The Arconian Open

[Swordsman]

"Night of the New Moon" is starting to get filled up with tournament-related matters. Unfortunately, they don't quite fit in that thread. So, methinks I'll bring this back, and suggest that Colin, Mortas, Nækos, and everybody else currently involved with the tournament be sent here!

[Swordsman]

I search for comfort, and I found it where I’ve found it many times before.
Times before can be forgotten…

Nækos hated how he felt. Alone, helpless, lost.

Rejected. A feeling he’d never truly known before.

And he hated it. He hated all these feelings. Sitting here in the cool dry dark, amongst his books, blades, and tools, didn’t help. It soothed the feeling a little, masked it a little. But did nothing to alleviate the source, or even the emotions themselves.

For several hours he just sat there, breathing slowly, in a half-conscious daze of despair. It took all his energy and self-determination to finally force himself to his feet and up the stairs. It was time to start feeling better.

The halfling started at a run from his cottage, a good fast pace that he knew he could hold. He looped around and back past the cottage, then into the forest to the north. Abandoning trails, he flew between the trees themselves, dodging and bouncing and gliding through the vegetation, moving as fast as he could manage without hitting anything.

Two hours and about seventeen miles later, Nækos re-emerged from the northern wood, exhausted, sweating, out of breath – and still mad.

He stopped running at the edge of his clearing and walked the rest of the way in, rage rebuilding as he entered the cottage. The dagger remained in the table, point down. Something flashed through his mind, something dark. It was an urge, but not even that definite. Deeper. It was just a flash of something dark and evil, as if a cackling little creature of black had just raced through. It was, really, little more than instinct. Destroy something. It was the simple idea he’d been taught for years. Things are bad. You’ve been wronged. The world hates you. Destroy something.

The voice of that black little creature was seductive. Nækos hated it, wanted to yank it out and strangle it. But that’s what it wanted, too. And at the same time, it promised power – control and solace and power. It was ever so tempting…

The creature advanced suddenly in his mind, and Nækos reacted instantly. He spun quickly to the left, snatching a blade off the wall. Continuing, the sheath flew to the side and he whirled back to face the table in one fluid, powerful motion. There he halted, warsword raised and ready. He’d been completely prepared to give in to that shadowy creature and do its bidding, destroy the table. But something stopped him, some final tenacious shred of pride and self-control. He would not surrender himself completely. Would not allow himself to be beaten.

Nækos sank to the floor against the wall, drained. Still furious, but drained. He felt ashamed of what he did, and what he’d almost done. A tantrum. He was supposed to be in control, wasn’t he? He was supposed to do only what he meant to, what made sense. But here, he’d been a second and a half away from reducing his table to kindling.

He sheathed the weapon miserably, slid it across the floor and away from himself. Nothing, now. He could do nothing that might contain a spark of violence. If he were to act in anger, do anything not pacifistic, the darkness would win him completely over. He wasn’t ready for that, wasn’t willing.

With a low growl Nækos pushed himself up, plodding slowly to the bedroom. Across the bed lay one of his favored shortswords, next to which he sat. And he knew what would happen, even as he intended not to do it.

He just sat there for a few minutes. It was not long, however, before a hand inevitably reached back in search of a hilt. He cringed as a thought occurred to him: Most, in a state like his, would feel for the reassuring hand of a loved one. He felt instead for the grip of a sword.

All the same, it was solace.

I don’t need a girl, don’t need a friend, ‘cause my friend Lonesome’s unconditional…

There are those that cannot contain themselves when with a loved one. Holding a hand begs an embrace. And embrace must be followed by a kiss. From there, anything might follow.

So was Nækos with a weapon. Gripping the handle, he could not help but unsheathe it. Unsheathed, he could not keep his hands off, found himself stroking the blade with his fingers. Comfort was promised in the cold, hard touch of the steel. He rasped a callous thumb across the edge, hearing sweet voice in the light ringing of the metal.

He bowed his head with the emotion – the loneliness and despair, the solemn reassurance and sympathetic voice of the blade. The smell of oiled steel enticed him now, and he drew the piece closer, taking a deep, slow breath of its sweetly bitter perfume. He raised the implement further, and relief seeped through him as the sudden cold of the flat tingled his hot cheek. The grip swiveled gently in his fingers before white knuckles locked it in place. The edge now sat against his face, and he scraped it up to the hairline, then back down again past his chin, over his throat.

The thought occurred to him that it could all end right there. A little pressure, one short movement, and the pain would end. But as quickly as the thought occurred to him, he banished it. It was simply not an option – not any form of surrender.

And so he sat there, taking solace from the harsh scrape of the blade. After a little, he pulled it away and looked at it with a sort of empty gratitude. It was at this time that he noted the light, powdery dust on the keen: A thin cascade of rasped-off skin cells.

