Samutth a Ranajira - Nyadir vs. Acyutani

[Iriah Caitrak]

Acyutani could only smile as she watched the glowing blade of her Half Swallow pass through the flesh of Nyadir’s shoulder and pierce into his soul, digging and slicing into the very essence and energy that made up who he was. That mattered little to her even though her attack did no physical damage to the now deranged man. Even if a blow like that would have rendered the arm and shoulder useless. It caused him pain, she knew it did, the look on his face merely posed as an unnecessary reminder to her. Her reason for being a Pagoda warrior was not to beat down her opponents into a bloody mess and have them kneeling at their feet before her. No, it was to better herself and learn from the people she fought how she could protect those she cared about more. Beyond that reason, the one that kept her sane at night, lay one that haunted her dreams. She fought in the Pagoda because she wanted to see him again, she wanted him to come here and challenge her to a fight and for her to show him exactly what he taught her. To show him how much stronger, faster and smarter she had become. The only thing she wished her attack had done was pierce right into his Thread of Fate and out his soul from his body, leaving the barely living shell to lie on the floor of her arena while she stared at his helpless form. His quick movements had lessened the effects of her enchantment and negated this though.

Nyadir’s body bent back and away from her, creating the perfect attack opportunity upon his exposed and defenceless torso. She just needed to redirect her Half Swallow towards his chest once more and dig the blade into his soul, but she realized all too quickly the opportunity did not raise itself. While he evaded the full force of her attack, his leg shot out from the sand and lashed out towards her exposed side far faster than he had been moving from the beginning of all this. She knew she couldn’t block it with her weapon or even her arm with it extended too far out towards his body, but she also knew she didn’t have to.

“Attacks to the torso and stomach work well when your opponent doesn’t see them coming, otherwise they have time to tense the muscles along the area and lessen the force of the blow.”

So she did. Like she blocked the blade of his dagger with a quick thought, Acyutani once more formed a case of metal along the side of her torso and tensed all the muscles she knew how to in that area. The steel edge of his boot slammed against the mystical armour right along her ribcage and the force of the blow dented the metal slightly and forced her to her knees. Her right knee dug deeply into the hot sand as it fought to keep her body steady. She refused to roll with the force of his kick, taking the damage and the radiating pain as it pulse through her flesh and bones, causing her to grit her teeth and hold her breath to stop that small cry building in her throat from escaping. Even against what would be his better judgement and the way he taught her, Acyutani took the blow as she shifted her position slightly in the sand. Then she countered.

His foot lay jammed against her side, the hard leather and steel trying to break through that feeble and quickly formed plate of metal. Placing her right hand in the burning sand, Acyutani twisted her torso around so that Nyadir’s calf muscle rested against her side. At the same time, she twirled the Half Swallow in her fingers until the sharp edge of the blade pointed out from her elbow and the metallic shaft rested against the underside of her forearm. Then she wrapped her arm over and under Nyadir’s leg, digging the point of her blade into the ground to hold her arm in place and press his leg against her side as tightly as she could, trapping it. Once the weapon buried itself within the sands, two things began to happen. Acyutani shifted her weight back onto her legs and balls of her feet, away from her free hand in preparation for the next strike, while the world around them shifted and changed.

Her hand moved away from the grains of sand as the desert all around them seemed to freeze. The heat vanished as if it had never existed, as if the sun had never beat down upon the ground until it dried up and turned into nothing more than a dry husk of its former self. Colour drained from every surface but the only two living beings within this world—Acyutani and Nyadir—leaving everything in shades of grey, including the grey that now hid any brightness behind dark, grey clouds. Within the sand of this world weapons laid, their handles and their blades protruding outwards and towards the endless, grey sky. Their many shapes and sizes varied so much that even Acyutani did not know a few. Some of them worked as normal weapons would, while others would fall apart with rust and a select few were even enchanted, with something useful or detrimental was yet to be seen. The wind that had helped to cool their bodies before now grew still, and the air seemed like nothing more than the stale breath of death as it washed over your face and filled your nostrils, choking you. Even the obsidian spires did not escape the effects of the transformation. They crumbled and fell to the sand below as if thousands of years were passing and exacting their rage upon the black stone.

Acyutani did not lie still as the few seconds it took for all of this to happen ticked by. In her free hand a dagger formed, the seven inch blade of which did not glow. Leaning towards him, the Akhetamikan warrior shoved the blade towards his groin, right where the main vein in his leg lay beneath the flesh and muscle. She knew well the affects of this attack when someone else had performed it upon her and she had nearly lost her life. As much as she hated to take the life of Nyadir his position made attacking his Thread of Fate too difficult, and so she forced herself into a killing blow.

