Matches begin at 12:01 Central Standard Time tonight. Will Kroom be taken over by the knight or will we get to find out if even Zombies can Kroom themselves? Have Fun!
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Matches begin at 12:01 Central Standard Time tonight. Will Kroom be taken over by the knight or will we get to find out if even Zombies can Kroom themselves? Have Fun!
When Jak opened his eyes, he swore. The dreams were getting more bizarre with each successive instance, and each more violent than the last. Now, blankly staring ahead, he wasn't so sure that this wasn't a dream, too.
Or maybe none of them were dreams, and something was working against him; laying hold of him and hurling him into these situations for amusement. At that thought, Jak bristled a little. No god uses me. Gods were bastards that way; if his last 'dream' were true, then that thought was all the more infuriatingly true. In the way that dreams do, the images were fading becoming less and less distinct with every instant, but the visions sticking in his mind were haunting.
Jak and Tobias, squaring off in a garden. The explosion of flames in the dry grass. A god, lurking in the inferno and leering at them, coolly recording the battle. Jak's escape.
Gods were bastards, and whichever god or gods were dragging him through this were bigger bastards than the rest.
"Just leave me be," the Smith growled, glaring towards the horizon. "Leave me be." His fists clenched. "Leave me to my life."
He had awakened on a wide, rolling plain. It might have been somewhere in Salvar, but it didn't seem quite right. If it were, it would have to be to the south. There were no mountains in sight, the grass was too healthy, and Jak couldn't see a cloud in the sky. The sky, which was dark and growing light. To Jak's left, dawn was blossoming slowly. The horizon was the color of bruises and molten bronze, streaked about with faint traces of amber. There was nothing about but a slight breeze, the dawn, and these damn hills.
Jak glanced back to the south, and swore again. There was also the silhouetted figure, standing on the hill opposite of him. Another fight. Jak strung his bow and nocked an arrow, not questioning how it had survived from his last 'dream.' I wonder who they dredged up for me this time. Togan? Mathes? Maybe a godforsaken wizard?
The smith realized that he was very close to audibly growling, feeling an angry rumble in his chest. He felt a petulant urge to stamp his foot into the earth, like a child throwing a tantrum. I don't want this, you bastards. Whatever game you're playing, I don't want to be a piece in it!
He stepped forward, still holding his bow and arrow. He wanted to speak, to shout, to invite this 'opponent' to leave, like he wanted to leave. His mouth refused to obey. He turned to walk away, and his legs rebelled and held him there on the hill.
Gods are bastards. He turned on his heel, cursing the sudden ease of his movement as he once again was given liberty, and began quickly walking towards the other man. The sun wasn't up yet. Perhaps somebody wanted a red dawn - after all, there was still time for it. You want a red dawn? Just wait until you see how red I can paint this sky.
Very sorry Kroom, but I'm going to have to forfeit this match due to the lack of time on my hands (Too much homework constantly being assigned). I know you were looking forward to this match so I'm sorry that I had to disappoint you.
Kroom advances to the Newcomer semi-finals!
Sir Walter is still alive in Round 3 of the Redemption Bracket!