NOW LIVE! Today's the day you meet your new best friend. You don’t have to leave Wolfy behind... In 'Pets & Sidekicks' your companions level up with you!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Haraash Saan" data-source="post: 4652045" data-attributes="member: 46615">The following glorious day, in what was becoming a routine, I woke late and prepared myself for yet another combat. My opponent was to be none other than the newest Hydra, Zhontell. He had easily defeated a wizard of some repute by amazingly withstanding his magic assaults before shooting the mage from the sky to which he had magical fled.    My ever growing confidence took pause as I considered my adversary. He was a reasonable archer, so it would do me well to close early, however that would bring his awesome power into play. I had watched his fists and feet delivery almighty blows as they rained down on his opponents. Whilst I felt I could avoid most, he was sure to land a few blows and batter my slight frame.    However, the battle did not follow the course I had predicted. Zhontell was frightened of closing with me, obviously fearing my great speed and the deadly accuracy of my rapier. So instead he chose to attempt to exhaust me.    He would aim and loose a shaft, I would easily dodge it and then charge him down and usually manage a strike through his poor defence, before he ran away and hastily let fly again.     And so it went on. The crowd grew restless, perhaps Zhontell sensed it too, for finally, after sending his tenth shaft at me and bleeding from more than a half dozen wounds, he threw down his bow, stood his ground and did what I had been concerned about. He pummelled me.    The first punch that struck me felt as though I had been slammed in the chest with a boulder. It winded me and caused my own thrust to go awry. I managed two more strikes, staggering Zhontell, but my now ashen faced foe managed one finally almighty blow. I felt it lift me from my feet, but I was unconscious before I hit the ground.     And so the Halfast Games ended for Sir Gerard d’Montfort. With my brilliant swordsmanship I managed to out duel Zmrat and win glory in the individual tourney. And with the other heads of the Hydra, we managed two unlikely victories and an honourable withdrawal from a definite loss. No doubt Baron Yorath would be pleased.    Of my comrades, both Mortec the one armed and Zhontell were the most successful. Both reached the third round of the Apprentice division of the individual Games.    Most impressive was Mortec’s third round bout. He drew a Gerechian Knight, one of the few remaining. Their scarcity indicated that in all likelihood the plate mail clad fanatic was to be a very difficult opponent for a tiny Gnome. But as I have said before, do not underestimate Mortec.     The priest of Todesmagie stood undaunted in the immense arena. His adversary stood calmly opposite him, massive sword gripped in two hands. The crowd sat with baited breath, hoping to see Mortec pulped to a bloodied mess.     “Fight!” came the cry.    The crowd roared and I watched Mortec, unmoving other than his lips calling to his god. The knight rushed forward. Thirty feet away, then twenty, and then a mighty crack appeared in his breastplate. He paused his charge and looked down. Another crack appeared, this one right through the centre of symbol of Gerech painted upon it, and even as he gazed down to his chest his armour exploded!    His helm flew from his head and shards of torn metal struck him, drawing blood from dozens of cuts. The largest impaling itself in his thigh.     It was the laughter that struck me next and then I realised what it was that caused such mirth. The great Gerechian Knight, bloodied and bleeding, was now stark naked, his sword lying useless on the sand and his privates covered by his cupped hands.    A thin lipped smile crept onto Mortec’s face as he strode (with such little steps) forward with palm outstretched, no doubt ready to cause some grievous magical wound. But the knight recovered his awareness of the occasion, uncovered his unmentionables and groped for his sword.    Mortec’s stride turned to a run as he realised that he had no time to soak up the moment, but the knight was faster. His hand found the sword and he swept it from the sand, steel glistening in a wide arc as it struck Mortec with such force that he was lifted from the his feet and thrown some five feet before landing in a crumpled mess.    The little gnome may have lost but the fight but we certainly won the day.    Zhontell’s exploits in the third round were of much less note. He was quickly dispatched by an archer, without landing a retaliatory strike.    Morgan was the only other that achieved a victory. In a grim match and bloody contest he ended the fight by slaying his adversary with a magnificent final thrust through his heart. I could not have done it better myself.    We stayed in Halfast for another two weeks, resting and lapping up the recognition that came with our successes. I spent my time either with the most delectable Melinda or with Freydis studying the magical arts.     The ugly wizardress taught me more about interpreting written magic and even how to copy it down into a book. I asked dozens of questions about how magic worked, or where the power came from, but each time Freydis answered the same way, “It is magic my lord. It is not to be analysed, but harnessed. Do not seek to understand just value and utilise it.”    It was a balmy evening and I was idly chatting about the deeds of the Hydra to some wide-eyed locals in the Inn at the End of the Road. Melinda worked the bar and I was waiting for her to finish for the evening. Thankfully it was a quiet night so that meant she would be free to pursue more pleasurable pursuits sooner.    The large double doors, suddenly swung inward and a bedraggled Moxadder rushed into the room. His head swung around whilst seeking his comrades. Even from my vantage to one side of the room I could see that his eyes were bloodshot and he was under the influence of some narcotic.   </blockquote>

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