Round One starts at 12:00 AM EST on Sunday, April 30th and will last two weeks. Good luck!
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Round One starts at 12:00 AM EST on Sunday, April 30th and will last two weeks. Good luck!
After the previous two years the Lornius Corporate Challenge had become more then just a tournament to Thoracis Rakarth. It was an entity all its own, the ultimate prize that was always dangling just out of his reach, the fulfillment of his legacy as more then the General of Alerar, but truly one of the best ever. It was a title twice robbed from him in the last waning moments of battle. Now it was an obsession. The last thing he cared about on all of Althanas.
Now, the time had once again come. There was nothing but five battles standing between Thoracis and his destiny. My destiny, Thoracis had constantly reminded himself. Too often had he let his fate in the tournament rest in the hand of another. First it had been Mazrith al’Dor Hashid. Then it had been the vampire Azrael. Both had failed him and prevented the ultimate victory he so desperately sought. But now there was a new determination within the ice mage. He had learned his lessons and was committed to not repeating them. This year he would best the Lornius field alone.
Of course, to enter, he had a need for a partner. Or, more technically, a name and a face to call a partner. After his previous letdowns Thoracis was resolute in not choosing another of the “greats” to carry on his back. This year his partner was to simply remain a figurehead, someone who was his partner but would not participate less Thoracis himself was on the brink of death. Careful consideration lead Thoracis to his allies in Kachuk, where he reached terms with the dwarves to be accompanied by Kornis Lightbringer, the second son of Kharas Lightbringer, King of Kachuk. Thoracis assured the dwarves that no harm could possibly befall their honored son, that he was nothing more then an intimidation factor who’s skills would only be needed in the direst circumstances, and all the combat would be handled by Thoracis himself. Finally, after many reminders of Thoracis’ past solo performances in the tournament, Kharas relented and agreed.
All of this brought Thoracis to the most appropriate place possible to begin his final march towards greatness: the island prison of Terrinore. While figuratively Terrinore was ideal, in reality there was no place less suitable for battle. Located off of the northwestern coast of Lornius the island was a dreary and unstable region. The weather, as always, was horrendous. Dark clouds of the vilest origin regularly assaulted the rocky coasts with torrential rains and hail. The wind blew manically and made travel slow, if not impossible, on a daily basis. However, it remained the place of Thoracis’ last semi-final defeat at the hands of Team Firestone and it was here that Thoracis would reclaim his glory.
Alone he stood, impervious to the elements, watching and waiting, anxious for the first sign of those who would fall before him. Kornis, as instructed, simply sat amongst the stones a good distance up the coast, out of harms way, wishing he had known what he was subjecting himself to beforehand. “I should think you would not have needed me Rakarth!” bellowed the dwarf over the howling winds. “It would take a fool to seek battle in a place like this!”
The observation went without response. Thoracis was motionless, staring out at the sea, towards the coast of Lornius. His icy grip was tight around his liviol staff as he concentrated his mind on how he would end the coming battle as quickly as possible. In every way he wished to make a statement this day. A statement, not only of his return to the Lornius Corporate Challenge, but of his utter dominance over it.
“Do not worry,” Thoracis finally said to himself. “The fools will always come.”
A hooded man stopped at the edge of a tower overlooking the great prison of Terrinore. The man used a Prevalida katana as a cane. He breathed heavily, but did not scan the area. He did not need to. The man knew HE was here. It was time. The man lifted his hood and closed his eyes. Max Dirks was barely recognizable. His clothes were tattered and his body was scarred. Remnants of his white jumpsuit were attached to his chest by a mixture of sweat and dried blood. His trench coat was the only thing on his figure that was untarnished. Below, two teams were meeting in a battle for ultimate glory. They fought for a glory that Dirks had created and they fought for a glory that had been taken away. None of it mattered, though. Dirks only had one thing on his mind…
…The ice warlord, Thoracis Rakarth.
Thoracis had taken everything from Dirks: his ego, his glory, his life and his love. Five weeks ago, Thoracis captured Dirks and Starlynn in Radasanth. The two were taken to different strongholds. Dirks was tortured, burned, poisoned, starved, and drowned. He died a hundred deaths but always woke up the next morning. It was her: Starlynn. The thought of seeing her again forced him to wake up and face the horrors of the next day. Then a week ago, Thoracis made an appearance. He told Dirks that Starlynn was not as strong as him. She’d given up on Dirks, and on her life. It was then that Dirks died his final death.
When he woke up the next morning, he was left with nothing but his anger. When Thoracis’ men came to issue their daily dose of horror, Dirks struck back. They had nothing left to take, so Dirks was not afraid to unleash his vengeance. He disarmed the lead man and used his sword to kill the second man. Dirks snapped the neck of the man he had disarmed and impaled the third man with the sword. Upon exiting the room, Dirks was able to recover his trench coat and his twin katanas, but his guns were gone. He draped the trench coat over his shoulders and exited the stronghold. He was prepared to fight the entire Alerian Army.
But there was no one there. He wasn’t in Alerar, he wasn’t even somewhere remote. Dirks was in a warehouse in Radasanth just north of the bazaar district. Anger swelled through his heart and it surfaced as one goal: to kill Thoracis for his injustices. As he limped through the bazaar, a small flyer caught Dirks’ eyes. The flyer wasn’t remote either, there were hundreds of them posted everywhere. One glance was all it took. He knew where Thoracis was: the Lornius Corporate Challenge. Dirks’ tournament. More specifically, Dirks knew that Thoracis was at Terrinore Isle, the place where the ice mage had lost the tournament...twice.
