2 v 2 Vice vs. Cipher Nex

[Dirge]

Out of the corner of his eye the sorcerer could see the advancing opponent, her movement little more than a blur. She had the ability to rush forward far faster than Vigo could have reacted had he faced off against her alone. His focus was split though, a moment of vulnerability being present. Under his breath he muttered a curse, but tensed his muscles to continue the swing nonetheless, hoping that it would strike before she could hinder him or hurt him. Instead of attacking his exposed side, taking advantage of the opening and removing him from combat, she protected the dress wearing woman. It was a small reprieve, one that allowed Vigo a quick look into the combat that would come to dominate the awkward battle.

The cane was mid-swing when the sewn mouth freak attacked, her dagger striking and sticking into the wooden side of the halflings weapon. The secreted blade quivered beneath the wood, the vibrations rattling through his white knuckled hold. He could feel her strength through the attack, up either arm and into his shoulders. If she was like the sorcerer and the insane child, opting to defend her companion before finishing an opponent, there was an advantage present that Vigo saw opening.

Her thoughts, telepathy her assumed only means of communication, passed into his mind. They were pervasive, angering, annoying. Worry streaked his cocksure façade, wondering at what else she had at command mentally and fearing that she had chosen him as her opponent. Had she attempted to enter the mind of the younger Jacob the scene would have changed dramatically; had she toyed with the boy’s mind, she might have possibly been absorbed by his overwhelming insanity. Instinctively the sorcerer let his hands loose a little on the cane, allowing her to push her momentum into the lodged dagger.

Her second hand removed another dagger, a move that the sorcerer assumed would happen. It was purely logic that brought his conclusion that no Althanas person every carried only one dagger for use, and everyone wielded two at a time. He, however, was as prepared as the precarious place he had been forced into would allow. His booted foot pushed off a jagged rock, his attention turning to the arching blade aimed for his gut. It was moving quickly. He did not back away too far, assuming the secondary weapon was shorter.

Assumptions fueled his very survival, natural and learned tendencies that seemed pervasive throughout the society of Althanas. They were correct to that point, and he could only hope that they would continue to prove useful. The blade swiped through the point where his exposed chest had been, barely missing the twin layer of clothing that wrapped his thin frame. Vigo let go with one of his hands, the sickly glow of his devious spells coming to life suddenly. His opponent was close, just as he needed, and he took full advantage of it.

“Fuck off,” he squeezed through gritted teeth as he launched himself forward. The jerk of movement, changing momentum so suddenly, put him off step but he was close enough to compensate for it. His free hand reached out towards her smooth face. The sewn mouth would suffer first. It was an open palm strike; an attack would not injure the woman enough to be noticed. However, at the tips of his fingers, he reached with the necromantic touch, attempting to place the rash and boils across that macabre beauty.

What happened with his companion was all but unnoticed, there was a more pressing issue at hand.

[Witchblade]

The blade missed. She watched as the sharpened Titanium whizzed through the air, cutting through it like she wished it would cut through him, only the attack never connected. He shifted his position and moved just far enough away from the blade that it pierced the area where he used to be and the sharpened tip passed within a fraction of an inch of his clothes. Any closer and she may have sliced through the fabric and possibly skimmed the tanned skin that lay beneath them, releasing that wonderful smell of blood to taint the air and fill her nostrils. But he had been quick enough to avoid it.

As she pulled her arm back in towards her body, she felt a tingle wash over her skin. Like a snake crawling along the surface and making every hair to stand on end as it left its slimy residue behind.

Magic.

She knew the feel of it anywhere and as the half elf before her began to charge his little attack she could feel the muscles within her stomach clench and turn as Witch pondered what he was planning. He was quick on his feet with his counter attack though, giving the halfling little to no time to move out of the way or prepare for it. Instinct demanded that she move away from it, that she dig the soles of her boots into the rough ground and push off and away from him as fast as she could. But even as her legs tensed and she shifted her position, ready to do such a thing she knew it would be futile. He was just too close to her, even for her quick reflexes.

The sickly green glow that surrounded his hand came dangerously close to her face and she moved her head back, but not far enough. She felt his fingers touch her first, the nails along the tips of them scraping against the smooth and sensitive skin of her cheek as his rough, hot skin met her smooth and deathly cold flesh. Then his palm smacked against her next and the whole of it rent her face, moving across her cheek to her jaw and then across her lips. His fingers pulled at the strings that held her mouth shut, tugging at them and ripping through the flesh, making her mouth fill with the wonderful, metallic taste of blood. Only it was her own blood that she tasted and the pain was not coming from someone else, but from her.

A throbbing pain exploded across her flesh next. She could feel it, like hot, molten steel rip through her flesh and explode down her cheek and across her mouth. She felt the skin shift and change and as a low animalistic growl escaped the depths of her throat, her crimson eyes narrowed on the half elf, Vigo. She didn’t bother to raise one of her hands and assess the damage, she didn’t need to. Her healing would take care of whatever he had done to her and if he thought a little bit of pain was going to stop her, he had another thing coming. Pain was just a state of mind that let someone know they were still alive. And according to the fiery burn that was covering her face she was very much alive.

Already she could feel the skin along her face shifting and pulling tight as her healing began to kick in and fix whatever kind of damage he had dealt her. Wanting to quickly counter Vigo’s attack, the halfling leapt from her stationary position towards the half elf. He was close, ever so close to her. She could smell the sweat that was beginning to bead along his skin, she could hear the steady beat of his heart and even the sharp take of breath that he took in through his lips as she made her move towards him. The move was meant to be quick and vicious and injure him, but not kill him. No, not yet. She wanted to have fun toying with him and watching him suffer until he was begging her for some sort of release from this world. Only then would she let him go.

