Task Two Entries: Azorius-Simic

Newt-Ella Doe-Knott

Hi, welcome to another story. Im Newt-Ella Doe-Knott (but you know that already) and I'm slightly inebriated tonight but you're gonna have to deal with that aren't you?

Anyway I have one signet and I'm feeling pretty good about myself because hot damn I'm doing well. A certain someone *pointed glare at whoever is judging this* thinks I have no personality but I don't care because Pete Zah loves me and hot damn.

So I fight this troll and I win and the world is good again. Isn't it weird that I'm narrating this in first person present? Like either I'm literally writing things down exactly as they happen or I'm lying. Huh.

Anyway I think I'm done for tonight. I'd say see you later but I'm probably getting voted out because I'm not telling stories well and that's sad.

RIP,

Newt-Ella Doe-Knort

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Trezene Cavrian

All I had to do was to choose one signet from the their twenty and grab it before they killed me.

That was all.

But though my speed helped as I dodged and misdirected spear shafts, I found myself submitting to the extremely high possibility that I might die the next second. Already my legs were turning rubbery, my skin oozing crimson from countless cuts—the result of one-millisecond-too-slow reflexes—that I tried my best to ignore. My hair, stiff and matted with blood, refused to stay out of my eyes. I didn't have any protective, defensive or offensive tools (except my mouth), whereas my challengers donned heavy chain-mail suits and helmets, with weapons ranging from whips to spears to maces.

The fact that this Gruul unit had uncanny strategy in their formation also didn't help. Turns out I had seriously underestimated the guild I had perceived to be chaotic and disorderly. Whenever I had tried to single one out as they formed a circle to strike, another took its place, then another, and another, until I felt like a lion trying to pick out a zebra to target among all those stripes that seemed to blend all those tasty equestrians into a single black and white blob—just that I was the one being hunted.

One time, an ogre had decided to take advantage of my heavy breathing and his rotten breath, and literally sang soprano into my face before swinging his spiked flail under me. I would've been knocked to the ground with numerous bloody holes in my left shin if I hadn't staggered backwards trying desperately to rid my lungs of the stench.

"Not so fast, punk," one of the human warriors snarled as I lunged forward. He was the scrawniest of the twenty, and I figured I could snatch the signet around his neck with the least problems, but quicker than I could flinch, a gash materialised on my cheek. "Pick on someone your own size!"

The problem was, there wasn't anyone my own size. He had been the only warrior somewhat smaller than me. The rest ranged from five centimetres to five feet taller, and I definitely didn't want to stand on my tiptoes to get the signet and leave my stomach exposed—

A muted glint of rusted metal appeared in my peripheral vision. Before I could process this new information, my body took over, jerking away from the spear that barely missed my gut.

By now my lungs were burning from dodging all those coordinated attacks. It didn't help that I was nowhere close to getting a signet. Every time I tried to get one, a sword, or a spear, or any other kind of weapon would be swung in my face, forcing me to retreat back into the circle, where twenty highly-trained warriors were hoping very much to kill me. It would take a miracle for me to survive, and the warriors knew that...

A spark of an idea hit me so hard I nearly didn't notice a sword coming at me, I dodged out of the way just in time, the attacker accidentally scratching one of her fellow unit-mates.

But my mind was focused on something else. I probably wasn't going to survive without a miracle, I thought, but I did have an advantage over them. I couldn't go to them, they had to come to me.

Never once in the battle did I see any one of them use magic. And I one of the ten percent of Ravnicans to be gifted with it, no matter how unimpressive the amount. They wouldn't expect a sudden use of it when I hadn't cast the slightest glamour or spell throughout the fight.

The problem was, I only had so much energy. Removing an illusion I could handle, but creating one and sustaining it without moving was going to be difficult, especially with so much of my energy drained. But I guess it would be better to do it now than later when I would possibly be dead.

Just one more attack, and it would all be over. So I let them come to me.

As they charged towards me, the centre of the circle, I roared into action. Every movement I made was executed with blinding speed, they couldn't locate me in their midst, until they heard an earth-shaking scream.

I let my body go slack as a gaping hole in my chest that didn't exist spread blood all over my shirt. It may have been a little too dark, but I hoped they wouldn't notice.

It took all my resilience not to quiver with exertion, but I allowed my eyes to glaze over, half closed.

