First Target: The Unbeliever

[Godhand]

Godhand tore a chunk of flesh off of the drumstick, happily slurping up the juice. God, it was delicious; the meat practically melted off of the bone. He would have been able to eat it with a spoon. The village girls crowded around him, eagerly refilling his cup even after he took only a small sip of ale or swooping down to dab at his chin with a cloth whenever it got too messy. The mercenary wasn't usually a messy eater but this wasn't the sort of thing you ate with a fork and knife; when someone laid a whole bird out in front of you you were expected to dig in. An elderly man sat in front of him with his hands clasped together, gazing at the mobster with what could only be described as pure and unbridled hope. He was the town's head. They'd all seen him go to work on Anderson's guards, and he figured this was supposed to be some sort of reward. It wasn't that hard, anyway. It was a small settlement so only about twenty men had been assigned to guard it. Finally, the mayor or whatever he was spoke.

"Tell me, great warrior, are you here to save Raiaeara from the scourge Xem'Zund?"

Godhand swallowed noisily before slipping a hand into his jacket and producing a sheet of paper, pushing it over to the mayor before resuming his meal.

"I don't know. Is he on that list?"

The elderly man hurriedly fumbled with his spectactles before eagerly reading the mobster's hit list. The whole of the town crowded around him, trying to get a look at it over his shoulder. He suddenly went very pale and tremblingly pushed it back towards Godhand, who plucked it up and slipped it back in his pocket.

"Sir, you can't truly mean to fight the Necrisition! They're monsters!"

A murmur shot through the gathered crowd. Godhand snorted, not in any derisive manner but merely to clear his sinuses after such a meal, and began to wipe his hands on a nearby cloth.

"Yeah, well..." He swallowed a burp, "I'm bigger."

There was a quiet giggle from one of the girls, but the elder quickly shot her a withering glare.

"Warrior, you musn't-"

"No, c'mon, shut up. Don't ruin a meal like that with predictions of doom. Listen, I'm looking to start with the guy on top. The mage killer. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find him?"

"I do!"

Another one of the girls in the crowd piped up. Another glare from the elder. He cleared his throat, uttered a brief prayer, then addressed Godhand.

"Our 'lord' Maxwell lives in a castle nearby. It's the ransacked remains of our true patron's keep. I'll have the town's cartographer make you a map. But please, be careful!"

[Ataraxis]

That rapier felt good in her hand. Especially after she’d gotten a fair bit of exercise with it.

Lillian kneeled over a corpse – a real, dead one, this time – and wiped the lean blade on its green and yellow doublet, now stained with a slash of rotten blood. The fight had been far from easy, considering how enfeebled and emaciated her sojourn in the dungeons had made her, but she had made up for that surprisingly well. Apparently, skill with such weapons ran as much in her blood as it did in her father’s. She tried to step over the first of her victims, but simply decided to hop and vault over the second and third, before breaking into a run for the exit.

Stealth was no longer an option. Ever since she put on her boots, more and more of the decrepit lackeys seemed to flock to her. Just as well, for that would save her the trouble of hunting them down in the future. Veering to a left, she sped down a sloping hallway, where more of the reanimated dead seemed to awaken. As she ran, she let the rapier trail behind her, her grip on its ornate hilt tightening ever so slightly. The first to come upon her had quickly lost its eye, which was sliding down the blade like roast on a spit. The image made her nauseous.

Two more twisting stabs in the throat and it was down for the count. Her desire to gloat would have to wait, however, as the massive blade of an axe just barely missed cropping her hair a few inches shorter along with her neck. She was glad to see that the guard’s decomposed muscles could not fight the forward momentum, letting the curved blade thoroughly embed itself into the flagstones. She twirled, easing the point into the crook of its elbow, severing the articulation. Dumb as it was, it pulled and saw its arm ripped off, skinless fingers still curled around the heavy shaft.