Dirks opened his eyes. It was here, on the towers of Terrinore where the dual of the fates would begin.
The fools will always come. As more time passed the thought became less reassuring. Kornis sat silently, wrapping his cloak tight against the wind, occasionally mumbling something about Thoracis himself being a fool, and regarding the entire event as folly.
The mage was growing bored. Idly his hands went to his waste, where he had not yet grown accustomed to the added weight he held there. His fingers slowly ran over the cool metal of the Beretta 950. He could almost hear the resonating sound of the blast, from this very same gun, which had left Thoracis laying in a pool of his own blood, just one year earlier, on that fateful country road in Lornius. The thought, strangely enough, brought a smile to the mage’s face. Max Dirks. He was the rightful owner of the firearm. The one responsible for using it against Thoracis. The one who paid for his mistakes. How sweet the revenge had been, forever worthwhile if for nothing else then the look on Dirks’ face when he was told. His sweet Starlynn. If only the criminal knew what fate had truly befallen his love. Thoracis knew it was the greatest pain he could have inflicted.
“This has gone on long enough.” Kornis’ frustration was becoming more and more evident.
“I would expect greater patience from a dwarf.” Thoracis turned to face his friend just as the weather began to let up. “See,” Thoracis raised his arms to the sky, unnoticing of the gun he still gripped, “Hromagh still favors us. He anticipates battle much better then you, my friend!” Thoracis laughed as he joked with Kornis, his mood lightening a bit.
It was then that it caught his eye.
High atop the towers of Terrinore stood a lone silhouette.
How long has someone been there? It was impossible to know since the view had been obstructed by the rain. But surely someone was there. One of his opponents? Thoracis knew little of whom he was to fight. The most he had learned of Amoroth Celbring was that he was a small statured elf. Fereal Finn was larger then the elf he knew, and he was rumored to have been a pirate, though it was hard to tell from this distance if it was him.
“Hromagh favor you!?” Kornis replied to Thoracis’ jest. “Hromagh favors those who fight with steel,” he laughed, banging his battleaxe into the stone.
The mage had suddenly become too sullen for jokes though. “It’s time.” Thoracis began to hastily make his way up the rocks and towards the prison. With an expert grace he navigated the boulders until he was over the immediate coast and making his way up. “Try to keep up, eh dwarf?” He ridiculed in all seriousness.
It took little time for the two of them to reach the gates of the ancient fortress. Thoracis had lost sight of the figure long ago, but he could feel that someone else was there. “Someone knows we’re here. It won’t be long now.”
Max Dirks took a long, raspy breath and then started down a narrow walkway until he came across a spiral staircase. The staircase led down to a courtyard in the center of the prison castle. There he would wait for Thoracis Rakarth. The ice mage would be cut down for all combatants to see. Dirks would offer no mercy, he would not toy. Thoracis would die by his hand and his life would begin anew. He would become a man born of anger.
It took him nearly five minutes to descend the stairs. When he emerged, the rain had subsided. A small patch of light escaped the dark clouds directly over courtyard. Dirks took a few steps forward and stopped over a light red stain on the ground. Years ago criminals were lined up in the courtyard and executed. The Lornian government was never tactful. They used all sorts of execution devices: skull crushers, body stretchers, jigsaws, and even primitive rifles. Dirks remembered vividly, he had seen it all. He was the only one to ever escape Terrinore. Afterwards, he liberated the island and revealed the corruption of the Lornian government to its people. The massive civil war left the island and the country in the desolate condition it was presently in.
But that was years ago. Dirks was now using the place that he liberated as an execution block for Thoracis. Rather than using the guillotine or even a gun, he was simply going to puncture the ice mage’s heart. When Thoracis’ blackened core ceased to beat, the deed would be done. A heart for a heart. As primitive his notion of vengeance and justice was, Dirks was completely committed to it. The backdrop, the Lornius Corporate Challenge, and the inherent irony were completely unintentional.
Dirks limped to the center of the courtyard and stood up straight. He placed the katana in its sheath on his back and waited for Thoracis.
He had drawn the short straw. It was bound to happen. It was a tradition of sorts; to have the shortest straw drawn among the crew members enter the tournament alone, to be paired with whichever random wanderer happened to need a partner. He had watched the Corporate Challenge every year for so long that he could not recall the names of many of the earlier champions, though he had been young at the time. It was frantic, uninterrupted combat through and through. Men felt such emotions and suffered such pain as to leave them damaged after all was done, despite their being healed of wounds. Some were hailed as heroes, others forced to suicide. What would happen to him? The buccaneer didn’t know. All Ferael Finn knew now was that his heart thumped like a war drum in his chest; that his eyes burned like fire from a long, restless night. ‘Poor young Ferael Finn’, they had said. Heartless bastards. Poor Ferael Finn indeed. He was nineteen, and he was about to fight men with more kills to their names than he could count to. And there was no way back. The young pirate adjusted his sword sheath and his belt, and, taking a deep breath that made him dizzy, stepped forward into whatever chaos awaited him.
The hard rain that lashed almost horizontally across his face caused his skin to sting as if a thousand wasps had swarmed him. Ferael raised an arm over his face and pulled his tunic tight about him. He could see little, but it was clear that he was on a slope, and at the bottom of it waves crashed against black rocks. The sky almost mimicked the colour of the stone. This place was like a demon manifested – uncontrollable, ruthless and severe. He turned away and began climbing quickly. Hopefully, salvation waited in the form of shelter, but the bandit knew that he was probably heading towards death anyway, at the hands of some so-called hero.
