Legend of the Spellthief

Logan tensed his whole body as he surged power all through it, concentrating his spellforce to empower himself and get ready for the final “round” of combat between him and Marcus.

Amidst the roaring crowd, their cheers and glee aimed at both the combatants below, Logan the Spellthief had shadows flicker around his hands. His emerald eyes glinted in the chilly sunlight, mist slowly rolling off his body from previous spells. Getting into a low, clawed, stance, Logan stared down Marcus.

On the opposite side of the arena, Marcus stood tall with his new stance, gentle, caressing yellow lights flew over his body. Minor cuts and bruises erased on his skin, cleaned of all blemishes. His haggard breath was only slightly heavier than Logan’s, as the Devout’s resistance to mental fatigue was lesser than his friend’s.

Waiting for a sign from the other, the two companions stood as still as statues. The minor slide of Logan’s boot on the floor as he readjusted signalled the start of the ultimate conflict.

The pair charged from their positions at one another, Marcus aiming another straight jab at Logan, Logan dragging his clawed hands near the floor. Crossing them over, Logan chanted, “Necromantic Wall”, forming two long walls of shadows that created a “v” shape at Marcus’s sides.

Marcus’s jab went through the abyss and was met by a dagger into his wrist, Logan’s speed still beating his ally.

Blasts of wind then erupted on both sides of the darkness, Marcus trying to attack pre-emptively against a hidden foe. Instead, Logan double-teleported for his attacks. Appearing further back, and then warping closer, Logan stabbed a Bowen dagger into Marcus’s armpit, and then into the other.

Teleporting behind Marcus, Logan left two more daggers in the back of Devout’s knees. Blasting into reality above Marcus, Logan dove two more daggers into his foe’s shoulders, locking up almost all movement from his opponent.

Marcus then called out loudly, “Skill Reset”, a wave of clear energy blasting from him. His body’s grey aura then engorged like before, utilizing his Enhancing Burst skill again.

The daggers within Marcus’s body were sent flying away, Logan dodging his own blades as he sidestepped away.

“What a development! Marcus’s breadth of skills continues to shock! We’ve yet to see any other Devout with Skill Reset”, Bref narrated, the most energy he had shown so far.

Logan drew out dagger after dagger from his cloak, deflecting punches, and throwing them at Marcus to delay his assault.

“That rare skill can reset almost all your current skills on cooldown, but itself has a week cooldown”, Bref explained.

“Now is as good a time as any to utilise it then!” Rebrin added.

With divine grace, Marcus flowed in combat like a dancing river, palm strikes, straight jabs, winding hooks, and swinging kicks were his flourishes, while his partner did their best to counter them.

Logan was able to get inside Marcus’s guard yet again, landing a deep piercing blow with his dagger, letting it have a new home in his foe’s chest. Opening his hand, Logan let off an Air Blast to send Marcus back a bit. Darkness formed in Logan’s hand as he chanted, “Necromantic Shot”, his other hand pulling back as well.

Shadows shot from Logan’s hand as well as appeared behind Marcus, who merely spun around with dual punches to hit away the magic.

Throwing several more daggers at his enemy, Logan had his projectiles battered away again, but the steel was followed by azure sparks, “Lightning Cascade”, Logan chanted, blue destruction skipping between his fingers and shooting for Marcus.

The Devout was primed to smash the electricity out of the air, but they instead veered to his sides, hitting the airborne blades and rebounding into his body.

Marcus was shocked to his core, parts of his skeleton visible through the skin as the spells tore him apart. As they ended, the Devout’s body was smoking yet still standing, yellow light desperately hugging his skin as he tried to keep himself battle-ready.

Attempting to block another spell, Marcus brought his arms crossed over his face, but it was met with a flurry of dandelions after Logan called, “Sleep Skystrike”, the second-level spell that ended many fights before they began. However, Marcus was quite resilient to it at this point, and it was a high gamble for the MP cost, at least Logan had 1 to spare in his spell slot.

Marcus realised the ploy too late, however, knowing that Logan wouldn’t rely on this to win. Before he was able to retaliate, over two dozen daggers came slinging for his body.

Logan’s lips had just finished speaking, “Telekinesis”, both hands operating his fallen daggers across the arena. Twenty-eight death-dealers shot at Marcus.

Five daggers impaled Marcus before he was able to start punching the weapons away again, his body glowing gold as he fought back the damage done to him. An uppercut to one, a downward smash to another, jumping spin kick to two, but two more piercing his legs. Marcus was a dervish of protective attacks.

