(2) Sons of Terrinore v (23) Songs of Sorrow

[Ashiakin]

Round One starts at 12:00 AM EST on Sunday, April 30th and will last two weeks. Good luck!

[Thoracis]

After the previous two years the Lornius Corporate Challenge had become more then just a tournament to Thoracis Rakarth. It was an entity all its own, the ultimate prize that was always dangling just out of his reach, the fulfillment of his legacy as more then the General of Alerar, but truly one of the best ever. It was a title twice robbed from him in the last waning moments of battle. Now it was an obsession. The last thing he cared about on all of Althanas.

Now, the time had once again come. There was nothing but five battles standing between Thoracis and his destiny. My destiny, Thoracis had constantly reminded himself. Too often had he let his fate in the tournament rest in the hand of another. First it had been Mazrith al’Dor Hashid. Then it had been the vampire Azrael. Both had failed him and prevented the ultimate victory he so desperately sought. But now there was a new determination within the ice mage. He had learned his lessons and was committed to not repeating them. This year he would best the Lornius field alone.

Of course, to enter, he had a need for a partner. Or, more technically, a name and a face to call a partner. After his previous letdowns Thoracis was resolute in not choosing another of the “greats” to carry on his back. This year his partner was to simply remain a figurehead, someone who was his partner but would not participate less Thoracis himself was on the brink of death. Careful consideration lead Thoracis to his allies in Kachuk, where he reached terms with the dwarves to be accompanied by Kornis Lightbringer, the second son of Kharas Lightbringer, King of Kachuk. Thoracis assured the dwarves that no harm could possibly befall their honored son, that he was nothing more then an intimidation factor who’s skills would only be needed in the direst circumstances, and all the combat would be handled by Thoracis himself. Finally, after many reminders of Thoracis’ past solo performances in the tournament, Kharas relented and agreed.

All of this brought Thoracis to the most appropriate place possible to begin his final march towards greatness: the island prison of Terrinore. While figuratively Terrinore was ideal, in reality there was no place less suitable for battle. Located off of the northwestern coast of Lornius the island was a dreary and unstable region. The weather, as always, was horrendous. Dark clouds of the vilest origin regularly assaulted the rocky coasts with torrential rains and hail. The wind blew manically and made travel slow, if not impossible, on a daily basis. However, it remained the place of Thoracis’ last semi-final defeat at the hands of Team Firestone and it was here that Thoracis would reclaim his glory.

Alone he stood, impervious to the elements, watching and waiting, anxious for the first sign of those who would fall before him. Kornis, as instructed, simply sat amongst the stones a good distance up the coast, out of harms way, wishing he had known what he was subjecting himself to beforehand. “I should think you would not have needed me Rakarth!” bellowed the dwarf over the howling winds. “It would take a fool to seek battle in a place like this!”

The observation went without response. Thoracis was motionless, staring out at the sea, towards the coast of Lornius. His icy grip was tight around his liviol staff as he concentrated his mind on how he would end the coming battle as quickly as possible. In every way he wished to make a statement this day. A statement, not only of his return to the Lornius Corporate Challenge, but of his utter dominance over it.

“Do not worry,” Thoracis finally said to himself. “The fools will always come.”

[Max Dirks]

A hooded man stopped at the edge of a tower overlooking the great prison of Terrinore. The man used a Prevalida katana as a cane. He breathed heavily, but did not scan the area. He did not need to. The man knew HE was here. It was time. The man lifted his hood and closed his eyes. Max Dirks was barely recognizable. His clothes were tattered and his body was scarred. Remnants of his white jumpsuit were attached to his chest by a mixture of sweat and dried blood. His trench coat was the only thing on his figure that was untarnished. Below, two teams were meeting in a battle for ultimate glory. They fought for a glory that Dirks had created and they fought for a glory that had been taken away. None of it mattered, though. Dirks only had one thing on his mind…

…The ice warlord, Thoracis Rakarth.

Thoracis had taken everything from Dirks: his ego, his glory, his life and his love. Five weeks ago, Thoracis captured Dirks and Starlynn in Radasanth. The two were taken to different strongholds. Dirks was tortured, burned, poisoned, starved, and drowned. He died a hundred deaths but always woke up the next morning. It was her: Starlynn. The thought of seeing her again forced him to wake up and face the horrors of the next day. Then a week ago, Thoracis made an appearance. He told Dirks that Starlynn was not as strong as him. She’d given up on Dirks, and on her life. It was then that Dirks died his final death.

