloused. A piano player? Similarity breeds amity. Perfect. The shake itself was firm, definitely well practiced, but was simultaneously trepidatious, filled with an air of doubt. He's nervous, of course. Anyone would be.
"Well Lyuben, it's a pleasure to meet you. What exactly brings you here?"
"A pleasure to meet you as well Ms. Haas. As for your question, well, you know, I'm just... trying to figure out the scope of my abilities, that's all. Same as quite a few people here, I'd assume. And what of you?"
"I've been eager to test out some new magic of my own design. It's part of my Journeymage project for this year. And speaking of other people," Imilia said, lowering her voice, "I'd recommend staying away from Miss Reveera. She may play nice, but I've gleaned a modicum of knowledge as to her future goals, and let me tell you, she's dangerous, and definitely not to be trusted." Lyuben's brow furrowed.
"I see. Thank you for the advice."
"Oh, don't thank me. Consider it a courtesy. Couldn't have my new friends be taken advantage of now, could I?" Lyuben recoiled slightly. Hmmm. Not too keen on being 'friends' then. Interesting. That'll change soon enough.
"No, I wouldn't think so..." Imilia sighed, laughing slightly
"Goodness, where are my manners, launching into topics like this. Let's talk something lighter, hmm, and we can enjoy this delicious looking food?" Lyuben nodded, smiling slightly.
"I can get on board with that." Imilia smiled once more, and filled their glasses from a tankard of golden alcohol. Lyuben opened his mouth to stop her, but it was too late. Imilia looked at him, tilting her head in question.
"I... I don't drink, sorry, my parents-" Imilia looked into his eyes, and gently pressed the glass into his hand.
"Come on, at least try it. I guarantee it's delicious. But that's alright if you don't want to, not everyone can handle it." Lyuben took the glass, smirking slightly
"Alright, I'll give it a shot, I suppose."
"That's the spirit!"
They clinked their glasses together, and moments later, the food was served. Imilia watched as Lyuben reached for his napkin, tucking it into his shirt, saying a quick prayer before reaching for his food. Imilia followed suit absentmindedly, as her mind kicked up into overdrive. Expert table manners, expansive vocabulary, practiced handshake, parents who don't let him drink, sophisticated etiquette, and the fingers of a trained pianist. Who is this boy?
Imilia smiled gleefully as her knife slid cleanly into a chicken breast. She didn't even know the reason for his melancholy, but this boy was already a gold mine. I'll have you soon enough, Lyuben. Just you wait, I'll have you hog tied in chains, wrapped around my little finger, answering my every beck and call. And then, your magic will be mine...
Kaigan started and jerked up as the bars were smacked. It was a very rude awakening for those who were asleep, and even for him it was a bit shocking. He piled out with everyone else, and then they arrived. Standing tall over him were the servants. A huge discongruity with how they had been treated before, having two people waiting on him for instructions and caring for him felt so odd. Didn't they have anything more important to do? He didn't have anything to carry besides what was on his back, in his hands, or on his body.
He didn't voice these thoughts though; that would have been rude to them. Rather, he graciously accepted their assistance as they guided him to his room. Expecting probably a nice stone chamber with a pleasant cot, he was truly surprised by a giant area, a roaring fire, soft carpets, a wardrobe, and even a fancy chest! With a lock!
When offered a bath, Kaigan politely declined, but asked for one tomorrow morning. The servants nodded in acknowledgment, and headed out to let him settle in in comfort.
After putting literally everything in the chest, Kaigan headed to the bed. It was huge, even for a human bed. For some people here, that would be good, but he had to clamber on top of it. It was so bouncy! Double checking that there was no one there, he took a surreptitious jump. The bed barely creaked beneath him, and he chuckled, jumping again, and a third time, as hard as he could. Giggling, he continued to bounce for a few minutes, before landing on his back. He was still chuckling five minutes later as the servants came in to tell him it was time to eat.
The meal was beautiful, and quite delicious. Kaigan saw a lot of people talking as they ate, but that wasn't for him. Food is food. If you talk while you eat, someone takes your plate for their own. And while he knew that wasn't gonna happen here, that lesson had been quite well ingrained into his head.
Dinner didn't take long for him; he didn't need to eat near as much as anyone else. Excusing himself, one of the servants cleared away his plate and the other offered to escort him on a tour around the fort. Kaigan gladly accepted. Knowing his way around the fort would be really nice... although he'd probably need guides for the next two to three days at least. This place was a lot bigger than Kher Keep. And in much better repair too.
The servant walked with him in a counter clockwise direction around the interior, showing off the internal supplies for the fort along with the practice grounds. As the sun passed down behind the walls of the fort and the lighting of dusk filled the sky, Kaigan made it to the beautiful orchard. The trees were thick and lush in the spring air, buds already appearing on the branches. A gardener was at work, pruning off branches on some of the trees. Kaigan paused his guide, and started to wander the orchard. Rounding an especially thick trunk, he came face to face with the suit of armor from his carriage. Suppressing a yip of surprise, Kaigan backed away for a bit. The large metal man hadn't noticed him yet, staring off at the branches and the sky.
Picking up his nerves a bit, Kaigan tapped on the armor. Turning to face him, the armor didn't seem angry. It didn't seem anything really.
"Excuse me... uh. What are you? Who are you? We were in the same cart; my name is Kaigan."
He was scared, inordinately so. The man didn't have his weapons here, and Kaigan didn't believe he was under any threat anyway. Still, that urge to flee persisted, and it was hard not to follow it.
The metal being turned and started to scratch in the dirt with a stick. Thinking he was drawing something, Kaigan went over to see what it was. However, the shapes being made seemed to be nothing. He turned to the metal suit, a confused look on his face. The metal man turned to him, looking right back. Turning to the servant to see if he gets it, Kaigan is rather surprised by the repressed laughter on the dudes face.
"Do you know what that means?"
He had a feeling that him not knowing amused the servant for some reason, but ignored it. The servant nodded. "He says his name is Sturgar and that he was a dragonborn. Apparently an explosion hit him hard and destroyed most of his body. This suit of his runs mostly on steam power and a bit of magic."
As the servant said this, a large puff of said steam came out of the mechanical dragonborn. Kaigan turned back to him. "Yikes, that must have hurt. Uh. Do you still feel things? Is it lonely being in a suit like that? I can't imagine that there are a lot of people in your situation..."
The servant continues to translate. "Yes he is lonely, but his duty comes first. And things feel different physically as well. He doesn't feel pain. When he sleeps, he dreams of the body he once had, but in real life, he uh. Wow this is awkward. He says he's usually mocked, treated like a freak, or that people are scared of him, so he normally keeps to himself."
At this point the servant was talking quite quietly. Kaigan nods, his eyes still on Sturgar.
"I know what you mean... the rest of the cart thought you were pretty scary. A giant suit of metal armor tends to have that effect. But if you want to keep to yourself, why would you go on a competition like this? It seems like one of the best ways to get yourself known."
Sturgar started to write rapidly, enough that the servant had trouble keeping up and reading it. "Duke Nartheus thought it would be fun and good publicity to get more people to do business with him, and he owes this man so much. He cann't refuse."
"Oh. Is it a debt of money or services?"
"Both. The Duke chose to save his life, and the work and materials that went into this body were in no way cheap."
Kaigan makes a sympathetic noise as Sturgar continues to write. "Without the Duke, he'd most certainly be dead from his injuries, so he protects the Duke with his life. Nartheus is coming tomorrow, and that stresses him because, well, he can't protect him while down in the arena."
For a mechanized person, Sturgar was unsettlingly human for the next bit. Even though his legs couldn't actually give out, he collapsed to the ground, hands on his face as if he were crying. It was clear that he was kinda having a moment, and Kaigan came close.
"Was it something I said? Hey, look, it's ok. I'm sure he'll be fine; this is a military fort. He came because he cares and wants to see you do well I'm sure. If you win, no one will dare mess with him because of you. And if you lose, you go right back to protecting him!"
Those words seemed to have some effect, and with the help of some pats on the shoulder from those small hands, Sturgar seemed to get over his breakdown. Still sitting, he grabbed the stick again and wrote something new. The servant relayed it quite faithfully, but seemed very, very awkward.
"Where are you from, little one, and why are you here?"
Kaigan sighs a little sigh.
"I'm from a land fairly far away. It's very peaceful there. Very quiet. Very little happens and we keep mostly to ourselves for the main part. I'm here because I want to help... the champion is supposed to help here, right? I'm not needed where I'm from either, which helps. So uh. Have you ever had like, practical combat experience? Because I know you said you guarded the Duke, but I wouldn't think attacks are that common..."
Before Kaigan had even finished speaking, Sturgar was already up and writing again.
"Yes! Oh tons and tons! Duke Nartheus is very rich, and a lot of people want to steal that wealth. I not only look after the Duke himself, but also his shipments of goods. The place you come from sounds nice... there wouldn't be a lot of reasons to fight there."
"Yeah. It's a lot more tame. I've only been in two real fights, although a good number of sparring matches. The first fight was a group melee for like training, but it was still a fight for real. The other time was on my way here... there were a bunch of highway robbers that had to be taken care of."
Sturgar did his best to convey a smile as he wrote out some more. "I'm sure you are a very capable fighter. Small size is an advantage, as it comes with speed, and your opponents will understimate you. I reccomend you play into it, acting weak to fool your opponents."
Kaigan thought about this for a second, then slowly shook his head.
"Maybe, but is that really the fair move? Isn't that, you know, deception? I won't go boasting, but I'm not going to try and trick people either. It doesn't seem right to me..."
At this Sturgar shrugs. "More than a few other contestants seem less than honorable" he wrote. "Many of them are very powerful and would not hesitate to go all out on you, so I would think you need to use every edge you have on them. However, it's your choice in the end, and I respect you for your willingness to do what you see as right."
"Thank you for your advice... I'll definitely think about it. I hope you're wrong in your assessment of them, or if you're right, that they learn to be better though... So what do you think of each person as a whole?"
Sturgar takes a moment to think about this, organizing his thoughts.
"I don't trust Imilia, Conscience and Arn. I'm not worried about Damien and Iseabel, and I'm curious about The Soundweaver, Ytsix, and Lubyen, but I know nothing about them, so I'm gonna be careful. As for Hadid, Nilfi, and Noah, I think can take them, but Arha worries me because she seems the most ordinary, which might mean she's hiding the most. I'm not too curious about her, just worried."
"Dr. Cypherous terrifies me, as lightning basically paralyzes me and fries my internal mechanisms. I'm not actually sure Damien should even be here, considering he's unarmed and doesn't look tough at all. I think that Conscience is very arrogant and overconfident, unless she's secretly an assassain, in which case I'm very scared."
"Surely she could just be a diplomat!" Kaigan interjected as the servant got to that point, and the servant paused for a response. Sturgar paused too, then in a clean area started to write out something new.
"If she's a diplomat, then why is she in the competition? You could have a point, but my intuition as a bodyguard says she is suspicious."
Kaigan nodded his understanding.
"I just like to think the best of everyone. I'm not the smartest, but I'm sure there's reasons she could be fine."
Shaking his head at the young kobolds optimism, Sturgar erased everything he wrote with his feet, then started anew.
"So optimistic. I hope this turns out well for you. So what do you think of them? Who do you like your odds against?"
This time it was Kaigan pausing to figure things out. After a few minutes, he had collected his thoughts.
"So. I think I can take Noah, who looks pretty alright generally. Lyuben looks magical, but probably in a way where we could fight fairly. The Soundweaver looks very interesting... perhaps he influences animals? It'd be a fun match probably. Optimistically, I'd be able to take Conscience, but with what you've said I find myself doubting it. Arha would be a good match-up as it is two spears against each other. Perhaps she's a monk too, I should have asked her."
"Iseabel is strange to me... I'm not sure what to make of her, but I trust that she's probably on par with Conscience in power level. Same with Imalia; witches are powerful. Hell, some of my kind have been hunted by witches where I'm from to be used as ingredients."
"I feel like Arn is probably really powerful, but I'm sure that he has a weakness. Perhaps behind the mask? The Doctor seems to me to be most likely to beat me in a fair fight without trying to use dirty tricks. Or maybe Hadid? Portals are very powerful, but that seems to be his only thing."
"Damien is a friend, and it'd be sad for us to face down. We promised to both not use weapons if we fought, and I will try not to harm him at all. Ytsix is the most interesting one. He seems very sad and scared but very nice. I'm hoping to talk to him tomorrow, maybe make another friend. Nifli looks honorable, although I'm not even sure of their gender, and I also want to talk to them."
After this diatribe, Sturgar picks his stick back up.
"It's nice that you are not using weapons with Damien, but go back to the bit with witches hunting you guys. That's horrible, what the hell is wrong? Why don't you guys fight back?"
"Oh. Uh. Most of that was long back before kobolds had their own kingdom. There is the very rare odd case where a witch still kidnaps one of us, but the practice has largely gone away. However, there still are some that want us for our kidneys, brains, or eyes... but we don't know who."
Kaigan shuddered a bit as he said this. It's a problem that never really got dealt with because there wasn't a place to strike at.
"Anyway. Who do you think will be your most interesting matchup?"
"Heh. Fighting Imilia would be interesting," Sturgar wrote. "She's got some sort of strange magic, but I don't quite think it will be effective against me. If they allow her companion into the arena it might be a good fight. Same with Nifli or Hadid on the magic bit. I'm not quite sure what they plan to do against 800 pounds of solid metal."
Kaigan giggled at that, especially since Sturgar struck a power pose as the servant said 800 pounds.
"You're really cool and funny... so have you talked with anyone else here?"
The reply was swift. "I cannot talk... but no. I mostly keep to myself, although I actually would like to get to know some of the other contestants more. Knowledge is power after all. Either way I need some more peace. Good night little onel, and good luck tomorrow."
Kaigan returned the wishes for rest and luck and put his hand out to shake. Sturgar took the little hand in his massive metal one and solemly shook it, patting the kobold on the head with another hand. As the servant led Kaigan away, Sturgar went back to gazing at the night sky, his mind still a mystery to the young kobold.
OHHHHH My god Thank goodness this is done. I loved writing it but it took forever. Thank you @theirintheattic for working with me on this. As always, if you have any problem, and I do mean any problem, with how I wrote your character, please contact me via Discord and tell me about it. I'm almost always available on there, and I will fix it asap. I took a little more creative license writing this than I did last time mainly because of how long it was. I hope everyone enjoys!