There was… something… in the distance - a huge looming silhouette that, as he got closer, seemed to fill the sky. Whatever it was, it had to be better than this constant assault that now felt like arrows being fired relentlessly at his back. His body had given up shivering, his fingers numb to the tips and his nose pouring snot, and he imagined that his so-called-friends were laughing and cheering.
Bastards.
After what seemed like an hour of endless torture at the hands of the ferocious storm, Ferael found what he had sought – shelter. It was not as comforting as he had hoped. Upon reaching the entrance to the enormous building, he had wandered into what seemed like a maze of corridors and staircases. Every now and again the brigand found an open door amongst the hundreds of locked ones, but there was never anything inside of interest. The walls were stained with what Ferael’s nose discerned to be long-left piss and blood, and the air was so dry and stale it made his throat hurt. Still, he kept moving. What else was there to do? There had to be someone in this place, somewhere.
He continued on for a while, coming across nothing of interest, before he heard two pairs of footsteps, coming from somewhere behind him. Ferael picked up his pace, for two people meant partners, and he had yet to find his. He ran endless corridors, ascending and descending staircases, his breaths coming so fast as to nearly overlap, until…
Cool air rushed down into the bandit’s lungs as he stumbled through a doorway from the bottom of a spiralling stairwell. Before him, in the centre of an open-topped courtyard, stood a lone figure. He stood up straight, finally feeling somewhat secure now he had found a companion for battle.
“You’ve been waitin’ for me? I’m you’re partner. Sorry I took so long,” he said light-heartedly, "but I forgot me map." A smile curved his lips. It might not be so bad, after all.
Amoroth strolled thourgh the court yard seeing crimson puddels and stains. He felt years of pain and suffering something never hoped for. All his life he never understood why it is truly regrettable that a person will treat a man who is valuable to him well, and a man who is worthless to him poorly. The rain had subsided and he could see men standing there and talking the one looked annyoned from the other. He walked closer and saw the man he had been searching for same detail from the letter that described him.
" You must be Ferael Finn " Amoroth said with a low bow. "I have impotant news to share with you. But first I must ask for your forgiveness from my tardiness. I well ran into a little trouble on the way here and by the looks of it you did too. I dont really like the feel of rain though the sound of it is calming and soothing. But back on hand this man is not your partner Ferael I am. " Amoroth swung his lute around and played a fast hard tune. The tip of his lute was glowing and a fireball appered and headed towards the man Ferael was talking to.
No time to think Amoroth grapped the handel of his silver sword and swung it out while back pacing away. " If I were you Ferael I'd get ready! " Amoroth yelled and searched the courtyard getting to know his battel field like his father had taught him.
Another man had entered the courtyard but it was not Thoracis. The newcomer smelled like vermin. He did not carry the persona of a general. Partner? It appeared as though this particular tournament battle had yet to begin. Dirks did not respond. The wind gusted, sending the tip of Dirks’ coat into the air, but he remained dormant. Soon another arrived. This one was certainly not human. His speech was too light and poetic. This time Dirks did nothing until the melody of the flute filled the courtyard.
The sound sent a shockwave through Dirks’ nervous system. Something was happening. Dirks was blindfolded during most of his captivity causing him to rely on his other senses to interpret particular situations. Overtime those senses became adept. By the last week of his captivity, Dirks could feel the guards approaching before they even arrived at the building. He could smell them to gage their moods. He also knew how he would be tortured each day by listening to the clanks that accompanied their arrival. Now, he could hear the sound of the fire igniting on the tip of the flute.
Yet he still did not move. It was not arrogance that kept him steady. It was his dedication to his one goal. The fireball passed through the air on a straight course toward the back of his head. His short breath in the interim lasted for an eternity. At the last minute he jerked his head, and spun around. However, he waited too long. The fireball just missed the right side of his face. Dirks could feel the momentary burst of heat as the fireball passed is face, leaving three small charcoal burns on cheek. He felt no pain from the attack. The fireball continued past Dirks and crashed into a stone.
As Dirks turned, he reached to his waste and grabbed his steel dirk. Once he was facing the two men, he sent the dirk flying on a crash course for the elf’s flute. The two men were not privileged to Dirks’ goal, therefore their involvement was unnecessary. He aimed only to disarm. At this point they did not need to die. Once he had released the dirk, he reached to his back and withdrew his twin Prevalida katanas from their sheaths. He stepped forward onto his good leg and settled into an attack stance. “Where is Thoracis?”
Beyond the gate Thoracis could make out the faint sounds of conversation. Was that three people he had heard? Him and Kornis exchanged a confused glance. Then music? A flute? A sudden loud blast could be heard and felt from the opposite side of the massive oaken doors. Had the battle started? It couldn’t have. Something was going terribly awry. “Quickly Kornis, help me with the door.”
The gates to Terrinore had not been locked in quite some time, but the fact remained that thirty-plus feet of solid oak and metal was not light. The two of them strained against the door, feet dug in to the stone, faces seemingly about to burst from the pressure they were applying, until finally, they inched the massive gate open just enough to allow them passage. “Stay near me Kornis. We could be walking into a trap.”