Nækos pinched the edge between thumb and forefinger of his left hand and drew it through, wiping the powder away. A strange feeling began in these two fingertips, and he examined them curiously. After a few seconds red pooled up there along two straight lines. He raised the thumb and fingertip vertically, and watched as the two long droplets sagged with gravity. Finally they gave and ran, and he was taken with the random, fascinating intricacy of the deep crimson liquid and the branched course it followed down his hand and forearm. He watched their slow progression as the two small wounds bled, eventually clotting and stalling the now combined trails just short of his elbow.

The sun was fully overhead now, only slightly past hot meridian. Nækos decided to let the trails dry where they were; perhaps he would retrace them with something more permanent before it washed off. The design was natural, unique, and beautiful.

But now, it was time to register to fight.

[Swordsman]

Ahmm...question: We're not planning on holding the tournament within the next two days, are we? Because there's no way I can be ready before the weekend.

[arcon]

I would think there should be a homecoming before there is a tournament.

Arcon of Arconia

[Blade]

I know I don't have much say but I'd have the tournament going on before the homecoming much like the myth of Ulysses/Odysseus, and Arcon if he wanted to could enter and win, same as the legend.

If not I still think the homecoming should be in the middle of the tournament

[Zelda]

Okay ppls, We need to hold this tourney and soon. After Friday my life is a bit better (classes have finished and I have 3 weeks to study for exams) so early next week maybe??? I think Arcon should come home DURING the tourney.

[Blade]

Blade wandered out of the Bitter End with the directions to where the tournament was going to be held.

Blade's hunched over 5'7" frame, dirty, hairy and haggard carried with him two Taalruum sabre as he stood in line.

Human: Next?

Blade stepped forward.

Human: Name?

Blade: Blade of the Taalruum

Human: Strange creature you are, but I guess its okay. Show that guy ya weapons.

Human indicates another Human standing a couple of feet away.

Blade moves over to the other human and tentatively holds up the blade for the man to see. The man reaches over to take the sabre from Blade. Blade snatches it back

Blade: No! Taalruum Sabre, no human touch

Man: I need to inspect you're weapons for the tournament

Blade: No human, Taalruum sabre, only one human trust, Swordsman

Man: That halfling is not truly human if there be any human in him at all (sorry Swords couldn't remember)

Blade: Me trust no human

Man: There must be someone, I seem to recall you being in Arconia once before. Angelo had a mistrust of you I seem to recall

Blade emphatically jumping up and down: Yes, Yes, Angelo, Serana. Friends.

At this point the man began laughing at Blade. Blade poised one of his blade's threateningly.

Man to another human nearby: Fetch someone that knows this creature quick, Angelo if you possibly can

OOC: I'm not up to date on story so I don't know if he's present or not, basically I'm looking for someone to stick up for Blade hoping fencing angel would jump in here, if Angel isn't available perhaps a new character that angel related his adventure with Blade too?

[Fencing Angel]

It was midmorning when Angelo was woken up by the pounding on his door. His first thought was, ‘oh no.. not again.’ The last time something like this happened.. someone got kidnapped, ran away, Or had an attempted assassination. Something told him that this time was different. He got up, grabbed a robe, and walked to the door.

Creeeeck…

“’lo? Who are you and what do you want?”

“so sorry m’lord.. No time for that.. please, I was sent to tell you that there’s a certain…Beast who is asking for you or the Swordsman.. And sir Naekos isn’t around this morning.”

‘Beast? Who/what is asking for me?’


“alright I’ll be there presently.”

After the servant had given him the location of this “beast” Angelo walked back into his house, got dressed, and ate a piece of fruit for breakfast. After washing up a little, he headed to his armory, picked out a few of his best pieces and headed out the door.

When he got to the registering place for the tournament he started looking around for the servant who came for him. He looked around and then started for the weapon check area. He was about half way there when he saw Blade, and started towards him.

“Blade!” he yelled trying to make himself heard above the din of the crowd.

“BLADE!”

once he got closer he started remembering a few things that Naekos had told him about the Taalruum. ‘Never even think about sneaking up on one. Even by accident. They will kill you.’ After remembering just this much Angel slowed to a walk and circled out into the crowd, so he could be seen by Blade first.

When the Taalruum saw him, he let out a yowl that silenced the entire place. But Angel, Kept walking towards him..

When he met the Taalruum face to face, he Extended his hand, and said,

“blade.. it is and honor to meet you once again..”

“honor is mine.. other human want to take Saber. To inspect…”

‘gotta love the Taalruum way of getting right to the point’

“yes.. those are the rules to enter the tournament.. all weapon’s must be inspected to make sure they aren’t modified in any way.”

