Editing The Chosen

{{Related|Fan Fiction}}

{{Turbine 2003
 |  Link = <nowiki>http://acdm.turbinegames.com/?cat=4&fqf=fanfict/fict_29</nowiki>
 | Title = The Chosen
 |  Text = '''Written by: Zhanai'li'''<br>
Standing there in the darkened chamber, the hate and rage cascaded over her like a torrential storm as the scene that brought her here replayed itself in her head.
<br><br>
The dying echo of the slap was replace with peels of laughter as he rubbed his face where her hand had struck him. She felt her humiliation and shame fan across her face in a vermilion wave.
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"I want it back," she told him, betraying tears glistened in her eyes.
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Still rubbing his face, he said, "My dear, I am going to hold onto this little trophy to remind me how gullible you've been!" His smirk infuriated her. "As if I'd even want you! That's rich! You know, once a cheater always a cheater." He erupted in taunting boils of laughter again.
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She stoically stood before him, staring at him with icy amber eyes and quietly waited for him to regain his composure.
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"I renounced the protections of Asheron long ago," he said when his amusement had subsided. "What makes you think I'd want the restraints of you? You have no permanent place in my life."
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"You betrayed me," she said through clenched teeth.
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"And you expected something different from a Chosen of Bael'Zharon?" he asked callously. "I tire of this chat." He gave a little bow, "It has been a pleasure, m'Lady as always, and I thank you for your gift." Laughing again, he said, "Now I must take my leave. Shirov Thiloi."
<br><br>
Looking up at the blood-red orb that floated over the Altar of Bael'Zharon, she thought, "And now vengeance shall be mine!"
<br><br>
She bowed her head and closed her eyes, "May the great Poet and lord Asheron forgive me."
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Kneeling before the Altar, she opened her soul and embraced the Dark One.
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A bloody haze filled her vision as the image of Bael'Zharon appeared before her and she heard distant laughter of delight. "You have chosen to join the ranks of those freed from Asheron's protective shackles," a nefarious voice boomed in her head. "You have become one of the Chosen."
<br><br>
The crumpled Bloodshed Rumor fell from her hand and floated gently to the floor.
<br><br>
<nowiki>*********************</nowiki>
<br><br>
The sunlight was glaringly bright as Ibn the Bartender, renegade leader of the family's Chosen of Bael'Zharon, looked down on the various family members from the upper rooms of the Bartender's Tavern as they arrived for the day's festivities. Today was Tournament Day, the monthly event in which those Chosen in the Empyrean Overlords clan battled against each other; warriors and mages alike competed in a test of skill and technique.
<br><br>
Ibn walked downstairs, carefully assessing in his head what he intended to say to those gathered in the courtyard. He cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention as he walked out the last door. "Before this match starts, I have to cover the rules of engagement."
<br><br>
The outer door opened and all eyes turned as Zhanai'li entered. Myrha the Wolf and Silvana Nightsong gasped and gave each other a nervous glance. A shocked murmur spread throughout the gathering at the site of Zhanai'li, her aura tinged crimson.
<br><br>
Ibn smiled and gave a short bow, "Welcome, Zhanai'li. So you have decided to duel this fine day, I see."
<br><br>
She gave Ibn a curt nod and dropped her pack at her feet. "Aye, Ibn. I am ready to test my skills," she said.
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Ibn, nodding in his understanding, said, "Shall we continue?
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"This is an Overlord event. These rules I am about to go over have been established by the High Council. Anyone who does not follow them shall be banished from the Tournament and also risks severe punishment by either Kou Warlocktitan or myself.
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"There will be no surprise attacks, nor will there be any gang fighting unless all parties involved agree to it. Once each party has finished their preparations and a countdown has been called, the duel shall begin. All fights are to the death and under no circumstances are the bodies of the fallen to be looted."
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Beltrabor cleared his throat, "Ummm....Ibn, can we make an exception on your last rule please?"
<br><br>
All eyes turned to the elder mage as he brandished the coveted Staff of Aerfelle. "I won this staff at our last Tournament from Gestahl. I challenge that whosoever can kill me shall take this staff as a reward."
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"Very well, Beltrabor," Ibn said with a self-satisfied smile. "I will personally be the first to take you up on that challenge!"
<br><br>
Chuckles and chatter spread through the blood-thirsty crowd as bets were placed on which mage would win, the elder Beltrabor, Master of Enchantments, or Ibn, the ever cunning Chosen.
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Beltrabor replied with a hearty laugh, "It would be a pleasure to kill you, Ibn!"