Light of the morning sun reflected from the water surface of the lake and the walls of the island fortress, where the travelers arrived yesterday evening. Sir Killian stepped out of his room, and was on his way to the contestants' rooms, which were on the opposite wing of the main building. The knight was wearing a black gambeson with brown leather buckles. A sheathed shortsword was attached to his belt, and the greatsword which he used to battle the abyss beast was steadily hanging on his back scabbard's metal hooks. The sound of leather boots stepping on the stone floor echoed in the corridors as he walked up the stairs and arrived to the first door. He knocked each room's door a few times while saying audibly "Wake up and get some breakfast in the dining hall. Then come to the courtyard. Captain Rheinallt will announce the match positions." After knocking on the last door, Sir Killian went to stand right next to the stairs with his hands crossed over his chest. He said good morning to each contestant who walked past him, then watched them walk down the stairs as they were on their way to the dining hall. All except one. Someone was missing. Sir Killian searched the missing contestant's room, and noticed it was empty. Perplexed, he left the room and joined the others in the dining hall, which was much brighter than during last night's feast, since the morning sun shined directly in there through the countless windows. On his way, he greeted each servant with a smile, and some even mentioned that a knight such as himself didn't need to wake other people up, but Killian simply shook his head and said it was part of his duty to make sure they are alright now and then.
After eating the morning porridge, Sir Killian walked to the fort courtyard. Tournament guards were already there standing in a formation. Captain Rheinallt and Judge Gaspar were having a discussion next to a wooden podium, and Rodolf was leaning to the main building's wall, hidden in a shadow while sharpening one of his daggers. Killian approached the assassin. "A contestant is missing," the knight said immediately.
"Removed by the Judge," Rodolf answered and nodded to the old man's direction. "That's all he told me. He won't give any other explanation. No need to tell the details to the grunts, apparently."
"We need to find a replacement and fast. The tournament can't have any more delays!"
"Take it easy, duty-bound knight. A new fighter has already been picked and is on their way here. It cost the Judge extra money, but what can one do when some things go wrong?" Rodolf patted Killian's shoulder and cracked a smile. "There will be much more trouble in the coming days, but luckily we are expert problem-solvers! Oh look, they're finally here." The assassin pointed at the group that had started to gather in front of the wooden podium. The Captain walked onto the podium, then he cleared his voice.
"Morning, contestants! I hope you slept well, since you'll need all the rest you can get before your matches, which I will announce shortly! But there are two things which I should mention. Firstly, let me properly introduce you to the man who joined you during your journey yesterday," then the Captain beckoned the assassin to come in front of the contestants. Rodolf sheathed the dagger into a hidden scabbard in his left arm's sleeve, put on his hood, then walked from the shadow into the bright morning light. When he was between the podium and the contestants, he bowed deeply.
"Rodolf is my name. I am a Blade of Champions. If some of you haven't figured it out already, my job is to get rid of anything that's in the way of current champions or new potential ones like yourselves," the assassin said cheerfully, but then his smile faded as he unsheathed his longsword. As it gleamed in the sunlight, the black stains in its blade were clearly visible. They were identical to the marks on his face. "I'm also skilled at putting freaks like you down, should you go rogue or pick wrong battles," he said in a serious tone. "And when I do it, no one will stop me as I hunt you down until you taste a death in my hands. People will cheer my name for a job well done, and I will be rewarded before your souls reach the gate of afterlife." He looked at each contestant's expression for a while as he pointed at them with the weapon, then a wide grin shined under his hood as he sheathed the sword. "But none of you look like idiots, so I'm sure we'll get along just fine! As long as you kindly keep the killings within the arenas, you have nothing to fear! Easy, right? Hahaha!"
"Thank you, Rodolf," Captain Rheinallt said as he smiled a bit awkwardly. The assassin walked away while the old soldier picked up a list, which a tournament guard handed to him. "Ahem! Secondly," the Captain mumbled as he looked at the list. "Contestants of the seventeenth Tournament of Champions! We are sorry to inform you that there are only fifteen of you at this moment. We had to remove one of you, since the contestant who shall remain unnamed broke rules of the game. But we have a new contestant on their way here, who will replace the missing spot, and their name is..."
A copy of the match position list is placed in a bulletin board for everyone to see at the start of the bridge, which connects to the island fortress. There's an in-game week preparation time for the fighters of the first match, then the second match will be hosted the day after, and so on until there are 8 heroes left. Each arena will be revealed on the day of the match. There are also some useful locations and people which your heroes should visit as they prepare for their matches, but I will reveal them later!
The first match will be held on Sunday 4th of April!
Sleepwalking [with character credit to @CassZero - thanks for collaborating!]
Hadid seldom dreamed. Sleep is respite for a restless mind so why waste it on nonsense? he would rib those who asked about his dreamless nights. It wasn’t as though he chose it, the silence and the solitude. If he had his druthers he would continue iterating spells through his sleeping hours.
So when sleep finally came and Hadid opened his eyes to a vivid symphony of vibrant colors, he knew something was amiss. He stood in a garden of impossibly large roses with crimson petals the size of dinner tables. The gargantuan bushes spread out in all directions like a thorny hedge-maze, well-worn footpaths snaking aimlessly through them. The sky above was brushed with pastel clouds that slowly twisted around each other and a humid summer breeze rustled through the oversized foliage.
Hadid glanced warily around the garden. His lucidity was unsettling. The heat of the air made his skin sticky and he felt the give of the rich soil underfoot as he took a cautious step forward. The sweet floral aroma palpably swirled past him as he began to walk, leaving pollen-heavy eddies in his wake. A gentle buzz vibrated through everything, an echo of organic sound like distant locusts.
And so it went for a time - Hadid walked. Each path led to new crossroads between even more patches of rose bushes. There were no repeating patterns like an illusion or puzzle; it really seemed that he was in an endless maze of carefully cultivated flora. After several fruitless attempts to make discernable progress, he elected to orient himself toward a distant patina in the iridescent sky. The brighter glow was barely perceptible between the thorny foliage but he reasoned that it was far better than wandering aimlessly.
Without any fanfare or apparent cause, the path finally, mercifully opened into a clearing of sorts. One of the giant roses towered above the rest of its bush at the clearing’s edge. A young man sat perched atop it, gazing intently at an unseen point in the distance, toward whatever setting sunlight - or was it a moon? - Hadid had been pursuing. The man’s long black overcoat fluttered gently in the hot breeze and an ornate spear rested against his shoulder. His easy posture suggested poise and expertise but Hadid didn’t perceive any hostility. At least not presently, he mused.
Hadid softly cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Are we in your dream?”
An almost imperceptible shadow of surprise crossed the young man’s face as he looked down. He regarded Hadid with an inscrutable expression. “No,” he said after a beat. “It’s not mine.”
Hadid scratched his head in disappointment. “How troubling then that my mind is full of flowers.”
“It’s not that either. It’s more like a memory.”
“A good memory?”
The young man looked back to the infinitely distant horizon. The insectoid buzzing sound lingered heavily in the air.
Hadid shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Ah, well my apologies for the intrusion. I assure you it was unintentional. If you’d be kind enough to point me out...”
“You can stay for a bit, if you’d like.”
Hadid opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself. He stooped down and sat cross-legged in the dirt at the base of the bush. What harm was there in waiting?
Hadid’s breathing became slow and measured. The wind continued to rustle musically through the garden. Motes of light and pollen drifted by on swirls of warmth, dancing to the lilting rhythm. Kaleidoscopic light played across the turned earth, tracing mystic patterns across the clearing. The atmosphere was revitalizing without being invigorating. He felt energies flowing in and across his chest as he breathed.
The young man’s voice floated through the tranquility of the moment. “You can’t cross into the world of dreams unless you have suffered a terrible nightmare.”
Hadid pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose I have at some point.”
“You’re here, which means you’ve crossed the threshold before.”
“Quite possibly. I’ve dabbled with a great many thresholds. It’s a special interest of mine.”
The man looked down at Hadid from the rose. His eyes narrowed slightly as though scrutinizing a difficult text.
“My name is Hadid,” he offered quickly. “I’m a scholar. Well, technically a teacher and researcher.”
Seeming satisfied, the young man leaned back again. “I’m Noah.”
“It’s… good to meet you Noah.” Hadid sighed deeply, watching a stray rose petal flutter by. Moments passed in meditative quiet before he spoke again. “Did you bring me here?”
Noah shook his head slowly. “No. This is preparation.”
“Ah, for the event tomorrow?”
Another pause. “In part.”
“I truly didn’t intend to interrupt.”
“You haven’t. Sometimes company is helpful.”
The two sat for some time, though for how long it was impossible for Hadid to determine. The soft humming continued to coax energies through his frame as his eyelids grew heavy. His next moment of clarity was waking up to slivers of sunlight peeking through the opulent curtains of the tournament quarters, feeling better rested than he had in several years.
He sat up and stretched, considering the oddity of his experience. A terrible nightmare, huh? he thought as he pulled on a robe. I wonder what his nightmare was?
Iseabel moved the spoon around in the soup. Bits of meat, potato, carrots and other things. Steaphan stood behind her, silent as usual. If he had been anyone else she would not even have known that he was there, but he was her brother. She could feel him, his flesh, his bones, his blood, skin, hair, she could feel everything that was part of him. She did not know if it was because he was her brother or if it was her powers of necromancy that made her feel him. She scooped up a piece of meat and potato with her spoon when suddenly someone of the other contestants broke out in laughter. Iseabel froze as to ice as the sounds of the room grew louder in her hear. Someone was slamming his metal mug with his fork, someone else was ripping and tearing into a large grilled pig and the sound of chewing mouths, teeth against teeth and breaking bones were filling her head. It became too much and the memories overwhelmed her mind.
"Steaphan!" Iseabel yelled. "Steaphan, where are you!?" She ran through the burning city and through collapsed buildings. Trough the entire city people were screaming and shouting, dogs were barking and growling, dark beasts were screeching and roaring. Balls of fire flew through the sky, illuminating the streets around her. Buildings and structures collapsed in the distance and a wave of demonic flying beasts descended to catch their prey. Screams filled the air as the people who had survived were being eaten alive.
A burning log hit the ground so splinters covered in fire were shot outwards. Iseabel covered her face as the splinters rained over her, leaving burned marks over her skin. She wanted to scream but she was completely out of breathing from running and yelling for Steaphan. She leaned over a wooden fence as her organs were pulsating within her. Tears were pouring down fromm her eyes. She though she was about to throw up but the as the pained eased so did her stomach. She continued forward through the smoke.
Soon she came to the river that ran through the city. She could she that the bridge that used to connect the two city halves had been destroyed. Villagers and soldiers were trying to cross the river by boat or swimming. "Steaphan!" She yelled as she looked around at the people in and beyond the river. After a few seconds she heard something. She looked at the other side were a regiment of soldiers were helping villagers up from the water. Among them a soldier was waving towards her. "Steaphan!" she yelled with a smile growing on her lips.
She hurried down to the water and the mass of escaping villagers. She walked down into the water just behind a family with two children. The father was leading the children, two boys who could not have been older than 9 and 5 years old respectively. The mother followed tightly after as they began to swim. Iseabel looked at the father almost carrying the youngest on his shoulders, as she forced her body into the cold water. The boy was probably too young to swim.
Iseabel did not swim for long before she caught up to the mother, while the father and the sons swam further beyond her. Something was clearly draining her power, pregnancy or sickness perhaps. She tried to shout to the others but she was out of breath and water splashed down her face so she gave up and focused on swiming. They had not even made it across the midpoint when Iseabel swam past the mother. Then something shook the ground and made waves in the water, then again, like footsteps bearing something heavy. Some people in the river swam faster while other tried to turn back. The father and the boys were always ashore when a shadow appeared between the building.
People who had made it to the shoreline panicked and ran away, some even back into the water. Iseabel looked towards Steaphan and the soldiers who hurried to get the villagers away from the shoreline. One of the walls of the house closest to the shoreline collapsed as a huge hand reached through. 30 feet tall demon with covered in moss and mushrooms appeared behind what was left of the house. It smiled with a discussing mouth as it approached the river. The people ran if they could but those in the water could not get away. The demon caught a man who tried to run. It lifted him up towards his head.
"Chunk!"
The demon bit of the man's head. It chewed on it like a delicacy before it devoured the rest of the body in a single bite. It moved down to the water, grabbing the people like a farmer picking apples from a tree. It barely finished the last one before it grabbed a new struggling villager. Then it grabbed the father who threw the boy off his shoulder. The mother screamed as she powerlessly saw her husband being devoured. The boy struggled to keep his head above the surface but was soon rescued by his older brother. Then the demon reached out his hand again, now grabbing the two boys. The mother screamed in panic, a screamed that turned Iseabel's blood to ice. The mother cried, screamed and looked as if she was about to faint as she witnessed her sons disappear into the demon's chewing mouth. Arrows were uselessly fired upon the demon from the soldiers on land but to no effect. The mother fell silent. She just floated with dead eyes watching the demon take prey after prey with an never ending lust to feed its belly. Then the demon reached towards Iseabel, but it stopped its hand. It looked at Iseabel for a second before it proceeded to grab some man just behind her. Two men more would fall victim to the demon before it stopped its feast. The demon looked up into the sky as what seemed to be sunlight began to pierce the black clouds. The demon turned back and hurried up into the city again. Then the sky opened up. The last time Iseabel would be happy for the arrival of angels. She looked towards Steaphan, but she saw someone else stare at her.
Iseabel stood up from the dining table. She left the room without having touched anymore of the soup.
Staring at the board that announce the fights, Conscience smiled triumphantly, seeing her matchup. Spinning around, she walked away, Tresa following in her footsteps.
“Well, I guess you’ll be able to test out that theory now. Your draining magic versus Cypherous, the being made of magic.” Tresa smirked. “Fairly sure you’ll win.” Ignoring her, Conscience continued walking, before speaking.
“Tresa. Find me everything you can get your hand on about aetherborn, as well as anything more about Cypherous. I want a full portfolio within the next few days.” Conscience spun abruptly, stopping in her tracks. “I’m taking no risks, got it? Now, I’m going to go train.” Turning back, she headed to a training area, Tresa hurriedly following her.
“That’s all?” she asked. Before Conscience could answer, a little girl came running out of a side passage, accidentally bumping into her leg.
“Oops!” the little girl said, smiling up at Conscience. “You’re Conscience, right? I think you’re really cool.” Tresa tensed, expecting Conscience to snap out for the little girl to apologize, like she did with everyone. Instead, a faraway look appeared, and she bent down, looking eye-to-eye with the little girl. “Well it’s okay. Everyone bumps into other people. You think I’m cool?”
