Round One, Bracket B: Whispers in the Wind vs. Paladins of N’jal

[Christoph]

Congratulations for making it into the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive two Fate Points for making it this far! Posting can begin at 12 AM EST on the 14th and the battle closes at 11:59 PM EST on February 4th. Good luck to both teams!

Arenas were arranged at random, and your prompt is as follows:

Your battle takes you within the darkest heart of an enchanted forest. All trees are living things, but those in this forest take it to the next level, tripping intruders with their roots and swiping at them with their branches.

[Petoux]

It was almost like a blackout, a never ending void and Sara along with her team mate was in the middle of it. They seemed to be trapped in the middle of two dimensions that intersect with the real world and one of an unclear world. The black haze began to dissipate and show more of its meaning.

Trees began to appear in random places as they elegantly were moving in unison as the slight and faint feeling of wind started to be apparent along Sara’s skin as it started to raise the tiny hairs on her arms. A large field that seemed to go for miles started to appear, giving the trees and everyone else on it something to finally stand on. The feeling of fresh cut grass could be sensed on the bottom of her tiny feet as she built up the courage to walk on it.

Why am I here? How did I get here?

Sara was confused at first until she came to the realization that this must be the first battle field of the tournament, yet where was Hopper? Concern started to consume Sara as her walk became a dash to find her friend. Just then a branch came out of nowhere and hit Sara in the face. Stunned temporarily, she got up quickly taking a moment to figure out what happened. She suddenly realized that the trees were alive and out to get them, as if challenging multiple opponents in a tournament wasn’t stressful enough.

“Knowing that, I need to pay closer attention to my surroundings from here on out.”

Dodging what seemed to be an endless maze of swooping branches and roots, Sara finally found her good friend Hopper laying on the ground with his eyes to the sky. She turned her gaze upward to get a good look at what he was fixated on. It wasn’t anything in particular except for the white clouds in the sky covering up half of the warmth coming from the sun. It made her face feel at ease as she felt the sun rays beat on her face. They shimmered off of her jewelry and multiple parts of her clothing, showing her elegant beauty and body shape of her elvish nature.

She turned back to Hopper and started to shake him at his shoulders …“Wake up! Are you ok?” Suddenly, noises came from a distance, about a quarter of a mile away. Her elvish hearing could pickup the sound of footsteps, but she knew that Hopper would remain oblivious until the footsteps drew nearer.

Sara didn’t wait for a response as she quickly got back to her feet and readied her bow and arrow to fire when ready. Anxiety began to show as her muscles started to tense up from anticipation, fear, and excitement all at the same time.

“I’m ready when you are Hopper, for I can hear them coming … and fast.”

[Mikeavelli]

Nothing.

Nothing

Nothing...

Something!

'Hopper came to awareness in the midst of the forest, unsure for a second where he was, how he'd gotten here, or even where he'd been before suddenly becoming aware of the forest around him. In that second, he came to a number of disturbing conclusions:

1. Either it's damned dark in here, or me eyes're gettin' worse 'an I thought they were.

2. Twice-damned Elf has gone missing. An' in a Forest no less, just the place I might actually NEED her!

3. Thrice-damned Trees're moving! No, s'not me eyes, these overgrown saplings're aiming to clock me in tha' face. Presumptuous gits.

'Course, 'Hopper has made a living out of showing up uninvited and unexpected to hostile locales, and dodging tree branches isn't much different from dodging sword-strikes, trees just move a little bit slower, and are less liable to split you open if you foul it all up. His old knees bend down just enough to let the welcome log go flying so close over his head he feels the wind in its wake. The next few seconds consist of an elegant dance, with 'Hopper moving from the thicket he made his entrance to the forest in, to as close to it gets to a clearing in this heart of darkness.

It's towards the end of his trip he finally fouls up, between creaking knees and the indefatigable forest constantly heckling him, a thick, knotty root finally catches him off-balance. The best he can do is hurl himself blindly towards the tiny speck of sunlight he'd been working towards this whole time.

That's where Sara finds him, catching his breath. He's cursing under his breath, Hells below, this'd never 'appened iffin' I were younger. 'An the Elf! What if she weren't on me side? I'd 'ave me own page in the dead-book right now is what'd happen.

But, once he's through with his internal monologue, what actually comes out of his mouth is much more polite (though just as unintelligible) - "Powers am I glad ta' see ye. Yes I'm okay, lemme jus' get me feet under me."

With that, he stands to look around, unsheathing both his swords once Sara tenses up at the sound of footsteps. He doesn't even need her to tell him they're coming, her body language is enough. After she tells him they're coming, his response is calm, collected, but sharper than a Vorpal blade, "Steady, Miss, we'll win this one. Ye' remember those plans we talked about?"