“Blade not modify saber.. Not cheat”

“Yes I know that.. but…I hate to say this.. but if you want to enter the tournament you have to have your saber checked.”

“Blade only give saber to human he trust”

‘that’s why he wanted me or Naekos here.. so he can enter the tournament..’

“this is Why you wanted me here… isn’t it? You want me to inspect your saber. Isn’t it?”

Blade Drew his saber and held it out to Angelo,

“Yes..”

Angel took the saber from blade.. and in doing so saw that there was a big part of his friend in this saber. He had never held the Saber that Naekos wore, but that wasn’t unusual. The saber was light but it felt powerful.. it wasn’t dinged in anyway, it wasn’t tarnished, wasn’t rusty, and there was nothing wrong with it. But it Hummed with power, and to Angel it felt thirsty for blood.
Once angel held it up to the sunlight he started to see that Folds of the metal, just like that of his Katana’s. He was amazed when he saw this. Feeling if he didn’t give the saber back to blade he’d be overcome by this sense of immense feeling of power and do some thing stupid, reluctantly he gave it back to it’s owner.

“I have never seen anything like it. Finest craftsmanship in the world I’d say.”

Blade then did something that he’d never seen a Taalruum do before. He smiled.

“You like saber?”

“I’ve never seen an equal.. Not even Naekos’ saber is like this one. I don’t believe that I’ll see it’s equal in my life time either.”

Blade looked up and turned to the east turned back to Angel Bowed and started off at a Run down a side street to the east.

[ 05-20-2002: Message edited by: Fencing Angel ]</p>

[Zelda]

glad someone is awake....

[Fencing Angel]

I'm awake.. Just meandering around in the shadows..

[Zelda]

The Queen, after sorting out various disputes made her way down to where Colin and Mortas where checking people and weapons into the tourney. She had strapped to her hip a light sword, polished to a high sheen. The hilt was wrapped in plain leather. The only thing which denoted that it could potentially be of royal origin was the small royal crest engraved on the cross piece. The Queen joined the end of the queue and resigned herself to a long wait.
There was a disturbance in the queue, which the Queen knew she should really investigate, but for some reason Angelo turned up and sorted it out. Eventually she reached the front of the queue and went through the motions of registering....
No, all she had to do was win.

[Swordsman]

Interesting, interesting! Glad to see things starting to happen again. Like I said, I've got a crapload written (that will now take place before all this), and just need to get it typed/posted. I'm comin', I'm comin'! In the meantime, don't get into too much trouble!

[Sabress]

"Tournament...." mutters Sabress as she wanders through the town streets, eavesdropping on the locals' coversations, "I must see this tournament...."

[Lord Tellurine]

As Meekal the Daft dreamt of being home at his Arconia City two-story bungalow with the airy kitchen and neatly planned rock garden, two tournament spectators argued over a piece of floor by the fireplace.

“From the end of that table to the edge of the hearth is MY area!”

“That’s absurd! That would clearly intersect my space between the sofa and the window!”

The first man, a large hairy man who hailed from the river town of Wavergild, blinked his large heavy eyelids thoughtfully. Comprehension of what the smaller, younger, man said took a while for him, but finally he uttered, “So?”

The smaller man, who was a nervous chap with bright yellow hair and large spectacles that seemed to cover his face, blinked back at him. The larger man made him nervous. In fact, the entire trip to Arconia City had made him a nervous wreck, but his father, the mayor of Holdenshire, wanted an official representative of the town to attend the tournament and since he was still suffering from gout in his left foot he had charged his son with the task. His son had barely been out of his parents yard let alone the town of Holdenshire. He stammered, “So, it is very likely that one of us will be sleeping on the other.”

The larger man took another moment to let that sink in. “Oh,” he finally said then offered, “Let’s find the owner.” They found him outside.

The owner, as they knew him to be, was a fast-talking untrustworthy fellow who had put up signs around town offering cheap, roomy accommodations for tournament goers. There were three things wrong with this: It wasn’t cheap; it wasn’t roomy as every scrap of floor had been sold to someone to sleep on, and the true owner was miles away in the Great Northern Sea.

“We have a slight problem,” the little man said, tapping the owner of the back of his shoulder.

Lord Tellurine spun around from his money counting. “I’m sure I can resolve any problem,” he said as warmly as a snake preparing to strike.

The big man reported, “This guy says we’ll be sleeping on one another.”

“My patch of floor,” added the smaller man, “intersects with his patch of floor.”

“I see,” Tellurine intoned with an air of thoughtfulness. “Have you thought about sleeping at different times?”

“No,” they both said back.

