Semi-Finals: (2) Sons of Terrinore v (3) Sore from Sodomy

[Max Dirks]

The semi-finals will begin on Friday at 12 AM EST. Good Luck!

[Storm Veritas]

It never really gets any easier.

The sun rose today like every other, but he had known for some time now that it would be a day to look forward to being through with. He had grown to hate these tournaments. There was something about the system of these dragged out debacles that got to him. Something that dug beneath the surface and grated away, wearing heavily at his patience and endurance. It was never simple; never a duel between men, never merely the cut and dry combat that they thought they had signed up for. There was always a cruel twist, something savage inserted by the creators of the tournament to service the sadistic desires of an audience jaded by battle. A terrible climate, a visit from monsters, a collapsing cave. It was this predictable twist of fate that made him miserable, turning his stomach and torturing him every time he prepared for battle.

The last thing I need… more games.

Smoking didn’t seem to help him anymore, though he’d be damned if he gave it up. His nerves were no longer steadied by the smooth pull of a fresh cigarette. The formerly sweet, tender taste and aromas were now just patterns, sophomoric nervous tics that helped him cope with the fear of failure looming over him. He was supposed to be a legend by now, and he hadn’t lifted a finger to get there. Being exposed wasn’t merely a possibility, but rather inevitability.

The Lornius Corporate Challenge had seemed like nothing but games, and it was killing him. It had started off easily enough; an easy win against a game but undermanned challenger, a two-on-one trouncing that Zephyriah had assisted him with. Since then, every match was defaulted, leaving him and his teammate to sit and stew, awaiting their next opponent and questioning how they would respond in combat.

Can I really work with this f*cking idiot? How can I deal with him?

Even his partner was a terrible match for him; the overzealous demon was the antithesis of Storm Veritas, a showy and flashy blowhard who talked trash and hit hard, favoring the brutality and strength offered by superhuman strength to subtle strategy and smooth-talked persuasion that the mage favored. Were they to be tested, it would be for the first time in literally months. The first time ever, in fact. How could he possibly meet those expectations?

Breakfast was light, barely touched and swiftly taken away, all apologies to the cook from the abnormally polite Veritas. The eggs and biscuits may very well have been ambrosia, but they would never sit right. Caffeine seemed to work better. His black coffee tasted just fine, and it burned his throat with a cleansing sizzle. He remained at the table, leaving a sizable tip for the waiter who looked a bit too young to be employed. The girl couldn’t be more than fourteen, yet Storm knew a beauty in the making when he saw one. Thinking of what she would one day become gave him a smile, as he reflected upon the fact that perhaps long-term planning wasn’t in his best interest.

Out of the freezer and into the goddamned blast furnace. From a series of vacation days to a showdown with Thoracis and Max Dirks. Beautiful.

He hadn’t bothered to look at the assignment sheet yet, because he knew that the locale was out of his control. Besides, the soft white linen tablecloths and warm candlelight were divine before the backdrop of gently perfected piano. He was using his time well. When the call came out, he’d need his swagger, that supreme confidence, that winning smile. He couldn’t show any sign of weakness before the masses. The fluttering beasts in his belly needed time to rest, and he would deal with them here, in the comfortable quiet of Lornius, sipping his coffee and resting. When he finally stood and made for the day, he would be ready.

[Thoracis]

“Are you effin’ kidding me!?!” Thoracis slammed his icy arm on the table, its contents springing to the air and spilling all over the floor. “Son of a bitch! Who the hell is in charge of this shit?” Nobody else in the room dared say a word. None of them had even wanted to be present when the news was given that Infinity had been awarded the victory by judgment over the Sons of Terrinore. Thoracis had been unpleasant enough in the few days he was in the medical facility having his knee healed; they knew that after this he would be downright inhospitable.

Of course, Thoracis knew that the loss didn’t eliminate him and Dirks from the tournament, but that took absolutely none of the sting away. Advancement or not he didn’t like to lose, especially unjustly. Battered and injured as they were, it hadn’t been the Sons of Terrinore who fled from the battle. It hadn’t been the Sons of Terrinore who crept away in the cover of darkness. It was the Sons of Terrinore who left that battle as a team, stronger then they had been before, victorious in every way possible. Until now.