Rocks crumbled and fell away from her step as she crossed the three foot distance between them in a second, maybe more. The Mythril blade in her left hand moved for his side, thirsting for his blood as she moved to plunge it into the flesh. It would miss the major internal organs, but it would cause a great deal of pain and would be a constant source of blood loss. The light enchantment placed upon the blade caused more damage to creatures of darkness, but with Vigo being an elf she was unsure of any damage such an enchantment would do to him.

[The Writing Writer]

The Writer was too ecstatic to notice the icy, slithering wire crawl up his bare arm. Too enthralled was he by the sight of his attacker's blood upon the rocky surface in which they danced. Too intoxicated, too drunk with bloodlust was he to follow up his attack with a finishing blow. Normally he would have immediately smashed her precious little head back into the rocks that beckoned for her blood only moments before. He would have jammed his grimy, leathery foot into the back of her skull, effectively cutting their fight short. But Jacob once again found himself lost in his own entertainment. He wished at times, he weren't so very, very amusing.

A tugging on his arm sent a sharp sting over his shoulder and into his brain, forcing a wince out of the normally indiscernible mad man. He felt his torso follow his arm, and soon after his head. No doubt the arm was leading his other body parts astray, but unfortunately, at this time, the arm could not be contested.

The Mad Poet's alarmingly pink eyes shifted awkwardly in their sockets, bringing the form of his opponent back into view. She lay on her back, blood trickling down from her head, kissing the delicate features of her face. Her angry, determined expression was something The Writer had seen before. It was his dearest Jennette that he saw before him. She too lay in the same way, that same look in her eyes. Oh what a long while it had been since Jacob's thoughts wandered back to his late fiance. She was the reason he was like this. She gazed upon the mirror of his mind, and shattered it without regret or remorse. She hated him, and for what she had done, he hated her too.

The Writing Writer's toothy grin was wider than ever, the tiny ivories grinding against each other. So loud was the grinding, that the sounds of his comrade's shifting feet were drowned out near completely. So rough was the grinding, that the collision of whatever hit his face was all but unnoticed. Upon it's collision however, Jacob's head was shot back, forcing his gaze skyward. For a moment he stared, unable to take action as blood trickled down from his nose and into his mouth, lining his teeth with crimson. Only the iron-like taste of his own blood seemed to bring him out of his maddened trance. He looked down again at his opponent, who's appearance had changed. Her sapphire eyes and midnight hair were both converted to a familiar chestnut. Gone was her purple combat dress, replaced by an olive green gown that Jacob knew all too well. His eyes widened, his smile stretched the very corners of his mouth, threatening to break the surrounding skin in two. His body trembled as the words spilled from his mouth.

" Oh my, Jennette! How long has it been?
Two? Three years since I tore off your skin?
And yet, here you are! Still...fucking...alive.
Perhaps I was not thorough enough the first time.

But don't worry my dear, I'll send you back home.
Back to the valley, where the dead like you roam.
It's been nice seeing you, and I wish you well,
BUT I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU HERE! GO BACK TO HELL!! "

With that, Jacob took hold of his opponent's wrist, the very same wrist that bound him to her. At the same time he reached down with his other arm, taking her other wrist in hand. With all his anger, all his fury he pulled her body towards his own, ignoring the steel wire that cut into his arm. He then thrust his knee as hard as he could towards the very center of her chest, hoping to crush her sternum and fill her lungs with blood. This was no longer a game for Jacob. He had lost all control. The memory of his former love had sent him as far down as he could possibly go. He would not stop, he would not halt until she was dead.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I've seen this look before--it was the visage of someone who had lost everything. A person who had become nothing more than a hollow shell of his former self, a person filled with a maelstrom of emotions that I cannot pretend to understand. The kind of person who is run by hatred, sorrow, and anger... Those kind of people, that allow themselves to be overcome like that, truly terrify me. So needless to say, as I stared into the pale man's strangely pink eyes, I was beginning to panic.

A jagged, psychotic smile split his face as his head reeled back from my telekinetic punch. Blood was pouring out of the cracks between his teeth, a cascade of crimson that didn't seem to have any effect on him other than to give his sharp features a little frightening punch. He gazed deeply into my eyes and spoke.

His little rhyme about killing a woman named Jennette--whom I could only guess that he pictured me as--sent a shiver down my spine. There was no doubt in my mind that he wanted to kill me. Why? What did this Jennette girl do to him to make him like this? But regardless, his little monologue gave me time to plan my next attack. I tore my gaze away from him long enough to see one of my daggers lying a few feet away. Wasting no time, I sent a length of wire out from my left sleeve to retrieve the sharp damascus toy.

Come on, just a little longer with that poem of yours, you fuckin' psycho, I thought to myself as the steel strand coiled itself around the leather hilt. That's right, give me some time to slash your--

My thoughts were interrupted when the bastard grabbed both of my wrists and pulled me towards him. Almost instinctively, I flung the wired dagger from its resting spot on the warm rock, aiming for the man's thin, blood-soaked throat.

The smell of volcanic ash and blood permeated the mountaintop air. I didn't see if my improvised attack added to the presence of the latter--I was too busy dealing with something else. As soon as I moved my weapon towards his artery, he fired off a knee strike at my chest. I struggled in the split second before the impact, turning slightly. His bony knee buried itself into my left ribcage. My eyes went wide, and I let out an unearthly, painful howl. While the edge of my hard leather corset absorbed a good portion of the blow, the sheer power he put into it still managed to fracture a couple of my ribs. The pain was like none other I had ever felt. A fire roared through my body with the intensity of an eruption from the volcano we were doing battle on, flooding my senses with a new definition of pain and bringing tears to my eyes.