[Ebivoulya]

Excitement rushed through his mortal veins as he evaded yet another attack from a fictional Acyutanti recreated to keep him from noticing the small differences between this world and the one in which he had begun this battle. She lad a look of surprise on her face despite the confidence she had shown him earlier, and this alone may have tipped him off given enough time, but just as both of them began their assaults renewed a splitting pain crashed into his mind and nearly knocked him off of his feet. As he dropped to one knee and clutched at his shoulder, half-elven eyes glanced up through the fog that was this created world and saw himself staring up at his opponent from the sand as his left leg came around exceptionally fast and slammed one of his steel-plated feet into her side. This immediately struck the swordsman as odd, as he had already rid himself of both of his boots to increase his mobility, or so he remembered. Just how long he'd been fighting a figment of his imagination, he didn't know, but upon returning to the world within his mind all the little differences seemed entirely too obvious.

With sand seeping into every gap in the demon's wardrobe the twisted soul stared up at its opponent through sheets of pain which fell like a torrent on its mind and calculated the most likely move of its opponent after its kick landed. Though, for a moment it felt the distinct sensation of the mind of its mortal host opening his eyes and realizing the facade in which he was fighting, it was a fleeting feeling and Malnmre merely shrugged it off. Instead, it turned its attention back towards its opponent and a genuine look of shock and surprise came over its face as the woman not only managed to block the kick with the same liquid metal that covered her flesh earlier, but she also took the entire force of it without surrendering her position to her grounded foe. Even worse was the realization that its boot had become stuck in her liquid metal flesh, but this exhasperation quickly turned to a mere smirk as the malicious existence remembered that it had already cut the ties on that armored boot.

The waves of pain still lingering from the earlier successful strike to the possessed man's shoulder mingled with the quiet agony emenating from the mind of the woman it was fighting, though by this point it had begun to question her actual race, Through its crimson eyes it could see a darkness brooding within her pain, almost trying to corrupt her into something else. Her recovery from the attack it had unleashed upon her earlier again replaced the delighted smirk with controlled shock. She quickly spun around on the knee to which she had dropped during the kick she received to her side, and in the process pulled the remaining armored boot clear from the demon's fleshy foot. Before it could wrench its leg free and deliver another kick, she wrapped an arm around its leg and dug her weapon, which she held in a reverse grip, into the sand. The move had effectively trapped its leg, though that could be put to use easily enough. An astounding change began as the woman leaned back, pulling the leg of the demon she now fought taught, and nearly pulling the torso of it airborn in her effort.

The air grew thick and stale as warmth and light vanished from the surroundings of the only two beings around, a pair which fought alone in light and heat now lost in cold and black. The familiarity overwhelmed its demonic senses, and everything came back as if it had been trapped in the world which had just vanished for but a moment. The air which invaded its lungs, old and stifling, was a reminder of eons past. The lack of light and color brought contentment to its eyes, the irises of which still remained a solid crimson. The elegant, black katana which rose from the deathly sand below was the foreground to a landscape of death. Countless other weapons protruded from the earth far beyond what the horizon would even divulge, but with a reminding sense of urgency the creature reached out to grab the blade beside it as it pooled more energy into its legs and arms, turning its blackened eyes with blood-filled irises towards the creature it fought which maintained the form of a woman.

Upon entering this new realm the demon-possessed body of a relatively young half-elf changed to reflect the true nature of the mind which now controlled its every move. The normally white eyes of the host body filled with black, its deep red irises taking on a faint glow and a constant swirl. Its teeth grew longer and pointed, while its entire face twisted up toward each ear in a disgusting grin. Finally, its skin grew darker, first to a mere tan and then closer to a shade of obsidian while tiny, ethereal whisps of shadow licked the air surrounding it. Being introduced to a world with such similarities to the one in which this tortured soul spent millenia brought nostalgia and pleasure to the demon, and solidified its control over a very mortal Nyadir who now struggled to break free from the mental prison in which he had been trapped. Had his body remained in the real world, the man might've regained his senses and sanity, but now the dream in which he lived turned to a tormentous maze which lost the half-elf within is endless walls and tunnels.

