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

[Max Dirks]

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

[Storm Veritas]

It never really gets any easier.

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

The last thing I need… more games.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Thoracis]

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

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

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

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

_________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

[Max Dirks]

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

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

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

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

[Zephyriah]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lyridia

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

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

[Storm Veritas]

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

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

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

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

Whoa!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is probably a terrible f*cking idea.

[Thoracis]

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

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

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

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

[Max Dirks]

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

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

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

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

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

[Storm Veritas]

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

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

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

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

Oh, you motherf*cker.

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

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

[Zephyriah]

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

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

Max Dirks and Thoracis Rakarth.

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

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

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

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

[Thoracis]

Thoracis’ smile was a wicked one at Zephyriah’s revelation of who he was up against. It was the sound of a man who knew he was already dead. While the drow had composed himself quickly, his weakness had already been shown. Now the deck was stacked even more in favor of the Sons of Terrinore. Storm Veritas was already injured and Zephyriah Ablione already knew he was going to die. If he had had to plan the battle Thoracis couldn’t have done it this perfectly.

There was not much weight behind Zephyriah’s taunts. Granted, it was true that Thoracis did not appear for their quarterfinal Serenti match, but that had been the doing of the sinister Nyvengaal. Even facing such a wanted foe as Zephyriah was of the slightest significance when faced with the threat of the Forgotten Ones. Thoracis remained silent though. If the thought that he was afraid of Zephyriah granted the drow some kind of solace before his death it was ill worth trying to refute his claims.

What happened next was truly surprising though. Not the electricity that now surrounded Zephyriah’s blade, this was the fourth consecutive opponent to harness the element and Thoracis and Dirks were well adapted to it by now, but rather what the dark elf intended for it. Instead of attacking the ice mage, like the warrior he was supposed to be, Zephyriah whipped the electricity at a beam holding up one of the various shoddy buildings of the area. Pulling the beam straight from the structure he sent it flying towards Max Dirks. Fool. A quick glance at the target revealed Dirks and Veritas engaged in close-combat, something Zephyriah apparently had not thought of. It would be next to impossible for Zephyriah’s attack to hit Dirks without also hitting Storm. Couldn’t have scripted better indeed…

Thoracis looked back to Zephyriah who was now maneuvering away from the soon to collapse building. “Cute trick,” the ice mage finally spoke to his foe, “but you should also know that as ’Aleranian scum’ I’m not gonna be quick to protect my allies.” A sarcastic smile was shot at the drow before Thoracis quickly shot his multi-shard spell in the direction of Storm Veritas. Of course, Thoracis was assuming he would not need to warn Dirks; the sound of the building crumbling should alert him in that direction. But now Storm was subject to having to avoid both the beam and the five ice shards heading directly towards him with bad ribs and a katana in his leg.

[Max Dirks]

The newest face of Malice certainly lived up to his reputation. Storm narrowly escaped Dirks’ salvo by using a move the former criminal had once used against his own sword wielding nemesis, Prometheus. Dirks smirked. Even in the midst of battle, he was willing to accept the reused move as a compliment. The inertia of his attack left Dirks a few feet in front of Storm, only with his back to his opponent. It was an epic scene: the old generation turning his back to the new.

Dirks glanced up at his partner. Zephryiah was speaking with Thoracis, taunting the ice mage about their past. Surprisingly, Thoracis didn't flounder. The ice mage kept his cool without uttering another dry comeback. Dirks wanted to say something, but quickly realized he shouldn’t have taken his eyes off Storm. The former criminal caught a mere glimpse of his opponent in his periphery before Storm was upon him. Still holding his katana Dirks instinctively slammed it backwards, hoping to impale the defiler before he struck. Storm’s dagger, though its target was slightly altered when Dirks turned his shoulder to attack, slammed hard into the left side of Dirks’ back. At first it was like a hard punch as the dagger hit his iron chain mail, but Storm’s strength was too great and the dagger eventually broke through to his skin, leaving a centimeter deep gash.

Dirks cried out in pain, and anger fell over his face. Storm was going to pay. Dirks gritted his teeth and then swung to his right, curling around the defiler while using his katana for leverage. Storm’s dagger cut a gash across his back as he turned. When the dagger finally broke free of his skin, Dirks growled in pain and planted his feet behind Storm. He reached forward and tried to grab the back of his opponent’s neck with his right hand. From this position, Dirks had a good view of the scene that had unfolded behind him. Zephyriah had moved towards an abandoned building. There was a quick flash of light and then the vagabond hurled a huge iron support beam at Dirks and Storm. “Oh shit!” Dirks yelled as he dropped to a crouch, most likely saving both combatant’s lives. The beam flew over his head and crashed into the side of another building, sending shards of glass flying about the streets.