I bit my lip through the pain, my canines tearing through my own soft flesh and filling my taste buds with the metallic tingle of blood. I couldn't waste time hoping that my airborne dagger was going to do its job--I tried desperately to gather enough energy to assault another telekinetic attack. I twisted my right hand through his steely grip just enough to aim it at his left temple this time.

I had to kill this guy quick--or he was going to kill me.

[Dirge]

Just a stroke, a stroke every so gentle, it was all Vigo was afforded for his trouble. Her face was so soft, so cold, and the sorcerer’s slipped across it with the gentleness of a tender caress. At first it was little more, but he pushed harder and strained the muscles in his arm. Each perfectly manicured fingernail stroked her face as the palm of his smooth hand collided with her cheek. He felt the imperfections of her ghastly beauty tear under the pressure, felt the release of the tightly bound tendrils that kept her mouth forever immobile. How long had it been since she had been able to scream? How long had it been since her voice had been heard? Vigo pressed his luck and waited for the pain to be expressed through that awkward mouth with a curiosity befitting only the most insane of people.

When she stumbled a bit away from the halfling he could only manage a wiry grin of self satisfaction. She had groaned, and how sweet it had been. But the damage done was little more than skin deep at best. The boils and blisters, the stretched skin coated in rash, it slowly began to reform. So shallow a victory it had been, and a small one at that. If his spell was put to the test and failed he was assuredly going to die at the witch’s hands.

She moved with the grace of an elf, and speed that the sorcerer could not hope to match. He pulled at the dagger lodged in his cane with a free hand and tried to spin away at the same time. His booted foot caught a rough stone and jolted him in a clumsy and costly misstep. The dagger streaking towards him caught his side even as much as he had turned. A flare of pain made his head spin, his knees weak, and his hands shake. He had not been on the end of a blade for a fairly long time, and had not wanted to be in that position again. It burned, but not as much as it would have had he been a creature of the darkness. He only used their abilities and their fear, he was above them though.

In his turn he had been wounded, but he had also caught the scene of Jacob and the dress wearing woman locked in combat. Through the air was a small dagger, soaring for his companion’s throat. Without worry about his own safety the dirge mage swung his cane like a club again. The blunt weapon and the dagger struck each other, sending the wayward blade careening harmlessly to the ground. It would be a small boon at the most, having an able, though psychotic partner to help him put an end to the witches power.

She was to his side; Vigo could see her sewn mouth bloodied. But what she could do to him would be no worse than he was about to do to her companion. Jacob had both her arms clasped tightly with his knee in the side of her ribs. Not wasting a second the sorcerer spun his cane at her exposed head. Only one arm held it, the other crossed against his abdomen and holding closed the bleeding wound.

“Jacob…” he muttered as if the boy would understand to watch his back. Words were not necessary, but Vigo feared for his sanity and understanding.

[Witchblade]

The blood fuelled her senses. It made the pupils in her eyes grow larger and her nostrils flare as she breathed it in as deeply as if she needed it to live. She could almost taste it across her tongue, but then again the metallic taste lining her mouth at the moment was coming from her own blood. The thick, blue liquid was passing through her lips whenever she opened them the slightest bit and mixing with her saliva, creating a rather intoxicating blend to the halfling. She wished that these strings were not holding her mouth in place, and then she could sink her long canines into the neck of the elf before her and drink his blood until he fell to his knees. It would be a sweat victory on her behalf and one she would take a great amount of joy in.

As it was, she was already smirking over the feel of her dagger sinking into his flesh. Her sensitive hearing picked up the sound of the rending flesh and the squishing blood and innards. She could feel the lovely thick liquid began to pour over the handle of the blade and slither through her fingers like that of serpent, finding every nook and cranny in her fingers to slide into.

Witch pulled the blade out and shivered as the sucking sound followed it. It was such a beautiful found to her ears and she wanted to hear more of it but her opponent was already on the move. There was pain in his eyes and a grimace on his face. It appeared that her attack had shocked him slightly, which made it all the more sweeter, especially with her knowing that there was more to come. She saw his move with her sharp, crimson eyes and narrowed them on his person. Attacks would be too slow, even her quick reactions may not save the head of her comrade from a rather crippling blow should she lash out. But, she didn’t exactly need her hands in order to attack someone.

She had wanted to save this for later, when it would most surprise her opponents, but she was finding herself using it in order to save her current sparring partner.

As the wooden cane went sailing through the air towards Madison’s head, Witchblade took a deep breath and focused her telekinesis. She could have blasted the weapon and removed it from its path, but there was a chance she’d also hit the woman in the process and injuring her only partner was not something high on her list. At least right now. So, instead she focused on controlling the actual trajectory of the weapon itself and sending it off course.

She watched as course of the weapon veered off to the side and missed the head of Madison; it looked more like it would slam into her shoulder instead. Easily, a much better target that the side of her skull. At least this would only hurt instead of debilitate her.

[The Writing Writer]

Sweet, sweet satisfaction. Jacob could feel her bones give way as the cap of his knee crashed into her rib cage. The give was slight, but it was enough to cripple her, and more importantly, to cause her pain. Pain was Jacob's purpose now. More specifically, his purpose in life at this very moment was to cause his resurrected fiance the greatest amount of pain she could possibly endure, and then cause her some more. He would tear out her hair, rip out her eyes and fill the sockets with salt. His grip tightened around her wrists as the anticipation grew within him. He couldn't wait another moment. He had to be rid of her now.