Immediately Thoracis rose from the table, indifferent to the lingering pain in his knee. Every ligament in the joint had been torn in the previous battle. It really was a testament to the healing services of the tournament organizers that he was even walking, albeit with some stiffness and soreness. Even so, there wasn’t going to be anyone or anything that slowed him down now.

“Find Max Dirks. Tell him we fight in Lyridia.”

_________________________________________________

If the slums of Lyridia weren’t the picture of indignation Thoracis Rakarth was. He strode with purpose through the dirty streets, past the filthy vendors and grimy inns, quickly making his way towards the Lyridia docks. If the docks of Lyridia weren’t the most squalid location in all of Althanas they certainly were in Lornius. The scum of the world was all you would find in this most rotten of locations; murderers, rapists, thieves, petty criminals, and any other kind of scoundrel imaginable called this place home. Most who had escaped Terrinore came straight here, continuing the ghastly deeds that had landed them in prison in the first place. Yet there was still not a single soul who dared cross Thoracis’ path as he strode defiantly to the largest receiving dock on the island.

Everything about the place was repugnant. The dock was weathered, covered in mussels and algae, the heat of the noonday sun creating a sickening aroma of dead fish and stale seaweed. Many of the nearby warehouses were stuffed with goods that had went unchecked for weeks on end, over half of it being the spoiled food supply that would likely still be distributed to the poor. All of it was revolting and today Thoracis Rakarth fit right in.

The normal brightness of his serenely white robes was replaced by the dullness of his dehlar chainmail and average trousers. His infamous black porcelain mask was left in a chest at the hospital, the burn scars that covered three quarters of his face and neck in plain site for the first time in over a year. Appearances meant little to Thoracis now, who’s reputation was already sullied by this tournament. His hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, again not very customary, but befitting of his mood. He looked like he belonged in this place, as he felt he would after the day was over. What he intended for Storm Veritas and Zephyriah Ablione would make the most hardened criminal of Lyridia cringe.

All he could do now was stalk back and forth, up and down the docks, awaiting the arrival of the others. It didn’t take long for everyone to clear the area. It didn’t take much to realize why Thoracis was there and what was about to happen. Knowing the huge area in which Thoracis could inflict damage all scurried away, though most made their way into nearby warehouses or bars, crowding around windows and waiting for what was sure to be an epic showdown.

Thoracis was oblivious to them. This was his third consecutive LCC semi-final, a feat all unto itself, but all he was focused on was a decisive victory. He would make sure that there was no chance of some obstinate judge stealing another victory from him. This was his and Dirks’ tournament. Today he was going to prove it.

[Max Dirks]

The lessons of the previous round were still fresh on Max Dirks’ mind. Alone, he was strong enough to survive an onslaught from two of the greatest mages on Althanas. Together, he and Thoracis were strong enough to defeat them—at least in the eyes of those present. The nature of the Lornius Corporate Challenge was to be physically and emotionally taxing on all participants. This ploy, the Son’s of Terrinore’s exhibition loss, was just an attempt to bring down the demeanor of the favorites and keep the tournament interesting. Dirks was unaffected by the scheme, but Thoracis was another story. It was now, in a battle that counted, that the Sons of Terrinore’s true strength would be tested. The desire to win can only take a team so far…

Dirks was resting against a concrete wall of a local shop, quietly awaiting the arrival of his partner when Thoracis finally turned the corner. Dirks remained still, watching the ice mage pace through the docks. Like Dirks, Thoracis had changed. The ice mage seemed less constrained in his movement. Though still impatient, Dirks could once again feel the aura of confidence radiating from his partner. It was an aura that emitted since the first Lornius Corporate Challenge where Dirks quietly watched the ice mage’s progression from the stands. What caught his eye, however, was not Thoracis' demeanor. It was the absence of mage's trademark porcelain mask. It was the first time Dirks had seen the burn marks that Sorjax Rakarth had left on the Thoracis face. They didn’t make him look sinister at all, though. They made him look normal.

