EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

**Zayuz** · 2020-12-19, 08:37 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Gengy

"Your Seer is closer to the truth then you may think," Closed-Fist says, patiently. "It is about the Crimson Kingdom."

"We appreciate your willingness to listen as we decry their evils, but... I have heard stories of a party. A celebration in the Crimson King's court. These stories were told to us by a very trusted individual. That, at first, you spoke up about the evil you saw within. And then... at the urging of an elf... partook of the flesh of another able bodied, once able to speak, creature."

The Homage's voice rises in indignation, and his gaze does not leave Kylisa's face. "It is true, these many years, that the Uzii and Alqar have established a... neutrality. We do not seek any harm to befall you or your clans, and would stand to protect your people, if we saw an injustice. Regardless of the preparator. Regardless of their social standing. And I would hope your people would have done the same. To speak out, loudly and proudly, against vile deeds done to me and mine. Yet... the stories I heard were that your voice was not one of a strong Warchief, but that of a demure wife. Easily cowed by the wishes of her husband and her husband's friend."

Speaking softly, Homage Closed-Fist found himself sitting down, to look up upon the human leader who helped rid the land of the madman that once led the Alqar. "You once brought the Uzii so much hope. I even entertained the idea at one point that we might be friends. At the moment, that seems impossible; which is a pity. I have so few that I as Homage can treat as an equal. It is true, though, that we have not met in battle, Kylisa. And though I am wroth with you, I... do not wish us to fight. But I would know, now, which are you: The Wife of a warrior, or a Warrior who is a wife? And saying 'Both' is a foolish answer for a leader."

Kylisa's eyes narrow, feeling a tension welling in her chest. During his speech she gradually becomes less and less confident in her attempt at a warrior's entry to the tournament. She glances aside with what looks to be a wavering attempt not to show guilt... With arms crossed, the woman hesitates to even respond. Whoever taught her to lie did not do a good job, she's nervous that an Uzii found out about this. "Whoever you heard this from must have been watching closely, I had certainly not made a show of it... Barely enough to please. You must understand, to refuse even wicked hospitality would reflect poorly on my whole family and my liege, which happened to be everyone there. I would have rather expressed my disgust with the whole ordeal if it were in my power, but it would have been an offense grave enough to bring war not only to half of Mamut but first to Alqar given our position on the other side of the pass. You have not seen their armies; if we have a star to defend out lands, then they have a sky, all who wield weapons of metals harder and sharper than any I have seen. Their beasts climb mountains - bred and raised for war and oppression-- I... We would stand no chance."

She runs a hand through her hair, cringing even at the thought of her men attempting to take on something like that. "To make an enemy of them would have been an error of magnitudes greater than my allies would have backed me up on, for it would have been my failing to compose myself poorly in front of them... If they had not taken me for their next meal then and there, having had so little protection in what would then have become the heart of enemy territory. Fear is often attributed to weakness, but I would not have returned home to my children had I not felt it then." Taking a second to compose again, her eyes soften with her tone.

"I am not a warrior. I wish to compete to test myself, even if it has never been my lifestyle nor my desire. No lives have been taken by my hand, and they tremble if they ever are forced to take blood. If a warrior's wife that makes me, then that is my pick. I ask that you forgive my transgression against your people; every moment of it made me sick. ...I'm sorry."

Seer Makoa lingers in silence, seeming to be hearing this for the first time. She seems perturbed and somewhat shocked - particularly at the implication that all the others there all ate of Uzii flesh.

**Miltonian** · 2020-12-20, 02:44 AM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by SOSDarkPhoenix

Chepri listens closely to Thorn and nods."I'll talk to my sister a bit later. Knowing her, she's going to be competing in the fights herself, the psycho." Chepri smirks. "And don't sell yourself short. You're tougher than a lot of the people here. Not to mention, you're absolutely huge."

[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/645870319520710657/788228816618913832/Thorn.png[/img

Thorn chuckles himself. "Brave of her. I cannot imagine Zinnia or Theris doing the same. Though I can imagine Onyx trying..." A devious glint enters his eyes. "Maybe I should enter him. It'd be amusing to see an Uzii piledrive him."

He preens a little under the positive attention. "I am. And I hope that will work to my advantage."

"Oh? Looking for me, hm? Well, do tell me how I may be of service. Oh, and, yes Theris, it is indeed hard not to stare at one so.. 'majestic'." Doraan gives Theris a small wink, aiming to fluster her a bit as he focuses his gaze back on Zinnia and listens.

That does indeed fluster Theris, though she rallies quickly. She puffs up a little under the attention.

Zinnia, however, takes the lead. And perhaps to the surprise of those that know her, Theris listens and does not interject.

"Yes. Well, we have...a situation that we think your people would have an interest in." She steps back and pulls the third kobold forward. "This is Pine, an acolyte of the Trinity. A few weeks before our departure, she fell into one of the divining pools and...well"

Zinnia flicks the Ko's hood back and reveals a very attractive female with scales as gold as the sun itself. She blinks slightly in the sudden light. "As you can see," Zinnia says, "She did not emerge unchanged..."

Originally Posted by Gengy

A few guards nearby shift uncomfortably at the sight of the Ko abomination branding a blade so near their leader, but Homage Closed-Fist looks at the weapon before him, unafraid. "This... is an awful responsibility you are giving to me."

"For the safety of the other participants, I am honor bound to accept your request, but... this blade. I have heard the stories. It is cursed. Pain-Drop Redmoon would see it cleansed or destroyed, if she could. And you are just... giving it to me to find a way to sheathe it." Closed-fist shook his head slowly, deep in thought. "I don't have a way to bind this myself. Strong of arm, strong of word, and strong of deed; those things I can handle. This is... more something that one of our Shaman would have to handle."

"Deep-Sigh!" Raising his voice, the Homage calls over an older, wiser looking, Uzii; hairs beginning to turn white.

Upon seeing the Blade of Arrak-Rah, the Shaman Tusker glares at Thorn, "You brought it here? No, no, of course you did. You wouldn't want it to leave your sights."

"He wants to bind it; a sheathe of some kind." Closed-Fist explained.

"Respectable. We have no... binding, but... leather treated in the waters of the Ancestral Baths, perhaps? Yes. Strong spirits worked within the soul of the sheathe. I'd like to think that would hold back whatever foul qualities might be within the blade itself, but alas. I am being told that such a thing would only work for a few days, at best." The Shaman Tusker grumbles a bit, but does plop down on the floor, and pull a bit of leather from the pouch at his side, and eyeballs the weapon while he proceeds to sew a sheathe right in front of Thorn.

"It'll have to do," the Homage says. "Thank you, Thorn. You did not have to reveal that you had this with you, but it was the right thing to do. We will see it's magics held back for at least the few duels. Though I do wish the Ko would let us try to cleanse it."

Thorn patiently waits while they debate, then nods respectfully and puts the blade back behind him. Vines sprout from the end of his tail and reshroud it. "It's destruction is not my task at this time, only it's protection. And to protect others from its power." He sighs in relief. "I thank you for your assistance in this matter."

===========

Thorn and the Arena Floor

After having the sword ritually sealed, Thorn moves to the Arena Floor to mingle with the other combatants and maybe meet a few old friends.

**Silent_Interim** · 2020-12-20, 03:00 AM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Gengy

Spoiler: Scrim in the Scrim Annex

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"Bah-, I am just good with words as well as fists," The Homage grins. "Now, my son? Far-Reach seems like he shall be a wise leader. Already, he has gone off to make a friend, even as it leaves his beautiful wife alone with an old codger like Deep-Sigh."

Pointing out the younger Uzii across the room, Closed-Fist gazes upon him proudly as Far-Reach seems to be making conversation with some tall creature that is putting the guards on edge. Likely a hero from the north, if the Homage had to guess. "You'll let me know if the Scrim need something, yes? I will do the same for the Protectorate. For now, though, you are right. Today is a day for revelry. For what little I can do to command it, I ask you to go off and find yourself a friend as well. Maybe get to know Far-Reach or one of the other younger Tuskers. I suddenly find the idea of participating in the next Snortsmoot to be... not to my tastes. Or if you've had your fill of speaking with Uzii after so many years, try the Targiz. They've got a new girl who could use a Scrim's perspective..."

"Well, I can hardly refuse such a command from my gracious host." Loje bows before turning away and beginning to idly wander through the crowd.

As they walk, they look for the girl with the Targiz that the Homage mentioned, and upon spotting her they begin circulating their way through the press of bodies towards her. Finally, they reach her, and begin talking as though the two were already fast friends.

"You did well speaking to the Homage. He cuts an imposing figure, does he not?" They bow with a slight flourish. "I am Ambassador Loje. Who might you be?

Originally Posted by Gengy

Spoiler: Two Friends, Two Heroes

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"It is good, yes." Pain-Drop grunts, now not quite sure what to do with herself. Normally, she'd ask Tior to spar, but this was supposed to be a lite workout before the actual duels. Sparring now might reveal some of the new tricks either of the two of them had come up with. Far better to wait. That left only one thing: politics. Oh, how the Battle-Mother hated it. It's why she rebuffed Tusker Deep-Sigh's attentions so long ago, though the Shaman of Thumpstrong was certainly worthy of her. No, she needed a nice quiet mate from the Redmoon clan. The new chief there was promising; strong, yes, but he'd never become a Sounder Alpha.

So as Pain-Drop contemplated what to say about the world, she decided she really didn't want to. Something else to talk about, though... oh! That would work. "Rose-Blood!"

"Yes, Battle-Mother?" Another Female Uzii stepped out from the crowd, and though she was nearly as big as Pain-Drop, she was younger and seemed to gaze at the Champion of the Uzii with a sense of wonder.

Terse as ever, Pain-Drop pointed at her friend, and introduced them. "Tior. Warspeaker for the Scrim."

"Tior? Rose-Blood Mudmore. Daughter to the Homage. My usual sparring partner. Maybe successor, if she learns to dodge." Pain-Drop lamented the other Uzii's ability to get out of the way of simple attacks.

Rose-Blood, for her part, seemed a bit sheepish as she said, "How do you do, Warspeaker?"

Tior sizes up the slightly smaller Uzii. "Good enough, young one. Looking forward to the battles today."

They turn back to Pain-Drop. "I think I might go for a stroll. I think I saw a few members of the Ko delegation, and I hope I can find Thorn. Would you care to join me?"

**Aventine** · 2020-12-20, 06:25 AM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Gengy

Homage Closed-Fist struggles to make sense of what the Sokau leader is telling him, but keeps his voice level and calm, "It is true. The dead do not rise again, not to come back the same. So the living must rise on their behalf, when injustice is revealed. Living must rise to do the right thing, instead of laugh and jest at the misfortune of the dead. The living must show the dead the respect they deserve, for the dead are our Ancestors.

