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Welcome to the Semi-Finals! This match is Body and Mind vs. Whispers in the Wind!
Your Arena;
A dark, dank dungeon with limited light and space to move that has chains of all lengths and sizes hanging from the ceiling all over. Some chains have razor sharp hooks attached.
Your match begins at 12 AM PST 5/29/2009!
Arena courtesy of Lightfoot.
‘Hopper floated through nothingness. His eyes were open, but all he saw was the endless darkness. His body was whole, but only drew attention to the absolute absence of feeling. He was alone with himself and his thoughts.
Guess this’s it he thought to himself, finally got meself a page in tha’ dead-book. S’been a good run, no regrets an’ all ‘at.
“No regrets?!” An angry face flashed into view in front of ‘Hopper, followed quickly by the rest of a very familiar body. It was Patrick’s face, the young man he’d lost all those years ago in the Feywyld, the one whose face had led ‘Hopper himself off the path years later. The failure was still fresh in his mind after the first battlefield in this damned tournament had brought all those memories rushing back.
“You left me out there to die, ‘Hopper. You didn’t even come after me when you knew you were the only chance I had!” Patrick’s voice was angry, mixed with tears. The voice of a young man betrayed by someone he’d trusted.
There came a cry from his left, "Twelve years with the Tanar'Ri, when you left me there on the Field of Nettles! Twelve years enduring every sick and twisted torture they could put me through before they finally let me die!" It was a wretched thing that shouted at him, shaped like a man, but torn and tattered like an old rag doll. 'Hopper still recognized that face. He'd never forget those eyes, no matter how mangled the face that held them might be. It was a young man he'd left out there, and his only crime being unable to keep up.
Before he could even think to answer, a half-dozen more ghostly shapes were upon him, accusing him. They overwhelmed him, paralyzed his speech, left him helpless but for one silent plea, Powers, Couldn't it be fiends, flaying me skin? Or frozen alive an' shattered over an' over? Anything but this!
[hr]
'Hopper floated there for what seemed like an eternity, helplessly surrounded by the ghosts of his past. Some shouted at him, angry and vengeful. Some whispered. Some just floated there and stared, like they were trying to bore through his eyeballs and impress their pain into his mind.
It worked.
They spoke in turn, forcing him to relive each and every memory as they played out in his head. When they were finished, all three hundred and seventy two individual men doomed by his failures, they all screamed at once in a cacophonous choir.
Even that came to an end, when the ghosts of his past found one final torture to inflict upon him. The veil of spirits parted before the arrival of one much more real than the rest. He was a giant of a man, dressed in a suit of full plate armor with the insignia of a Harmonium officer. The man's face was fully obscured behind his helmet, but 'Hopper knew full well who it was. The only ghost who hadn't had his say.
There came a low, powerful voice from inside the armor, "It has been a long time, little brother."
In just another moment, 'Hopper understood just how much more real his brother's ghost was, when a gauntlet-clad fist smashed into his face. He could feel each individual bone cracking under the force of his brother's fist, a pain that should have sent his consciousness falling back into blackness; death held no such mercy.
'Hopper fell back onto what felt like solid ground. "Look at you, falling quietly into death and madness without even TRYING to fight back! What HAPPENED to you?" His brother was screaming at him, punctuating his rant with another bone-shattering kick to 'Hopper's chest.
'Hoppers whole world now was pain. Already broken mentally, his physical body was reduced to a muddled mass of loose flesh and broken bones. Somehow though, words still came from 'Hoppers lips, "I DESERVE it. Jus' like i 'ad this comin' ta me."
His brother delivered another sharp kick to 'Hoppers side, but this one he barely felt. Whether the kick was weaker, or he just didn't have anything left to feel it with, he couldn't tell. "Neville, you KNOW how to talk properly, mother would roll over in her grave if they heard that trash coming out of your mouth."
Back when they were both alive, 'Hopper would have sworn at his anal-retentive prick of a brother in the most colorful language he could muster, but he wasn't in his normal, universally cantankerous state of mind. His brother's words snapped 'Hopper back into the rigid, proper way of speaking he'd learned when he was young. "Nobody calls me that anymore, Clive. Besides that, what does it matter? I'm dead."
Clive, mercifully, decided to stop kicking 'Hopper now, drawing attention to his revelation, "No, you most certainly are NOT dead. Not yet."
"I am here, and so are you. There is no way for that to happen, unless I am dead. I died up there on that mountain, I lost. It is over."
"No, you moron. You won! Almost dead isn't dead, that ring of yours is keeping you alive, and it can bring you back, if you let it."