The warriors scrutinised my still, bloody chest. "Who did it?" One of the elf women said. They all looked at each other, unknowing.

Get on with it! I nearly shrieked. I was sweating buckets, but I doubt they noticed it.

Finally, an ogre, the one with the flail, inched towards me and knelt down to survey the damage.

Come on, I thought, hurry up.

As he leaned down to have a closer look, my hand shot from my resting position, the wound disappearing like a mirage.

Quicker than they could tell in defiance, I was up on my feet and running out of their sight.

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Tharius Masveld

DID NOT HAND IN

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Elowen Maevier

The moon had left the sky, but there was still a faint glow promising a quick arrival of dawn. The promise, however, was one Elowen wished the night wouldn't keep.

For Elowen, a night free of the moon and the stars was the finest night of all. It held no silver or gold, but it did possess black, dark and vast. Amidst the quiet, it was beautiful. This night in particular seemed to hold a darkness far beyond the capacity of the sky, and while Elowen loved shadows such as these, even she was at an edge.

She stood at the base of a tree, wings folded and pressed against the bark as hanging leaves brushed her hair. She wore a sleeveless dress as she always did, arms exposed. Her pale skin glowed, though it seemed rather faint in comparison to those nearby. There were goblins, humans and other angels too, and some stood while some sat, but all seemed to glow far more than she did. It didn't bother her though, and it seemed likelier that she was grateful to hide within shadows.

As the brink of morning approached, Elowen's frown deepened. She'd never liked a wait, and Guildmaster Borborygmos was keeping her waiting far longer than she believed necessary. As the sun peeked over the horizon, red painting the sky, Elowen's irritation grew. Her gaze scoured the area, pausing briefly on the dryad before it settled on a vampire. Her skin was smooth and ensnared shadows. Small hands close to her chest, her long, ashen fingers clutched a small object. It was ovular in shape and crafted from the finest of wood; a small, abstract tree was etched into the surface—a signet of Selesnya. Elowen scowled.

The vampire was smiling, alone beside the trunk of a tree. Elowen hated the fact that she flaunted her signet by holding it in her palms, wood gleaming to all those who'll see, when she needn't. She took a step forward, the tips of her wings revealing themselves as her wings began to unfold in a feeling that was anything but peaceful, but it was in that moment that she heard a sound. Her wings dropped, folded to a calm black at her back once more. She swivelled around on the heel of her right foot, moving precisely half a circle as she forgot the vampire and her signet.

A cyclops' gigantic figure towered over her, its single eye glinting at the center of his forehead. His hair was red, and a rather short beard—but a beard nonetheless—dangled from his chin. Dressed in metal, he wore armor fit for an esteemed warrior. His hands were large, and he held a club's handle tightly, wood pressed against palm. It was Guildmaster Borborygmos with no doubt. As his feet came to a rest, leaves crunching underfoot, he scrutinized the creatures before him—those who wished upon a signet of Gruul. As he did so, Elowen's own gaze searched the beings who stood behind him, equally strong and prideful; there were twenty.

"Fight!"

At the deep rumble that sounded from the Guildmaster, Elowen's gaze immediately returned to his massive shape. She frowned at his single word, but satisfaction bloomed in her chest as he continued.

"Be passionate!" Guildmaster Borborygmos paused, a stomp of his feet on pebbles creating a sound that resonated across the area. Trees shook slightly, and leaves rustled, but Elowen held her stance, unfazed. "Be strong!"

Elowen's wings unfolded at her back. Black rose, stretching to the sky. Ruffled feathers straightened. She bit into her lower lip on accident, but forced herself to ignore it. She awaited the Guildmaster's final words in anticipation, and when he spoke at last, he did so quietly, solemn.

"If you are, the signet is yours."

Guildmaster Borborygmos stepped backwards, and as he did so, the twenty beings of Gruul moved forward. Each wore a signet of Gruul tied around their neck in the form of a necklace, and dignity was palpable in their stature and eyes.

An arrow flew; its tip dug into the earth in between those who sought a signet and those who protected them. Elowen glanced behind her, gaze on the elf who still held the bow in the position it had been when he had shot the arrow. His eyes glowed green, shade swirling with shade in a whirlpool of ferocity. A glow of red caught her eye, and she looked sideways at a human with red at his fingertips; magic gleamed in his palms. Her gaze returned to the front of her once more, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

The world was at an unrest in mere moments as the ogres and elves of Gruul each chose a worthy opponent of those who challenged them.

