This thread is reserved for members of Group 6. The thread will open at noon on September 7th (Pacific time) and will be closed after two weeks.
Good Luck!
Group 6
Christoph
Zack Blaze
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This thread is reserved for members of Group 6. The thread will open at noon on September 7th (Pacific time) and will be closed after two weeks.
Good Luck!
Group 6
Christoph
Zack Blaze
Out of Character:
A sudden rush of images and sensations flooded Elijah's world. A bright light, a cool breeze. Men in robes and the feel of smooth stone beneath his back. Even half-awake, the Citadel veteran and former Pagoda Master recognized the minty taste of powerful restorative spells. Comforted by this realization, he let himself drift from consciousness, fleeing the memories of his previous trials in the Adventurer's Crown. Thoughts of the betrayals, sacrifices, and cruel premonitions of terrible futures scratched at the edges of his mind. He embraced sleep and let it all fall away, to contemplate another day.
He awoke to the smell of smog. The sounds machinery and many, many people filled the air. A city. He stood up and found himself on the rooftop of a tall stone building. A grey urban sprawl surrounded him, a sea of brick, iron, and flickering light stretching in all directions. Great black spires loomed over the city and plumes of smoke gathered into a thick haze in the red dusk sky. I know this place. This was Ettermire, the capital of Alerar and the largest city in the known world.
Elijah first came to the city after fleeing Salvar during the civil war two years prior. He'd found sanctuary from the religious agents of his homeland, along with opportunities for t a new life. Everything else grew from here – his career as a master in the Dajas Pagoda warrior's temple, his successful career as a freelance sorcerer, and his modest fame as a Citadel fighter. It was all possible because of the fresh start he found in this very city. It felt so strange to find himself back here so suddenly.
Below, horse-drawn carriages and strange steam-powered machines clogged cobbled streets alongside teeming multitudes of workers, dark elf and human alike, returning home. Soon, Ettermire would turn from a bustling metropolis into a dark and deceptively serene maze of dark alleys, forgotten tunnels, and unsavory characters. He used to love walking the streets at night, enjoying the sleeping city's unique intense silence – always charged with the threat of danger. Granted, the sorcerer doubted he was here for a stroll.
He felt something in the pocket of his chef coat. The old white thing had been with him for years; it showed as many scars as he did. It was tattered and threadbare, but he could never bring himself to throw it away. Too many memories. In the pocket he found a small roll of parchment wrapped with brown twine. He read it.
Amidst other treasures lies the weapon you lack, deep within a hall of blood.
He reached for his back, once again finding his sword gone. He sighed. Of course they can't make things easy. That sword, the Abyssal Blade, was the most powerful arcane relic he had ever owned. Without it, he felt almost incomplete. Surprisingly vulnerable. Still, at least he had a clue. He would find it in this “hall of blood.”
“This still doesn't make sense,” he said aloud to himself. “I thought the Adventurer's Crown was held on an island, yet here I am.”
“Have a theory behind that, actually,” Zack spoke as he walked up behind Eli, “The Island of Adventure probably has the same magical properties as the Citadel. Doesn’t surprise me, given the extent of Kenneth Stern’s powers.” He walked past the man he assumed to be his partner, placing a foot on the edge of the building and looking at everything below as a king would for his kingdom. “Zack Blaze.”
“Elijah Belov.”
“I know who you are, chef mage,” Zack turned around, smiling a bit now. His voice carried with it an admiration for the man before him, “One does not earn a reputation as a street fighter without hearing of your awesome fighting record.” He offered his hand to the wizard, a bright pearly smile across his face. Elijah cautiously offered his own hand, shaking with the youth as if forming an uneasy pact. His skin felt incredibly hot, like a man struck with some sort of fatal sickness.
Zack turned back to the city, the last strands of light slowly ducking beneath the horizon. The dark environment of Alerar made the boy feel as if he were supposed to be protecting this city rather than going on a makeshift scavenger hunt. He could smell the smoke coming from some houses down the way; hear the whirling machinations of the airships above. A slight chill took the air as Zack heard Elijah fiddling some sort of paper.
“What’s that?” Zack looked to the parchment, his eyes going over the words written within.
“A clue,” Elijah said, wrapping the paper back up once more. The boy couldn’t help but notice now exactly how tanned his new ‘friend’ was. It honestly made Zack question his own peach-like complexion. “We apparently have to find a hall of blood.”
Zack’s expression changed to a grin once more. He had spent enough time in Alerar to know just how shady the town was under the curtain of night. He rubbed his hands together, taking in the smell of the smoke with a new perspective. He inhaled the scent of Alerar’s inner workings as he pointed downwards. “Finding a ‘hall of blood’ in Alerar should be easy enough. The town is famous for underground fight clubs once the sun goes down. Luckily, Stern was smart enough to pair two great fighters together.”
The boy never questioned why there was now two of them rather than the four they had the previous round. Honestly, after his last adventure with the team he had secretly named ‘The Loser Squad’, Zack was surprised he even advanced, let alone gaining a partner with a reputation for defending himself. It was a nice change of pace.