When he woke up the next morning, he was left with nothing but his anger. When Thoracis’ men came to issue their daily dose of horror, Dirks struck back. They had nothing left to take, so Dirks was not afraid to unleash his vengeance. He disarmed the lead man and used his sword to kill the second man. Dirks snapped the neck of the man he had disarmed and impaled the third man with the sword. Upon exiting the room, Dirks was able to recover his trench coat and his twin katanas, but his guns were gone. He draped the trench coat over his shoulders and exited the stronghold. He was prepared to fight the entire Alerian Army.

But there was no one there. He wasn’t in Alerar, he wasn’t even somewhere remote. Dirks was in a warehouse in Radasanth just north of the bazaar district. Anger swelled through his heart and it surfaced as one goal: to kill Thoracis for his injustices. As he limped through the bazaar, a small flyer caught Dirks’ eyes. The flyer wasn’t remote either, there were hundreds of them posted everywhere. One glance was all it took. He knew where Thoracis was: the Lornius Corporate Challenge. Dirks’ tournament. More specifically, Dirks knew that Thoracis was at Terrinore Isle, the place where the ice mage had lost the tournament...twice.

Dirks opened his eyes. It was here, on the towers of Terrinore where the dual of the fates would begin.

[Thoracis]

The fools will always come. As more time passed the thought became less reassuring. Kornis sat silently, wrapping his cloak tight against the wind, occasionally mumbling something about Thoracis himself being a fool, and regarding the entire event as folly.

The mage was growing bored. Idly his hands went to his waste, where he had not yet grown accustomed to the added weight he held there. His fingers slowly ran over the cool metal of the Beretta 950. He could almost hear the resonating sound of the blast, from this very same gun, which had left Thoracis laying in a pool of his own blood, just one year earlier, on that fateful country road in Lornius. The thought, strangely enough, brought a smile to the mage’s face. Max Dirks. He was the rightful owner of the firearm. The one responsible for using it against Thoracis. The one who paid for his mistakes. How sweet the revenge had been, forever worthwhile if for nothing else then the look on Dirks’ face when he was told. His sweet Starlynn. If only the criminal knew what fate had truly befallen his love. Thoracis knew it was the greatest pain he could have inflicted.

“This has gone on long enough.” Kornis’ frustration was becoming more and more evident.

“I would expect greater patience from a dwarf.” Thoracis turned to face his friend just as the weather began to let up. “See,” Thoracis raised his arms to the sky, unnoticing of the gun he still gripped, “Hromagh still favors us. He anticipates battle much better then you, my friend!” Thoracis laughed as he joked with Kornis, his mood lightening a bit.

It was then that it caught his eye.

High atop the towers of Terrinore stood a lone silhouette.

How long has someone been there? It was impossible to know since the view had been obstructed by the rain. But surely someone was there. One of his opponents? Thoracis knew little of whom he was to fight. The most he had learned of Amoroth Celbring was that he was a small statured elf. Fereal Finn was larger then the elf he knew, and he was rumored to have been a pirate, though it was hard to tell from this distance if it was him.

“Hromagh favor you!?” Kornis replied to Thoracis’ jest. “Hromagh favors those who fight with steel,” he laughed, banging his battleaxe into the stone.

The mage had suddenly become too sullen for jokes though. “It’s time.” Thoracis began to hastily make his way up the rocks and towards the prison. With an expert grace he navigated the boulders until he was over the immediate coast and making his way up. “Try to keep up, eh dwarf?” He ridiculed in all seriousness.

It took little time for the two of them to reach the gates of the ancient fortress. Thoracis had lost sight of the figure long ago, but he could feel that someone else was there. “Someone knows we’re here. It won’t be long now.”

[Max Dirks]

Max Dirks took a long, raspy breath and then started down a narrow walkway until he came across a spiral staircase. The staircase led down to a courtyard in the center of the prison castle. There he would wait for Thoracis Rakarth. The ice mage would be cut down for all combatants to see. Dirks would offer no mercy, he would not toy. Thoracis would die by his hand and his life would begin anew. He would become a man born of anger.