"I have been in battle. I fought against foes who could fight back. I rose up against what I viewed as wrong. I have used both my words and my spear, when the time is right. For now, that time is still with words. And I say that... you are correct, it is a poor host that insults his guests."

Eyes open, the Homage turns to the Elf in the room, "I know not the ways of your people. If you took offense from me trying to speak with the one I viewed as the leader of my Honored Foes, then accept my apologies. But understand: You know not the ways of my people either. To consume a soul? To hold on to it, only to return it when you die?"

"How will you do this, when you have only a piece of her soul? Will you go to the Hraban, and find her other half? Something no Uzii or Hraban has been able to do? Should you actually succeed: Will you then eat one of our feathered cousins too, so that you have the whole of the soul inside yourself? Or will you insist that they eat of your body, by way of apology for your robbery of their chance to meet with the one who was destined to mingle with them in the Hereafter?!"

Turning back to Sọ́gẹ Tšrãák, the Uzii leader continued, tears in his eyes, as he returned his voice to a more neutral tone, "It is a poor guest that insults their host. That you admit to eating of one of my people, rather than rising up to the injustice, saddens me greatly. Will you twist the spear, and continue to say you did it with pride, because she was already dead? Or will you at least have the dignity to offer apologies for the loss of one of ours? I will not, and shall not, raise my fist in anger this day. I have already spoken the words. You are guests. We do look forward to seeing you and yours in this, the Duel of Champions."

Openly weeping now, Homage Closed-Fist stared with conflicting feelings of sadness and anger in his eyes, "But do not think that we will just forgive insults, just because the one you insulted was already dead. Your elven friend then, by his own admission, consumed her soul, and prevented her from any semblance of honor in death!"

His voice once again rising high in indignation, Closed-Fist finds it easy to bring it down to a whisper, like a Toad suddenly deflating.

"Ãzjé, if you want to hunt, there are Bloat Toads and Swamp Cats who will be happy to give you challenge, just outside the patrols of guards keeping them away. As for you, Sọ́gẹ Tšrãák... I wish you good luck in the tournament," The Homage wipes away his tears, "But choose your next words carefully. Or just... leave from my sight, if rising to tell your host that something is wrong is too much for you."

Ãzjé shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "A soul divided is not lessened. Not any more than a fire used to start another fire is reduced by having spread. But I will leave, and look for these swamp cats and bloat toads."

Tšrãák grinds his teeth as the elf speaks, and adds his own response after Ãzjé turns to leave. "There is a darkness in the north. The flower-dragon came from the northeast. The Pupeteers cames from the northeast. The Executioners and Blackfire came from the northeast. What will come next? One day you might wake up to find us gone. Gone and replaced with these dark things. There are worse things in this world than me. And far worse neighbors!

"May the winds and currents favor you, Homage."

He turns and follows the elf away, eventually finding his way to the food hall.

**mystic1110** · 2020-12-20, 06:14 PM (ISO 8601)

Getting to Cook-Slab

It was not so much a team as it was a collective of bored individuals with their own private goals. An’Uorg had just hoaxed himself into having some help in kidnappin’ Cook-Slab, Onyx and his ladies had just conned themselves into having fun, Far-Reach and Coarse-Pond swindled themselves into an interesting honeymoon and Gorrn? Who knows.

The first step was relatively easy. Finding the place. Collectively the Gang roved and roamed around the stadium town, either bullying people, bribing them, strong-arming others, occasionally preaching at people standing on the streets about the dangers of gambling. Gorrn got into an altercation with some stranger who called him bud – Gorrn yelled at him calling him pal – the stranger irate called him friend – Gorrn then proceeded to stuff that guy into the ground. Head first.

Finally, they got the correct directions, a series of twisting turns and back tracking that led them to a large hut that was surprisingly close to the stadium itself. In hindsight, it was not a surprise – the place had to be close to where all the action was. Standing guard were a couple of burly Leavehome cousins, grimacing menacingly.

Onyx whispered to An’Uorg out of ear-shot of the others

“I have a question, say we get into the den, and through the guards there and down to the basement through the door we can’t open, and past the other guards with the swords, and into the office that we can’t get into”

An’Uorg replied

“without being seen by his mother”

“what?”

“Yeah, sorry forgot to mention that”

“So, well, let’s say that we do all that. . . uh. . . we are just supposed to walk out of there with Cook-Slab and some money”

“Yeah”

“Hell Yeah!”

Meanwhile Far-Reach and Coarse-Pond, who thought they were working on an international criminal investigation motioned to the others that they got this.

Far-Reach and Coarse-Pond approached the Leavehome guards who stopped them immediately as they were clearly above this gambling den and did not belong.

The cousins stopped in their tracks though when they fully realized that Coarse-Pond was smoking – their mouths were agape.

Far-Reach yelled at them.

Shut your mouths you animals! Have you no shame in front of a lady? Your ancestors would be ashamed.

Oh yeah? What do you know about our ancestors.

Silence Leavehomes! I know everything there is to know about your pathetic clan! I am the Shaman of the Mudmore Clan! You know who I am!

The cousins are confused and frightened, of course they knew or the oldest son of the Homage, only fourteen and already thought of the next homage.

w. . wh . . what are you doing here?

That is for me to know and for your to find out! Run along to your mama!

B. . bu. . . but she’s inside.

Huh, I’ll deal with her and the shame she and her son is bringing upon the Uzii, run along to . . . I don’t care. Run along!

w. . wh. . what if we say no?

Course-Pond cracked her beautiful knuckles and suddenly the guards did not want to find out how the future wife of the future homage could fight.

Tails between their legs the guards fled leaving the door open for the group to make their way inside.

Well done my love! Now lets see what's in this wretched hive of scum and villainy

Inside the gambling den seemed even larger than it did on the outside. It was a two-floored hut, but the second floor was just a gallery walkway that allowed guards to look down on the tables. There were about twenty green dice tables and there were two bars on opposite ends of the den providing drinks to all. There were also scantily clad Uzii girls around, a fact that must have outraged Far-Reach, but he was also mollified given that even among these strumpets, Coarse-Pond was clearly the hottest girl around – many other Uzii eyes stopped in their gambling and followed her around the room.

Opposite of the entrance was a heavily guarded door that seemed to lead into a basement – the cellar of the gambling den and where they would find the door to Cook-Slab’s office.

All they had to do was lure as many guards from this entrance as possible. The immediate plan was for Onyx to win too much at dice and draw away some.

Onyx asked An’uorg how he was supposed to win at Kursaal dice. He didn’t even know the rules.

An’uorg sighed and started to explain

“You look down, they know you're lying and up, they know you don't know the truth. Don't use seven words when four will do. Don't shift your weight, look always at your marks but don't stare, be specific but not memorable, be funny but don't make them laugh. The other players got to like you then forget you the moment you've left their side. And for Flower’s sake, whatever you do, don't, under any circumstances...”

That was when Far-Reach called out to An’Uorg to point at the other guards positioned around the casino. Onyx called out “For Flower’s sake what?!” but An’Uorg was already out of ear shot.

Onyx muttered

“Forget this – I don’t need flashy tricks here! I’m rich!”

He proceeded to walk down to the nearest painted green Kursaal dice table and piled a huge pile of gems from his pouch onto the table.

“Deal me in”

he spoke with the bravado that comes with being richer than everyone else. His companion’s looked at him crossly and then around the room scanning for the guards that were sure to have their eye on the young master, especially as he flaunted his wealth.

The dealer rolled the dice for the house, Onyx and the other player – sort of obviously Onyx yawned and accidentally slipped some gems towards the dealer who took the hint and slammed the table just before declaring the final dice rolls. The dealer was used to this type of bribery and the table slam was perfectly performed giving Onyx a winning roll.

“Look at that? Beginner’s luck!”

The other player an bereft Uzii with rotten luck grumbled but seemed resigned to his fate. Half the Uzii guards around the gambling den perked up their ears and began eyeing the table.

“One more game my friend!”

The dealer rolled again and Onyx coughed and slipped another gem to the dealer who hit the table with his hips to cause one dice to land on a four instead of a one causing Onyx to get the highest hand – a straight kill!

At this, half the guards started moving towards Onyx knowing he was cheating and Onyx his mission accomplished smiled and told his companions it was time to leave and run! The guards followed, but he easily avoided them out on the streets and he backtracked to the meeting place the group agreed on.

As guards departed towards Onyx’s table, Far-Reach pointed out to An’Uorg, the entrance towards the basement and the first step towards Cook-Slab’s office. Guarding it were a couple more guards that it seemed they would have to deceive or beat up, but most problematically there was a large Uzii woman who was patrolling the den and seemed to be in charge. She was the crooked Denmother Bent-Mum Leavehome. Getting past her would take more than muscle . . . it was going to take charm . . . .

**Torv** · 2020-12-21, 09:42 AM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Gengy

Spoiler: The Ugly Elf

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Sea-Born Clearspring was a Clan Chief of the Clearfang Snort. He and his Clan was here to help the Rocktusks patrol the swamp nearest the southern waters for the Duel of Champions. It was mostly boring work, but Sea-Born was smart enough to know that it was important work. Swampum was not kind to visitors, which was why visitors often struggled to see the beauty in the Uzii's home. Sea-Born didn't understand that. What was not to like? The clear greenish waters, the blue trees, the sounds of Bloat Toads in the distance, challenging everyone to survive...

Honestly, Sea-Born was just so happy to be alive.

"Chief!" One of his warriors shouted, "Somethin's coming!"

Grunting his acknowledgement, Sea-Born checked to make sure his warriors were properly equipped and not slacking. Thirty years ago, he would have found Uzii on the ground, lazily scratching themselves, or fighting with each other, their spears out of reach. Homage Closed-Fist had really shaped things up. Sea-Born still saw some Uzii scratching themselves, and a pair of his brothers from his own Den were tussling a little, but everyone still had their spears in reach, and there was nothing lazy about any of them. Well, except for old No-Sleep Clearspring. The aged Shaman never got any rest, so he was constantly taking naps.

Stepping forward, Sea-Born grasped his spear and silently motioned for everyone to form up. His Clansmen spread out into a uniform half-circle, ready to take on whatever threat was coming. The scouts and spear-tossers got into good spots in the gnarled branches of nearby trees.

"What do we got, Splash-Well?" Sea-Born asked the Uzii who'd spotted something.

"Dunno, Chief. Sounds like somethin' being chased by Bloat Toad. Can hear thumps."

"Swamp Cat?"

"Maybe."

"Chief!" One of the scouts called out from up high, "It grey, like goliath, but small, like human."

Sea-Born cursed, "Blight! A guest! Someone wake up No-Sleep. We get to tussle today, boys!"