He doesn't wait for her to respond, hands already in motion to pluck a tiny golden ring from his belt, and hand it to her, "Here, take this. No, s'not a proposal, it'll keep ye safe in these woods. Magic is what makes tha' trees all nasty hereabouts, this'll put a stop ta that. Jus put'er on an' think about makin'er work, she'll work. Wait 'till they're just out've eyeshot, then move. First attack plan."

He doesn't even ask for confirmation, he just turns in the direction she's indicated they're coming from, and assumes she'll do her part.

[MetalDrago]

MetalDrago was happy, to say the least. This dark, enchanted forest was almost like Concordia, only with a deeper, darker nature to it. Trees attacked out of nowhere, and an permeable darkness was prepared to swallow all who stumbled into it. And one thing about darkness... it would never release someone easily. The Dragonian Paladin walked through the forest, seeking his partner, Lorenor. Apparently, part of the challenge was to be finding your partner, with the risk of running into one or both opponents in the meantime. Needless to say, this seemed to be a bit on the unfair side, but MetalDrago was more than confident in his own abilities. He checked his swords to make sure they were still securely in place, and looked out ahead of him in the darkness.

A gnarled branch swung in his direction, and MetalDrago caught it with his hands. The tree howled silently as the Paladin bent the branch back, cracking and eventually breaking the gnarled, twisted limb. MetalDrago could not help but smile sadistically at the pain he had caused this living tree. He took the broken branch and carefully used his claws to fashion a walking stick of sorts. The branch was hard, possibly made of oak or something a little harder, and could turn out to be useful later. MetalDrago gripped the end of the new staff, and walked on. It was time to stop fooling around and find Lorenor.

As MetalDrago expected, when a tree branch felt itself hit the staff, it would back off, thinking itself having accidentally caught one of its brethren. The roots, on the other hand, were much more of a problem. MetalDrago found himself looking down as often as he would straight ahead. Paying such attention in his surroundings was proving to be more of a pain than not, and MetalDrago was beginning to wish he had his old fire skills back. Unfortunately, they had been sealed and replaced when he had been infused with the Will of N'Jal, the great Goddess of Darkness.

He and Lorenor had been infused with Her divine will some time before within the asteroid at Narenhad, the Burned Lands of Raiaera. It had been almost a year past since he had become one of her paladins. That year, MetalDrago had managed to greatly infuse his influence both within the Church of the Ethereal Sway, a Church headed by the 'great' St. Denebriel, and within the Red Hand, a group devoted to financial freedom. It was unfortunate that he had been unable to do much more his his Dark Mother, but he would be able to live with it. He was more than happy serving the goals she gave him, as she gave them. For now, her divine purpose for him seemed to be to win this tournament, which would extend her influence beyond even Althanas.

MetalDrago's cape began to ruffle. A foul wind was nearby, and MetalDrago knew exactly who was the source of it. “Lorenor! I know you're nearby... Show yourself!” MetalDrago was not by any means angry at his partner, but more at the actual tournament itself for separating them in the first place. He was very unhappy about that little prospect.

MetalDrago watched in silence, from within the deepest darkness in this part of the forest, waiting for the Paladin Commander to show himself. Then they would be able to formulate a strategy of some kind within this forest, and thusly be able to soundly defeat their enemies. This was going to be an interesting battle, and MetalDrago had a few tricks up his sleeve for when the time was right. N'Jal's boost of his intellect was something he would never be able to take for granted. It was this intellect that always had him thinking of ways to better his position in this world, and thusly extend the reach of the Dark Mother even further.

It was time that the two proved themselves to their Dark Mother, and MetalDrago had no intention to disappoint her.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(Moderator notes: continued roughly a year after the events of this quest thank you very much)

January 1st CP 1806
9:45 A.M.
Salvar (Note: The post starts in Raiaera)

Lorenor's Journal

"Lately, I've noticed how much easier mundane tasks have gotten for me. Ever since the will of N'Jal began to flow through my veins, I started to complete various tasks. The first was the completion of the temple of N'Jal located right at the heart of Narenhad. As a commanding officer within the Red Hand, it was my sworn duty to spread its influence as vigilantly as I spread the influence of N'Jal. With the dark mother buried within the secret depths of the asteroid that hit former Valinatal, it was time for a new temple to grow.

Survivors and refugees of the catastrophe found themselves returning to their former homeland, drawn by the corrupting influence of the dark mother. Spreading the secret teachings, a church soon grew approximately a month after MetalDrago and myself became the Paladins of N'Jal. Working to spread her influence now, the construction of the church of N'Jal was well underway. Safely hidden away from the corrupted influence of my hated enemy, the Knights of Dawn. And in the lands of Keribas, the dawn of a new tournament was upon the world of Althanas. And the fates held their breath as they waited to see who would emerge victorious..."

