LCC - R1: Misery Business VS Caned But Able

Even Duffy Bracken was not quite sure how he crossed the room so quickly. After months of constant remorse, pain, and sorrow, he suddenly felt exonerated. He felt, though he was now plummeting, quite alive.

“Oh,” he said.

Something had driven him to heroism he did not know he still possessed. Something had driven him to sing in his heart, and not his lungs. Something had driven him to cast aside his cane in a maelstrom of pulse light, and draw instead a dagger into his grip. The vernal vault sang malice in the bedroom long after he had stepped up onto the balcony’s solitary chair, and tumbled headfirst into the midnight chill.

“Oh bugger.” His accent abandoned all notion of class, and abruptly turned into a plucky Scara Brae twang that would have been hard for anyone but the street urchins of his homeland isle to comprehend.

His curse accompanied a cry of pain as he lashed his blade over his shoulder. With sickening accuracy, it struck the back of his shirt with little in the way of grace. It cut through cloth, skin, and sinew with ease. It came unceremoniously to a standstill as his leap reached its apex.

Through alms and arias, Duffy felt the power of his companion’s overwhelm him. First, he heard Ruby’s sultry voice rattle in his eardrums. He felt warm, heated, and complete beneath her glare.

“For friends I will burn…” he whispered. Time seemed to slow as his head began to err forwards, and his blade began to drag back in the windfall of his descent.

Secondly he felt the ancient blood magic of Lao Sheng stir in his gullet. It made his oesophagus taste like blood, and his breath smell like abrupt decay. With all the strength he could muster, Duffy tensed so that the power rose up from his stomach into his shoulder. He instantly felt the pain of self-sacrifice, and arched his back in a cry of pain as the spell came to fruition.

“For friends I will fly on wings anew!” he roared, no longer shocked, scared, and alone at the moment of his imminent death. The cackle of Ags left his mind, replaced instead with a choral song that funeral pyres blazed to, and kings and queens were remembered by.

The third and final borrowing of power came in the form of his own survival instinct. Long ago, he had been a lithe little street urchin, a thief by another name, and a true romantic. He had done everything in his power in those formative years to make people like him. He had bent, quite literally backwards, in dark alleyways and royal courts to appease the masses. Though the masses were now called the Orlouge clan, and his royal courtship was now with Aimer and not a prince fancy and free, Duffy leant into his tumble and committed himself to his act.

A bloodied wing sprouted from the wound on his shoulder without ceremony.

“For friends, I will defy death…” he screamed, a choral undertone carrying his voice out across the languishing cityscape. Slate roves rattled, moonlit windows paved, and nosey neighbours twitched behind curtains, uncertain wherever or not looking out into the dark would spell an untimely end for their espionage career.

He curved with a rush of blood to the head that made him dizzy and nauseous, stretched out his arms, disbanded his blade, and took Aimer into his confidence. The smell of blood overwhelmed the bard as he tried to see through flailing, pleated, well-tailored cloth to the street below. He crashed, legs flailing, arms weakening, and ran for several steps before he, and Aimer, both collapsed in a whirlwind of arms, legs, and carnal sprays of thick red blood.

Though no-one saw them land, the immensity of the air felt as if a thousand spying eyes were pressing down from the heavens. Still begrudgingly alive, and as yet, undefeated, Duffy Bracken lay prone on his back, with a flamboyant, and heart warmed man strewn across him unceremoniously. He glared, vision blurred, body wrecked, directly up at the balcony.

For just a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a moose staring down at him, wink, and then vanish inside.

“I fucking hate heights…” he spat, blood thick on his tongue, sweat lathered over every inch of his skin, and his heart pounding. The bloodied wing was no more than a red tattoo on the cobblestones and discarded refuse, a remnant of the providence of Akashima, and a testament to the lengths that Caned But Able would go to show people the heart of the matter.

Slowly but surely, the sounds of clapping came closer and closer to the forms of Duffy and Aimer. A familiar shadow was casted over the two warriors around the time the former actor spit up some of his blood.

“That was pretty impressive,” came the voice of Zack Blaze, his words dripping with sarcasm, “You managed to not only survive, but save your team mate from breaking his neck. The only thing is…” He brought his foot into the ribs of Duffy, a blow delivered with such force that it sent the man rolling a good three feet. Zack approached the Ixian Knight, cracking his knuckles as he approached his target, throwing the tip of his shoe back into the side of the man. “You’re pretty easy pickings now.”