“Well then, shall we?” Zack asked, looking to his partner expectedly. Surely, the great Elijah Belov had some kind of wind spell to glide them down to the street below…
Elijah looked down, then back at his companion. His ally's intentions were clear. He smirked. Well, I see you have a flair for the dramatic. I think we'll get along fine. Of course, the fact that the other man actually knew him by reputation helped the sorcerer's mood. Best of all, his new comrade seemed to know where to go. Eli stepped to the edge and traced a quick series of glyphs into the air. The air stirred around them. He took the lead and the pair jumped from the rooftop. A strong and sudden updraft caught them during their descent, slowing their fall and setting them gently upon the street. And then they were off.
The last traces of color retreated from the sky as dusk turned to night. The air grew quickly and noticeably cold, though it felt rather comfortable compared to his homeland, Salvar. The city seemed to deteriorate as they walked. Abandoned mills and industrial workshops replaced shops and tenements. Cobbled streets crumbled away. As the they traversed this dark urban maze, nervous memories fluttered about the edges of Eli's mind: getting lost in twisting alleys, dangers lurking in the shadows. He reminded himself that he was no longer that weak and vulnerable youth from his first visit to Ettermire. It seemed even his psychological wounds left scars.
“Now, I must ask,” said Elijah as he followed behind Zack, “if so many fighting clubs exist in Ettermire, how do you know which one we want?”
“There's actually only one club in the city,” the younger man explained. “They just change location every couple of weeks.”
“How do we know where they are now?”
Zack paused at some seemingly random markings painted on a wall before turning down a side street. “There are ways.” For the next twenty minutes, they quietly traversed the twisting alleyways. The buildings on either side grew taller and taller; it felt like the walls were closing in on them. It made Elijah, a man raised in the open wilderness of Salvar, feel confined and claustrophobic. This entire decaying part of town did not sit well with him. It stuck out compared to the rest of the city, like a spot of rust on iron. Finally, Zack paused within sight of a seemingly random door, lit by a single lamp. Three large men stood in front of it.
“Here it is,” he said.
Zack looked to the lamp, at the odd symbol that seemed to be drawn on the glass with some sort of crayon. To the average passer-by, the lamp would be nothing outstanding, but to Zack’s allegedly brilliant mind, the light indicated that they had indeed arrived at their destination. Looking at the unremarkable door, Zack’s eyes shifted to the three men that stood guard by the entrance.
Three humans, all clothed in vary expensive fabrics. Their hair was cropped short, and their muscles were almost one flex away from tearing out of their clothes. These men were fighters, though ones who gained additional help honing their strength through various external means. They were figures that Zack had not met running in his circles, though to be fair, the youth’s job with Misery Business incorporated cut into his time of underground fighting. They covered the door as if their lives depended on it, all three with arms crossed, scanning the area for any undesirables attempting to come in.
“Let me handle this,” Zack said coolly as he approached the three gorillas in men clothing. He waved and flashed his charming smile, the nostrils of the closest guard widened, a new scent wafting into his nose. He looked at Zack with his green orbs, giving an assessment of the smaller man’s frames with just his eyes. After he finished looking the fighter up and down a few times, he waved the gentle-looking warrior off, as if shooing off a stray cat.
“Get out of here, little man,” his voice came out awkwardly, cracked as if he were still in pubescence, “we ain’t got time for no two second fights here.”
Zack raised an eyebrow at the bouncer, a tinge of jealousy slowly twitching his eye at the insult. “You misunderstand,” Zack said, trying to keep his composure as if the slur did not slight him, “My name is Zack Blaze, and contrary to what you may think, I am a very capable street fighter. In fact, I’ve fought here before. Hell, just a few hours ago I took out a dragon with my bare hands!” Zack raised his arms victoriously, showing off his toned, though by no means bulging, biceps.
“I said go on!” the bouncer raised his hand now as if to strike down the young scrapper. Zack lowered his hands in a ‘not so fast’ motion, trying to ease the tension between the two of them.
“You gotta believe me,” Zack spoke as the sounds of cheers came slipping out of the doorway. Apparently some of tonight’s matches were already underway, “Look, I’ll prove it to you. Me and my friend over there, how about the two of us take on you and one of your… masculine looking pals. We win, you let us in, we lose, well, I guess we’ll leave you alone.”
The three bouncers looked to one another before bellowing out a chorus of laughter. Wiping away a single tear from his eye, the head of the group nodded. “Alright little man, you got yourself a deal. Me and Tony versus you and your pal, out here, right now.”
Zack nodded, turning around to shout for Eli to come hither. The shout was cut short as a massive fist found its way into the spine of the fighter, sending him rolling towards his partner. His back pulsated with pain, and it hurt as Zack stood up and rubbed his spine. “Guess he meant it quite literally when he said ‘right now’…”
What have you gotten me into?
It happened too fast. Two of the massive, well-dressed brutes lunged into instant action. One squared off with the reeling Zack while the other charged Elijah. With a few moments to prepare, the 'sorcerer-chef' could use magic to enhance his physical abilities to superhuman levels. The guards did not allow him that luxury.