The massive grey aura surrounding the Devout dissipated as he finished his twirling attempt at survival. Logan apparated at Marcus’s face, landing a massive upward kick from a crouched position with one hand on the floor into the Devout’s chin.

Marcus was sent flying, daggers and all, into the upward extent of the arena’s barrier. The crowd went wild with the spectacle, calling out the pair’s names and almost going insane at the display of power.

Sweat beaded down both of the friend’s faces, Logan only with 3 MP left and no slots, while Marcus seemed completely out at this point as his yellow healing and grey enhancements were seemingly absent from the fight.

Standing quickly, Logan opened his arms wide, going into an almost star stance, before bending backwards to direct himself at Marcus.

“Spellforce!” Logan shouted. The barrier of the arena glowed white and stayed that way as it combatted Logan’s skill, visible purple energy vacuuming into the Spellthief’s palms. Dragging it out of the air and digging it out of Marcus’s body, Logan absorbed the magic in the area above him.

“Logan is now displaying the prime power of vampires!” Bref announced, “Normally never seen in these grounds due to additional rulings, this skill is only available to older vampires and demon-clan creatures.”

“What is it?” Strolbem asked.

“Spellforce Blast. It sucks in all the ambient spellforce, and active spellforce from targets.”

“I take it we’ll see the ‘Blast’ part when the Guildmaster of Vip is finished”, Rebrin calculated.

Marcus’s body fell to the ground in a modest crash, the ground cracked slightly but the impact was more felt by the Devout who had his power drained away. Meekly attempting to stand, it felt like the man had run a whole marathon without water or break, his arms shaking as he pushed his body upwards.

Logan’s body began to glow violet, the amount of power was far beyond what he’d normally hold and heightened even more as he drew power away from the arena’s defences. The arena had also been filled with background spellforce from all the fights within the tournament, casters and otherwise releasing their innate spellforce into the air.

Marcus tried to move out of Logan’s cone of appropriation, but after being tired out so much it was almost futile.

Logan’s vaskt eyes stared at Marcus, his normal eyes scanning a window to inform him of his skill’s current status. When it finally reached a point he deemed viable, Logan brought his hands closer, his inner wrists touching.

A small chaotic orb of monochromatic hues formed in front of Logan’s two hands, grey static rolling around it. The inhaling effect of the skill disappeared, the purple lines of energy and the wind returning to normal.

Marcus breathed slight relief as his body stopped feeling so weak, but he had very little left to give.

“Blast!” Logan incanted, the ball of energy railgunned from his hands and hurled towards Marcus. The orb destroyed the floor with reckless abandon, a large line dug easily ten feet down. Waves of air ran on the sides of the orb as if it cut apart the atmosphere itself.

Marcus couldn’t dodge its speed at this point, so he resorted to defending against the attack, his legs still bleeding from previous attacks. Raising his arms in a cross over his chest, Marcus caught the orb with the backs of his gauntlets.

A massive wave of energy burst into a dome from Marcus, destroying the terrain horrendously. The metal of Marcus’s gauntlets was stripped away, then it ate away at his cuffs, and finally hit his skin.

The orb picked Marcus off his feet and threw him against the far wall, digging five feet into the sandstone before hitting the barrier within the rock, the blast exploding across the rock and magic, painting the green hexagons white as it protected the audience.

Blood splattered into the air as the cracking of bone was heard. A rush of smoke and dust came from the crater in the wall, when it dissipated it showed Marcus on the brink of unconsciousness. Logan’s Identification clearly showed the Devout at 1 HP from 218.

“What an amazing spectacle! I’ve never seen such a display of raw power from a Wizard in these rankings. Logan is surely a caster to keep an eye on, folks”, Rebrin narrated.

The crowd continued to get louder as they cheered the final attack from Logan, pieces of the wall still cracking slightly and falling to the floor near Marcus.

“How’s that?” Logan asked, breathing heavily.

Marcus coughed as he began to break his limbs out of the earthy tomb, “Now that’s what I wanted to see”, he spoke as he fell to the floor, “Now I know what I mean to you.”

“Can you keep going?” Logan teased, knowing they were both at their limit.

Marcus laughed, “No. No, I don’t think I can.”

“What’s this? Is Marcus surrendering?” Rebrin asked over the Boom Voice stone.