Rushing through the gate and into the courtyard Thoracis found exactly that. He almost tripped over himself at the scene before him. The two whom he vaguely recognized as fitting the description of his partners were there. It was the third man… He should not have been there. He stood, ready for battle, two katanas oddly set in his hands that were normally designated for the weapons still at Thoracis’ waste. “Where is Thoracis?” The words brought a nervous tightness to Thoracis’ chest. Of course, he had no way of knowing that the swords were drawn at the other two, nor was he aware of the fireball that had been shot at the man. All he knew was that this was not the first trap like this that had been laid for him in the LCC.
“Looks like you might have to fight after all Kornis,” Thoracis muttered, but the dwarf had already shed his cloak and held his massive battleaxe at the ready. A million thoughts were racing through Thoracis’ mind. There was going to be no easy way out of this. Shit, there might not be any way out of this. Last time he had been shot in head. Ironic really, that that was actually how all this started. How had he gotten out of the warehouse? How had he conspired with his opponents so fast?
Cool and calm Thoracis. Keep control.
“Always have been one for the dramatic escape, huh Dirks?” Thoracis announced his presence if it hadn’t been known. He tried to level his voice to make it seem as though he had almost expected such an intrusion by the criminal. “My real opponents, I presume?” He regarded the two lightly, as if they weren’t even there. “I see you know how to pick your company.” The comment wasn’t directed at anyone directly, but applied to both Dirks or the other two all the same.
Thoracis looked at Kornis. His eyes said everything. The dwarf wanted battle. Thoracis shook his head. “Just wait my friend. Only if I need you.” He turned back to the other three. “No point in wasting any time.” He started towards the group with purpose in his step. With a thought shards of ice began to rain from the sky over his two real opponents. With his spell cast Thoracis extended a blade of ice from his staff and leveled it upon his old friend and recent foe, Max Dirks.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Behind him, little did Thoracis know, that Kornis was following the mage step for step towards Dirks and no sooner then the words had left his mouth he was past the mage and on the criminal.
On cue, the main gates of the courtyard creaked open and Dirks’ question was answered. He immediately turned to face Thoracis, ignoring the two he had just confronted. The light that had broken through the clouds reflected brightly off of the ice mage’s porcelain mask, but Dirks did not flinch. He wanted to immortalize this encounter.
The next few moments were a blur as feelings of anxiety and angst sent butterflies through Dirks’ stomach. When the feelings subsided and anger re-took command of his body, Thoracis had already closed the distance between them. It was the ice mage who offered the invitation. “And you have some dying to do,” Dirks responded coarsely in acceptance. Then Dirks lunged forward towards Thoracis propelled by adrenaline. His injuries were mere tickles as he advanced on the ice mage. But just as Dirks brought his first katana into the air to attack Thoracis, he was slammed hard in the chest by the butt of a battle ax.
“Wha,” Dirks cried out as he stumbled backwards. It was the dwarf, Thoracis’ partner, that had interrupted his attack. Dirks quickly regained his composure and called out, “Step aside, dwarf, my battle is not with you.” Dirks took a step forward.
“I am Kornis Lightbringer, second son of Kharas Lightbringer, King of Kachuk, human, and I will step aside only to avoid the blood spraying from your severed neck.” The dwarf responded, settling into a defensive position.
In the past, Dirks might have rattled off a witty remark to the dwarf, but instead he just mumbled, “So be it.” Dirks let out a cry and lunged at Kornis, performing the same attack that was meant for Thoracis just a few moments ago. Dirks struck once with each weapon, executing cross slashes from the left and the right. In response, the dwarf held his axe like a staff. When Dirks attacked from the left, Kornis turned the butt of his ax to the right, forcing the katana away. When Dirks attacked to the right, Kornis turned the blade of the ax to the left. The blade caught dirks on the inside of his hand, causing him to release his weapon. It flew harmlessly to the side. Before Dirks could react, Kornis slammed the butt of the ax into Dirks’ exposed stomach, causing him to hunch over. The wind had been knocked clean out of him.
“I’ve seen trolls with better sword fighting skills than you,” Kornis called out before continuing his assault. The dwarf jumped forward to Dirks and stomped on his foot. Dirks cried out in pain, but was interrupted when Kornis head butted him, sending him crashing against the cobblestone. Dirks managed to climb up into a crouch before dizziness overtook him.
Kornis laughed and then turned to Thoracis to say something, but Dirks could not decipher what was said. He closed his eyes and the world began to spin. Every time he tried to focus, he was taken further away from the battle. Sounds were muffled, his senses refused to work. When he opened his eyes, Kornis was approaching him. The dwarf was holding his ax like a bat. He was going to decapitate Dirks unless he did something. Then Dirks remembered he was still holding one of his katanas.
Dirks focused and soon the seven Kornis’ turned to five, and then five turned into three. Dirks decided that he would aim for the middle one. Just as Kornis began his swing, Dirks dashed forward holding his weapon to the side with two hands. The prevalida tore through the wooden handle of the ax, breaking it into two then it tore into the dwarf’s armor and dug into its skin. Shocked, Kornis dropped his ax and fell to the ground. A pool of blood began to appear beneath his body. Even so, Dirks did not believe him to be dead.
“You two,” Dirks called out to the pirate and the elf after he’d stopped his advance. “If you idiots want to win the tournament then you’re going to have to fight them.” That should keep the dwarf busy enough for the moment.
Then Dirks turned back to Thoracis.
((Italics in this post are mostly paraphrased from my own work or posts made by Dirks or Redrick in The Nobodies vs. The Untouchables. Bold and italics are Thoracis’ thoughts.))