His foe, a blond, square-jawed beast of a man, moved with shocking speed despite his size. Eli ducked just in time to avoid a ham-sized fist, which smashed into the wall behind him in a shower of shattered brick. He stepped aside and delivered punches to the guard's midsection. The former chef was no stranger to brawling, possessing considerable strength and speed even without the aid of sorcery. Yet, his foe felt like a stone pillar against his fists, and reacted about as much. The guard's second punch struck his diaphragm like a sledge, sending the wiry former-chef sailing back several feet.
He hit the ground hard, gasping for air. I've always been better with a sword than my fists. Still, despite his wiry flame, Belov was built lean and tough like whipcord. He jumped to his feet as his opponent charged and stepped back to dodge a kick. He lunged forward, driving his elbow hard into the brute's jaw. For the first time, the huge guard staggered. Eli seized the opening. Power surged through his hands as he thrust his palm into his foe's chest. Flames burst from his hand, igniting the guard's expensive clothes.
“You little shit!” growled the smoldering brute, ripping off his burning coat and shirt. His backhand effortlessly knocked the former-chef to the ground. “I liked this suit!” The man's bare torso was covered in strange runic tattoos that Eli recognized immediately: wards. Even in the city of science, men took the threat of magic seriously.
Elijah scrambled up and flashed a sardonic grin. “It's no big loss. Your temperament is better suited to loin cloths and bear skins, anyway.” He backed up as his foe advanced; the huge man's muscles rippled beneath his skin as though threatening to burst free. Belov focused his will, letting sorcerous energy surge through him. Even the guard's potent wards could only withstand so much.
Fire flickered about the sorcerer's feet. Tendrils of smoke drifted from his fingertips as his hands moved in smooth and rapid motions, forming occult shapes in the air as the very threads of reality shuddered at Elijah's touch. A blast of white flame erupted from his palms and exploded against his foe's chest. A metallic shriek ripped through the air as his magic overwhelmed the guards warding tattoos. The big man staggered and bellowed in pain and rage. Eli's grin widened as he gathered his power yet again. He never heard the third guard come up behind him. An unseen blow struck the back of his head, knocking his world into darkness.
“Damn mages.”
While Elijah found himself busy with his opponent, Zack and his foe were already trading blows with one another. The boy would deliver a sharp jab to the face, only to be compensated by a fist to his ribs. His right hook would come in hard, once again aiming at his foe's features. The grunt's head reeled backwards, coming back just in time to recieve a swift roundhous kick to the side of his head. He growled, nailing Zack once more in his midsection, and this time the blow was more than enough to make the street fighter double over.
A hand came in the form of an uppercut, launching Zack into the air. His glance shifted over to his partner, grinning through bloodied teeth as he watched the chef set his temporary rival aflame. He landed on his back, the impact sending a surging pain through his entire form. His ribs throbbed in time with his heart beat, and his face felt as if he had slammed it into a tree. Regardless, Zack scrambled back on his feet, his fists clenched tight as he concentrated his efforts, focusing on the motions Eli had done to create the fire.
Zack sent out an uppercut towards his foe, hoping that his dedication to his craft would pay off. One good thing the boy had learned from being a mime enthusiast was that he picked up and hand signals rather quickly. A spark of orange launched from the knuckles of Zack, running across the ground to barely tap the bouncer's shoes. The large man's head had followed the pathetic display of power, looking at the small puff of smoke that rose up from his footwear. He laughed and looked back up, only to be greeted by Zack's hands clasped together, slamming into the side of his face. The double-handed axe apparently pissed the man off, for he stumbled backwards, let out what could best be described as a growl, and let out a sharp whistle.
The door flung open and two more similarly dressed men emerged from the club. Zack scowled, rolling his shoulders in preperation for a bigger fight than he had anticipated Looking over towards Eli, Zack was shocked to instead see a gargantuan hand before an inky blackness overtook him...
He woke up to the feeling of being slapped, his head jostling from left to right upon each impact. Groggily, he opened his eyes to look at his mystery attacker. A blue business suit greeted him, though the teen's gaze was quickly drawn over to the mane of cropped orange atop the man's head. His nose looked more like a beak, pointy and sticking out further than it should have. A small set of stitches rested under this man's left eye, though upon further inspection, it was merely a tatoo. While his body type was nowhere near the same level as his guards, the frame of this expensively dressed man was nothing to scoff at. To Zack's right, he could see Elijah stirring awake, hands and legs bound to a chair via a rope with various symbols written upon the material. A magic ward to keep the magician from burning through his entrapments. Clever Zack thought.
"Do you know who I am?" the voice came out as if this person was offended, tones of an accent Zack could not quite pin down spilling out of his mouth, "Do you? My name is Nonag. I run dis here joint. And you my friend... you and your pal are in for way more than you bargained for..."
My head...
Elijah woke to a new voice. He could not move. He felt a heavy pressure between his eyes, a heaviness in his mind. More anti-magic. He opened his eyes and scanned his surroundings. They were in a dank, dark cellar room that felt like a cross between a sewer and a dungeon cell. A flickering torch illuminated the area and cast light upon their captor.