She would have to leave this one to its unlife, however, as two others thrust their spears, one snagging a strap of her dress and the other cutting into her shoulder, yet luckily glancing off the bone. She screamed, almost tearing up, but took full advantage of the gap they’d left and dashed between them. As they turned inward to watch her, they struck each other with the long hafts and fumbled.

The exit was just within her sights. Heavy, gigantic gates, but they were left slightly agape to let people in and out without the trouble of cranking it open at each and every come and go. Except that they were now closing on her. “Damn it, one of them is reeling the lever!” She lowered herself, risking it all on the last decisive sprint, but the gap was too small for her to slip through head on. On the last critical inches, she spun sideways and let her boots carry her across the slick marbles and into the world outside. She skidded, ending her spin in time to see the gates slam shut in front of her, almost biting off the tip of the rapier she still held.

She had held her breath all the while; only now did she exhale her relief. The nightmare was truly over. No more cages, no more undead, no more cursed porridge. She was free.

Lillian backed away a few steps… and jarred into something tall, something hard. Her exhilaration had all but died. “I... I give up. Do what you will.”

Spoils: Nothing!

[Godhand]

The horses were exhausted. He probably should have rested in that town before setting out, but he really didn't want to break his stride. He was making record time here. Plus, there was something else. A weird feeling he couldn't really describe; it was urging him on to Maxwell's keep. Godhand knew it'd probably be a real rough scene once he got there, and that it'd be a hell of a lot easier with some friends to back him up, but he didn't plan on getting the New World Order involved in this. Sure, he'd probably get the entire list done in a day with their help, but if he forced them to come along he'd be no better than Dirks and his manor monkeys. That was no way to treat the most dominant Power Group on the face of Althanas.

The ride up to Sir Anderson's manor was a bit interesting. For a region that usually didn't see a lot of snow, south Raiaeara certainly sported it well. The mobster felt like he was back in Salvar. He felt some reminiscing coming on, but he snapped himself out of it. Focus; now was no time to be day dreaming. Elf land was a rotten place thanks to that necromancer; Godhand felt that at any moment a sea of zombies might ambush his caravan. He thought back to the Red Forest fiasco and the veritable Goddamn mountain of enemies he'd had to cut through to get out of the Obsidian Spire. He hoped he'd never have to go through something like that again, but no such luck.

Focus! Focus! It was the damn cold. It lulled you into thinking about earlier times.

"Earlier Times. Hmm, that might make a good name for a whiskey..."

It was as Godhand was pondering this that he ended up nearly at the foot of The Unbeliever's keep. He gave himself a start when he suddenly acknowledged the large stone castle in front of him, strapping the Muramasa to his belt and dismounting from the wagon. The geldings were anxious; Godhand could tell. He couldn't blame them. Fucking elf land. This was no place for a couple of desert horses.

The mobster gripped his sheath and turned, mentally preparing himself for the trial ahead, when suddenly a petite young figure in a raggedy dress dashed out of the keep and slammed it's gates shut. Godhand would've recognized that ass anywhere; it was Lillian! Just as he was about to greet her, however, she backed right into his chest. She suddenly went real rigid, then whimpered out a surrender. The mercenary blinked, dumbfounded, and then grabbed her right arm with his hand and coiled his left around her stomach. Then he did that tango move where he swayed back and forth. She went rigid again as soon as he layed his hands on her, but then she recognized his scent. Lillian stared vacantly at the keep's doors, her eyes tearing up and her upper lip quivering, before spinning in Godhand's arms and furiously hugging him.

"Mister Godhand!"

"What's going on, short stuff? I missed you in that fucking Spire!"

She instantly began to blubber out some sort of broken explanation, something about a light and bad food and jail and she was so scared, pause, so scared.

"That's...Terrible? I don't-"

She gave a loud moan as she grabbed two fistfulls of his shirt, crying into the cloth.

"Whoah, no, c'mon! I just got this shirt! Quit that!"

