Final: (18) Circus v (2) Sons of Terrinore

[Ranger]

Ranger sighed as he accepted another drink. “When the blades clattered against the criminal’s own blade I recognized a problem immediately. Fortunately my weight had been enough to push the tips of my swords into his shoulder. A drop of blood blossomed in the small hole.”

“He bleeds?” The prophet laughed. The minds of children were what spread rumors about the common being great, and their adult equivalents. People believed whatever they were told, especially the simpler among them. If rumor’s persisted that Max Dirks was unable to bleed, then people would believe it. If they insisted that his partner, Thoracis, and himself had some magical bond, they would believe that too. But the drow knew otherwise. “And you hit him?”

“That’s correct,” he responded between sips. But in truth it had not been that difficult. The two men worked as well together as any other team, and the fact that they had made it to the finals attested to their personal strength before anything. “And as soon as the momentum shifted he tossed me away, using the flat of his blade.”

---

I tumbled through the air, spinning just enough to land on my feet. The criminal mastermind was before me, and to my flank was his partner. It was a horrible position to find myself in. Subconsciously I was pushing the two, moving them like pawns on a chessboard. They were almost in the position that I wanted, almost where I could use the field to my advantage.

However, instead of accosting me any further the brigand turned to my companion. I had little time to think. I sheathed a sword, and pushed my arm forward. But out of the corner of my eye I saw the other coming. It was as I had feared, trapped between the two with the elephant on the outside watching.

Instead of turning my focus on Dirks I shifted to his partner. At the end of my fingers five small balls of light had formed, it was the beginning of two attacks. But what I saw coming made me hold my breath. It was the infamous ice mage in his full glory. From beneath the mask across his face his eyes seemed to glow with the light. In his hands the staff was set low and ready, at the end a dagger of ice waiting to impale me.

Hesitation was shrugged off as an idea arose.

I charged forward, the balls of light becoming small shards. But Thoracis was hard to follow, he blinked by me. For a moment I thought the mage’s blade had pierced me and he had already passed. My eyes widened and I nearly threw myself forward, pushing off a row of chairs. An indistinct and odd noise came in report.

As soon as I turned I saw the dramatic pose that the mage had assumed, and the result of his attack. The ice shard had been struck by the saxophone, which continued on to collide into the chairs. A cloud of dust and erupted stuffing filled the air around the staff instead of blood and gore like the mage had undoubtedly hoped for. But his positioning was perfect, I could not have asked for more.

With a deft toss the shards at the end of my fingers were thrown to the ceiling. Each quickly reached the taunt rope holding the chandelier high overhead, snapping the cording with ease. A heavy groan echoed through the theater, just as every other noise had, and the seven tiers wonder quickly began to descend. The two teammates were below it, Dirks under its pinnacle and Thoracis under the outside edge.

“Chumley,” I cried, “be careful!” I was not sure how the elephant was faring, only seeing him out of the corner of my eye, but I held little doubt that he was the one hurling instruments. If he was too close to dirks or where the beastly, gaudy aberration was falling the resulting destruction could catch him.

[Max Dirks]

Max Dirks tightened his grip on the dagger when Thoracis spoke. He desperately wanted to turn around and send his weapon flying into his partner’s eye. Dirks took a deep breath. No one would notice if the ice mage lost. Wasn’t it Thoracis’ curse for his partner to abandon him in the final moments of the tournament anyway? Dirks closed his eyes. Every muscle in his body was tense. “I am not a fucking pawn!” Dirks yelled as he opened his eyes. He turned his body and threw the dagger at where he suspected Thoracis to be. The dagger missed wide right and made a ‘thuck’ sound as it lodged itself into the back of a rotted chair.

Angered, Dirks quickly turned his attention back to the elephant. It was still in the pit, grabbing as many instruments as possible to use as weapons against the former criminal. Dirks shook his head. The distraught animal didn’t belong in the tournament. Starlynn would have thought it was cute. She would have begged him not to hurt it. It was a shame that he would have to slaughter the elephant to see her again. Slaughter? Dirks paused. Is this really what I’ve become? As Dirks listened to the animal speak, he realized how harmless it truly was. Nailo admitted earlier that the two had advanced on sheer luck and now the criminal was inclined to believe it.

