The First BlackSand Tournament
Round I, Duel IV
Valen Battler of The Coliseum
Warrior #3845 was sitting in the small inn room he had picked for the night. It was frugal. The room only hosted a hay bed against the wall, a desk with chair and a small, opaque mirror. “Not bad for a few coppers” Valen thought, weighing the coin sachet that was hung on his waist.
He stood up, moved to the front of the mirror, and stared into his reflection. His rugged, brown beard covered most of his face. He was shirtless. His shoulders were broad and his pectoral muscular. He run his fingers over the several scars he had collected across years of fights and skirmishes. He stopped his hand on top of one of them. Right next to his heart, a short scar just a few inches long. Not the deepest cut on his skin, but definitely the deepest cut in his soul.
He had collected it during the darkest night of his past. A night he wish he could forget. Yet, a night that turned him into the man he was today. The night he became a warrior.
His tribe had convened for the holy rite of passage that would turn him from just a boy into a man. He had waited for that night for years: to finally become part of the tribe warriors. Never he could have expected what that night eventually turned into.
Driven by fear and jealousy, the men and women of his tribe attacked Valen instead of celebrating him. Fearful that he might become too strong of a warrior, unstoppable in his raise to tribe chieftain. So they hit him with everything they had. Spears were thrown, arrows loosened, sword drawn. But he avoided, parried, and stopped all attacks, fighting back with all his rage. And he killed them all. One by one.
Until she came. The only love Valen had ever known. Beautiful, she stood in front of him, dagger in her hand. And she charged him. In shock, Valen didn’t even try to defend himself and her knife pierced him right next to his heart. Leaving that hideous scar in his body, soul, and mind. “Maybe she missed on purpose. Maybe she did not mean to” he tried to recollect, still hopeful. But he brought his attention back to his reflection in the mirror. A small tear fell down his left cheek. He shook his head and chased those memories away: “Not point in this.”
The sun was now high in the sky and it was time for Valen to head to his duel. He wore his fur armor and picked up his weapon and helmet. He then left the inn and quickly walked to the nearby tournament arena.
Fighting was all he had left. It was the only way he could free his mind of his thoughts. The only way he could live in the present, leaving his past behind. The only way he could think of a future.
He was ready. His axe and shield held firmly. His blue helmet covering his face. “I am ready” he exhaled.
Urlok Amputator of Bears
Warrior #4132 was running fast in the night, his loyal jaguar Forcett following him closely. They were out hunting. “Hunt hunt in the night” Urlok grunted with his high-pitch goblin voice. The trail they had been following had gone cold a few days earlier. But finally they had picked it back up.
They were chasing a Noar Bear: a rare creature that only lived in the lands of the North. “Why down south?” Urlok grunted again, questioning why the bear would venture so far from his northern home. After a few days of hunting, they had travelled all the way from the Rabbit Lake to BlackSand. Yet the bear always seemed to evade them. Until now. “Hunt, hunt” Urlok instructed Forcett, who immediately recognized the order and sprinted ahead.
The bear was close, Urlok could feel it. Forcett’s task was to attack it from the front and push it back towards Urlok. Then Urlok would engage the bear. Most goblins wouldn’t dare fight such beast. But Urlok was no common goblin. His broad shoulders and tall legs made it quite large compared to his peers and his muscular arms gave him the strength of a full grown bull. Especially his right arm, which had been magically replaced with a massive, furry bear arm he had grown accustomed to control as if it was his own.
And with that arm he launched his attack as soon as the Noar Bear appeared. “I got you” Urlok yelled, and he punched the bear hard right on its nose with unbelievable strength. The bear groaned loudly in pain before collapsing to the ground, defeated. Urlok decided not to kill it: this species was too rare to kill. Instead, he cut some fur and carved out only the few teeth he knew would quickly grow back. Afterall, he needed something he could trade for some gold coins.
“Trade now” he grunted in approval weighting his hunting prize on his left hand. “Few coppers. Let’s go city now” Urlok told Forcett. They left the bear, that would probably awake in a couple hours time, and headed to the nearby city of BlackSand to trade.
Once in the city, Urlok quickly found demand for his hunting spoils. A merchant with a round stony face offered one gold coin for the teeth and a few more silver for some samples of the fur. “Good trade.”
The merchant, seemingly more interested in his bear arm than what he had just traded, told Urlok he should participate in a fighting tournament. “Urlok very strong in fighting” Urlok told the merchant, who nodded in approval and told him to head to the tournament arena in four day-time. “Strange merchant” Urlok admitted, slightly confused.
Four days later he showed up for the tournament. “Good money for win” he told Forcett, almost apologetically, as the jaguar seemed more interested in getting back to hunting rather than walking around the city streets. “Time to fight fight” Urlok said, as his name was called from inside the fighting pit announcing the start of his duel.