Alongside Ranger Nailo, Lorenor was one of the commanding officers of the Red Hand. A mysterious group operating out of Corone that worked to spread its global influence across the entire economy of Althanas. A group of cutthroat merchants and warriors, the Red Hand's cover organization worshiped the Thayne-hood of the ancient codex of Althanas. Lorenor was one of its commanding officers. A triad of powerful warriors formed the leadership body of the Red Hand. Lorenor V'halkulus, Ranger Nailo, and Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh. These individuals were currently wanted by Corone's newly formed empire. Declared enemies of the state for their attempts to usurp the global economy, Lorenor was forced to flee the lands of Corone due to his involvement with a group known as the Cult of N'Jal.

His adventures lead him to the lands of Salvar, Akashima, and of course, finally, to Raiaera. Ultimately, Lorenor served the will of the dark mother, N'Jal. Currently, his tasks was devoted to following her will. Which was why the current construction project was taking place. Offering work, and good Coronian gold from the stores of the Red Hand, Lorenor put together a loyal workforce. Once bonded by the secret teachings of N'Jal. One that would ultimately sway the favor with the eternal war against the hated enemy Xem'Zund. Without realizing it, Lorenor was fashioning together an army of willing servants.

Using the dark teachings of N'Jal, Lorenor worked for many moons to secure his foothold in the corrupted lands of the blasted earth. Narenhad. The times were ripe for a new international incident to be fueled by political turmoil. It was one day, a particularly warm September afternoon that Lorenor received a letter of invitation from the parcel network that developed from the few existing towns. After the recent events where Xem'Zund stormed Raiaera anew, few villages and strongholds remained for the Elves and the living not allied with Xem'Zund's forces.

Lorenor had worked in secret to put together a small coalition working for the Red Hand. Refuge was offered for all who wanted no parts of Xem'Zund's teachings. For the Dark Mother embraced all.

The parcel reached Lorenor one busy afternoon and a shaky messenger held his tongue greatly at the presence of the dark apparition named Lorenor. He looked at the parcel and quickly snatched it out of the hands of the scared messenger. "I demand naught but efficiency from mine workers. Is that understood? Be on thy way." Overworked, there was little time for formalities. On anyone's behalf. Acting as the leadership body for this rag-tag town of sorts, Lorenor worked hard to complete the temple of N'Jal and leave behind a group of loyal enforcers to spread her will upon the land. When not working on laying brick for the temple, the mutant studied the pages of the Necronomicon. Ancient texts once spread throughout the lands of Althanas, that held dangerous incantations and bizarre funeral rites dedicated to the teachings of N'Jal. They were never meant for the land of the living. Alone, a single portion of the three-volume book had dangerous powers. Together, the Necronomicon acted as a deadly engine of chaos.

Forever sealing the future of the land of Althanas. Lorenor was a villain by all rights, but a villain with a distinct code of honour. He knew the responsibilities that lay on his shoulder. Althanas deserved a new class of villain, and Lorenor was going to bring it to them. Xem'Zund and all the other clowns represented a lost age of Althanas that needed to be replaced with bloodshed and chaos. The lands of Raiaera were now ripe for the taking, right underneath the nose of Xem'Zund himself.

Working back-alley deals with the few surviving nations of Raiaera, Lorenor's makeshift township was left alone. Barter deals and trade negotiations were quickly established and amended into law. And now the Red Hand had territory in Raiaera where their fortress, Valinatal once stood. The Dark Mother was pleased. And Lorenor was rewarded with further teachings of the darkness. Construction of the new temple of N'Jal was proceeding as planned, they would be done in a matter of time.

Lorenor opened the package surrounding the parcel and inspected its contents with care. He knew the value of ancient texts and volumes of knowledge, and so, written documentation was carefully stored and kept in a vault of sorts. Lorenor looked at the words written upon the parcel, it was a very formal document of sorts. Words were written in an ancient form of common-speak pre-dating the Demon War. This truth revealed quite a bit about the intentions of the writer of the document. Thankfully, Lorenor was quite skilled in linguistics thanks to the constant time he spent studying ancient texts. Also, his senses were so attuned that he was able to pick up the pronunciations of things with relative ease. And so, with the will of N'Jal, the mutant effectively deciphered the contents of the letter.

To the leadership of the Red Hand,

We, the Cabal of Keribas, have become greatly interested in your organization. It has made numerous events possible throughout one possible history of this land of Althanas. Influence that could spread beyond the lands of Althanas and to the gates past the Great planes of Phantaria, the land of doors. We have formally placed request for members of your organization to participate in a grand contest.

Individuals from beyond the land of Phantaria will be summoned to further the goals of the precious Thaynehood of Althanas yore. It has come to our attention that members of your organization worship the Thayne known as N'Jal right underneath the nose of the Coronian Empire.