When Chumley finished his rambling, Dirks tossed his sword to the side. He wouldn’t need it against the elephant. Dirks began to reply, but was interrupted when it threw a saxophone at him. The former criminal ducked his head and watched as the instrument flew by his face. It continued on and crashed into a salvo of ice shards that Thoracis shot at the prophet. Dirks grinned. The ice mage deserved every bit of the ice residue that flew back into his face. Dirks amusement was short-lived though as Nailo decided to become resourceful. The prophet shot strange balls of light at the ceiling. Dirks trailed them until he found himself looking straight up at a rumbling chandelier. That bastard, doesn’t he understand?

Dirks had little time to act. He immeadiately dove over two rows of seats, landing hard on the ground. His back slid against a third row stopping his momentum before bouncing up into a crouched position. Dirks covered the back of his neck as the chandelier came crashing to the ground. Though the seats were old, the sheer number of them caught the fixture as it fell to the ground. Only the small glass ends managed to find their ways down in between the rows and pricked the edges of his chain mail vest. Dirks growled as he stood, breaking through a layer of glass on the chandelier. Moments after, the weight of the fixture broke the chairs and it crumbled to the ground.

The former criminal was playing a dangerous game. On one hand, he wanted to do what was right. It was possible to win without slaughtering his opponents. On the other, he desperately wanted to hurt them both for not understanding his situation. Without thinking, Dirks reached to his chest and pulled his ‘twin’ Beretta 950 from its holster. He held the gun to the air and began to fire. The chandelier was not the only fixture hanging from the ceiling. Above the pit was the larger lighting array. Tens of spotlights were fixed onto the stage to illuminate its stars. One by one, Dirks shot at the hinges that held the fixture in place. Few bullets hit their targets, but the hard precise vibrations were enough to break the rusted bolts.

The array was already falling when Dirks stopped shooting. In fact, he wouldn’t have stopped if the gun hadn’t run out of bullets. The array slammed into the ground, cutting off the area between Dirks and his animal opponent. “Just run, elephant. This is your only chance.” Dirks called out to Chumley before turning his attention to Thoracis and the prophet. The fallen array should be enough to keep the 300 lb pachyderm from easily coming to his partner’s rescue. Dirks hopped on top of the fallen chandelier and began to run at Nailo. He was bleeding a lot more than he thought, as a trail of blood from his cuts was left in his wake. When he was close enough to Nailo, he lowered his shoulder and attempted to tackle the drow. If successful, he would begin to pummel the elf with his fists. “Don’t you understand?! All you had to do was lose.”

[Thoracis]

Much had been said of the “farce” that was this year’s Lornius Corporate Challenge. When Thoracis’ near un-defendable attack was felled by a saxophone that had been thrown by a walking, talking elephant, he began to understand why. Un-fucking-believable…

There was little time to stew over the failed attack though. Overhead was a heavy groaning, similar to the sounds that had been made to the crumbling buildings the previous round in Lyridia, followed by a call of warning from Nailo to his partner. Considering that the light in the room, especially immediately around them, suddenly became dimmer, it didn’t take a genius to realize what was happening. Thoracis bolted forward, not even chancing a glance behind him. It was just then that Dirks’ words sunk in. Damnit, don’t be the rebellious hero now… He wanted to say the words aloud but didn’t want to provoke the criminal any further. The fire was lit beneath him now. Hopefully that would be enough.

Thoracis was nearly to the stage when he heard the crash behind him. These maniacs were going to kill everyone! As he turned he saw Dirks, Beretta in hand, himself shooting at another set of lights (a far bigger fixture then the one Ranger had dropped) high above them. “What are you doing!?” Thoracis cried out at Dirks’ warning to Chumley. “God damnit!”

