by Matt Doyle
“The world known as Ka’Noxus was once a colourful land, cooled by the westerly breezes of the three seas and warmed by two small suns. The creatures of this world were known as Spark Forms, called so because they believed themselves born from the Eternal Spark of life that dwelled within their world. Though vastly varied, the Spark Forms lived in relative peace, each race respecting all others boundaries, laws and cultures. Conflicts were rare and were resolved amicably by the mediators of the land, High Priests of the Deities that presided over all existence in the realm. All was well.
“That is, until the days of the devouring.
“From beyond the stars of their home world, the Mott came and sought sustenance in Ka’Noxus, gorging themselves on all living things that wandered across their path. Taken entirely by surprise, the Spark Forms soon found themselves hiding from the invaders, terrified to set foot outside their own homes.
“Seeing their people suffering, the leaders of the Lopine, Vulthera and Drakalia tribes sought to rid their world of the invaders and so formed a triumvirate of command. Although many died in the coming days and nights, the Spark Forms were able to drive the Mott from Ka’Noxus and set about restoring their world to how it once was.
“Alas, this return to peace was not to be. The Deities of Ka’Noxus had themselves suffered as the once fruitful land was turned to dust in the wake of the now departed Mott and now found themselves unable to assist their people in their time of greatest need. The Spark Forms themselves became restless and territorial, with even the once strong Triumvirate falling prey to greed borne of having little left to hold onto. The various races began to quarrel and fight amongst themselves and minor conflicts became bloody battles. They began to defy not only their own laws, but also those of the Deities, forcing the struggling spirits of the land to hand out their own, often harsh punishments for transgressions.
“The world known of Ka’Noxus was slowly torn apart by War.
“Their minds perhaps mirroring the tortured land they dwelled in, the Deities took the most drastic of action. ‘It had become apparent,’ they said, ‘that the once peaceful ways of the past could not return with such conflict present in the land.’ And so they decreed that all but a handful of each race would be taken to the spiritual land of the Eternal Spark and frozen in a state of partial existence. Those that remained in Ka’Noxus would continue to fight amongst themselves until they could fight no more. As the last of each race fell, their frozen people would be taken into the Eternal Spark to provide the energies to heal the land. When but one race remains, their fellow Spark Forms will be returned to the land and the Deities shall use the Eternal Spark to allow the world to be reborn, with but one race of Spark Forms to reside there, free of conflict.
“And so the Spark Forms battles continue …”
DOWNLOADABLE CONTENT: AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN FORRESTER
The orchestral score starts slow as black and white stills of John Forrester and Carnival at last years’ tournament flash across the screen. The music starts to build to a crescendo just as we reach of a shot of their entrance for the final. The picture quickly grows to fill the screen and the electric guitars kick in just as it becomes mobile, segueing into a fill blown highlight package of the champ and his Spark Form’s winning performance against Fahrn Starchaser. With the last guitar chord ringing out, the picture freezes again and fast zooms in on John’s face, settling finally on his right eye.
As the music fades out, the colour fades in, the picture lingering only briefly on the icy blue tone of John's eye before quickly zooming out to a full body shot, just in time to catch his customary salute and grin as he launches into one of his famous rapid-fire deliveries.
“Waaaa-sup! Ya know, ever since last year I’ve been itching to get back in here. I mean, that tournament was great, it really was, and everything that followed, wow! That whole year man, just, wow!”
Never having been one to keep still for too long, John runs one hand through his shoulder length hair and begins to fidget as he continues, “But this year, this year is gonna eclipse all of that, and you Finn McCourt are the first step.”
Seemingly without pausing for breath, he half-hops-half-strides backwards, sweeping his arms out in an exaggerated motion as he leans towards the camera, his grin unwavering. “See, you came through the same regional as me, so whether we like or not, we got that whole local rivals thing going on, which is in itself pretty ridiculous ‘cause I’ve never even met you before, but that’s the way it is, right?”