“I yield”, Marcus replied weakly with a wave of his hand before using it to prop his body up on the floor.

“That’s it, onlookers and admirers! The final match of the 21st through 25th ranks has come to a climactic end. Logan Hall, Guildmaster of Vip, is the champion!” Strolbem announced.

The crowd all stood up, some jumping, hailing the new champion’s rise and congratulating the Spellthief who beat all odds to come out the victor. Many voices still cheered on Marcus, encouraging him to try again next year, or that they got a whole lot more from the Devout than they had expected.

Walking slowly through the cold dust, Logan offered a hand for Marcus, the Devout taking it in stride as he clasped onto Logan’s wrist. The Spellthief brought Marcus to his feet and then into a quick hug, the pair patting each other on the back as they laughed off the pain.

Raising each other’s hands, the pair acknowledged the audience who clapped loudly at the fierce combatants who held little back. The arena, however, would most likely have felt antagonistic at the damage it had suffered. White hexagons slowly recovered to their normal green hue, Logan’s skill having drained them a bit during the fight, but not enough to combat the magi at work keeping it active.

As Logan and Marcus moved to exit the battleground, Logan was treated to a victorious sensation alongside two windows that appeared in front of him to congratulate him further.

“You have gained the ‘Tournament Champion’ title.”

“Tournament Champion: You have won all matches in the Yestar Tournament, becoming one of its champions. Almost everyone within Gauntlet will know your name as your fame grows. You have gained a cumulative skill point reward of 6 to distribute for winning the quarter, semi, and final matches.”

“You have gained the ‘Merciful Champion’ title.”

“‘Merciful Champion: You have become a tournament champion with none of your opponents dying due to your actions. You are renowned as being a merciful combatant to those who deserve it. You have gained 3 skill points to distribute.”

It was easy to tell that the first title awarded 1, 2, and 3 points, which were added together based on how close you got to winning the tournament, while the second title was more of a happenstance. These sorts of titles would be in short supply, Logan could only be thankful no other PC had fought over them in his bracket.

A few more days passed for the rest of the tournament to complete, the lower rankings had far more entrants so they couldn’t complete as quickly as the higher ones. Logan was finally able to enjoy the fights from the stands this time, learning a few more techniques from other classes as well as formulating new tactics to combat them.

With all of his bets coming back to him, Logan handed out a total of 1 gold per person who made them on his behalf. Winning twelve matches with twenty gold in the pot brought in 240 gold, ending at 220 after payments.

There was also a hefty investment from both Alton, the Sirn vampire, and Armin Eventa, the wealthy merchant. With a promise of doubling their investment, Logan was able to take a loan of 50 gold to spread among other homeless allies who viewed the matches via magical displays throughout the city and its taverns. That brought in another 450 gold.

Aside from gathering up his coin, Logan continued to scour the crowd for the other PCs that were present.

The first was a younger man, probably in his late 20s or early 30s. Green eyes glittered slightly against the magic on display within the arena, while short, spiked, black hair flew in the wind.

The second was older, grey eyes focused on all the moves taken within the battleground. That man was closer to his 50s than anything else, with wrinkles across his face and a gaze that showed wisdom through age. There was no hair to be seen on his dome, but a full beard of white hugged his face.

It was a surprise to find the first two sat next to each other, conversing every so often. Logan wasn’t the only PC to have found and buddied up with others. But he couldn’t shake the feeling they weren’t on his side. The instinct was only diluted a bit by the lack of a quest to kill them, but just like his normal System quests, Logan assumed those were being held back due to the tournament.

Something that was even more exotic, was that of twin PCs. A pair of women with shoulder-length blonde hair and hazel eyes. Their faces were half covered, from the neck to the bridge of their noses, in white masks that looked like snakes. Logan could only guess they were close to 30 years of age. But it did reveal that people could come to Avanar in groups, or another theory, making copies of yourself meant the clones were also counted as PCs.

The last PC was one shrouded in shadow. A rolling black mist from head to toe made it hard to distinguish who the individual was, aside from a silhouette that looked masculine. It was either a vampire PC or one who revelled in privacy.

Whatever the PCs’ affiliations, Logan had a good idea of who they were now. Distinctive features would make it easier to track them if necessary, and a first-hand sighting meant using scrying methods would go through without as many issues.

The real question. Would they hunt Logan with barbarous intent now they saw him? Or were they just looking for some entertainment?

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