Elowen allowed her eyes to close as her vision met black. She forced her mind blank, and then allowed the power she felt inside of her take control. Something moved inside of her, slithering up her spine and through her limbs. Her veins pulsed black, and she could hear a sizzling at her fingertips. A full smile was on her lips as she opened her eyes.

Her gaze met an ogre's. Neither looked away.

The ogre's body glowed blue as he moved forward, no weapon at hand. His face was neutral—there was no frown nor smile. As Elowen strengthened the power in her palms and the magic pulsing through her body, she noticed the ogre's eyes glow brighter; they glowed darker. Her hand move at a command that wasn't her own. She frowned. Her right foot moved, pressing harder into the earth as she stepped forward. The magic at her fingertips was dissipating, and she quickly losing control of her body and her actions.

She shouldn't have panicked. This had happened a number of times before when she had encountered certain creatures of blue magic, but it seemed different now; this was more important. She was at an edge anyway. She willed herself to surface her magic at her fingertips once more, but it was more difficult than before. The calmness and composure of her previous self had left, and with it had gone her ease for magic.

Her other foot moved, and then it was her right foot again. She wanted to scream at herself to halt, to pause; she wanted to scream herself hoarse. It wouldn't succeed, however, and so she didn't.

The twinges of pain she felt inside of her from the movement she didn't command wasn't much, but the fact that she couldn't summon her own magic, that she couldn't fight, hurt her core. It was in that moment, pain pulsing inside of her instead of magic, that she realized her own advantage. Elowen willed for the pain to travel to her palms, to her fingers, to her hands as a whole. She drew closer to the ogre who was laughing now, having found her lack of fight humorous. She scowled at him. They'd see who was laughing when it was over—the one who was still standing.

Once she'd been pulled close enough—when she was only a foot away—she fixated her attention on willing herself to let her arm break free of the ogre's magic. She was strong enough without doubt, and when she did so, she reached out towards the ogre. The creature was too focused on her mind and his magic that he didn't notice her fingers tracing his arms. Her palms pressed against his rough skin as she released the pain, the magic, from her hands. The pain met his skin, and then it travelled throughout his body as it registered in his mind. The ogre screamed, losing focus on his own magic, and she felt her mind being let free. The ropes which had once tied it down had been cut loose.

She pressed harder with her palms, the pain filling her up too. Black magic didn't just destroy the one it was aimed at, it took apart the wielder as well, though less severe. The pain consumed the ogre, and it reached the verge of consuming her too. She screamed as she pulled back her palms, sucking in ragged breaths. The ogre continued to scream, and as he did so, she reached for his necklace. She pulled the signet free, the rock safe in the palm of her hand. Its surface was rough with dried mud, but she ignored that particular fact as she pulled her body backwards. The pain was still pulsing throughout her body, black magic in her veins and blood. She didn't care though because the signet was in her hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Emrys of the Willow

WAS FEMALE IN MEDIEVAL PERIOD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enid of the Rainforest

HARVESTED BY BRAZILIAN LOGGING COMPANY

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Lavina Hael

Roses are rad,

Ogres are green,

This poem is bad,

Those Gruul warriors were mean.

Everyone fought fiercely against their foes,

Sweat and blood dripping at the steel of each sword,

This one warrior stepped on Lavina's toes,

The fight wasn't over until the last warrior roared.

You're probably asking as we speak,

How did Lavina collect the signet?

The answer you seek,

Is that the fight was beyond an imagination figment.

She slaughtered those lambs,

Body-slammed them to the ground,

Those warriors be damned,

They went down without making a sound.

Long story short, she collected the signet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mikaela Gavreel 

Something about the size of ogres from Gruul reminds me of the morning's conversation with Lavina.

"Is that all you're wearing?"

"Something's wrong again, isn't it?"

"I'd advise you to wear your armour out."

"What's the occasion?"

"Gruul is the occasion. Go back in and pack yourself into uniform. I'm not waiting any longer than it takes me to finish breakfast."

I panicked. She knew I always needed a lift. Thankfully, despite her inhuman (she was very much non-human) ingestion speed, I'd shoved my feet into boots just as she was walking out the door. As much as the experience was traumatic, it was nothing compared to...this.