Zack turned around, facing the still body of Aimer. He was fully aware that he could deliver a more painful shot to Duffy emotionally than he ever could physically. After all, Duffy Bracken was a man who had put his body through torture time and time again to accomplish his goals. It wasn’t until people started going after the actor’s friends and family that the cripple would show his true strength, and by then it was typically too late.

Another vicious kick was delivered, this time to Aimer rather than his partner. Several more times Zack planted his feet into the side of the young man, his grin growing wider and wider. He could hear the ribs crack as he used all of his force to make one final hit upon the man’s body. Aimer stood lifeless through it all, until the final blow caused the ladies man’s body to roll over from the power of the blow. Zack stopped his assault, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Aimer’s bloodied hair.

“Oh, what a wasted effort,” Zack shrugged his shoulders and sighed, making sure his voice was loud enough for Duffy to hear, “looks like he cracked his skull on the roof, or something. Your friend was dead before I even got here Bracken. Ah well.” Zack stomped on the back of the corpse, making sure the impact was loud enough for his partner to hear.

“Don’t worry though,” Zack turned around and kneeled down, knowing full well to keep his distance from the warrior, just in case, “You’ll be joining him sure enough. After all, we can’t get disqualified if you guys don’t even make it to the match…”

Duffy’s still lingering soul remained bridling and effervescent, given life by the torment endured by his companion. Though he had known Aimer for mere days, instead of the lifetime he had come to know offers given the same respect, he hated Zack Blaze now for each and every kick. His own ribs felt pain, but he endured it. His shoulder was still bleeding, but he endured it. His heart was still pounding, each thud of the muscle in his chest cavity resounding in the dim light of the alleyway. If it had been a tom drum, it would have been deafening.

Craning his neck just enough to straighten his windpipe, Duffy did what came natural to most bards. He began to lament, and to record, the passage of time before his teary eyes. With the same inhalation, he let the pain in his shin, his thighs, and his spine become inconsequential. They were, after all, simply a muse to inspire a lacklustre melody to become something so much more…vibrant.

Flames formed about the bard’s fingertips, which swiftly discarded blade and care alike. He heaved Aimer’s corpse from his own, uncaring now if the boy truly was dead, or merely unconscious and drifting into and out of whatever ‘beyond’ mortals truly experienced. He felt guilty for doing so, as bones and sinew were no doubt broken further still by his act.

“Sacrament of friendship true, gift me light and love anew,” his knee hit the cobbles, bloodied by his own injuries and the contact with Aimer’s life-force, and pushed him upright into a stoop, “form new bonds twixt friend and foe.” The end stops signified a break between song and instrumental, which exploded into the alleyway from nowhere. It was a sonata of drums and sitar, Fallien-tubular bells, and a notion, just on the cusp of being prominent, of true craftsmanship in every note.

“Is this a funeral song?” Zack smirked.

Duffy shook his head as he straightened his back. It clicked unceremoniously, and he dropped his weight onto his uninjured leg. Through the dark fabric of his trousers, blood was flowing much more freely than he might have liked. The use of such heavy power was feeding his curse, gifting it a new lease of malefic that would take days to subside. He doubted he would make it to the arena regardless of the outcome of their encounter.

“I am lost in the moment,” he clapped.

“I am found in the beat,” he clapped.

“I am torn down by anger, and left in defeat. I am trying to love and to hate you alike, but I’m only able to numb my sense,” he held out both hands, palms facing his enemy, and let the fire gathered there increase. The dancing tongues were orange and amber and they quickly began to cover his forearms and shoulders. The sonata bounced back and forth from wall to wall, and went up with an echo into the chill night sky. Ravens and rooks scattered from bat riddled belfry, and the crowd, still searching for Zack in the streets beyond, began to hear just a glimpse of the legacy Zack so cruelly spoke of.

“How does it feel, to treat me like you do, when you've laid, laid your hands upon me, and told me who you are?” he clapped a final time, which caused the fire to ignite into a maelstrom of heat and healing that engulfed every inch of his battered body. The clothes, mere fabric beneath the gaze of the gods were stripped from his flesh. Embers and ash drifted up on magical thermals.