The worst of Zephyriah's attack had yet to come. Without its main support beam, the building buckled under its own weight and started to crumble. It leaned forward and then began to fall. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dirks called out, before retracting his right hand. Dirks slammed his forearm at Storm, trying to push him forward. The defiler could deal with the oncoming flurry of ice shards and the falling building on his own.

Dirks turned and began to run out of the building’s path. Small pieces of loose concrete began to fall as they were knocked free of the structure. Dirks dodged the first piece and the second, but a third piece, about the size of softball fell hard onto Dirks’ shoulder. His wounds, which had begun to close up, reopened and a sheering pain rained throughout his body. Dirks grabbed his shoulder with his free hand, and continued to dodge concrete until he broke free of the building’s shadow. The building let out a deafening boom as it hit the ground and dust flew into the air, encompassing the streets in a deep gray fog.

“That’s it,” Dirks mumbled. Without the ability to relax his back muscles, it would be increasingly hard rely completely on his sword. Dirks reached down and pulled his ‘patented’ Beretta 950 from its shoulder holster. With both weapons in hand, Dirks set out under the dust camouflage. “That elf’s going to pay.”

(Storm, I was careful with my language regarding the grab to avoid bunnying your character so feel free to escape it. However, with hopes of luring you into it, I've provided a handy dodge of the beam for both characters should you accept ;) )

[Storm Veritas]

The only thoughts that were running through his head were “scramble” and “survive”. Although it had felt awfully good to feel his dagger bite into the flesh of Max Dirks, the aftermath was chaos, complete bedlam that was as unpredictable as the start of the fight and thrice as deadly.

His own ally Zephyriah had launched some sort of massive beam at them, and it crashed terribly into the side of a ramshackle building. Buckling the core foundation, people screamed from the docks and ran for cover. Some did not make it, glassy shrapnel tearing them down in their own steps. Several people dove into the water, the savage cries deafening the streets as they sought safety. One man swung from the suspended shark-thing to safety, a bizarre turn of events that led to him eventually slipping ass-over-teakettle into the water.

As silly as the citizen’s departure seemed, things were heart-attack-serious for Storm Veritas. Already weakened, the incredible speed of Max Dirks was simply too much for him. The wily veteran had danced and spun and stepped hard about him, hitting him hard in the back of the neck with a forearm shiver. The pain was inconsequential, the result altogether life-altering.

Veritas fell forward on his hands, turning and spinning at the building behind him, heaving and dropping thick bricks of cinder like some sadistic, hellacious rain. With his wounded body kicking mightily to pull him away from the falling brownstone, Storm’s feet kicked like pistons, heels slipping on water-sopped stone and wood. With his back to Thoracis and Zephyriah, he never saw nor knew of the barrage of icy projectiles that would ravage him.

He was hit with splinters of ice, several dozen of the needle-pricks spattering his back and crippling him. There would be no more movement, as the pins painted his back with blood and halted his movement unconditionally. Overwrought with the agony which accompanied, he leaned back as he scowled in pain. Eloquence was out the window.

“FUCK!”

The building, unsurprisingly enough, did not cease its descent to accompany the wounded man. There is no time out in battle. The cement-rimmed building crashed hard some ten feet in front of him, but it crumbled hard over him, pinning his frame waist deep in what felt like tons of metal and steel. It wasn’t, but it had snapped several bones with sickening cracks and crunches. His body was now a study in injuries, his eyes diverted from the likely-sickening display underneath the rubble. A warm fluid coated his thighs, and he could not for the life of him discern weather it was blood or urine.

I should hope it’s piss… but somehow I don’t think I’m so fortunate.

Lightheaded, he was fading. His consciousness would slip soon. There was only a few short seconds left now, and he needed to act. A thought crossed his mind.

Kamikaze.

Covered in stone and metal and wood, there was no chance to move, and his legs were obviously unsalvageable. Removing his gauntlets, his hands charged up the air with the scent of ozone as he looked at the fragmented stone about him. Perfect. Inhaling deeply, he pressed his hands to the broken rock layer and ushered forth his mightiest blast of electric energy.

The explosion of rock and metal and wood and blood-coated debris was massive. The spray was far reaching, shattering out axially from the source of the lightning, a fragmentation grenade exploded in the kill zone. At the eye of the hurricane was his hapless frame. He succumbed to the unconscious with the release, mercifully enough. His own decimation was incomprehensible, but he rested his fate in the hands of the “magical” Lornius clerics.

Zephriah was on his own now, but the odds had likely been more or less evened, as Veritas couldn’t imagine that any would walk away unscathed. Live or die, he had gone out with a bang.