“Look, Norman or Nunan or whoever you said you were, I'm sure that you think you're a very important person in the rich society of... underground urban cesspools.” Their captor growled and turned toward Eli, as though noticing him for the first time. He continued unperturbed. “But you need to learn the same lesson I did over the past year.” His voice went cold and deadpan. “It doesn't matter who you are or how great you think you are; nobody will give a dragon's ass about you.” He expected to feel the back of Nonag's hand, but instead the fiery-haired man forced out a laugh.
“Matter of fact, I do know who you are, Mister Belov.” Their captor circled behind him out of sight. Eli perked up at the sound of his name. “I've heard a lot about you. In fact, some might call you my hometown hero.” Finally his strange accent clicked; this 'Nonag', as he called himself, was a Salvar native. Have I truly been away from home so long that I can barely recognize the accent anymore? Even tainted with Ettermire's underworld dialect, he should have noticed it.
“I appreciate flattery as much as the next man, but-” Their captor punched him square in the face. He tasted blood, but the pain barely registered; he'd experienced far worse in his life.
“You aren't,” Nonag spat. He stepped directly in front of the sorcerer, filling his field of view. He could see it, now: the slight slant of the eyes and the high Salvic cheekbones. “You're a traitor.”
Of course he's a loyalist, Eli thought. Aloud and in an earnestly somber tone, he said, “Perhaps I am, but not in the way you would think.”
“I don't care.” Nonag leaned in close, sneering. “I don't live there anymore, either. What really pisses me off is how you come to my joint and mess with my people.
Zack chimed in from the side. “If they'd just let us in, it wouldn't have been a problem.”
“Shut up!” their captor snapped, waving a dismissive hand in his direction.
“He is right, you know.” Belov tried to shrug, but the bindings held him too tight. “Regardless of your misguided opinions of me, I have no quarrel with you. You have something of mine here, and I simply want it back.”
“Ha! You're on my turf now, bud. You're mine, you hear me? Why should I give you anything?”
Eli smirked. “Well, it might help you transcend this Belligerent Villain routine you're pulling-”
“Shut your mouth!” Nonag shouted, backhanding his captive hard across the mouth but failing to wipe away the smirk.
“Laying it on a little thick, don't you think?” Belov flexed his tingling jaw. “What do you want, then?”
“You caused me trouble, so you owe me a debt,” their captor replied. “One way or another, you're gonna pay me back. So get comfortable. You're gonna stay right where you are until I decide what to do with you both.” Without another word, he left and slammed the door behind them.
“Well,” said Elijah after a brief silence. He closed his eyes and sighed, the confident smirk melting from his face like a frost at dawn. “That could have gone better.”
Zack's eyes shot a glare towards Eli for only a moment as he tried to wrestle his wrists out of his ropes. "What the hell, man?" Zack asked, his tone sounding more hurt than angry, "You're Elijah Belov, you could have fried all of those guys with a single thought! What happened out there?"
Eli replied with a carefree shrug, which did nothing but further the teen's anger towards him. "It happened too quickly. I couldn't react fast enough."
"That is a load of crap!" Zack shouted, no longer worried if anyone could hear him, "You had plenty of time to fight him, and I even got a good little brawl out of the deal. You had more than enough time to make sure we were celebrating over barbeque bouncer!" Zack's bound hands were clenched in anger now. First he had been given a team of imbeciles, now a magician on par with the greats who refused to flaunt his skills. "I mean, for Thayne's sake, do you even -want- to win this thing?"
"To be honest," Eli shifted his gaze towards the ground, "I don't know." He looked back up at Zack, who had his head tilted to the side as if asking him to explain. "At the end of my last challenge, I saw a glimpse of what might happen if I win. Divination, a potential future. It... wasn't good. I've tried not dwelling on it, but I'm forced to wonder if winning the Adventurer's Challenge is worth the risk."
Zack shook his head in reply to this. The teen spit on the floor, disgusted with his idol's lack of faith. "We control our own fate, Belov. Free will has never been an illusion, and the only people who can control what we do is us. It's why every great tyrant eventually gets overthrown, why a single person with a single voice can rise through the ranks of the Dajas Pagoda, and why we're going to win this damn tournament at all damn costs! I mean, the grand prize is the Destiny's Book! If you're so damned worried about your whole life being so linear, what better tool to use to correct it than a book that knows literally everything?" Eli's bound body posture shifted at this, becoming upright and proud. It seemed, at least to Zack, that Elijah had found his epiphany.
Zack threw his chest forward, shifting his bodyweight as the chair jumped forward a bit. He did this several more times until he was facing the man that he had thought of as someone to look up to. "I don't know what you're deal is, but you need to wake up and snap out of it. I am not going to get killed in an Alerar third-rate club that I've never even heard of." His bangs fell towards his face as he ranted. The boy puckered out his lower lip, blowing air upwards as hard as he could to put the stray strands back in place.
The door opened again, shedding some bright light over the two. Nonag, accompanied by one of the two bodyguards who were not scorched, walked over to Zack. The duo seemed unfazed by the teen's new position in the room, Nonag simply swinging the boy's chair back to its proper position. "Here's what's gonna happen," He said, speckles of spit leaving his mouth and finding a home on Zack's cheek, "You, pretty boy, since you wanna fight so badly, are gonna get your wish. We'll be keeping the scum here as collateral in case you try anything stupid while you're down there in my arena." Even as he spoke, Zack's eyes suspiciously followed the bouncer, who had walked behind the youth to release him from his warded bonds.