Now clear on what they needed to do, everyone was at full readiness. The... very odd guest... ran up to them, looking haggard and lost, and... more than a little ugly. A few of the Clan encircled the guest, to make sure they were protected. The rest of the patrol could hear the thumps of the Bloat Toad now, as it came towards them. It landed in the clearing, surrounded by Uzii. Sea-Born could see that it had scars from fighting with Uzii before. An older wild Toad, then. Not even afraid of the true predators of Swampum, as it had likely faced Uzii before and lived.

"Ruttin' blighted rutter, come and get some! CLEARSPRING!" Sea-Born swore colorfully, even as he ordered the attack.

His warriors answered, charging forward, "FOR THE CLAN!"

It was a rough fight. The rutting Bloat Toad was full of tricks, for being so old and wild. Several Uzii were battered and bruised, as the creature bucked and spun. Spears flew and the toad bled, but it wasn't enough. Sea-Born had almost been caught by the thing's tongue, when suddenly No-Sleep had showed up, and pushed the Chief out of the way. Chief and Shaman had time to look at each other one last time, before the aged man was half inside the Bloat Toad's mouth, his final scream one of defiance as his old staff had still managed to swing out and blind the Toad on the right, jabbing it in the eye even as No-Sleep was fully pulled into the hungry beast's maw.

There was a moment of silence and disbelief, where the Toad croaked uncaringly.

Enraged, the entire Clan roared and jumped the creature, impossibly weighing it down, stabbing it over and over again. It let out one last mournful croak, and thumped to the ground in defeat and death.

"Blighter," Sea-Born kicked the corpse of the Bloat-Toad, even as he wept from the loss of his Clan's Shaman. No-Sleep would at least get some rest in the Hereafter. Turning to the Uzii who had surrounded the guest, he called out, "Guest better be rutting safe!"

"Guest safe, Chief."
"Guest super safe, Chief."
"Guest... odd, Chief."

The three Uzii called back.

"Very odd, Chief."
"Very super odd, Chief."
"Look... wrong, Chief."
"Yeah, wrong."
"Super ugly."
"Twisted."
"Big... ears."
"Super big ears?"
"BIG BIG EARS!"
"Elf?"
"ELF. Super sure!"
"CHIEF, IT AN ELF!"

Oh Blightspawn. We just lost our Shaman for a ruttin' ELF? Sea-Born motioned for his patrol to form up, even as four of his Clan grabbed the corpse of the Bloat Toad. They'd take this Blighted flower-rutter straight to the Homage, and demand the right to kill it. For No-Sleep.

"To the Scrim Annex, boys. We let the Homage deal with this..." Sea-Born spit on the ground before uttering the another word, somehow making it also sound like a curse, "Guest."

The Clearspring Clan surrounded the 'elf' and began to 'escort' him to the Annex.

Something moved in the periphery, focusing his vision a gang of smaller creatures suddenly appeared in front of him. They were approaching quickly, or was he still running. Right, the impenetrable toad. Run. The creatures, stop. Thump. Never mind, run! Ow, what in the cave in?

Londkannuaur looked up and saw a pair of very hairy legs tower over him. Still trying to run on all fours while laying on the ground he flailed around a bit before regaining his composure and slowly stood up. In so doing he got a clear look at the creature, it had a similar face to the furred beasts he had encountered on his last journey but were much smaller. More interestingly it held a spear, not a creature then but an islander. Noting the distinct lack of sharp stabbing pains, Londkannuaur sighed in relief.

FOR THE CLAN! Wincing he sunk down on his knees and covered his ears, what followed were an unordinary amount of screaming, shouting and roaring. Turning his head around to look for a way away from this madness Londkannuaur noticed that he was encircled by furry legs and probably had been for some time. With nowhere to go he witnessed the fluffy islanders furiously stab at the toad, to no avail. Until a whole bunch of them simultaneously jumped it. With the toad letting out one last croak the islanders began talking.

The ones closest to him chattered some, only to suddenly start shouting again. All the obnoxiously loud islanders looked at him and then promptly surrounded him for no apparent reason. With the toad’s fate fresh in memory Londkannuaur deemed it best to do as they wanted and walked with them, receiving more than a few menacingly glares.

After a few days of walking the march came to a halt, he must have slept more than once, inexplicably skipping forward to new trees during the walk. Yet it seemed to still be night and he could see fresh wounds from the toad, weird. Were the captors able to jump between places?

Marvelling at the building in front of him he lost the thought. Built upwards by smooth rocks it was unlike anything he had seen before and some of the stone even walked! The furry islanders were capable of truly amazing feats. Their weird language worried him though, where exactly was he and was he even awake? Seeing a plethora of weird items and strange people all interacting in a seemingly peaceful manner only strengthened his suspicion that this wasn’t real, as he entered the annex.

**Gengy** · 2020-12-21, 10:58 AM (ISO 8601)

((NON-ROLEPLAY POST.))

Official Duel of Champions Tournament Bracket!
Participants have had their opponents randomized by a computer. "Aspirants" are replaceable with late entries. "Aspirant #1" is tentatively Alhambra played by C'nor.

Spoiler: Round 1

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As Round 1 has the most participants, the Deadline to Roll for Round 1's matches will be Saturday, the 26th, at 10pm EST.

Failure to roll by a Deadline time will result in a (-2) penalty if/when Gengy has to roll for you.

All official Duel rolls may be effected by Cultural Identities, Tech Bonuses, Faith Bonuses, etc. If you're not sure: ask.

Once you and your opponent have both rolled, it is acceptable (and encouraged!) that someone writes up the match for public viewing! Please speak with your opponent to collaborate on who is doing the write-up (or both work together, of course!)

Deadlines:

Round 1 - Saturday, 26th
Round 2 - Tuesday, 29th
Round 3 - Thursday, 31st
Finals - Saturday, Jan 2nd

(All Deadline times are for 10pm EST, that day. Preferably, all matches for a round are written up during the round so as to not confuse readers. Thanks!)

**mystic1110** · 2020-12-21, 11:43 AM (ISO 8601)

Food Hall

As the nameless merchant apprentice heads off to the Food Hall on the Homage's suggestion Ambassador Loje clapped their stony hand on her back causing her to stumble forward. She looked up at the Ambassador and was nervous at being next to another person of such stature.

Eh, what, what I do, don't hu, oh, um . . . Hi, yeah he's very . . . Big. Good big, not bad big, Big as in good. Right?

**Gengy** · 2020-12-21, 12:50 PM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Honored Foe's Retreat

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Originally Posted by Aventine

Ãzjé shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "A soul divided is not lessened. Not any more than a fire used to start another fire is reduced by having spread. But I will leave, and look for these swamp cats and bloat toads."

Tšrãák grinds his teeth as the elf speaks, and adds his own response after Ãzjé turns to leave. "There is a darkness in the north. The flower-dragon came from the northeast. The Pupeteers cames from the northeast. The Executioners and Blackfire came from the northeast. What will come next? One day you might wake up to find us gone. Gone and replaced with these dark things. There are worse things in this world than me. And far worse neighbors!

"May the winds and currents favor you, Homage."

He turns and follows the elf away, eventually finding his way to the food hall.

The Homage gazes upon Tsraak as the leader of the Sokau leaves the Scrim Annex. Now alone, he quietly asks the sky, "Grandfather, would you have even given them this chance?"

Closed-Fist snaps his fingers for a cloth, and uses it to clear the fur under his eyes. He then looks at the Uzii that brought him the cloth; one of his own Clan. They have a question in their eyes, mixed with anger.

Homage Closed-Fist looks at them, then at the empty space where the Sokau's leader once stood, and back to his Clansman... and slowly nods.

No apologies given. Just excuses of dangers; dangers that are ever present. So be it.

Discussions must be had. Plans must be made. Other plans must be examined. Such things would be for after the tournament, though.

Spoiler: Homage and Warchief

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Originally Posted by Zayuz

Kylisa's eyes narrow, feeling a tension welling in her chest. During his speech she gradually becomes less and less confident in her attempt at a warrior's entry to the tournament. She glances aside with what looks to be a wavering attempt not to show guilt... With arms crossed, the woman hesitates to even respond. Whoever taught her to lie did not do a good job, she's nervous that an Uzii found out about this. "Whoever you heard this from must have been watching closely, I had certainly not made a show of it... Barely enough to please. You must understand, to refuse even wicked hospitality would reflect poorly on my whole family and my liege, which happened to be everyone there. I would have rather expressed my disgust with the whole ordeal if it were in my power, but it would have been an offense grave enough to bring war not only to half of Mamut but first to Alqar given our position on the other side of the pass. You have not seen their armies; if we have a star to defend out lands, then they have a sky, all who wield weapons of metals harder and sharper than any I have seen. Their beasts climb mountains - bred and raised for war and oppression-- I... We would stand no chance."

She runs a hand through her hair, cringing even at the thought of her men attempting to take on something like that. "To make an enemy of them would have been an error of magnitudes greater than my allies would have backed me up on, for it would have been my failing to compose myself poorly in front of them... If they had not taken me for their next meal then and there, having had so little protection in what would then have become the heart of enemy territory. Fear is often attributed to weakness, but I would not have returned home to my children had I not felt it then." Taking a second to compose again, her eyes soften with her tone.

"I am not a warrior. I wish to compete to test myself, even if it has never been my lifestyle nor my desire. No lives have been taken by my hand, and they tremble if they ever are forced to take blood. If a warrior's wife that makes me, then that is my pick. I ask that you forgive my transgression against your people; every moment of it made me sick. ...I'm sorry."

Seer Makoa lingers in silence, seeming to be hearing this for the first time. She seems perturbed and somewhat shocked - particularly at the implication that all the others there all ate of Uzii flesh.

The Homage listened patiently, and when Kylisa finally finished, slowly nodded. "For Lady Merine... we will accept your apology. For your honesty, with me, but also with yourself... I say you are wrong. You are more of a warrior than your husband and liege, who not too long ago, looked me in the eyes, and gave me petty excuses rather than any form of contrition. A warrior does not run from their responsibilities. They accept them. They stand up for what they have done."

"The don't shout of danger elsewhere, and run from the danger right in front of them." Closed-Fist's eyes look to the empty doorway, clearly lost in thought for a bit. When he comes back, his gaze has hardened.

"I won't presume to tell you what to do, Warchief. Know that I am still vexed by your choices, but you have owned them, and made them yours. I respect that, even as I disparage the very choices that brought you to this situation. The Crimson Kingdom is not an insurmountable mountain, no matter what their borders look like. I hope you will remember that. I hope you will gather your armies, for when the Elven King decides to stop playing nice and begins to eat of the flesh of our nations themselves." Homage Closed-Fist looks over at Seer Makoa, and nods respectfully, "I am no Seer. But I know danger. I know a threat when I see one. I will not ignore the plight of the weak, but neither will I seek to reinforce the strong if they do not ask for it. If you run into a host that forces you to choose between your morals and hospitality again..."

