Chapter Two - The Tournament Begins.
The group spent the night in the finest hotel in the city, which was an amazing feat in itself; to have actually managed to acquire reservations for a room. Especially one of such exquisite quality. The children had spent the remainder of the night playing in the pool, splashing each other and generally causing as much havoc as they could between themselves. But the old man never once raised his voice, even when Tomin had attempted to use the other children as stepping stones, in an attempt to race across the water without touching it. The ensuing fight could have woken the dead, as Suzy began bawling at the top of her voice.
The following morning, the streets were ablaze with activity, hundreds upon thousands of merchants peddling their wares, and haggling like it was going out of fashion. The group awoke early, as the latter of the populous had forgone sleep to set up the festivities for the following day. Making their way to the giant dome they had ogled over the previous evening. Stampeding through the streets like deranged rabbits, all chasing after the same carrot towards the dome. Oddly enough, the old man had no trouble keeping up with the group of youths. Taking up the rear to make sure that none of them ended up getting lost in the many stalls that lined the crowded streets.
Upon arriving in the courtyard of the titanic structure, the old mage called out to the almost rabid children, gathering them together like a teacher would with students. Counting each one to make sure he hadn't let any of them slip away.
"Well, this is it children. The moment most of you have been waiting for, for near enough your entire lives. I promise you, the images you take in the next few hours, will stay with you until the day you die. The tournament will take place over the next five days, these are just the final preliminaries. Every guymelef knight wing in the known universe is going to be here. And as a special treat. A few friends of mine in some very high places, have granted me permission to take you on an exclusive tour of the hangars"
And with that, the group of children practically died on the spot out of sheer disbelief. They were about to meet the pilots. The notion of meeting their collective heroes was almost too much for them, rushing forward to hug at the old man's knee-caps, praising his very existence loud enough to be heard over the crazed masses. And with that; the rabble marched onwards to the back of the arena. Somewhat quieter than the rest of the city. But the lack of screams and shouts was amply made up for by the sound of heavy machinery, running the maintenance on the awesome clockwork giants, each one so blisteringly intricate and complex that at least half of the people capable of building them were generally quite insane.
With a look of unfathomable awe, and shock. They quietly moved through the hangar, lost for words, as the giant's armored hulks were laid bare. Men and women that they had previously seen only in posters and some of the other, magically recorded tournaments. But that had been on small, crystalline viewers. And as they had thought; it was -nothing- compared to the real thing.
Walking down the aisle between the huge, powerful machines. Feeling the warm, powerful radiance emanating from the still beating dragon hearts used to drive the godlike engines inside their armored frames. Dragons, being highly magical beings; did not have a normal physiology. Their very blood was imbued with mana, their eyes seeing into the magical spectrum, their wings gliding on currents of mana. And their legendary breath. Igniting the very winds of magic themselves in a kind of innate fire spell. Not actually using fire at all. Simply causing a powerful reaction in the mana around them. Thousands of years ago, it was discovered that even after it's death, a dragon's heart still radiated a magical half-life that would last almost indefinitely.
And thus; the first guymelef was created. Supposedly the most powerful of all. And rumor has it that the greatest pilot of the time still has it in his family. The legendary Kraikon Gallowglass. His melef having been passed down through the ages. It's frame lined with powerful glyphs and runes, amassed by his predecessors. Though the sword was lost thousands of years ago. Forged from the fang of an elder dragon, and supposedly powerful enough to cut clean through pure mithrill without even slowing down. The guymelef still retains its trademark infamy. Though the body of the machine has been re-worked countless times, and the original design is long forgotten. The original heart still beats strong. Radiating a low, crimson aura from the ornate crystal it had been imprisoned within.
One of the children, making a bold move, walked up one of the runways to her favorite pilot's hangar bay. The young woman was tinkering with one of the arms of her giant guymelef. It was rather small as far as guymelef's went, but it had its reasons; as what it lacked in size, it fully made up for in power. Using the dragons innate magical field to bolster her own spells, using the guymelef as a kind of magical battery - allowing her to pull off some truly ridiculous feats of magical prowess. The arms of the metal giant were lined with runes of power, that hummed with suppressed energy - ready to lash out at a moment's notice. A giant transparent chamber, with several strange mechanical devices built in, to speed up her use of the weave.
Before the child could assault the Elven pilot with a barrage of questions and praises to drive any living thing at least partially insane. A thunderous booming sound the likes of which the children had never heard, as the top of the giant structure buckled and snapped out of place. Giant mechanical limbs pulling it back like a circular doorway. Seconds later, the default answer for almost every child on the planet if asked "Who's your hero?". Kraikon Gallowglass.