Gruul.

While rock hard, the place isn't stone cold. The earth beneath my feet emanates a dry heat, bathing the room in a warmth that glows. Even the walls, made of the same stone we stand upon, climb higher than those of grand halls in Boros. They're bright like lava in the cracks and give the room its dim lighting. Most of us would fare best without touching them, though some ogres with iron skin lean against them with all the ease in the world.

Everything seems huge in Gruul.

"Candidates here," grunts Guildmaster Borborygmos. His wave of a double-headed axe appears more like a brandish, sending those in the front row shuffling a few steps back. We must all be tired of living, because we follow him anyway.

I throw myself up the waist-high stone steps, frown deepening after each one. Feathers tickle my face as Lavina boasts the full length of her wingspan, lifting herself off the ground with a flap and flitting ahead. I don't even try to hide the sigh that comes out like a grunt as I heave myself up the next block. "Only ten more to go, Mik," I mutter.

As my feet hit flat ground, I find myself sighing again, this time with odd satisfaction. Nothing beats knowing you ran the mile yourself. Footsteps surround me as the rest of the candidates finish their climbs as well, hovering near the edge of the platform. I look around. We stand upon a vast slab of stone levitating over the ground floor and anchored by the flight of stairs behind us. Peer too far over the edge and you'd plummet down about twenty yards.

Borborygmos takes his place before the crowd. "Gruul leaders must be strong." The axe handle strikes the ground like a crack of lightning. "Gruul leaders fight like warriors. You must fight our warriors to become Guildpact." Turning around, he gestures towards the far end of the platform where a barricade makes its way towards our group. As they get closer, I make out the towering heights of ogres and the lanky silhouettes of elves. Closer still and I see the sturdiness of their armour, hear the steady chink of metal against metal. When we're almost standing face-to-face, the gleam of a signet catches my eye, dangling from an ogre's neck.

"Where's your helmet?"

My hands are moving to fix it on before Lavina can say another word.

Borborygmos grins widely. "Gruul's signet is yours if you take it. Fight."

While I register this as instruction, the warriors seem to take it as a cue. Their eyes are on targets before my mind can send signals for my muscles to move and I pray that the one with sights set on me is small, cute and unaggressive. Like Heccan. But shorter.

A shadow falls over me from behind. I pause mid-breath, blood running cold. I release the half-breath in a muttered chant. "May the fire of Archangel Razia burn in my hand and in my heart so that I may fight not with my fists but with my soul— never mind." Kicking my nerves into the void, I turn around to meet the waist of a ten-foot figure as a pungent scent hits me in the nose. I look up, eyes raking over the height of the tower. The ogre stares me down from behind a bulbous nose and thick eyebrows. My hand flies towards the sword at my belt. He grins.

Slowly, I straighten, moving my hand away. Sounding sensible means I can't look like a threat, and pointing a sword at him with the edge on fire doesn't seem like the way to go. My lips crack into a grin. "Hello," I say, sticking a hand out. "I'm Mikaela."

He stares at my outstretched arm like a twig he'd enjoy snapping. It takes all the willpower in the world to not draw it back. "You are?" I prompt.

"Puny human go home," he growls.

A strained laugh escapes my lips. "No no no," I say, holding my hands up. "Me," I point to myself, "angel. Me, Boros."

The growl deepens. "Me no stupid."

"Okay, okay!" I exclaim. "Your brain is bigger than your language command, yes? Let's start over. Hi, I'm Mikaela! Nice to meet you." I stick out my hand again. "I'm an angel from Boros," I say, but the look he gives me makes me question that title.

When the ogre stomps, the ground rattles my bones. "You soldier. Fight warrior. In Gruul we fight!" With that, his club plummets in an arc towards me.

I've never been able to fly an obstacle course or control a simple spell, but I've always prided myself on being good with my fists. As I pull my sword from its sheath and use it to shield his next blow, it feels as if any skill I had with combat is useless against his size. I take a step back to avoid his club and duck to avoid the next arc, fencing uselessly at his armed hand. One of the earliest techniques an angel is taught is to use her wings as a shield. It's almost a reflex, really, to protect yourself with what you're born with, and the training is just there to make sure you don't hurt yourself. As the ogre advances towards me, I find myself twisting with my back angled towards him, the bones shifting as my muscles stretch to unfurl a defense. Of course, it hardly even works as a placebo, and the true extent of my helplessness comes when I'm backed against the platform's edge.