"Remember the Uzii. We cannot be allies. But we can be friends." The Homage slowly grins, and looks over his shoulder, eyes momentarily falling on a large Uzii woman chatting with another guest: Sing-Axe Muddeep, the Homage's mate. "And also remember: Our fiercest warriors are often the women we so desperately protect. Regardless of my question, a Warrior's Wife is nothing to be ashamed of."

Spoiler: A Thorn at our Side

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Originally Posted by Miltonian

Thorn patiently waits while they debate, then nods respectfully and puts the blade back behind him. Vines sprout from the end of his tail and reshroud it. "It's destruction is not my task at this time, only it's protection. And to protect others from its power." He sighs in relief. "I thank you for your assistance in this matter."

As Deep-Sigh finishes his work, Closed-Fist looks up at the Ko's great beast of a Hero, "Thank you for your trust in us to do so. I look forward to your matches... should you be fortunate enough to have more than one!"

Spoiler: Two Friends, Two Heroes

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Originally Posted by Silent_Interim

Tior sizes up the slightly smaller Uzii. "Good enough, young one. Looking forward to the battles today."

They turn back to Pain-Drop. "I think I might go for a stroll. I think I saw a few members of the Ko delegation, and I hope I can find Thorn. Would you care to join me?"

"Thorn's here?" Pain-Drop pauses. She has... memories of traveling with the large Ko creature. Some of them are even fond. Light teasing. Jokes shared between friends. Battles fought side by side.

Some of them less fond. Arguments had. Points of view that cannot be changed. Spars that turned a bit too violent. Watching the creature take the Blade home to his lands, to have the Ko investigate it... rather then doing what Pain-Drop wanted: destroying it. Or at least cleansing it of it's tainted nature.

Still, Thorn made for a valuable friend, and was resilient for a warrior. Ultimately, Pain-Drop nods her agreement. And that's all that need be said. She looks over at Rose-Blood, then at the stones on the ground, and watches the younger Uzii sigh and begin to pick up the rocks to train herself.

"Let's go," Pain-Drop walks towards Tior.

Spoiler: Is Elf?

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Originally Posted by Torv

Something moved in the periphery, focusing his vision a gang of smaller creatures suddenly appeared in front of him. They were approaching quickly, or was he still running. Right, the impenetrable toad. Run. The creatures, stop. Thump. Never mind, run! Ow, what in the cave in?

Londkannuaur looked up and saw a pair of very hairy legs tower over him. Still trying to run on all fours while laying on the ground he flailed around a bit before regaining his composure and slowly stood up. In so doing he got a clear look at the creature, it had a similar face to the furred beasts he had encountered on his last journey but were much smaller. More interestingly it held a spear, not a creature then but an islander. Noting the distinct lack of sharp stabbing pains, Londkannuaur sighed in relief.

FOR THE CLAN! Wincing he sunk down on his knees and covered his ears, what followed were an unordinary amount of screaming, shouting and roaring. Turning his head around to look for a way away from this madness Londkannuaur noticed that he was encircled by furry legs and probably had been for some time. With nowhere to go he witnessed the fluffy islanders furiously stab at the toad, to no avail. Until a whole bunch of them simultaneously jumped it. With the toad letting out one last croak the islanders began talking.

The ones closest to him chattered some, only to suddenly start shouting again. All the obnoxiously loud islanders looked at him and then promptly surrounded him for no apparent reason. With the toad’s fate fresh in memory Londkannuaur deemed it best to do as they wanted and walked with them, receiving more than a few menacingly glares.

After a few days of walking the march came to a halt, he must have slept more than once, inexplicably skipping forward to new trees during the walk. Yet it seemed to still be night and he could see fresh wounds from the toad, weird. Were the captors able to jump between places?

Marvelling at the building in front of him he lost the thought. Built upwards by smooth rocks it was unlike anything he had seen before and some of the stone even walked! The furry islanders were capable of truly amazing feats. Their weird language worried him though, where exactly was he and was he even awake? Seeing a plethora of weird items and strange people all interacting in a seemingly peaceful manner only strengthened his suspicion that this wasn’t real, as he entered the annex.

A clansman warrior taps on the Homage's shoulder as he is politely speaking with another guest, only to direct Closed-Fist's attention towards the front door. Is that the Clearspring Clan? I thought they were on patrol several hours out?

Excusing himself from his current conversation, Closed-Fist walks over to the Chief of the Clearsprings. Sea-Thorn? Sea-Mourne? Sea-Born! That's right. Sea-Born. Closed-Fist had met him years ago, when he'd needed to personally go to the Clearspring Clan to explain why the Rules for Punching Others was important.

It had been a short... conversation.

"Chief." Closed-Fist acknowledged him.

"Homage," Sea-Born said, much more respectfully.

"What do you have for me?"

"Homage, is..." Sea-Born looked around the room, before pointing behind himself and lowering his voice to a terrible facsimile of what he must have thought a whisper sounded like, "...is an ELF."

Oh Ancestors. This was gonna get stupid, real quick. Homage Closed-Fist looked behind Sea-Born and... did not see an elf. He didn't know what he was looking at, but that... that was not an elf. It did have big ears, and was a bit on the... unkempt... side of things, but... was not an elf. Grey, like a Goliath, the creature seemed worse for the wear.

"Chief."

"Yes, Homage?"

"Where is your Clan Shaman?"

Chief Sea-Born hesitated, and looked a little sad, before answering, "Bloat Toad's stomach, Homage. Died with honor. Saved my life. We will feast in No-Sleep's name!"

"The ruttin' elf led the toad straight to us. Pardon my Swampum."

Well. That explained that. With no Shaman, and no one else to tell them different, Sea-Born had made the best decision he could: bring the creature here.

"I'll take it from here, Chief. Go to the Food Hall, and rest your men. Feast for a couple hours in memory of your Shaman. I'll send someone from the Rocktusk Snort to come find you, and tell you when it's time to go back on patrol. Good job." Sea-Born slammed his fist onto his armor, as he and his Clan stepped away from the decrepit creature. A Mudmore guard stepped closer, clearly cautious, but the 'elf' was no longer surrounded by an 'honor guard'.

Calling for food, water, and a translator, Homage Closed-Fist personally helped the creature to eat and drink before asking, "Stranger, I am Homage Closed-Fist Mudmore, leader of the Uzii Protectorate of Mamut. May I know your name?"

The translator's words were in a language Closed-Fist had never heard before, which caused the Uzii ruler to mentally curse once more at the Truthseers and Dreamspeakers for their withheld secrets. His face, however, was one of kindness; as best as he could make it at least.

**mystic1110** · 2020-12-21, 03:11 PM (ISO 8601)

Arena Floor

Ces kneeled to grab a fistful of mud from the arena floor before the tournament commenced. He let the ball of wet dirt slide through his fingers. It felt good to be back in Swampum. He smiled and looked up and his smile quickly slid off his face just like the mud from his hands. Merine was standing in the center of the Arena talking with a young man. They hugged and the young man departed leaving her alone. He hadn't seen her for eight years, not since the dinner at which he had lost his mind. Four years of madness followed by four years of self-imposed exile. What would he say to her? She tried to steer him onto the correct path but he couldn't hear her at the moment. He sighed - one thing that Deep-Sigh taught him was that you had to accept the past. The past is always with you but it didn't have to chain you. You wear your past like a second skin. Sometimes you just need to take a bath.

He slowly approached Merine and called out.

Lady Merine

As her snakes and face turned to face him he bowed his head with shame and remorse. He was older now, far older, but incomparably more lucid - he stood grey haired and weather lined in stark contrast to the ever youthful medusa. He speaks with a gravely voice - trying not to break.

I'm sorry.

**Torv** · 2020-12-21, 03:18 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Gengy

Spoiler: The Unkempt Not-Elf

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A clansman warrior taps on the Homage's shoulder as he is politely speaking with another guest, only to direct Closed-Fist's attention towards the front door. Is that the Clearspring Clan? I thought they were on patrol several hours out?

Excusing himself from his current conversation, Closed-Fist walks over to the Chief of the Clearsprings. Sea-Thorn? Sea-Mourne? Sea-Born! That's right. Sea-Born. Closed-Fist had met him years ago, when he'd needed to personally go to the Clearspring Clan to explain why the Rules for Punching Others was important.

It had been a short... conversation.

"Chief." Closed-Fist acknowledged him.

"Homage," Sea-Born said, much more respectfully.

"What do you have for me?"

"Homage, is..." Sea-Born looked around the room, before pointing behind himself and lowering his voice to a terrible facsimile of what he must have thought a whisper sounded like, "...is an ELF."

Oh Ancestors. This was gonna get stupid, real quick. Homage Closed-Fist looked behind Sea-Born and... did not see an elf. He didn't know what he was looking at, but that... that was not an elf. It did have big ears, and was a bit on the... unkempt... side of things, but... was not an elf. Grey, like a Goliath, the creature seemed worse for the wear.

"Chief."

"Yes, Homage?"

"Where is your Clan Shaman?"

Chief Sea-Born hesitated, and looked a little sad, before answering, "Bloat Toad's stomach, Homage. Died with honor. Saved my life. We will feast in No-Sleep's name!"

"The ruttin' elf led the toad straight to us. Pardon my Swampum."

Well. That explained that. With no Shaman, and no one else to tell them different, Sea-Born had made the best decision he could: bring the creature here.

"I'll take it from here, Chief. Go to the Food Hall, and rest your men. Feast for a couple hours in memory of your Shaman. I'll send someone from the Rocktusk Snort to come find you, and tell you when it's time to go back on patrol. Good job." Sea-Born slammed his fist onto his armor, as he and his Clan stepped away from the decrepit creature. A Mudmore guard stepped closer, clearly cautious, but the 'elf' was no longer surrounded by an 'honor guard'.

Calling for food, water, and a translator, Homage Closed-Fist personally helped the creature to eat and drink before asking, "Stranger, I am Homage Closed-Fist Mudmore, leader of the Uzii Protectorate of Mamut. May I know your name?"

The translator's words were in a language Closed-Fist had never heard before, which caused the Uzii ruler to mentally curse once more at the Truthseers and Dreamspeakers for their withheld secrets. His face, however, was one of kindness; as best as he could make it at least.

Hearing more chatter in different tongues as they walked through the massive hall Londkannuaur recoiled when he suddenly was standing in the open, no longer surrounded. At the sight of food and clean water he forgot whatever precautions it was he had been thinking about. Devouring the offerings at first, he felt the food return an extra time to his mouth, before gingerly continuing to eat it with the blessed islander’s help.