“Yah! You dress great and you look like you’d kick everyone’s butts!” The little girl pumped her fist in the air.
“That’s true,” Conscience laughed, not a mocking laugh, but one of joy. “So you’re going to root for me?”
“Of course! The guy you’re going to fight looks weird and is weird.” The little girl stretched out her hand. “My name’s Sophie! It’s nice to meet you.” Smiling, she ran off, waving and yelling bye.
“Why were you so nice to her? You’re never that nice.” Tresa frowned.
“Do you have that sense, the one that tells you what’s right, and what’s wrong?” Conscience still had the faraway look, as if she was trying to recall something.
“Yeah?” Tresa was visibly confused.
“Really? But you did all the stealing, and killing people’s reputations with those notes.” She had obviously not received the response she thought she’d get.
“Well, I thought of it as a trade. Steal something, but replace it with a note. Something that would ruin someone. I’d pick the people who’d be ruined by asking people I was close with, figuring out who would do terrible things. What I was doing I considered karma, payback for all the bad things they’d done.” Tresa smiled slightly. “Why do you ask?”
“I suppose I’ve never really had one of those. Morals, they’re called. When I was a child, if I did something bad, like lying to my mother or stealing something, like a cookie, I wouldn’t feel anything. I thought that was what everyone felt. Then, I read a book. Journey of a Foreigner, I believe it was called.” Her face dropped, as if recalling something terrible. “It was about a man, who felt nothing. He had no emotion, and the book was about his journey across a continent, where he learned lessons of what was right, wrong, happy, sad, so on. I realized from that, that everyone has something that says what is right to do, and what is wrong to do. A compass of sorts. That girl…she made me remember something. The only moment I’ve ever realized that I was wrong, that I’d done something terrible.” Not explaining any further, Conscience turned away, hiding something.
“I picked you to help me because I thought we’d be similar. I don’t really have anyone that really understands me, nor that I understand. I guess, deep down, I was afraid that being in this tournament would awaken something, a reckoning for me.” Tresa moved forward, putting her hand on the other girl’s shoulder.
“I understand. People who are different can still understand each other. Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Tresa said, meaning every word, before starting to walk away. “I’ll go gather information, you can go pull yourself together by beating up mannequins, ok?” Conscience smiled, even though Tresa couldn’t see.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Both girls went off, each heading in different directions.
The training grounds were quite close to where she was. A swath of grass, interspersed with mannequins, battered but still in shape, and along the walls were racks of weapons, everything from swords to hammers. Within the grounds, the small kobold, Kaigan, was practicing with a spear, while Sturgar, the metal dragonborn, stood off to the side, whirling four weapons. Finishing a spear form, Kaigan ended facing right at her, then smiled in recognition. He started walking in her direction, training spear slung over his shoulder.
“Conscience, isn’t it?” He smiled. She’d seen Kaigan attempt to interact with as many champions as possible, so she was pretty sure she was next. Sighing, she stepped towards him.
“Yes. You are Kairan, right?” she said, intentionally saying his name wrong.
“Kaigan. You are from around these parts, right? I don’t mean to pry,” he followed, obviously incredible respectful. At first evaluation, he seemed interesting, hard to read, but from this small interaction, Conscience had reevaluated. Kaigan was naïve, definitely from another place. He had no skill in social maneuvering, but his approach still had merit.
“Yeah. You aren’t from around these parts, no?” Conscience smiled, a smile similar to those an apex predator would give before devouring a small animal.
“Yep. I’m from a land far, far away. Why’d you come to the tournament?” Sturgar, in the background, was paying no attention to the interaction, the clang of his blades loud enough to mask the conversation.
“Me? Seemed fun, plus the Merchant Council has to send a representative. Helps with selling goods. What about you?”
“I came to help people. A champion is supposed to help, so this seemed like the right place to go.” Conscience disguised a laugh as a cough. This kobold sure was naïve to the true ways of the world, but his outlook she couldn’t help but admire, especially after recalling that memory.
“Want to spar?” was all she replied with.
“Sounds good.” The kobold didn’t add anything patronizing, which she’d received a lot, when she’d ask to spar with other boys. Heading over to the racks, she pulled out two wooden short swords, testing their balance by flipping them in the air. Walking over to where Kaigan had walked back to, Conscience moved her swords into a ready position.
“Magic, or no?” Kaigan asked, obviously not wanting to assume anything.
“Nah, I want to test out how rusty my skills are,” she said, before lunging forward, one short sword in a thrust. Use his reach against him, her brain whispered, get in close, where a spear is useless. Blocking her thrust with the spear, which he had flipped off his shoulder, he went on the offensive, moving his spear in a set of stabbing motions. Conscience circled away, avoiding the thrusts as Kaigan pivoted to match her.
An attack to the stomach almost landed, and she cursed as Sturgar turned to watch. Closing her eyes, Conscience breathed, before opening them. Flipping her short swords into a different position, she launched herself forward, slapping away the spear with one sword, before slashing the other forward. Moving to avoid, Kaigan barely managed to not get hit, the unexpected attack surprising him.
Dropping into a slide, Conscience pushed the offensive, spinning in a whirlwind of sword attacks. Kaigan ran backwards, as Conscience overpowered him with the quick attacks, before dropping into a lunge, the spear striking her in the side, shoving her away and hitting hard.
“Nice one,” Conscience said, breathing a little.
“You’re quite good. I’ve trained for a very long time, and I haven’t encountered someone as good as you with the sword. I sincerely doubt your rusty” Kaigain responded, also breathing harder.
“You as well. And yes, I may not be rusty, upon further reflection.” Conscience went back over to rack, before pulling out a different set of weapons: a scimitar and a dagger. Spinning the scimitar around, the dagger rested in her other hand, and she rushed forward, scimitar already leaping forward. Blocking the swing with the spear, Kaigan was unprepared for the dagger she swung, only barely managing to avoid. Spinning away from the block, Conscience threw the dagger, which missed, but forced Kaigan into a bad position. She swung the scimitar again, and just as it reached his throat, she stopped it.
“I think I beat you by a second,” she said, looking down at the spear that had just stopped before her heart, only a second after the scimitar stopped.
My opinion of Kaigan has changed, she decided. He’s incredible with the spear, and I admire him for his wanting to help.After a few more matches, it became quite apparent they were on a similar level, at least at using weapons. Waving goodbye, she realized she had almost forgotten the incident in the hallway, and her smile turned to a frown. Striding back into the complex, she headed to her rooms to wait for Tresa to deliver the information.
(Written with the help of @DrakeGladis -- This was so much fun to write!)
Sturgar could wait no longer. Last night, rather than sleep, he had hauled an entire tree trunk back to his room and obsessively whittled it, bit by bit, into a perfect replica of his sword. Two hands held the log while the other two, swords brandished, carved away thin slivers of wood with practiced accuracy and efficiency. By the time he finished, the sun was peaking hesitantly through the cover of dense clouds, just barely poking a few tentative rays through his window. He tilted his head back, sighing. He was almost knee high in a massive pile of wood shavings, and his nerves had gotten no better. Nartheus was scheduled to arrive in time to see the match, and no matter how many other things Sturgar forced his troubled mind to think of, he always returned to each and every thing that could go wrong during Nartheus' travels. Highway robbers, wild beasts, mudslides, rockfalls, assassins, he even thought of the most unlikely things; heart attacks, getting struck by lightning, falling off a cliff (although there were none on the route.) But what worried him most was the "Akon", the horrid beast that had intercepted their caravan the other day.
Once the day's announcements were over, including the completely unveiled threat from the assassin, Sturgar walked to the bulletin board. He looked over his shoulder compulsively, not sure what he was looking for. He was unused to such organized combat, and half expected his opponent to jump on him that very moment.
As he drew near the bulletin, his heart (yeah he's still got one of those) beat like a war drum, thumping louder and louder. He found his name, scribbled upon the parchment nailed to the board, traced his finger along the line between his and another name, and sighed with relief. His opponent was the elf. Not that this would be the easiest match of his life, far from it. He knew well that the most ordinary looking person is often simply the best at hiding their true abilities, and this worried him greatly. But it's wasn't the Aetherborn, so he had hope. He stood before the board for a moment more, calming his pulse and staring at the paper as if to ensure that it was real, then, with a quick backwards glance, walked quietly off to the orchard.
He sat, back to a tree, in the very spot he had conversed with the small Kobold the night before. He picked up the stick he had used as a pen, still lying in the grass, and twirled it absentmindedly in a patch of dirt, as he let his mind wander.
Sturgar ran full tilt down a narrow alley way, past the screams and the crackling of the flames. He jumped over a toppled fruit cart as yet another deafening explosion rocked the earth behind him, briefly illuminating the starry night sky. The gala was supposed to have been the culmination of an extremely profitable business arrangement, though Nartheus' unconscious body slung over Sturgar's left shoulder was a clear testament against that. Sometime during the dinner, an explosion had taken the roof clean off the venue, an elegant mansion of a rich mine owner in the region. It was most likely an attempt to remove certain individuals from the business by a competitor, though it had been poorly executed. Charges were seemingly still detonating, and much of the surrounding villa and city were now in flames. Having been standing right behind the duke's chair, Sturgar had caught him the moment the first explosion hit, immediately jumping off the balcony and landing on the cobblestone streets below with a thunderous crash as he shattered the stones and created a small crater, before running for Nartheus' ship.
He could see the docks as he raced through city, weaving between panicked onlookers, and just barely ducked as a cannonball shrieked through the air before impacting a nearby house in an explosion of timbers and bricks. Arms raised, he shielded the duke without slowing his pace. He was mere feet away from the ship, a brand new two-masted galleon with a golden hawk at it's helm.
BOOM! Another projectile whistled through the dark, coming from the bay. Sturgar jumped as it crashed into the earth before him, showering them both with dirt and splinters. He was, to say the least, uncomfortable. He could see no enemy, and his weapons did him no good in such a situation. All he could do was shield Nartheus, with his life if need be, and get to the boat and leave. He knew somebody was following them, chasing them down every back alley and dirt path. The same shadow stalked the night, tirelessly keeping pace. Most likely sent to finish the job. Dashing up the gangplank, Sturgar grabbed a rope, pulling it with all his might. It tore clean off, but the bell rung loud and clear through the night. Hearing the signal, the crew got to work. Pouring forth from their cabins, they rushed the duke to the small on-ship infirmary and began hoisting the anchor and raising the plank. As a sailor pulled in the gangplank and tossed the rope to the dock, he shouted.
"Oi, dragon man!" Sturgar was off the ship, nowhere to be found. "Hey! We're leaving! Let's g--"
Another cannon fired, off into the city.
"Ohhh" The sailor smiled, realizing what was going on.
Indeed, Sturgar had ran below the water level, being far to dense to swim, while holding his breath, and found the ship firing it's cannons at them. Hacking a hole in it with his axe, he had created a gaping hole in it's bottom, letting in water and, more importantly, him. He ran though the ship's belly as it began to tilt dangerously. Seeing the cannoneers, he set himself upon them. The first charged him with a cutlass. He grabbed him by the throat, smashed the man's face into the cannon, the tipped he entire cannon out of the porthole, taking three men into the water with it. He whirled around, instantly decapitating a fourth sailor, and tore through the remaining buccaneers, slashing and stabbing and crushing. Satisfied with the carnage he had wrought, he climbed the stairs above decks, where sailors were unhooking lifeboats or simply jumped off the railings into the water, swimming slowly to shore. Once again, he slaughtered them with a perverse sense of satisfaction, finally seeing his enemy and how weak they truly were. The final sailor was thrown into the sea in pieces as the ship tilted, halfway horizontal. Seeing Nartheus' galleon pull away from the dock, Sturgar kicked over one of the boat's masts, running along it as it fell, and jumped at the last second, landing on the ship's deck and splintering a few of the floor's planks.
"What the hell..." A sailor stared at him in shock. "W-what d'you do to those poor bastards?"
Sturgar looked down at himself. He was entirely red, covered from head to toe in blood and viscera. At his feet, more blood was pooling in places.
Without trying to respond, Sturgar shoved the man to the floor, simultaneously throwing a sword and his axe over the sailor's head. He paused, holding his breath, then exhaled as he heard two muted thunks and a scream, before someone collapsed on deck. Walking over to inspect it, leaving the sailor lying prone on deck, Sturgar found a body shrouded in a black cloak, tow short knives in hand. His axe has firmly embedded it it's torso, and the sword rested in it's head. He tore off the cloak. A young, thin man lay there, clad in a set of sleek black leather armor. Standard garb for an assassin, save the tattoo. There, on the man's collarbone, Sturgar found the image of a snake, coiled around clenched fist, seared in black ink. Interesting. Having memorized the tattoo, he tossed the corpse overboard, the ran below decks to check on the duke.
Sturgar awoke from his reverie, feeling oddly at peace. He was more than capable of winning this match. He knew he would do fine. He got up, stretched, picked up the stick, and made his way towards the fortress, finally at peace.
Arha groaned as she looked at the contest board. Of course she was going to fight Sturgar. Of course. It wasn't as if she had been nervous about facing him during the trip to the fortress. No, it was pure luck that she was facing the metallic lizard-man.
The elf traipsed back to her room, grumbling. She might as well get started on training. She'd need it. But first...
She pulled out the mirror from under her pillow. Looking into it, she spoke a word and waited. After a minute or so, the mirror's surface rippled and shifted, and a familiar face appeared in it.
"Greetings, Arha," Kennemal, a higher-ranking knight of Qan Maris, said. "You have something to report?"
"Greetings, sir" Arha replied. "I have several things, in fact. First of all, I have entered the Tournament, although you must know that by now. Second of all, I've located at least two people of interest to the kingdom. One of them is Conscience Reveera, the-"
"The Reveera heiress?" the other elf asked incredulously. "She entered the Tournament? I thought that was just a way to sell newspapers, like the dragon last autumn."
"It's true," Arha said. "The other one is a witch from what I believe is a prestigious magical college. I intend to approach both of them while I'm here...which might not be all that long."
"Why not?"
"In the sixth match, I'm fighting an eight-foot-tall metal lizard-man with four arms."
Kennemal paused before beginning to laugh. "I admit, Arha," he said, "you've always known the best jokes. An eight-foot metal man with four arms? That's the funniest thing I've heard in years."
"If I were joking, sir, you'd know," Arha replied. "There is an eight-foot-tall metal lizard-man with four arms that I'm going to fight at one point during this Tournament."
The elf in the mirror stopped laughing, looking more bemused than anything. "Huh. The things they don't print." He stroked his chin, thinking. "Well, have you started preparing to face him?"