“It’s good to see that you’re still human, Thoracis,” Dirks called out as he pushed off the wall and revealed himself. Dirks made a nod at the scars. Like Thoracis, Dirks had left his trench coat behind, opting for more freedom in the blistering heat. Without his coat, his full arsenal was in clear view. The twin Prevalida blades had been recovered and strapped to his back in cross sheaths and the twin Berettas had been reloaded and were nestled safely in their shoulder holsters. Dirks was ready to fight.

When he arrived in the middle of the empty street, Dirks took a glance around and noticed the people watching from the windows of nearby homes and businesses. Dirks smirked. No matter what the participants felt, everyone else just wanted to see a fight. Starlynn, Kornis, and infinity meant nothing. This round, the Sons of Terrinore would give them what they wanted. Not even Sore from Sodomy, which included a Serenti Invitational finalist and champion, was ready for the storm that awaited them at Lyridia docks. "Don't give them time to breathe," Dirks told Thoracis as he cracked his knuckles.

[Zephyriah]

After three rounds of the Lornius Corporate Challenge tournament, images of my mother seized all of my thoughts more so than ever before. In previous times I'd tried to suppress thoughts that forced me to think about her because it would do nothing but escalate my indignation about how I'd been bamboozled and coerced to participate in this ridiculous tournament. High ranking executives and other powerful men of the Serenti Committee thought it'd been amusing to insert themselves into my life by abducting my mother and demanding that I be a participant in the LCC if I ever wanted to see again the woman that'd given birth to me. They made it no secret that the sole reason for them doing this was because they had wished to take advantage of my cruelness in hopes that they would be able to fatten their own pockets. After all, everyone loved to see a villain in action. Especially one such as myself known for outright savagery and belligerence. The thrill of a bloody battle is what all people lusted after, and these elite officemen of Serenti and Lornius stopped at nothing to provide their audience with pawns that would satisfy their craving for witnessing ruthless quarrels, all while profiting off of these organized battles. But I'd grown tired of the 'strings' that they'd attached to me. Never in my life was I a puppet, and in no way would I allow these fools to think that they could take advantage of me on a whim. Thus is why I made the long journey back to the Piston's Pleasure Palace to personally confront those that'd forcibly entered me into this contest.

The faces upon the lowly employees that saw me enter their domain displayed a countenance of utter terror. Some shook uncontrollably, while others soiled their garments and fled. My fingers itched to cut these insignifcant beings down, but time did not permit such actions; the main objective was to get a hold of the one that'd started all of this. "Raizo! RAIZO!! Come out now!!" I hollered. It was indeed a futile attempt considering the fact that the Piston's Pleasure Palace was much too massive for anyone on the higher floors to hear the voice of one within the lobby. However, I coupled my outcries with destruction, withdrawing my sword and hacking through furniture and machinery. The edge of my blade severed lighting wires and screen power cords that once provided spectators of the Serenti tournament to view what was taking place in certain battles. Rows of light bulbs shut down with each slash of my blade until a majority of the entire lobby was consumed by darkness. Black suited men quickly entered the scene with the sole objective of stopping my actions. Between fifty and sixty men surrounded me, having eye equipment that somehow gave them "night-vision". This didn't faze me in the least bit though, since my natural ability to see in the dark allowed me to view them perfectly.

Within moments, I'd easily taken down half of them, which in turn left the remaining individuals scrambling in bedazzlement. "Novices...." Such was the only explanation for their behavior. Still, I planned on showing no kind of mercy for they were underlings of the men that'd put my mother's life in jeopardy. My anger continued to rise and the blade desired more blood. But before I could spring forth into action once again, a familiar voice echoed throughout the obscure ambiance, bringing all black suits, and even me, to a halt.
"Zephyriah.....what brings you all the way back here?" The voice questioned as the building's generator activated, giving full illumination to the lobby yet again. "Surely you are supposed to be in Lornius. Do you desire to see your mother again?"

"I'm done with your foolishness Raizo! Either you release my mother, or I'll kill the rest of your men! Thirty have already been slain! Do you really want anymore!?"