“Think about it,” offered Tellurine. “There are other people who are. Why I have three young men fresh from the University of Platt who are taking turns sleeping in the sink.” The three men had at first wanted beds to sleep on, but Tellurine had convinced them that it was a common practice for men away from college for a week to sleep in places other then a bed, making it sort of a “spring break.” The sharing of the sink was a harder sell, but he managed to persuade them into thinking it was a “water bed” and very comfortable. The sharing arrangement went well until one of them brought a young lady back and forgot to tie a string to the faucet causing an embarrassing episode.

“Okay,” said the big man. “We’ll try that.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” chimed the other and before returning indoors to work out the schedule he added, “You have a lovely house here.”

Tellurine smiled a typically evil Tellurine smile. “Yes, I do,” he said and went back to counting his money.

[Moonitic]

Ken-Dall, the younger sister of Buffy (or Lady Moon), laughed her way to "her" chamber. Not only had she succeeded in disrupting the wedding of her sister's best friend, but she sent the woman running...not to mention the trouble that Lord Tellurine was causing. Yes, her rotten goody-goody sister's reputation was completely tarnished by now. HA!

She slammed the door shut behind her, and threw herself onto the soft bed. She hadn't lived in such luxury since she'd been thrown out of her parent's home in Schoolcraftia. She rolled over onto her stomach, still giddy. "Now," she muttered, "what else can I do for fun?" Tellurine wanted her to stay in her room, but that was far too boring for the evil princess. HE got to go down to prepare for the tournament. So why couldn't she enjoy herself?

Then it hit her: She'd join the competition herself! After all, Lady Moon was supposed to be a fair fighter. And it would delight her to see the looks on the others' faces. Yes...that's what she'd do. Especially Tellurine. She wasn't stupid. He was just using her, but wasn't she just using him? Now it was time to have some REAL fun!

[Swordsman]

Note: This takes place the day before the incident with Blade, Angelo, etc.


Nækos was no longer seething, no longer ready to break. The burning rage had relaxed now to a smoldering anger; the fury was now just a rather bad mood. The wounds inside remained, but at least they’d stopped bleeding. It was in this cynical mood that he set out in the afternoon to register for the tournament. He was glad that he’d thought to grab a cloak this time. It was exceedingly warm, but the deep hood shielded his eyes from the sun. The size of the cloak and hood in fact concealed his face and body completely – just as it had that night of Ledgerto’s death. So long ago, it seemed…

He loped down the street now, moving smoothly in a long-strided half-crouch. He felt tight, lithe, ready to spring. A light breeze carried down the street, reaching deftly beneath the cloak. Both Nækos and his cloak flowed under the late afternoon sun.

It wasn’t hard to follow the crowds as they got thicker toward the registration area. He kept pushing ahead through the people until he finally found a proper line, and took his place. About an hour later, he finally found himself before Mortas, Duke of Angford. Still smoldering, Nækos was in no mood to cooperate.

“Who are you?” Mortas inquired with boredom.

“I am the Swordsman.”

“Yeah, you’re about the millionth one, too. Which swordsman are you?”

“I am the Swordsman.”

“I suppose you want me to register you as that?”

“You may as well.”

“Do you have a weapon with you?” Colin’s look suggested that if he said ‘no’, he would get strangled.

Nækos tossed his head, letting the hood of the cloak drop. At the same time, he opened the folds of the front of the cloak. These two actions revealed a pair of hilts peeking over his shoulders, a war sword on each hip, a katar on each thigh, throwing stars on two straps across his chest, several small throwing knives in various chest pockets, the Talruum sabre under one arm and a shortsword under the other, and fighting knives of varying lengths and sizes all the way down both legs. “Take you pick.”

Mortas was silent.

“Since I’m limited to one weapon, I guess I’ll go with this.” Nækos gingerly removed the Talruum sabre from its sheath.

“Never seen its kind before.”

“Few have.”

“Go talk to the Brenwyck guy over there.”

Nækos nodded solemnly, took the sabre, and proceeded.

[ 05-25-2002: Message edited by: Swordsman ]</p>

[lochinvar]

[Ed. note:
Mortas is the Duke of Angford.
Colin is the Earl of Brenwyck.]

[Swordsman]

Ach, I always get those two screwed up. It's almost as bad as at school - Michelle and Melissa, twins. Couldn't keep 'em straight for weeks. Anyway.

Do I have it right this time?

[Fencing Angel]

hehe... when i first read that.. i thought of the scene from "The Matrix" The "lobby" scene was the first thing that came to my mind..

Anyways.. back to the story.. <img src="graemlins/jawa.gif" border="0" alt="[Jawa]" />

[Swordsman]

Where do you think the inspiration came from?