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

Tyrandé skilfully dodged the Ing'mar's attacks and countered by lining up four well placed shots at each of the Ing'mar's chests. Her counter worked, and Tyrandé broke the spinning circle of doom. She ran between two writhing Ing'mar and escaped their grasp. No longer cornered, Tyrandé didn't bother waiting for the Ing'mar to turn around. Smirking, she lined up another shot.

This time she had Ash'Alah help out. He pounced atop two Ing'mar with the intent of beheading him. He was like a giant kitten with a chew toy. Meanwhile, Tyrandé fired two arrows at the remaining Ing'mar, who rushed to help their downed allies. Tyrandé almost laughed on the inside. If only the first Siege of Drak'Tharon had been so simple.

She remembered how fearsome the Ing'mar were in their lifetime. She knew their strength and skill first hand. Death seemed to have eroded all of that skill and pride and replaced it with pure malice and wickedness, thus diminishing their skills as warriors.

Attack Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

9

Attack Strength

Random number (1,10000) :

8855

Your enemies, the once mighty Ing'mar Honour Guard, are dead. They die with a horrible, ear-splitting shriek. You feel your eyes bleed as you cover them, trying to protect them from the sound in vain. They explode, in a torrent of cold wind, ice, dust and ashes. After they explode it rains ash and from the sky for minutes on end. Like a deadly, macabre snow. The Ing'mar are now no more.

Not even their corpses, their memories, remain. They have died; passed on through the veil for judgement in the afterlife. For the second time. You exhale, proud of your achievement as the healing touch of the Holy Light washes over you, healing some of your wounds.

For all intents and purposes, this fight could've gone on longer than it did, and gone far worse than it had. You were lucky. Do not rely upon it though. Luck does not aways hold true forever; especially not within the Labyrinth of Champions. The Ruined Kingdom of Drak'Tharon was not lucky when it ended. It is far worse today.

Anyway, the fight is over. Rejoice Champion, and choose your path forward.

Tyrandé's skill in battle was slowly returning to her. In her youth, though she did not appear nearly as old as she was, Tyrandé had been an indomitable force on the battlefield. She had done battle with the forces of the Old Gods, with the Burning Legion, with Drak'Tharon, with Illidan. Few stood in her way. She was a fury on the battlefield that many tried to avoid. She smiled as she remembered, but frowned as she thought of how long it took her to bounce back.

She had grown lazy through years of inaction and peaceful existence. She did not hate peace by any means; but the peacefulness had allowed Tyrandé to waver from her practice and while she could still fight, it took her longer than usual to get back into the swing of battle.

Of course that could also be because she was so far from the Spirit World. The Shadow Lands were close; but not quite the same. There was a fair amount of Spiritual Energy there, but it also carried much of the same feel and aura of the Physical World as it did the Spirit World. It was two worlds in one, and so this made sense. Plus, being in Drak'Tharon did not bring her any closer to Spirituality. This was place too dark and twisted for that.

With a frown soon turned into a smile as she felt herself renewed, Tyrandé pushed onward, towards the east. She felt something there draw her in, and so that is where she went, Ash'Alah in tow and arrows in her bow.

You leave the corpses of the Ing'mar Honour Guard behind you as you march proudly eastward. What you are not aware of, however, as you enter the small narrow hallway, is that you are to become one of the bless'd few who will see one of the rooms secret reserved for the brave few who take different paths. You've reached a treasure room. You press onwards. You feel your heart beating but you don't know why. Your mind and soul know where you're headed before you do.

As you exit the hallway you reach a marble courtyard. Hidden and secretive, it is one of the few places not touched by the Curse of Drak'Tharon. At the other end, a treasure trove. 5,000,000 Gold Piece in an overflowing chest, as well as a set of armour.


Congratulations Champion! Collect your reward! But do not forget you must press onwards after you are done. Return to where you came from when you are finish and choose from west, south or north.

Tyrandé beamed with pride as she walked towards her sweet rewards.  The gold she could perhaps care less for, but the armour was nice.  It was sturdy, the colour of earth, and would blend in well with her surroundings while hunting.  It also had stag antlers on it, which would only help to match her husband Malfurion's own.  The armour no doubt would provide more protection that her satin and silk dress.  Tyrandé donned her armour.