Kraikon Gallowglass. The undisputed champion of the guymelef knights. And their self-appointed leader, as there is no -true- head of the knights; and they are all hypothetically freelancers, unless called upon by the mage council; The main governing body over the known universe. Made up of the most ancient, and wizened men and women representing each and every recognized political group and faction in existence.
With a powerful rush of air and magic, the titanic guymelef; Aravahlis. Forged over a thousand years ago by the finest craftsmen of the time, Human, Ankaran, Dwarven and Elven blacksmiths each contributed to the design. And over the years it had been modified and re-worked countless times, giving it an unprecedented edge in combat; matched only by a select few beings in existence, and exceeded by next to none.
With another set of mechanical noises, the interlocked armor of the Aravahlis un-sealed itself, and the soldier of legend leapt to the floor; his thin, light-weight armor designed for the sole purpose of interlocking with his guymelef. Stepping forwards from the Aravahlis, Kraikon began to walk down the aisle, greeting several of the other pilots on the way, stopping about half way down to speak to one of them. She was lying on a gravity pad at the back of her guymelef; a very light-weight design, with a green and black motif, a pair of swords up on holsters against the wall.
Pushing herself out from behind the guymelef, Megilindar, roughly translated in Elven as "Blade Singer". The pilot; Natalia Dagnir, a somewhat enigmatic young Elf, pushed herself out from behind the machines giant frame, looking up at Kraikon, still caught in a field of subjective gravity, which allowed her to work on the melef without having to move the frame itself around. Making it much, much easier.
"Nats!" He yelled, causing her to grasp a pair of odd looking poles, floating next to the board she was lying on, giving a very strange sight to anyone not accustomed to working in customized gravity.
"Yes sir?" She practically saluted, giving off a perpetual air of cuteness that nobody could really penetrate, even through the armored bulk of the Megilindar, her every move had a very blatant, rebellious innocence that made you want to walk up and ruffle her hair.. and then take a few steps back to make sure everything was still intact.
"You ready for this thing?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but it seemed like the thing to say before such an event. But she simply raised an eyebrow, and pushed herself back behind the Megilindar, and with a mild chuckle, he carried on walking, and all of a sudden; his eyes practically lit up. As he spotted the old man, standing behind a small army of children.
"You! I haven't seen you in years!! How have you been old man?"
This was more than the children could take, the man they had spent the past few years of their small lives going to see on the weekends actually knew -Kraikon-. Was this even possible? Most of them didn't think so. But before any of them could rush to vindicate the guymelef knight's sanity with childish questions he'd probably answered a million times before. The old man stepped forwards.
"I've been around"
He spoke, trying to uphold his usual air of mystery, it had become habit for him to appear as 'the mysterious stranger', but it wouldn't work with someone who's entire family had known him well. He had been near enough Kraikon's grandfather's best friend. Though nobody thought to ask why he never seemed to get any older, it just... felt right. They just subconsciously guessed that he had been blessed with the gift of perpetual old age, giving him a homely, and wizened look, so unthreatening that it almost came full circle and became terrifying... Almost.
"Well then, we'll have to catch up on old times someday. Bring the troop with you, maybe give 'em a showing of what this thing can do."
He said, whilst motioning to the giant, mechanical masterpiece, only a few feet behind him. Practically oozing raw power; the heart beating with the power and strength of an emperor dragon, battle hardened by centuries in the service of the most powerful warriors in history. The children practically burst wit excitement at the thought. But they had run out of time. With a sudden surge of sound and light, the stadium began to stir; crowds screaming, music playing, alarms going off; The tournament had begun.
Giving a wave to the old man, Kraikon dashed back to the Aravahlis, and with a running jump; maneuvered himself in an impressive acrobatic display into the cockpit, and locked himself in. Legs clamping into ancient harnesses, metallic limbs interlocking with the slim - skin tight armor. Moments later, they were one. The Aravahlis and Kraikon thought, breathed, moved, and fought as one entity. Perfect unison; a thing of beauty.
Kicking the boosters into life, Kraikon began to hover a few meters off the floor, and with a sudden blur of movement, he had turned around, and activated the over-boosters. Leaving the children in a stunned, mindless stupor. Too dumb-founded to react with anything beyond a stare, they watched as every other guymelef arose from it's dormant state. Some simply walking out of the gantries, and others taking flight, some even flickering out of sight in a haze of magical energy. All headed for the same place; the central arena. Where all the knights were to gather before the games began. For some reason, the mage council had asked that they may address the knights as a whole.
