The First BlackSand Tournament
Round I, Duel VI
Velbi Trimmer of the Muscle Mountain
The winter wind was blowing strong through the night. Snow mixed with hail stormed down the sky and covered the streets of what was one of the few remaining barbarian camps in Muscle Mountain. That was Velbi’s birth place. The camp where she became a warrior. A warrior so skilled to be undefeated amongst both fellow women and men. No one dared to challenge her, and everyone adulated her.
That winter night had brought the majority of the inhabitants to the camp tavern: a fairly large wooden building that was now hosting close to fifty people. A large fire in the middle of the room provided light and warmth, as well as serving as a big fire for roasting. Few tables and chairs were scattered, having being pushed around by the rowdy crowd.
They had convened to celebrate Velbi’s latest success. Once again she had raided the nearby forested hills to hunt for the were-beasts threatening the camp. She had ventured alone in the woods and come back with the heads of five beasts as trophy. “A good hunt” she smirked remembering the fights. She had carried her long blood sword and in less than three days she had easily slained several of those beasts. Her sword permanently stained with the blood of her victims.
“To Velbi, the trimmer of monsters!” A man cheered raising his cup of ale. “Aye!” “To Velbi” “To our champion” others echoed. “To Velbi Trimmer of Muscle Mountain” someone else yelled. Everyone lifted their mugs in approval and started chugging the ale. Chants, laughs and dances followed as the magic of the ale spread amongst the crowd, inhibiting their senses and infusing men and women with liquid courage and energy.
The party continued on for hours into the night until the strong wind swung the tavern door open, letting in cold snow and hail. Everyone looked towards the entrance as a large, black crow stormed in and dropped a letter right in front of where Velbi was sitting. The crow then disappeared back into the night as quickly as it had come.
Everyone went quiet, intrigued by what that might be. So far into the mountains, the camp very rarely received letters from the outside world. Any communication was a big, welcome surprise.
“Read the letter” someone asked, obviously to Velbi. “Come on Velbi!” someone else said. Not many amongst the crowd could actually read so Velbi felt obliged to comply. She quickly scanned the letter, which turned out to be quite exciting news. “It is a call to participate in the BlackSand tournament” she announced. “A city near the Salt Sea. They promise gold coins and glory to their champion.”
At those words the fellow barbarians in the tent erupted in cheers and dances again, chanting “Velbi the champion of BlackSand” “The glorious BlackSand fighter” “The champion of Muscle Mountain.” Velbi started laughing, she truly enjoyed their support. “I will be your champion!” she roared raising her mug. “To BlackSand then” she announced confirming her decision to participate: “This sounds like another great hunt!”
Marcellus Chopper of the Tower
Marcellus wanted to go home. It had been too long. He missed his wife, his children. He missed a normal life. A soldier of the Sixth Platoon, he had been marching across the continent for more than eighteen months now. Non-stop. One battle after the other, the Sixth had moved from the dusty desert of The Sand to the rainy forests of The Wild.
Their war had been ongoing for so long that Marcellus could barely remember what started it. Was it the kobolds who attacked first, or was it the goblins? But his loyalty to the Kingdom had pushed him through what felt like an eternity of fighting.
Marcellus’ platoon had recently started marching south towards the Salt Sea. They were expected to sail to the Purple Wizard Pavilion. In an attempt to avoid the Hedge Wizards Wood, now occupied by kobolds, they had steered towards the coast and almost randomly stumbled upon a city called BlackSand.
The Sixth camped a few miles off the city limits on a small hill overlooking the black, sandy plane. More than a city, it looked like a village. A not-so-tall wooden fence marked the city perimeter. The majority of the buildings were small, single story builds except for a tall, large tower-looking building right in the middle of the city.
As they made camp, an envoy from BlackSand reached them and quickly disappeared in the commander’s tent to only come out a few hours later.