"It's not just your arena," Zack retorted, standing when his legs were free, "You just got luck of the draw."
"You wound me with your words," Nonag's fake sincerity was accompanied by his hand upon his heart, as if he had been struck by an arrow, "I am but a simple business man wishing to make a profit on one who would cause me so much financial pain. If you can last a little while against one of my boys, you and the chef are free to go. If you survive. Deal?"
Zack rubbed his sore wrists, his skin irritated from the rope, his blood circulating back into his hand better. The boy took a step forward towards Eli's chair, placing a hand upon the spine of the furniture before being rushed out by the large bouncer. "You just do what you can do." Zack said as the door closed behind him, a slight smirk on his face as he gave Eli one last glare, this one filled with a prideful arrogance, as if he felt he had done something amazing. In his mind, he had. The wards for the magic prevented Eli from setting fire to the ropes, his hands bound too tight to touch anything else. However, the chair the man was sitting on had no such wards.
And Zack had just set a small flame on the wood in an attempt to free his partner.
The door slammed shut again, leaving Eli alone in the dark. A chaotic storm of thoughts swirled in his mind. Zack was right about him. He was Elijah Belov! Since when did he mope, or let the tides of fate sweep him away into an unwanted future? Whatever future held, he would meet it head on. Lesser men let destiny enslave them, but not him. When I win the Book, I will enslave destiny, not the other way around!
But first, he needed to break free – a difficult feat, given the potent wards that bound him. They pressed heavily against his awareness, all but smothering his magic. He despised this helplessness! Then he felt subtle heat beneath him. Smoke reached his nose. Faint orange light flickered from under his chair. Fire! The crazy bastard. Zack had sparked a fire. He needed only wait for it to eat into the warded ropes, weakening the enchantments that subdued him. Freedom!
The flame began to dim, dying on the chair's damp wood. Eli cursed. He gathered his arcane power and pushed against the wards, but he may as have tried to move a mountain or beat back the tide. If only his magic could touch the struggling flame... even the gentlest nudge would keep it alive.
Inspiration struck him. The warded ropes easily subdued the full might of his abilities, but what if he didn't need all of his power? Why push down a wall if he can squeeze through a crack? He focused, for once reining in his deep wells of arcane energy. He probed outward with the slightest trickle of power, a needle piercing thick cloth. And then his mind was free, if only a small part of it. Strange words slipped softly from his lips, a whisper within a whisper. As though responding to his voice, the dying flame sprang to life. Fire crawled steadily up the chair's leg.
Soon, the room filled with smoke. The ropes ignited. Elijah felt the suffocating wards weaken. With a final push, he shattered the enchantment. The sorcerer stood as the ropes and chair burnt to ash, leaving only a pile of smoldering embers at his feet. He stretched his cramped limbs and laughed. He was free at last from those cursed wards. He felt like a swimmer coming up for air.
“What's going on in there?” The voice came from outside his cell. “What's that smell?” The lock turned.
Now that's polite of him, saving me the trouble of blasting down the door. The cell door flew open and another large, though more poorly-dressed, man stepped inside. Elijah was ready. He punched the guard hard in the temple. The man staggered dizzily to the side; Belov kicked out his knee, sending the brute toppling over. He followed with a brutal knee to the jaw as his foe fell, sealing the deal. He knelt beside his unconscious opponent, patting him amiably on the shoulder.
Now I find the vault and hopefully my sword inside it. And pray that Zack's fight keeps these fools good and distracted.
He was escorted through a hallway of white, into a wide open area. When he stepped out into the open, helped by the rough hand of Nonag's thugs, he was temporarily blinded by the bright lights above. He could hear both the cheering applause and the jeering boos of a crowd above him. Zack took a heavy swallow as his orbs readjusted to this new light, rolling his shoulders and raising his fists to his face. "Ladies and gentleman, for out next fight, we present the challenger, Jack Blaze!!!"
The crowd (well, most of the crowd anyways) went wild with the call of his name. Zack raised an eyebrow and lowered his guard slightly; unsure if the applause was due to the people knowing his name, or if they were just glad to have a fresh face in the arena. "God damnit!" Zack yelled in frustration, his foot slamming into the ground several times, kicking up a cloud of dust. "It's Zack! Zack Blaze! Not Jack! If you're going to announce me, at least do it right!" It was hard to make one's name known if people knew him by the wrong name, after all.
"And his opponent," the announcer went on, ignoring Zack's plea at a correction, "You know him as the single punch wonder, the K.O kid, the end of the very world itself. Ladies and gentleman, I give you, RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGNAAAAAAAAAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK!!!"
The arena went dark, quickly hushing the audience as a single spotlight shined on a wide entryway across from Zack. In the limited light, the youth could see that they were indeed in a large cage. Above them was nothing but intertwined steel designed to keep combatants in, and belligerent drunks out. Zack looked back to the spotlight, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the man known as Ragnarok. He was well over eight feet tall, his hair braided into a long ponytail, the end peeking out from between his legs. He had the shoulder width the size of two fully grown men, and his skin was a sickening shade of green. Zack took a hard swallow and cracked his knuckles. "An orc....great..." the teen mumbled sarcastically to himself.