"But, I KNOW you are dead."
Clive's helmet had disappeared while 'Hopper wasn't looking, revealing a face much like 'Hoppers, only much more regal. Regal, until Clive let slip a smirk, and lifted a finger to his mouth while whispering, "shhhh." After 'Hoppers quizzical look, he explained, "When someone is almost dead, like you are right now, the veil between life and death gets a little thinner, and someone close to you, like me, can sneak through. I'm not really supposed to be here."
Clive sat down next to 'Hopper with an audible CLANG of metal armor, and lifted 'Hopper up. Somewhere during the conversation, the pain of that beating he'd delivered had disappeared. Not just the pain, the injuries he'd received, he sat up with the thought, guess it's not all bad.
Still, once he'd processed what Clive was telling him, 'Hopper was incredulous, "YOU? Break the rules? Sweet powers, I'm not just dead, the whole multiverse is coming to an end!"
Clive laughed, "You needed me, Neville, so I'm here to bail you out again, that's all there is to it."
'Hopper grimaced, "What I needed was to not fail all those kids. What I needed was to be a better guide for them, and for you, too. This doesn't change that."
"They don't blame you, they're not angry and haunting you for all eternity, they have better things to do in the afterlife."
"But...?"
Clive cut 'Hopper off, "It's just you, holding on to their memories, to the guilt. I'm the only real ghost here, everything else has just been your fever dream."
"But I...?"
"No, you didn't fail me either. In case you've forgotten, I'm the one who had to pick you up and THROW you through that gate, AFTER I'd ordered you to lead my men back home while I covered your retreat. Three times."
"But you..."
'Hopper was getting damned sick of Clive cutting him off before he even had a chance to talk. It didn't help that his brother knew him too damned well to bother listening. His brother's cutting voice shut down 'Hoppers protests for a third time, "Orders are orders, I chose to follow mine, and that's where we ended up. You couldn't have changed that."
'Hopper was quiet for a few minutes, thinking it over. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"Of course I do."
"Then can I ask you just one more question?"
"Depends what the question is." 'Hopper looked at him quizzically, before Clive decided to elaborate, "There are a lot of questions about what comes after that I'm just not allowed to answer."
"No no, nothing like that. What I really want to know is, if you really did forgive me before you ever even came here..."
"Mmhmm?"
"WHY IN THE NINE SODDING HELLS DID YOU HAVE TO BREAK MY FACE LIKE THAT?!"
Clive let another small smirk cross that granite-like face of his, "You remember Sharee?"
"Oh powers, the DANCER?" 'Hopper was red-faced and spitting hatred.
Clive just nodded.
'Hopper continued, angry, but full of life again for the first time since this dream had started, "Twenty-five years later, you even forgive me for getting you killed, and you're STILL angry about that?!"
"First love, first lost, and it was your fault." Clive said, being entirely too smug about it.
"First love nothing!" 'Hopper spat, "Besides, I did you a favor. She'd have broken your heart surely as she did mine."
"Maybe, but I never did get the chance to beat the snot out of your for it. Now we're even." Clive stood up, "I've got to go now, you should be waking up any minute now."
"I think I can take it from here, already 'ear 'er whispering me name." 'Hopper was already transitioning back into his normal speaking patterns, now that the shock of it all had worn off.
Clive knew it was hopeless correcting 'Hopper now, and didn't even try, "Right, that silly little contest you're in. Good luck with that, and try not to die, alright?"
"Yeah, right, yer just scared o' the whupping I'll be handing ye' once I see yeh' again." 'Hopper grinned, but never heard the response. Clive, and this whole inner world of his, was fading fast. Eagerly, 'Hopper floating back up to the real world.
[hr]
Only to awaken to the sight of yet another hellish landscape. Fully entombed in rock, a dungeon filled with chains and torturous blades. The stone walls were carved out with the faces of screaming, tortured men. A sickly glow cast its pall over everything, even though it had no clear source. It looked something like this
Sara wasn't far from him, but looked just as confused about it all as he did. He couldn't help but ask,"powers, where're we this time? We dead?"
Out of Character:
For the third time, Jacob and his sensei passed from one vile, lifeless wasteland to another, hellishly opposite yet equally perilous. Where his first battlefield had been a hellish steppe of ash and bone, the second a sprawling industrial jungle filled with hazardous machinery and molten metal, and the third an infinite sea of scalding sand and jagged rocks, the forth challenge brought the student and master into a dank subterranean dungeon. The smoldering sun and searing winds of their last arena had vanished, replaced with a damp chill and a hungry darkness.