“Son of a bitch, Kornis. NO!”
Hashin Gert and Wohan Kold had been their names. They were “The Untouchables”.
It was already too late. The dwarven prince had engaged Dirks in combat.
Gert had been about Thoracis’ size, small, fast, and elusive. Kold was a monster of a man, a tower of brute force the opposite of his partner. That was until, out of nowhere, the giant’s head fell to the ground. The shadow stood mocking, daring Gert to attack. He went for his weapon, but it was not nearly fast enough. No sooner had his hands closed on the hilt of the weapon then hid head too, was severed, and his body fell lifeless to the ground.
Perhaps today would not end so badly for those who were caught between them. Kornis was holding his own against Dirks, whom he had just head butted and sent sprawling to the ground. “He’s nothing to worry about!” the dwarf called back to Thoracis.
He’s nothing to worry about….
”I’m just here to protect my investments.” Dirks had proclaimed upon emerging in the forest… just before the butt of his gun had slammed into Thoracis’ back. Everything became a blur as Thoracis fought Mazrith, Dirks fought Azrael, and innocent victims lay dead on the ground. But the fight had gone in favor of The Nobodies. They had the upper hand and seemed to be winning handily. Max Dirks was no match for Thoracis.
The mage was stunned as Kornis approached Dirks, his axe held like a bat, seemingly about to decapitate the criminal. The tables had turned completely. This time innocence would not be lost. Those with no place in the struggle would be spared. Today it was Max Dirks who would taste cold, steel defeat.
He’s nothing to worry about….
But you could never count Max Dirks out… Dirks quietly raised his gun once more and slowly crept towards Thoracis. Once the gun was but a mirror foot away from Thoracis, Dirks pulled the trigger, sending an iron bullet straight towards the ice mage’s skull.
Kornis is going to die…
The wooden handle of the axe tore before the prevalida blade. The katana pierced the dwarf’s armor and a steady flow of crimson dripped from the metal and to the ground. Kornis turned to Thoracis, clutching his torso. It would be hard to forget the look in his eyes. It was not a look of fear or pain. It was the look of shame and disappointment. With his last living breath the Prince of Kachuk apologized to Thoracis Rakarth with one awful look.
Anger replaced composure instantly. Thoracis had just broken a promise. Even worse it had been broken by the man he despised more then any other and the last man who should have ever had a chance to have broken it. Without thought the Beretta 950 was drawn and pointed directly at Dirks, who was turning back to Thoracis at that very moment.
“Was the bitch really worth all this trouble?”
Amoroth had taken a few moments to watch, from his perceptive confusion. A dwarf and a mage had stepped into the area. The mage had white robes with a black porcelain mask that brightly shinned to where Amoroth had to squint to see the rest of the features. But from what he could tell he looked to be about sixty-seven. He was holding a staff with a blade of ice jutting out from one end. Next to him was what Amoroth despised more than bad music….a dwarf. From a young age Amoroth understood that dwarfs and elves don't so much hate each other as they find each other incomprehensible. They have a modicum of agreement on the threat of the Wild, but Elves are far more accommodating than dwarves on this. Elves are fine with Pixies or even Giants. Dwarves are not. A dwarf in an elvish enclave would feel a little like a Human visiting a freak show. You wouldn't go to war with the freaks, but you wouldn't be their banker either, or want to marry one. Not that they'd care. But they are just complete opposites.
Aside that the other one whom Amoroth made an attempt to shoot with the fireball was wearing a White Jumpsuit, Black Trench coat, and a chain mail vest. He had told Ferael and Amoroth to fight what Amoroth recorded as Thoracis and Kharas Lightbringer. Taking no second thoughts as to why Amoroth closely approached the dwarf. Amoroth dug his feet in the ground knowing the stopping power of dwarfs he wanted to back up his attack. But at that moment the stranger named Max had slain the dwarf lifting a heavy wait off his back but added more confusion. Red fluid leaked through the grass and to Amoroths feet, Stunned by how quick his beating heart had stopped. Death was another Amoroth learned
Wearing the colors of waking
I watch you face
Softly whispering the wisdoms
Of half lucid dreams
Barely able to hold myself
With fingers all aching
Wishing your knowing to be
So filled with me
Wanting your eyes to roam
Through my darkness
Wanting to touch you
Yet knowing you sleep
In a world all your own
Soft blessed by the dead
And were I to dive now
Splash into your senses
My presence would break up
Such holy clear skies
And dragging you out into now
Here with me I would
Shorten your journey in
Freedom rich lands
And I love you too much
To deny you such pleasure -
I close my eyes
And dream
Amoroth settled back and Yelled. “ What the hell is going on!”
Dirks turned only to find a Beretta, his Beretta, staring him in the face, but the appearance of the gun was made irrelevant after Thoracis’ spoke. A fire raged in Max Dirks’ eyes. Thoracis’ words were the salt on his wounds. She was worth everything. Without hesitation, Dirks let out a cry and unleashed an assault on Thoracis. First he took his katana into both hands and gripped it like a bat, taking a sharp swing at Thoracis’ outstretched hand. Then he advanced on Thoracis, shoving his right elbow towards the mage’s chin. Dirks followed his elbow by jamming the hilt of the sword into the vicinity of Thoracis’ right temple. Once he finished, he jumped back and let go of the sword with his left hand. When he landed he attacked twice more: the first was from a cross-slash from Thoracis’ left shoulder to his right. The second was a backhanded slash meant to decapitate the mage.