Hearing a voice speak in his own tongue he recognized the tone all too well. Spinning his head around he soon saw the source, a narrator, sticking out from the other islanders. Not a dream then, or if so a nightmare. Shoreless people, trying to get him to settle down with children. Never.

Contemplating on the translated words the Uzii? in front of him was clearly important and as such he bowed deeply, never breaking eye contact, by rotating his neck until the chin were above his spine. Straightening out he responded in a raspy voice, the truthseer pausing for a moment before translating.

I am Know-Land, sailor of the Smithscouts, coming from Glow-Rock in the Daezirn Isles. This is a mighty island you are in charge of, may I ask where Mamut lies in relation to the other Isles?

Londkannuaur closed his mouth, swaying a bit before continuing to eat. Silently wondering how all this magic was possible and why the narrators never had spoken of it, while his eyelids flickered.

**Epinephrine_Syn** · 2020-12-21, 08:23 PM (ISO 8601)

Goblin.

Goblin is goblin. Personified. Short, ugly, charred black skin. Perhaps meaningfully charred and scarred, given that normally Goblin skin is green. If one looks close they can see some hint of the green skin that might have been there once. Goblin wears a large cloak concealing most of goblin’s body, and has made a name for himself in Mamut and even continents beyond like Tarandi and Sikar, by using great strength to leap wild bounds at once. In those travels, goblin is often the first and goblin that people have ever encountered, and goblin meets the tales they have heard appropriately.

Long gone are the days when goblin cried about being labeled revolting, marred in the dirt, cast aside. Where goblin’s people were seen as wretches, and the ugliest little goblin was seen as too horrid even for that. Goblin was proud, and inspire people to be proud of goblin. Over all the long years upon which it sure seemed like goblin should have died of old age, but that may just be the rumors spreading so far that people don’t remember when they originated. Goblin had done many great things for people, and had embodied goblin nature itself, associating the goblin hideousness with the good deeds. Of course, a lot of it was just venting anger and having a good time, but goblin finds it much more impressive to tell people the deeds were purely motivated by being noble.

Now goblin comes to tournament, big gathering of punching Uzii, and many other contestants. Of the many species goblin has seen in goblin’s long years, sired children with, and beaten to bloody pulps half as ugly as goblin, the Uzii were some of the people goblin respected the most. Uzii punch. Uzii don’t judge, at least not based on superficial nitpicks. So when goblin heard that Uzii were holding a tournament based on who could punch hardest, goblin decided to join.

Technically, goblin primarily kicked (hands good for crafting, too good to risk in beatdowns), but goblin knew from past experience the Uzii did not mind the difference.

This is how goblin came to be standing on top of Stareyes Fightwell right outside the arena, holding up the Uzii’s hammer proudly like it was a trophy. Goblin arrived late to the tournament, and had a Fight with one of the contestants, proving himself to be stronger puncher.

  “So, now that we’ve had our agreed upon duel decided, who does goblin have to talk to to fight the other contestants?“

**Ausar** · 2020-12-21, 08:47 PM (ISO 8601)

The Deru-Illian arrival was an ordered affair. Esfrey and Onfroy lead the procession, Onfroy slowly flexing his right side thorns as he steadies Esfrey through the mud with his left arm. Onfroy's eyes are a deep stained red, tiny thorns forming red petal outlines on his cheeks and forehead. He carries no weapons. He needs none. Esfrey is decked out in full battle-dress, with spear, sling & khopesh close to hand. The outfit lacks jewelled adornments, with only the Circlet of Leaf and Chain to mark her out as the ruler of Deru & Illian alike. Behind the pair walks Norren the Mortal, with two of his pups at his shoulders. The old dog-man's body seems more scar than hair, and he struts like a true dilettante, sniffing at the scent of meat wafting by. Behind the Illians come three Deru - the diminutive (for a Deru) Asha-Shuran, the towering Iran-Gelta and the stooping old Eagna-Vitur. Eagna herds 3 stags with strikingly beautiful antlers, and 10 lightly-armoured dog-men of Norren's pack bring up the rear.

It takes less than five minutes of regal walking after nobly (and a little stiffly) greeting Closed-Fist and Far-Reach for Esfrey to tire of the show, dashing off with Onfroy practically flowing through the undergrowth behind her, smooth and deadly. She heads for Zinnia, eager to see a fabled little-dragon in the scales, while Onfroy makes for the duelling arena - win or lose, he aims to learn. The gift of the Corpse Flower has given him immense natural strength and dexterity, as well as his thorns, but he lacks combat experience. Still seething over his father's failure to the west, he forces a thorny grin - mock fighting will have to suffice for now.

Esfrey & The Little Dragon

With Norren at her heels the young Caretaker roams the grounds seeking Zinnia of the Ko. Upon laying eyes on the red-scaled wonder, Esfrey hurries up to the palanquin and plants her spear tip-down in the dirt. "Towerlady Zinnia! I-" she bows "-am Esfrey, Caretaker of the Deru & Chosen of Illia. And you..." - she breaks off for a moment, eyes still savouring the scales - "...I would like your advice on a matter my charming godfather here (she rolls her eyes at Norren, reclining against a boulder a few metres back) keeps grumbling about. I have heard that the Ko live under the earth. The Mortal's packs are in need of more hunting grounds. They live on the earth - under the sky." Esfrey frowns for a moment, trying very hard not to forget anything. "If your people live under the earth, and Norren's packs hunt above the earth, then your land would have space for Norren's packs!" She beams, quite pleased at remembering it all. "So, what do you think! Can the packs live on your lands?"

Behind her, Norren covers his eyes with a well-clawed paw.

**Gengy** · 2020-12-22, 10:33 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Stranger from a Strange Land

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Originally Posted by Torv

Hearing more chatter in different tongues as they walked through the massive hall Londkannuaur recoiled when he suddenly was standing in the open, no longer surrounded. At the sight of food and clean water he forgot whatever precautions it was he had been thinking about. Devouring the offerings at first, he felt the food return an extra time to his mouth, before gingerly continuing to eat it with the blessed islander’s help.

Hearing a voice speak in his own tongue he recognized the tone all too well. Spinning his head around he soon saw the source, a narrator, sticking out from the other islanders. Not a dream then, or if so a nightmare. Shoreless people, trying to get him to settle down with children. Never.

Contemplating on the translated words the Uzii? in front of him was clearly important and as such he bowed deeply, never breaking eye contact, by rotating his neck until the chin were above his spine. Straightening out he responded in a raspy voice, the truthseer pausing for a moment before translating.

I am Know-Land, sailor of the Smithscouts, coming from Glow-Rock in the Daezirn Isles. This is a mighty island you are in charge of, may I ask where Mamut lies in relation to the other Isles?

Londkannuaur closed his mouth, swaying a bit before continuing to eat. Silently wondering how all this magic was possible and why the narrators never had spoken of it, while his eyelids flickered.

The Homage awaits the translator's words, and then replies, "You appear confused, stranger. You are in the land of Swampum, which is but a small part of Mamut, and though it is indeed mighty, Mamut is no island. It takes months to walk from one known coast line of the Vast Ocean to the other Unexplored Sea. The nearest known islands are far to the north and east, some weeks of sailing along the Vast Ocean's shores. The Sokau could perhaps travel faster, but... We know not their ways. It is crude, but I could have a map brought to you. Then you could perhaps show me where the Daezirn Isles are? One of the foreign lands?"

Spoiler: The Goblin Understands

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Originally Posted by Epinephrine_Syn

Goblin.

Goblin is goblin. Personified. Short, ugly, charred black skin. Perhaps meaningfully charred and scarred, given that normally Goblin skin is green. If one looks close they can see some hint of the green skin that might have been there once. Goblin wears a large cloak concealing most of goblin’s body, and has made a name for himself in Mamut and even continents beyond like Tarandi and Sikar, by using great strength to leap wild bounds at once. In those travels, goblin is often the first and goblin that people have ever encountered, and goblin meets the tales they have heard appropriately.

Long gone are the days when goblin cried about being labeled revolting, marred in the dirt, cast aside. Where goblin’s people were seen as wretches, and the ugliest little goblin was seen as too horrid even for that. Goblin was proud, and inspire people to be proud of goblin. Over all the long years upon which it sure seemed like goblin should have died of old age, but that may just be the rumors spreading so far that people don’t remember when they originated. Goblin had done many great things for people, and had embodied goblin nature itself, associating the goblin hideousness with the good deeds. Of course, a lot of it was just venting anger and having a good time, but goblin finds it much more impressive to tell people the deeds were purely motivated by being noble.

Now goblin comes to tournament, big gathering of punching Uzii, and many other contestants. Of the many species goblin has seen in goblin’s long years, sired children with, and beaten to bloody pulps half as ugly as goblin, the Uzii were some of the people goblin respected the most. Uzii punch. Uzii don’t judge, at least not based on superficial nitpicks. So when goblin heard that Uzii were holding a tournament based on who could punch hardest, goblin decided to join.

Technically, goblin primarily kicked (hands good for crafting, too good to risk in beatdowns), but goblin knew from past experience the Uzii did not mind the difference.

This is how goblin came to be standing on top of Stareyes Fightwell right outside the arena, holding up the Uzii’s hammer proudly like it was a trophy. Goblin arrived late to the tournament, and had a Fight with one of the contestants, proving himself to be stronger puncher.

  “So, now that we’ve had our agreed upon duel decided, who does goblin have to talk to to fight the other contestants?“

Battered and bruised, the former aspirant to the tournament acknowledges his loss by pointing towards the Scrim Annex. Star-Eyes Fightwell says, "Speak with Homage Mudmore. Him big leader of Protectorate. Take him my hammer as proof."

**Torv** · 2020-12-22, 11:55 AM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Gengy

Spoiler: Nonsensical Talk by an Islander

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The Homage awaits the translator's words, and then replies, "You appear confused, stranger. You are in the land of Swampum, which is but a small part of Mamut, and though it is indeed mighty, Mamut is no island. It takes months to walk from one known coast line of the Vast Ocean to the other Unexplored Sea. The nearest known islands are far to the north and east, some weeks of sailing along the Vast Ocean's shores. The Sokau could perhaps travel faster, but... We know not their ways. It is crude, but I could have a map brought to you. Then you could perhaps show me where the Daezirn Isles are? One of the foreign lands?"

Londkanuaur blinks and rests his ear on his shoulder, looking up at the Uzii. This does not make sense. Swampum. Mamut. Sokau. Wrapping his head around the strange words and trying to puzzle them together one thing stands out. What do they mean no island? He had clearly saw the dividing water between this and the other island, even sailed in on it, whenever it now was. Remembering the toad, he silently questioned if it was wise to point this people to his home. The puzzle however demanded attention

Yes, please do bring a map. I have been lost at sea for some time but will try my best to figure it out. The Deazirn Isles are not a single land but a giant weave of Islands, you mean to tell me that Mamut is not a part of this?