"I was planning to do that immediately after reporting."
Kennemal nodded. "Then I shouldn't keep you."
The spear struck the mannequin again. This time, magic flowed along it and covered the mannequin in a thin layer of stone. After a few seconds, the stone sloughed off, turning to dust that blew away.
Arha pulled away her spear and leaned against in, panting. Her magic was less effective when she used a weapon as a conduit, she knew, but this was just ridiculous. She needed it to work better.
Catching her breath, she put down her spear and pulled out her sword. Carefully, calmly, she went through the different forms. First, second, third... She began to get quicker, swiping her sword through the air. Parry, riposte, sidestep. Attack, block, reposition.
Finally, Arha stood, poised in a battle stance. She held it for a moment before relaxing and going to sit under a nearby tree. There would be more training before her fight with Sturgar. For now, resting and watching.
Match 8: Doctor Cypherous versus Conscience Reveera. Cypherous stared at the board announcing the fights. He was standing on the bridge conecting to Castle Werther. A few of the other champions were there, looking at it as well.
Cypherous left the bridge, deciding to take a short walk around the castle. Along the way, he aimed small lightning bolts at specific objects, in order to test his aim.
After a few minutes of walking, not too far from him, there was a training area of sorts. An area of grass with a few battered training dummies. Three of the other contestants were there: the metal dragonoid, Sturgar, the little lizardman, Kaigain, and Conscience. None of them seemed to notice him.
Kaigain and Conscince were sparring. Conscience didn't seem to have any visible weapons or armor of any sort, but she wouldn't have entered the tournament if she couldn't handle a fight. She probably had magic of some sort.
From the folds of his brown robes, Cypherous pulled out a small, golden, hummingbird-like construct.
Cypherous held the thing up to his face and whispered to it.
"Fly over to those other contestants. Gather what info you can about their fighting styles and abilities. Don't stay for very long. Return to my room when you're done. "
The little thopter flew off. Cypherous felt guilty about spying on the other champions, especially Kaigain and Sturgar, who both seemed like nice, honorable people. But he needed all the knowledge he could get if he was to survive the tournament.
Besides, He thought. It's not like I'm prying into their thoughts and personal lives. I'm just gathering information on their abilities and skills.
And with that done, Cypherous returned to the castle and back to his room.
A Book by its Cover [in collaboration with @Lujikul - thank you for working with me on this!]
The library at Werther Fortress could hardly be called such, but it was appropriately secluded from much of the bustle on the grounds. The shelves were stocked with a notable - if meager - selection of classics, dating back some decades. Damien had selected a book of poetry, at least in part because Rugal seemed to have no taste for it and would likely leave him alone for the duration. A gentle breeze brushed through the open shutters and motes of dust drifted in the shafts of sunlight. Damien relished the moment of quiet.
A small knock at the open door drew him from the text. He glanced up from the book to see a gray-haired man in an unseasonably thick academic’s robe leaning against the door jamb.
“Hexeaubert always had a flair for the dramatic.” The old man cleared his throat and began to recite. In the moments twixt sorrow and slumber Reside yet our darkest desires without number
Damien grinned and finished the line. Our innermost selves manifest most clear As tethers to wakefulness fain disappear
The mage returned the smile and nodded toward the book. “I’ve always enjoyed her sense of meter. Tackling heady topics always felt easier with a rhythm behind it.”
Damien rubbed a page lightly between his fingers. “Yes, though I’m more partial to The Vagabond’s Son. Her writing was much more fluid before she started adding the whole of her vocabulary into every line.”
The old man arched his eyebrows in surprise. “A rare taste indeed. There aren’t many copies of her early works in publication at all.”
Damien inclined his head thoughtfully. “It took some searching to find one, but I believe it was worth it.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a literary connoisseur.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fighting mage.”
The man chuckled warmly. “So perhaps we are both still learning to not judge by appearances.” He stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Hadid. I believe we are to compete in this first round.”
The wooden chair creaked as Damien stood and closed the worn tome. Hadid involuntarily rocked back on his heels as he considered Damien’s full, broad-shouldered stature which now towered a full head above him.
“Damien,” he said, enveloping Hadid’s proffered hand with a sturdy grip. “The pleasure is mine.” An echo of fury rose into Damien’s throat. He swallowed hard as Rugal’s voice clawed at the inside of his mind. He’s walked right up to you. The fool has delivered himself like a meal - devour him!
“Like a vice!” Hadid laughed at the incredible strength of the handshake. He glanced down at Damien’s hand, indicating the rough lines across them. “Pardon my forwardness, but your scars look like they’re from burns. You are a... craftsman perhaps?”
“A blacksmith by trade.” But you could do so much more. “I heard someone call you a teacher?” We’re going to fight him anyway, let’s just do it now.
“Yes, I teach and study magic. I suppose the title they read off at the announcement gave away my specialty?” Damien grunted against Rugal’s influence. Hadid perceived it as assent and continued. “I dabble in all sorts of things - it comes with the rigors of academia you know - but I’ve always been drawn to teleportation and portal magic. It’s truly a fascinating art.”
“Why would a teacher want to take part in something like this?” Less talk. Strike!
Hadid frowned and gazed out the open window. He paused for a moment, rolling the answer around in his mind. “There are… unusual rumors regarding previous iterations of this tournament. Dark uncertainties that… may be best explored and experienced straight from the source.”
For a moment, Rugal was silent.
Hadid’s dark expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He looked back to Damien. “So what does a blacksmith and literary aficionado hope to gain from all this… violence?”
An opportunity, an outlet, a vehicle. Damien hesitated as he mulled over his thoughts. “The tournament has one winner, so there will be peace when it’s over. That is my hope in any case.” You’re predictably naïve.
“You are wise, Damien. Discernment is a gift that many lack without knowing it.”
Wisdom would be cutting this doddering idiot down where he stands. Damien leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. “When we meet, on the day of our battle,” He said haltingly. “I want you to know that I will… not quite be myself.”
“Ah yes,” Hadid nodded knowingly. “We all lose ourselves in the heat of the moment from time to time.”
Damien shook his head. “No, it’s not-” Just a little roughing up? I’ll make it quick. “- like that. It’s a warning. As a courtesy.”
The mage squinted quizzically. “That’s... generous of you. I think.” He began moving toward the hallway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt for long, I only wished to converse briefly outside of the ring. Seems best to be able to look each other in the eye. I’m grateful to have shared this moment.” He stopped at the door, turning to Damien with a small smile. “I wish you the best of fortune in our contest, truly.”
Damien met his gaze, each one searching the other for some sense of their hidden capacities. His destruction will be swift and brutal, as it should be. “Good luck to you too. And thank you.”
Hadid bowed deeply as he stepped out into the hallway. His footsteps echoed down the stone passage as he traveled back toward the main foyer.
We should have done it. He was a fruit ripe for the picking.
Damien sighed heavily as his heart rate slowed. He spoke softly to the empty room as he picked up the book of poetry. “Leave me be.”
MTG Cardsmith Community Forums
Comments
Chapter Five - Arrival
“Wake up!” *BANG* “We have arrived!!” *BANG*
Lyuben was rudely awoken by a tournament guard upon arrival. He instinctively jumped back, nearly crashing into the Soundweaver.
Hopefully he didn’t know that was me…
They opened the cage door and Conscience stepped out first, followed by Lyuben, then Arn, and finally The Soundweaver. As Lyuben finally stepped off, he realized how many contenders there were to be scared of.
All of them are looking to kill me in a tournament match...well, except maybe that cute lizard looking thing, Kaigan, and maybe Damien, that knight riding with Kaigan, too. The rest are not trustworthy.
The tournament guards showed everyone to their rooms. They were nowhere near as luxurious as Lyuben was used to in his family’s castle. Or former castle since Lyuben had destroyed the majority of it in his magical outburst before running away.
I wonder where mom and dad live now…
Lyuben shook his head as if he could shake the thought out of his mind. He didn’t want to think about his parents anymore.
“So this is it. I’m finally here…”
Lyuben had never fought before. The first time he had unleashed his magic to its fullest potential was when he ran away from home. Before that, he just knew little tricks that helped him get what he wanted, although his parents were very disapproving of such power. Especially his mother.
Lyuben stared outside at the orange sun as it seemed to crash into the dark sea at the horizon.
F̶͎͋e̴͕̒e̴͚̔l̵͕͐i̸͚͒n̵̯̄g̶̢̋ ̶͖̍n̸̹̒e̷͛ͅr̷͚͝v̴͚͆o̷̕͜u̷͓͒s̵̻̅,̸̞͂ ̷͓̈́L̵̜̂y̵̰͑ű̶̲b̴͎̈́e̵̘̚n̷̠͠?̵̳̎ I̶̭͝ ̵̙̔j̸͇́u̷̠̚s̸̗͝ṱ̶͗ ̸̖̈́t̸̼̅h̷̘͋o̴̞̊ủ̶̞g̵͙͑h̷͇̀ẗ̸͜ ̵͖͐ẏ̵̩ō̸̗u̴̠̚ ̸̬͌m̵͇̒i̴̲̋g̴͎̈́h̴̩͐t̵̺͛ ̶̼͠w̵͈̉a̸͉̐ń̶̥t̷̘̒ ̶͉̄h̴̹̋ē̶͔l̷̝̒p̶̲̃.̷̧͒
You can’t help. You wouldn’t understand.
Y̷̼͆o̸̝͝ŭ̵̧'̵̱̾d̴̪̐ ̷̺̀b̶͍́é̶͍ ̵̫͛s̷̹̃u̴̦̾r̵͌ͅp̷̱̊r̵̥͘ị̶̈́s̶̝͝e̶̥̕ḑ̵̔ ̷̻͝h̴̤͝ó̸̮ẅ̵̞́ ̷̠̈́m̵̨̀u̶̼͆c̵̙̎h̷̥̃ ̶̣̋I̸̲̽ ̵̭̀ķ̵̄n̴̟̂o̷̭͐w̸͓̚.̸̥͝ ̸̘̚Ỳ̶͇ỏ̵̙ụ̶͆'̸̲͊d̶͓͐ ̵̥̚b̴̞͋ẹ̷̅ ̵̢̏s̵͊ͅu̷̯̅r̴̝̀p̶̘̀r̴̯̋í̴̧s̷͓̍e̶̫̓d̶̤͛ ̶̝̏ḥ̴̒ó̶̡w̸̤̚ ̴̝͝m̴̭͐ǘ̷͜c̸͙̑h̶͖̎ ̷͎͂Ị̷̔ ̴̬̈́ŭ̷̧n̵͉͛d̵̓͜e̶̗̚r̶̪͗s̷͓͠ẗ̵̬ã̷̦ń̴̞d̵̬̄
Oh yeah?