Shortly after the Commander also stepped out of the tent holding what looked like a heavy bag of gold coins. “Oh Marcellus” he exclaimed as he noticed the solider nearby. “I have some great news. Come in” he continued, inviting Marcellus into the tent. The inside was warm and well lit. A wide desk stood in the middle, covered in letters, some plates and two calices. The Commander set on the far side of the desk and pointed Marcellus to take a seat in front of him. They were old friends. Marcellus and the Commander had joined the Sixth together years ago, and had been close since. “I’m sending you to BlackSand” the Commander announced as he poured wine into the cups on the table. “You are to participate in a tournament.” “A tournament?” Marcellus replied, surprised, but not excited. “Aren’t we supposed to set sails in a few days?” “Not you” the Commander continued after a big sip of wine. “My old friend, I am giving you a way out of this damn war. The platoon will depart in the morning, but you will head to BlackSand. Their messenger paid enough to keep us fed for another few weeks. In exchange they just asked for a tournament participant.” He rubbed his tired eyes, a hint of concern suddenly covering his face. “We can use the help, and it’s time for you to get back to your family. Here are your leave papers.” The commander handed Marcellus three letters. “They should guarantee safe passage back home. In exchange I only ask you to honor our agreement with BlackSand.” “But why me, and why now?” Marcellus replied, confused. His friend was a honorable leader, always calculating his moves; never wasting resources.
“My brother” the Commander replied, his eyes watering up. “Maybe because I love you too much.” he paused. “You know better than me that it is unlikely we will make it back from this next assignment. And you deserve more than dying in unknown lands to the hands of unknown enemies. Consider this my goodbye gift” Before Marcellus could reply he concluded ceremonially for one last time. “You are dismissed, Marcellus. May the Light guide you through the darkness in your path” Shocked, Marcellus left. Nostalgic of the countless battles they have fought together. Concerned about the future of the Sixth, yet grateful for the opportunity to reunite with his family “Thank you, old friend. Thank you.” he whispered as he walked away in the night.
Shaman Azazel of the Astral Plane
Azazel made his way back up on the wooden bleachers as the Attendants fixed the fighting pit, readying it for the next fight. “Another day, another fight” he exclaimed as he took his seat. The crowd was eagerly awaiting for the next duel. And so was he. The contenders had so far been spectacular. Pouring all their valor and skills into the duels. Never he could have dreamed of a better inaugural tournament. “Only up from here” he murmured; a hopeful smile breaking his round, stony face.
He was particularly keen on this next fight.
He had to send his own crow far North into Muscle Mountain to hopefully enlist skilled barbarians. The Murder Guild likely to disapprove of such action, but it had been worth it. “That was a long shot” He murmured as he looked at one of the warrior entering the arena. Velbi Trimmer of the Muscle Mountain couldn’t be a better fit: a valiant, skilled, and ferocious warrior from the mountains.
And he had personally met with the Commander of the Sixth Platoon to secure at least one of their soldiers as participant to the tournament. “That was an expensive endeavor” he thought, remembering the considerable amount of gold coins he had to offer to close the deal. But he was extremely pleased with the results: Marcellus Chopper of the Tower was an ideal candidate.
Excited, he stood up, welcomed the ever growing crowd and announced the start of the sixth duel: “May the best fighter prevail!”
As the crowd exploded in cheers, the two warriors came closer to the center of the pit, ready to fight.
Velbi was holding a massive blood sword and a round wooden shield. A classical leather barbarian bikini and a horned helmet completed her outfit.
Marcellus was wearing his pretorian helmet, typical of soldiers of the Sixth, a dark fighting tunic and his iron shield. But most surprisingly, as soon as Azazel announced the start of the duel, his sword magically caught on fire. The crowd went wild, remembering the flaming sword that appeared in the inaugural tournament duel.
Velbi did not seem impressed. “Is that all you got?” she provoked her opponent. Marcellus smiled and charged.
As the opponent approached, Velbi jumped to her right avoiding the charge. But in a split second Marcellus lifted his shield wide and cut her arm with it. “What?!” she exclaimed in surprise and quickly jumped back a few steps to regain a safe distance. “My sword isn’t the only thing you should worry about.” Marcellus grinned.
Velbi reacted impulsively and launched her attack. The first swing of her blood sword aimed at her opponent’s neck, but Marcellus was ready. He crawled behind his shield, in the typical defensive position of the Sixth, and easily parried the attack.
Velbi didn’t desist and attacked again. She swung her sword again left to right, then right to left, hoping for an opening. But Marcellus defensive stance was battle tested. None of the attacks could make it through.
Velbi continued to attack in what looked like a savage dance. Hit after hit she tried to wound the opponent, but to no avail. Marcellus was trying to tire her out. And soon he succeeded. After a few more strikes, Velbi had to pause to catch her breath. In that split second Marcellus jumped forward, charged with his head down, and swung his flaming sword upwards. Velbi had just enough time to fend off his attacks with her wooden shield. But the wood immediately caught on fire.