Finally, he gives a pause and a small laugh as he looks away from the camera for a second then quickly snaps his head back around, fixing the lens with a content stare as the image zooms in.
“So. Finn. I’m not gonna claim that I’m gonna beat ya just ‘cause I’m the defending champ. I am gonna beat ya though,” he says with a wink, “just because”.
We fade to black.
JOHN FORRESTER - 12:30
“And clear.”
“Any good?” I ask, catching the incoming water bottle and flipping the cap open for a quick gulp.
Sean, this years’ organiser, gives the cameraman a nod and a pat on the back, sending him on his way as he turns to me and replies, “Brilliant as always. I just wish everyone was as easy to work with”.
Now, why do people always have to pique my interest while I’m busy taking far too much water into my mouth at once? I swallow, forcing the whole mouthful and a half down in one go and my body rewards me with a short coughing fit.
“Are you OK Mr Forrester?”
“Phew. Oh yeah, that’s some good water. So who’s giving you jip?”
Sean scratches his arm nervously and looks slightly embarrassed, but offers no resistance to my line of questioning. He knows full well that he probably shouldn’t talk about it with me, but he also knows full well that now he’s let even a hint of it slip, there’s no real point trying to stop me finding out. I just keep smiling and watching until he lets out the inevitable sigh that signals the start of the fun.
“Where do I start? Connor Ford’s been terrorizing the runners, interviewers and anyone else that gets near him. The latest Djorkiev refuses to speak to anyone, including interviewers. Meera Thorne doesn’t seem to have a clue how to talk at all. Lana De La Cruz forgot her deck and no-one’s been able to get hold of her since she left the building to go and get it. Slade Fury seems Hell-bent on devouring even more than last year and Fahrn Starchaser’s already pissed off at least one fan by rebuffing their offer of a drink with a right hook.”
That last one tickled me enough to cause me to spray water everywhere as I burst into laughter. “Oh man, Fahrn tried the same thing with me when I offered her a handshake after I beat her last year. She really lives her character, doesn't she? It's like she's convinced that the cameras are on all the time. Let's be honest though, was it really that bad a reaction? I mean, whoever it was probably wanted her to take a swing. And Slade...Slade is Slade. He’s enjoying himself while he’s here, that’s all.”
I take another quick gulp as a way to head of a dry cough that’s building in the back of my throat. “Now, Connor Ford, he’s an interesting one. You met him yet?”
He shakes his head, and I continue.
“I have. Saw him at a few cons before I started taking playing seriously. Tell ya what though, the queue got shorter each time. The rumour I heard was that he’s in a ton of debt and public appearances aren’t cutting it any more and that’s why he’s here. Having spoken to him over a dusty autograph table though, I can tell you this. If he acts like he hates you, he probably does. You and the rest of the human race.”
Sean shakes his head and sighs. “Wonderful.”
Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm for peoples’ quirks and foibles, I continue. ”I couldn’t tell ya what’s up with Dorian. He’ll be under a lot of pressure with the whole Djorkiev legacy bit his father’s been going on about though, so it's not really surprising that he's trying to avoid too much attention before his m
atch. It's not like he qualified comfortably or anything, so my guess is he's trying to avoid being questioned about his chances until he's at least tried to make up for failing to live up to the hype. So that leaves Meera. Meera, Meera, Meera…” I bring the bottle to my lips again but stop short of taking another sip as my mind drifts back to the first round draw. “Oh, Laqueta. She’s the young girl, right? First time she’s even entered a Regional, yeah?”
He nods and I reply, “It’s probably just nerves. She’ll be fine, I’m sure.”
Sean sighs again and says, “Yeah, well, nerves or not, she's just lucky her trainer got clearance to deal with any on-screen talking for her. If he hadn't, she’d have probably guaranteed herself a round one exit so that we could avoid an on-camera train wreck in the semis. I told her that much myself. “
“Seems a bit harsh. Her trainer any good?”