"I'm shocked. Do you honestly believe that the life of those men matter to me? From the outset they were given their duty to serve me and that's it. Risking their lives is just part of their job description," Directing his voice towards his men, he commanded them to disperse; without a single word the men did as they were told. "I can't have my prized fighter wasting his strength. You are due in Lyridia for a match. Storm is awaiting your arrival as wel--"

"Argh! Don't you get it!?" I interrupted while destroying yet another piece of the lobby's furniture. "I'm not going to take your orders anymore! Free my mother or die!"

Laughter from the enemy's voice rang throughout, bouncing incessantly off the walls. "Oh Zeph, you and I both know that you can't do anything to me. But I will say this. It would be in your best interest to take your focus off me and gear it towards the Sons of Terrinore....one of the men who make up that team is someone who you'll be quite.....excited to see. Now go. We'll discuss your mother's situation at a later date."

As hard as it was for me to admit it, it was indeed true that there was nothing that I could do to Raizo. I'd confronted him before the start of this tournament, and his power was nothing short of frightening. However, I couldn't let him know that he'd gained an edge on me for it was of great importance that I upheld my 'fearless' attitude. Unfortunately, the strings were still connected and would not be severed until the conclusion of this tournament.

"Don't for one second think you've won Raizo. Your time will come!"

Lyridia

During the ship ride here, I thought about this fellow that Raizo said I would be excited to see. I hadn't really been keeping up with other teams since my own situation commanded all of my attention. Each match that I stepped into with Storm, I didn't know anything about the opponents or what they were capable of, and this round would be no different. Veritas' nonchalant battle style equipped with my warring ways would be overwhelming to whoever stood in our way.

Finding my way to the battle site, via crowds and signs, I didn't see my partner anywhere. Like a prompt student, he was always the first here, but today was different. Two strange men stood amidst the surrounding dilapidated buildings no doubt waiting for us. "These must be the 'Sons of Terrinore'. They're indeed strong so there isn't going to be any room for mistakes."

[Storm Veritas]

((Hope you don’t mind the slight bunny on your approximate positions. If it’s an issue, let me know and I’ll alter it as desired.))

He had rolled into Lyridia simply enough, the buckle-whirr of the horse and carriage rhythmic and hypnotic. As he arrived, the lavish coach door was opened and he was slapped in the face with a terrible odor. The overwhelming rank of salt in the air coupled with the horrendous, throat-clasping stench of day old fish. By the waterline a massive hybrid beast hung distended by two steel hooks, the slender snakelike body of a fish awkwardly meshed with long, athletic arms and delicate fingers. The head was a mangled alligator-shark composite, the disgusting beast likely fearsome before the thick steel was driven through it in several places. It was par for the course.

You’ve got to be shitting me. We should play ‘King of the Mountain’ at the town dump next time.

The citizens cheered his arrival from behind a large ring of fish stands, newspaper booths and other assorted merchantry paraphernalia. Behind him there were more cheering, the entrance to the port town fronted by shoddily thrown together homes. He offered them all a brief wave and white toothed smile, thankful for feeding his ego, and ran his fingers through lush, slick black hair. To think that he had bothered to look good was hilarious at this point. This “Max Dirks” didn’t look too impressed by a finely cut suit or the athlete in it, and made no secret of the shining glints from beneath his arms. Veritas had heard plenty of the guns. By his side some twenty feet stood the venerable Thor…

Whoa!!

…Thoracis. The man who had outdueled Storm in the Thayne War, now looking all the worse for wear. Without his mask he was an armed freak, barely recognizable but for the legends of the burns that ravaged what very well may have once been human flesh. He was an abomination here, and clearly didn’t have much to lose.

Storm was still a bit shaken moments later when Zephyriah arrived, fashionably late and a bit out of his general grand-entrance style. Thank God. There was something about this place, something about the docks that just didn’t seem to fit into place, and it had nothing to do with the general malaise that followed such poorly-funded sites.

Whatever. Screw it. Need to apply pressure, and keep it on. If they’ve got some cute plans tied up, we’ll need to keep them busy.

He withdrew the twin daggers, small and polished yet lethal in his hands. The crowd cooed with approval, his head turning to offer Ablione a shit-eating grin. Truth be told, he had no idea how this would turn out, but he hadn’t come all this way to negotiate some peace settlement. A quick whisper, barely discernable was offered just for his partner.

