The 1st Light of Dawn Tournament | Labyrinth of Champions | Phase 1 | Entrant #6 - Tyrandé Dal'anara

"Welcome all, to the first annual Light of Dawn Tournament! This tournament challenges the strongest of the strong, the bravest of the brave, the most daring of champions the Six Nations has to offer!

The Avatar cannot watch the world alone; the Avatar cannot guard billions of people all at once, and so the duty falls not only to us, but to you the people to defend yourselves and each other. You must fight to protect what is dear to you, to protect world peace and balance. To preserve these lands for generations to come!

We the Dawn Crusade have started this tournament for that purpose. To weed out potential candidates. To help us fight so that there will always be a dawn tomorrow! We the Holy Paladins of Light!

Now, without further ado, let the tournament begin! Champions, brave the labyrinth and do not look back, for hesitance will only get you killed. Brave the Labyrinth and find your way to Drak'Tharon Keep...those who cannot make it...well, you will have to fight your way out of Gun'Drak.

Good luck champions, and remember: from light comes comes, and from darkness, light. Let your passion be your light in the dark."

Those are the last words you hear before you step into the stone Labyrinth and the stone doors slam shut behind you. You've got enough food to last five weeks, and some basic first aid supplies for when things get grim. Otherwise it's you, your instincts and the voice in your head telling you you can do this, you can win. Just keep walking; that's in, one foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right, left right, shit.

A few steps in and you're presented with your first choice. Left, right or forward. The path forks into three different, new paths. Each dark and foreboding. You think you hear growling down the left path. Something down the middle path gives you chills and makes you feel cold and hopeless, while the third path...something's watch you--maybe. Maybe because you feel like something's been watching you since you first walked into this maze. But do you have the guts to face it? To see if it, whatever "it" is, is there, waiting for you?

The choice is yours Champion. Pick your path, decide your fate, and fight to the death to defend it.

Tyrande entered the labyrinth.  She was aware of the stares she received from the humans.  For how she looked.  Long ago she was one of them--she looked like them.  Now...now she was changed.  Like her husband, her brother-in-law, her whole people.  Spiritborne is what they called themselves.  Quel'thaladorei in their language.  Ironically that was what the Spiritborne also called their human counter parts, Spirit Benders.  The ones who remained in this world 10,000 years ago.  The ones who had not been changed by exposure to the Spirit World and Spirits they controlled.

The word was use to connote those who bent the Spirits.  Therefore, the dual-meaning made sense.  Though many Spiritborne used the world, Thalsaradorei.  Unclean or Impure Ones if you wanted to be vicious.  Tyrandé herself preferred the term Theurédorei.  Lost or Blind Ones.  They were not so different save for appearance, but they had lost their way.  Their path.  The Spirit Bender path.  The Dawn Crusade was perhaps closer than the typical Spirit Bender, but still not what their original ways had been.

Tyrandé had joined this tournament because she wanted to help.  This world was going to face great danger soon.  Her brother-in-law, Illidan the Betrayer, servant of the Old Gods, had broken free.  Lord Magmaros, too, had come and wrought his destruction upon this world and its people.  The Burning Legion had returned.  Illidan had returned.  Tyrandé and her husband Malfurion feared the worse.  If the servants of the Old Gods were returning then...

Tyrandé dared not think of it.  She instead braved on wards, bow drawn and strung, riding atop the back of Ash'Alah, her Spirit Tiger and closest companion.  The two of them were here to help this world; Malfurion was helping by joining this Dawn Crusade.  The humans were wary of him, but they were in awe at his powers, powers they did not know were still possible.  Slowly they came to respect and trust him.  They were wise to.  Spirit Benders grew stronger with age, and according to most records here, the average Spirit Bender in this world live to be 120-150.

Malfurion and Tyrandé were both well over 10,000 years old.  On top of that they spent 10,000 years living in the Spirit World, drinking in its powerful energies.  Who knew what they were fully capable of; not even they did themselves.

Tyrandé's choice in path was simple really.  When it was presented to her she trusted her instincts.  She went right.  Something was watching her and it bugged her.  It seemed to be coming from the right.  So she would find it, and she would kill the source of her discomfort.  Put an arrow between its eyes and carry on.  None would stop her.  She was a Spiritborne on a mission.

You turn right, walk down a dark, musty corridor in the stone labyrinth and find yourself in what looks like a room. It's a courtyard of some kind. No roof, massive stone walls and the ground little with...rotting corpses and bones. Fun. At the other end of the courtyard are three demons. Large, wing'd and evil. They are horned, with four arms, each carrying a large, sharp, deadly curved sabre covered in dried blood and intestines. Even better.

You notice their wings are stitched together and carved with bloody runes of a language you can't even speak. You don't know what level of hell these beasts crawled out from...and according to the voice of the Dawn Crusade Wardens neither do they. They are the watchers of the labyrinth, that echo information about your enemy through your head. They are just as lost as you. Dammit. This wont be fun.

The demons notice you, and begin clicking incessantly in their tongue as they approach you. They wish to feed on you. They're hungry. Their hooved feet trampling bones and breaking skeletons. They start charging, swinging their swords. They're aiming for you, there's no mistake. You can't run now either, as the doorway to the courtyard, the one you used to enter, is suddenly gone, replaced with a seamless slab of stone that blends in with the wall. You're trapped. You have to fight, you have no choice.