We formally invite members of the Red Hand to participate in an international, interdimensional, intergalatical, event that will be forever written into the pages of Althanas' historical volumes. Many will participate but few will emerge victorious. We are especially interested in seeing the participation of the Red Hand's leadership body.

Represent your group with honor and prestige. And your group will gain tremendous influence within Keribas, and beyond. Do well, and you might even win the tournament all together. Please consider your participation.

Sincerely yours,
The Cabal

P.S. A key to the door of Phantarias linking Raiaera to Keribas will be delivered with the parcel. Please take good care of this key. The event will be called the Tournament of Champions.

"Phantarias huh? Key? What is this some sort of a joke!?" But Lorenor's senses caught the object hidden within the parcel's envelope. It was an elegant key of sorts. Removing the strange device from the envelope Lorenor beheld strange markings along the key's surface that were meant to confuse those who did not know the ancient teachings. The mutant sighed. "This will take time away from the production of the temple! Blast it all!" Lorenor angrily slammed the letter upon a nearby oak table.

The room was dark, even for it being the wee hours of the morning. Lorenor kept all forms of the light out of the room except for a few choice candles. He never needed them, but they assisted those that were not capable of seeing in the dark. Dark curtains covered the windows heavily so that not a single stream of light could penetrate the chamber. The door was closed creating an ambiance unique to Lorenor's room. There was also the distinct smell of death.

Surrounding the mutant's presence at all time, it was an oppressive air. As one of the forsaken, the mutant was a ghoulish apparition that had cheated the clutches of death far too often in its existence. A hideous organism, Lorenor was a blight upon Althanas-kind. Possessing short stature, the mutant stood at only five feet in height, which was deceptive because he tended to slouch quite oft. Lorenor limped when he walked, but this was also deceptive because his health was in prime condition. Crowning his head was a full set of dirty dreadlocks that were dyed in a purple hue.

His hair ended at waist-length. Having gray skin, the mutant was a consumer of flesh. He had glowing purple orbs of energy where eyeballs should lay in within sockets deeply inset into his skull. Lorenor had a well formed jawline, maxilla, and forehead structures. All suggesting Raiaeran heritage. He lacked ears, eyes, nose, and tongue. He needed them not to do what he needed to do. And his purpose was a dark one indeed. The villain had a hideous scar that followed the middle of his forehead, down to the top of his larynx. (Throat) Around his lower jaw, the musculature of his face was particularly well-deformed suggesting extra functions of that portion of his body.

Lorenor had well formed, lean muscles. He was quite athletic, and in good shape considering his undead status. Lorenor wore the clothing of a lord. Symbols on a visible vlince cloak depicted the markings of the Red Hand, and some markings of allegiance and citizenship in Salvar, the lands to the North. He wore a well embroidered black tunic, gloves that stretched with his sharp claws, and baggy pants. All were constructed of fine Vlince and embroidered. Many pockets were visible in case the villain needed to quickly pocket items off the fallen.

The letter weighed heavily on his mind. He sat down on a chair located behind the oak desk. Books were spread across the table which were various tomes and documents needed for his dark professions. He idely turned the pages of a book he was reading that he found on one of his adventures. It contained knowledge and lore needed to locate the hidden lands of Antioch. "Keribas huh? I've heard very little of that land. Maybe one of my tomes has history about it." Lorenor began to do his daily studies of the Necronomicon to further the teachings of N'Jal when suddenly...

***

Sometime later, Lorenor was overlooking the lands of Salvar. They'd placed events that would ultimately corrupt the influence of the Church of Ethereal Sway. Lorenor had been alone since the night that Saint Denebriel manifested before a large group of its many servants, including Lorenor. Leading a duel life was not easy. On the surface, Lorenor acted as an Assassin for the Church of Ethereal Sway. Beneath the surface, the truth was much uglier. His studies taught him the secrets of N'Jal which were a direct violation to the church's false morality.

Lorenor had become an assassin for the church, and was quite a skilled one at that. They could not reasonably get rid of him. Since the manifestation of Denebriel, he was left alone to do his dark bidding. N'Jal had decreed the corruption of the Church of Ethereal Sway and so, her decree must be done.

Wandering through the passages of the church one evening, Lorenor remembered the tournament and the key. It was a late December afternoon and the passageways were particularly empty. Many of the church's members were busy with their own works and studies and many had gone abroad to help with the problems in Raiaera. Disciplined work was taking place everywhere, and the masses needed Saint Denebriel more than ever.

Lorenor worked within this politically charged environment to spread the influence of N'Jal. Fed up with the recent war in Salvar, the populace reacted just as it had in Corone. With great interest in the teachings of the Dark Mother as a replacement to the ancient deities worshiped in Salvar.