The group spent the night in the finest hotel in the city, which was an amazing feat in itself; to have actually managed to acquire reservations for a room. Especially one of such exquisite quality. The children had spent the remainder of the night playing in the pool, splashing each other and generally causing as much havoc as they could between themselves. But the old man never once raised his voice, even when Tomin had attempted to use the other children as stepping stones, in an attempt to race across the water without touching it. The ensuing fight could have woken the dead, as Suzy began bawling at the top of her voice.
The following morning, the streets were ablaze with activity, hundreds upon thousands of merchants peddling their wares, and haggling like it was going out of fashion. The group awoke early, as the latter of the populous had forgone sleep to set up the festivities for the following day. Making their way to the giant dome they had ogled over the previous evening. Stampeding through the streets like deranged rabbits, all chasing after the same carrot towards the dome. Oddly enough, the old man had no trouble keeping up with the group of youths. Taking up the rear to make sure that none of them ended up getting lost in the many stalls that lined the crowded streets.
Upon arriving in the courtyard of the titanic structure, the old mage called out to the almost rabid children, gathering them together like a teacher would with students. Counting each one to make sure he hadn't let any of them slip away.
"Well, this is it children. The moment most of you have been waiting for, for near enough your entire lives. I promise you, the images you take in the next few hours, will stay with you until the day you die. The tournament will take place over the next five days, these are just the final preliminaries. Every guymelef knight wing in the known universe is going to be here. And as a special treat. A few friends of mine in some very high places, have granted me permission to take you on an exclusive tour of the hangars"
And with that, the group of children practically died on the spot out of sheer disbelief. They were about to meet the pilots. The notion of meeting their collective heroes was almost too much for them, rushing forward to hug at the old man's knee-caps, praising his very existence loud enough to be heard over the crazed masses. And with that; the rabble marched onwards to the back of the arena. Somewhat quieter than the rest of the city. But the lack of screams and shouts was amply made up for by the sound of heavy machinery, running the maintenance on the awesome clockwork giants, each one so blisteringly intricate and complex that at least half of the people capable of building them were generally quite insane.
With a look of unfathomable awe, and shock. They quietly moved through the hangar, lost for words, as the giant's armored hulks were laid bare. Men and women that they had previously seen only in posters and some of the other, magically recorded tournaments. But that had been on small, crystalline viewers. And as they had thought; it was -nothing- compared to the real thing.
Walking down the aisle between the huge, powerful machines. Feeling the warm, powerful radiance emanating from the still beating dragon hearts used to drive the godlike engines inside their armored frames. Dragons, being highly magical beings; did not have a normal physiology. Their very blood was imbued with mana, their eyes seeing into the magical spectrum, their wings gliding on currents of mana. And their legendary breath. Igniting the very winds of magic themselves in a kind of innate fire spell. Not actually using fire at all. Simply causing a powerful reaction in the mana around them. Thousands of years ago, it was discovered that even after it's death, a dragon's heart still radiated a magical half-life that would last almost indefinitely.
And thus; the first guymelef was created. Supposedly the most powerful of all. And rumor has it that the greatest pilot of the time still has it in his family. The legendary Kraikon Gallowglass. His melef having been passed down through the ages. It's frame lined with powerful glyphs and runes, amassed by his predecessors. Though the sword was lost thousands of years ago. Forged from the fang of an elder dragon, and supposedly powerful enough to cut clean through pure mithrill without even slowing down. The guymelef still retains its trademark infamy. Though the body of the machine has been re-worked countless times, and the original design is long forgotten. The original heart still beats strong. Radiating a low, crimson aura from the ornate crystal it had been imprisoned within.
One of the children, making a bold move, walked up one of the runways to her favorite pilot's hangar bay. The young woman was tinkering with one of the arms of her giant guymelef. It was rather small as far as guymelef's went, but it had its reasons; as what it lacked in size, it fully made up for in power. Using the dragons innate magical field to bolster her own spells, using the guymelef as a kind of magical battery - allowing her to pull off some truly ridiculous feats of magical prowess. The arms of the metal giant were lined with runes of power, that hummed with suppressed energy - ready to lash out at a moment's notice. A giant transparent chamber, with several strange mechanical devices built in, to speed up her use of the weave.
Before the child could assault the Elven pilot with a barrage of questions and praises to drive any living thing at least partially insane. A thunderous booming sound the likes of which the children had never heard, as the top of the giant structure buckled and snapped out of place. Giant mechanical limbs pulling it back like a circular doorway. Seconds later, the default answer for almost every child on the planet if asked "Who's your hero?". Kraikon Gallowglass.