"Fight!" the order from the announcer had shot out so fast, that Zack had to take a moment to register what the man had actually said. That moment of hesitation gave Ragnarok an opportunity, the large orc being surprisingly fast on his feet as he rushed towards the boy, throwing a fist right at his face. Zack raised his forearms in time, deflecting the blow by only milliseconds. The shot was hard though, and sent Zack sliding backwards across the ground, creating another cloud of dirt. He bit his lower lip, holding on to one of his arms. The bone felt like it had been shattered by that single punch, but the fact that Zack could still move the limb without screaming like a little girl proved that this was not the case.
"Well, now I know why he's the KO kid..." Zack mumbled, shifting his head to the left and then right in order to pop the bones in his neck, "Let's see if I have what it takes to stop the end of the world. Just hope Elijah's having better luck than me..."
Ever alert, Elijah crept through the dreary stone corridors beneath the club. While no master of stealth, a youth spent working in a tavern and sneaking past sleeping guests taught him how to move quietly. Not that it seemed necessary thus far, as aside from the guard outside his cell, no living soul walked these halls. Not that I can blame them. It smells like dead fish soaked in cheap ale down here. At last he found the stairs.
As he ascended, the old, mossy granite changed to newer reddish brick. Gas lamps replaced torches and the terrible stench faded away, replaced by the musk of sweat and blood. He heard distant cheering; his ally's fight had already begun. Make it last, Zack.
A couple of guards patrolled the upper levels, but their security was clearly understaffed. Elijah stayed quiet and kept out of sight. Without any clear sense of direction, he simply tried to head what felt like 'inward' and let his instincts guide him. Twice, he almost rounded a corner into a guard's line of site, but each time their heavy footsteps warned him just in time. Finally, just before frustration got the better of him, he nearly stumbled into the vault. It was a massive, thick door of solid steel at the end of a long hallway. He had found their objective at last; now he just needed to get inside. That, he thought to himself, jokingly lamenting not choosing a career as a professional thief, should not be too hard.
Glancing back down the empty hall, Elijah placed both palms upon the vault's door. He focused and muttered a series of cryptic words. His awareness expanded, pushing its way into the cold steel. For that moment, he knew it as intimately as a brother or lover. In his mind's eye, he saw the door's entire life: the day dwarf slaves pulled the ore from the ground and smelted it; the great, hot foundry that forged it; the shady contractors who secretly installed it to protect ill-gotten wealth. It was a strong barrier, but Elijah now knew its weaknesses.
His near-breathless chant sped up, now laced with ancient cipher of Orcish shamans. The shining steel grew dull at his touch. This new spell sucked the metal's strength away like a leech. Thirty seconds passed. Cracks spread across its surface. Satisfied, he traced a flowing rune across the scarred metal surface and stepped back. With a push of will and focus, he conjured a fiery explosion that blasted the weakened door apart. The sorcerer cringed as the noise echoed through the halls. Time to hurry.
He rushed through the ragged hole, into the vault. The interior defied his expectations by being extremely mundane. Four chests sat against the side wall along with some thick canvas sacks surely filled with coins. Elijah had no interest in such things. Instead, a marble pedestal at the opposite end caught his eye. He moved to inspect closer; upon it sat two gems, swirling with green and blue like a deep sea. He could easily sense the depth of their power. He snatched them up.
He found his sword at last, hanging on a plaque between two unremarkable spears. He reached for it.
“You're a dead man.” The voice came from the vault's shattered entrance. Elijah turned to see the guard he'd fought outside standing before him, flanked by two he didn't recognize. All stripped from the waist up, they displayed similar tattoos upon their chests and brandished knives and vicious brass knuckles.
“So I've been told, many times in my life. Yet, here I stand.” Elijah grinned, wide and toothy like a shark, with a predatory glint in his eyes. He had hoped to avoid senseless killing, but little choice remained. His fingers closed the hilt of his sword and pulled it down. Icy tendrils slithered up his arm, into his chest like snakes. Arcane words rushed from his lips as familiar power surged through him. He felt faster and stronger; he felt whole once more!
The three brutes rushed him. Belov struck with supernatural speed, his blade an extension of his arm. His blade lashed out in blinding arcs, slashing through his foe's flesh like paper. Their wards offered no protection against his sword's razor edge. He ducked under a dagger thrust and lunged forward, cutting open their leader's belly. Blood sizzled on his blade, wicked magic pouring from it. Wounded flesh ignited and soon tortured wails filled the vault. It all happened in an instant. Elijah Belov, Pagoda Master and one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, left three smoldering corpses behind him.
It was time to escape. Now, where is Zack?
The fight was quickly turning to a game of tag for the young Zack Blaze, wherein the person (or rather, orc), who was ‘it’ would kill his victim if tagged. Zack would duck under a punch here, and deliver an unremarkable body blow to the ribs. For every uppercut that was side-stepped, the boy returned with a fruitless jab to the taller warriors face. The fighter was quickly starting to see now why his physique had not made the eye of the bouncers. They had been trying to protect him from Ragnarok.