His life was a blur. He could barely see a foot in front of his face. Dirks couldn’t tell if his dizziness was from his anger or from the dwarf’s head butt. Then again, he didn’t really care. He didn’t care about anything except killing Thoracis. Even Starlynn, the reason why Dirks had gone berserk in the first place, was just a lingering thought in the back of his mind. He had lost control over his body. He was caught in a bloodlust worse than any vampire’s.
Then he heard it. Was it a song? Was it her? Starlynn? Was she speaking to him? The words were so relevant. They told of man mourning over the loss of his love. Was it real? “What the hell is going on?” Dirks cried out in chorus with Amoroth. Did he really know? It turned out that no time had passed. Dirks had just then recovered from his last attack on Thoracis and stood wide open to a counter. His mind was racing, but he quickly remembered. The song he’d heard was an old elfish carol about waking from death. Starlynn, a half-elf herself, had sung it to him once to help him sleep. He also remembered that after the elbow, his attacks on Thoracis were all slop. The temple thrust was in desperation and his cross-slash, back-slash combo was messy. He only hoped that Thoracis had forfeited the gun as he prepared for the worst.
(Following this post, Thoracis has permission to bunny my character. We want to do a short but intense fight sequence which will require him to determine Dirks’ actions so that we don’t have to go back and forth)
Apparently she was worth it. Worth all this plus the lives of everyone here. If only Dirks knew the truth.
The attacks came suddenly and swiftly. There was an intensity and rage to Dirks’ movement that Thoracis had never seen before. But with that fire came sloppiness. Thoracis dropped the Beretta as the first swing of the blade came for his hand. In full control of his staff again he parried the blade with Dirks’ own momentum. Thoracis stepped towards the criminal as he came again, taking the full force of the elbow on the back of his shoulder. Before the bruising pain had a chance to subside the hilt of the katana struck Thoracis in the neck, forcing him backwards. Son of bitch… Thoracis could already feel the knotting of muscles in his neck now, as well, and again had no time to react as the blade of the katana swept across his shoulders, narrowly missing his neck, and exposing the enchanted dehlar chainmail that rested beneath his robes. The close call brought Thoracis to his bearings. The last attack came and whiffed as Thoracis ducked and rushed Dirks, a magically created sheet of ice forming beneath the criminal’s feet meanwhile.
Now they would play by Thoracis’ rules.
His shoulder slammed into Dirks’ torso, who immediately lost his footing on the ice and was driven into the ground by the mage. Both men lost grip of their weapons with the fall, leaving them both unarmed. Managing an under-hook with his right arm on Thoracis’ left, Dirks shifted his weight with his hips, sending Thoracis sprawling over the top of him and nearly dislocating the mage’s shoulder. Thoracis was quick back to his feet, immediately sending a single ice shard at Dirks whom had managed to roll out of their grapple as quickly as Thoracis had, grabbed his katana, and narrowly deflected the ice which would have impaled his chest.
With the closing of Amoroth’s song the skies had opened up again, first with a sprinkle, and now with another downpour. The skies turned dark as monstrous clouds blocked the sun in a way which would make the smog of Ettermire jealous. Lightning raced across the sky and thunder boomed to a deafening level, echoing across the hallowed walls of Terrinore Hromagh’s approval of this clash of titans.
Chainmail exposed, Dirks was smart enough to come with a piercing attack instead of a slash. His staff out of reach Thoracis thrust his left arm, formed of solid ice, into the path of the blow, absorbing its full force. Dirks was now between the mage and his staff so Thoracis lunged for Kornis’ battleaxe, gripping what was left of the hilt and recklessly flung it at Dirks. The axe was too heavy and Thoracis not strong enough to put much force into the throw, which Dirks avoided easily as he dove towards the abandoned Beretta 950.
Oh shit, the gun!
Instinctively Thoracis cast his ice spike spell beneath the gun. Just before Dirks’ hand closed around the grip a massive spike of ice shot up, sending the gun airborne. Thoracis watched as time seemed to convert to slow motion, the gun twisting and turning through the air. Yes, it worked. It worked! Twisting and turning through the air until it fell and came to a rest directly at Dirks’ feet.
Dread and anguish overcame Thoracis at the site, barely visible through the rain that was now seeping between his mask and face, blurring his sight. Looking as if he were the luckiest man in the world Dirks quickly scooped up his lost firearm at the same moment Thoracis remembered he had its twin at his waste.
It had only been about thirty seconds, but the duel was over. Amidst the storm-tossed courtyard of Terrinore Thoracis and Max Dirks stood face to face, mere feet from each other, Twin Berretta 950’s drawn and pointed at the face of the other. All because of a girl that Dirks’ presumed to be dead.
“So what now?” Thoracis asked.
All Ferael Finn could do was watch. He looked upon the arrival of an elf who immediately conjured a fiery orb with a flute and sent it upon his partner. He watched as, before he could react with a counter-attack, Thoracis Rakarth, a warrior that he had seen fight time and time again in this very tournament – one he admired and looked up to – emerged with a dwarf at his side. He held his breath at that point. He watched as that dwarf launched himself at the man who had been identified as Dirks - a name that rang no bells in the buccaneer’s mind – and knocked him to the floor. He watched the recovery of the fallen warrior, and the deadly reprisal that followed. He watched as Kornis Lightbringer’s features twisted into a grimace; as he clutched at the wound that bled his blood and stole his strength as if in refutation.