<br><br>
With a hard, cold smile, Ibn turned his attention back to his kith and kin. "Are there any questions?"
<br><br>
A lone hand shot up from the rear of the group. "Yes, Meea?" Ibn asked.
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Meea's eyes sparkled devilishly as she asked, "Is the fighting ready to start now?"
<br><br>
Ibn smiled, "Of course, Meea. Beltrabor and I will duel first."
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Incantations were called and enchantments were spun. For a full ten minutes, each made their preparations for the fray.
<br><br>
When they were done, Ibn and Beltrabor approached each other, bowed respectfully and retreated to opposite sides.
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"Meea," Ibn called. "Begin the count, please."
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Smiling gleefully, Meea began, "Five..... Four...... Three..... Two..... One!"
<br><br>
The discordant sounds of dis-enchantments echoed through the canyons surrounding the Bartender's Tavern as they each tried to lower the others' skills.
<br><br>
It was a vicious fight with dozens of vital drains and vulnerabilities cast on the other. Beltrabor used his infamous Ilservian's Gift while Ibn chose blades. Both duelists had to retreat on numerous occasions to heal themselves, but in the end Ibn stood over Beltrabor's slashed remains holding the Staff of Aerfalle for all to see.
<br><br>
The next battle was waged between Rotak T'karre and Mr. Hugh, both fine warriors. Rotak chose to use his dagger and Mr. Hugh brought out his hollow sword.
<br><br>
Mr. Hugh laughed at Rotak. "So, you think you want some of this?" he yelled, brandishing his sword.
<br><br>
Rotak returned his laugh, shaking his fist in mock anger at Mr. Hugh. "I'll be the winner of this match, Gimp!"
<br><br>
The countdown commenced and they went at it. Despite Mr. Hugh's apparent skill, Rotak was just too quick on his feet and left Mr. Hugh's pierced corpse lying in a heap at his feet.
<br><br>
The blessing of the lifestone brought all the deceased back for other rematches or for new battles.
<br><br>
Zhanai'li patiently sat and watched each round with intent interest. She knew her time would come.
<br><br>
Kou Warlocktitan, Lord of the Empyrean Overlords, made a rare and grand appearance to bear witness to the saturnalia of blood.
<br><br>
Standing next to his betrothed, Myrha, he addressed his followers, "Don't everyone stop the fighting on my account! By all means, carry on!"
<br><br>
Looking around at his family, his wise eyes came to rest on Zhanai'li. "Zhanai'li!" his voice boomed in the courtyard.
<br><br>
Zhanai'li quickly rose to her feet and approached the great mage. "M'Lord," she said, kneeling before him.
<br><br>
"Rise, Child. When did you become one of the Chosen?" he inquired.
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"Just this morntide, m'Lord," she replied. "I am eager to test my skills in battle against another."
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He sat, staring at her in thought for a long moment, saying at last, "Very well, Zhanai'li. And whom do you wish to do battle with on this glorious day?"
<br><br>
She opened her mouth to speak, but Ibn approached with news for Warlocktitan. "Sire," he bowed. "Faryas Makin has arrived and he brings Vizier and Uben with him. It seems he has talked those two into dueling as well."
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"Faryas!" bellowed Warlocktitan. "Are you corrupting yet more of my clan with this life of yours?"
<br><br>
Faryas took off his copper helm and bowed before Warlocktitan. "Alas, Sire, it is the only way to live in Dereth. You yourself should try it someday!"
<br><br>
Laughing good-naturedly, Warlocktitan turned to Vizier, "Not only you, my son, but poor Uben, too?" He shook his head still chuckling.
<br><br>
Glancing towards Zhanai'li, Faryas looked again. "Zhani'li," he said with an approving tone. "Welcome, Chosen One," he bowed.
<br><br>
Zhanai'li rested her cool amber eyes on him and said with a tight smile, "Thank you, Faryas."
<br><br>
Oblivious to Zhanai'li response, Warlocktitan said, "Faryas, I'd like you and Zhanai'li to spar. Archer against Mage. That should be great sport." Warlocktitan smiled as Myrha lovingly squeezed his arm.
<br><br>
Turning to Zhanai'li, Faryas said with a smirk, "Yes, that sounds like a very, very good idea."
<br><br>
Zhanai'li bowed before Warlocktitan, "As you wish, m'Lord."
<br><br>
"Ibn!" War yelled. "Zhanai'li and Faryas will be next to duel."
<br><br>
The two combatants began to spin their enchantments in preparation for the upcoming clash while Warlocktitan entertained the family in yet another tale of his adventures with the Lady Aerfelle.