It didn’t matter to Thoracis how innocent Chumley was. It didn’t matter if they had made it here by mistake. They knew what they had gotten into and they could have dropped out any time if they didn’t want to commit. Now Chumley was in the finals and would have to suffer the consequences. So, in conjunction with the first chandelier that had fallen and with the lighting fixture that Dirks had just shot down from the ceiling, Thoracis let loose his Ice Rain spell over the area. Now the lights would be the least of Chumley’s worries… The blunt damage from the lights would surely be less consequential as being pierced by multiple shards of ice falling from the sky. Luckily for Thoracis the massive range of the spell would likely place Ranger in it’s effect as well. Of course, that would almost certainly place Dirks in the area of effect as well. But Max Dirks would not be so lucky as to get a shout of warning…

[chumley]

Chumley froze as he heard his partner's warning, and watched with shock as Ranger brought a perfectly good chandelier crashing down from the ceiling. He was almost too distracted by the falling glass to make an approving glance at the attractive son of Terrinore's retreating figure, making a superhuman leap into the concert seats. Almost.

"Thank you!" Chumley called back. "But I'm safe here, for now!" The sound of shots as the chain-mail clad man rose from the plumes of dust and glass shards spiraling around the chandelier quickly changed his mind. "Good G-d!" Chumley cried. "Ranger, he has a firearm! Duck for cover!" The elephant dove behind a nearby bassoon, unsheathing his piccolos from his jacket, unsure of how to proceed. He couldn't stand another show-down with the gunman. His heart was still beating like a hummingbird's, and his gray skin was still pink and warm. Anger sat like a cold stone somewhere in the nervous mess of his chest. "Why?" Chumley thought to himself. "Why must this demonic burden be upon me? What have I done to deserve it? I'm not a pervert..." Creaking and snapping sounds overhead caught his attention, and the pachyderm looked up toward a light array that was beginning to detach from the ceiling, crashing down toward the stage. Apparently that gunman had shot the thing down.

"Now that is highly improbable!" Chumley cried out, tucking his piccolos back into his jacket. "What sort of farce is this?" He withstood the urge to jump out from behind the bassoon and tongue-lash whoever was in charge of this battle, but a sudden blast of inclement weather prevented him. Shards of ice began crashing down around him, glassy knives of hail shattering on the wood floor beside him. It was obviously some sort of attack, launched by the same frigid fellow who had caused an ice spike to nearly impale him. A shard sliced down across his ear, nicking his shoulder, and he yelped in pain, hefting the heavy bassoon over him like a pathetic umbrella. It did some good, but the shards made their way around the narrow wooden instrument, continuing to cut across his body. As the futility of his defenses became apparent, a sudden brainstorm as deadly as the ice storm raining down around him. With a fatalistic grin at the blue-eyed masked bandit whose mouth was as dirty as a donkey's underbelly, Chumley turned the bassoon vertical, catching ice shards in its narrow tube. He ignored the shards slashing at his trunk and face, cutting long, narrow slices down his thick skin, and waited until the bassoon felt heavy enough for attack.

Turning the instrument over his shoulder, aiming it like the bazookas he felt sure man would one day invent, Chumley latched his mouth over the double reeds of the mouthpiece and blew as hard as he could, launching a few icy razors at the masked magician's face. As the cool melt-water of the deadly sleet mixed with the blood oozing out from a dozen cuts over his body, Chumley felt his strength already draining away. He could see, beyond the blank face of the magician in front of him, Ranger being attacked. The hopelessness of their situation was brought into stark relief as he watched the gunman approach Ranger. He wasn’t a fighter. Getting beaten in this tournament wouldn’t prove anything, even to himself. Trying to prove his worth to the Althanian Purity Society was pointless. They would never accept him for who he was, so why even try?

"Ranger!" he gasped, short of breath after the enormous blast he had made into the woodwind. "We have to get out of here! We're no match for them!"

[Ranger]

The taunt rope snapped and the gentle quivering of the glass reverberated through the hall, the noise dancing across the empty seats and musty air. I turned away from the devastation that was about to occur. I did not want to see the criminal mastermind, no matter how devious he was, be sliced by the panes of glass and crushed under the chandeliers weight. Instead I took cover beneath a row of seats, waiting for the inevitable.