Ỳ̶͖o̸̤̅ṳ̷́ ̶̧̅j̴̛̻u̶͙̽ṣ̴̍t̴̯̏ ̸͉̎r̵̯̊a̸̘͛n̷̛̟ ̷̢̒a̷̗̽w̶̲͌ȧ̵̲y̸͎̾ ̴̯͑f̴̥̿r̸͖͠ő̶̩m̴̦̈́ ̸͎̓y̶̭̅o̸̬͘u̸̩͘r̸͇̓ ̵̘͛h̷̟̓ô̶̳m̵̊e̵̗̿,̵͙͋ ̴̜̂w̶̦͐h̸̳̐ï̶ͅc̵̢͆h̵̦̽ ̸̣̚y̵͇̚ö̶̰ṳ̴̀ ̸̯͒d̶̰̅e̶̺͊s̵͙̈́t̵͍̓r̸̞̎o̸̳͆y̴̗̅e̶̞̋d̶͍̍,̵̥̓ ̵̛͙l̷̹͛e̶̖̔a̵̺͛v̸͈͑i̴̜͂n̴̥̽g̴̛̜ ̵̳̅y̴̼͗o̷̥̒ű̴̲ṛ̸͘ ̸͖̀p̶̐͜ȧ̶̝r̵̠̓è̸ͅn̷̜̈t̴͔͌s̸̤̈́ ̵̯̏b̴͓̏è̶̝ẖ̴͂i̴̞̽n̵̨̈́d̶͉̈ ̷̬͒ẁ̸̟i̵̟͝t̴̜̀h̴̹͋ ̸͉͒y̸͕͑õ̸̼ų̷̌r̸͙̆ ̴̭̐d̴͋e̵̡̽à̸̖ḏ̶̐ ̵͓̓b̶͉̂o̸̩͝y̶̱̽f̶͠ͅr̷̻̂i̵̺̋e̸̯͐ṉ̵͐ď̷̡ ̴̧̛w̸̜̎ḣ̴̙o̶͚͌ ̵̞͠t̸͉͠h̷͙̓ḙ̴̓ẏ̶̢ ̸̦̌ḱ̷̫i̷̗͑ļ̴͐l̷̼͌ȇ̴ͅd̴̞̍.̴͖̚ ̵͕̕Y̴̚͜ó̴̗u̵̹̐ ̵̢̚f̴͖͠e̴͎̚ẹ̸͗l̵͎͋ ̸̫͑å̴͉n̵̩͋g̸͕̃r̵̫̉y̵̮̒ ̴͉̍b̷̛ͅḙ̸̾c̴̯̋â̵̹ǔ̴s̷̻͂e̶̖̿ ̷̼̐t̵͎̋h̸̙͠ẽ̴̫y̵͙̎ ̴̺̀b̷̟̈́e̶̻͘t̷̨̾r̷͈͋a̷͙̚ẏ̸̰e̴̥͠d̵̙̒ ̴̦̍y̴͚̐o̷͖̍u̵̲̚.̷̬͝ ̶͕̏Ý̴̙o̶͆͜u̶͚͒ ̷̥̒f̶̰͘e̷̹̅e̴̩͑ĺ̵ͅ ̷̅ͅå̶̻s̵̺̽h̶̡̿ą̶̽ṃ̵̽e̷̞͘d̴͉́ ̸͕́t̴̲̕h̵̍ä̸̠́t̸͚̊ ̷̨̕y̵̙̆o̶̮̓ư̸̩ ̵̣͂c̷̍ͅo̵̺̓u̶͖͒l̴̖̿d̴̡̓n̴̽͜'̵̹̽t̸̉ ̵̩͆c̸͈͗ȯ̸̜n̴͚̚t̵̗͝r̵͈̀o̵̺̎l̵̪͋ ̸͔͊y̸̛̲ŏ̴̟ṷ̸̐r̷̘̈́ ̴̪́m̸͚̍ã̵̲g̶̭͋i̵͙̚c̵͖͠ ̵̙̍o̵̢̐n̷̝͋ ̵͔̌t̴̖͑h̶͓̾a̶̢̓t̶͕̄ ̵̥͝f̶̦͐ā̴͇t̶̰̀ė̵̙f̶̻͗ṵ̶͝l̴̺̑ ̴̪̅ṉ̵̈́ĭ̴̥g̷̙͛h̸̀t̴͚̾.̸̠͘ ̴̣͋Y̶̡͘ò̶̥u̷̺̓ ̷̞̆f̴͓̉ę̵̑e̵̞͠ĺ̶͖ ̵̡͝s̵̱̓a̷̯̓d̸͌ͅ ̶̗̏b̵͍̓e̷̫͐c̷̯̾a̵͖͝u̵̼͒s̴̯̈è̶̥ ̷͔̈ý̸͉o̴͌͜u̶̍͜'̴͝ͅv̶̛̩e̴̫͋ ̵̮̊l̷͙̚e̸̥̔f̸̩̓t̶̤̅ ̴̣̏t̶̢̿ȟ̵̺ė̶͚m̶̤̎ ̴̛̘å̴ͅn̸̳͛d̸̦̅ ̸̥̈́ť̶̢h̸̳̃e̴͙̓r̶̥̀ȇ̷̡'̴̣̿s̷̼̿ ̵̮̏n̵̲̈́ó̸̦ ̴͙̊ỏ̸n̵̠͛e̷̹͑ ̵̡̅t̶̜̊o̷͉͛ ̵͖̇c̷̱̽a̷̳̒r̷͖͘ë̷͚ ̵̘̒f̶̣̍ò̵̙r̸̭͑ ̶̻͌y̵̗͝o̴̓ṳ̶͂ ̸̠̃ḁ̶̌n̸̊ͅy̸̅m̸̡͑o̸̘̔ř̶̹e̶̱̍,̵̭̉ ̷͉̃y̷̏ë̶̱t̸͚̃ ̷̳̿y̵̡͗o̶̢̎ú̷͎ ̶̝̈́l̶͓̐o̵̜̕v̷͉̽e̵̹̐ ̸͘͜ỳ̸͖o̷̮̓ṵ̶̾r̸͕̋ ̴̣͠n̴̲̑ȅ̴̩w̴̫͝f̷̭̊o̸̟̾u̴͇̾n̶̰͒d̶̡͠ ̷̳̈́f̵̬̄r̶̞͒ë̸͔́e̴̦͝d̴̗̓ơ̶̳m̸͇͆.̵̤͋ ̶̼̎S̵͛͜ò̴̳m̸̠̃ȩ̶͛h̵͕͑o̴͚͆w̸̺̄,̸̣́ ̷̭̕y̵̤̎ŏ̷̯u̶͚͋ ̶̤̆s̴͍̋t̴͂ͅi̷͈̋l̶̩̐ľ̶̰ ̷̿͜f̸͎͘ë̴͓ẻ̴̫l̷͔̃ ̵̟̓l̸͙̈o̴̗̅n̷̗͊é̷͕l̸͖̍y̵̡̒ ̵̠͒b̴͘é̵̥c̵̹̈́ă̶̺u̸͔̾s̷̜͘e̸͚͘ ̷̤̋y̷͠ͅo̷̻͆u̸̟͋ ̴͕̏c̵͎̓a̶̤͝n̷̗̆'̵̞̊t̴̲͝ ̷̗́t̶͙̏ŕ̵̟u̸̺͝s̶̿t̶͙̾ ̸͙͂a̵͓̋n̴͇̓y̶̍͜ó̷̙n̴̦͊e̴̢͘.̶̥͒ ̶͉̽Y̶̟͆ọ̶̉u̴̞̚ ̸̻͊ṯ̶͂r̷̭̈u̷̙͐s̵̯̋t̵̗̏e̸̲̅d̸̤̃ ̴̙͑ẙ̵̘ŏ̴̦ů̶̹r̵͔͛ ̷͎͆p̸͎͆a̷̮͒r̵͉͌e̶͈̎n̷͂ͅt̴̰̏ș̸̎ ̷̀͜s̴̲͆ȏ̴̧ ̶̛̘ḿ̶̻ū̴͚c̸̲̓h̸͔͘.̵́͜ ̷̘͘Y̸̠͠o̶͎͆u̵̖̎ ̷̙̌t̶͓́h̵̬̀ő̵̬u̴͈̍g̴̲̑ẖ̸͑t̸͍̂ ̵̣̉t̶̥̀h̷͕͘ë̵͔́ȳ̷̦ ̶̻̊l̷̘̚o̶͕͘v̴̺͝ę̶̂d̸̤͐ ̵̢̔y̸̝͋o̴͚͋u̶͕̎,̷̟̈́ ̵͙̌b̵̘̽u̸̻͘t̴̢͋ ̶̹̀à̴͙l̸̞͆l̷̤̏ ̴͎̔t̵̂͜h̴͖̋a̶̍t̶̞́ ̵̳̒c̷̼̄a̶̘͌m̴̠̀ẹ̵̐ ̶̣̒i̷̮̚ň̷͜ ̵̘͋t̸̝̕h̸̙̄ẽ̵͚ ̶̹͛ë̸͙́n̵͉͝d̴͚̈́ ̷̝̒w̵̛̙a̴̝͂s̸̥̃ ̶̱̃a̸̹͐ ̷̲̔b̷̛̠i̵͖͊t̶̜̂t̷̫̏e̵̛̬r̸̮̋,̴̝̚ ̷͎͒s̵̎ͅẗ̷́͜i̶͎͊ṅ̷̩g̵͕͒į̴̕n̶̖̓g̷̙̀ ̸͕̓b̸̬̈́e̵̓ͅt̸͇̽r̵̰̀ạ̴̕y̶̳̆ã̸̦l̷̠̓.̷̞̆ ̴̤̍M̴͎̑ö̷̫́s̸͈͊t̸̼̾ ̸̪̏ó̴̢f̴̺̅ ̴̥̀ạ̷̋ĺ̴̫l̷͔͋,̵̾͜ ̷̎͜y̷̘͊o̷̳͊ǘ̶̜ ̷̠͐ḩ̵͆u̵͔̾r̵̯̋ṯ̴̊.̸͓̈́ ̸͓́Y̴̭͋ò̵̤ȕ̴͜ ̴̡̅l̸̜̐ȍ̴̫n̶̯̓g̸͖͋ ̶͕͐f̷̱̂o̷͔͘ȓ̷͖ ̸̹̓y̴͔͘o̷̙̒u̷̮̍r̶̝̋ ̷̱̌d̸̪̾é̸̗ā̵͎d̵̡̋ ̴̬̇b̵̉o̵̬̿y̸̫͝f̷̙͘r̵̦͌ī̷̲è̵̝ǹ̷̮ḑ̵͆.̷̞̂ ̵̛̥Y̶̗͋õ̷̲u̷̻̓ ̷̞̋l̷̙̋o̴̢̓n̴͇̈́g̵͔̍ ̷̰̄f̴̜̾o̵̗͝r̸̲̽ ̴̙͆ẗ̷̝́h̴̰͊e̸̤̽ ̴̼͗m̸̳͑o̵̠̒ḿ̵̗e̵͔̎n̴͖̑t̶̞͆s̸͔͒ ̷̧͠ẏ̵͇o̵̰̓ŭ̶͖ ̸̘̒ć̵͕ḧ̸͕ḙ̵́r̴̨̈i̴̪̕s̵͇͑h̵͇̓ȅ̶͍d̴̗͗ ̶̪̈f̵͔̓o̶̩̎r̸̜͘ ̴͓͝ḩ̶͊i̵̞͘m̸̙̃,̸͎̾ ̵̺̀b̸̟̈́u̴̙̇ẗ̷̲́ ̷͍̎y̴̰̽o̵̦͝u̴̳̕ ̵̨̀k̶̮͝n̸̨͐o̶̮͝w̵̼̉ ̴͈̐y̶̩͒o̵͙̓u̷̡͝ ̵̻̂c̸͐͜a̶̝̽n̵̳̅'̵̧̀t̶͚̋ ̵̞̿h̶̼̉a̶͑͜v̴̨͂e̵̠͘ ̸̨̽t̴̬̋h̶̹͠e̵͇̾ṁ̷͖
...
An̴͚̈d̷͓͝ ̷͉̈ỳ̷̳e̶͖̓ṣ̷̀,̷̛͔ ̴̙̔I̸̪͒ ̶̺̈́k̸̯̽n̵̳̉o̵̘̾w̶̳̓ ̴͎͆a̵̺̍b̵̺̕o̴̘͌ú̴̩ț̵͒ ̸̜̀A̸̝͛y̷͕͐d̷̳͝e̶͕̍n̶̬͛ ̵̱͒t̶̘̿o̶̙͋o
Shut up! Just shut up and get out of my head.
A spark of dark magic flew out of Lyuben’s hand and shattered a mirror in front of him. Lyuben ran over to the fragments of it on the floor. Each shard reflected a different part of Lyuben. Lyuben could see his eyes in some of the shards--he could see the pain pent up behind them. Another one captured the blood red petals of his rose, which was now peeking out of his pocket, and the gnarly thorns that guarded its weak stem. Lyuben waved his hand, reducing all of the fragments to dust.
Lyuben walked outside, where a servant led them to the great dining hall. It was a grand place, even for Lyuben’s standards. There were long wooden tables filled with an assortment of dishes, each one seeming more appetizing than the next. Paintings and sculptures lined the beautiful wooden walls and bright torches blazed like the sun to make the hall even more breathtaking. In the center of the roof, stood the pièce de résistance: A grand crystal chandelier, which reflected all the colors and light all throughout the room. Once Lyuben was finished piling food onto his plate, he went to find a seat. However, there were no seats left, except for one next to the scary witch that Lyuben had seen in the cart in front of him.
Lyuben nervously sat down next to the girl. He was curious to know more about her. Something about her captivated him, but he wasn’t sure just what.
“It’s rude to stare, ya know,” Imilia laughed. There was a playful mocking tone in her voice.
“Oh! I- I...yeah…”
“I’m Imilia,” she said unusually cheerfully for her scary demeanor. Was Imilia really as "evil" as she looked?
Lyuben looked at Imila’s face. Her smile was just as bright as his mothers. Lyuben could picture the his mother's same demonic grin behind Imilia's innocent smile.
They’re just the same. They’re all the same.
W̸͔̌ǒ̷̼ȕ̴̺l̷̰̑ḓ̵̃n̶̗̄'̴̨̆t̸͖̍ ̴̡̊ī̴ͅț̷̈́ ̷̖͐b̸̊͜e̵̳̓ ̷̨̿p̵͙͐o̵̠̾l̴̳̓î̸͍t̶̗̽e̶̬͋ ̵̥̈t̴͉̋ó̷͉ ̸̦̍j̸̻͆u̶͎͑s̴̺̈́t̶̛̬ ̶̩̈́t̵̖̅ä̵̠l̶͉̂ḱ̷̟ ̵̘͗t̷͎̒o̴͍͆ ̵̳̀h̷̼͒e̴̳͌r̷̡̊ ̸̄͜ḏ̷̂ú̶̺r̷̠̀i̴͠ͅn̴̤̓g̷͚̋ ̵̬̓d̶̪̾i̶̟͒n̸̗͊n̴͎͋e̴̯̍r̵̥͛?̴̫̕
Ugh. Fine! But, they’ll all do the same thing in the end. I don’t want everything to repeat itself. I don’t want to feel that same pain again. I’m over it! If I just avoided any of this interaction, I would never have to-
S̶̼̒t̵̛͚o̸̠͝p̶̥̌!̶̯͛ ̴̝̉Y̶͋ͅó̷̘u̶̙͒ ̸̨̕w̴̱̏i̴̡̐ĺ̴̰l̵̦̿ ̶̲̍t̶͙͠a̵͕͘l̸͔̒k̶͍̆.̸͆͜ ̸͓̀J̸̩͌u̴̝͘s̴̳̅ṭ̶͑ ̶̙͂f̵͔̈o̷̦͑ȓ̴͙ ̶͈͘d̸͙̃i̸̡̎n̴̛̦n̸̈́ͅe̵͉̚r̴̳̽.̴͖͝ ̵̳̋Į̴̓ ̶̹́ẇ̴͎o̷̮̊n̴̼̏t̴͓̒ ̴̠̈́b̴̫̓o̶̳̔t̶̬͝h̴͒ͅe̷̥̚r̵̘͑ ̵̼̂y̶͈̐ö̴͓́u̶̠̇ ̷̱̅f̸͊ͅo̴̙̓r̶̳̅ ̸̦̆t̴̹͝h̴̠͊e̴̹͛ ̷̼̍ŕ̴͓e̵͕̓s̸̲͝t̴̡͑ ̸͚͌ȯ̶̙f̷̢̋ ̴̮͌t̶̨͊ḥ̶͠e̵̻̍ ̵̘͋d̵͙͗ḁ̸͠y̴͓̑ ̸̙̊t̴̫́ḩ̷͐ȩ̴̓n̶͉̅.̴̻̀ ̴̥͒Ĭ̵͕ ̶̲̍p̶̙̂r̸͈̉ó̷̫ṃ̶̈́ḯ̴̫š̷͔é̸͔.̷̘̓
Fine! I’ll do anything to shut you up.
“Oh, I’m Lyuben.”
Chapter 5 (continued)
"Hey, you ok? You look kinda ill..."
Damien glanced up at the small figure standing next to him. It was barely a food above him and he was curled up into a fetal position. It was the fairy tale creature from earlier, not meditating anymore.
"Yeah, I'm fine thanks. Traveling isn't my thing, and I'm also kinda stressed. You know. Just... the upcoming tournament. I didn't think I'd actually get this far...."
There was an awkward moment of silence. Kaigan was about to break it with an offer of sympathy when Daimen spoke up.
"So where are you from? I've never seen a cute little fellow like you before."
"Oh I'm from a long ways away... it's nice and peaceful there, but kind of boring. I'm a kobold."
Blushing, Kaigan swiftly returned the attention back to Damien.
"So if you knew you would be nervous, why did you join the tournament anyway?"
"Uh. At the time, it seemed to be a good way to go traveling and meeting new and interesting people... and it seems I've done that."
Damien chuckled and spread his arms wide, including the whole carriage train in his statement. Kaigan seemed to agree, nodding along with him and gazing at his fellow competitors.
"So who do you think the most interesting of them is right now?"
This question was an interesting one for both people, causing another brief moment of silence as they considered the answers. Damien answered first again.