It took him nearly five minutes to descend the stairs. When he emerged, the rain had subsided. A small patch of light escaped the dark clouds directly over courtyard. Dirks took a few steps forward and stopped over a light red stain on the ground. Years ago criminals were lined up in the courtyard and executed. The Lornian government was never tactful. They used all sorts of execution devices: skull crushers, body stretchers, jigsaws, and even primitive rifles. Dirks remembered vividly, he had seen it all. He was the only one to ever escape Terrinore. Afterwards, he liberated the island and revealed the corruption of the Lornian government to its people. The massive civil war left the island and the country in the desolate condition it was presently in.

But that was years ago. Dirks was now using the place that he liberated as an execution block for Thoracis. Rather than using the guillotine or even a gun, he was simply going to puncture the ice mage’s heart. When Thoracis’ blackened core ceased to beat, the deed would be done. A heart for a heart. As primitive his notion of vengeance and justice was, Dirks was completely committed to it. The backdrop, the Lornius Corporate Challenge, and the inherent irony were completely unintentional.

Dirks limped to the center of the courtyard and stood up straight. He placed the katana in its sheath on his back and waited for Thoracis.

[Scars]

He had drawn the short straw. It was bound to happen. It was a tradition of sorts; to have the shortest straw drawn among the crew members enter the tournament alone, to be paired with whichever random wanderer happened to need a partner. He had watched the Corporate Challenge every year for so long that he could not recall the names of many of the earlier champions, though he had been young at the time. It was frantic, uninterrupted combat through and through. Men felt such emotions and suffered such pain as to leave them damaged after all was done, despite their being healed of wounds. Some were hailed as heroes, others forced to suicide. What would happen to him? The buccaneer didn’t know. All Ferael Finn knew now was that his heart thumped like a war drum in his chest; that his eyes burned like fire from a long, restless night. ‘Poor young Ferael Finn’, they had said. Heartless bastards. Poor Ferael Finn indeed. He was nineteen, and he was about to fight men with more kills to their names than he could count to. And there was no way back. The young pirate adjusted his sword sheath and his belt, and, taking a deep breath that made him dizzy, stepped forward into whatever chaos awaited him.

The hard rain that lashed almost horizontally across his face caused his skin to sting as if a thousand wasps had swarmed him. Ferael raised an arm over his face and pulled his tunic tight about him. He could see little, but it was clear that he was on a slope, and at the bottom of it waves crashed against black rocks. The sky almost mimicked the colour of the stone. This place was like a demon manifested – uncontrollable, ruthless and severe. He turned away and began climbing quickly. Hopefully, salvation waited in the form of shelter, but the bandit knew that he was probably heading towards death anyway, at the hands of some so-called hero.

There was… something… in the distance - a huge looming silhouette that, as he got closer, seemed to fill the sky. Whatever it was, it had to be better than this constant assault that now felt like arrows being fired relentlessly at his back. His body had given up shivering, his fingers numb to the tips and his nose pouring snot, and he imagined that his so-called-friends were laughing and cheering.

Bastards.

After what seemed like an hour of endless torture at the hands of the ferocious storm, Ferael found what he had sought – shelter. It was not as comforting as he had hoped. Upon reaching the entrance to the enormous building, he had wandered into what seemed like a maze of corridors and staircases. Every now and again the brigand found an open door amongst the hundreds of locked ones, but there was never anything inside of interest. The walls were stained with what Ferael’s nose discerned to be long-left piss and blood, and the air was so dry and stale it made his throat hurt. Still, he kept moving. What else was there to do? There had to be someone in this place, somewhere.

He continued on for a while, coming across nothing of interest, before he heard two pairs of footsteps, coming from somewhere behind him. Ferael picked up his pace, for two people meant partners, and he had yet to find his. He ran endless corridors, ascending and descending staircases, his breaths coming so fast as to nearly overlap, until…

Cool air rushed down into the bandit’s lungs as he stumbled through a doorway from the bottom of a spiralling stairwell. Before him, in the centre of an open-topped courtyard, stood a lone figure. He stood up straight, finally feeling somewhat secure now he had found a companion for battle.

“You’ve been waitin’ for me? I’m you’re partner. Sorry I took so long,” he said light-heartedly, "but I forgot me map." A smile curved his lips. It might not be so bad, after all.

[The Bard]

Amoroth strolled thourgh the court yard seeing crimson puddels and stains. He felt years of pain and suffering something never hoped for. All his life he never understood why it is truly regrettable that a person will treat a man who is valuable to him well, and a man who is worthless to him poorly. The rain had subsided and he could see men standing there and talking the one looked annyoned from the other. He walked closer and saw the man he had been searching for same detail from the letter that described him.