When the crash finally roared through the theatre I was not close to prepared. It was like a heavy gale had swept through on the wings of a banshee’s scream. The clattering of the shattered glass lapped over my ears, drowning out thoughts. A hail of glass sprayed from the fallen monstrosity. A storm of broken shards dropped on my exposed hands and arm, though it did no damage. As soon as I thought it was safe I rolled out from under the chairs.

However, the criminal and his partner had escaped. Both stood resolute, one I could see a thousand small images of through the broken glass. The other had moved. I could not see him anymore, and it worried me. I turned around to look behind me, and that was when the first rap of gunfire called my attention. It was smaller than the rail gun wielded by the maniac Archibald McFeerery in the past round, but its deadly report was no less intimidating.

There was too much happening at one time, too much noise resounding through the hall. The echoes were horrible. The clamor struck itself, the lapping waves of sound collided painfully with my over-sensitive ears. Even as I looked up and watched the last bullet rip the lighting fixture from the ceiling I knew nothing was going to come of the fight. It was over in my mind.

When Dirks turned and began for me I had already conceded. His fists were clenched, his face low in frustration and determination. He was half-way when a new torrent appeared overhead. Shards of ice rained down from the ceiling thick enough to crush through most shields that I could have hoped to create. It did not stop me from creating one though, nor did it seem to stop Dirks’ approach.

Resolutely I charged away from the man, towards the far side of the theatre, the ice falling and catching my legs as I moved. There were exits along the wall, the doors having long been broken. Cracks between the door let light trickle in, and hope came along with it. The shards of ice sliced through the light, puncturing my arm and shoulders. With my free hand I began to form the strongest spell I could muster, the only ability that I thought would give me and Chumley enough time to escape the madhouse.

As soon as my fingers snapped shut and the two beams heat warmed my hands I turned. The shield on my left arm was pushed towards the nearest ice shard threatening me while my right arm started a wide arch. The pillar of white light broke loose from my hands, bounding freely towards a rather close point. As the blistering heat and powerful light spread I pushed harder. Everything in me was shoved into that pillar, all the will and strength I had.

The destruction was truly amazing.

It caught the edge of the seventh row, severing the chairs from their rusted bolts. As the spell continued it followed my wide sweep, absorbing more and more chairs into the devastation. By the time I reached the point of its dissolution a wall of chairs and rotten floor had formed before me. It was like a small wave of twisted steel, singed dust and mildew, and all the power I could muster.

Before it had even been given the chance to land, pummel, or generally distract, I was already sprinting towards the exit. Chumley was right. They were too powerful to fight; we really were no match for them. The finals for the Lornius Corporate Challenge had been rigged for our loss… or so I assumed as I turned away from the fight.

[Max Dirks]

“You know, Max, everyone gets a second chance,” the beautiful half-elf Starlynn Sonar whispered into Max Dirks’ ear. She walked towards the criminal and smiled.

“What do you mean?” Dirks replied, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close.

“We all make choices, Max, and some are to do bad things.” Starlynn draped her hands around his neck. "Even though you've done bad things before, I know you really want to do what’s right."

“It’s not that easy, Starlynn, you know, to do what's right.” Dirks lowered his head and touched his forehead against hers. “I can’t just change who I am.”

“But that’s it,” She replied softly, “You don’t have to. You have so many gifts, Max. You just have to decide how to use them.” Starlynn leaned her head in to kiss him...

---

Then suddenly a sharp pain spread throughout his calf.

“Huh?” Dirks was lying on his stomach with an ice shard dug into the side of his right calf. It took a moment before the former criminal could deduct where he was and what had happened. He was in the finals of the Lornius Corporate Challenge. The prophet, Nailo, must have dodged the tackle and sent Dirks sprawling across the floor into one of the brass statuettes that adorned the top of the chandelier. His head was throbbing. Thoracis also must have attacked when Dirks was out. The criminal waited a moment for his head to clear and then jumped up onto his feet.