Shaman Azazel of the Astral Plane
“A goblin!!” someone shouted from the crowd. Screams and gasps followed as people noticed Urlok walking into the fighting pit. “He has a bear arm!!!” someone else yelled. And that novelty was enough to turn fear into excitement. The crowd started cheering and clapping again, eagerly waiting for the next fight.
From the other site of the pit, a tall man wearing a furry armor and a blue helmet made is entrance to the pit. “Valen Battler of The Coliseum” Azazel announced “against Urlok Amputator of Bears. May the duel commence!”
None of the two warriors charged. In fact, they paced slowly around the arena, staring at each other. Studying each other. Both of them were experienced fighters, and had already figured out the high caliber of their opponent. Valen was analyzing Urlok’s bear arm, while Urlok looked wary of the massive axe Valen was so easily flipping around.
To test his opponent, Urlok suddenly revealed a knife and threw it towards him. Valen noticed in time, and easily avoided the attack by taking two quick steps to his right.
Urlok seemed not to care about missing the target. Instead, he took a few steps back gaining even more distance from Valen.
“His hunter instincts are telling him to wait out, annoy, and tire the opponent” Azazel observed pointing at Urlok. “Interesting approach” Acrhmagus Crowly mentioned, looking towards Hothor for a sign of approval. Battle Mage Hothor of the Hills was a man of few words, Azazel thought, but his contribution had been instrumental to get the tournament started. Without saying any words, Hothor proceeded with a thumb down, seemingly in disapproval of what had so far been a slow fight.
On the other side of the arena, Valen started to lose patience after Urlok threw a few stones at him. So he charged lifting his massive axe. Urlok was ready, and just before Valen could hit, he jumped to the side running a few more steps away. Valen didn’t desist and charged again. Urlok avoided the attack, again. And again, another charge missed.
Urlok plan seemed to be working as Valen stopped to catch his breath. So Urlok took the opportunity to charge. He jumped forward and run towards his opponent. He lifted his massive bear arm and threw a punch. Valen reacted in time, parrying with his wooden buckler. But the hit was too strong. The punch crushed the shield into pieces. Urlok laughed in approval, but Valen didn’t lose focus and stroke back immediately in the split second Urlok took to celebrate. His axe hit cutting deep into the goblin’s left shoulder. A loud scream of pain followed as dark blood started flowing out of Urlok’s wound.
“That Valen was so fast at striking back” Crowly admitted, surprised. Hothor raised his thumb up this time.
Valen saw the shock in his opponent’s eyes and immediately charged again. This time aiming for a winning strike. He lifted his axe targeting the goblin’s bear arm. But before he could swing, Urlok dived to the ground, rolled on his back and stood back up behind Valen. From that advantage point he threw a massive punch and hit Valen right on his helmet. A loud sound followed and Valen lost balance, falling flat on the black ground.
The crowd shouted and cheered in surprise to what seem the winning strike.
But Valen stood up again very quickly. This time he removed his helmet and threw it at his opponent. And he hit the target. Urlok, surprised, suffered the hit and before he could respond Valen got close enough to swing his axe at him. The goblin had to parry with his bear arm to avoid a fatal strike. He screamed as the blade cut through his thick fur and more blood started spilling on the ground.
The crowd went silent, holding their breath.
Valen spin on himself and stroke again, this time hitting Urlok’s on his back. Not a fatal hit, but very close to the rib cage. That hit was too much to bear, and Urlok fell to the ground. Exhausted. Defeated. The crowd exploded in cheers as Valen lifted his axe in triumph.
“What a duel” Azazel shouted “Honor to our winner, Valen Battler of The Coliseum.”
Entered by: 0x8717…A7A8
The First BlackSand Tournament
Round I, Duel V
Jett Apocalypse of Kobolds
They called him “the Enforcer.” And he didn’t mind. That name suited him. Almost as much as his title of “Apocalypse.” Those names instilled fear in his enemies. That was exactly what Jett wanted: cause so much fear in the “Unfaithful” that they would dare not stand against the might of the Burning Hand.
Jett was walking towards the tournament arena. He was wearing his battle tested armor of fire. In one hand he held his massive claymore; in the other his golden shield. Rare weapons, forged at the foot of Honor Mountain by direct orders of Major Razer. They were gifts bestowed upon him to reward his loyalty and contribution to the Cause: bring justice and retribution to rid the world of the “Unfaithful.”
In his travels to follow the “Cause” he had stumbled upon the little-known city of BlackSand. He then heard of a tournament and decided it could be a decent venue to hunt the Unfaithful without breaking any local law.
“Hopefully some kobolds will participate” he murmured, as he passed by a run-down inn on the side of the street. He hated those creatures. Those predictable rats had no chance of hiding or escaping him. Ever. He had just recently followed a hot trail that led him to five kobolds he quickly took care of.