Remembering the part about these “Sokau” Londkannuaur belatedly added to his previous answer

Sailing along the shores are tricky, it is much easier on open waters. Unless there is a storm then you are most likely dead or end up like me.

**Miltonian** · 2020-12-23, 08:56 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Silent_Interim

They turn back to Pain-Drop. "I think I might go for a stroll. I think I saw a few members of the Ko delegation, and I hope I can find Thorn. Would you care to join me?"

Thorn is preparing for his match. He knows it will soon come, and that he must be ready. He must not strike to kill. He must show the world that he can fight without murderous intent.

It will be a great challenge, but he should be able to do it.

Speaking of the tournament, his first opponent comes now. Along with...is that Tior? He stares at them in dumb confusion, mouth working silently as he beholds the Scrim's sudden transformation.

Originally Posted by Ausar

Esfrey & The Little Dragon

With Norren at her heels the young Caretaker roams the grounds seeking Zinnia of the Ko. Upon laying eyes on the red-scaled wonder, Esfrey hurries up to the palanquin and plants her spear tip-down in the dirt. "Towerlady Zinnia! I-" she bows "-am Esfrey, Caretaker of the Deru & Chosen of Illia. And you..." - she breaks off for a moment, eyes still savouring the scales - "...I would like your advice on a matter my charming godfather here (she rolls her eyes at Norren, reclining against a boulder a few metres back) keeps grumbling about. I have heard that the Ko live under the earth. The Mortal's packs are in need of more hunting grounds. They live on the earth - under the sky." Esfrey frowns for a moment, trying very hard not to forget anything. "If your people live under the earth, and Norren's packs hunt above the earth, then your land would have space for Norren's packs!" She beams, quite pleased at remembering it all. "So, what do you think! Can the packs live on your lands?"

Behind her, Norren covers his eyes with a well-clawed paw.

Zinnia frowns, eyeing the Caretaker with appraising and somewhat suspicious eyes.

"The...Norren?" she repeats, "I apologize, I am unaware of their particular struggles at this point of time. We do live beneath the earth, but not solely. And any stranger to our lands had best use a guide, for it is full of traps and deadly dangers we have created to protect ourselves. A whole...pack of strangers would find half their number killed within the first week of wandering."

**Torv** · 2020-12-24, 03:08 AM (ISO 8601)

First Round– Ces vs. Londkannuaur

Londkannuaur is confused as to what is happening. First, he was being questioned, detained, and spoken to in strange languages and now he was standing in the mud across from one of the ugliest people he had ever met. The old man was shirtless and half his face looked chewed off, and he clearly held his sword in the wrong hand. Looking closer Londkannuaur saw the old man’s right hand only had two fingers. Clearly this was a man with a long history.

Ces stands in the arena facing the strange islander. A former sentinel he knew that there was more than Mamut out there, but he never met anyone from the fabled islands between the Lands of the Moon and Mamut. The Islander was a small creature with leathery, almost scale like skin in grey. Almost looked like a large angry Ko.

Ces leapt first – he might be old but he still had some speed in him. Using his drunken-feline style, learned from the Uzii and changed through his own wasted efforts – the unspoken pun still being bad enough to make Ces groan. Ces darted left and right and then jumped and flipped towards the creature’s blind spot.

Alternatively, would have been the creature’s blind spot. Londkannuaur did not understand why the old man jumped towards him the way he did. He was obviously trying to attack him, but the action seemed pointless, he merely turned his head to face the man, a full 250 degrees.

“Whoa” Ces exclaimed as the creature turned its head like an owl. He tucked and rolled to the other side but the creature’s head followed. Looks like there was no way to catch him off guard. He would have to go in from the front.

Londkannuaur didn’t give him the chance. Although his usual fighting style was to quickly ambush his prey and then dive out to hide to repeat, he understood that in this fight he would have to make his own surprises. He lunges forward trying to catch the old man unawares. Ces barely manages to dodge the attack and swipes the creature with his sword held in his off hand. Londkannuaur rolls to dodge and Ces is diving from above sword pointed at his neck. Londkannuaur rolls again letting the sword strike mud and then swipes the old man’s legs from underneath and then jumps back to wait for the man’s next move.

Ces grunts and gets back up. He brushes the mud from his chest and then runs at Londkannuaur. Just before he reaches him he falls and slides between the creature’s legs ending up behind him hoping the creature couldn’t turn its neck completely around. Once on the other side Ces slashes backwards cutting it across the back, nearly hitting the skullcap, as Londkannuaur tries to catch up with his movements.

Londkannuaur feels pain across his back and falls onto his face and hears cheers from the stadium. This was a strange and brutish culture. He turns around expecting public death but sees Ces standing above him with an outstretch hand. He grabs it confusingly and the old man helps him up. On his legs he looks around the Stadium and the cheering crowd.

He lost but he wasn’t dead. Perhaps this wasn’t a brutish culture after all.

**mystic1110** · 2020-12-24, 12:47 PM (ISO 8601)

The Gang Doesn’t Get Their Man

Patrolling the door were a bunch of guards and guarding the guards from her route along the mezzanine was Bent-Mum. To get through the door into the basement where Cook-Slab was one member would have to distract Bent-Mum first and the rest would need to take care of the guards.

Unexpectedly Gorrn stepped up. The large Yeti, walked up the stair case towards Bent-Mum. Bent-Mum was a large Uzii woman, large in every way. She was dressed in a pink dress that left nothing to the imagination as most of her fat and fur was spilling out of it. On close inspection one could tell that the dress used to be white but was pink only after repeated bloodshed and washing. Her teeth and horns were yellow and she carried herself with the aplomb of the truly wicked. One could hear her just mutter “stupid” and “idiot” whenever she passed one of her Leavehome brood who tried to get out of the way.

Gorrn spits into his furry hand and slicks back the fur on top of his head as he approaches the woman. As she sees the furry giant Bent-Mum slightly opens her mouth to tell him to go jab a sword where the sun don’t shine, but Gorrn rumbles:

“I am might. Tippen’s might that is. I am a Risano. Gorrn the Risano.”

Bent-Mum is flustered as she replies

“I am Bent-Mum Leavehome. I am in charge here, what do you want?”

“You’re clearly in charge here – such a strong, powerful . . . attractive woman.”

“Attractive”

“Very. Us Risano desire that our woman have heft and the power to move it around”

“Well then, I have plenty of heft to throw around if you know what I mean”

Gorrn chokes on his own spit as Bent-Mum slaps his ass and winks.

Down on the ground floor, An’uorg sees that Gorrn’s seduction was successful and motions to Coarse-Pond and Far-Reach that they could make their move now. As quickly as they can they come up to the guards overlooking the door to the basement and sock them in the stomachs bringing them down. They quickly carry the bodies down stairs into the basement and see the hall way leading towards Cook-Slabs office.

Cook-Slab meanwhile heard the commotion and was busy stuffing all the casino’s winnings into hemp bags. He did not know who was coming from Kursaal but he knew they were coming. Time to pack up and start over again elsewhere.

The remaining members of the group burst into the office and see Cook-Slab furiously stuffing gems and metal pieces into bags and more guards that they counted on. Cook-Slab seemed properly paranoid and his paranoia paid off. Cook-Slab’s motto was “It’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you!”

An’uorg shouts:

Time to pay up Cooks!

And tries to rush towards the startled Uzii. The goliath though is stopped by three body guards. Coarse-Pond and Far-Reach rush in to help. One of the guards swings his fist towards Coarse-Pond’s face, but Far-Reach shouts for her to duck! She does just in the nick of time and Far-Reach jumps over and brings his fist down onto the guards skull collapsing him for daring to even try to hit his wife. An’Uorg meanwhile fights dirty and casually knees another guard in the ‘jewels’ who groans and falls clutching them. The skirmish is brief, but when they look up they see that their goal is nowhere to be seen.

In the commotion, Cook-Slab seemed to have snuck out. An’uorg groans and searches through the room and finds a small tunnel fit only for a small Uzii like Cook-Slab from which it’s obvious that crook escaped with all the money.

Damn.

An’uorg shakes his head annoyed. Now he was not sure he would be able to return to Kursaal till he found the little bastard again.

Far-Reach asked the goliath what now?

An’uorg shrugs – the hunt goes on.

They leave the office and the basement back to the casino which is now in chaos as the houses money is all gone and can’t cover the bets. The whole place is a huge brawl. Coarse-pond laughs and tells Far-Reach that this was the best honeymoon she could have pictured.

**Zayuz** · 2020-12-24, 04:28 PM (ISO 8601)

Warchief Kylisa vs Seer Makoa

Neither Seer Makoa nor Kylisa were warriors by trade, yet here they were - standing eye to eye in an arena each against one another; somehow catching that one in a hundred chance to fight off against one another in the very first round. Put up against some of the most dangerous people in the realms, they had no illusions of winning… But there was still glory in trying. A crowd was watching, the warm breeze breaking the stillness and the two Alqari champions drew their weapons and awaited the call to action.

Kylisa was wearing light white robes - her typically long hair tied behind her to keep it from obstructing her vision. She was known as the Warchief of Alqar who fought even her military battles instead with clever diplomacy, having never held a sword in defense of her own lands. Over a few years now she had trained in new ways, undertaking serious martial arts practice with a number of different teachers that brought her to a fine physical shape. Knives, sixteen in all, were tied to her waist - all of which her opponent knew could end their fight at once.

Makoa was not quite as fit as Kylisa, but she was still lithe and flexible. In her own black clothes with hair similarly tied, she wielded a war fan with edges made of bronze, the patterns of the snake decorating the opposite paper part while wearing a scarf around her neck that had more purpose than one might expect. Priding herself as an expert in the arts of distraction and disarming, she flashed her weapon to her childhood friend across from her, who smirked and tied a blindfold over her eyes just as the ref shouted for the fight to begin.

Pulling two knives from her belt with the speed of a practiced fighter and losing them towards the first signs of her opponent’s movement, Kylisa did not balk as her opponent ran directly for her. The Seer twisted her body sideways to avoid the first dagger and deflected the second with her war fan, half-facing her warchief yet continuing her relentless advance by switching her stance to a stepping side-kick. Blinded as she was, Kylisa might have been defeated by a powerful strike to the stomach were she not so practiced with her arts. Instead, just barely in time, her hands rise to catch the foot as it comes to strike her, twisting it and sending Makoa sprawling to the ground. Catching her fall with a hand and using it to spring back to her feet on the other side, now the seer found herself on the defensive. Kylisa approached with an onslaught of merciless jabs and kicks of her own, driving Makoa back as she regained her stance and struggled to keep each blow from connecting. Several passed by her guard, resulting in some desperate sputters for breath and new bruises over her chest before she was finally able to create some distance with a good block followed by a shove.