Dirks immediately reached down and pulled the ice shard from his leg. There was little blood. The ice must have frozen it on contact. Rather than wasting his time by reprimanding Thoracis, Dirks turned his attention to Nailo who was cowering in the corner of the theater. Another faint light was beginning to build on the tips of the prophet’s fingers and Dirks quickly found himself back where he was moments before. The former criminal was tempted to rush in and punish Nailo before the attack could be unleashed. It would only take one shot and Dirks would be reunited with Starlynn.

Starlynn…Dirks hesitated and his mind began to wander. Of course, Nailo would not know what Dirks was going through. It was absurd for Dirks to angry at him for being ignorant. How would he know? How could he know? As the light on the end of Nailo’s finger grew brighter, Dirks hatred for the prophet faded. A second chance… Dirks finally understood. Thoracis’ mind games had forced Dirks into a supplemental position. Being constantly beleaguered and forced to fight sparked the deepest threads of the former criminal’s past. It made him animalistic and primal. Physically and emotionally broken down, Dirks forgot what he was: a calculative, arrogant, manipulative gangster.

It was about time he remembered it.

“Look out, you stupid mage!” Dirks called to his partner, running at Thoracis instead of their foe. When he was close enough he tackled the ice mage, but rather than tumble to the ground, Dirks reached down and ‘carried’ Thoracis across the great hall. When the light pillar erupted from Nailo’s hand it engulfed everything that it touched with its burning wrath. At the last moment, the Sons of Terrinore jumped into one of the ground level VIP boxes on the left side of the theater. When he landed, Dirks immediately spun around on his butt, attempting to hold Thoracis down with his left hand. With his right, Dirks reached to his chest and pulled his ‘patented’ Beretta 950 from its holster. He fired once, sending a single bullet into the light pillar.

The bullet exploded on contact, causing the light pillar to erupt into flames. The rotted wooden seats were quick to catch fire as the light passed over them. The fire was not quite hot enough to melt metal or glass. Within moments, a portion of the theater was burning from the rear seats to the metal light fixture Dirks had dropped down moments ago. The massive firewall climbed nearly halfway up to the ceiling. Dirks smirked as he lifted his left hand. With the ruckus, and the fact that the flame wall ended up no where near their previous locations, their opponents would have had plenty of time to escape. All the while, Thoracis would suspect they were incinerated by the blast and assume he was now the champion. Starlynn would be proud. Dirks could only hope that Thoracis didn’t catch sight of either of them as they made their escapes.

(Permission to bunny Thoracis granted)

[Thoracis]

It was all happening so fast. Perhaps too fast. The sum result of the falling lights and Thoracis’ spell was nothing if it wasn’t chaotic. Metal, glass and ice flew in every direction, wreaking havoc on the theatre and combatants alike. Chumley seemed to take the brunt of the damage, ice shards piercing him one after another. Ranger escaped mostly unscathed; resulting in Dirks seeming to be temporarily knocked out. There was no chance for either opponent to take great advantage in the disorder though.

Chumley’s cry to Ranger had went unheard to Thoracis, but as the priest bolted for the door his plan was clear. It would be a cold day in Haidia before Thoracis simply let them escape. He moved to follow Ranger immediately, only to be halted in his tracks by some of his own ice shards which came out of nowhere, one shattering into his icy left arm and one scoring a direct hit to the cheek of his black porcelain mask. “Son of a bitch!!!” he yelled, putting a hand to his face and feeling part of his mask broken away and warm blood flowing through his fingers. Now they would certainly pay…

When he looked up a bright light was forming around Ranger. Thoracis smiled. Another attack to be absorbed by his amulet. When would they learn that their magic was not strong enough to harm him. Just as he prepared his counterstroke something collided with Thoracis, nearly knocking him to the ground and eventually hauling him into one of the many ground level audience boxes. In the confusion he had no clue what had happened until he looked up to see Dirks shooting once more into the theatre.