Their prayers for mercy still echoing in his mind: “Please don’t” they kept squeaking. “So pathetic. Such shame. No honor in those rats.” He suddenly shouted, quickly following with a big laugh of excitement.
Some passerby looked at him in surprise as he continued marching onto the arena. Proud; confident; enlightened by the Cause and determined to carry out justice.
He wondered how long it would take for the Burning Hand to take over this black city. There was something about those dark buildings and dusty streets that he could not put his fingers on. “Something strange is at play here” his instincts told him. “I wish Major Razer could witness this.”
Before he could continue his thoughts, he spotted something odd in a corner not far from him. What looked like a green creature stepped into the streets and then ran into a nearby inn. “A kobold!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Stop running you rat! I will have you in a matter of seconds” he yelled as he started charging. He bursted into the inn where he saw the kobold enter. What from the outside looked like another run down place was flamboyant on the inside. A warm fire was crackling in the middle of the main room; several people were chanting and dancing around lavish wooden tables. Gold cups and plenty of food filled the room.
“What the f…” Jett said in surprise. “Welcome to the One Inn” a beautiful maid greeted him. Unbothered, Jett continued “where is the kobold?”
“No Kobolds here and no weapons allowed, please” what looked like a manager asked gracefully.
Jett could not deal with this nonsense, so he turned around and left right away. “This place is odd. Let me get this tournament stuff done quick.”
“The power of the Burning Hand will guide my sword” Jett thought as he started walking towards the tournament arena. Eager to meet his opponent. Eager to bring justice upon them.
Chuck Chaos Agent of the Coliseum
“A tournament for real warriors!” Chuck shouted as he pulled the advertisement from the ‘quest-board’ that glowed in front of him from the side of the street. Could this be his chance? His chance to finally find his place among the REAL Warriors of the Runiverse? His chance to display his kick-ass-kung-fu-karate, in front of a crowd worthy of his skill level? And a chance to finally spread his wings and fly!? Like the giant Ostrich-Bird he knew existed, but had never actually seen. Chuck had studied martial arts and nunchaku for years. And now he was ready. Ready to fight the fiercest of opponents, flip-out in front of a crowd, and win this “Black Sand” trophy. His first real trophy, that wasn’t just for “participation”. His days in the Colosseum had been formative, but deep down, Chuck knew that his best fights were ahead of him. He tightened his headband, spun on his heel and set off towards the fighting arena. As he strutted through the busy bazaar, he noticed a tree-tall Wizard, wearing a blue hood and white robes, moving slowly toward him.
He jumped into fighting-stance-five and yelled, “Whoa ser! Nobody sneaks up on Chuck!”. The Wizard calmly drew back his hood, to reveal a shock of red hair and a really, really, really good-looking beard. “Battle Mage Hothor of the Hills!” Chuck said in surprise “What brings you here, old friend?” The wizard tilted his head, seemed to grow a few inches in size, and with a puzzled squint said, “I summoned you Chuck. Remember? …The letter…” “Ooooh, yes, yes, yes, you are right!” Chuck interrupted him with a laugh and an overly-obvious wink. The letter he received weeks ago asked him to travel West, to participate in the BlackSand Tournament.
At the time, Chuck was honored that Hothor had summoned him. But now that he was staring at this mountain of a wizard, he was starting to regret getting involved again with a ‘person of the hills'. “Well, Hothor my fire-bearded friend! What plans do you have for me and my filthy-familiar?” Hothor drew in a long breath. “None, Chuck. You are a Chaos Agent…” Chuck scoffed, and let out a strange choked sound that seemed to say, “BRO WTF? WHY IS THAT IMPORTANT? WHY YOU GOTTA GET PERSONAL”? Patiently, Hothor continued, “...At this moment, I cannot trust my full plan to your knowledge. Please, collect your swine and accompany me to the arena”. Chuck ran a finger and a thumb down the length of his Fu-Man-Chu, shrugged and tightened his head-band. Then he let out a loud “KI AYE!” and vaulted fifteen feet into the air.
As if in slow motion, he started to turn a backflip. But his cape floated over his head and in front of his face. Chuck was now blind as he continued his descent. He flailed in the air, and yelled out “PIGGEY SMALLS, ASSIST ME!” Before crashing into the ground…there came a deafening “SQUEEEEEE” as a tiny razor-back-piglet came running from seemingly nowhere. About ten paces before they connected, the warthog began to grow in size and Chuck landed comfortably on his back. With his cape still covering his head, Chuck looked in the opposite direction of Hothor and exclaimed, “Well mage. Now that Chuck and Piggey have arrived, I guarantee it won’t be BOARing! I will see YOU at the Black Sand Tournament!”.
