Defeating the Darkness: The Nox

The Great Noxia

Tristan's head pounded as he lay on the ground, completely exhausted from the day's training.

"Get up!" a voice behind him barked.

Slowly, excruciatingly, he pushed himself up off the ground and turned to sit.  Never before had Vince pushed Tristan so hard, and he wondered if there was a reason behind the intense session today.  He looked at Vince's dead serious face and figured he was right.  The soft, forgiving grass beneath him was much more persuasive than his angry "sensei" as Vince was so keen on being called.  Sick of the bruises, he remained on the ground and looked Vince right in the eyes.

"I give up," Tristan said while wiping a grimy mixture of sweat, blood and dirt from his cheek and mouth. "What's your problem today?"

"My problem," Vince snapped, "is that you have constantly shown little to no grit, determination, or really any kind of desire to improve at all.  There's no way you can lead with that kind of will, and remember that I won't be around forever."

Vince's expression softened as he realized his voice had grown more and more harsh as he talked. With a sigh, he walked forwards and held out his hand to his son.

"I need you to take this seriously.  They all do."

Vince heaved Tristan up and began unwrapping his knuckles, signifying a blessed end to the session.  Finally Tristan was able to let his guard down and take a breath.  It was a beautitful late August day, one that he barely had time to appreciate for most of the day.  Between learning fighting techniques, sparring, and history lessons, he realized that there wasn't much daylight left to appreciate.  The sun shone down on them between wispy clouds, the sky as blue as ever.  The training arena (also extravagantly named by Vince) was covered in lush green grass, with a few thinner spots where fighters would train often and intensely.  A few sets of bleachers formed an oval shape, mimicking the actual arena in the middle of the city.

After the two finished cleaning up from their training, Vince led the way back to the city that sat just below the horizon, to the west of the training arena.  The great city, formally called the Colony of Noxia, was truly the biggest city that Tristan had ever seen.  A conglomeration of several building styles and cultures, Noxia was built on hundreds of thousands of families seeking refuge in the powerless world.  It was strategically built with the pacific coast on the west, mountains to the north and east, heavy forests to the east, and clear plains to the south.  The training arena was just southeast of the town, on the edge of the forests, only a mile walk back.

Despite the beautiful day, Tristan's mood could not have been worse.  His day was almost finished, clear to him by the sun hovering right above the city before them.  He had used so much of his time being taught at, punched at, or just ignored, that he just wanted to be home and spend time with his best friend, Tyler.  He could rarely speak up about this to Vince, though, as the man was not fond of complaints from his son.  With a surge of courage and frustration, Tristan spoke up. 

"I shouldn't have to do all of this."

Vince stopped, not bothering to turn to look. "And why is that?"

"I don't even have an ounce or yours or mom's blood in me!  This shouldn't be my burden."

Tristan caught up to Vince and looked at his face, wondering what the old man would respond with.

"Who will lead, then, Tristan?" his father replied. "Will it be a free for all between the four precincts?  No.  You need to be able to defend your rule to anyone who challenges, and you are the next logical successor."

"All that doesn't seem like my problem," Tristan huffed. "It's not fair."

With that, he stalked past his father in a hurry, angry enough that he just didn't want to talk about it anymore.  He was trapped in a life he didn't want to live.

Tristan looked around at him, at least trying to enjoy his surroundings with the remaining daylight.  Farms spread all across the southern area of Noxia, for miles and miles.  These farms were the backbone of the city, and farmers were revered as some of the most valuable members of society.  With their own precinct, the Workman's Ward, as they called it, they controlled a fourth of Noxia, and were not people to be disrespected.  Their influence in land and in power was one of the many reasons Noxia stood today.

This landscape was nothing new to Tristan, but for most members of the city above the age of twenty, this was a hard-fought achievement.  The town was held together by the bond of unity against hardship, and most people who enjoyed the prosperity remembered their past very clearly.

Once a year, the town's history-teller would speak of the dark day of the Outage. This story was a nightmare for most children, Tristan included.  The tale began with a thriving society, held up by an incredible technology that provided power for everyone.  As the story went, an evil swept upon the land, a great darkness, that swallowed the light wherever it went.  All power with this new technology was lost, and society plunged into chaos.

The story continued praising the efforts of Vincent and Mu' Nukhoi as the saviors of the land.  They rallied the nearby people together, finding as many able workers as possible, and brought them to what is now called Noxia.  They built the city with whatever they brought and whatever they could find, and every year since, they celebrated their success.

Tristan recently began tuning out of the last part of the story praising Vincent and Mu' Nukhoi, as his father frustrated him to no end and Mu' Nukhoi was not much of a figure in his life.  She was rarely seen, being known for her few words and great wisdom, and the younger members of the city could barely remember what she looked like.  Tristan knew her, though.

As he came to that thought, Tristan remembered that he could do with the rest of the day whatever he wanted, and his mood perked up right away.  As the father and son walked through the main street to their home, Tristan's mind raced further thinking about his next few hours.  As he came to their house, he charged up the steps to the door to wash up.  His father farther behind him, he quickly opened the door, not looking around him, and rushed to the washroom.

He didn't travel even a step before being met with something from his peripherals flying towards his face.  He braced himself, and with a BAM he was hit to the ground.