My eyes flicker downwards against my will. Twenty yards below is the bone-shattering ground. No wings would save me if I fall.

The ogre lifts his club, and in the fraction of a second it takes for him to aim, I drop to my knees and roll out of the way. Pushing myself to my feet as quickly as I can, I move away from the edge to force him against it. Fire burns in my right hand as I aim a bolt at his armed fist, letting the club clatter to the ground and roll off the edge.

It's all or nothing now. Throwing all caution to the wind, I give myself a running start and jump, clinging to his torso like my life depends on it. I grit my teeth against the odour as he bellows, shaking with the fury of a thousand suns as he tries to brush me off. Instead, I climb round his back and scale up his height to reach his head, tugging the rope around his neck till it breaks loose. The signet.

Then I yank my helmet off and slam it against the back of his head, holding back a scream as he falls forward. Mission accomplished.

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Shark Finn

The Gruul Clans are just the opposite from the Selesnya Concave. With the hot sun beating upon my back as I trek my way towards my destination, I find myself wishing I could return.

My heart sinks even further when I see an ogre not far ahead, the signet glinting enticingly in the sunlight. I shield my eyes to get a better view of him when he reaches. Wow. I'm supposed to get that. I can't even reach it on my tiptoes. Fortunately, he spares me the rest of the journey by making way towards me. Life just isn't fair. With five steps, he covered what would have been a one-kilometre walk for me.

The ogre sneers at me with distaste, grinning at me with yellowed teeth.

"Hold on, let me get some weapons before we begin fighting." It takes up all my courage to shout up at the ogre, who furrows his brow in confusion. I heave an exasperated sigh and scream at him to wait.

While he is still puzzling over my words, I run towards a stream and gather some stones. My skin tingles as my hand comes into co tact with water that trickles with life, running over the stones I pick up. I glance back at the huge ogre. The stones are firm as the water runs over them. They don't slide.

I must be brave. I may be small, but that doesn't mean I can't complete this trial. I stare at the stream for a while longer, gathering up the courage from within. The stream sings with life, but it is the stones that give me hope.

"OKAY I'M READY," I scream at the top of my lungs when I get back into my position. I'm going to lose my voice by the end of today.

Before the creature can figure out what's going on, I hurl the first stone towards his forehead. I focus on the stone's kinetic energy, increasing it until it hits the ogre's forehead and... bounces off, much to my disappointment. There was a legend of a human defeating an ogre just by throwing stones at him. I thought I had been smart to remember that legend and pinpoint the ogre's weak spot, but apparently I was wrong.

Narrowing my eyes, I try again. The stone sails through the air and flies up the ogre's nostril. I mentally face-palm. Well, even if I did it physically, no one was going to notice anyway. I had been aiming for his eyes, but he took a step forward, causing the stone to fly up his right nostril. Time freezes as the ogre lifts his head, preparing to sneeze.

Imagine lighting flashing across the sky. You tense up, waiting for the roar of the thunder. That's exactly how I feel.

When the 'thunder' finally sounds, it's accompanied by 'rain'. Before I have time to react, I'm splattered by a slimy liquid from the heavens above. Fortunately I had enough sense to close my eyes and mouth, or it would have gone a lot worse.

I glare up at him, dripping wet.

Do you enjoy getting caught in the rain? No, because you'd be all soggy by the time you reach your destination. Just remember, the next time you do get caught in the rain, be grateful it isn't slimy...or stinky.

Anger bubbles up from within me. I wipe some snot from my eyes and give the ogre's knee a death-stare. Stepping back, I use my anger to fuel the stone and throw it blindly in the ogre's direction. I don't even need to look up to see where I hit.

"MY EYE!" the ogre bellows, clutching his left eye while roaring his lungs out. I wrinkle my nose, almost choking. Through the green slime, I can see the remnants of his breakfast lodged between his teeth, mostly bits and pieces of rotting meat.

He swings the club in his hand, barely missing me. I stumble back from the unexpected swing and almost slip on the mucus beneath my shoe. Despite the unbearable smell and my current condition, I desperately fling the fourth stone. This time, it finally hits its intended target and goes straight down the ogre's throat. The creature starts to choke a little and spits it out.