“Precognition is absolute bull.” Makoa coughed, to which Kylisa gestured to her blindfold.
“I don’t know, don’t you think it’s unfair to complain when your opponent takes a handicap?”
“‘Long as you don’t stab me, I promise not to hold it against you.”
“Deal - I won’t need to.” Her belt of daggers clatters to the ground, and the two face off again…

This time Kylisa walks daringly forward while Makoa takes up a defensive stance with her hands pointed at her like the knives she’d forsaken. Her fan was put away, letting the fight become full hand-to-hand, and they clashed. Aiming for as many quick, capable hits as she could to overwhelm Kylisa’s innate abilities, Makoa began to find purchase in that she could not react fast enough to see everything coming - especially if she threw in some freestyle kicks and hits that weren’t part of their typical training routines. Struck in the face, the stomach, and caught off guard by a sweep, Kylisa fell to the ground with a thud. Makoa pounced down upon her pinning her shoulders and holding her there for a second… Two… While Kylisa struggled in vain to push her off. Just in time, she managed to wiggle herself so that she could knee Makoa in the ribs, loosening her grip long enough that she could snatch at her scarf that held so vulnerable around her neck and used it to throw her to the ground as well beside her. Keeping a deathgrip on it and stepping up so that she was kneeling on Makoa’s chest with the scarf held tight, she resisted a host of battering and clawing against her legs that left them soaked in blood when Makoa finally fell unconscious from the choking - and Kylisa released her.

Getting off her friend and looking to one of the fight managers to bring some water, Kylisa is pronounced the winner of her first round and her blindfold is removed until the next contest. Makoa wakes up again before anyone leaves the arena, receiving a hand to help her get to her feet and a light hug… “Good fight... I didnt get stabbed, which is a win in my books.” Makoa offered weakly, to which her friend nodded with a stifled laugh.
“Yeah, it was good. If only we were able to meet like this in the finals, yeah?”
"Next time."
"Definitely."

-----
Other replies will be given when possible, happy holidays everyone!

**Ausar** · 2020-12-27, 05:48 PM (ISO 8601)

Duel, 1st round. Onfroy vs Alhambra

Onfroy stood ankle-deep in swamp-water. His pale skin was tinted green, criss-crossed by red patterned lines, imprints of rose petals. He clenched his fists and held them there, a blank grin fixed upon his face. The girl from the swamp - Alhambra, he’d heard - stood opposite him, tall and thin and equally pale, jagged bite-mark scars on her face and forearms. She stood perfectly still balanced on a fallen tree, immobile but for ears that twitched with every bird-call and the near-imperceptible rise and fall of her stomach. Her dark brown eyes were razor-sharp, sharp as the spear-point making gentle circles in the air behind her back. The spear-shaft was a lean ashen-gray. Her clothing seemed at first glance to be rags, but small glints in the broken light filtering down to the swamp-floor betrayed the copper plates sewn into the cloth. Onfroy stood naked to the waist with loose flowing leg-wraps above bare, calloused feat. The leg-wraps were perforated with tiny holes repaired time and time again until they were more patch than pants. For the moment Onfroy kept his thorns hidden. This girl, unsettlingly still and silent as he was stared at him, a glance over his body then back to his eyes. His irises were as red as his petals and he stared back, trying to keep his gaze blank as his grin, trying to betray nothing. He swayed slightly, tensing and relaxing his shoulders. Alhambra crouched. The call of an Uzii horn pierced the silence.

Alhambra’s ears flattened to her skull as she leapt forwards, uncoiling her legs like springs and sweeping her spear around, point aimed at the stranger’s throat. At full extension her arm should have sent the point two inches deep, severing his windpipe. Instead it came to a halt an inch from his throat, quivering slightly.

He brought his other foot back, widening the gap to two inches. That grin was still frozen in place and his fists were still clenched. She searched his eyes for intent and saw a mirrored question. His eyes flickered from her spear-point back to her eyes. She withdrew the spear and began to circle him, testing his reactions with a series of lightning-fast darting feints. They may have been barely more than twitches of her circling-spear point but still the stranger’s eyes stayed locked on hers as he spun slowly on the spot, refusing to bite. She jabbed at his lower leg and he twisted his shin. A line of red thorns burst from his calf petal-lines, the skin splitting to reveal the green beneath as tiny holed pierced through his leg-wraps. The spear-point glanced off rosethorns solid as iron.

Onfroy kept his eyes alert as she withdrew the spear and returned to circling. Calm, he thought. Dangerous. He searched her eyes for clues, a flash of something, anything. Her eyes were so very difficult to read. He silently thanked the Chosen his gamble had paid off, that none of those feints had turned into thrusts. He did not want to gamble again. He surrendered to his rising fear and let the corpse flower subsume him.

Alhambra flowed back as thorns burst forth in earnest and the stranger leapt forwards. She stepped unerringly on patches of sure-footing amidst the murky swamp-water. She fought to keep her calm and remain aware, remain sharp. He had no such compunction. His blows were forceful and fast, tight punches and swipes, faster than anyone she’d ever fought - but predictable, hesitant. She danced back waiting for an opening, a mis-step, a slip-up. A testing thrust - withdrawn as his elbow streaked at the shaft. A jab at the nose as he stepped forward - blood drawn along his right cheekbone as he jinked aside. He saw it too late for any normal man to dodge, she noted, but still he did. Ancestors help me, she thought. So how- now she saw the punch coming too late, caught in thought. She rolled her shoulder back lessening the blow and thrust up at his exposed armpit. Thorned knuckles raked her cloth armour, scraping the metal strip beneath. Two drew blood. The pain spiked then dulled, and within moments her shoulder numbed. No touching. Got it.

He dropped to a crouch, spear striking a small slice along his shoulder as he leapt back, landing poorly. Her stance was fluid, poised, ready. Defensive, he thought as he wrenched his body back from the cloying alluring - choking - yoke of the corpse flower. No second chances. He kissed the cut along his shoulder, the turn of the head daring her to approach but still she waited, circling, as if preparing for the charge of a wounded animal. He spat blood onto the swamp-water. For a moment it floated a single gob of red. Then it began to swirl. She frowned. He lunged forwards.

She stepped back then back again, easily evading his familiar pattern of strikes. Punch punch strike, punch punch strike, punch pu-

-thump. The kick caught her in the upper chest, flat along her collarbone. He twisted his ankle as if sped at her - the thorns retreated. She flew 15 ft back and crashed into the water. She emerged a few moments later, struggling to stand and gasping for breath, leaning on her spear. Then she looked up and saw the stranger’s offered hand.

She took the rose and placed it between her teeth. He twisted his ring finger to extend a single thorn and ran it along the bruise on her collarbone. She grunted at the pain, biting down on the rose. It did not break, simply yielding a little. The pain dimmed and in a few moments it was numb. The bruise remained but the pain had fled. He looked deeper, looking for another clue. Her eyes were still sharp but the envenomed daggers were gone. She offered him back the rose and he smiled, real and warm this time, sunlight to the frozen shadows he’d worn as a mask. He folded her fingers back over the rose. “You move like the swamp is soft grass, like the water is air. Your eyes can read a foe like a runestone.” He bowed his head low. “I will learn. Will you teach?”

She took his chin and forced his head back up, gazing into his eyes. She pondered for a moment. “You swipe like a bear. You punch like falling rocks. And you leap like a battle-toad.” She released his chin surprisingly gently. “But your eyes cannot read the runes they see. Like this you will die.” She paused for a moment. “But you will not stay this way. I will teach.” She touched her spear-point to his temple. “You will learn.” He stood motionless and she seemed satisfied. She traced the rose petals imprinted in his forehead. Rose in hand she turned away. “Tomorrow. Dusk. You will find me. When you do you will have begun to learn.”

Onfroy watched her leave, watched her feet find purchase without fail, without hesitation. Back in control I see, he thought. That was fast. He let out a long breath. He ran a thorned knuckle along the cuts and left the arena Onfroy now hearing the clamour of the crowd. As he left the arena he stopped dead in his tracks. How am I possibly going to find her?

**SOSDarkPhoenix** · 2020-12-28, 03:55 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Miltonian

Thorn chuckles himself. "Brave of her. I cannot imagine Zinnia or Theris doing the same. Though I can imagine Onyx trying..." A devious glint enters his eyes. "Maybe I should enter him. It'd be amusing to see an Uzii piledrive him."

He preens a little under the positive attention. "I am. And I hope that will work to my advantage."

Chepri chuckles a little bit, punching Thorn's shoulder playfully. "I've never met him, but he sounds like he'd be fun to knock around."

Originally Posted by Miltonian

That does indeed fluster Theris, though she rallies quickly. She puffs up a little under the attention.

Zinnia, however, takes the lead. And perhaps to the surprise of those that know her, Theris listens and does not interject.

"Yes. Well, we have...a situation that we think your people would have an interest in." She steps back and pulls the third kobold forward. "This is Pine, an acolyte of the Trinity. A few weeks before our departure, she fell into one of the divining pools and...well"

Zinnia flicks the Ko's hood back and reveals a very attractive female with scales as gold as the sun itself. She blinks slightly in the sudden light. "As you can see," Zinnia says, "She did not emerge unchanged..."

Doraan's eyes widen in shock and intrigue! A golden Ko? Fascinating..."My... she's radiant! I wonder though, Towerlady, what do you want me to do with her?"

**Zayuz** · 2020-12-29, 03:55 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by mystic1110

Arena Floor

Ces kneeled to grab a fistful of mud from the arena floor before the tournament commenced. He let the ball of wet dirt slide through his fingers. It felt good to be back in Swampum. He smiled and looked up and his smile quickly slid off his face just like the mud from his hands. Merine was standing in the center of the Arena talking with a young man. They hugged and the young man departed leaving her alone. He hadn't seen her for eight years, not since the dinner at which he had lost his mind. Four years of madness followed by four years of self-imposed exile. What would he say to her? She tried to steer him onto the correct path but he couldn't hear her at the moment. He sighed - one thing that Deep-Sigh taught him was that you had to accept the past. The past is always with you but it didn't have to chain you. You wear your past like a second skin. Sometimes you just need to take a bath.

He slowly approached Merine and called out.

Lady Merine

As her snakes and face turned to face him he bowed his head with shame and remorse. He was older now, far older, but incomparably more lucid - he stood grey haired and weather lined in stark contrast to the ever youthful medusa. He speaks with a gravely voice - trying not to break.

I'm sorry.