[Godhand]

Lillian shivered in Godhand's arms as he led her back to the wagon. The seamstress spoke to Godhand of the Unbeliever, of how he had negated her magic and to be careful. The gunman merely nuzzled the back of her neck and told her to calm down, to forget about it. Her eyes lit up for a moment when she recognized the tarp covering it, but she was too weak and cold to make any sort of comment about it. The mercenary cleared away an area for her in the back, pushing the weapons over to one side. He swaddled her in one of the luxurious fur coats with uncharacteristic tenderness, rubbing her shoulders through the cloth to try and get her warmed up. What could he say? He liked the kid. After wrapping her up in a cocoon of furs, the mobster gently arrayed some lighter blades on top of her to disguise the furry lump in the back of the wagon. It'd be no good if she got gobbled up by some zombies while he was off taking care of the Paladin.

With that done, Godhand turned and made his way over to the keep. He began pulling his fingerless black glove tighter over his left hand. It was a tic; something he did when he got anxious or excited. And boy was he ever excited. They'd write stories about this; one man taking down an entire Xem'Zund stronghold. He thumbed his sheath with a smile; they didn't need to know the details.

The mercenary kicked open the doors to the keep, the cogs keeping it closed spinning wildly in the opposite direction. To their credit, the otherwordly doormen didn't seem surprised at all. They merely groaned and stumbled towards the intruder as zombies are wont to do. Godhand ignored them, briskly stepping through the manor with impunity. Every time one of the creatures got within five feet of him the magic animating their bodies was absorbed into his sheath. They instantly collapsed into a heap, the swordsman carefully stepping over their bodies as he ascended the keep's floors. After about fifty cadavers he reached what looked like a royal court, the castle's master lounging upon the throne. He gave the mercenary a wicked grin, locking eyes with him. Godhand just smiled right back, grinning upon noticing the tear tattooed on his cheek.

"Nice tattoo. Does it mean you're sad?"

The Unbeliever's smile quickly turned into a frown as he pushed himself up from the throne.

"It signifies how I weep for a world that's gorged itself to bloating on foolish superstitions."

"I'll take that as a yes."

The Dark Templar snorted derisively at the mercenary, glaring at him like one would at a wart on a beautiful woman's lip. There was no need for words anymore; one of them wasn't going to exist much longer. Each one burst from their position almost simultaneously, quickly locking hands in the center of the room. The mobster's face froze in a pained scowl when Xem'Zund's general began to exert his strength, squeezing Godhand's fingers between his while pushing the wrist back. He fell to one knee, groaning in agony as Maxwell continued to push, a sadistic smile on his face.

Then, nothing. The gunman's scowl slowly began to turn into a grin and his groans into laughter, quickly getting back up to his feet and reversing the pressure. The Templar's fingers were crushed instantly and now it was his turn to scream. Godhand released his grip and pushed him back, before throwing his hand forward and catching the man by the throat. He quickly fell to his knees, gasping.

"What...What are you!?"

The gunman paused and considered the question.

"I'm bigger."

Pulling his sheath from his belt, the swordsman tossed it into the air and caught it in reverse before stabbing the mouth of the scabbard into Maxwell's head. There was a sickening sound like blood getting sucked down a drain, and then Anderson's youthful features began to fade. His skin went to pale to ashen and his hair from white to grey. His muscles deflated and before long there was nothing on the end of Godhand's sheath but a desiccated skeleton. The mercenary plucked the scabbard from the Templar's forehead, his entire body crumbling when it was removed.

---------------------------------------------

When he got back to the wagon Lillian was looking at him, a fur coat draped over her head and her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk's. Turned out she had eaten all the leftovers Godhand had saved from the earlier feast; he'd planned on eating those as a reward to himself after beating Anderson. He was livid at first, but after she looked at him with those big ol' puppy eyes he had no choice but to forgive her. Now she was dozing in the back of the wagon-turned-carriage as Godhand rode them back to the settlement.