He had frozen up. No matter how much he urged himself to step into the fray, he could not do it. Thoracis would kill him, Ferael was sure. He would encase him in ice and smash it with his bare fist. The pirate’s hands did not even rest on his weapons. Instead they hung loosely at his sides as he followed all that happened before him, as if he were part of the crowd. Questions rattled his brain. There were five of them, but one had fallen already. Was he not meant to be there? Were any of them meant to be there? Which of the four others was his designated partner? He had forgotten the name. Not Thoracis Rakarth; not this ‘Dirks’.
What the hell is going on?
The elf? It had to be the elf. Aramoth? Something like that. If the elf was his partner, at least one, if not both of the two men brawling before him had to be his opponent. He finally found himself in the right mind to act.
Drawing his cutlass, Ferael Finn took a step forward. He could not find the courage to challenge Thoracis, but the other man, Dirks, had been bettered for a time by a dwarf. The pirate could beat a dwarf, for they were slow and sloppy, so in reflection he could surely win this bout.
“So what now?” Dirks was so immersed in his own private skirmish that he wouldn’t see it coming! Ferael took one step and then leapt forward, swinging his sword down vertically towards the side of Dirks’ skull with both hands on the hilt. His shipmates would applaud him for such a cunning victory.
Unfortunately for Ferael Finn, he had been so locked in his own thoughts that he had failed to identify the weapon in Max Dirks’ hand as a pistol, dismissing it as a knife. It was only when he was in the air that he realised his mistake, but there was no chance of altering his course.
Max Dirks was filled with a familiar confidence the minute he put the patented Beretta 950 into his hands. Though he was exhausted and breathing heavily, a crooked smile appeared on his face. This battle, Dirks’ vendetta, was over. Thoracis still wielded the weapon’s twin, but Dirks no longer cared. He could pull the trigger and send another bullet into the ice mage’s head before Thoracis could flinch. A strange excitement filled the former criminal.
“I’ve already told you, Thoracis,” Dirks coaxed, “you are going to die.” It was time. Just when Dirks was going to pull the trigger and end his crusade, he saw the pirate’s advance out of the corner of his eye. “No!” he cried out while jumping backwards. Unfortunately his response did not come soon enough. The blade of the sword came down onto Dirks’ shoulder blade, taking off a chunk of Dirks’ skin. To make matters worse, the sword nicked one of Dirks’ nerves. Dirks felt a tingle travel down his right arm and then he lost control of it. Dirks cussed and fell down to his knees. “Not now. Not now…”
Then all of his anger for Thoracis was diverted to the Songs of Sorrow. They had taken away all that he had left. Dirks tugged the gun out of his clasped right hand with his left. When the gun came free Dirks took aim and then fired, then fired, then fired again. The first bullet was aimed at the pirates’ head. The second bullet was off. It traveled toward the fallen dwarf instead of the elf. It hit the dwarf’s armor and then ricocheted in a direct path for the elf’s mouth. The third shot never happened. The gun clicked. Dirks pulled the trigger again and again, but nothing happened. It was not jammed. The clip was empty.
Dirks’ started laughing. “You didn’t reload the weapon.” He fell from his knees down to his thighs. It was over, and Dirks had lost. “At least now I’ll get to see her.” Then Dirks waited for Thoracis to pull the trigger and return the favor.
Thoracis knew he couldn’t pull the trigger. Whether or not Dirks would have been able to he did not know. He probably never would as Fereal Finn came from nowhere, slashing into Dirks’ shoulder. Almost instantly Dirks fell to his knees and Thoracis stood in astonishment as Dirks fired at the pirate. After two shots the gun fell silent, only the clicking of the hammer hitting a void could be heard now.
What have I done?
Dirks fell to the ground. The anger he had felt towards the man who had shot him became pain for the man he once called friend. Whether or not Songs of Sorrow had been felled by the shots which Dirks fired was lost on Thoracis, who just stood over his rival, motionless, debating what he should do. “At least now I’ll get to see her.” He had to tell him. The pain he must have endured. It couldn’t end like this.
But what about the tournament? Dirks had killed his partner. Sure, the monks would revive Kornis, but there was no way Kharas would allow him to continue on this path with Thoracis. Already the promise of his safety had been broken. There was no way in hell Thoracis was going to forfeit though. Not this year. This was his year. Unless…
“She’s not dead.” Thoracis spoke with a rather matter-of-fact tone. While inside he was more and more regretting what he had done there was no way he was going to let Dirks know it. “You may have shot me, but it wasn’t permanent. I couldn’t go so far as to take her from you forever.” He knelt down by the criminal now. “But you’ve put me in a precarious position. That dwarf was ‘supposed’ to be my partner. I need to finish this tournament.” Thoracis flipped the gun in his hand and caught it by the barrel, holding it out towards Dirks. “Finish this thing with me. There is no way we could be stopped together. See it out to the end and Starlynn will be your again.”
Thoracis held out his other hand to help Dirks up. Hopefully he would accept it and the offer.
What? Max Dirks nearly fell forward. She’s…alive? Impossible. “Don’t play games, Thoracis Rakarth. I’ve already suffered enough,” Dirks admitted. He looked up through the rain into the ice mage’s eyes. “Just kill me now.” Dirks was not afraid to die, again.
“I’m not a monster, Dirks. She’s perfectly fine. No one has laid a hand upon her.”