"I think everyone who entered has a story to them... however if I had to choose, I'd think it's the leather robed dude and Sturgar who are most interesting. They're so... concealed. The armor, the cloak, they must be hiding something."
His answer seemed very earnest, and Kaigan nodded along.
"They are quite curious, and kind of intimidating, but I'm gonna talk to everyone here hopefully. I'd say the one I want to know more about most is the cat person. I've never seen one before, and he looks scared too. I hope things go well for him. Heck, I hope things go well for everyone, and that everyone has a good time. This appears to be a very political tournament as well. For instance, the lady who brought so much luggage... she seemed to think of this as a place to make alliances I think. Why else would she have so many bags if not to give gifts and make friends?"
Damien seemed to ignore that last bit, hooked on something else Kaigan had said.
"Yeah... everyone here seems pretty intimidating. Good luck talking to them; you're braver than I am to do that. I too think it would be nice if everyone was to enjoy themselves, but that probably won't happen. After all, there's only one winner, and most people here came to be that person."
Kaigan shrugged at that.
"If their fun means that they have to win, I feel bad for them. They must have a very sad existence with no life or friends since their fun would be so rare..."
He broke off his sentance there, blushing.
"Then again, this could be kind of hypocritical. I don't have much experience losing, never anything more sever than friendly sparring matches. I suppose if their goal is fame or something, losing might be a bigger deal... Oh uh. That probably sounded wrong-"
He seemed confused on how to say what he meant properly. Damien shook his head, smiling, and interrupted the babble coming from the kobold's mouth.
"No, no. You got it right. If they live for victory and demand it of themselves at every turn, for any reason, their life is full of stress, pain, and disappointment."
A brief, pained look crossed his face at that statement, but was quickly chased away. So quickly indeed that Kaigan missed it almost entirely, passing it off as a trick of the light. Switching topics almost as quickly, he fires off a question.
"So what did you think of the "Akon" thing?"
Kaigan brightened up, eager to talk about this.
"Well, I'm not quite sure if Akon is it's name or if it means something else, but whatever it was, the soldiers did a great job taking it down! Their teamwork was something, and to think that they didn't just decide to throw us in front of it to fight!"
Chuckling at the kobolds naiveness, Damien shook his head.
"I don't know either; it's a new word to me too. You're right about the guards, and I'm glad to have them. I was thinking more of the beast itself. It looked like something right out of a tale to scare kids into proper behavior."
"Oh! Yeah, it was freaky. You know when the tentacles came out? Do you think those were magical or natural? Also, uh. Where's your weapon? If that thing had got past the guards..."
"I'd guess they're part of it's body naturally. If it was sentient enough to cast spells, things would have been a lot worse. And I don't have a weapon. I don't believe in fighting when I don't have to, and if I had one, I'd end up fighting more."
Kaigan was taken aback. Yes that was sensible, but Damien had signed up for this, and if it doesn't count as "unnecessary fighting" he didn't know what would.
"So... how do you plan on competing in the tournament then? Do you have magic or something to allow you to beat people?"
Damien is quiet for a moment. Almost solemn. He slowly picks his hands off his lap, holding them up and staring at them. Eventually he balled them into fists and looks up at the small red creature standing in front of him.
"With these," he said, a look of dead seriousness on his face. The determination and strength of the moment was palpable. Kaigan nodded in admiration and respect, smiling.
"Then if we are unlucky and we are pitted against each other, I too will only use these.":
He mimicked Damien's motions, holding his hands up and slowly curling them into fists, even if it is better to strike with an open hand. At this Damien was the one smiling. Having relaxed his stance back to a comfortable seat, he grinned.
"You're quite the honorable one. I wish you the best of luck in this tournament."
As the caged carts rolled into the castle courtyard, the two relaxed, maybe not ready, but at least willing to take on what the next days would bring.
The Hunter Gets Hunted
After Arn returned from his rampage, he felt collected and calm. Only so rarely would he be so overwhelmed with the need for violence but after that release, he found solace. Arn could not help but remember the fear on those animals, which caused him to remember the first time (at least to his knowledge) he really remembered feeling fear.*Flashback*
Arn sat enjoying the serenity of nature under the obscuring canopies of Eldraine. Only a few months before he had lead an unfortunate army into their untimely demise after tricking them into a river and with the new found powers taught by Oko, it was made all the more enjoyable. Arn felt untouchable, almost like a god, he couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. If this is how planeswalkers feel then Arn wanted more. More importantly if planeswalker sparks awakened during times of desperate need, why didn't he awaken one?
His thought was cut short by a distant sound of rumbling that was growing louder and louder. Could it be another assassin? When would Kenrith learn. Arn had constantly dispatched them, each being stronger than the last but falling all the same with the one known as Ta'asmhun being the hardest to deceive. It would be a bold faced lie to say the last two had been felled by his sheer might but Arn cared not, after all a dead assassin is a good assassin. Either way if another assassin was coming Arn was ready.
The rumbling grew louder and louder as trees parted way for something and from the looks of it, it was something large. Arn had barely got the chance to move when a massive boar come tearing through the trees shredding them and sending splinters into the air.
As the foliage cleared, Arn spotted a figure on top of the boar, and before he got the chance to collect himself, another crash happened uprooting trees and sending them into the air as Arn leaped to a nearby tree. He figured that the best way to assess the threat for now was from afar.
Arn: "Another assassin, don't you guys ever learn?" Arn yelled from atop the tree.
Kyneal: "No, something way worse than that!"
Kyneal: "Queen Linden and King Kenrith have heard enough of your shenanigans" Kyneal said preparing Klyox for one more charge.
Arn attempted to wild shift but Kyneal gave him no chance to do so as Klyox came crashing through the trees shattering them as Arn leaped from tree to tree escaping. He leaped grabbing a tree branch and performed a hand flip landing on another then propelled himself from the tree's trunk and attempted to cut the beast but the beast's hide was too thick. Klyox turned its head hitting Arn as it shattered ribs and sent him rolling into the nearby bushes.
Arn felt no pain due to him being a spirit attached to a decaying body and before his body made a full recovery Klyox charged again, splintering the surrounding tree as yet again Arn barely avoided its wrath. At this rate Arn was surely going to be maimed. He hid behind a tree and for the first time in a thousand years he also felt a tinge of fear mixed with excitement, It was at this moment that he also decided that sometimes even great hunters have to retreat.
Arn focused his wild magic as he heard Klyox charge at the surrounding trees and he managed just by a split second to shift into a bird like creature and fly of as Klyox and Kyneal razed the grounds searching for him.
Ever since then Arn intentionally pursued bigger targets, constantly seeking bigger threats to challenge him, seeking bigger prey to hunt.
*Flashback End*
Arn: "That Sturgar fellow looks like a skilled combatant, I wonder if he will give me the thrill I seek. It may not be as exciting as Klyox but it might offer me the excitement I I'm looking for around here. Besides, a lot of combatants here don't look that impressive with maybe an exception being that Imilia."
I have sent a message to the five people who posted their heroes to this tournament during the drafting period, but didn't get chosen. They have approximately 12 hours to answer if they want to get their hero into this game. On 23:59 CST (Central Standard Time) I will randomly choose a new player for this game from among those who have answered to the message by that time.
The match positions will be revealed today as planned, so stay tuned!
Un Spécimen Parfait
We can sit wherever we like, hmm? This should be interesting...
Imilia arrived in the dining hall, eyes scanning the room with one thing on her mind. Opportunity. Her eyes wandered to the ends of the table, looking for someone to corner and force into a conversation. Her eyes lit up as she saw the melancholy boy from earlier sitting by himself at the far end of the table. She had found opportunity. She quickly adjusted her white silk gloves and the gold pin in her hair, before gracefully sitting down next to the boy and offering him a hand. Smiling softly, she introduced herself
"Imilia Haas, Junior Consul at Baltenainne." The boy looked somewhat flustered, giving Imilia a full once-over before taking her hand and shaking it.
"Lyuben R-... ah... Just Lyuben." Imilia's smile widened as she felt the boy's hand in her own. The sensory enhancement sigils she had sewn into her gloves were working, and Lyuben's handshake held enough information to fill a library. His palm was soft and smooth, but tingled with traces of magic. Powerful magic. Interesting. These hands definitely didn't belong to a working man. his fingers were long, but the fingertips felt calloused. A piano player? Similarity breeds amity. Perfect. The shake itself was firm, definitely well practiced, but was simultaneously trepidatious, filled with an air of doubt. He's nervous, of course. Anyone would be.
"Well Lyuben, it's a pleasure to meet you. What exactly brings you here?"
"A pleasure to meet you as well Ms. Haas. As for your question, well, you know, I'm just... trying to figure out the scope of my abilities, that's all. Same as quite a few people here, I'd assume. And what of you?"
"I've been eager to test out some new magic of my own design. It's part of my Journeymage project for this year. And speaking of other people," Imilia said, lowering her voice, "I'd recommend staying away from Miss Reveera. She may play nice, but I've gleaned a modicum of knowledge as to her future goals, and let me tell you, she's dangerous, and definitely not to be trusted." Lyuben's brow furrowed.
"I see. Thank you for the advice."
"Oh, don't thank me. Consider it a courtesy. Couldn't have my new friends be taken advantage of now, could I?" Lyuben recoiled slightly. Hmmm. Not too keen on being 'friends' then. Interesting. That'll change soon enough.
"No, I wouldn't think so..." Imilia sighed, laughing slightly
"Goodness, where are my manners, launching into topics like this. Let's talk something lighter, hmm, and we can enjoy this delicious looking food?" Lyuben nodded, smiling slightly.
"I can get on board with that." Imilia smiled once more, and filled their glasses from a tankard of golden alcohol. Lyuben opened his mouth to stop her, but it was too late. Imilia looked at him, tilting her head in question.
"I... I don't drink, sorry, my parents-" Imilia looked into his eyes, and gently pressed the glass into his hand.
"Come on, at least try it. I guarantee it's delicious. But that's alright if you don't want to, not everyone can handle it." Lyuben took the glass, smirking slightly
"Alright, I'll give it a shot, I suppose."
"That's the spirit!"
They clinked their glasses together, and moments later, the food was served. Imilia watched as Lyuben reached for his napkin, tucking it into his shirt, saying a quick prayer before reaching for his food. Imilia followed suit absentmindedly, as her mind kicked up into overdrive. Expert table manners, expansive vocabulary, practiced handshake, parents who don't let him drink, sophisticated etiquette, and the fingers of a trained pianist. Who is this boy?
Imilia smiled gleefully as her knife slid cleanly into a chicken breast. She didn't even know the reason for his melancholy, but this boy was already a gold mine. I'll have you soon enough, Lyuben. Just you wait, I'll have you hog tied in chains, wrapped around my little finger, answering my every beck and call. And then, your magic will be mine...
Chapter 6: The Dragonborn
Chapter 6: The Dragonborn (cont.)
Chapter 6: The Dragonborn (cont. 2)
My god
Thank goodness this is done. I loved writing it but it took forever. Thank you @theirintheattic for working with me on this. As always, if you have any problem, and I do mean any problem, with how I wrote your character, please contact me via Discord and tell me about it. I'm almost always available on there, and I will fix it asap. I took a little more creative license writing this than I did last time mainly because of how long it was. I hope everyone enjoys!
Six
The Opponents
Tika, Dry Outrider // Tiktaalik, Diluvian Maw - @FourEyesIsAFish
First Round Match Positions
Match 1
@DrakeGladis - @Jonteman93
Match 2
@DomriKade - @Lujikul
Match 3
@shadow123 - @Tommia
Match 4
@AxNoodle - @Usaername
Match 5
@Red_Tower - @CassZero
Match 6
@theirintheattic - @SpellPiper2213
Match 7
@FourEyesIsAFish - @Tonysparks
Match 8
@WarriorCatInAhat - @ChoyBoi
Music
Sleepwalking
[with character credit to @CassZero - thanks for collaborating!]
Hadid seldom dreamed. Sleep is respite for a restless mind so why waste it on nonsense? he would rib those who asked about his dreamless nights. It wasn’t as though he chose it, the silence and the solitude. If he had his druthers he would continue iterating spells through his sleeping hours.
So when sleep finally came and Hadid opened his eyes to a vivid symphony of vibrant colors, he knew something was amiss. He stood in a garden of impossibly large roses with crimson petals the size of dinner tables. The gargantuan bushes spread out in all directions like a thorny hedge-maze, well-worn footpaths snaking aimlessly through them. The sky above was brushed with pastel clouds that slowly twisted around each other and a humid summer breeze rustled through the oversized foliage.
Hadid glanced warily around the garden. His lucidity was unsettling. The heat of the air made his skin sticky and he felt the give of the rich soil underfoot as he took a cautious step forward. The sweet floral aroma palpably swirled past him as he began to walk, leaving pollen-heavy eddies in his wake. A gentle buzz vibrated through everything, an echo of organic sound like distant locusts.
And so it went for a time - Hadid walked. Each path led to new crossroads between even more patches of rose bushes. There were no repeating patterns like an illusion or puzzle; it really seemed that he was in an endless maze of carefully cultivated flora. After several fruitless attempts to make discernable progress, he elected to orient himself toward a distant patina in the iridescent sky. The brighter glow was barely perceptible between the thorny foliage but he reasoned that it was far better than wandering aimlessly.
Without any fanfare or apparent cause, the path finally, mercifully opened into a clearing of sorts. One of the giant roses towered above the rest of its bush at the clearing’s edge. A young man sat perched atop it, gazing intently at an unseen point in the distance, toward whatever setting sunlight - or was it a moon? - Hadid had been pursuing. The man’s long black overcoat fluttered gently in the hot breeze and an ornate spear rested against his shoulder. His easy posture suggested poise and expertise but Hadid didn’t perceive any hostility. At least not presently, he mused.
Hadid softly cleared his throat and stepped closer. “Are we in your dream?”
An almost imperceptible shadow of surprise crossed the young man’s face as he looked down. He regarded Hadid with an inscrutable expression. “No,” he said after a beat. “It’s not mine.”
Hadid scratched his head in disappointment. “How troubling then that my mind is full of flowers.”
“It’s not that either. It’s more like a memory.”
“A good memory?”
The young man looked back to the infinitely distant horizon. The insectoid buzzing sound lingered heavily in the air.
Hadid shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Ah, well my apologies for the intrusion. I assure you it was unintentional. If you’d be kind enough to point me out...”
“You can stay for a bit, if you’d like.”
Hadid opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself. He stooped down and sat cross-legged in the dirt at the base of the bush. What harm was there in waiting?