“I thought I was mistaken, I thought I heard your words, tell me how do I feel, tell me now how do I feel?” as the song began to reach its zenith, the firefly lights of Duffy’s attire began to descend down over the alleyway, a strange yet gentle sight alongside such a potent display of anger. The fire formed a sphere around the bard, and although his hair flickered as if stricken by a hurricane, and his piercings and rings remained intact, there was nothing left of injury or fashion alike.

“Those who came before me, lived through their vocations, from the past until completion, they will turn away no more.” The song died, suddenly, dramatically, and potently. Though the fire lingered, and the dagger wound was seared shut by the heat, no temperature change registered on anyone else bar Duffy. It was an illusion he would use to his advantage, as he slowly stepped over Aimer, who was half naked on his left side and perhaps a little less dead than he had been, and advanced towards Zack Blaze with a true blaze devouring suns in his eyes.

He conjured the Katarhna into his left hand with a flash of white ribbons and light that were drowned out by the lingering flame, levelled its bladed edge at his opponent, and limped with a glare that could have shattered rock.

“The only thing I will be joining Aimer in is a victory hookah, a stiff drink, and an elaborate recount of Misery Business became so irrevocably the first casualty in the Rebellion…” his glare faded, and then he charged, sword raised, and fully naked form borne to the world.

Quote:

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Lyrics courtesy of New Order.

Second use of Union of Ages in the form of Ruby Winchester's Song of Phoenix Fire.

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For once in his life, Zack Blaze was at a loss for words. The fact that he was now staring down a naked Duffy Bracken, as well as a half-naked, maybe-unconscious Aimer, left the fighter stunned to say the least. The flames had caused him to move backwards, both in awe and fear of Duffy’s wrath. The pause while the warrior went through his transformation made Zack realize just how much his shoulder and arms were hurting again. The kicking had reopened the wound on his shoulder, previously clotted up by blood, and now he could feel the jolting pain with each motion of his arm.

“Huh,” Zack finally spoke as Duffy finished speaking, advancing on the youth with his sword, “Guess you also like to fight evil by moon light, and win love by day light. You’re a man who never runs from a real fight, I applaud you Duffy Bracken!” Zack’s tone carried with it a jovial tune, almost as if he was mocking his opponent and his naked transformation that Zack was fairly certain was not quite complete. Why else would he be naked?

Duffy charged, speaking of Misery Business’ defeat. Zack responded by stepping to the side, raising his arms out wide. Someone as noble as Duffy Bracken would probably feel horrible attacking a man who just stood there not defending himself. Zack winced as he felt the blade pierce through his same injured shoulder, waves of blood pouring out of the exit wound. Zack screamed, using his good arm to reach down, grabbing Duffy by his most sensitive organ.

“Game over…” Zack spoke, his grin allowing blood spittle to trail out of the corner of his mouth. He gripped Duffy’s member hard, trying to also touch the testicles as well; the more area his hand could cover the better. Zack took in a deep breath and pulled himself off of the sword that was impaling him, instantly igniting his electric attack the second his body was off of the blade. Zack knew full well that this attack had only the slimmest margin of killing the bard; the street fighter figured the singer would be in too much pain to continue on.

Zack fell to his knees, his teeth gritted in silent protest at his opponent. He may have not been the physically stronger of the two, but in his mind, he had won the war against Duffy’s fragile emotional state.

Duffy’s eyes sparked with hope for only a brief moment before the light was snuffed out. He had become all too consumed by his enemy’s bitter enmity, and let that man’s poison inflict him with a virile sense of self-importance. As he retreated, his blade hewn from the rock of ignorance of Zack’s flesh, he saw an all too familiar sign erupt from the mage’s fingertips.

“Not again,” he roared, stepping to one side with a spiral that belied his injuries. Something primal, deep down and survivalist turned him through a rotation of a Coronian waltz. Duffy Bracken was tired of parlour tricks.

The lightning blast struck thin air, but its tendrils, cracking edifices of a power the bard would never understand, lashed out and struck him dead centre of his left-hand side. He felt them clash against the abyssal remnants of his nemesis’ curse and fight a war beneath his skin. The dark sky overhead, for just a moment, seemed as clear as day. There would have been a scream, had he not trundled backwards eschew, and fallen clean through the wall.