Hothor shook his head slowly as he watched the two morons ride off. A tinge of doubt flashed in the back of his mind. His plan was sure to produce favorable outcomes…but anytime he dealt with this particular Chaos Agent, he had to allow for results to occur outside his control. He drew a resolute breath, set out toward the arena and was comforted by the reminder that Piggey Smalls always seemed to even the odds in Chuck’s favor. That certainly was one notorious P.I.G.
Shaman Azazel of the Astral Plane
“It is time for our next fight” Azazel announced. “I present you with Jett Apocalypse of Kobolds and Chuck Chaos Agent of the Coliseum. May the better fighter prevail!”
So the fifth fight of the BlackSand Tournament commenced.
On one side of the arena Jett was holding his massive claymore. On the other side Chuck was squatting on what barely looked like a fighting stance.
Jett spit to the ground to then lift his head and look at the people in attendance. “The crowd will be pleased once I am done with you” He said addressing his opponent. “They shall witness the power of the Burning Hand as it falls upon you!” He shouted and suddenly charged towards Chuck. His sword lifted high in the sky.
“Such strength” Archmagus Crowley observed. “I’m sorry old friend” he said to Hothor “but this doesn’t look good for your champion”. Hothor, unmoved, pointed his thumb down.
In that exact moment Jett reached Chuck and swung his long sword with extreme force. Aiming for the neck
The crowd gasped in anticipation!
But Chuck, thanks to its odd stance, managed to jump out of the way last second. “Ah ah you fool, Chuck cannot fail” Chuck shouted back.
“What a move” Crowley reacted, almost excited. This time Hothor smiled, with his thumb turning upwards.
In the pit the two fighters were now staring at each other. Studying each other’s stance. Jett was standing tall and proud. His muscular arms holding his massive weapons. Chuck was squatting low. His hands clasped together, his fingers crossed.
Out of the blue, Chuck squeaked out a high-pitch sound “KI AYE!” as he jumped up from his squat and started kicking the air. Showing off his moves.
Jeff broke out laughing. “Is this fool serious?” He charged again, this time with his shield in front and his claymore held wide on his side. “Take this!” He swung another powerful strike.
“KI AYE!” Chuck repeated, flipping his nunchaku out of nowhere. He swirled it around and managed to stop the opponent’s attack, trapping his sword.
“KI AYE” Chuck said again aiming a kick to Jett’s head. To everyone’s surprise, he hit.
Jett almost lost balance and had to step back a few feet to regain composure.
“Aaarrghh” Jett charged in rage, his pride bruised. This time his claymore hit hard. It smashed the shield that Chuck barely managed to lift from his back and put between himself and that sword.
“You can’t last much longer!” Jett yelled, swinging again. And again in rage. But he missed as Chuck backflipped in the air, regaining a safe distance.
Claps and cheers exploded from the crowd as the fight intensified.
“You still know nothing about Chuck’s moves” Chuck yelled back at his opponent, as he hanged his nunchaku to his belt and threw his broken shield to the ground. He then brought his hands together almost theatrically and squatted, closing his eyes. “The powers conferred to me will bring defeat onto you” he said, somewhat awkwardly.
This time Chuck launched the attack. He jumped up from his stance and with a few big hops he charged Jett, who was readying his shield in anticipation. “Hero-landing” Chuck shouted and kicked hard with his left leg. Jett parried easily. But that wasn’t it. Chuck quickly flipped his nunchaku from his belt and hurled it towards Jett. And he hit. A hard strike that hit Jett’s chin throwing his head backwards and pushing him to the ground. “What a hit!” Someone shouted from the crowd! “Go Chuck!” Someone else cheered in support. But at the same time a slow chant emerged “Jett, Jett, Jett” demanding Jett to stand right back up.
Blood was dripping out of Jett’s face. Unbothered, Jett spit on the ground. This time a slight smile appeared on his face. “I have to admit” he said “I underestimated you. Few warriors can hit me. Let alone make me bleed. For this I will spare your life. But now it’s time to end it!” He shouted as he started to run towards Chuck. This time he hit with his shield first, smashing it into his opponent face. Destabilized, Chuck couldn’t respond. Jett quickly swung his claymore and hit Chuck’s side with a clean strike. Chucked yelled in pain as blood started flooding out of his wound. Jett didn’t stop and swung again, this time hitting Chuck’s right calf. Another scream followed and Chuck had to let go, falling to the ground. Defeated.
The crowd exploded in chants: “Jett, Jett, Jett!”.
“What a fight” Azazel shouted. “Cheers to our new winner: Jett Apocalypse of Kobolds. Praise for the incredible fight Chuck Chaos Agent of the Coliseum.”
Entered by: 0x8717…A7A8