Eventually, Zack found himself backed into a wall, Ragnarok charging towards him with all of his orcish might. The boy closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable when there was a giant rumble throughout the entire arena. The cheers for Zack’s murder stopped temporarily as the people wondered about the source of the tremor. Even the large Ragnarok paused for a moment, delaying his charge just enough to give his opponent the opportunity to escape.
Zack ran towards the monster’s side, throwing a roundhouse kick towards the ribs of his foe. His heel connected with a sickening thud, and the roar of the giant orc was enough to send the audience back into a frenzy. Zack stumbled backwards, trying to regain his footing as he hobbled around the arena, his ankle pulsating as if he had just kicked a house. He lowered his now injured foot, nursing it a bit as he jumped to and fro, the majority of his weight placed on his left foot.
Think Zack, think…. the street fighter analyzed the situation, trying to figure out best how to defeat his enemy. Orcs…orcs… big, mostly stupid, feel like a ton of bricks when hitting or being hit by. There’s got to be some way to….maybe…
Zack gained some distance between him and the arena champion, cupping his hands against one another as if he were holding a ball of some sort. Ragnarok tilted his head, his eyes narrowed as if trying to see the object Zack was holding. In all reality, Zack was just trying to buy time, to intimidate his foe through his mime skills. It was a long shot, but maybe he could gain a psychiatric advantage on the overpowered beast.
Zack ‘threw’ the ball, his opponent throwing his hands in front of him in a flinch. Zack grinned, shaking his head and pointing a finger towards Ragnarok like a mother scolding her child. “You’re just lucky I missed,” Zack said, “My aim has been a little off since your people knocked me out. “
Ragnarok looked to the boy as if he didn’t understand his words, resuming the charge he had started so many seconds ago. Zack responded by lifting his hand up, his fingers intricately positioned to give the illusion of holding something invisible. In Zack’s mind, it was firecrackers, but he didn’t know what his opponent would think of the display. As Ragnarok closed in, a few feet from his pray, Zack threw the non-existent firecrackers down, the charging orc slowing his attack and even outright trying to avoid whatever he thought the boy had thrown.
This was his best chance to act. Zack jumped towards his foe, his momentum propelled mostly from his left foot. He slammed a fist into the temple of the creature, causing Ragnarok to take a step back. The crowd gasped as Zack brutally laid fist after fist into the warriors face. Why wouldn’t they be shocked? Zack asked himself, For them, it’s entertainment, for me, it’s about survival…
With each connected blow from the faster Zack, Ragnarok seemed to lower his head more and more, giving the street fighter more opportunities to knock the taste out of the beast’s mouth. Spit and blood flew from left to right as Zack’s fists furiously alternated into the large jaw of his foe, until finally Ragnarok fell onto his back, Zack’s own fists covered in tears and crimson from not letting up. He was sure after the adrenaline rush subsided, his hands would hurt like no tomorrow, but for now he reveled in the announcer shouting his name in surprise. The crowd was silent for a few moments, perhaps distraught over what they had just witnessed, but then a wave of applause assaulted all those able to hear.
The door from whence Zack had come opened back up, and the street fighter took a quick bow before bolting for the exit. There were no signs of any guards now, had Elijah taken them all out? The boy could feel his body shaking, his adrenaline leaving him as he searched for his friend amongst the twisting and turning halls. He found the chef mage busy frying some unsuspecting suit in the middle of a random hallway. A grin was painted across the teen’s face, the thought that his words had such an impact on the wizard pleasing him. “Let’s go!” Zack barked, causing Eli to turn towards the boy
“Go where?”
“Well, if you got what we came for, then there’s no better place to go than where this round started…” And with that, Zack approached Eli at a fast pace, his throbbing hands searing with just barely bearable pain. “Let’s find the roof…”
((Zack's finale.))
Another roof. I shouldn't be surprised.
The pair rushed through the halls, chased by a chorus of angry voices. Exhilaration rushed through him as they sprinted up flights of stairs. Finally, his sword was back in his hand! Its magic awakened him, filled with him life and vigor. He felt indestructible. Only his practical sensibilities kept him from turning on his pursuers, from unleashing the full might of his renewed power. They found what they came to find; they needed a clean escape, not an ever-growing pile of smoldering corpses.
They crashed through the door at the top of the stairs; a blast of night air greeted them. Even tainted by Ettermire's industrial smog, it felt as fresh as a snowy mountain compared to inside the club. Nonag burst onto the roof after them, followed by seven predictably huge and well-dressed guards. Elijah backed away, holding one arm protectively in front of Zack and pointing his sword menacingly at their foes. .
“Now Elijah. Eli. Kinsman.” The club boss stepped forward, forcing a carefree grin onto his face. “You're good. I'll give you that, but it's over. You're cornered up here with us.”
“Is that so?” Belov replied, raising an eyebrow in smug amusement. “And here I thought you were cornered up here with me.”
Like I said, you're good.” The boss took a step forward. “But not that good. It's just you and your pal there. I have seven guards.”