But as fate would have it, the Mad Poet would not have his release just yet. A shimmer of light sent beams of sunlight into the corner of Jacob's vision. He squinted his eyes as he turned to face the object, unsure of what it was. Even as he gazed directly upon the object that was fast approaching his head, he could not make out it's form. And even as he could feel the air the object parted brushing across his face, still the sunlight obscured his vision. Only until his comrade's cane was brought to intercept the projectile, was it's form discernable. The clank of wood and metal gave Jacob a considerable clue as to what the object was. When it met with the cobblestone earth, he finally knew what it was, and it's origin. It was a dagger. A blade sent to collect his life. It's owner? None other than his beloved Jennette. Jacob turned to face her and roared in anger, screaming loudly into her face. How dare she strike at him? After wounding his heart, she now sought his throat? Unacceptable! He would end her now!

But as Jacob lifted his leg into the air, intending to crush her head with his heel, the voice of his friend Vigo slipped ever so gently into his ear, rattling the drum within. Jacob's eyes darted leftward, in the direction of his companion. It seemed in his psychotic rage, Jacob had become neglectful of his comrade, who now bled from his abdomen. The Mad Poet knew immediately why the honey-colored elf had called his name. Vigo was in danger, and unless Jacob acted now, the half-elf would meet with a grim fate. Jacob turned back to Jennette, then back to Vigo. He grumbled in annoyance, and soon screamed in frustration. His eyes flared with hate as he turned back to Jennette.

" Do not think you will get out alive!
For once I am back, it's your turn to die!
Lay in wait, I shall return soon.
And then you shall have your last dance with this groom. "

Jacob spit angrily at the face of his former love, then moved on the witch. He released his grip of Jennette's arms and reached down, picking up her dagger, holding it tight in his right hand. There was no time for flash or flare. The Mad Poet needed to dispatch the oddly pigmented woman quickly, lest Jennette make her escape. Gripping the dagger tightly, Jacob lunged at the woman clad in black, who so rudely interrupted his vengful antics. Thrusting the dagger forward, he hoped to pierce through her ribs and puncture her lung. At the very least he would injure her arm, giving Vigo a slight edge that he did not have before.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

As my dagger zeroed in on its target, that halfling son of a bitch deflected it with his cane. My eyes followed the spiraling damascus blade as it arched away from the pale psychopath who was pinning me down. The ping of the wooden stick against the metal echoed through my head, nearly shattering my hopes of taking out this wide-eyed, black haired freak. I prepared to fire off my telekinetic blast as the side of his head , but I was interrupted by the deafening sound of another crack and a sharp pain in my shoulder.

I looked over quick enough to see that the halfling had struck me with his cane. I immediately cried out--my arm went numb, scattering any energy I had stored up and aimed at my attacker. The man on top of me joined in my unholy chorus, his harmonic howling filled with rage--but at what? I unclenched my eyes long enough to see that his foot was suspended in midair, aimed at my head; and I did nothing about it. I laid there; a tear streaking my pitch black eyeliner, a vengeful scowl ripped across my face, but immobile nonetheless.

Why? Why didn't I move? Why didn't I kill this man in his moment of hesitation? Was I truly frightened by him? The man turned to face me again, speaking to me once more in his strange rhyming fashion before spitting in my face.

For some reason, the sounds and sights of my last day at my family's estate popped into my mind. I had just gotten back from an assassination mission gone terribly wrong--my brother Trevor and I were ambushed by some of our target's goons. I barely escaped with my life... Trevor was killed on the spot. My other two brothers, Justin and Michael, blamed me for the his death. I snapped; I rushed for my two siblings, beating the living daylights out of both of them until my parents hand to pull me off of them.

I guess that the way the lunatic spat on me opened the floodgates of my subconscious. One small action to sum up my life at this point. I felt my self-restraint slipping away--for a brief second, I could see Justin's smug, condescending grin and bushy light auburn locks imposed over his face. The man stood up and rushed to his teammate's aid. I tried to focus the wire, to keep him bound to me, but the pain wracking my thin body kept me from restraining him as his arm slipped out of the steel thread.

I felt a wave of resolve build up inside me. Not out of the necessity to win, but out of pure, blind rage. I heard the faint scraping of metal against stone as the bastard picked my dagger off the ground and rushed towards my black-clad teammate, hoping to save his halfling friend from getting utterly destroyed by the bitch. The expression on her face was not unlike my own--save for a hint or two that said that she was enjoying this fight.

My body screamed out in fiery protest as I quickly rose to my feet. I wasn't really in any sort of condition to continue this match, but hell if I gave two shits. I had to kill this freak, and I had to do it now. I quickly called my wire-wrapped dagger to my hand, gripping the smooth leather hilt tightly. With each dashing step forward I took, my shattered ribs and shoulder sent out a fresh wave of pain. I didn't care, though. I could see nothing but a rage-induced haze, where only the pale white body of my opponent stuck out. My feet had little trouble finding their way towards him as I raised my dagger in the air over my head, ready to bury it in his soft flesh and muscle. I lunged at him for all my broken self was worth, before he could put my other dagger into Witchblade. With any luck, I would bring him to the ground, where I would immediately plant my dagger into his eye socket--like I should have done to my other brothers that fateful day.

[Witchblade]

Fuck!

There was too much shit going on around her at once. Even with her high senses and piercing eyesight it was hard to keep up with. The humans and the half elf moved slow—slow compared to her—but their attacks were still put forth with effort and ferocity and she was having a hard time keeping her eye on Vigo and the man at her back. Madison was not being of very much use either. The woman had gotten herself in a tight hold—literally—and had her ribs and her head bashed a few times. Not to mention the hit to her shoulder. Unless she had a very high pain tolerance, she had a feeling her comrade was going to be of very little use unless she could do something about it. Problem being, that madman of a poet with his fucked up rhyming words decided now would be a good time to attack her. As if he could actually get the drop on her. Fucking disgusting pig.

The problem was, turning her attention to the freaking psycho would leave her open to the half elf and that little wooden bat of his that he liked swinging around. Odd that he hadn’t tried to use the blade on her yet. Perhaps he thought himself so superior that he didn’t need to use it.