Hadid’s breathing became slow and measured. The wind continued to rustle musically through the garden. Motes of light and pollen drifted by on swirls of warmth, dancing to the lilting rhythm. Kaleidoscopic light played across the turned earth, tracing mystic patterns across the clearing. The atmosphere was revitalizing without being invigorating. He felt energies flowing in and across his chest as he breathed.
The young man’s voice floated through the tranquility of the moment. “You can’t cross into the world of dreams unless you have suffered a terrible nightmare.”
Hadid pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose I have at some point.”
“You’re here, which means you’ve crossed the threshold before.”
“Quite possibly. I’ve dabbled with a great many thresholds. It’s a special interest of mine.”
The man looked down at Hadid from the rose. His eyes narrowed slightly as though scrutinizing a difficult text.
“My name is Hadid,” he offered quickly. “I’m a scholar. Well, technically a teacher and researcher.”
Seeming satisfied, the young man leaned back again. “I’m Noah.”
“It’s… good to meet you Noah.” Hadid sighed deeply, watching a stray rose petal flutter by. Moments passed in meditative quiet before he spoke again. “Did you bring me here?”
Noah shook his head slowly. “No. This is preparation.”
“Ah, for the event tomorrow?”
Another pause. “In part.”
“I truly didn’t intend to interrupt.”
“You haven’t. Sometimes company is helpful.”
The two sat for some time, though for how long it was impossible for Hadid to determine. The soft humming continued to coax energies through his frame as his eyelids grew heavy. His next moment of clarity was waking up to slivers of sunlight peeking through the opulent curtains of the tournament quarters, feeling better rested than he had in several years.
He sat up and stretched, considering the oddity of his experience. A terrible nightmare, huh? he thought as he pulled on a robe. I wonder what his nightmare was?Iseabel moved the spoon around in the soup. Bits of meat, potato, carrots and other things. Steaphan stood behind her, silent as usual. If he had been anyone else she would not even have known that he was there, but he was her brother. She could feel him, his flesh, his bones, his blood, skin, hair, she could feel everything that was part of him. She did not know if it was because he was her brother or if it was her powers of necromancy that made her feel him. She scooped up a piece of meat and potato with her spoon when suddenly someone of the other contestants broke out in laughter. Iseabel froze as to ice as the sounds of the room grew louder in her hear. Someone was slamming his metal mug with his fork, someone else was ripping and tearing into a large grilled pig and the sound of chewing mouths, teeth against teeth and breaking bones were filling her head.
It became too much and the memories overwhelmed her mind.
"Steaphan!" Iseabel yelled. "Steaphan, where are you!?" She ran through the burning city and through collapsed buildings. Trough the entire city people were screaming and shouting, dogs were barking and growling, dark beasts were screeching and roaring. Balls of fire flew through the sky, illuminating the streets around her. Buildings and structures collapsed in the distance and a wave of demonic flying beasts descended to catch their prey. Screams filled the air as the people who had survived were being eaten alive.
A burning log hit the ground so splinters covered in fire were shot outwards. Iseabel covered her face as the splinters rained over her, leaving burned marks over her skin. She wanted to scream but she was completely out of breathing from running and yelling for Steaphan. She leaned over a wooden fence as her organs were pulsating within her. Tears were pouring down fromm her eyes. She though she was about to throw up but the as the pained eased so did her stomach. She continued forward through the smoke.
Soon she came to the river that ran through the city. She could she that the bridge that used to connect the two city halves had been destroyed. Villagers and soldiers were trying to cross the river by boat or swimming. "Steaphan!" She yelled as she looked around at the people in and beyond the river. After a few seconds she heard something. She looked at the other side were a regiment of soldiers were helping villagers up from the water. Among them a soldier was waving towards her. "Steaphan!" she yelled with a smile growing on her lips.
She hurried down to the water and the mass of escaping villagers. She walked down into the water just behind a family with two children. The father was leading the children, two boys who could not have been older than 9 and 5 years old respectively. The mother followed tightly after as they began to swim. Iseabel looked at the father almost carrying the youngest on his shoulders, as she forced her body into the cold water. The boy was probably too young to swim.
Iseabel did not swim for long before she caught up to the mother, while the father and the sons swam further beyond her. Something was clearly draining her power, pregnancy or sickness perhaps. She tried to shout to the others but she was out of breath and water splashed down her face so she gave up and focused on swiming. They had not even made it across the midpoint when Iseabel swam past the mother. Then something shook the ground and made waves in the water, then again, like footsteps bearing something heavy. Some people in the river swam faster while other tried to turn back. The father and the boys were always ashore when a shadow appeared between the building.
People who had made it to the shoreline panicked and ran away, some even back into the water. Iseabel looked towards Steaphan and the soldiers who hurried to get the villagers away from the shoreline. One of the walls of the house closest to the shoreline collapsed as a huge hand reached through. 30 feet tall demon with covered in moss and mushrooms appeared behind what was left of the house. It smiled with a discussing mouth as it approached the river. The people ran if they could but those in the water could not get away. The demon caught a man who tried to run. It lifted him up towards his head.
"Chunk!"
The demon bit of the man's head. It chewed on it like a delicacy before it devoured the rest of the body in a single bite. It moved down to the water, grabbing the people like a farmer picking apples from a tree. It barely finished the last one before it grabbed a new struggling villager. Then it grabbed the father who threw the boy off his shoulder. The mother screamed as she powerlessly saw her husband being devoured. The boy struggled to keep his head above the surface but was soon rescued by his older brother. Then the demon reached out his hand again, now grabbing the two boys. The mother screamed in panic, a screamed that turned Iseabel's blood to ice. The mother cried, screamed and looked as if she was about to faint as she witnessed her sons disappear into the demon's chewing mouth.
Arrows were uselessly fired upon the demon from the soldiers on land but to no effect. The mother fell silent. She just floated with dead eyes watching the demon take prey after prey with an never ending lust to feed its belly. Then the demon reached towards Iseabel, but it stopped its hand. It looked at Iseabel for a second before it proceeded to grab some man just behind her. Two men more would fall victim to the demon before it stopped its feast. The demon looked up into the sky as what seemed to be sunlight began to pierce the black clouds. The demon turned back and hurried up into the city again. Then the sky opened up. The last time Iseabel would be happy for the arrival of angels. She looked towards Steaphan, but she saw someone else stare at her.
Iseabel stood up from the dining table. She left the room without having touched anymore of the soup.
Part 5: Morals
Staring at the board that announce the fights, Conscience smiled triumphantly, seeing her matchup. Spinning around, she walked away, Tresa following in her footsteps.
“Well, I guess you’ll be able to test out that theory now. Your draining magic versus Cypherous, the being made of magic.” Tresa smirked. “Fairly sure you’ll win.” Ignoring her, Conscience continued walking, before speaking.
“Tresa. Find me everything you can get your hand on about aetherborn, as well as anything more about Cypherous. I want a full portfolio within the next few days.” Conscience spun abruptly, stopping in her tracks. “I’m taking no risks, got it? Now, I’m going to go train.” Turning back, she headed to a training area, Tresa hurriedly following her.
“That’s all?” she asked. Before Conscience could answer, a little girl came running out of a side passage, accidentally bumping into her leg.
“Oops!” the little girl said, smiling up at Conscience. “You’re Conscience, right? I think you’re really cool.” Tresa tensed, expecting Conscience to snap out for the little girl to apologize, like she did with everyone. Instead, a faraway look appeared, and she bent down, looking eye-to-eye with the little girl. “Well it’s okay. Everyone bumps into other people. You think I’m cool?”
“Yah! You dress great and you look like you’d kick everyone’s butts!” The little girl pumped her fist in the air.
“That’s true,” Conscience laughed, not a mocking laugh, but one of joy. “So you’re going to root for me?”
“Of course! The guy you’re going to fight looks weird and is weird.” The little girl stretched out her hand. “My name’s Sophie! It’s nice to meet you.” Smiling, she ran off, waving and yelling bye.
“Why were you so nice to her? You’re never that nice.” Tresa frowned.
“Do you have that sense, the one that tells you what’s right, and what’s wrong?” Conscience still had the faraway look, as if she was trying to recall something.
“Yeah?” Tresa was visibly confused.
“Really? But you did all the stealing, and killing people’s reputations with those notes.” She had obviously not received the response she thought she’d get.
“Well, I thought of it as a trade. Steal something, but replace it with a note. Something that would ruin someone. I’d pick the people who’d be ruined by asking people I was close with, figuring out who would do terrible things. What I was doing I considered karma, payback for all the bad things they’d done.” Tresa smiled slightly. “Why do you ask?”
“I suppose I’ve never really had one of those. Morals, they’re called. When I was a child, if I did something bad, like lying to my mother or stealing something, like a cookie, I wouldn’t feel anything. I thought that was what everyone felt. Then, I read a book. Journey of a Foreigner, I believe it was called.” Her face dropped, as if recalling something terrible. “It was about a man, who felt nothing. He had no emotion, and the book was about his journey across a continent, where he learned lessons of what was right, wrong, happy, sad, so on. I realized from that, that everyone has something that says what is right to do, and what is wrong to do. A compass of sorts. That girl…she made me remember something. The only moment I’ve ever realized that I was wrong, that I’d done something terrible.” Not explaining any further, Conscience turned away, hiding something.
“I picked you to help me because I thought we’d be similar. I don’t really have anyone that really understands me, nor that I understand. I guess, deep down, I was afraid that being in this tournament would awaken something, a reckoning for me.” Tresa moved forward, putting her hand on the other girl’s shoulder.
“I understand. People who are different can still understand each other. Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Tresa said, meaning every word, before starting to walk away. “I’ll go gather information, you can go pull yourself together by beating up mannequins, ok?” Conscience smiled, even though Tresa couldn’t see.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Both girls went off, each heading in different directions.
The training grounds were quite close to where she was. A swath of grass, interspersed with mannequins, battered but still in shape, and along the walls were racks of weapons, everything from swords to hammers. Within the grounds, the small kobold, Kaigan, was practicing with a spear, while Sturgar, the metal dragonborn, stood off to the side, whirling four weapons. Finishing a spear form, Kaigan ended facing right at her, then smiled in recognition. He started walking in her direction, training spear slung over his shoulder.
“Conscience, isn’t it?” He smiled. She’d seen Kaigan attempt to interact with as many champions as possible, so she was pretty sure she was next. Sighing, she stepped towards him.
“Yes. You are Kairan, right?” she said, intentionally saying his name wrong.
“Kaigan. You are from around these parts, right? I don’t mean to pry,” he followed, obviously incredible respectful. At first evaluation, he seemed interesting, hard to read, but from this small interaction, Conscience had reevaluated. Kaigan was naïve, definitely from another place. He had no skill in social maneuvering, but his approach still had merit.
“Yeah. You aren’t from around these parts, no?” Conscience smiled, a smile similar to those an apex predator would give before devouring a small animal.
“Yep. I’m from a land far, far away. Why’d you come to the tournament?” Sturgar, in the background, was paying no attention to the interaction, the clang of his blades loud enough to mask the conversation.
“Me? Seemed fun, plus the Merchant Council has to send a representative. Helps with selling goods. What about you?”
“I came to help people. A champion is supposed to help, so this seemed like the right place to go.” Conscience disguised a laugh as a cough. This kobold sure was naïve to the true ways of the world, but his outlook she couldn’t help but admire, especially after recalling that memory.
“Want to spar?” was all she replied with.
“Sounds good.” The kobold didn’t add anything patronizing, which she’d received a lot, when she’d ask to spar with other boys. Heading over to the racks, she pulled out two wooden short swords, testing their balance by flipping them in the air. Walking over to where Kaigan had walked back to, Conscience moved her swords into a ready position.
“Magic, or no?” Kaigan asked, obviously not wanting to assume anything.
“Nah, I want to test out how rusty my skills are,” she said, before lunging forward, one short sword in a thrust. Use his reach against him, her brain whispered, get in close, where a spear is useless. Blocking her thrust with the spear, which he had flipped off his shoulder, he went on the offensive, moving his spear in a set of stabbing motions. Conscience circled away, avoiding the thrusts as Kaigan pivoted to match her.
An attack to the stomach almost landed, and she cursed as Sturgar turned to watch. Closing her eyes, Conscience breathed, before opening them. Flipping her short swords into a different position, she launched herself forward, slapping away the spear with one sword, before slashing the other forward. Moving to avoid, Kaigan barely managed to not get hit, the unexpected attack surprising him.
Dropping into a slide, Conscience pushed the offensive, spinning in a whirlwind of sword attacks. Kaigan ran backwards, as Conscience overpowered him with the quick attacks, before dropping into a lunge, the spear striking her in the side, shoving her away and hitting hard.
“Nice one,” Conscience said, breathing a little.
“You’re quite good. I’ve trained for a very long time, and I haven’t encountered someone as good as you with the sword. I sincerely doubt your rusty” Kaigain responded, also breathing harder.
“You as well. And yes, I may not be rusty, upon further reflection.” Conscience went back over to rack, before pulling out a different set of weapons: a scimitar and a dagger. Spinning the scimitar around, the dagger rested in her other hand, and she rushed forward, scimitar already leaping forward. Blocking the swing with the spear, Kaigan was unprepared for the dagger she swung, only barely managing to avoid. Spinning away from the block, Conscience threw the dagger, which missed, but forced Kaigan into a bad position. She swung the scimitar again, and just as it reached his throat, she stopped it.
“I think I beat you by a second,” she said, looking down at the spear that had just stopped before her heart, only a second after the scimitar stopped.
My opinion of Kaigan has changed, she decided. He’s incredible with the spear, and I admire him for his wanting to help.After a few more matches, it became quite apparent they were on a similar level, at least at using weapons. Waving goodbye, she realized she had almost forgotten the incident in the hallway, and her smile turned to a frown. Striding back into the complex, she headed to her rooms to wait for Tresa to deliver the information.
(Written with the help of @DrakeGladis -- This was so much fun to write!)
Sturgar could wait no longer. Last night, rather than sleep, he had hauled an entire tree trunk back to his room and obsessively whittled it, bit by bit, into a perfect replica of his sword. Two hands held the log while the other two, swords brandished, carved away thin slivers of wood with practiced accuracy and efficiency. By the time he finished, the sun was peaking hesitantly through the cover of dense clouds, just barely poking a few tentative rays through his window. He tilted his head back, sighing. He was almost knee high in a massive pile of wood shavings, and his nerves had gotten no better. Nartheus was scheduled to arrive in time to see the match, and no matter how many other things Sturgar forced his troubled mind to think of, he always returned to each and every thing that could go wrong during Nartheus' travels. Highway robbers, wild beasts, mudslides, rockfalls, assassins, he even thought of the most unlikely things; heart attacks, getting struck by lightning, falling off a cliff (although there were none on the route.) But what worried him most was the "Akon", the horrid beast that had intercepted their caravan the other day.