" You must be Ferael Finn " Amoroth said with a low bow. "I have impotant news to share with you. But first I must ask for your forgiveness from my tardiness. I well ran into a little trouble on the way here and by the looks of it you did too. I dont really like the feel of rain though the sound of it is calming and soothing. But back on hand this man is not your partner Ferael I am. " Amoroth swung his lute around and played a fast hard tune. The tip of his lute was glowing and a fireball appered and headed towards the man Ferael was talking to.

No time to think Amoroth grapped the handel of his silver sword and swung it out while back pacing away. " If I were you Ferael I'd get ready! " Amoroth yelled and searched the courtyard getting to know his battel field like his father had taught him.

[Max Dirks]

Another man had entered the courtyard but it was not Thoracis. The newcomer smelled like vermin. He did not carry the persona of a general. Partner? It appeared as though this particular tournament battle had yet to begin. Dirks did not respond. The wind gusted, sending the tip of Dirks’ coat into the air, but he remained dormant. Soon another arrived. This one was certainly not human. His speech was too light and poetic. This time Dirks did nothing until the melody of the flute filled the courtyard.

The sound sent a shockwave through Dirks’ nervous system. Something was happening. Dirks was blindfolded during most of his captivity causing him to rely on his other senses to interpret particular situations. Overtime those senses became adept. By the last week of his captivity, Dirks could feel the guards approaching before they even arrived at the building. He could smell them to gage their moods. He also knew how he would be tortured each day by listening to the clanks that accompanied their arrival. Now, he could hear the sound of the fire igniting on the tip of the flute.

Yet he still did not move. It was not arrogance that kept him steady. It was his dedication to his one goal. The fireball passed through the air on a straight course toward the back of his head. His short breath in the interim lasted for an eternity. At the last minute he jerked his head, and spun around. However, he waited too long. The fireball just missed the right side of his face. Dirks could feel the momentary burst of heat as the fireball passed is face, leaving three small charcoal burns on cheek. He felt no pain from the attack. The fireball continued past Dirks and crashed into a stone.

As Dirks turned, he reached to his waste and grabbed his steel dirk. Once he was facing the two men, he sent the dirk flying on a crash course for the elf’s flute. The two men were not privileged to Dirks’ goal, therefore their involvement was unnecessary. He aimed only to disarm. At this point they did not need to die. Once he had released the dirk, he reached to his back and withdrew his twin Prevalida katanas from their sheaths. He stepped forward onto his good leg and settled into an attack stance. “Where is Thoracis?”

[Thoracis]

Beyond the gate Thoracis could make out the faint sounds of conversation. Was that three people he had heard? Him and Kornis exchanged a confused glance. Then music? A flute? A sudden loud blast could be heard and felt from the opposite side of the massive oaken doors. Had the battle started? It couldn’t have. Something was going terribly awry. “Quickly Kornis, help me with the door.”

The gates to Terrinore had not been locked in quite some time, but the fact remained that thirty-plus feet of solid oak and metal was not light. The two of them strained against the door, feet dug in to the stone, faces seemingly about to burst from the pressure they were applying, until finally, they inched the massive gate open just enough to allow them passage. “Stay near me Kornis. We could be walking into a trap.”

Rushing through the gate and into the courtyard Thoracis found exactly that. He almost tripped over himself at the scene before him. The two whom he vaguely recognized as fitting the description of his partners were there. It was the third man… He should not have been there. He stood, ready for battle, two katanas oddly set in his hands that were normally designated for the weapons still at Thoracis’ waste. “Where is Thoracis?” The words brought a nervous tightness to Thoracis’ chest. Of course, he had no way of knowing that the swords were drawn at the other two, nor was he aware of the fireball that had been shot at the man. All he knew was that this was not the first trap like this that had been laid for him in the LCC.

“Looks like you might have to fight after all Kornis,” Thoracis muttered, but the dwarf had already shed his cloak and held his massive battleaxe at the ready. A million thoughts were racing through Thoracis’ mind. There was going to be no easy way out of this. Shit, there might not be any way out of this. Last time he had been shot in head. Ironic really, that that was actually how all this started. How had he gotten out of the warehouse? How had he conspired with his opponents so fast?

Cool and calm Thoracis. Keep control.