”Nice of you to join us, Zeph, but I don’t think we have time for tea. I don’t think they look much like waiting. I’ll deal with handsome, you take care of Sir Shoots-a-Lot.”

He stepped forward into a trot, feet shuffling across hard packed dirt towards the sun-drenched oaken dock. The blades spun on their own across his palm the flick of his wrist merely tempo-setting at this point. By his third step the cackle-hiss of the electric pulse had reached the end of his daggers. By the fifth he was firing a long and slender serpentine electric channel at the hideous Rakarth. Metal plating was something he hadn’t worn in a while, and Veritas aimed to make him regret such a decision. In the back of his mind, a singular thought spiraled about his head.

This is probably a terrible f*cking idea.

[Thoracis]

One by one they obediently arrived, like lambs to the slaughter, unaware of the cruelness in store for them. Dirks was first, a great relief considering Thoracis’ own history in the event - his third straight LCC semi-final, the first in which his partner arrived to the battle. It was good to see him, but did nothing to lighten Thoracis’ mood. Next came the one whom he truly sought, Zephyriah Ablione. The lowest kind of scum was Zephyriah, far worse then anything to be found at the Lyridia Docks. He had played a large part in what Thoracis considered the ruining of the Aleranian military; today he would finally face judgment for those deeds. Last was the walking spectacle, Storm Veritas, Champion of Serenti. His arrival was announced by the cheers and whistles of those who would think to see their hero win the day. They’d be quiet soon enough.

Apparently the two before them shared Dirks’ sentiment. Veritas had quickly brandished his daggers, grinning at his partner as a son seeking approval acknowledges his father. “Time to breath?” Thoracis regarded Dirks as Veritas started towards him, “I don’t intend to let them breath period.” His scarred, burnt face twisted and stretched with a vicious grin of his own. Storm was coming at a trot, pulses of electrical energy cackling at the end of his daggers. Thoracis darted straight for him with all the speed his inhuman athleticism and rune of speed would allow. The channeled electricity streamed around the invisible barrier provided by Thoracis’ amulet and he continued full speed, his eyes aglow with the prize before him. Thoracis made his last few steps to his left, drawing his staff back and swinging it full force like a baseball bat, aiming directly for Storm’s stomach, just below his ribcage.

Thoracis continued straight past Storm, his glare set on Zephyriah Ablione. Kyorl piece of shit. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. Zeph would have just seen how easily Thoracis had brushed off his partner’s attack. He would know the ice mage’s intentions quite clearly, as they were likely intentions of his own. Instead Thoracis just cracked his neck, glaring at the dark elven mutt, holding his arms out at his sides. He didn’t need to say, “Take your best shot” to portray it. Only question was whether or not Zephyriah really had the balls. If he did, there was a good chance that one, or both, of Storm and Zeph would be open to attack from Dirks.

This would not be like Infinity. Thoracis was not going to allow himself to get beat up on early. He was convinced it was why the judges had not awarded the Sons of Terrinore their victory. Him and Dirks would set the pace today and it would be lethal to anyone who was in their path.

[Max Dirks]

No sooner than Dirks had spoken, the Sons of Terrinore’s opponents made themselves known. Or at least their fans had. A slew of muffled cheers erupted from the south. Dirks had never met Zephyriah Ablione or Storm Veritas, but he too was no stranger to their exploits. The members of Sore from Sodomy were Dirks’ replacements in the premier criminal association, Malice, hired shortly after he left to pursue a new life with Starlynn. Ashiakin kept Malice’s activities relatively hush-hush, but Dirks was not oblivious to their underworld dealings. Zephyriah and Storm were certainly active in their own respects. They represented the next generation of Malice and a life that Dirks no longer wished to be a part of. Today he would break another tie.

“Touché,” Dirks called out to Thoracis as the ice mage darted after Storm. Dirks grinned, and then took off after his partner. Too often in this tournament, Dirks had watched teams break apart and fight individual battles with hopes to even the odds. The Sons of Terrinore did not prefer to play that game. It was preplanned—a combo attack on first opponent that blinked, but Dirks’ trajectory had taken him directly behind Thoracis. He could not see Storm! When the lightning bolt was curtailed by the ice mage’s amulet, it reconvened behind the warrior and came crashing into Dirks’ drawn left katana. Not again, Dirks thought as the energy started burning his arm.