It was an easy fight, but the mobster knew it was probably the only Necrisition member he'd have no problem with. Quite simply, he had no magic for the Unbeliever to negate. By the time the Templar had realized that, it was too late. Still, even with all that considered, the mercenary couldn't help but feel a swell of achievement rise in his chest.

One down, five to go.

Spoils: Sir Maxwell Anderson's soul has been absorbed into Godhand's sheath. The significance of this is as yet unknown.

[Raelyse]

Story

Continuity – 5 – Ataraxis did well in this, explaining exactly what Lillian was doing in Anderson’s custody, even though it was a bit later than I expected. Godhand, however, didn’t do as well. I didn’t feel as though the mobster thing was sufficiently fleshed out and I would have liked to know what incentive he had for doing something that he obviously did not want to do. Godhand’s introduction was very vague and gave me very little.

Setting – 5 – I felt that Ataraxis contributed the most to this thread with this category with great descriptions that brought her prison and her experience alive. Godhand, however didn’t really play with the environment as much as he could have or describe it in any great detail. There was the cannonball thing, but that was brief and I still think you could have done more.

Pacing – 4 – Once again, Ataraxis did well while Godhand seemed to lumber through his posts, seemingly eager to finish the quest without caring how he did it. I could tell instantly that you just wanted to get it over and done with. In short, I looked forward to Ataraxis’ posts but not to Godhand’s.

Character

Dialogue – 7 – This was good from both of you but I only thought that Godhand got interesting in his later posts. He was quite boring and cliché in the first few, but Ataraxis was solid throughout.

Action – 6 – I really liked Ataraxis’ writing of how Lilian broke out of her prison; it really highlighted her intellect. Godhand did Godhand things, but there wasn’t really anything outstanding which is why you didn’t score higher. I also brought this score down because the two of you rushed through battles and fights and I really would have liked to see the Anderson one prolonged.

Persona – 8 – I got a great feel for both of your characters from this thread, but you didn’t score higher because I didn’t feel as if you put enough effort into channeling your character’s thoughts into writing and when you don’t do that, you can’t effectively communicate their emotions. I felt that Ataraxis brought this category up, I would have scored Godhand a 6 by himself.

Writing Style

Technique – 5 – A few devices here and there but nothing that was really effective in making your writing interesting. I felt that Godhand could have put in more effort here. His writing in his first few posts was very simple and this brought the score down.

Mechanics – 4 – This shocked me because I found six instantly noticeable spelling and grammar mistakes, including one where Lillian mentions IstienUniversity. This is just shameful, you guys. You could have easily scored 8 or 9 and gotten a huge boost, but you didn’t read through your posts or even spell check, which led to this score.

Clarity – 5 – This was a hard thread to score here because Ataraxis was crystal clear but Godhand was quite awful easy on. I decided to average the scores and I got this. Godhand, you really need to put in effort earlier in the thread. You reminisced and deviated on tangents that were only slightly related to the storyline. It was obvious you just wanted filler.

Wild Card – 3 – Ataraxis deserves higher, Godhand deserves lower, Althanas deserves better. You two are up there with the best active writers on Althanas but you (maybe just Godhand) chose to rush through a quest and put in minimal effort so I have no choice but to give you a Wild Card score that reflects that. Ataraxis did fine, though below usual standards. Godhand was, for lack of a better word, just plain awful in this quest. You improved in your last 2 posts, but most of the stuff before that was way below your average. I understand the temptation to rush through storylines so you can get spoils or progress stories but you have to realize that you’ll get much less in the way of scores and EXP if you go down this route.

Total Score – 52

Godhand gains 2200 EXP and 80 GP
Ataraxis gains 1800 EXP and 40 GP
(Scaled up due to FQ)

Ataraxis does not gain any spoils from this quest.

Godhand, consider your spoils from this quest accumulated to whenever you want to claim the effects of your soul sucker.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added. Buttface levels up!