“Always have been one for the dramatic escape, huh Dirks?” Thoracis announced his presence if it hadn’t been known. He tried to level his voice to make it seem as though he had almost expected such an intrusion by the criminal. “My real opponents, I presume?” He regarded the two lightly, as if they weren’t even there. “I see you know how to pick your company.” The comment wasn’t directed at anyone directly, but applied to both Dirks or the other two all the same.

Thoracis looked at Kornis. His eyes said everything. The dwarf wanted battle. Thoracis shook his head. “Just wait my friend. Only if I need you.” He turned back to the other three. “No point in wasting any time.” He started towards the group with purpose in his step. With a thought shards of ice began to rain from the sky over his two real opponents. With his spell cast Thoracis extended a blade of ice from his staff and leveled it upon his old friend and recent foe, Max Dirks.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Behind him, little did Thoracis know, that Kornis was following the mage step for step towards Dirks and no sooner then the words had left his mouth he was past the mage and on the criminal.

[Max Dirks]

On cue, the main gates of the courtyard creaked open and Dirks’ question was answered. He immediately turned to face Thoracis, ignoring the two he had just confronted. The light that had broken through the clouds reflected brightly off of the ice mage’s porcelain mask, but Dirks did not flinch. He wanted to immortalize this encounter.

The next few moments were a blur as feelings of anxiety and angst sent butterflies through Dirks’ stomach. When the feelings subsided and anger re-took command of his body, Thoracis had already closed the distance between them. It was the ice mage who offered the invitation. “And you have some dying to do,” Dirks responded coarsely in acceptance. Then Dirks lunged forward towards Thoracis propelled by adrenaline. His injuries were mere tickles as he advanced on the ice mage. But just as Dirks brought his first katana into the air to attack Thoracis, he was slammed hard in the chest by the butt of a battle ax.

“Wha,” Dirks cried out as he stumbled backwards. It was the dwarf, Thoracis’ partner, that had interrupted his attack. Dirks quickly regained his composure and called out, “Step aside, dwarf, my battle is not with you.” Dirks took a step forward.

“I am Kornis Lightbringer, second son of Kharas Lightbringer, King of Kachuk, human, and I will step aside only to avoid the blood spraying from your severed neck.” The dwarf responded, settling into a defensive position.

In the past, Dirks might have rattled off a witty remark to the dwarf, but instead he just mumbled, “So be it.” Dirks let out a cry and lunged at Kornis, performing the same attack that was meant for Thoracis just a few moments ago. Dirks struck once with each weapon, executing cross slashes from the left and the right. In response, the dwarf held his axe like a staff. When Dirks attacked from the left, Kornis turned the butt of his ax to the right, forcing the katana away. When Dirks attacked to the right, Kornis turned the blade of the ax to the left. The blade caught dirks on the inside of his hand, causing him to release his weapon. It flew harmlessly to the side. Before Dirks could react, Kornis slammed the butt of the ax into Dirks’ exposed stomach, causing him to hunch over. The wind had been knocked clean out of him.

“I’ve seen trolls with better sword fighting skills than you,” Kornis called out before continuing his assault. The dwarf jumped forward to Dirks and stomped on his foot. Dirks cried out in pain, but was interrupted when Kornis head butted him, sending him crashing against the cobblestone. Dirks managed to climb up into a crouch before dizziness overtook him.

Kornis laughed and then turned to Thoracis to say something, but Dirks could not decipher what was said. He closed his eyes and the world began to spin. Every time he tried to focus, he was taken further away from the battle. Sounds were muffled, his senses refused to work. When he opened his eyes, Kornis was approaching him. The dwarf was holding his ax like a bat. He was going to decapitate Dirks unless he did something. Then Dirks remembered he was still holding one of his katanas.

Dirks focused and soon the seven Kornis’ turned to five, and then five turned into three. Dirks decided that he would aim for the middle one. Just as Kornis began his swing, Dirks dashed forward holding his weapon to the side with two hands. The prevalida tore through the wooden handle of the ax, breaking it into two then it tore into the dwarf’s armor and dug into its skin. Shocked, Kornis dropped his ax and fell to the ground. A pool of blood began to appear beneath his body. Even so, Dirks did not believe him to be dead.

“You two,” Dirks called out to the pirate and the elf after he’d stopped his advance. “If you idiots want to win the tournament then you’re going to have to fight them.” That should keep the dwarf busy enough for the moment.

Then Dirks turned back to Thoracis.