Thoracis told Dirks a bit about the properties of Prevalida during the break between the rounds. Prevalida limits magic. The former criminal’s arm stung, but the blade absorbed a good amount of the elemental force. But rather than drop the weapon, Dirks fought the sting and brought the katana high into the air. It would be only a moment before the force of the electricity overcame the power of the blade. Just after Thoracis passed by Storm, Dirks dove wide right and slammed the glowing katana into the road. The electrical charge was instantly grounded, causing a small flare of light. Sparks flied about as Dirks drug the katana on the concrete. Then, when he hit the ground, Dirks let go of the katana and somersaulted towards Storm. As he rose, he brought the second katana to bear sending a hard slash towards the “defiler’s” knees.

This was not the Serenti Invitational. The fans’ support didn’t mean jack.

(Storm, Dirks' attack came a few moments after Thoracis'. He's quite a bit faster than Dirks, even at short ranges)

[Storm Veritas]

If he has asled for action, he had gotten it, although this time he had certainly bitten off more than he could chew. No sooner had he moved ahead towards Dirks than the powerful Rakarth intervened, slashing ahead and sending a long, thick staff of what he assumed as oak crashing into his ribs. The impact told him quickly this wasn’t oak. Thoracis was little more than a flash in his periphery, but Storm had just enough time to turn his body slightly, rolling with the attack so as not to have his organs skewered with fractured ribs. The end result was little better. With his momentum still surging forward, the veteran nomad was knocked from his hard line assault with a spinning fall, coming hard to the ground as his left side seized with overwhelming pain. His blades were limp in his hand, and he fell to a knee in a haze. His head tried to turn back to the source of the issue, but Thoracis was gone from his vision, a hawk swooping in for the kill and settling off just as quickly.

His face twisted in an ugly grimace as he tried to sort things, but the gunslinger he had charged for was moving at him. Fast. Although Dirks didn’t have the incredible speed of Thoracis, his blade looked far more menacing than the staff which had already ravaged him. A long, slender katana, something Veritas usually allocated to the skill-less neophytes that wandered Althanas seeking death. In the hands of the gunslinger, there was nothing green about it.

Oh, son of a bitch. Get up, go!

There wasn’t time, and he knew it. The katana was on him before he could drive his body up, and his opponent was slashing hard at his front knee, the only thing keeping him propped up, albeit a tenuous hold. Instinct took the better half of Storm’s consciousness, and his dagger swung hard out to deflect the mighty blow. The power and velocity of the larger, lean blade was far too much to completely halt, but it was almost satisfying to feel the incoming sword hit flesh and stop a half-inch deep. The blade had still pressed a fine new seam in his left quadriceps, a terrible pain that distracted him from the horrible rib shot he had suffered.

Oh, you motherf*cker.

Dirks was at him, close, and the lightning wielder knew this was his only chance. His right hand was free, and with a sword dug nearly an inch deep in his own sinewy muscle, it would be slower on the draw than he could be. Perhaps not, but he could hope so. His right leg drove him up, the dagger clenched with an overhand grip and hammered down hard at the face of the handsome assassin. It was a savage, brutish attack – the end goal not to incapacitate but rather dismember and kill.

And it was the only way. Storm would make no apologies for countering with a kill shot. He knew that Abilone was behind him, but had heard little from his direction. Should Zephyriah fail him, Thoracis would circle around and face him. Wounded, weak, and with two of Althanas’ true legends combining their powers to take him down, Veritas could smell the blood in the water. It was his own.