The crowd roared in excitement.
Velbi threw the shield to the ground. Enraged, she tried another attack and lifted her massive blood sword to charge her offense. She then jumped high above Marcellus, trying to hit him from above. As she descended, Marcellus lifted his shield.
The impact resulted in a massive clang and for a moment the two warriors seemed to be stuck in time in their respective stance while the crowd enjoyed the action. The hit was heavy, but Marcellus had managed to parry well and was quick to pivot. He swiftly moved to the left. He jumped forward and stroke hard with his blade.
His aim was impeccable. The flaming sword hit Velbi right on her lower back slicing through her bare skin. She yelled in pain and fell to the ground as blood started flowing.
“For the Sixth!” Marcellus yelled in triumph lifting his flaming sword as the crowd started to chant his name.
“What a fight! Azazel shouted. “Honor to our new winner! Cheers to Marcellus Chopper of the Tower!”
Entered by: 0x8717…A7A8
The First BlackSand Tournament
Round I, Duel VII
Charlie Crusher of the North
Regret. Charlie had been trying to live with it. But that shit was hard. Why did she have to leave? Could she have helped? She SHOULD have helped. Charlie couldn’t really think about anything else. It had been months since that tragedy. In a few minutes all that she had ever cared about, all she had ever loved, had been swallowed by the sea and wiped out of existence forever. Her birth place, her home, her friends and her family all gone. A catastrophic earthquake had hit the peninsula south of Fort Turtle, wreaking havoc and fragmenting into lifeless rocks what once was fertile and beautiful lands. Only a few survivors managed to escape and scattered across the Runiverse in search of a new home.
“I wasn’t there to help…” She had left the city to on the impulsive desire to join the Armada, a grassroots coalition in the Wild fighting to stand up against the frequent goblins and kobolds. “Why? Why would I leave to help some faraway land? I was needed here” she tormented herself.
But maybe there was hope. She had recently heard about a tournament taking place not far from her camp. A city called BlackSand was inviting warriors to compete in duels. Gold coins to be awarded to the winner. “Maybe I can bring everyone back. Maybe I can help rebuild with that gold. Maybe I can still make a difference” she thought while reading the tournament advertisement.
With enough gold she could lay the foundation for a new community. Gather back everyone that had fled and give them a new home. Their new home.
Those thoughts gave her a new meaning. “I need to win!”
Resolute, she pulled up a map and tracked the path to BlackSand with her index finger.“ This should only take a couple of days. I can make it in time” she said as she evaluated the journey ahead. The most direct route would take her through a challenging mountain path in Skylord Rookery. But she didn’t care. She had to get there fast. The Tournament was about to start.
She quickly wore her brown armor and with a swift move she lifted her heavy iron hammer and shield. She was ready to go!
She stepped out of her tent and the cold winter air filled her lungs. Rain was pouring as that hideous monsoon pursued through the night. She had grown used to that, but still hated how wet and humid those lands were.
The forest around her looked intimidating: the wind was howling through the trees and some monster was roaring close-by. But nothing could intimidate her at this point. She had found her new cause. A reason to keep going despite everything that happened. A path to hope. Her own way to stop regretting.
Cornelius Nullifier of Implings
“This is just not it” Cornelius shouted as he smashed a pile of documents onto his desk. “How could anyone be ok with this?” he let himself sink into the plush, leather office chair behind his glass desk. “I’m fed up”.
He was sitting on the top floor of Mira tower. The most expensive commercial real estate in town. He looked outside of his corner office. He had made it all the way from intern to partner at his law firm in less than seven years, exceeding any records of career progression. “For what?”
In Cornelius’ eyes the justice system just didn’t work. The dream of spending years fighting for what was lawful turned into a slow defeat of compromises and politics. Criminals could easily find loopholes and take advantage of a broadly defined Law. Innocent citizens often fell for fraudulent actions that he, as a lawyer, could not help avoid.
His career had been a successful one by any standards. Partner at a law firm, a corner office, a penthouse in Downtown, luxury cars and expensive company. Yet, he felt powerless. He felt that Justice kept slipping through his fingers, regardless of his efforts.