There were many fertility deities, ancient war deities, and others within the pantheons present in Salvar. In many ways this ancient culture was very similar to the culture of Corone. Lorenor felt a heavy weight in his pocket, and pulled out the key he had received with the parcel. Looking at it for a moment, the mutant became lost in the complex arrays of ancient symbols and glyphs. His eyes wandered across the beautiful surface of the key's structure. It was an awe-inspiring object indeed. The craftsmanship was masterwork in nature, and the cultural influences of the key were unknown to the mutant.

He'd never seen such complex design before in so simple an object. There were many surface indentations and grooves where the lock would connect to the main stem of the key. It was a beautiful object, and Lorenor was glad that the Cabal had sought fit to offer such a gift. And then, the process began. Voices filled the mutant's head. The voice was N'Jal, speaking in her multiple personified voice. Many within one, all with the same dark purpose and design. Alone in the hallway, reality suddenly began to alter itself when the key released a pulse of energy.

Follow the Will of N'Jal. The will of N'Jal will lead thee, mine servant, to this Tournament of Champions. There must thou conquer the enemies of mine teachings. Follow mine will mine chosen Paladin.

Before Lorenor could react, another pulse of energy erupted from the key. Reality fell, and Lorenor's advanced senses went completely black for a moment sending the mutant spiraling down chaos itself.

***

As Lorenor fell down the vortex, the mutant's senses finally returned and he was situated within a new plane of existence. A field of many, impossible to count, doors. "Is this the land of Phantarias?" Lorenor thought to himself as he held the key tightly in his hand. A single door manifested before him. One with many ancient symbols written upon it. The door looked quite ancient indeed, as if it had never been used at all. A single slot was visible where a key should go. Lorenor looked at the key for a long moment and then the slot, and decided to penetrate the slot with the key.

It was a perfect fit.

The door opened, revealing a blinding light. Lorenor instinctively screamed and covered his eyes as the light consumed him...

***

Once again, his senses returned to normal. They adjusted and he quickly found out that he was located within a forest of sorts. This forest reminded Lorenor of the wild energies within Concordia. Lorenor prepared himself to throw up as a result of the interdimensional travel, but he didn't for some strange reason. "Am I stronger somehow?" Lorenor thought to himself as he checked his possessions, everything was intact. He still held the key in his hand. "Now I remember! Phantarias! The door! Keribas! Am I in Keribas right now!? What IS this place!?" The air in Keribas was different from the air in the rest of Althanas.

Energy coursed through the wind. Lorenor could see this energy manifesting as various sparks in the breeze. His senses were playing tricks on him again. Though there was one familiar constant, approaching the mutant's sensory grid was his companion, MetalDrago. Discerning his current location, the mutant detached himself from the darkness and found his companion anew. "Is this the tournament of champions mine friend?" He was glad for at least one familiar presence. Then, the wind had a scent that was also familiar to him. The scent of his hated enemy, the elves. "Curse those damned Elves." Lorenor said quietly as he looked at his companion. "We're in a land called Keribas. I am not entirely certainly as how I got here."

Lorenor's head hurt. "'Tis the will of N'Jal that we must conquer in this Tournament of Champions. So let us abide by her decree!" Wasting no time on pleasantries, the mutant drew a single masterwork sword made of prevalida, and ran in the general direction of the Elf. The prevalida sword gave off a distinct energy that made the air around it quite cold. Lorenor had several weapons at his disposal. If MetalDrago was here, he was certain that the Elf would have a companion as well. Roots crunched underneath his boots as the mutant ran. Being a creature of darkness himself, the very trees themselves gave favor to the mutant's presence and his ally. For the will of N'Jal spoke through their vessels.

And so, history would unfold.

[Petoux]

"...Ye' remember those plans we talked about? ... Here, take this, it'll keep ye safe in these woods.

Sara had not perceived his initial words at first, but she recovered swiftly enough to hear the query he posed in secret. She knew that their opponents had finally arrived in this dreadful place. Both of them had placed themselves on the ground in such a familiar way, it let Sara know quite quickly that the enemy would most likely be human. Sara also knew that they did not seem to be doing anything drastic yet based on the sounds it made, but they were to far away to tell. One of the opponents, however, gave Sara a different feeling somehow, one unfamiliar to her.

What is that strange feeling I have? Is it a presence of an enchantment of some kind? Perhaps it might be a staff of a magic user? I can’t quite pinpoint it yet, for it’s only a feeling.

Saras’ role seemed quite clear based on their recent spar before this dreadful tournament. The idea was to hide near a tree and ambush their enemies from a distance with her deadly arrows. Sara disliked the fact that she and her partner were now apart, but she could not move nearer to him yet without coming dangerously close to blowing her cover. She slowly slipped the ring on that Hopper gave her, and as it embraced her small finger, she could feel an odd sensation rush throughout her body making all of the tiny hairs on her arms stand straight up.