The wall behind Dirks lit up as if the sun itself were shining inside. Between that and the deafening roar Thoracis was quite sure that the explosion that he had not seen but knew had happened was nothing short of spectacular. He was flooded with anger as he stood, seeing most of the theatre in shatters and ablaze. Surely nothing could have lived through such a blast. Chumley and Ranger were surely done for, but not by the ice mage’s hand. The thought was infuriating.

He turned his back to Dirks, climbing out of the box and fetching his liviol staff from the ground before the fire consumed it. When he turned the end of the staff was pointed at Dirks. “You are an asshole.” It was all he could manage through clenched teeth… Both from anger and he wasn’t sure that that ice shard hadn’t broken his jaw. “You know his attack couldn’t have bested me. You interfered because you wanted to save them.” The way he spoke it seemed more a matter of fact then an accusation. “And look,” Thoracis motioned to the burning wreckage of the theatre behind him, “you managed to destroy them anyway. You haven’t changed a bit. I bet you planned to take the glory from the start…” Thoracis slumped against the far wall near the VIP box but away from the flames, “… so you could impress Starlynn with tales of your heroism through all of this.” So he could impress Starlynn. Thoracis was suddenly exhausted with the realization that it was finally over.

“You know I’m a man of my word though,” he looked up at Dirks, less angry now, smiling even at the thought of being victorious, “I’ll tell you where she is…”

[chumley]

The day was ending in a soft glow, sunlight framing the trees standing at either side of the road, light burning through the leaves, warm and dull like a dying match. No wind rustled through the trees or across the grass, and no clouds smeared the sky: The air was still, only broken by the random call of a bird on the branch, or the grunts of a woodchuck snuffling in the roadside ditch. Twisting and meandering, packed hard by years of wanderers, the road ducked in and out from behind stumps and boulders until it made its way inconspicuously past a small, termite bitten inn. A small toad sat on the inn's porch, watching the sun through the dust-covered leaves of the trees across the road, croaking to itself every few minutes. But for these sounds of the creatures of the world, all was at peace.

Slowly, minutely, however, other sounds began to creep into the stillness, chipping away at the natural calm until birds leapt from treetops in fright. The stomping of feet, the gasping of breath, painful wheezes and grunts of pain all destroyed the illusion that the world was naturally a place free of discordance. A figure, slightly unsteady but continually growing blob of a figure was racing down the road, winding with the dirt track's weaving path. It grew over the next few minutes from a black spot to an obviously perturbed Chumley de Rotchfeltingham, whose eyes widened hopefully at the sight of the inn. Bloodied, ruffled and breathless, the elephant stumbled to the porch, leaning against the railing and staring down at the toad with blood-shot globes.

"Hello, my froggy friend," he sputtered, "Might you be the proprietor of this fine establishment?" The toad stared back for a few seconds before croaking a response.

"Grollop! This inn has been abandoned for years." Chumley frowned, reaching up his sleeve for a blood-stained handkerchief to wipe his brow. The same story of a dozen other inns across Lornius. No one traveled these dangerous roads anymore except fugitives. And Chumley suspected that's what he had become. He glanced up and down the road, trying to forget the fiery destruction from which he had been so recently been delivered. "Hey," the toad continued, "Grollop! Aren't you that elephant?"

"Uh," Chumley said, taking a step back, his feet somewhat steadier now. "No, I don't think so, my good man. I don't know any elephants, whatever they are! Ha ha!" The toad turned, rocking back and forth on its bowed legs, and inflated its throat thoughtfully before responding.

"You're that elephant, CHUMLEY," the pachyderm recoiled at the sound of his own name, expecting the toad to unleash a tirade against him and his participation in the LCC. At the sight of his reaction, the toad nodded. "Yes, yes. Weren't you in the LCC a few months ago?" Chumley licked his lips, unsure how to respond. He decided on the truth.

"Actually, I was in it today. The final round." The toad seemed surprised.

"That's still going on?" He croaked. "Grollop! Well bless my warted soul. I thought it ended a long time ago."