[Max Dirks]

(Zeph, if you happen to get online before the round closes, I've left you an opportunity to go through with the plan. I won't be able to post again before the close of the battle but you and Thoracis may certainly bunny Dirks to make an appropriate conclusion)

As Max Dirks crept away from the fallen building, an odd feeling of regret built up inside of him. In order to break his ties to Malice, he was forced to become the violent, manipulative gangster he once was. This was not something that Starlynn would have wanted. This was not something that he wanted. When Dirks did not see Storm emerge from the rubble, he almost felt sorry for the fallen ‘defiler’. Dirks stopped in his tracks as he thought, No. It wasn’t Storm that Dirks felt sorry for. It was himself.

Irony had a strange way of making its point. Dirks could hear the crack of thunder as the pieces of concrete were forced away from Storm’s fallen body, but he could only watch helpless as a large piece of concrete flew towards him. The former criminal’s jam dropped and he tried to jump out of the way, but his dodge was in vain. The concrete slab caught him square in the stomach instantly draining the breath from his lungs. He flew hard into the side of a nearby building, causing something to crack in his back. He also dropped his katana. Dirks slid down the side of the wall and the concrete slab fell down onto his legs, temporarily trapping him against the ground. If only he hadn’t stopped moving.

“Good play,” Dirks mumbled to his Malice replacement, who was undoubtly subdued somewhere in the mess. For the first time, no thoughts passed through his mind as he searched for a way to remove the concrete from his lap. Regret, remorse, pity. They meant nothing if he was able to survive. There were no levers or anything else Dirks could pry the slab off with so he would have to do it himself. Without any other option, Dirks pushed. At first, the concrete didn’t move. Dirks quickly grew frustrated and then pushed harder. Finally the slab began to inch forward. After a moment, Dirks was able to push the slab far enough away to slide his legs, which surprisingly could move, out from under their trap. It had taken far too much time though.

With a smirk, Dirks pushed from the ground and tried to stand. He kept his balance for a moment, and then tumbled to the ground. Exhaustion, from the battle and from the pushing, had completely set in. As he pushed up to his hands and knees, a drop of sweat fell from his forehead to the ground. It was the first time the former criminal had noticed he was sweating. The combination of the heat and the intensity of the battle were quickly becoming unbearable. Dirks looked up as the dust from the crashing building began to part. The battle wasn’t over yet. With all his remaining strength, Dirks began to crawl towards Zephyriah. All he needed was one shot. One shot and all of his ties would be broken. One shot and everything would come full circle.

But he would be no better a man for it…

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

This battle was very good. I really wish it had been finished. Because all of you are such excellent roleplayers, I will be giving very few comments, merely stated what areas were your strongest and weakest points.

Sore from Sodomy

Zephyriah

You strongpoint was definitely how you influenced the entire battle. While Dirks, Thor and Storm were all participating, you really seemed to control the follow, in your few posts. The big thing that hurt you was your activity.

Introduction: 7
Setting: 7
Character: 7
Dialogue: 6
Rising Action: 8
Climax: 9
Conclusion: 0
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 7
Wild Card: 3

Total: 61 / 100

Storm Veritas

I can’t really say there was anything that truly stood out to me from your writing, because all of it was so solid. Again, you really didn’t have a weakness either.

Introduction: 7
Setting: 6
Character: 7
Dialogue: 6
Rising Action: 8
Climax: 7
Conclusion: 5
Strategy: 6
Writing Style: 6
Wild Card: 6

Total: 64 / 100

Team Total: 62.5 / 100

Sons of Terrinore

Max Dirks

You really should roleplay more often, Dirks is an enjoyable character to read. Your frequent posting did help to keep the pace of the battle up, as you responded to each attack as it came, allowing for more action. Solid work, just work a bit more on your dialogue, nothing major.

Introduction: 6
Setting: 7
Character: 8
Dialogue: 6
Rising Action: 8
Climax: 7
Conclusion: 0
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 8
Wild Card: 7

Total: 64 / 100

Thoracis

Wow, your character in this thread was truly awesome. Your motivation and description of what was going within your character was the most impressive thing in this thread. I truly saw a side of Thoracis that I’ve never seen before, and you expressed it very well. Nicely done.

Introduction: 8
Setting: 7
Character: 9
Dialogue: 6
Rising Action: 8
Climax: 7
Conclusion: 0
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 8
Wild Card: 5

Total: 65 \ 100

Team Total: 64.5 \ 100

Sons of Terrinore advance to the finals.

Thoracis receives 2200 EXP.
Max Dirks receives 2200 EXP.
Zephyriah receives 600 EXP.
Storm Veritas receives 600 EXP.

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

EXP added!