The demon couldn't help but release a momentary cackle as it unleashed enough force through its arms to throw its body up into the stale air, its leg still trapped tightly within the grasp of its opponent. It grabbed the handle of the obsidian katana which caught its eye a moment ago as it twisted its hips upward to bring the bare foot of its leg up to the side of Acyutanti's head, whom had summoned yet another blade in her free hand. In twisting around to trap its calf muscle against her side, she had freed its other leg for a kick should it be able to twist itself enough in her grasp. The strength of her hold would ultimately determine how much momentum it could create in its hips, and thus how much force it could funnel into its kick. As she thrust the blade in her free hand toward the vulnerable arteries near its groin the insane half-elf swung its free arm down to give momentum to a powerful stab which barely cleared its own trapped leg, its newfound katana leaping across its chest like a tiger..

Should the woman's hold prove true the beast which she fought would not be able to land its kick with enough force to stun her, but in enhancing its muscles it increased its flexibility along with its speed and strength, therefore it had little doubt its kick would land unless she ducked. More concerning was the accuracy of its thrust, for considering its awkward position it would be difficult to be exact and block her dagger. However, the edge of the blade was facing away from her torso, and would more than likely strike her leg or abdomen if it did not land in the sand between her chest and her arm. It would take but a single strike using the remainder of its energy to cleave hear arm from her body, and finally give the less skilled demon the advantage.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Things changed rapidly as the world of Yuddhara took over Ranajira and turned it into the place that Acyutani hated, that Acyutani loathed, loved and had spent possibly half of her life within. It resembled Purgatory as many people not from her tribe called it, the anti-firmament. A place where spirits and souls remained trapped between the realm of the living and the true realm of the dead. It was desolation at its worst. Nothing alive could ever stay here for very long without feeling the weight of this place pull at the very core and essence of them, as if trying to rip it from their very body. Or worse yet, maybe it wanted to corrupt the soul and the mind and turn every person that stepped foot in here into nothing more than another mindless monster that knew only death and pain. As an Akhetamikan warrior, Acyutani possessed abilities that kept her immune to the effects of this place, for the most part. She could still feel it like a shroud that fell over everything within it, a sensation that no other person could ever understand unless they too dealt with the dead. Never before this day had she seen the effects of this place upon that of a normal person, or what appears to be a normal person.

From the moment that Nyadir had stepped up to her, Acyutani had sensed something within him similar but vastly different from the darkness within her. It lay within him like an infectious disease that tried to take over his body at any given moment and it appeared that somewhere along the line, the creature within him had won. She was not entirely sure when, though she could hazard a guess if she really wanted to. In the end it didn’t matter. Yuddhara showed Nyadir—or the thing inside of him—for what he really was, twisting his features to represent the corruption within. To anyone else but her, the transformation might have been jarring or even distracting. But considering the appearance of Devadi, Nyadir was far from fearful in her eyes. She had fought and won against creatures that would drain the courage from some of the heartiest warriors. The presence of this new world seemed to spur his movement on though, as if giving him some new found kind of strength that pushed him harder to end this battle with her blood.

He twisted within her grip as much as her arm and her side would allow him. His body turned and his leg came in quickly towards her head as he grabbed a sword from the sand around them and thrust out towards her as well. The attacks were amazingly well co-ordinated. Mere seconds after his foot impacted along the side of her head, the sharp tipped blade of his new katana would slide into some part of her flesh, releasing even more of her blood to flow within her own arena. They left her no choice but to put an amount of distance between them. Of course considering their current position, that was going to be no easy feat.

Acyutani did not abandon her attacking upon Nyadir’s leg, instead she continued to go with it, but loosened her grip upon his leg slightly to give her greater reach and momentum. This allowed his kick to come in a little stronger. His foot slammed against the side of her head, impacting along her check and jaw and sending pain radiating through her mouth and across the side of her face. Going with the force of the blow, the Akhetamikan warrior rolled, completely releasing her hold on Nyadir’s leg and dissipating the Half Swallow lodge in the sand at the same time. Her side hit the sand, trapping his foot between her and the ground. Knowing her position to be the worst of the two, she quickly rolled over his leg, pulling her hand back at the same time and dropping the dagger from within it. The thrust of his sword completely missed her and instead embedded in the sand where she used to lay.