“Sensei? I can’t see anything.” Jacob glanced around, fruitlessly straining against the wall of gloom. He disliked the cold, and he hated dark, confined spaces. It all reminded him of death, which hit far too close to home. The young student shuddered and let out a ragged breath. The darkness seemed to press inward, smothering him and draining the warmth and life from his body. He pulled his overcoat tightly around his frail frame. “Where are you?”
“Right beside you,” Gesse replied, brushing a hand over his student’s shoulder. “Your voice is shaking; you’re allowing these surroundings to get the better of you. Clear your mind, or you won’t be any use in this fight.”
“I’m trying, Silas,” Jacob muttered weakly.
“Remember the first kata I ever taught you? Do it.”
“Right now? Is this really a good time?”
“Just do it, Jacob.”
“Yes, fine. If you insist.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he took up the appropriate form and position. It was a simple kata, consisting of very basic strikes, blocks, and movements. He must have practiced it a thousands of times. Punch. Block. Pivot. Jab. All in all, it took little over a minute. “All right, finished. But what was it supposed to acc-”
“Open your eyes and look around,” sighed Gesse. “You should find a new level of clarity.” Jacob did as he was told. While performing the kata, his eyes had adjusted and he found that it wasn’t quite as dark as it had initially seemed. A very faint, sickly glow coated the walls of the cavern like slime. The passageway still felt too cramped for his liking, barely enough room for three men to walk shoulder-to-shoulder, but at least he could see.
Unfortunately, his surroundings seemed, if anything, more foreboding now that he could see them a little more clearly. Rather than having been built from stone and mortar, the dungeon had been roughly hewn from solid granite. Old chains and sharp hooks dangled from the ceiling at various lengths. The smell of old blood mixed with rust to create a stinging, overpowering metallic tang. The young psion could feel the psychic residue of pain and suffering as clearly as he could the cold, damp air.
Perhaps most disconcerting of all were the massive stone faces that dominated walls, stretching from the floor to the ceiling. Their granite features were twisted into tormented grimaces and their silently screaming mouths were stretched inhumanly wide. The gaps of their mouths were large enough for a person to have been strapped into them and tortured, and the bloodstains within gave credence to that notion.
Feeling his spirits sinking, Jacob resorted to his usual response for coping with such things. “These crazy battlefields that we’re getting sent to are just getting out of hand. Just once I’d like to be sent off to a nice sunny meadow or something.”
“I would have imagined that you got more than enough sun in our last trial,” Silas replied.
“How about sunny to partly cloudy, with a high of 70 degrees?” asked Jacob. “You know, birds singing, butterflies fluttering around, and squirrels running around with nuts for the sole purpose of providing me with classy innuendo fodder.”
The sensei shook his head. “Ah, the dreams of the young.”
“I can hope, can’t I?”
“For now, just hope that we find out opponents before they find us.”
Out of Character:
Good luck to all.
Also, notice to the judge (or judges :p ) ... that the bolded and broken up part in this post is quoted from Christophs' post (the one above me) just in case you didn't catch it to clarify any confusion or any of that.
It is intentionally quoted that way as noted later in this post. Thanks.
The mountain top vigorously shook from the oncoming avalanche as the large mass of snow was about to bury the duo.
This is it. It's all over!
Sara couldn't bare to watch as she closed her eyes for impact awaiting her instant and painless death, yet it never came. A sudden chill rushed down her neck making her hair stand up, as the feeling of damp air suddenly surrounded her.
No void this time? An instant change to the next arena? Who is responsible for this?
She looked around briefly and realized where she was. It was The Subterranean Dungeon of the Spirits!
Memories of the story behind this dreadful place rang through her head as she remembered her mother telling it to her when she was much younger.
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Sara,
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom called Renualt. Within it was the village of Krevshire, where a stone carver lived by the name of Giuseppe Shields. Carving and manipulating stones was his family’s business, and they were known far and wide for their skill. When the time came for him to take over the business, he proved himself more than an adequate successor to his father, a master in his own right.
He brought his creations to life in many countries across the continent with his near legendary skills. What no one knew was that although he was very naturally talented and had honed his abilities, he also instilled a certain element of literal magic into his acts. He had potential to be a great sorcerer, but because he never embraced it his power manifested itself in his creations. Both the audience and Giuseppe himself were not aware of this.