Dirks didn’t know what to believe. A great pressure had been removed from his chest, but at the same time he couldn’t completely trust the ice mage. Then again, Thoracis’ hadn’t shot him yet. “Where is she? Damn it, Thoracis, take me to her.”
“You’re not really in a position to make demands, but don’t worry I’ll take you to her...once we win the tournament.”
Dirks cursed under his breath. He knew full well about Thoracis’ problems with his former partners. He knew the ice mage did not feel any remorse. Thoracis was not having any change of heart. He was just using Dirks and his feelings for Starlynn to ensure that he made it past the semi-finals this year. “Prove to me that she’s alive first.”
“Don’t be a fool, Dirks, you know I can’t do that.” Thoracis hissed. He lifted his arm and starting walking around the fallen criminal. “Heh, look at you. You’re washed out, worthless. You’re not the man who nearly won the Gisela Open BY HIMSELF just a year ago.” He paused. “If you don’t join me, you can go on with that life. Go on being worthless. However, if you do join me, you go home with Starlynn as a champion.”
“And if you’re lying?” Dirks interrupted.
Thoracis shrugged, “It’s not like you have anything better to do.”
Dirks started shaking with rage. It was different this time though. It was different because Thoracis held all the cards. Thoracis was right, and Dirks hated him for it. The ice mage had taken everything, but now wanted to give it back. Thoracis lowered his hand once more. This time Dirks took it with his left hand and the mage pulled him to his feet.
“Here, you might need this.” Thoracis tossed him the twin Beretta. Dirks grabbed it and put it under his coat. Without acknowledging the ice mage, Dirks started to limp to the gate of the prison. He walked through, and stopped at an outcropping that over looked Lornius. Thoracis followed slowly behind him.
Dirks took once glance outward, and then lowered his head. He would do anything to find her again. Dirks would join Thoracis and win his own tournament. Thoracis stopped behind him and looked over Lornius. “You know, its funny how it always begins and ends with this godforsaken prison,” Thoracis mumbled softly. “It’s like we were made for it.” A bright devious smiled was hidden behind his mask.
There, on the cliffs surrounding the prison, the Sons of Terrinore were born.
Edit: All bunnying of Kornis and Thoracis are approved by Thoracis.
For a round one tournament battle, this was pretty good. Dirks and Thor: You had a good story you were trying to work out since it seemed like your opponents weren't posting, but it really suffered at the points when they did post. You essentially lost all of your continuity then. It wasn't really your fault, but you should have had more of a plan to include them. Scars and The Bard: You guys didn't really post enough for me to be able to score or give you many comments, so you won't get any rewards for this battle.
SONS OF TERRINORE
Thoracis
Introduction – 6.
Setting – 7. (Out of this whole battle, you easily did the best with this. Your use of the setting was usually not overbearing or too obvious, but used subtly to enhance the mood of the thread.)
Dialogue – 6.
Character – 6.
Rising Action – 5. (Like I said in my opening paragraph, your continuity suffered because you didn't find a way to deal with your opponents only making a few posts each. It really interrupted the flow of things.)
Climax – 5.
Conclusion – 4. (Kornis was going to die and Dirks was going to become your partner... I knew that by reading your first post. It was a little too obvious, honestly. So it just wasn't very exciting when it actually happened.)
Writing Style – 6. (There were a few rough places, but for someone who role-plays about as much as I do, I was fairly impressed. If you make it all the way to the finals, I'm sure you'll be doing great by then.)
Strategy – 6.
Wild Card – 4.
Total Score – 55.
Max Dirks
Introduction – 6.
Setting – 6.
Dialogue – 7. (You didn't have Dirks making fun of people like he usually does, but the dialogue you did use was great for showing how Dirks is changing as a character and the things he has recently been through.)
Character – 6.
Rising Action – 5. (See what I told Thoracis.)
Climax – 5.
Conclusion – 5. (See what I told Thoracis. Your conclusion was way too obvious from your first post. Kornis would die and Thor would become your partner in the LCC. Anyone could have guessed that!)
Writing Style – 6.
Strategy – 6.
Wild Card – 4.
Total Score - 56.
Team Average - 55.5.
SONGS OF SORROW
Had you guys posted more than twice each, you'd have much higher scores.
Scars
Introduction – 6. (A nice introduction. Too bad you had no follow up!)
Setting – 1.
Dialogue – 1.
Character – 2. (From what little you did post, you had a good sense of character.)
Rising Action – 0.
Climax – 0.
Conclusion – 0.
Writing Style – 2. (You obviously deserve higher here. But you didn't post.)
Strategy – 1.
Wild Card – 0.
Total Score – 13.
The Bard
Introduction – 2. (A little confusing. I really suggest running your posts through Word to clean them up before you put them on the board. Still, you have a lot of potential and I hope you stick with Althanas. Once you clean up your writing a little, I'm sure you could be pretty good.)
Setting – 0.
Dialogue – 1.
Character – 1.
Rising Action – 0.
Climax – 0.
Conclusion – 0.
Writing Style – 1. (I didn't get the inclusion of your little song/poem. I wasn't sure if it was some song your character was singing or a poem he was reciting or thinking in his head. You didn't really segue into it or say what it was at all.)
Strategy – 0.
Wild Card – 0.
Total Score – 5.
Team Average - 9.
Sons of Terrinore advance to Round 2!
REWARDS:
Thoracis receives 420 EXP and 150 GP.
Max Dirks receives 424 EXP and 150 GP.
Rewards Added!