Turning her now completely healed lips into a grimace, the halfling pulled at two of her Titanium throwing daggers with her telekinesis. They rose from their sheaths and shot off towards the half elf with deadly accuracy. One was going straight for his throat and the other for his chest, each trying to bury deep beneath the flesh and find the veins and arteries that lay within, puncturing them and causing blood to rush into the open air. Sadly, if they met their mark she would not be able to take the complete satisfaction from watching the whole thing, not when her attention needed to be on Jacob and his advances towards her.

He thought he could attack her when her guard was down. He thought that puny little dagger in his hand was going to do something. He thought he had the strength to bring her down. Boy was he ever fucking wrong! And was she ever going to enjoy showing him just how much.

Her body turned to face him as a sick and twisted grin began to pull at the corner of his lips. Her mouth and her cheek was distorted and grotesque looking from the blisters and the rash that Vigo had given her, only because there was dark, blue blood still coating her deathly pale skin. The wounds may be healed but the evidence of what had been there still remained. As the stolen dagger passed through the air, the halfling did little to stop it. She merely moved to the side and allowed the blade to pass into the side skin by her ribs and dig into the flesh. It was shallow at best and would heal fast, but she let him think it might be much more severe than that. Her eyes were widening in a show of shock and pain and utter disbelief. The pain was sharp but it was not enough to make that face of hers genuine. In fact, she enjoyed the pain. It made her feel alive and it fuelled her further in the fight.

Before he could pull away though, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and then pulled him in closer to her. The look upon her face had melted away and left nothing but a pleasurable smirk, the kind that might have look maddening to anyone else but this freak, only because he was far more insane than her. While her mind may have broken long ago, his was lost in a sea of darkness far different from hers, one she had no desire to venture down. Reeling her head back and then bringing in forward the halfling made to slam the harden bone at the front of her scalp into his face, his skull, she didn’t care as long as she caused him some kind of fucking damage. Besides, if she could just keep his distracted enough, then Madison would be able to finish him off. That spunky little human was already on the move and coming after him, even though a brief look into her mind told Witch how much pain she was in.

[Ataraxis]

Quest Judging
insert thread title here

Hello everyone, and sorry for the wait! Without further ado, thither cometh thy judgment!

STORY

Continuity ~ 6/10. Why is Madison in Cipher Nex? What is Cipher Nex? What is this tournament about, what are they getting out of it? I read this and I’m just thrown into this story that doesn’t exactly make sense to me. To be frank, I don’t think I learned much of anything about Madison’s existence outside of this battle. Why is she in Cipher Nex, what does she gain from fighting for that group? What exactly is Cipher Nex, and what are they getting out of this battle? Who organized this and how does the result of this fight play for either group? This isn’t only aimed at you, but at everyone else as well, though in varying degrees of importance.

More specific to you though, since I think you chose the battlefield and the premise of the battle, is that you strung this together, expecting the reader to suspend his disbelief. While I tried to do that, the fact that it didn’t make a lot of sense to me kept me from really immersing myself. You did get a boost with your last post, though, since you included a few snippets of her past and her relationship with her brothers, though that was pretty late in the game.

Setting ~ 6/10. When I started reading about the volcano, I thought it was a bit exaggerated but that it would be a pretty epic fight to read nonetheless, what with all the chaos that should’ve ensued. However, you barely took advantage of the countless things the setting had to offer – same goes for the other three. I don’t see why anyone would make such a convoluted arena if they were just going to put a ledge around it where people could fight with a lot less risk. There was no epic battle on the bridges, no rope-cutting of bridge-burning, no one flung into the mouth of the volcano and climbing up the rock walls as their hands burned and skin melted (yes, as senseless as that sounds, I was expecting it).

Again, specifically to you: getting Madison’s forehead scrapped badly on a sharp rock was a nice touch, and you did mention the heat and the effect the lava’s glow had on Witchy’s skin. You were also rather aware of the bridges and Madison’s wary footing on the rocky ledge.

Pacing ~ 5/10. The thread was relatively long for the things that transpired in it, and it’s also incomplete, so some points got docked there, for everyone of course.

You had a tendency to backtrack to whatever occurred in the other writers’ previous posts. Instead of summarizing it all in two-three paragraphs at the start of yours, I suggest spreading the info over the post in the form of retrospection, with Madison recalling this and that. Also, due to your particular use of the first person, at least at first, your pacing bogged down a bit (more on that in Dialogue and Technique). However, you recovered pretty quickly and I must say I was starting to get pleasantly drawn into your writing. Again, shame it ended so abruptly.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5/10. Since this is first person, you have a lot more moments for dialogue: the habitually introspective quality of such a style should inherently improve its quality (since it includes monologues). I, however, couldn’t get a very accurate feel of who Madison was in your first post, other than a slightly stingy, slightly cynical person. Your method of using the first person has a flaw that I’ve seen a lot before, which I like to call the ‘third person identity crisis’. Basically, I could replace all the ‘I’s with ‘she’s, and it’d look sensibly the same. Using the first person should create a clear, distinct feeling from the third person, only this hasn’t happened here – at least not at the start. It did, however, improve a lot from the second post up, though the shakiness can still be perceived.

Otherwise, in the instances where Madison actually thought or spoke, I can’t say I saw a line that really gripped me, so to speak. I understand that there’s very little you can say in the heat of combat, but Madison had a telepathic link with Witchblade, and that seemed like something someone in trouble would rely on a bit more than Madison did. This is also had an effect on Action.