He slowly passed his hand over his red tie: the symbol of corporate power that only partners were allowed to wear. He laughed. He wanted real power, not just some status at a law firm that had no business in enforcing justice.
Throughout his career Cornelius had learned that lawyers could only make a difference within very strict boundaries. And that wasn’t enough for him.
He picked up his phone and quickly speed-dialed a number he had saved a few weeks ago. It was time to make a change, and he knew just the guy he needed for the job.
A few months later Cornelius was a different man. He was now a warrior. Someone would define him as a mercenary, but he liked to call himself an executioner for hire. Still wearing his business suit with a goblin sword and gladiator helmet, he roamed around the Wild taking on jobs to execute criminals and bandits. Was that lawful? Debatable according to Cornelius. Did he enjoy it? Absolutely. What mattered is that he finally was in a position to hand out Justice. He was in a position to make a difference.
His latest gig had brought him closer to BlackSand. As he walked the dusty streets, a floating advertisement board passed by him announcing the start of a tournament. Intrigued he decided to learn more and headed towards the fighting arena. There was nothing he did better than winning a fight and getting paid for it.
Shaman Azazel of the Astral Plane
As usual Azazel woke up early that morning. Still dark outside, he made his way downstairs towards the large dining room on the seventh floor of the Obsidian Tower. “Ah the Obsidian Tower…” Azazel sighed nostalgically. The tower was the very last building that had survived through the catastrophe that turned Imperium into BlackSand. But little remained of its former glory. It once was the very center of the most prolific city in the Runiverse. It used to host kings, queens, artists, philosophers and scientist. Most importantly it used to be a sacred gathering place for all Wizards.
Shaking his head trying to chase those thoughts away, Azazel made his way onto the streets. He was headed to the tournament arena: The Astral Plane.
That day he decided to take a slightly different route and to pass by the small market on North Street. A few merchants were setting up shops trying to sell anything from produce to luxury goods to visitors of the Tournament.
As he was walking by, he noticed some unfamiliar faces: a fisherman was displaying some fresh catch and a new jeweler was selling beautiful necklaces. Another merchant was setting up a cart full of small dolls, with a little bunny jumping around him. He was quite pleased to see more and more shops open up.
A few hours later Azazel finally made his way to the fighting pit. Another great fight awaited.
“I welcome Charlie Crusher of the North and Cornelius Nullifier of Implings. May the best warrior win!” Azezel announced, excited to see a growing crowd on the bleachers. And the duel commenced.
On one side of the arena, Charlie was wearing a brown armor and holding a heavy hammer and iron shield. On the other side, Cornelius was proudly swinging his goblin sword. In an unusual attire, he was wearing a full suite with a red tie, topped with a gladiator helmet.
Charlie looked nervous, as she had something to lose. As soon as Azazel announced the start of the duel, she charged. She swung her hammer hard aiming for Cornelius’ helmet. But Cornelius was fast. He dodged, pivoted, and stroke back with his sword. Charlie was ready. She lifted her shield and parried easily.
She tried another attack, this time swinging her hammer towards Cornelius’ legs. He dodged again, but slower this time. Charlie saw an opening, swung back hard, and hit her opponent’s left shoulder.
The crowd gasped, as a loud bone-crushing sound filled the air. Cornelius yelled in pain but didn't’ pause. Sword still firmly held in his right hand, he attacked.
He swung left and right and forced Charlie into a defensive stance. He then jumped to the left, looking for an opening on the opposite side of Charlie’s shield. He saw one. And he struck.
Charlie had just taken a step back to recover from the latest strike, and her defensive stance broke for a moment. Cornelius struck hard and Charlie could only partially evade the hit. The sword cut deep into her right arm, just above her elbow.
She screamed in a mix of pain and frustration. Blood was flowing down her arm. She looked barely able to hold onto the sword. Yelling she tried to respond with another attack. But the wound slowed her down. As she charged, Cornelius dodged and pushed her to the ground with another strike, this time aimed at her back.
The crowd screamed in surprise at what looked like the end of the fight. But Charlie slowly stood back up, blood now flowing out of her back too. Seriously injured she broke a small smile. “I have failed” she let out, dropping her hammer and shield to the ground. She surrendered.
“Cornelius has won!” Azazel shouted. “Congratulations to our new champion” The crowd exploded in cheers as Cornelius ran in triumph towards the bleachers with his goblin sword raised in victory.
Entered by: 0x8717…A7A8