"No," Chumley replied, a little relieved at the lack of an attack, but still weary. "No, it just finished today." The toad nodded and wobbled back to its original position, looking out over the road. Silence descended over the two. A bird flittered up under the awning of the porch, landing in a mud and twig nest on the rafters.

"It was rough," Chumley said, unsolicited. The toad shrugged as best a toad could. The elephant, so used to hostility, was emboldened by the amphibian's nonchalance and continued. "The whole dang show blew up in the end. Whole place caught fire!" The toad was about to shrug but caught itself on the last word and cocked its head.

"How did you get out of that mess?" it asked. Chumley chuckled, his spirit rising.

"It involved a hot air balloon," he said. "My friend Guy Baptiste, who is an expert at low-speed aerial stunts, was thankfully still hanging about..." And with that, Chumley began telling the whole story of the battle, the tournament, and his experiences in Althanas so far in rapid-fire, telling the toad things he had never mentioned to anyone else, even Ranger or Guy. At some points, he realized what he was saying, he had never even admitted to himself. When he reached the subject of the super-strong gunman, the son of Terrinore, a cold sweat broke out across his face, and he could feel his arms trembling.

"Don't ask," he muttered to the toad.

"Don't tell," it responded. Chumley chuckled uneasily and continued. It took several hours to describe the whole ordeal, from his random pairing with Ranger to his confrontations with an elephantine automaton and the Althanas Purity Society, to his short detour following Seth Dahlios to the Cell. But as the sun disappeared and fireflies winked into existence around him, and his story began to wind to a close, something began to dawn on Chumley. He wasn't as weak as he had felt in the finals. Yes, he gave up the fight, but did that make him less of a man - or elephant - than the bandit who refused to show his face? What of the gunman, whose reluctance to fight him hinted at how he might share Chumley's hidden feelings? He had stood up to every challenge that had come his way and survived them all. Looking up at the half-moon peeking over the edge of the porch awning, he smiled. He could almost see Abe grinning down at him from the sky.

"You know what, kid?" The toad ribbited at his shoulder. Sometime in the course of the story, Chumley had sat beside him, resting his arm around the toad. He looked down at the warty fellow and gave a questioning look. "You're okay by me." Chumley felt a warm pressure in his chest, like a balloon filling up, and couldn't help a grin spread across his face and a tear well up in his eye. He leapt to his feet, his weariness and wounds forgotten, and laughed suddenly and loudly, echoing against the night sky. Abe's words in the first round came back to him. Haidia! Stephen Douglas! He had a mission!

"Which way to Haidia?" Chumley cried, "Nothing's gonna stop me now!"

[Max Dirks]

Max Dirks slowly climbed to his feet and took his first complete look at all damage caused by the burning fire pillar. An entire side of the theater was obliterated. Chairs and glass were spread everywhere. The air was filled with the ripe smell of burnt blood, probably Dirks’, which had been spread across the ground. In the background, Thoracis began to speak. Dirks listened to what the ice mage said, but also continued to look around the theater. The fire was beginning to die down and he could finally see the places where he’d last spotted his opponents. They were not there. They must have escaped. Dirks’ upper lip curled into his trademark smirk.

Starlynn was right. She was always right.

“She knows that I like to go out with a bang,” Dirks replied casually after Thoracis finished his taunting. He slowly turned to the ice mage, keeping a tight grip on his weapon. “So what now?” When Thoracis said that he would keep his word, Dirks’ smirk broke into a smile. It was finally over.

“Or,” Thoracis continued, “I could just keep my mouth shut. You didn’t exactly make it easy for me.”

Dirks’ smile went dry. He took a deep breath and then replied, “That amulet can’t protect you from a gunshot into your skull" Dirks slowly began to lift his gun.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dirks. If you do that, you’ll never see her again.” Thoracis responded. The ice mage did not look at all disturbed. He was basking in the realization of his victory.

Dirks lowered his eyebrow at the ice mage. "You don’t have her, do you?”

“Oh?” the ice mage looked deep into Dirks’ eyes. When the former criminal refused to show his cards, Thoracis folded. “When did you find out?”