The ring must be working, I can feel it’s power grow around me.

Preparing her bow with four arrows to fire in one shot, she waited patiently behind a tree out of range of the attacks of annoying branches and roots. Sara knelt down towards the ground out of sight of any that would draw near, as she prepared to fire the arrows in a moments notice. She quickly realized that this could very well become a long and strenuous battle, and wondered...

Does Hopper think the same thing?

[Mikeavelli]

Ye've been through worse 'an this, 'Hopper. Steel yer' own nerves too, ole' Vars still 'asn't got 'is comeuppance, no way it'll happen iffin' ye don't make it past 'ere.

With the Elf gone behind him, so far beyond his senses he may as well be alone in the dark, alone with his thoughts. His mind drifts back, to similar times, similar situations, he's been here before. . .

----

"Patrick, Iffin there's jus' one thing I ken tell ye, it'd be, don't leave the Path. Ye'll see what ye want most in tha' world, ye'll see someone, something that needs ye, ye'll see whatever the Fey think'll get ye' off the Path. It's a lie, Patrick. A damned good lie, but a lie nonetheless.

You see, Patrick, the Feywyld ain't nearly so bad as some o' the other Planes, but is' just as deadly in is' own ways. See, tha' Planes like the Abyss'll jus' try ta bob ye', but the Feywyld's a honey pot, take a sip 'an ye'll never wan' ta' leave. Ye'll spend forever in a Daze, dancin' an' dreamin' fer the spirits what dwell there."

That was the advice he'd given everyone about to walk the Path, and all of them up until Patrick had the good sense to follow his instructions. Not Patrick, fool boy had wandered off at the first temptation, he'd been walking alongside 'Hopper one moment, and then he'd shouted, "Coleen! No!!" And he ran off

In the Feywyld, the Path was the only safe course, a gold-colored road that twisted through the wilderness, taking you exactly where you needed to go. To the left and right though, were fey creatures that existed, it seems, purely to tempt you off the Path. They couldn't drag you off, and 'Hopper never understood why that was, but they knew you better than you knew yourself, presented you with what you needed to see to leave it voluntarily, like when Patrick saw his Sister, being dragged away into the forest, screaming the whole time.

It wasn't real, nothing here was, they were two spirits, working together to drag him off for their own reasons, but he was off the Path before 'Hopper could grab him, and for the first time in his long career, 'Hopper ran off after him.

It had been short work, slicing through the Spirits with his blades, clearing the haze out of Patrick's eyes with a quick smack upside the head, but by the time he was done, the Path was gone, the forest was their world now, and it was laughing at them. "Ye Addle-coved Clueless! I told ye, I told ye one thing, DON'T LEAVE THE PATH! Sodding hells, Iffin' I weren't as barmy as ye are, ye'd be lost now, an' I'd 'ave left ye' to yer fate."

By now though, the young man was in tears, and 'Hopper didn't have it in him to keep shouting at him, no matter how much of a fool he'd been. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, so sorry, we're going to die here, aren't we? That's why you told me.. We're not going to make it now, are we?"

'Hopper shook his head, "Don't lose hope yet, ye've got tha' best guide in all Sigil workin' fer ye. I'd never 'ave come after ye' iffin' I thought I couldn't get back. C'mon, chin up, I'll see ye' through this, an' we'll make it out. Stay by me side, dinnae go after' anything, or listen ta' anything what isn't me. Alright?"

How long they spent there in the Feywyld, 'Hopper couldn't remember to this day. Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks to months, years or more might have passed while they stayed there. He stayed alive by hard-learned skills and a rapport with the forest that would have shamed a druid, he kept Patrick alive too, watching him grow from a boy to a young man, turning into a woodsman even more capable than 'Hopper himself.

All the while they looked for a way out, speaking in riddles with the fey creatures that teased and taunted them, seeing a Portal out countless times, only to have it close mere steps before freedom. When freedom finally came, it was in the deepest, darkest part of the Feywyld, a forest that reminded him almost exactly of the one he (in the present day tournament) was in, where darklings and spiders and other Unseelie fey deigned to dwell. This way out had its own guardian, one they'd been deathly afraid to confront since they'd entered the Feywyld, but one 'Hopper had known about from before he'd ever come, the one exit he was certain was real, but also the one so dangerous he'd only come after all his other ideas ended fruitlessly.

The shadows cloaked the woods like the strands of a spider's web, sliding back around the two palpably, making it harder to move to closer they came, and impossible to move away. The trees here were black and dead things, barren branches hung low, but still thick enough to blot out the sun.