Action ~ 5.5/10. It wasn’t how I imagined a fight over a giant pool of lava should’ve happened. There was action, combat-wise, and some good scrappiness on Madison’s part. There wasn’t much that really made her stand out, though, as I’ve seen in previous battles of yours. The threads were interesting, and you did have Madison lose her control over them when Jacob walked away after dealing her a rather crippling blow. Otherwise, he’d have dragged the poor girl off with him, or gotten his wrists even bloodier.

Persona ~ 6.5/10. This is better than the previous two categories because you did a pretty good job at describing her emotions, especially near the end, where she felt genuine fear, then a genuine sense of finitude when she didn’t try to evade Jacob’s potentially-lethal stomp. There was also a certain… consistency of irritation and general bitchiness about her.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6/10.

My thin, angry shout echoed through the nearly empty library.

or

The echoing clicks of my heels against the heavy oak floor almost drowned out my own response.

Now does this sound like something anyone would say when recounting a story? It felt very impersonal. As I said in Dialogue, first person should offer you a lot more freedom with sentence types such as fragments and a succession of simple/semi-complex sentences, since that better fits a human’s usually erratic train of thought. An example of where it did feel a lot more personal was this:

Great, as if I didn't have enough to worry about.

I think this should help make the distinction clearer, since if I replaced the ‘I’ with ‘she’ in that excerpt, you’d see it doesn’t sound nearly as good. I do, however, admit that you improved this later into the battle.

Mechanics ~ 7.5/10. Typos and awkward syntax were the things I saw most. See the Notes annexed to this judgment.

Clarity ~ 7.5/10. Sometimes your attacks and descriptions weren’t exactly crystal-clear. Plot-wise, the bit at the library was a bit haphazard and left me wondering about a few things.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Don’t worry, WC is overall low because this thread wasn’t completed. I did enjoy reading your posts and I didn’t stumble that often because of the flow.

TOTAL ~ 59.5/100.

STORY

Continuity ~ 6.5/10. Good job at this: I had an adequate understanding of who Vigo is. I, however, don’t know what exactly Vice is, what it strives for, or how he came to be a part of that organization. You said he was accepted, with Jacob? Odd thing, since Jacob has no idea he was even looking for a job there, regardless of his insanity – he’s crazy, but he showed he’s not brain-addled fool. Still, the fact that Vigo was as confused about the birds, the volcano and the general lack of sense made your posts more believable. Otherwise, I liked how you defined this as some clan war rather than some tournament, though that created two opposed points of view, neither of which having enlightened me to the origins of this battle.

Setting ~ 7/10. What I said in BaBE’s judgment applies here too. You did, however, paint something more vivid in my mind and mentioned something other than rocks, heat and the glow of lava. I think you introduced to notion of bubbling and its sound, which was then reused throughout the battle by both parties.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10. See the first paragraph in BaBE’s pacing. I had a lot less trouble sticking to your flow, though, and I can admit to being drawn into it more than once.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 6/10. Vigo is an asshole, and it’s pretty clear from the way he speaks. Sometimes, though, his lines make him too much of a generic asshole, instead of making him into what people like to call the classhole. After a while, the ‘fuck’s and all their derivatives became just a bit irritating. Fun fact, ‘fuck’ shows up 18 times in total in this battle. On another note, I did enjoy the unspoken communication between Vigo and Jacob – it gave them a nice, new depth. Also, noting Witchblade’s sewn-lips is something that’s usually done, but having the guts to actually mock her about it earns you props.

Action ~ 6/10. It’s as I said in BaBE’s comments. You did do something pretty classhole-like by tearing Witchblade’s mouth open. It made me wince, and that’s good for you. Not so good for me, but that’s not really the point.

Persona ~ 6.5/10. I couldn’t really get a feel of Vigo’s emotions, or I got too much of the same. He seemed hell-bent on causing Witch some pain and was generally pretty violent, though I wasn’t sure if those emotions were always warranted considering the situation. He did get back down to earth when he realized he’d never really hurt her, though I would’ve liked it if he’d at least thought of some strategy to throw Witch into the lava below. That’s, however, more related to Action than it is to Persona.

Technique ~ 6.5/10. If I had to name it, it’d be Fantasy meets Noir, then slightly watered down. I enjoyed how you described crude things in a refined manner. There were instances where you seemed to write less assiduously, and it went in the realm of casual writing, which somewhat broke the feel you set at the start, but not that much.

Mechanics ~ 7/10. Same as BaBE, though I counted a few more errors.

Clarity ~ 7/10. You somewhat cleared out the haze of the plot, but the things you implied weren’t always easy to catch. Your attacks and counters were usually simple enough not to be troublesome, but some wording made Vigo’s intents a bit foggy.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Same as BaBE.

TOTAL ~ 63/100.

STORY

Continuity ~ 7/10. I didn’t see the problems the others had here. You gave me a pretty interesting look into Witchy’s past, the things she’s done, and not only info on Cipher Nex, but also her old clan the Gol’Bron. Though I still don’t know the logic behind the tournament/war-on-a-volcano, the rest of the good stuff did compensate.

Setting ~ 6.5/10. This was sensibly similar to BaBE. Though there were interesting descriptions, I had an odd feeling of redundancy from your view of the surroundings, as if you reiterated the elements that were previously introduced. It made the setting feel forceful at times, like you wanted it to be there for the sake of it being there. Still, that didn’t happen too often, and when it did, there was an interesting detail you’d use to tilt things back in your favor.

Pacing ~ 5/10. See other comments on Pacing. You didn’t do any of the backtracking, but I must say that your posts were sometimes a tad longer than they could have been, and you sometimes focused on a detail more than you should have. For example, Withcblade’s pain when her mouth got torn open, or her psychotic desires: at some point, it lost its pleasantly-gruesome quality and became repetitive.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5.5/10. Witchblade really didn’t talk a whole lot – of course, she can’t communicate orally, but I think she only used her telepathy two or three times in this battle, which is far from enough as I’ve mentioned in BaBE’s judging: telepathy should’ve been a very advantageous asset, both for you and your characters. Otherwise, save for the flavor of angry bitch that ‘doesn’t get enough of treasure type O’, I didn’t get to see a lot of unique lines.