Once the day's announcements were over, including the completely unveiled threat from the assassin, Sturgar walked to the bulletin board. He looked over his shoulder compulsively, not sure what he was looking for. He was unused to such organized combat, and half expected his opponent to jump on him that very moment.
As he drew near the bulletin, his heart (yeah he's still got one of those) beat like a war drum, thumping louder and louder. He found his name, scribbled upon the parchment nailed to the board, traced his finger along the line between his and another name, and sighed with relief. His opponent was the elf. Not that this would be the easiest match of his life, far from it. He knew well that the most ordinary looking person is often simply the best at hiding their true abilities, and this worried him greatly. But it's wasn't the Aetherborn, so he had hope. He stood before the board for a moment more, calming his pulse and staring at the paper as if to ensure that it was real, then, with a quick backwards glance, walked quietly off to the orchard.
He sat, back to a tree, in the very spot he had conversed with the small Kobold the night before. He picked up the stick he had used as a pen, still lying in the grass, and twirled it absentmindedly in a patch of dirt, as he let his mind wander.
Sturgar ran full tilt down a narrow alley way, past the screams and the crackling of the flames. He jumped over a toppled fruit cart as yet another deafening explosion rocked the earth behind him, briefly illuminating the starry night sky. The gala was supposed to have been the culmination of an extremely profitable business arrangement, though Nartheus' unconscious body slung over Sturgar's left shoulder was a clear testament against that. Sometime during the dinner, an explosion had taken the roof clean off the venue, an elegant mansion of a rich mine owner in the region. It was most likely an attempt to remove certain individuals from the business by a competitor, though it had been poorly executed. Charges were seemingly still detonating, and much of the surrounding villa and city were now in flames. Having been standing right behind the duke's chair, Sturgar had caught him the moment the first explosion hit, immediately jumping off the balcony and landing on the cobblestone streets below with a thunderous crash as he shattered the stones and created a small crater, before running for Nartheus' ship.
He could see the docks as he raced through city, weaving between panicked onlookers, and just barely ducked as a cannonball shrieked through the air before impacting a nearby house in an explosion of timbers and bricks. Arms raised, he shielded the duke without slowing his pace. He was mere feet away from the ship, a brand new two-masted galleon with a golden hawk at it's helm.
BOOM! Another projectile whistled through the dark, coming from the bay. Sturgar jumped as it crashed into the earth before him, showering them both with dirt and splinters. He was, to say the least, uncomfortable. He could see no enemy, and his weapons did him no good in such a situation. All he could do was shield Nartheus, with his life if need be, and get to the boat and leave. He knew somebody was following them, chasing them down every back alley and dirt path. The same shadow stalked the night, tirelessly keeping pace. Most likely sent to finish the job. Dashing up the gangplank, Sturgar grabbed a rope, pulling it with all his might. It tore clean off, but the bell rung loud and clear through the night. Hearing the signal, the crew got to work. Pouring forth from their cabins, they rushed the duke to the small on-ship infirmary and began hoisting the anchor and raising the plank. As a sailor pulled in the gangplank and tossed the rope to the dock, he shouted.
"Oi, dragon man!" Sturgar was off the ship, nowhere to be found. "Hey! We're leaving! Let's g--"
Another cannon fired, off into the city.
"Ohhh" The sailor smiled, realizing what was going on.
Indeed, Sturgar had ran below the water level, being far to dense to swim, while holding his breath, and found the ship firing it's cannons at them. Hacking a hole in it with his axe, he had created a gaping hole in it's bottom, letting in water and, more importantly, him. He ran though the ship's belly as it began to tilt dangerously. Seeing the cannoneers, he set himself upon them. The first charged him with a cutlass. He grabbed him by the throat, smashed the man's face into the cannon, the tipped he entire cannon out of the porthole, taking three men into the water with it. He whirled around, instantly decapitating a fourth sailor, and tore through the remaining buccaneers, slashing and stabbing and crushing. Satisfied with the carnage he had wrought, he climbed the stairs above decks, where sailors were unhooking lifeboats or simply jumped off the railings into the water, swimming slowly to shore. Once again, he slaughtered them with a perverse sense of satisfaction, finally seeing his enemy and how weak they truly were. The final sailor was thrown into the sea in pieces as the ship tilted, halfway horizontal. Seeing Nartheus' galleon pull away from the dock, Sturgar kicked over one of the boat's masts, running along it as it fell, and jumped at the last second, landing on the ship's deck and splintering a few of the floor's planks.
"What the hell..." A sailor stared at him in shock. "W-what d'you do to those poor bastards?"
Sturgar looked down at himself. He was entirely red, covered from head to toe in blood and viscera. At his feet, more blood was pooling in places.
Without trying to respond, Sturgar shoved the man to the floor, simultaneously throwing a sword and his axe over the sailor's head. He paused, holding his breath, then exhaled as he heard two muted thunks and a scream, before someone collapsed on deck. Walking over to inspect it, leaving the sailor lying prone on deck, Sturgar found a body shrouded in a black cloak, tow short knives in hand. His axe has firmly embedded it it's torso, and the sword rested in it's head. He tore off the cloak. A young, thin man lay there, clad in a set of sleek black leather armor. Standard garb for an assassin, save the tattoo. There, on the man's collarbone, Sturgar found the image of a snake, coiled around clenched fist, seared in black ink. Interesting. Having memorized the tattoo, he tossed the corpse overboard, the ran below decks to check on the duke.
Sturgar awoke from his reverie, feeling oddly at peace. He was more than capable of winning this match. He knew he would do fine. He got up, stretched, picked up the stick, and made his way towards the fortress, finally at peace.
Arha groaned as she looked at the contest board. Of course she was going to fight Sturgar. Of course. It wasn't as if she had been nervous about facing him during the trip to the fortress. No, it was pure luck that she was facing the metallic lizard-man.
The elf traipsed back to her room, grumbling. She might as well get started on training. She'd need it. But first...
She pulled out the mirror from under her pillow. Looking into it, she spoke a word and waited. After a minute or so, the mirror's surface rippled and shifted, and a familiar face appeared in it.
"Greetings, Arha," Kennemal, a higher-ranking knight of Qan Maris, said. "You have something to report?"
"Greetings, sir" Arha replied. "I have several things, in fact. First of all, I have entered the Tournament, although you must know that by now. Second of all, I've located at least two people of interest to the kingdom. One of them is Conscience Reveera, the-"
"The Reveera heiress?" the other elf asked incredulously. "She entered the Tournament? I thought that was just a way to sell newspapers, like the dragon last autumn."
"It's true," Arha said. "The other one is a witch from what I believe is a prestigious magical college. I intend to approach both of them while I'm here...which might not be all that long."
"Why not?"
"In the sixth match, I'm fighting an eight-foot-tall metal lizard-man with four arms."
Kennemal paused before beginning to laugh. "I admit, Arha," he said, "you've always known the best jokes. An eight-foot metal man with four arms? That's the funniest thing I've heard in years."
"If I were joking, sir, you'd know," Arha replied. "There is an eight-foot-tall metal lizard-man with four arms that I'm going to fight at one point during this Tournament."
The elf in the mirror stopped laughing, looking more bemused than anything. "Huh. The things they don't print." He stroked his chin, thinking. "Well, have you started preparing to face him?"
"I was planning to do that immediately after reporting."
Kennemal nodded. "Then I shouldn't keep you."
The spear struck the mannequin again. This time, magic flowed along it and covered the mannequin in a thin layer of stone. After a few seconds, the stone sloughed off, turning to dust that blew away.
Arha pulled away her spear and leaned against in, panting. Her magic was less effective when she used a weapon as a conduit, she knew, but this was just ridiculous. She needed it to work better.
Catching her breath, she put down her spear and pulled out her sword. Carefully, calmly, she went through the different forms. First, second, third... She began to get quicker, swiping her sword through the air. Parry, riposte, sidestep. Attack, block, reposition.
Finally, Arha stood, poised in a battle stance. She held it for a moment before relaxing and going to sit under a nearby tree. There would be more training before her fight with Sturgar. For now, resting and watching.
Chapter 5: Preparations
Match 8: Doctor Cypherous versus Conscience Reveera.Cypherous stared at the board announcing the fights. He was standing on the bridge conecting to Castle Werther. A few of the other champions were there, looking at it as well.
Cypherous left the bridge, deciding to take a short walk around the castle. Along the way, he aimed small lightning bolts at specific objects, in order to test his aim.
After a few minutes of walking, not too far from him, there was a training area of sorts. An area of grass with a few battered training dummies. Three of the other contestants were there: the metal dragonoid, Sturgar, the little lizardman, Kaigain, and Conscience. None of them seemed to notice him.
Kaigain and Conscince were sparring. Conscience didn't seem to have any visible weapons or armor of any sort, but she wouldn't have entered the tournament if she couldn't handle a fight. She probably had magic of some sort.
From the folds of his brown robes, Cypherous pulled out a small, golden, hummingbird-like construct.
Cypherous held the thing up to his face and whispered to it.
"Fly over to those other contestants. Gather what info you can about their fighting styles and abilities. Don't stay for very long. Return to my room when you're done. "
(story card thingie)
https://mtgcardsmith.com/view/intel-thopter
The little thopter flew off. Cypherous felt guilty about spying on the other champions, especially Kaigain and Sturgar, who both seemed like nice, honorable people. But he needed all the knowledge he could get if he was to survive the tournament.
Besides, He thought. It's not like I'm prying into their thoughts and personal lives. I'm just gathering information on their abilities and skills.
And with that done, Cypherous returned to the castle and back to his room.
A Book by its Cover
[in collaboration with @Lujikul - thank you for working with me on this!]
The library at Werther Fortress could hardly be called such, but it was appropriately secluded from much of the bustle on the grounds. The shelves were stocked with a notable - if meager - selection of classics, dating back some decades. Damien had selected a book of poetry, at least in part because Rugal seemed to have no taste for it and would likely leave him alone for the duration. A gentle breeze brushed through the open shutters and motes of dust drifted in the shafts of sunlight. Damien relished the moment of quiet.
A small knock at the open door drew him from the text. He glanced up from the book to see a gray-haired man in an unseasonably thick academic’s robe leaning against the door jamb.
“Hexeaubert always had a flair for the dramatic.” The old man cleared his throat and began to recite.
In the moments twixt sorrow and slumber
Reside yet our darkest desires without number
Damien grinned and finished the line.
Our innermost selves manifest most clear
As tethers to wakefulness fain disappear
The mage returned the smile and nodded toward the book. “I’ve always enjoyed her sense of meter. Tackling heady topics always felt easier with a rhythm behind it.”
Damien rubbed a page lightly between his fingers. “Yes, though I’m more partial to The Vagabond’s Son. Her writing was much more fluid before she started adding the whole of her vocabulary into every line.”
The old man arched his eyebrows in surprise. “A rare taste indeed. There aren’t many copies of her early works in publication at all.”
Damien inclined his head thoughtfully. “It took some searching to find one, but I believe it was worth it.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a literary connoisseur.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fighting mage.”
The man chuckled warmly. “So perhaps we are both still learning to not judge by appearances.” He stepped forward and held out a hand. “I’m Hadid. I believe we are to compete in this first round.”
The wooden chair creaked as Damien stood and closed the worn tome. Hadid involuntarily rocked back on his heels as he considered Damien’s full, broad-shouldered stature which now towered a full head above him.
“Damien,” he said, enveloping Hadid’s proffered hand with a sturdy grip. “The pleasure is mine.” An echo of fury rose into Damien’s throat. He swallowed hard as Rugal’s voice clawed at the inside of his mind. He’s walked right up to you. The fool has delivered himself like a meal - devour him!
“Like a vice!” Hadid laughed at the incredible strength of the handshake. He glanced down at Damien’s hand, indicating the rough lines across them. “Pardon my forwardness, but your scars look like they’re from burns. You are a... craftsman perhaps?”
“A blacksmith by trade.” But you could do so much more. “I heard someone call you a teacher?” We’re going to fight him anyway, let’s just do it now.
“Yes, I teach and study magic. I suppose the title they read off at the announcement gave away my specialty?” Damien grunted against Rugal’s influence. Hadid perceived it as assent and continued. “I dabble in all sorts of things - it comes with the rigors of academia you know - but I’ve always been drawn to teleportation and portal magic. It’s truly a fascinating art.”
“Why would a teacher want to take part in something like this?” Less talk. Strike!
Hadid frowned and gazed out the open window. He paused for a moment, rolling the answer around in his mind. “There are… unusual rumors regarding previous iterations of this tournament. Dark uncertainties that… may be best explored and experienced straight from the source.”
For a moment, Rugal was silent.
Hadid’s dark expression vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He looked back to Damien. “So what does a blacksmith and literary aficionado hope to gain from all this… violence?”
An opportunity, an outlet, a vehicle. Damien hesitated as he mulled over his thoughts. “The tournament has one winner, so there will be peace when it’s over. That is my hope in any case.” You’re predictably naïve.
“You are wise, Damien. Discernment is a gift that many lack without knowing it.”
Wisdom would be cutting this doddering idiot down where he stands. Damien leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. “When we meet, on the day of our battle,” He said haltingly. “I want you to know that I will… not quite be myself.”
“Ah yes,” Hadid nodded knowingly. “We all lose ourselves in the heat of the moment from time to time.”
Damien shook his head. “No, it’s not-” Just a little roughing up? I’ll make it quick. “- like that. It’s a warning. As a courtesy.”
The mage squinted quizzically. “That’s... generous of you. I think.” He began moving toward the hallway. “I didn’t mean to interrupt for long, I only wished to converse briefly outside of the ring. Seems best to be able to look each other in the eye. I’m grateful to have shared this moment.” He stopped at the door, turning to Damien with a small smile. “I wish you the best of fortune in our contest, truly.”
Damien met his gaze, each one searching the other for some sense of their hidden capacities. His destruction will be swift and brutal, as it should be. “Good luck to you too. And thank you.”
Hadid bowed deeply as he stepped out into the hallway. His footsteps echoed down the stone passage as he traveled back toward the main foyer.
We should have done it. He was a fruit ripe for the picking.
Damien sighed heavily as his heart rate slowed. He spoke softly to the empty room as he picked up the book of poetry. “Leave me be.”