The Guz'zan come at you, they swing their four blades for your limbs, all three of them. Good luck champion.

Attack Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

3

Attack Strength: x3 Multiplier

Random number (1,5000) :

735

Guz'zan; Tyrandé should have known.  Drak'Tharon, that's what this place was.  THE Drak'Tharon.  It wasn't just some name taken from a history book and given to a replica.  Tyrandé remembered how the Spiritborne were called in by the King of Drak'Tharon, King Zul'Drak.  He asked them to help fight the demons.  It was too late.  The whole kingdom fell before the Spiritborne were even called.  The King was a demon too.  Clinging to the hope of being saved, of being healed.

The Spiritborne locked everything they could inside of Gun'Drak, so that it could never again see the light of day.  Tyrandé herself put an arrow through the skull of Zul'Drak.  Then the humans came.  The humans opened the gates and the doors and went looking for treasure.  They found none.  Only death.  One of them had the brains to put up a labyrinth and never talk about the place again.  Now it was back.  Someone brought it back and they were throwing people inside as a test of strength.

"Damn fools!" hissed Tyrandé as she dodged the Guz'zan's swinging blades.  She knocked three arrows into her blow, pulled back, and fired, aiming an arrow at each of the Guz'zan.  Ash'Alah stood beside her, ready to pound if needed.  This was going to be interesting.  Or incredibly scary.  Either way, Tyrandé felt her heart race, and felt the world slow down.  They never should've opened the labyrinth.  They never should've brought this place black.

Drak'Tharon; the Black Kingdom.  It was a name given to it because of the blackstone that was found in the island's quarries.  Now the name had two meanings.  Tyrandé vowed to slaughter the person who reopened this kingdom once she found them.  It never should've been allowed to see the light again.

Attack Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

1

Attack Strength

Random number (1,5000) :

2160

The Guz'zan rear at your attack.  They dodge but they are displeased with your choice.  Angry, wanting to rip flesh and drink your blood.  They were angry at you before, and now they are livid with you.  You've awakened their primal rage, their lust for blood.  These demons were known as the heralds of the Old Gods in days gone by.  They would loosen things up for their armies before they arrived.  Burning, slaughtering, killing.  Even raping once or twice.  Guz'zan are not carnal creatures though; rarely do they rape.  They are too primal, too base, too murderous to care about their sexual desires.

With roars and screeches and clicking rage, the demons charge at you, sewn-together wings flapping madly.  Four armours swinging with their rusted blades as they attack you.  They charge, they slice, they attempt to rip.  One aims a kick for your chest, one aims four swords for your arm.  Another tries to latch his fangs onto your skull and cap your head like a bottle top so he can drink your brain.

They are vile creatures, heralds of the end.  Keepers of the Gate of Faceless Ones, the Old Gods.  One time guardians of the Well of the Old Gods.  The drink that runs green and viscous and warps and twisted and deforms all who drinks it.  It promises great, unstoppable power, but the toll is far greater than the reward.  It has killed far more than it has blessed.

Worst of all, these demons remember you, Tyrandé.  They know your husband, and they know your brother-in-law.  The Betrayer.  Illidan.  They know who he is, and they know what you did at Drak'Tharon thousands of years ago.  They know how you killed the corrupted King, Zul'Drak.  They know how you locked them and their brethren away at the catacombs of Gun'Drak.  Now they want revenge.

Attack Accuracy
10

Attack Strength: x3 Multiplier
3222

Before you have a chance to defend, the Gods call down from above as a ray of light hits you. Your opponent is frozen in mid-movement. He will not be frozen long; just long enough for you to hear words whispered from above. The Goddess Elounli. She blesses you with her endless love or humans. She seeks to help you. She whispers to your mind.


As the light fades and the voice dies away, your enemy unfreezes. You find your attack raised to 10,000 and your maximum health doubled to 100,000. She could not heal the damage you have taken already, but she did all she could for you. Go forth Champion, you are blessed and ready to fight a hundred more monsters. But do not get comfortable; there is still a long ways to go.

Tyrandé called out in pain as she felt the blades rip into her side.  It was not a good feeling, but it was something she had to live with.  She gritted her teeth, sucked in a breath, and lowered her heart rate.  If she was raggedly breathing and frantic she was going to miss every shot.  She needed to calm down and keep steady.  Besides there was no need to get Ash'Alah all worked up for nothing.  He needed to keep a cool head too.

With an exhaling breath, Tyrandé ran and put some distance between her and the Guz'zan.  She had fought them before.  It has been millennia, but it wouldn't be much different.  Using everything she'd learned in her 10,000 years,  Tyrandé was going to destroy these demons and the remains of the cursed kingdom.  She pulled tight her bowstring, knocking three arrows and preparing to fire.  She waited until the demons were facing her, charging.  Closer, closer.  Just a bit closer.

Thwack!  The bowstring twanged and the arrows few towards their targets.  Time seemed to slow as the arrows flew through the air, swishing as they cut through air and wind.  Only time, a fickle beast, would tell if Tyrandé would hit her mark.

Attack Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

1

Attack Strength

Random number (1,10000) :

2877