Action ~ 5.5/10. I’d say action here is on the same level as Dirge’s, and to that I add the lack of telepathic assistance. The telekinetic support came in a bit late and I don’t see why a power that can’t be easily observed (unlike her shadow flare) would be held back. Heck, why didn’t she use her powers on their feet and make them fall into the lava? You can see I really wanted to watch that.

Persona ~ 7/10. See Dirge’s persona. The only difference is that Witch had a psychotic background to explain her general proclivity for violence and the enjoyment it provides. I also liked how she’s a masochist, and the fact that she thinks of pain as a proof of her being alive both interesting and intriguing, considering she’s a half-vampire.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6.5/10. See Dirge. Yours bends more toward very dark and gruesome, and at times it can be excessive, though I’ve seen some pretty flavorful gore.

Mechanics ~ 7.5/10. Your mistakes were a lot less glaring and fewer in number, though my qualms here were with your sentence structure: there was a lot of redundancy, as if you were really trying to make each syntagm a complete sentence, which is unnecessary. For an example, see ‘4-WB’ in the annexed notes.

Clarity ~ 8/10. The whole fight was a big ball of confusion for me, but I think you untangled it well enough. Your writing style also makes it difficult to really miss anything, since it’s rather in depth for everything, from the descriptions to the action.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Same as Dirge.

TOTAL ~ 63/100.

STORY

Continuity ~ 5/10. You did things differently here. Instead of giving explanations for Jacob and Dirge’s current situation, you had Jacob not really care for the details. You omitted most of the things mentioned in everyone else’s instead of trying your hand at clarifying, and though that lightened the load of differing point of views, I can’t really award you as many points for continuity. I got insight into Jacob’s past when you mentioned his lair burning during the fight against Homun and his need for skin, or when saw Madison as his late fiancé Jennette, which was pretty good, but I didn’t get much of anything about why Jacob trusts Vigo so much. I know they’ve traveled together and they’ve been in shit up to their necks together, but that was mostly from Dirge’s posts. That reference about the Battle Royale at the Citadel was too short to really tell me anything, and it actually created more questions than it did answers.

Setting ~ 4/10. I reread your posts because I thought I’d forgotten about your setting, but that was because there was very little mention of it after the first post, and even in that one it was scarce. Basically, you described the alley full of garbage between the buildings where Jacob lured a girl, the volcano, the bridges, and sunlight blinding him every now and then. That, teamed with the overall lack of actual use of the volcano battlefield, warranted you a 4.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10. See Dirge’s pacing. Your style doesn’t need flourish to sound… poetic, let’s say, and that’s a plus. It’s simple enough to read easily, and it keeps me near the edge, sometimes tugging at me to pull me into his madness. Because the thread was incomplete and the general turn of events, though, I can’t give it anymore.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7/10. I won’t say much here, but I think Jacob had the most interesting and defining dialogue of all four characters. It’s pretty natural, considering just how he speaks, but it’s more than that.

Action ~ 6.5/10. The whole bit about him wanting to kill Madison/Jennette at the end for reasons unrelated to the fight, and how he was going to skin the girl for parchment at the start, were things that really showed what kind of person Jacob is; his actions were true to his madness. You didn’t get anymore though due to the battle itself, which was standard.

Persona ~ 7/10. The dream about becoming a pink tree, his anger at seeing Madison turn into Jennette: those were good moments for Jacob, though I wish there’d been more in the two middle posts. He was rather placid for a madman, during those.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6.5/10. You had good imagery when there was any, and I’ve already told you in past judgments about the detailed simplicity (oxymoron? Maybe) of your writing. It didn’t however, reflect your best work.

Mechanics ~ 5/10. You had the most mistakes out of the four, and yours were very, very glaring. See notes.

Clarity ~ 7/10. Your writing itself was clear, but the events described or referenced weren’t always done with the most rigor, which caused a bit of a slump in this category.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Same as Dirge and Witchblade.

TOTAL ~ 58/100.

Cipher Nex wins!


EXP Rewards

Madison Freebird gains: 1100 XP!
Vigo Drak Ruinn gains: 675 XP!
Witchblade gains: 2475 XP!
Jacob Zachary Buhrkheardt gains: 675 XP!

GP Rewards

Madison Freebird gains: 300 GP!
Vigo Drak Ruinn gains: 120 GP!
Witchblade gains: 500 GP!
Jacob Zachary Buhrkheardt gains: 120 GP!


Though if you had all exploited the battlefield (and completed the battle, for that matter), it could’ve been a very nice fight, it still was a good read in its own right. Congratulations to all of you, and do enjoy beating each other senseless in the future.