When natural light failed, 'Hoppers Sun blade led the way, but even that was dampened by the ever-present darkness, it barely cast enough light to seen ten feet in front of them by the time the two arrived at the gateway out, the connection between the Feywyld, and the real world they'd come from, guarded by something called the 'Darkweaver' - a vicious creature that only revealed itself now that they were within sight of their goal.

You may leave. the voiced echoed inside his skull, and brought chills down his spine. Behind him, Patrick was struggling, caught in a web of shadows, held firm by the trees themselves, circling around to swallow him up.

"Let'im go!" 'Hopper turned to help, but found himself similarly taken by threads of solid shadow around his ankles, he slashed at them with Lucky, and the sun Blade dissolving the threads that bound him, but it only delayed his eventual capture, he was surrounded.

Leave him, Portalhopper. He caused you this pain, he trapped you here, it's his fault you have been lost all this time. Allow me to take your revenge, leave him here, like you should have on the Path. It rang inside his skull, planting ideas he felt compelled to obey, but the whispered commands of the fell creature couldn't take hold in his mind, not after he'd spent so long fighting against them every day of his life.

"Not on yer life, Darkling, nor on me own. Patrick's saved me life more times 'an I ken' count, and I swore I'd see 'im through the Feywyld. Ye've not the strength ta' stop me." 'Hopper's voice was cold iron, and the shadows seemed to shrink away from him for the barest moment..

But the voice came back, dark laughter this time, it rang painfully through his skull before the Darkweaver spoke again, You still don't know, Portalhopper? You came here alone.

Just ahead of him, Patrick’s features began to dissolve, his ears lengthened, his face changed from the human boy he'd known all this time to the all-too-familiar feyish smirk, the same face he'd seen on so many other tempters. The look on his face was unmistakable though, whether human or fey. It was a mask of absolute terror. You walked the Path alone, Portalhopper, and it showed you the boy you lost, the first time you came among us. You always wished you could have been brave back then, you always wished you could have saved him. But this man, who's kept you here all this time, he's nothing but a lie. He doesn't care about you, Portalhopper. You don't care about him, but to me, he is delicious. Leave, I will accept him as tribute, and allow you to return home.

'Hopper remained still for a moment, clearing his mind of all distractions, allowing himself to think for just a moment. He quieted his mind, thinking outwardly of how good it would be to be home, how much he hated that Fey for tricking him for so long. . . But his right hand was moving of it's own volition, and his legs were tensing to spring, he slipped his golden ring onto his hand, and shouted, "Take a short stick, and Pike it."

With that, Lucky extinguished. The darkness was complete, but strangely powerless to hold 'Hopper or the Fey 'Hopper called Patrick, and 'Hopper launched himself to slash apart the tree branches holding Patrick. Even effectively blind, he cut true, shattering the branches apart with two swings.

"'. . .Hopper, Why?" Patrick's voice was different now, musical, fey like, but definitely the same man he'd known all this time.

"I gave ye' me word, dinnae I? No matter even iffin' yer not that man I thought ye' were, nothing warrants bein' left ta' that thing." Hopper Explained as he hefted Patrick up over his left shoulder, "Now Brace yerself."

Turning again towards the gate, 'Hopper willed his golden ring to cease working, letting Magic back into the little grove, and letting Lucky spill out brighter than he'd ever seen it shine. He even caught a glimpse of the Darkweaver, a loathsome thing that reminded him of equal parts spider, and squid, it hissed in rage as anger as 'Hopper took them both away.

------------------------------

"Do ye know what happened to tha' real Patrick?" 'Hopper asked once they'd finally crossed the gate.

"Not a thing, 'Hopper. He might still be out there, he might be dead. We crossed barely a fraction of the Wyld while you were there. If you were willing to head back in to look. . ." The fey started to respond, before being interrupted by 'Hopper.

"Sod off, I helped ye' slip tha' noose this one last time, but iffin' I see ye again, in any face, fer' any reason, I'll scrag ye' meself. Understand?" 'Hopper wore his serious face for that one.

In response, the fey man grinned broader than the Cheshire cat, and nodded, "Thanks again, you're human I'll never forget."

-----------------

Finally the memories ceased, and 'Hopper was back in the present, waiting in the darkness for his challengers to appear. He allowed himself one last glance back towards Sara. Even though he couldn't see her, hidden as she was, he knew she was there. Never again. Not letting anymore o' these promising young'uns fall apart under me watch.

But by now, even he would be hearing footsteps. His opponents should be coming into view any moment now. He was ready.

[MetalDrago]

MetalDrago extended his senses beyond himself for a slight moment… It wouldn’t work. Everything in the forest was alive, and moving. He wouldn’t be able to sense individual auras while he was fighting, at least not until he saw and clashed swords with the one who was to be his enemy. The Paladin hissed through his teeth. He was very unhappy with this turn of events. As the trees continued to attack him, MetalDrago wistfully wondered why Lorenor wasn’t getting the same treatment. Then his thoughts fell to the clearing, where any normal people would have ended up before moving on.