With this armour on she would probably take a bit less damage, and enemy attacks would hurt less.  Good.  She was unsure why she hadn't worn armour in the first place.  She had had armour, many years ago.  But she had not used it since...the last time she was here in Drak'Tharon.  The last time she had fought in a grand battle.  In any kind of battle.  As the leader of the Spiritborne now though, Tyrandé had a feeling she'd be fighting more and more.

Malfurion had left to join the Dawn Crusade, and help them defeat the coming darkness.  He saw it as his duty to the world and the Spirits.  Illidan had returned, broken free of his prison, mad as ever, strong as ever.  He was joined by a new follower now, and they no doubt had plans that involved the Old Gods.  Tyrandé's world had changed, and now she needed to fight more than ever, for the sake of peace.

Once the armour was on, Tyrandé watched as the Dawn Crusade, presumably them at least, teleported the gold from its place to their safe camp just outside.  Tyrandé smiled and mounted Ash'Alah, then returned back down the tunnel she came, to continue forward down the path to Drak'Tharon Keep.

You return to the courtyard where you came from.  The way south is now closed.  The way you came from, east is closed as well.  You have but two options, backwards or forwards towards the north.  You take the north.  You and the tiger squeeze through the extremely narrow opening, sidling against the wall as the hallway starts to open up more.  You see the poem that graced you before grace you again.  This time it is carved into the wall in fancy runes that you can slightly understand.

The last one was drawn in claw marks.  In desperation.  Probably copied from hear by the hand of a dying adventurer.  Unfortunate for him, but not for you.  You reread it, and reinterpret the meaning to aid you.  Lucky.  You press onwards, the way getting larger, opening up more.  Now you've in a hallway three times the width of the biggest trees you've seen in the Spirit World.  Parts of this labyrinth were built in a hurry, as you seen from some of the shoddy stone work.

The innards were built to buy time.  The outer sections, however, were built to be secure, and hold in whatever was in this labyrinth.  From what you can gather, the insides were made only to confuse whatever the labyrinth was trying to keep in.  Walls get thinner here, stonework gets a bit more shoddy.  Typical signs of bad work or rush work.  Either way, the labyrinth was built with purpose.  Purose with which you now understand.

You continue through the hallway until you emerge in yet another courtyard.  This one is filled with massive hawks of flame.  Birds of spirit normally, but these ones were corrupted.  Non-corrupted Fire Hawks are still dangerous, serving Magmaros and his Burning Legion.  These ones?  Corrupted by the Old Gods.  Their emerald green flames and undying bloodlust that out-rival their original master, are a tell tale sign of this.

Before you can retaliate or prepare they swoop at you.  Cawing, clawing, raking, scratching, hacking, biting, gnawing, crashing, burning!  They want you dead Champion!  Fight hard!

Attach Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

10

Attack Strength: [colour=white]x4 Multiplier[/color]

Random number (1,2500) :

3

((If I counter this I'm gonna die laughing.))

Defence

Random number (1,10) :

2

In her new armour, Tyrandé was not so vulnerable to attacks.  It was amazing this armour.  So lightweight and mobile.  It was easy to move quickly, and while Tyrandé still needed to get used to the extra weight added to her movements, the protection provided by the armour diminished damage taken from the most recent set of attacks.  Claws dug into her chain mail and plate armour, yet they did not strike her save for the tips.

Tyrandé stood tall and proud, atop her great behemoth of a Spirit Tiger, Ash'Alah.  She reared the massive tiger and roared herself, setting the birds on edge and causing them to caw and flap about in a frenzy.  Birds, even birds controlled by the Old Gods, were feeble and simple minded, no match for a skilled hunter.  With a smirk, Tyrandé drew four arrows, knocked them into her bow and, while Ash'Alah reared once more with a fearsome roar, fangs bared.

Tyrandé let the steel arrows fly, hoping to strike down her flaming green enemies.  She had fought them before, or at least their kind.  They were orange though, not corrupted green like these ones.  The ones Tyrandé had fought had come from the forces of Lord Magmaros himself.  Formidable, yet mindless.  That was the Fire Hawks Tyrandé knew.  These would not be much different.

Attack Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

2

Attack Strength

Random number (1,10000) :

6702