<br><br>
Zhanai'li watched Faryas as he prepared and thought to herself, "There's no way anyone is going to notice if I sneak a little gift into his preparations." Looking around quickly to make sure everyone was indeed engaged, she cast Chronic Twitch on Faryas, lowering his bow skill. Just as she suspected, he was so busy with his own spells, the dissonance of the dis-enchantment was lost.
<br><br>
Ibn walked around the corner of the villa in time to see Zhanai'li cast on the unsuspecting Faryas. Through hard, steel-gray eyes, he stood back and watched to see what else she may have in store for his brother.
<br><br>
The magic casting ceased, causing the canyons to grow silent but only for a moment as War had told another anecdote to his loyal followers and a round of laugher erupted from the courtyard.
<br><br>
"Ah," Warlocktitan said as he turned to the duelists, "I see the contestants are ready at last." All eyes turned to Zhanai'li and Faryas. "Ibn!" Warlocktitan bellowed.
<br><br>
"Aye, Sire!" he responded.
<br><br>
"Get them ready, and let the lovely Myrha countdown," he said, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss. Myrha blushed and looked to Silvana, giggling.
<br><br>
Ibn gathered Zhanai'li and Faryas in the center of the arena. "Alright," he said. "Face to face, pay your respects and then each to your respective corners so to speak. Once Myrha gets to one, commence." He gave Zhanai'li a wary glance, but said nothing before backing out of the way.
<br><br>
Zhanai'li looked up into Faryas' eyes. "I will take great pleasure in killing you today, Mage," he said smugly.
<br><br>
Unflinching, she responded icily, "You already have, Faryas. Now it's my turn." She turned away without the customary bow and left him standing there dumbfounded.
<br><br>
Once they were in position, Myrha began the count, "Five..... Four..... Three..... Two..... One!"
<br><br>
Facing each other, both with orbs in hand, Zhanai'li was the first to cast. She managed to land Futility and Creature Enchantment Ineptitude before Faryas landed his first spell.
<br><br>
Undaunted, Faryas a powerful magic caster in his own right, hit her with a deluge of debuffs: Magic Yield, Life Magic Ineptitude, Bafflement, Feeblemind, and lastly, Fire Vulnerability. She wouldn't be deterred and continued to cast upon him, Weakness, Clumsiness, Slowness. Brittlebones and Blade Vulnerability.
<br><br>
Faryas pulled out his bow, ready with fire arrows, and began plinking away at her from a distance. She closed the gap and began draining his health to replenish her own lost blood. He retreated, healed and began again.
<br><br>
Finally, Zhanai'li had had enough and chased Faryas around behind the villa where he was attempting to heal. As he dropped his bow, she fired the killing shot. His agonizing howl of disbelief was cut short as his body crumpled to the ground at her feet.
<br><br>
As the sparks from her conjured blades faded, she said, "So, Faryas, who was truly gullible, eh? And you are so kind to give me back the ring that Lao Tzu gave me as I had requested."
<br><br>
Ibn ran around the back of the villa in time to see Zhanai'li take the ring from Faryas' corpse. "Zhanai'li!" he yelled.
<br><br>
Startled, she jumped and saw Ibn standing at the corner of the villa, orb in hand and the power of his spell beginning to form.
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Quickly she called upon her magics, "Shurov Thiguz."
<br><br>
Appearing at the Qalaba'r lifestone, she sank to her knees in tears.
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"What have you done?" the thunderous voice of Warlocktitan blasted in her head. "Ibn is coming to you now to settle this issue."
<br><br>
Fear enveloped her soul as she knew how he would deal with her, but bravely she stood her ground. She put her magical items away in her pack, and gently folded her robe. In her dress she patiently waited for her punishment.
<br><br>
"Zhanai'li," she heard Ibn's voice from behind her.
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She turned, dropping to her knees. "m'Lord," she said.
<br><br>
"Spare me, Zhanai'li. What you have done is nothing short of treason. You deserve the punishment reserved for thieves and cowards such as yourself."
<br><br>
"Ibn..." she began.
<br><br>
"Do not speak to me. I saw what you did. You cast that spell upon him before the fight began. You deliberately cheated, and not only that, but you stole from him. Prepare to die, Wench, then return to the sanctuary to regain the protective shackles of Asheron for you will need them. If I catch you Red again, you will die even more horribly than now."
<br><br>
Silently, she waited for him to cast his spell, first the Bludgeon Vulnerability.
<br><br>
"I am sorry it had to come to this, Zhanai'li," he said as he fired.
<br><br>
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end...
}}

[[Category:Fan Fiction]]