Stopping her roll roughly two feet from the twisted and now grotesque looking man, Acyutani drew herself up onto one knee. Immediately her world tilted and nearly fell over, bringing her along with it. The side of her head throbbed and pulsed in pain that mimicked the beat of her heart and only seemed to worsen with her now blurry vision of Yuddhara and everything in it. Shaking her head and steadying herself, the Akhetamikan warrior raised her arms in front of her. Like they always did, weapons materialized in the thin air, pushed into existence by the will of her mind, the energy flowing through her body and the channelling powers of her Serenmika crystal. This time a bow and a single arrow appeared within her grip. Once the shaft of the arrow touched her fingers she drew back and fired it towards Nyadir’s chest or head. She couldn’t be exactly sure, but she knew the arrow flew straight and true towards his upper body. Even with his fast reflexes, he’d have a hard time avoiding such an attack from this close. Not to mention she didn’t even know if her dagger had found flesh just moments before. Everything had moved too quickly and she’d dropped the weapon before her eyes had bothered checking for the stain of blood upon the blade. Either way, she planned on ending this battle now.

[Ebivoulya]

Writhing in the grip of a skilled Warrior, the crazed half-elf managed to twist itself upward enough to connect a satisfying kick, though its foot remained naked in the absence of the usual steel reinforcements. The slender obsidian blade gripped in its right hand found only sand, a disappointing turn of events, but nothing to deter the blood-hungry hunter. As the feminine creature collapsed on top of its leg it prepared for another kick, but the spry woman rolled away just as its other leg was tensed for the blow, and it was then a thin spray of blood caught the attention of the beast. She had managed to slice through the same leg she nearly rendered useless before, but the wound was much more shallow and easily dealt with. In a gesture of its sincerity in bringing about her death the demon caught a few droplets of crimson on its dirty leather glove, and lavishly licked clean every molecule while staring into the eyes of Acyutanti, whom it seemed had become a little dizzy after that last kick.

The dire limitations of this thirty year-old mortal shell were quickly becomming evident as the blood continued to pour from its leg, spurred on by an excited mind and body. The earlier show of prowess seemed to have drained all but the last of the demon's remaining energy reserves, leaving it enslaved by the weakness of its host. A thought of one last charge was quickly brought to the surface and dismissed. With proper planning it seemed possible that it might even defeat this woman warrior and take her title for itself, or at least for the man to which it was bound. Unfortunately, the beautiful katana which had been pulled from the lifeless sand seemed to turn to dust itself as it sank into the dead earth and met resistance within the dirt. Such confusion the demon rarely faced, but with some logic it deducted that these weapons sprawled about the landscape for the taking were not what they seemed, and it would need a weapon it could rely on.

Turning its blood-red gaze to the sand below it caught sight of its dagger, the tip bent slightly from Acyutanti's earlier display of steel-coated skin. It was still sharp, and would certainly not turn to dust, so the creature quickly resheathed the blade with a bit of difficulty as it stood from a crouch, eyes finally locking on its opponent once more. The whisps of ethereal shade that emenated from its flesh licked at the black sands, writhing in the stifling air. The woman had not been idle during its musings, and already weapons had formed in her slender hands, which were still dripping red onto the colorless landscape. It took but a moment to recognize the familiar shape of a bow, and her technique left something to be desired, but her aim was almost perfect. There'd be nearly no room for error with the short distance between them, and it was with desperation the possessed powerhouse called upon its reserves once more to duck the path of the projectile; it found them absent, the sensation of energy merely dissipating the moment the poltergeist began to focus.

Shit.

The word resounded in the soul of the demon, echoing into every corner of its psyche, and thus eventually even reaching the deafened ears of its mental prisoner. In the mortal mind a morbid maze was magnified beyond its remembered proportion, stretching into an inescapable realm full of dead ends and cannon fodder. It was as the half-elf slayed yet another of the sickly and depraved creatures he found abundant in this labyrinth that he heard the exclaimation of his demonic counterpart. No sign of it had been recieved since entering into this vast expanse of twists and turns underneath the mountains between Alerar and Salvar, though a certain feeling always remained in his mind. For a moment he felt the distinct sense that he had not only been here before, but that it was many years before. This almost seemed preposterous, as he was but a young man of twenty and recently escaped from the bonds which held him for most of his life. Still, the sense of deja vu remained, and with a wary hand the swordsman continued through the never-ending labyrinth a slave to perception.