In the limelight of his purposed victory, Zack Blaze would have seen only ribbons of light. The lightning did its work, by all means, but it also gave Duffy the zeal to draw on the union he shared with his troupe one last and very crucial time. The cracked stone, crumbling under the weight of the amply bosomed occupants and Lornian whores that frequented the inn kicked up dust with undignified breaks. When the lights stopped dancing, they faded from few, returning to their mundane state without a notion of what had just happened.

When Duffy opened his eyes a few precious moments later, he was looking up at the beams in the roof of the tavern’s cellar. Prone flat on his back, and still somehow alive, the sensation in his bones took a good minute or two to fade away into the back of his mind. He tried to move, but instantly regretted it.

“I’m getting too fuckin’ old for this,” he chirped, a crackle in his voice that signified damage to his lungs, as well as his already tarnished pride. The drop through the floorboards in the flash of power that was Arden Janelle’s Akashiman magic had been uncaring about his already bruised limbs, and alongside his indignity, there was a pool of blood forming about his shoulder, and a river of sorrow welling in his stomach.

It was then that he noticed the piles of barrels, oak pallets laden with liquor all round him. His eyes, for the first time that evening, widened to the size of dinner plates. He made to move, suddenly inspired, and stands upright. Even though Misery Business had conducted its affairs well enough, Duffy’s plan had been set in motion.

“All across Lornius, Mr Blaze, people are not talking about what you did here tonight…” he hobbled to the small verger’s table at the centre of the room. He scanned the ledger, picked up a half full glass, and drained it with a smack of his parched, bloodied lips that could have woken a sleeping giant. “They are, however, talking about me…” He smiled.

Though Duffy Bracken would not remember much of tomorrow, the people of Lornius would remember it for an age…

Revolution, after all, always began with a stiff drunk, balls to the wind, and a fall from grace.

Quote:

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Third use of Union of Ages.

Concluding post.

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Zack’s eyes followed Duffy as he made his way over to the barrels of liquor. The bard spouted some nonsense about who the people would remember this day. This caused Zack to laugh, making the boy cough out more blood in the process. “Give me a damn break.”

“Excuse me?” Duffy paused for a minute and looked at the youth, a little stunned by the vulgarity of his opponent.

“You heard me Bracken,” Zack got onto his feet, his knees wobbling as he began to walk off. “You know why Max Dirks is so well known no matter where you go in Althanas? It wasn’t because the people remembered him,” Zack coughed violently again, more splatters of blood hitting the ground. “It isn’t because he made some flowery speech, or because he took the moral high ground against his opponent. It’s because he won his fights.”

“Sei Orlouge became a household name when he defeated Dirks. The only reason people know the name Edmund Lorisac is because he and Kylin Rouge won the Lornius Corporate Championship. See Bracken, history isn’t written by the guys who make the biggest scene. It’s written by the winners.” One of Zack knees gave out, forcing him to kneel as if he was bowing to a king. “Only the strong survive, and the losers resign themselves to song and drink. Way I see it; you might as well be giving up right now, which is fine by me. We’ve seen which of us is stronger.”

Zack didn’t even give the actor the courtesy of looking at him as he spoke, instead rising back to his feet and stumbling into the hotel. The guards would arrive soon, but they had no authority to go into tournament competitors rooms without a warrant. Aimer was for all intents and purposes dead, Duffy was drinking his loss away, and Zack's partner, as well as Zack himself, were still alive. The guards would probably assume Bracken was the one who brutally beat the man lying outside, while Zack would be getting stitched back up in his room.

Each step upwards sent another jolt of pain through the boy’s body. He was unsure if he would be able to continue on, but each step made him a little more confident. He had, after all, just taken the great Duffy Bracken off of his high horse. Zack grinned as he made it into his room, the smell of lavender filling the room as he stumbled into the bathroom.

Ags was in the tub already, her naked body hidden from view by bubbles. Zack grinned a little as his partner casually looked up at him. “Took you long enough,” she said before moving her eyes back into the tub water.

“You have two choices right now, Ags,” Zack coughed once more, covering his mouth this time in the presence of his royal partner. “You can either contact Misery Business and get somebody in here to heal me up…”

“Or?” Ags lifted one of her legs, watching as the bubbles trailed down her shin and back into the water.