[Zephyriah]

Everything was happening so fast in this battle, which brought concern to my heart due to the fact that in this tournament, I’d been accustomed to warriors analyzing us before opting to take the initiative and strike. But the Sons of Terrinore were not that way at all. The individual with the scarred face had closed within ten feet of me in a matter of seconds, startling me as if I were a novice fighter, unprepared. In response, I quickly leapt back, unsheathing my blade, making sure that I’d be ready for anything that this fellow had in store for me. One would be a fool to take him lightly, for he’d already managed to inflict pain to the crafty Veritas with his staff. It was truly amazing. “Well Storm, I guess ‘handsome’ doesn’t want you.” I suppressed my laughter by tightening my lips. Indeed this was no comical matter, but all throughout the Lornius Corporate Challenge, Veritas gazed upon me with an air of arrogance and haughtiness, as if he were better than me on all accounts; perhaps that strike would finally humble him and make him realize that without me, there was no hope for him.

Aside from that, the dilemma at hand was this foe. He stared at me with vengeful eyes, in the way that one would do if I’d wronged him greatly in the past. Usually such a hideous face would’ve been burned into my memory if at one point in time I’d crossed paths with him. However, I was drawing a blank. The sound of the voices in the crowd pulled back the veil on this mystery though. They were typical spectators, crying for blood while rooting for what team they wanted to win. Storm’s name and mine echoed throughout on occasion, but there was a strong chanting of the names of the warriors which made up the Sons of Terrinore.

Max Dirks and Thoracis Rakarth.

“Thoracis Rakarth!?” What was supposed to be an inner thought ended up manifesting into audible words shooting right out of my mouth. It was all making sense now. This man’s piercing eyes and the way he completely ignored Storm……all the pieces of the puzzle had quickly come together. “Its funny how fate ultimately brought us together, General.” The memories were returning now, as I looked upon the Ice Mage’s attire. A grin appeared across my face, but was quickly erased upon seeing Thoracis’ ally drive his katana into Storm’s leg. Instinctively, I stepped forward as if preparing to come to Veritas’ aid, but quickly I halted my movements, knowing that I’d be leaving myself open for an attack by the Ice Mage if I proceeded; bad move indeed. “Come on Veritas! Get you act together,” I yelled, while never taking my eyes off Thoracis. “What good are you to me if you’re dead?” Despite the package of sarcasm that my words were contained in, my comments would surely be understood by Storm as encouraging words to overcome his opponent. If there was a chance that the Sons of Terrinore would lower there guard due to them thinking that Storm and I would eventually go at each others throats, then I would intend to continue to insult Storm when appropriate, until an opening revealed itself.

“I searched for you throughout the entire Serenti tournament. Yet, when it was time for us to finally meet in battle, you became terrified and did not show yourself,” I said, still maintaining a stance that would allow me to strike at any moment. “But I suppose that confidence reigns supreme in you now since you have a partner to help you out if….no….WHEN you get in trouble. Heh, that’s just like you elite Aleranian scum. Hide when no protection is available, but come out in a blaze of glory when it is.” Saying no more, I knew it was time to make my move. The startled sensation that’d struck me initially as a result of Thoracis’ previous movements had vanished, only because I knew who my opponent truly was now. Surely he looked like a monster without his mask, but I liked it better this way, simply because I knew I would be able to see the horrified look in Thoracis’ eyes right before he receive death by me. Still though, attacking Thoracis would have to be well planned since he was by no means a rookie in battle. He was the Aleranian Army’s General for a reason.

So, upon visually taking in my surroundings hastily, I thought up a plan. There were many old, weather beaten buildings that at one point in time (or maybe even now) had been used to aid the people in their seaport lives. The smell of machinery and rusted metal were strong in the air. One partially destroyed edifice stood nearby, adjacent to a fish market. Rusted beams that were barely holding the abandoned place together jutted out crookedly. Immediately, I tightened my grip around my weapon, causing the power within me to manifest into a whip of electricity around my blade. Then, acting like I was going to strike Thoracis, I raised my sword, but instead darted towards one of the crooked rusted beams that I’d been eyeing. Latching the cackling whip on it, I yanked the beam from its already precarious position and launched it straight at Max Dirks. The plan was to have Thoracis in a perplexed situation, leaving him with the choice of either trusting Max to overcome the impossible on his own, or aiding his partner like a good ally would do. But, if he chose the latter, then that might’ve provided me with an opportunity to attack the Ice Mage in the manner that I wanted.

In the mean time though, I move clear out of the way of the abandoned building. Since I'd made the decision to pull that beam from it, I knew that it was going to collapse at any moment.