WW – Writing Writer
WB – Witchblade
D – Dirge
BaBE – BlackAnd BlueEyes

Post counts need +1, since J posted the announcement

making them arranged (1-BaBe) shaky wording, ‘arranging them’
oh, how I wished that I would've (1-BaBE) ‘I wish I had’
Zephyriah Ablione, too the strange little fellow Jacob who Vigo knew personally (2-D) ‘as well as the strange’?
and wonder as the madness of it all. (2-D) ‘at the madness’
through the Corone country side towards the Comb Mountains, no sea or bed of water had been present (2-D) ‘for no sea or bed of water’
but he nor any other members of Vice (2-D) ‘but neither he nor any’
skin, and her's was flawless (3-WW) ‘hers’
Jacob thought back to his traveling companion for a moment, he had forgotten (3-WW) ‘a moment; he had’
cost him his home in Radasanth. But that story is best saved for another time. (3-WW) ‘Radasanth – but that story is best’
It was for this reason he hated her (3-WW) ‘that he hated her’
His outstretched leg was siezed (3-WW) ‘was seized’
by the unusual spectical (3-WW) ‘spectacle’
see his arial predator. (3-WW) ‘aerial’
I giant bird. (3-WW) ‘A giant bird’
he was to be it's next meal (3-WW) ‘its next meal’
he quickly sprung to his feat (3-WW) ‘feet’
it's wings (3-WW) ‘its wings’
Heat lashed against her skin. Slamming into her like a hard slap and then slithering its way up and along her flesh like the unwelcomed touch of a rapist. (4-WB) fuse the two sentences with a comma
Lucky for her/ brought her cloak with her/ not prove any help to her/ chameleon enchantment do for her/ good would anything do for her (4-WB) this made the first paragraph burdensome to read, since it’s naturally implied that all those things would affect her. Taking them out would have improved the flow.
Though the Halfling found no remorse in agreeing to this little battle, this game, this tournament, though she did find herself slightly uninterested and irritated with the whole affair(4-WB) take out the second ‘though’.
had to brush my wayward bangs out of my eyes. (5-BaBE) ‘brush wayward bangs out of’
leather sheathe (5-BaBE) ‘sheath’
played the parts (5-BaBE) ‘the part’
struck the halflings peaked ears (6-D) ‘the halfling’s peaked’
shrugged aside his half open coat, the volcanic depths were more than enough to keep him warm (6-D) either separate the segments with a semi-colon rather than a comma, or correct with ‘the volcanic depths being more than enough to’
her guard would be let down far more than intelligent towards the half-elf’s attack.(6-D) I’m not sure what that means (Clarity).
If Vigo trusted this, Max Dirks, then Jacob trusted him aswell. (8-WW) ‘this… Max Dirks, then Jacob trusted him as well’
BaBE and WW: you both backtrack to the previous events, which breaks the flow of the battle that just began. If you want to cover past information, you can do so through short instances of retrospection through your post rather than summarizing it all at the beginning.
lightening wielding mage (9-WW) ‘lightning-wielding’
Vigo was simply the first to anounciate (9-WW) I’m guessing you went for ‘enunciate’, though I believe ‘voice’ would work better.
Unless ofcourse, x 2 (9-WW) ‘of course’
focused in on her (9-WW) ‘focused on her’
As the purple woman grew closer (9-WW) I just wanted to note that I actually imagined a purple woman here, though I know you went for something like purple-clad.
simply moving his left leg leftward (9-WW) Though not wrong, the wording is redundant. I suggest ‘left leg outward’, since that and ‘inward’ are – at least to me – just as clear and easy to visualize.
thin steel chord (10-BaBE) POWER CHORD! ‘cord’
sharp edge of one of the loose stones that littered the ground. It was that moment that a sharp (10-BaBE) r.w., ‘sharp’
the halflings weapon (11-D) halfling’s
If she was (11-D) If she were
conclusion that no Althanas person (11-D) ‘Althanian’, though even that is weird. It’s like saying that no ‘Earth person’ does this or that.
happened with his companion was all but unnoticed, there was a more pressing issue at hand. (11-D) use semi-colon instead of comma or use ‘as/for there was a more pressing issue’
She felt his fingers touch her first, the nails along the tips of them scraping against the smooth and sensitive skin of her cheek as his rough, hot skin met her smooth and deathly cold flesh. (12-WB) I think that’s descriptive overkill. There’s nice detail that adds flavor, but this amount is too much for the reader to naturally, instantly process in one go. ‘his rough, hot skin met her smooth, cold flesh’ would’ve worked a lot easier, since there’s a certain parallelism in form and through the use of antitheses.
He wished at times, he weren't so very, very amusing. (13-WW) ‘at times that her weren’t so’
Upon it's collision (13-WW) ‘its’
who's appearance had changed (13-WW) ‘whose’
I've seen this look before--it was the visage of someone who had lost everything. A person who had become nothing more than a hollow shell of his former self, a person filled with a maelstrom of emotions that I cannot pretend to understand. The kind of person who is run by hatred, sorrow, and anger... Those kind of people, that allow themselves to be overcome like that, truly terrify me. (14-BaBE) You were using the past tense but here you switched, momentarily, to first.
Come on, just a little longer with that poem of yours, you fuckin' psycho, I thought to myself as the steel strand coiled itself around the leather hilt. That's right, give me some time to slash your—(14-BaBE) since you’re writing in first person, you don’t need the whole ‘“x and y,” he said’. For example, this would’ve improved the flow: ‘Come on, just a little longer with that poem of yours, you fuckin' psycho. The steel strand coiled itself around the leather hilt, (insert something about her perception of that action).’
The pain was like none other I had ever felt. A fire roared through my body with the intensity of an eruption from the volcano we were doing battle on, flooding my senses with a new definition of pain and bringing tears to my eyes. (14-BaBE) No actual mistake here. I just wanted to point out that by describing the pain so thoroughly, so technically, the reader’s perception goes from ‘ouch’ to ‘oh, I see’. If you got kneed in the ribs, I doubt you’d think that elaborately, and I’m guessing it’d be more along the lines of ‘Damn, bitch, this hurts. This effing’ hurts. Shit, hurts so much I’m crying. I’m actually crying.’ This is, of course, exaggerated.
and the sorcerer’s slipped (15-D) ‘the sorcerer slipped’
She watched as course of the weapon (16-WB) ‘as the course of the’
and it's origin (17-WW) ‘its’
It's owner? (17-WW) ‘its’