Zack grinned, a trail of blood dripping from his chin and into his open palm. “Or you can move over and share that bath…”

Misery Business vs. Caned But Able

Misery Business

Story – 6/10

Misery Business worked harder to make the concept work, and used it to their advantage. Further the attempts at using other characters stories was particularly inspired, in trying to bring out the character a bit more and make this battle seem more involved than most tournament battles get. They however fail in the front of Ags disappearing, I understand with Aimer’s “death” she had little to do and from a character perspective she had no reason to stick her neck out for Zack. The problem is that as a team tournament the trope of “not my friend not my problem” is an easy trap to fall into.

Pacing - 5/10

This is where the “not my problem” syndrome hurt you. Pacing took a huge hit as I had to go back repeatedly to look at what was going on, especially with the door trick. A judge should not have to look at a character sheet to understand your actions. This hurt the pacing as I had to reread sections and it slowed down the story.

Setting – 4/10

Setting took a hit for you guys as the reactions of the people around you suffered greatly. I had no sense you were fighting in anything but an empty barroom. A setting is a living breathing thing, and other than the occasional use of setting for actions, I didn’t get the feeling the room was full. This hurt both teams but yours took the harder hit.

Communication – 5/10

The dialogue was rather, cliché. The biggest problem being Zack’s dialogue was very heavily dictated as a stereotypical disdain that comes from fighters. Agnes didn’t have enough time for me to get a feeling one way or another about her. I got a sense of fae mischief, and while that is her character in a sense, I couldn’t tell how in character it really is.

Action – 5/10

The confusing actions hurt you again in this category. Practicing the descriptions for your actions will help with this situation and prevent repeat offenses. Zacks actions were fluid and smooth, giving you a higher score.

Persona – 4/10

Personality was lacking, I didn’t get any feeling for the characters beyond the obvious.

Mechanics – 5/10

A few mistakes from Zack hurt the modest efforts by Agnes to bring this score up. Big offenders were wrong words that were still words and therefore Word wouldn’t correct them that cropped up in Zack’s posts.

Technique – 5/10

Other than the usual literary devices I saw nothing that gripped me and made me get sucked into the reading. This is a problem as you guys will need to step it up. Your job is to use technique to grip the reader and failure to do so will result in lowered scores in this area.

Clarity – 4/10

Again the confusing actions hurt you. See Action and Story to see ways to clear this problem up.

Wildcard – 5/10

1 point deduction for a one day penalty, Aimer posted 1/21/13 at 4:45 pm followed by Ags at 1/23/13 at 9:53 am.

Total – 48/100


Caned but Able

Story – 6/10

Stronger story, with the hunting of a wallet and all the woes that come with it, but with no unity in the thread it hurt your overall score.

Pacing – 4/10

Aimer’s inability to get a cohesive post longer than a paragraph or two hurt you, chopping up the pacing.

Setting – 5/10

Good effort by Duffy to remind us all we’re fighting in a crowded tavern, but unfortunately Aimer’s lack of use or definition fo the setting surrounding him hurt the most.

Communication – 6/10

Caned but Able gave me more realistic and antural dialogue, the problem was that Aimer again brings you guys down. It was obvious the writer’s focus wasn’t able to help this character as much as it had the other.

Action – 3/10

Aimer’s lack of activity in the later part of the thread, followed by filler posts to keep busy hurt you guys, a lot.

Persona – 4/10

Aimer’s first person perspective should have given me a better insight into his character than it did the unfortunate side effect of not being able to mesh the character into the story well enough.

Mechanics – 6/10

Better quality all around. It seems that Since the writing on Aimer wasn’t as prolific it didn’t have as many flaws.

Technique – 4/10

Technique suffers for the simple fact that the weird use of “Katarhna” threw me off majorly. This seems the only word that could feasibly be accented in your words Duffy. This isn’t even British vs. American language it literally jarred me out of the thread to read it. If this is supposed to be a unique weapon, then that fact went right over my head as you didn’t show me it was a unique weapon type. Much like I told Misery Business, I should not have to read your character sheet to understand what’s going on in a thread. Add in Aimer’s bare bones writing and your score was significantly lowered.

Clarity – 5/10

Thread was clear, just the occasional hiccup from use of odd phrasing or words hurt it.

Wild Card – 4

Total: 47/100

Misery Business Wins!

Zack Blaze receives 3000 EXP and 67 GP
Ags receives 3000 EXP and 48 GP
Duffy Brandybuck receives 900 EXP and 75 GP
Aimer receives 900 EXP and 47 GP

Experience and gold added.