It hits me squarely on the head. I stagger forward, my vision blurring. A tree grabs me from behind, tossing me from branch to branch. I kind of admired its grip and ability to handle disgust. If you were a tree, would you want to pick a snot-covered Merboy up? Precisely. I think the tree needed some counselling. I try to yell some common sense into it, but I don't think it understands.

The branches finally stop pretending I'm a toy, much to my short-lived relief. It turns into horror almost immediately when I find myself face-to-face with the ogre, which isn't pleasant at all.

Warts cover almost his entire face, leaving two tiny eyes which are squinting all the time. It's impossible to tell the colour of his irises, but my best guess is brown. His eyebrows make his eyes look smaller than they already are. His lower jaw juts out too much and his teeth are pointed. His skin is an unpleasant shade of green and his wispy hair is covered in grease.

"Hi, what's your name?" I ask meekly, in an attempt to initiate a conversation.

"Finally I hear you, small one. But not for long." Now it is his turn to smirk at me.

In my panic, I make my childish voice sound octaves higher and shout, "Sir! I have never seen a face more handsome! I love your wispy hair! And your skin is a wonderful shade of green, my dear!"

The ogre blinks, so I blow him a kiss to make my act more convincing. To the ogre, my hair looks like leaves and the mucus on my skin has faded into a sweeter a tinge of almost natural green. My eyelashes are longer and so are my fingernails. I have a long, flowing dress made out of silk and my limbs are like graceful twigs. Gently, his fingers fumble with the branches to untie me and he places me on his grimy palm.

I batter my eyelashes. "Yes, I was a dryad in disguise. I was simply checking you out. I never thought I'd find an ogre as aesthetic as you, darling." The corners of the ogre's mouth break into a wide smile. "What's your name? No, don't tell me - is it Chris?" I frown when he shakes his head, pointing to an elf with a slender stature, pale skin and dyed green hair not far away. "Is it Joe? Cat? No - too mainstream. Your name must be a special, handsome one. Let me see... Carl?"

He grins and shakes his head again, introducing himself as 'Goliath'. I blink. If he was Goliath, why didn't he die when I threw the stone at his forehead? Maybe he didn't have his ancestor's genes.

I quickly turn my attention back to him, realising he's still staring at me with starry eyes. Wow, I feel gay. "What a beautiful name! I'm Ariel! Would you like to trade necklaces? Just for a while – I'll return it to you later." I beam up at him, holding out a shiny diamond one. He moves his other hand up to his neck to undo the clasp. He holds it out to me, but before I can snatch it away, he pulls back.

"Me should not give to anyone," he explains. I nod in understanding, before sadly saying I would have to find another ogre to date. One that would let me see his jewellery.

"No! Ariel cannot go! Ariel must stay!" he pleads. I sigh and prepare to jump back from the tree that held me. Discreetly using a little help from the wind, I sail through the air and land with a thud on a thick branch. However, before I can climb the rest of the way down, the branch tilts backward, causing me to slide ungracefully, limbs flailing, on my back downwards. A green finger cushions my fall as a necklace comes into above me. I hold it, pretending to observe it. Suddenly, I arrange my features into a look of panic.

"Holy Trostani! My necklace! It must have dropped while I was sliding down! Could you help me look for it?"

"If I find, will Ariel stay?" I nod vigorously. He gets to his knees and begins scouring the ground for my non-existent diamond necklace. Meanwhile, I take advantage of my small figure, which plays a big part in my escape plan. I have yet to thank it.

I jump from branch to branch, sometimes sliding, using the wind to support me whenever I lose my balance. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from yelling out loud. I try to minimise the sound, but seeing how dedicated Goliath is to searching for my necklace, he probably wouldn't even hear me if I screamed at the top of my lungs.

Finally, I complete the advanced obstacle course and take off running, grinning at the precious signet in my palm. I chuckle as I imagine Goliath's face when he realises 'Ariel' never existed. Maybe he wouldn't realise it at all. Hey, I can't define an ogre's IQ, right?

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Halcyon Stirling

Gruul... The simple five letter word left a bitter taste in Halcyon's mouth whenever he said it. Only days before, he had been in Selesnya. Even if the people there hadn't been much to his taste, there was no denying the utter beauty of that place.