“Specifically, what you have are men paid to fight,” Belov replied with a smirk, continuing to step back until his foot hit the railing. “And the futile hope that they are all willing to die in agony before they even get close enough to spit on me.”
Nonag laughed. “Ha! This smug traitor finds a fancy sword and suddenly things he's indestructible!” He reached into his suit jacket, as did three of his henchmen. “We have fancy weapons too.” Suddenly, four gun barrels pointed at Elijah. His grin vanished. They had flintlock pistols!
Now that's inconvenient, the sorcerer thought. The speed and brutal power of firearms limited his spell-casting options. While he could certain incinerate the entire mob with his magic, a single pistol shot could ruin his entire evening. And they couldn't make their escape with four loaded pistols ready to shoot them in the back.
The boss spoke again. “Now, I don't want to blast your brains all over this city. Someone like you, on a short leash, could make me rich.” He pulled back the lever on his pistol. “But a good gambler knows when to cut his losses. What'll it be?”
Eli sighed dramatically, rapidly reviewing his spell repertoire. “I'm too tired for more witty retorts, so you'll have to settle for this.” His grin returned as his plan took shape. “Go rot in hell?” Nonag snarled and pulled the trigger.
Aleran guns were fast, unforgiving weapons that revolutionized how an entire nation fought wars. A single twitch of the finger could end a life. Yet, even faster than a twitch was a thought. Especially the well-honed thoughts of a renowned sorcerer. Four gunshots echoed through the night; lead balls fired at the two escaped captives. Midair, they bounced off an invisible barrier, sending distorted ripples through the air.
“Damn you!” Nonag roared. “How many tricks do you have?”
Eli's smile widened. “Just one more.” It was time for the obvious final step. Belov looked to Zack and the two jumped off the roof. For the second time that night, powerful and unnatural wind swept up and slowed their fall, settling them softly upon the street like a gentle hand. They slipped away into the night, angry shouts fading into the distance.
Out of Character:
Plot: (20)
Storytelling (7) – Setting your thread was an interesting take on the prompt. All said, you had a quick, clear beginning with a set finish point, built to a nice climax, and then finished it cleanly without leaving anything left hanging. There were points that would have been better had there been some elaboration and some built up points, but that’s the nature of the timed tournament rounds, I suppose.
Setting (6) – While this thread was notionally set in Alerar, there wasn’t much to distinguish it as such from any other city with a seedy underbelly. Once in the fighting pit, I felt there was a lot of areas that could really have benefitted from a bit more of an in depth description. Zack is a competent and practiced street fighter and should feel at home in a place like that, and showing that descriptively is something that would have really put this over.
Pacing (7) – You maintained a good flow throughout the story, even managing to keep things smooth and clear when Eli and Zack split. As mentioned above, this thread did feel quite rushed, a natural downside of tournament writing I suppose. Still, you two worked well with what you had.
Character: (22)
Communication (8) – You really showcased who your characters were here. Zack, as the cocky bastard didn’t go overboard and had a realistic feel to him. Eli really came off as world-weary until Zack’s inspirational speech near the end, at which point his fire returned in a way that was utterly believable. I was very impressed at how Zack, who seems to think he’s better than everybody, finally meets someone he really looks up to only to realize that his idol is human too and how it lights an indignant fire in him the spreads, both literally and figuratively, to Eli. That was probably the best part of this whole thread and really showcased the characters attitudes.
Action (6) – This thread had plenty of action, from the fights to the repeated use of magic to do something as simple as descend from a rooftop. It really gave a good feel to Eli’s character, how the magic has become second nature to him so much so that it’s the first thing he thinks of whenever anything needs to be done. Zack’s pantomiming showcased his ability to think his way out of problems, even if it stretched belief quite a bit. The biggest issue I had here was the fight you two had to gain entry into the fighting pit when Eli throws a couple of punches and then just relies on trying to burn his opponents to death, a point which Zack later asks why he didn’t. Though the brawl wasn’t exactly friendly, you didn’t make it clear that the toughs were going to be doing anything more than roughing you two up a bit and then tossing you back into the street, which is why the obviously lethal attempt seemed like a really out of place escalation. Sometimes, just beating someone senseless is enough.
Persona (8) – The notion that sometimes characters aren’t above all the everyday shit that plagues us is what makes them relatable and invests readers in their story and you two did a good job of showcasing that. Both of your characters came off a human. Sure they’re extraordinary humans but they definitely felt like real people with real problems. Again, I would have loved to have seen this as a fully written thread, if only to give you more time to really develop your characters into the story.
Prose: (22)
Mechanics (6) – A little over a handful of spelling errors and areas where the wrong word was used. Most of these were in Zack’s posts, and while I understand that there were issues with your posting abilities in the middle of the round, these were simple things that a spell check could have found.
Clarity (9) – There was really no part that was unclear. Sometimes elegance is simplicity.
Technique (7) – Good use of the prompt to come up with an interesting story, though again this could have been better and if you’d had more time to invest I would bet that it would be.
Wildcard: (6)
Total: 68
Christoph receives 1131 exp and 95 gp.
Zack Blaze receives 561 exp and 80 gp.