“It’s Hong Chan.”
“The Hong Chan? Lucky girl.”
Oddly, that seems to exacerbate Sean’s bad mood and his tone takes on a suddenly hard edge. “He’s wasted on her. She hasn’t got his flair for the game and if she plays like she did in the Regionals then she’s going home early.”
I could respond to that but somehow it seems more fun to let him stew on it for a bit. I like this game. I call it the ‘who’s-gonna-break-the-awkward-silence-first-game’. Of course, the best way to play is to not tell the other person it’s just a game. After about fifteen seconds, Sean’s face looks like we’ve been standing here for hours. Finally, he gives in.
“I think it’s about time that I checked on the other interviewers. Good luck in the first round Mr Forrester, I expect I’ll see you again tomorrow.”
I nod politely and watch him hurry out of the room. I bet Connor Ford will be a great one to play this with.
CONNOR FORD - 12:40
“Well isn't this just marvellous? Where is the blasted woman then? I suppose this is your idea of karma is it? I take umbrage with being harassed by the bloody staff and you let my opponent go gallivanting off somewhere, is that it? If I'd known you were going to muck me about like this, I'd have made damn sure I was far more than hour late for this nonsense.”
“I’m not really sure what happened Mr Ford. The last I heard was that she’d forgotten her deck and had to head back to her hotel room get it, so we had to reshuffle the running order.”
“She. Forgot. Her. Deck. Oh she will bloody well pay for this, you mark my words. I should be relaxing in my changing room right now, not standing here with some scruffy, whatever your name is.”
“It’s Church sir. Robert Church.”
“I don’t give a damn what your name is Church. And don’t even think about dubbing any music over my interview. I come from an era when people’s words were strong enough without needing any artificial emphasis being created by some oiks who think they’re competent musicians.”
“Well, actually, we're not using music during the actual interviews this year. Apparently it doesn't come through too well on some mobile devices, so ..."
“… Isn’t that just wonderful. All that money coming in from our hard work entertaining those paying customers of yours and you can't even bring yourselves to invest in some decent audio equipment. But then why would you want to help out some poor struggling musicians, just starting out on their careers when you could pay some big bonuses to the arena staff instead, eh? Yes, holding a camera or microphone, that's far more deserving of pay than something simple like playing a musical instrument, or composing a custom symphony, isn't it?”
There we go, he’s finally started to look uncomfortable. He’s not even sure if he should respond at all. Now, I just keep scowling and wait for the right moment. Yes, now he’s checking his watch. That may do.
“Worried about the time are we Mr Church? Well now, we can’t be having that can we? Oh no, the ever so important Robert Church must have things done on time. Well then, if you’re that bloody concerned then we better get this over and done with, hadn’t we? I certainly wouldn’t want to be held responsible for making you fall behind with whatever world changing plans you must have.”
There. I saw the little twitch in the corners of his mouth. He’s angry now, he wanted to say something but he thought better of it. He simply nods and picks up the camera like the obedient little arena slave he is. Good boy. Now you’ve learned your place.
DOWNLOADABLE CONTENT: AN INTERVIEW WITH CONNOR FORD
The video starts in silence. We see several brief clips of Connor Ford in action, each one fading seamlessly into the next, the footage lingering longest on his five championship wins. The final handful of clips focus on his final match, an exhibition victory over Reed Martigan, the man who eliminated him in the semi-finals of the original tournament.
As the video zooms on Ford's ever sombre face, the screen fades first to black, seemingly freezing for a few seconds before returning with a shot of the bottom of a familiar robe. The camera pans up, allowing the studio lights to catch the silver embroidery perfectly as we finally see Connor Ford as he is now. He may have aged, but the intensity has not faded from his face and his voice remains as self-assured as ever.
“It has been a very long time since I set foot in an arena. I look around me and I see that the landscape has changed considerably in my absence. Well, you can change the people, but you cannot change history.