Kraikon Gallowglass. The undisputed champion of the guymelef knights. And their self-appointed leader, as there is no -true- head of the knights; and they are all hypothetically freelancers, unless called upon by the mage council; The main governing body over the known universe. Made up of the most ancient, and wizened men and women representing each and every recognized political group and faction in existence.
With a powerful rush of air and magic, the titanic guymelef; Aravahlis. Forged over a thousand years ago by the finest craftsmen of the time, Human, Ankaran, Dwarven and Elven blacksmiths each contributed to the design. And over the years it had been modified and re-worked countless times, giving it an unprecedented edge in combat; matched only by a select few beings in existence, and exceeded by next to none.
With another set of mechanical noises, the interlocked armor of the Aravahlis un-sealed itself, and the soldier of legend leapt to the floor; his thin, light-weight armor designed for the sole purpose of interlocking with his guymelef. Stepping forwards from the Aravahlis, Kraikon began to walk down the aisle, greeting several of the other pilots on the way, stopping about half way down to speak to one of them. She was lying on a gravity pad at the back of her guymelef; a very light-weight design, with a green and black motif, a pair of swords up on holsters against the wall.
Pushing herself out from behind the guymelef, Megilindar, roughly translated in Elven as "Blade Singer". The pilot; Natalia Dagnir, a somewhat enigmatic young Elf, pushed herself out from behind the machines giant frame, looking up at Kraikon, still caught in a field of subjective gravity, which allowed her to work on the melef without having to move the frame itself around. Making it much, much easier.
"Nats!" He yelled, causing her to grasp a pair of odd looking poles, floating next to the board she was lying on, giving a very strange sight to anyone not accustomed to working in customized gravity.
"Yes sir?" She practically saluted, giving off a perpetual air of cuteness that nobody could really penetrate, even through the armored bulk of the Megilindar, her every move had a very blatant, rebellious innocence that made you want to walk up and ruffle her hair.. and then take a few steps back to make sure everything was still intact.
"You ready for this thing?" He asked, already knowing the answer, but it seemed like the thing to say before such an event. But she simply raised an eyebrow, and pushed herself back behind the Megilindar, and with a mild chuckle, he carried on walking, and all of a sudden; his eyes practically lit up. As he spotted the old man, standing behind a small army of children.
"You! I haven't seen you in years!! How have you been old man?"
This was more than the children could take, the man they had spent the past few years of their small lives going to see on the weekends actually knew -Kraikon-. Was this even possible? Most of them didn't think so. But before any of them could rush to vindicate the guymelef knight's sanity with childish questions he'd probably answered a million times before. The old man stepped forwards.
"I've been around"
He spoke, trying to uphold his usual air of mystery, it had become habit for him to appear as 'the mysterious stranger', but it wouldn't work with someone who's entire family had known him well. He had been near enough Kraikon's grandfather's best friend. Though nobody thought to ask why he never seemed to get any older, it just... felt right. They just subconsciously guessed that he had been blessed with the gift of perpetual old age, giving him a homely, and wizened look, so unthreatening that it almost came full circle and became terrifying... Almost.
"Well then, we'll have to catch up on old times someday. Bring the troop with you, maybe give 'em a showing of what this thing can do."
He said, whilst motioning to the giant, mechanical masterpiece, only a few feet behind him. Practically oozing raw power; the heart beating with the power and strength of an emperor dragon, battle hardened by centuries in the service of the most powerful warriors in history. The children practically burst wit excitement at the thought. But they had run out of time. With a sudden surge of sound and light, the stadium began to stir; crowds screaming, music playing, alarms going off; The tournament had begun.
Giving a wave to the old man, Kraikon dashed back to the Aravahlis, and with a running jump; maneuvered himself in an impressive acrobatic display into the cockpit, and locked himself in. Legs clamping into ancient harnesses, metallic limbs interlocking with the slim - skin tight armor. Moments later, they were one. The Aravahlis and Kraikon thought, breathed, moved, and fought as one entity. Perfect unison; a thing of beauty.
Kicking the boosters into life, Kraikon began to hover a few meters off the floor, and with a sudden blur of movement, he had turned around, and activated the over-boosters. Leaving the children in a stunned, mindless stupor. Too dumb-founded to react with anything beyond a stare, they watched as every other guymelef arose from it's dormant state. Some simply walking out of the gantries, and others taking flight, some even flickering out of sight in a haze of magical energy. All headed for the same place; the central arena. Where all the knights were to gather before the games began. For some reason, the mage council had asked that they may address the knights as a whole.