He was excited, pure and simple. As he drew the onyx-bladed katana, his Dragon’s Betrayal, he lovingly caressed the blade as he sought his target. He laughed and said, “Come on out… It’s not fun when you don’t play fair.” This was more for his twisted amusement than it was for anything else. He believed that his enemies were hiding from him, and thus he was almost positive they were going to spring a trap. MetalDrago wasn’t even locked in mortal combat with anyone, and he was already in good mood. And this was not a good thing. When the Dragonian Paladin was in a good mood, he was at his most sadistic. As he rushed through the trees, watching in silence as the trees seemed to fly by him, he broke into another fit of laughter. The power he had been granted by the Dark Goddess seemed more powerful by the day, and what a joyous day it was turning out to be. MetalDrago was being rewarded for finding and defeating other people. Why not have some fun humiliating them while he was at it?

MetalDrago turned his attention toward his nearest target, the being that seemed to wield a sword. This man was going to be his opponent. He could already feel it. Someone who was born of light, and one who was corrupted by darkness, entwined in graceful, mortal combat. They would be fighting, not only for their hopes, dreams, and that one wish, but for the pleasure of seeing their enemies in pain. MetalDrago pushed forward, branches scratching his skin as he smiled sinisterly in reckless abandon. He was prepared to risk his life for this, not because he was suicidal, but because it was fun. As fast as lightning, MetalDrago tossed the stick he had been carrying out into the opening, swiftly following it, but from a slightly different angle. There was no time to think, it was time for action.

The onyx katana flashed in the air as he waited for his opponents to make their move. It was the beginning of the fight, but already it seemed to have reached a climactic point. Would the villains be able to survive the first barrage of traps, and live to fight their opponents, or would they be trapped, forced to retreat or die before the fight even began?

[Mikeavelli]

ooc: Our 'first attack plan' requires 'Hopper to move first for what should soon be fairly obvious reasons, so I'm skipping ahead in the turn order a little here. I hope there aren't any objections?

‘Hopper walked to the left, circling around Metaldrago in slow, deliberate steps, Lucky raised straight towards the man in his right hand, Styx held backhanded in his left. He felt like he was staring at a mirror of himself, a shadow ‘Hopper come leaping headfirst from these dark woods specifically to be his opponent. Maybe that was what the powers behind this obscene tournament wanted? Despite that reckless charge, his opponent was smart enough to realize the trap he was in, cautious enough to hesitate upon seeing ‘Hopper, and deadly enough to leave his own ally in the background. Still, ‘Hopper grinned, smart and cautious enough though the swordsman in front of him might be, ‘Hopper could already read the bloodlust in him. This swordsman wasn’t the brains of the operation.

Still, he deserved at least a token of respect, ‘Hopper raised Lucky to his own forehead in a quick salute, and taunted, “Pleasure ta meet ye’, Bait. We’ve a lot in common, seeing as Bait is me own name fer’ the time being. Looks like I’ll be yer’ dancin’ partner fer’ the next few seconds.”

With that, he was off in a sprint, closing the little remaining distance between himself and Metaldrago in a blur of motion, dodging between what few branches and roots that dared get in his way seemingly without effort, coming in with an overhead slash from Lucky, aimed straight for Metaldrago’s forehead.

‘Hoppers attack was obvious, and would have been easy to block, even for a novice swordsman, if it weren’t for the eruption of light from Lucky that came in the final moments of the swing. Far beyond just the two swordfighters, the light spread out like the sun brought to earth, filling the shadowy woods with brilliant light where none had ever shone before. Monstrous shapes screeched and skittered away from the brilliance, and the trees themselves seemed to recoil against the offending light.

[Petoux]

OOC:

Agreed ... partner agreed ... opposing partner agreed ... continuing on.... Metaldrago, please post agreement in your post as well so the judges know. Post is short due to sucky unforeseen circumstances.

...

IC:

Theres my cue!

The ring seemed to work effectively! When the giant ray of blinding light illuminating from her friends sword spread, the magic of the ring negated the temporary blindness of the flash allowing her the chance for a long distance strike free from the hindrance of not being able to see.

Sara pulled back hard on her bow and unleashed all four arrows towards Metaldrago in one swift shot.

As the arrows flew, she quickly got back on her feet and ran towards Hopper to aid him in battle, pulling both daggers out to use in combat. As a learning tool she picked up on her own, Sara held each one at a forty five degree angle with one blade pointing up and the other pointing down. She was about thirty five feet away from them now as she drew in closer by the second running at full speed to help Hopper in anyway she could.