In comparison, Gruul was beyond pale. The land of ogres and stale landscapes. To say Halcyon was not looking forward to this trip would be a massive understatement. Desert lands dripping sand in small dunes, withered weeds bowing their heads in defeat. It felt as if not a single droplet of life would ever be found in this damned place.

Instead of leaving like he so desperately wanted to, Halcyon trudged forward, a hand shielding his eyes from the wind-blown sand threatening to blind him at any second. He needed the signet, and he vowed he wouldn't leave without it. Yet it felt as though he was trudging along aimlessly, not even a village in sight. Trying to follow the map had proved futile, and he only travelled in the general direction the map had directed him towards. He was tiring quickly, and without water, he would surely die of dehydration soon.

Suddenly, a sandy silhouette of a tree appeared in his line of vision. At first it was nothing but a shadow amongst the sand in the air, but his heart soared at the sight. Trying not to get his hopes up, Halcyon's steps quickened as he tried to locate the tree. Soon enough, he found himself under it's shade, next to exactly what he had hoped for, an oasis. He lept into the small lake, cool water spreading across his skin, exposing his amphibious nature once more.

Eyes closed, underwater, Halcyon could feel his very essence of life seeping back into his body. Any pains he had acquired on the treacherous journey were immediately relieved. He felt energized and ready to face just about anything.

He allowed himself to float back towards the surface of the small lake. When he opened his eyes, another pair of eyes were staring right back at him. With the most unmanly scream Halcyon quickly hid under the surface of the water in complete shock. The dark brown eyes had belonged to an ogre, a very large ogre at that. Halcyon hadn't gotten a good look, but the ogre looked almost twice as tall as himself. The ogre's muscles bulging terrifyingly out of its chestplate that it looked almost painful. What really caught Halcyon's attention however, was the signet it had hung around its neck as if it were some sort of necklace.

Without thinking, Halcyon launched himself out of the water, unlatching the small blade he always kept at his belt, aiming straight for the ogre's neck. Sensing the aggression from Halcyon, the truly massive ogre simply put its hand in front of his way, and the small blade simply bounced off of the ogre's skin without making even a scar. The ogre proceeded to swat Halcyon away as if he were nothing but an annoying fly. Luckily, he landed back into the lake instead of dry land where his back would have definitely cracked.

That small exchange had achieved not much in the way of getting the signet, but at least it solidified the idea that combat would not be a plausible solution. Instead, he would have to think of some way to outsmart it as to get the signet.

Underwater still, Halcyon noticed a large group of rock formations to the left of the lake he had not noticed before as he was so desperate for water. They were intimidatingly tall, probably even taller than the ogre, and that was when the idea struck him.

Using all of the courage he could muster up at that moment, Halcyon launched himself back out of the lake. This time with his mind set on agitating the ogre. At the very sight of Halcyon, the ogre charged. Clearly, Halcyon's job would be easier than he had anticipated. With a smile, which made the ogre growl and show his blackened teeth, Halcyon lept towards the tall maze of rocks. However, he missed no chance to turn towards to the ogre barreling towards him and gesture tauntingly, feeding the already raging fire in the ogre's heart.

It sat menacingly on the sandy ground like a crown made of stone, unregulated pillars and spikes jarring the land. Without a second thought, Halcyon ran between the two pillars that almost seemed like an entranceway into the stone maze. Just as he thought, the ogre ran straight in behind him. Pace quickening, Halcyon ran through the wide corridor made of stone, an ogre's footsteps ringing at his ears. The ogre had sped up into a full fledged run, each step covering at least ten of Halcyon's steps. He could feel the ground shaking beneath the pounding steps of the ogre, he knew he didn't have much time left.

Much to his relief, he had found what he had been looking for the entire time, a sharp turn. Right before the turn, he halted his footsteps, turning towards the ogre barging straight towards him. Halcyon stuck out his tongue defiantly at the incoming ogre, the ogre gritting its blackened teeth in response.

Right before the ogre would have hit him full force in the face, Halcyon sidestepped into the turn, letting the ogre charge instead straight into the stone wall. The entire formation of rock shuddered against the ogre's sheer force, the ogre knocking itself out in the process. Now that the ogre was unconscious, he was able to easily slip the signet off of the ogre's neck. With a jump right on the ogre's belly for good fortune and a final show of dominance, Halcyon happily retraced his steps out of the rock structure. He had gotten what he had come for, and now he could finally leave. Sweet revenge on top of it all. 

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