Merine peered over her shoulder to Ces, her curious brows faltering towards reluctance as she spots him. Her instincts commanded her to turn and leave before he had the opportunity to begin, but she lingered for reasons unknown to even herself. Bracing herself for his words, she finds herself caught off guard by the somber apology. Her eyes, previously avoiding his gaze, turn up towards his, and her body lets go of its tensions.

"Oh..." A silence sets in for a few seconds as Merine merely holds his gaze, and she breaks into a loose smile with teary eyes. Her hands together clasp his left wrist. "You are whole again."

Originally Posted by Gengy

The Homage listened patiently, and when Kylisa finally finished, slowly nodded. "For Lady Merine... we will accept your apology. For your honesty, with me, but also with yourself... I say you are wrong. You are more of a warrior than your husband and liege, who not too long ago, looked me in the eyes, and gave me petty excuses rather than any form of contrition. A warrior does not run from their responsibilities. They accept them. They stand up for what they have done."

"The don't shout of danger elsewhere, and run from the danger right in front of them." Closed-Fist's eyes look to the empty doorway, clearly lost in thought for a bit. When he comes back, his gaze has hardened.

"I won't presume to tell you what to do, Warchief. Know that I am still vexed by your choices, but you have owned them, and made them yours. I respect that, even as I disparage the very choices that brought you to this situation. The Crimson Kingdom is not an insurmountable mountain, no matter what their borders look like. I hope you will remember that. I hope you will gather your armies, for when the Elven King decides to stop playing nice and begins to eat of the flesh of our nations themselves." Homage Closed-Fist looks over at Seer Makoa, and nods respectfully, "I am no Seer. But I know danger. I know a threat when I see one. I will not ignore the plight of the weak, but neither will I seek to reinforce the strong if they do not ask for it. If you run into a host that forces you to choose between your morals and hospitality again..."

"Remember the Uzii. We cannot be allies. But we can be friends." The Homage slowly grins, and looks over his shoulder, eyes momentarily falling on a large Uzii woman chatting with another guest: Sing-Axe Muddeep, the Homage's mate. "And also remember: Our fiercest warriors are often the women we so desperately protect. Regardless of my question, a Warrior's Wife is nothing to be ashamed of."

Kylisa nods deeply, clinging to each of the wise Uzii's words. When he glances towards his mate, her gaze follows his, and then returns to him slowly. "Thank you for your patience with me, Homage... I will keep your words close to my heart, and my armies sharp for when evil returns. Friends we can be." There is a pause to her, as if she was about to say more, and Makoa gives her a curious look, which prompts her to continue. "I have tried hard to set up a knot of peace across Northern Mamut, and I can feel it unravelling each day. It turns out that too many connections can be a curse... When I must pick sides, I pray that we will not come to blows. The Uzii are good for the land." Her words are sincere, accompanied by a short wave of anxiety that washes over her.

**Gengy** · 2020-12-30, 02:46 PM (ISO 8601)

DUEL OF CHAMPIONS
(Current status!)

Spoiler: Stranger in a Strange Land

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Originally Posted by Torv

Londkanuaur blinks and rests his ear on his shoulder, looking up at the Uzii. This does not make sense. Swampum. Mamut. Sokau. Wrapping his head around the strange words and trying to puzzle them together one thing stands out. What do they mean no island? He had clearly saw the dividing water between this and the other island, even sailed in on it, whenever it now was. Remembering the toad, he silently questioned if it was wise to point this people to his home. The puzzle however demanded attention

Yes, please do bring a map. I have been lost at sea for some time but will try my best to figure it out. The Deazirn Isles are not a single land but a giant weave of Islands, you mean to tell me that Mamut is not a part of this?

Remembering the part about these “Sokau” Londkannuaur belatedly added to his previous answer

Sailing along the shores are tricky, it is much easier on open waters. Unless there is a storm then you are most likely dead or end up like me.

The Homage leads Know-Land to a flat stone that is acting as a table, and has it cleared. By the time the table is free of anything else on it, a large map showing all of known Mamut arrives. Laying it before Know-Land, Closed-Fist explains, "This is Mamut. Here is Swampum, near the middle. It takes several days travel by our swiftest vessel to even reach the tip of Rodrak."

As he explains, the Homage points to the large break on the map, signifying water between Swampum and the land of the Deru, before moving his finger along the northern coast to the edge of Uzii lands into the vast ocean beyond it. Traveling further north, to a less detailed part of the map, Closed-Fist points at a much smaller land mass, surrounded by water, "We know of this island, to Mamut's north-east. We are hearing rumors there may be others. We do not have many details."

Spoiler: THREE Friends, THREE Heroes

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Originally Posted by Miltonian

Thorn is preparing for his match. He knows it will soon come, and that he must be ready. He must not strike to kill. He must show the world that he can fight without murderous intent.

It will be a great challenge, but he should be able to do it.

Speaking of the tournament, his first opponent comes now. Along with...is that Tior? He stares at them in dumb confusion, mouth working silently as he beholds the Scrim's sudden transformation.

Pain-Drop waves at Thorn when she spots him, and taps on Tior's stone skin to get his attention, before pointing out the large beast. The Battle Mother still is not a fan of Thorn's smell, but she's gotten... adjusted to it. It's still vile and wrong, and if she had a way to rip all the good parts of Thorn out from the beast's body, and leave the corrupted parts behind, Pain-Drop would do so without bothering to ask permission. Alas, she's no way of doing so; she's asked many Shaman if Thorn might be purified somehow, but none have had an answer for her. The youngster, Far-Reach Mudmore, did promise to think about it some, but it probably hasn't been a priority for the younger Shaman of the Mudmore Snort.

"I see you, Thorn. You ready?" Pain-Drop grins, even as she smacks her fist into her palm.

Spoiler: Homage and Warchief

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Originally Posted by Zayuz

Kylisa nods deeply, clinging to each of the wise Uzii's words. When he glances towards his mate, her gaze follows his, and then returns to him slowly. "Thank you for your patience with me, Homage... I will keep your words close to my heart, and my armies sharp for when evil returns. Friends we can be." There is a pause to her, as if she was about to say more, and Makoa gives her a curious look, which prompts her to continue. "I have tried hard to set up a knot of peace across Northern Mamut, and I can feel it unravelling each day. It turns out that too many connections can be a curse... When I must pick sides, I pray that we will not come to blows. The Uzii are good for the land." Her words are sincere, accompanied by a short wave of anxiety that washes over her.

"And the land is good for the Uzii." The Homage says with a weary grin. "Worry not, though. Should the Uzii and Alqar come to blows again, we will meet in honor, and leave still friends. Even friends argue. The amount of time I spend yelling across a table at the Snort Tuskers has proved that. I have taken up quite a bit of your time, though. If you have no other concerns or questions for me, please, feel free to go meet others. My rascal of a son, Far-Reach, is around here somewhere with his own beautiful wife. It might be wise to introduce yourself; he's barely an adult for an Uzii, and already he seems wiser than I. It's unlikely he'll be bested, should he participate in the next Snortsmoot. For I know that I will not, should the Ancestors guide me to live that long."

**Silent_Interim** · 2020-12-30, 07:53 PM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: THREE Friends, THREE Heroes

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Originally Posted by Gengy

Pain-Drop waves at Thorn when she spots him, and taps on Tior's stone skin to get his attention, before pointing out the large beast. The Battle Mother still is not a fan of Thorn's smell, but she's gotten... adjusted to it. It's still vile and wrong, and if she had a way to rip all the good parts of Thorn out from the beast's body, and leave the corrupted parts behind, Pain-Drop would do so without bothering to ask permission. Alas, she's no way of doing so; she's asked many Shaman if Thorn might be purified somehow, but none have had an answer for her. The youngster, Far-Reach Mudmore, did promise to think about it some, but it probably hasn't been a priority for the younger Shaman of the Mudmore Snort.

"I see you, Thorn. You ready?" Pain-Drop grins, even as she smacks her fist into her palm.

Originally Posted by Miltonian

Thorn is preparing for his match. He knows it will soon come, and that he must be ready. He must not strike to kill. He must show the world that he can fight without murderous intent.

It will be a great challenge, but he should be able to do it.

Speaking of the tournament, his first opponent comes now. Along with...is that Tior? He stares at them in dumb confusion, mouth working silently as he beholds the Scrim's sudden transformation.

Upon noticing Thorn, Tior noticeably straightens, moving up to grasp him in an expansive hug. "Thorn, old friend! It is good to see you! You are well, yes? Looking forward to the fighting today! It will be a good time, do you not think? And everyone will be able to see my new face! Do you like it? I recarved it while I was visiting the lands of the Targiz."

**Torv** · 2020-12-31, 12:34 PM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: The Sensible Non-Islander

Show

The Homage leads Know-Land to a flat stone that is acting as a table, and has it cleared. By the time the table is free of anything else on it, a large map showing all of known Mamut arrives. Laying it before Know-Land, Closed-Fist explains, "This is Mamut. Here is Swampum, near the middle. It takes several days travel by our swiftest vessel to even reach the tip of Rodrak."

As he explains, the Homage points to the large break on the map, signifying water between Swampum and the land of the Deru, before moving his finger along the northern coast to the edge of Uzii lands into the vast ocean beyond it. Traveling further north, to a less detailed part of the map, Closed-Fist points at a much smaller land mass, surrounded by water, "We know of this island, to Mamut's north-east. We are hearing rumors there may be others. We do not have many details."

Londkannuaur leans against the table, dozing off while it is cleared. Listening to the narrator, as the Uzii talks and points all over the map things ever so slowly begins to make sense. Tracing the island’s outlines with his nails for a while it finally falls into place.
Ah, I see … this would be an island full of little jumpy fluff things?

The truthseer pauses for a moment, adding “Rabbits, they most likely mean rabbits”, catching up with Londkannuaur afterwards:
If so the inhabitants are … nice, although a bit touchy when strangers get too close.

Moving his finger further east, beyond the edges of the map Londkannuaur indicated a few spots in the air.
Further east there are four or five more islands of similar size before another land-sea like Mamut. Many smaller islands extend both north and south and together all of them form the Daezirn Isles.

Comparing the rabbit island with the rest of the map and noting the pitiful distance between Swampum and the ocean Londkannuaur seems lost in thought or perhaps asleep for a moment. Suddenly twitching he continues:
Glow-Rock is near the middle of this island band, there is no way to reach it without a proper sea-vessel. If you will let me stay here and rebuild mine I will show you how to fly over the seas like a true Islander.

The Land-Seaers did not know how to sail but their lands where full of other wonders. Londkannuaur aimed to “borrow” more than a few if he could stay, the walking stones alone would revolutionize tunnel creation. Londkannuaur deliriously smiled for the first time since he set sail, revealing rows of pointy teeth. This was a sagu’s dream.

Thread: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

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Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

Re: EMPIRE 6! - Mamut, Round 12, Event - Duel of Champions

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