“I am the only five time world champion this sport has ever seen, and when the dust settles tomorrow night, I promise you I will be standing right here as the first six time world champion.”
The camera zooms in on his face.
“Lana De la Cruz. I will not allow myself to be made to look a fool. If you wish to avoid the same, I suggest you prepare yourself well.”
He walks off shot, and we fade to black.
MEERA THORNE - 13:00
This is ridiculous. The observation area was only two corridors from our changing room. Just turn left twice and you’re there. Or was it turn left when you’re coming back from the observation area?
It's not like it matters much now anyway. I’ve already turned left and right at least six times. I thought I was doubling back on myself, but all the corridors look the same. I could have asked the staff outside the kitchen for help, but I was too embarrassed. Plus there were four of them, I can’t talk to that many people at once. I struggle to follow things when there’s just two people, and the more people there are, the more paranoid I get that they're judging everything I say.
I can feel the panic setting in. My heart’s beating quicker and quicker, my head’s getting cloudy, I can’t take in enough air … Hong Chan says I can fight it though. He says I just have to remember that I’m in a safe place and that I should concentrate on staying calm.
Stop.
Close my eyes.
Take deep breathes …
“Hey! You OK?”
“Hong Cha …” I begin, turning expectantly, but the name drops off into a quiet, “Oh,” when I realise it’s not him but John Forrester. I don't really know how I'm supposed to react to him. Am I supposed to be star-struck because he's the champion or does qualifying myself mean that we're meant to be equals? My body seems to have decided on a mix of scared and confused, so at least I know that I'm wrong.
“Aww. I mean, Hong Chan’s great and all, but am I really that disappointing?” he asks, bounding across the hall with his bottom lip jutting out.
Well done Meera. Someone tries to be friendly and you manage to offend them. I look down at my feet and start rubbing my wrists nervously. “No, I … I’m sorry, I …” I mumble, struggling to keep my eyes on him for more than a second at a time before they dart back to my boots in a flurry of blinks.
“It’s cool, it’s cool,” he says, laughing, “Don’t take me so seriously. Hey wait, you’re Meera Thorne aren’t you? Err, Laqueta, yeah?”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“Awesome. You're third on aren't you?"
I force my eyes up to look at him, but my
throat's dried out and my head won’t budge to nod again.
He blows some stray hair out of his eyes and gives the back of his neck a quick scratch. “You've got Dorian too, right? It's a good spot for you. First match crowds are kinda tetchy about things, so having two debuts in there would be asking for trouble, especially given neither of you have done many public appearances in the lead-up. I mean, I know they’ve got you doing the Silent Warrior thing so it makes sense that you wouldn't be saying much, but Dorian's got a lotta history on his shoulders and the expectations are running high." He shrugs. "I dunno, maybe talking a little about it all would've warmed the crowd to him a little. I think they're pretty fifty-fifty between hoping for him to step up his game and hoping he flops right now."
"Hong Chan said his Dad was really good,” I reply, suddenly becoming aware that my right hand is now reaching across my stomach and nervously rubbing my left arm. I’m not even sure when I started doing it, much less how to stop.
“He really was,” he says, with a nod and a smile. “I always thought his Gran was better but most people prefer his Dad. I think it's a generational thing, ya know? A lot of the fans either remember him or heard their parents talking about him so they just kinda associate him with the name. I like the old footage though. Classic matches are classic matches even if you are waaaaaaay too young to remember them first time round. Ooh! Did you see that they’ve updated your e-posters? They're all black and white and edgy with this cool rainy sorta effect. They're really cool, you should check them out. Love the make-up by the way.”
I manage to tear my right hand away from my left arm and let it drop to my side, where it starts tapping at my leg. “I … I will. I’ll have a look. Later,” I add, forcing a smile. I’m not sure I really want to. "And thank you. Jeanine did the make-up.”
