Tournament of Champions Finals: The Whole Glory vs. Whispers in the Wind.
The battle begins 6/19/2009 at 12:00 AM PST. There will be a caveat to this match. While it will end at 7/11/2009 at 12:00 AM PST, if there is failure to maintain activity the thread will be closed prematurely. Failure to have a post from either side within 3 days will result in the closing of the thread. If this occurs, the Quad will be allowed to be completed, and any posts beyond the Quad are considered null and void.
Your Arena gentlemen...
"Your battle will take place across the tops of skyscraper-sized redwood trees; watch out for the birds of prey who call it home."
Arena courtesy of Shadowed who will receive 250 GP for his contribution.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is; I'm kinda've a big deal.
"Again, we've won wit' nary' a sword drawn." 'Hopper spoke to Sara in the quiet darkness between arenas. They'd been enveloped after their "battle" in the dark, hellish dungeons filled with chains and the tortured faces trapped in stone. He was glad to be gone from there, and doubly glad the powers lording over this tournament had decided to give them this moment of quiet, rather than whisking them around like the ineffectual puppets they were.
She never spoke back, the thought that she couldn't hear him never crossed 'Hoppers mind, that she'd already arrived ahead of him seemed unimportant. "It's said've tha' canniest bloods o' tha' planes, tha' highest victory tisn't from fighting, an' winning in every battle. Tha' highest victory comes from winning without ever fighting at'tall." 'Hopper let that statement hang in the air a moment, and then spat on the ground, "Screed is what tha' tis. Sure, sometimes 'is better ta' run or scare yer' fight away, but this ain't that sorta've battle. We're comin' near tha' end o' this fight, tournament, an' I'm thinkin' that, even if we were ta' win like we done last time, 'twouldn't be proper."
'Hopper felt it before he saw it; the thick, humid air that felt like a solid mass punching him in the face, the brush of leaves against his skin, the rush of heat, and Sara's gentle voice that gradually reached his ears in a worried, then panicked tone. He saw the endless green carpet before them and mistook it for the forest floor, until the woven mesh of treetop branches became solid and real beneath him. His body fell instantly into the old rhythm of the Feywyld, he leapt to his feet, moving across mere limbs the size of an entire, lesser tree. He barely missed a beat in his pre-battle speech, instantly appraising this new arena, "Powers, a forest. Someone 'as finally decided on' bein' kind ta' us. All tha' better then, I says we return the favor, an give'em what they want. Follow me lead, Sara."
'Hopper strode forwards across the webwork of branches as though it were solid ground, knowing his opponents were somewhere close to him. He'd fought enough battles in this thrice-damned tournament to know the powers that be always put them within shouting distance. When 'Hopper announced his arrival, it was at the top of his lungs, in clear, plain speech free of his normal slurring and slang. "Come out! We'll not have another round that ends with our quarry hiding scared and helpless where we cannot find them. Whoever you are, you have come this far, you are fierce and mighty, but your time has come to an end, you should know who it is that will bury you."
The memory of the vision, or fever dream, of his dead brother after 'Hopper nearly died two battles ago was still strong in his mind, it filled his speech with conviction, "I am Clive Folliot, son of Arthur and Irene Folliot, brother to Neville." In his youth, he'd always hated his given name, but now it filled him with an almost manic strength.
"I am known across more worlds than you can imagine, I am called Portalhopper, Dragonslayer, Demonsbane, Knight of the Post, and King of the Cross-Trade. My name is legendary across a dozen worlds, and a bitter curse across two dozen more." While he spoke his litany of introduction, the memories of earning each and every epitaph came back to him, filling him with the strength of his youth, with the idea that he might yet earn another addition to that list.
'Hopper now slid Lucky from it's sheath, willing the sun blade to life, it's light spilled forth with near-blinding intensity, such was 'Hoppers confidence that he let advertised his presence and dared the opposition to come face him. "It was I who shattered a mountain, to hurl it at the god-king of Tabmoc! It was I, who spat in the face of the abyssal lord Varsinax, and still live to tell the tale! I am the unstoppable force that will leave you as nothing more than another footnote in my long history of victorious battles. Quake with fear, and know I alone would stomp you beneath my heel, but I am but one half of the opposition you will face!"
With that, 'Hoppers boasts were done, he left the air still and quiet, empty save for the birds now circling overhead, drawn by their arrival, but at the same time kept at bay by the startling, unfamiliar behavior of a seemingly mad human.