At sixty he had become known across the continent for his unparalleled skill; however, he had grown bored of the outside world and retired to the home his heart had never left. Although his success had given him many things, he had never married or sired a child. To Giuseppe, the village was his family, and to the children of Krevshire, he became “Papa Giuseppe,” the nice man who ran the shows at festivals. He also brought them beautiful dolls and toys on their birthdays. He gave much of his fortune away to those in the village who were struggling to make ends meet. Despite this charity, he was the happiest he had ever been.
During his seventy-fourth year of life, war had made its way to Krevshire. It started with rumors and tales as most things do, but war struck others, not those of the village. Soon the first of the young men, the same that had grown up watching Giuseppe’s shows, were recruited into the militia. The war was finally real and would quickly take a turn for the worse.
Krevshire eventually found itself in contested territory turning the happy villagers into refugees. Over the next year, Giuseppe saw many old friends and young children pass due to disease and a particularly harsh winter. Those he loved were dying for a war he cared nothing about.
The war ended, and the remaining villagers now numbered in the dozens. Giuseppe discovered why his life had been destroyed, the old king Ivano had died with two male heirs. The younger son Dracov was declared the successor, but the elder prince, Gespav, contested. Backed by a number of vessals and the neighboring country Lynds, Gespav had plunged his homeland into war to satisfy his desires for power. As a result, he emerged the king of a slightly smaller nation.
Giuseppe dedicated himself to his craft once again, and he sat down to make a memorial to those children lost in the war. He remembered their faces and voices. He always had a knack for that; now he just had to put his hands to work doing what comes naturally. He began chopping, cutting, stripping, carving and sanding, only stopping for minutes at a time to satisfy his hunger.
Giuseppe developed an odd habit, or maybe compulsion, when he created a new stone figure he would kill a small animal and remove its heart transplanting it to his latest creation. He felt bonded to those stone formations most of all, and could almost hear them speak to him. They asked him for more friends, they asked him to make them warm, they asked him to rebuild the village, and they asked him to take revenge for them.
In isolation, Giuseppe’s abilities and powers grew.
One day, while checking his traps for animals, Giuseppe came upon a woodcutter who had not been cautious enough, and had been pinned by a tree. Giuseppe had seen men who were in situations like this one in his lifetime, and he knew the boy scarcely. The man had little time left, and no chance of being saved. It must have been a sign. The man was as good as dead and that rabbit heart seemed to small anyway, larger animals were always better, but this would be a first.
Giuseppe returned to his new Krevshire, replicated down to the last detail, but with stone statues in its place. In his dark prize he felt something stirring, like a small bird, or a gust of wind, or a small flame. It was tiny, but strong, and filled with life this would be his grandest creation to date. It danced and moved about and needed no support. He had done the impossible and created life.
Soon he took to the road searching for places of the dying. He found a handful in hospitals and poorhouses, but their diseased forms didn’t produce what he wanted. The woodsman had been a windfall he had not expected and wished he had never found.
The first healthy dozen or so he wept for even as he acted, but they gave him what he needed. After awhile, the expressions on the stone carvings became inhuman as he slowly lost his sanity to his now sickly deeds. Body parts would be longer than physically possible, primarily the mouth where the victim looked like as if it were screaming in agony. His own psychotic mind slowly overwhelmed him as soon the village turned cold, later renaming it to "The Subterranean Dungeon of the Spirits". The torturous and grimacing looks of the stone faces made your skin crawl. For this no longer was a prominent and beautiful village, it was a lonesome dungeon of despair and agony. With each new stone carving, the facial structure of the person grew more sadistic. To this day, no one knows of its true destination except for me.
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"I never even knew this place existed!"
Now, Sara and Hopper were stranded here awaiting their new competition, fully surrounded by concealed shrieks of horror and torture in the strange stone carvings that were scattered everywhere throughout the dungeon.
A frightening thought suddenly overcame Sara,
I wonder if Giuseppe is still alive and knows that we are down here. I pray that he is long gone by now, he has to be! Thoughts like this can't get to you Sara, focus! Now isn't the time!
Sara shook her head loosely a little bit to regain her mental strength as she found her good friend and partner.
"Hopper, are you ok? Let's get this over with shall we?"
And then in the distance ...
“F.r no., j..t hope th.. we f..d ou. opp..e.ts bef..e t.ey f..d us.”
Even though only parts of a speech were heard clearly, Sara knew their opponents were not to far away. Her elvish hearing could pick them up easily and much earlier than a normal human ear could. She always found it amusing that she could hear something before someone knew what hit them.
"Hopper. Stay as quiet as you can. I know you can't hear them, but I can. They are getting closer. Be ready!"