“You just told me.” Dirks blurted out. Thoracis laughed and then briefly turned his black porcelain mask to the ground. Before he could reply, Dirks continued, “You’re an asshole, Thoracis.”

“Of course I wanted to win the tournament, but I enjoyed breaking you down,” the ice mage hissed suddenly becoming angry. “And don’t pretend like you didn’t deserve it either.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember? Or were you too busy strolling around Radasanth with that hussy?” At this Dirks gritted his teeth. “You shot me Dirks, and I wanted to know why.” Thoracis had lifted his head and was looking Dirks directly in the eyes.

Dirks paused. “Is that what all of this was about?” Thoracis nodded. “All of this, all of everything?” The ice mage didn’t respond, and Dirks was nearly shaking with anger when he began to speak, but it was time to get this out. "Well I'll tell you," he began, "Your old partner, Mazrith, was hired to take me out by the Red Hand. You know, in the aftermath of that whole bazaar war stint. I learned about the plot just after the second LCC began and approached him about it.”

He took a breath then continued, “Mazrith denied he was there to kill me and told me that his ultimate goal was to reunite the Assassins of Alerar to rebuild the Alerarian Army and battle against Raiaera. Of course I didn’t believe it, so I followed him to you. After slaughtering the real Untouchables, he fed you the same crap, but all he really wanted to do was take me out when I wasn’t expecting it. The problem was you started to believe him.”

“I’m good, but even I can’t even begin to think of what would have happened if you teamed up with him. I would be finished. So I shot you…” Dirks paused, when Thoracis made a fist, he continued, “…knowing full well that the monks would revive you after the battle and that you would advance in the tournament. You were just the pawn. You deserved better than that. After the battle, Mazrith revealed everything and I haven't seen him since.”

Thoracis looked at Dirks for a very long time. The silence was only interrupted by brief flashes of light as another piece of wood caught fire below. Dirks prepared for yet another battle. But then Thoracis laughed. It was light at first, but then it picked up. Soon Dirks started laughing as well. The chorus of laughter lasted for several moments before they settled down.

“Is that all?” Thoracis asked before turning away. “We’re both idiots.” Dirks wanted to respond, but Thoracis continued. “Come on, let’s go find her together.” And with those words, the Sons of Terrinore were no more. The two friends walked away with a new title: Champions of Lornius.

(Permission to bunny Thoracis granted by Thoracis. Good battle guys)

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

This was the hardest fight I’ve ever had to judge. A few comments individually to each character. Chumley, your character doesn’t really fit into a battle scenario, but you still put it very well. Ranger, I thought you performed excellently and this is some of the best writing ever. Max and Thor, the sappy scene in the conclusion cost you a point in character, I found it hard to believe that Max would be so forgiving or that Thor would say those things after all the tournament. Still, you both did excellently. Onto the judging!

Circus

chumley

Introduction – 7
Setting - 7
Character - 8
Dialogue - 9
Rising Action - 6
Climax - 6
Strategy - 7
Writing Style - 8
Conclusion – 9
Wild Card - 10

Total – 77 / 100

Ranger

Introduction – 7
Setting - 8
Character - 7
Dialogue - 7
Rising Action - 8
Climax - 8
Strategy - 8
Writing Style - 8
Conclusion – 7
Wild Card - 10

Total – 78 / 100

Average Total – 77.5 / 100

Sons of Terrinore

Max Dirks

Introduction – 7
Setting – 7
Character – 8
Dialogue – 8
Rising Action – 8
Climax – 9
Strategy – 7
Writing Style – 8
Conclusion – 7
Wild Card - 10

Total – 79 / 100

Thoracis

Introduction - 7
Setting - 7
Character - 7
Dialogue - 8
Rising Action - 8
Climax - 8
Strategy - 7
Writing Style – 8
Conclusion - 7
Wild Card - 10

Total – 77 / 100

Average Total – 78 / 100

Winner – Sons of Terrinore

Rewards to be posted later.