The reaction on the face of the blade slinger as the arrow left its master and flew towards its mark was one of deep anger and disgust, even rage at the inefficiency of its mortal body. The weapon flew true, finding flesh at the edge of her opponent's squared chest. While the arrowhead did not go far within the skin, it did not have to; its edges managed to nick the right lung of the challenging swordsman, and the eyes of the beast glowed a furious ruby as they gazed down at the shaft buried in its chest. Despite its speed, despite its agility, the Warrior had won; that bitch had defeated it, a tortured soul that had killed in its millenia of conciousness more than this skilled but young woman could ever achieve lest she cast aside the morality she clung to with frailty, and embraced the corruption growing within. The mere thought that a being of its power could be defeated by a mere woman, no matter her strange heritage, was one that boiled the blood of the dying dagger-wielder and made it resent its pairing with this mortal man even more.

The decision was made; it was too late now to reverse the effects of her attack, and the wound had been too deep. No question remained in its twisted mind about its own fate, for a fleeting death was already waiting to embrace the spiritual amalgamation of a man. One knee found the grey sand as the monster's breathing grew slower and labored, both hands clutching the shaft of the arrow. Acyutanti would no doubt assume the battle to be over, and it was this assumption the demon aimed to take advantage of. Grunts of pain and exertion escaped cracked and blackened lips as its mortal chest heaved up and down, though its eyes remained closed. One final spot of brilliant azure light remained in the deep blackness of the demon's mind, the last of the energy available to it. No noticeable effects manifested themseles as it finished unlocking the power it would use in one last attempt to take this woman down with it, and with another loud grunt it snapped the shaft of the arrow free from its chest. It was because the demon's muscles had already been altered that they did not change again, for they would've returned to their normal state within an hour. Fate was not without a sense of irony, it seemed. The tip remained embedded in muscles and organs, slowly filling its lung with the lifeblood it so craved.

One demented eye scanned the ground between the two, spying a silver bastard sword within reach of the beast, and a hopefully sturdy longsword which lay mere paces in front of it. No sound or word preceded the burst, only the slight sinking of its bare feet into the cold granules of sand, but the possessed swordsman exploded from its apparent final resting place. It relied on the strength of its good leg to stabilize the other, which was now even bloodier than before. Not one step after the crazed creature had begun advancing the large and mirrored blade of the bastard sword found itself in a leather grip. The weapon was pulled from the sand as the challenging blade slinger sprinted, and flung towards Acyutanti's torso in the same motion. Unlike the distraction from before, this move was meant entirely to harm, and before the blade even reached her position the half-elf drew the deep blue longsword from the sand. The morbid man immediately noticed the biting cold which licked at its gloves, and emenated from the sword, but had no time to reconsider its selection. The demon closed in with the strange weapon gripped in both hands. It sought an opening, it sought her death, and with crimson eyes it gazed upon the woman as her life was threatened once more.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Fall, just fall.

He didn’t, he wouldn’t. She knew men like him, they didn’t go down easily. They fought and struggled and pulled through to the end, until nothing remained to push them forward, not even their strong will. All she wanted him to do was fall to the ground and end this fight. The arrow left protruding from his chest testified to the fact that he could not hold on for much longer. Even with her limited knowledge of the human anatomy, she knew that something vital must have been pierced, skimmed or even sliced open. She knew and yet he still appeared reluctant to forfeit that last victory to her and give up. The man—no, the thing within him—was not yet ready to give up its chance at victory and bloodshed. It lay evident in the deep hatred that boiled below the surface of his now darkened and dead looking skin. The rotting substance looked more and more like the flesh of a Devadi the longer she thought about it. He seemed no better than one of those life sucking beasts anyway. Within her, Acyutani knew that the anger and disgust evident on his face was meant for her. It was the way his eyes locked on her face, the way he watched her as the arrow plunged into his chest cavity.

His eyes closed, cutting off the crimson glow of anger and leaving him just as colourless as the landscape they fought within. He fell to one knee, grunting as the shock of the fall vibrated the weapon trapped within his flesh. With one last groan of pain, her opponent snapped the shaft of her arrow using both his hands and with that, Acyutani knew the battle was not yet over. Her body remained tense, her wrist throbbing as the adrenaline rush began to wear off leaving her to slowly feel all the aches and pains inflicted upon her. The underside of her armguard felt slick and sticky with her own blood, a disgusting feeling as it shifted along her skin with each tensing of her arm. Even though the bow would most likely do her no good should he move in on her, she never once dropped it. Even though she could feel the weight of the battle beginning to shake her muscles, she did as he taught her and showed none of her weaknesses. At least, the Akhetamikan warrior tried not to. She couldn’t help the small quiver that went through her arm and into the bow.

Without any warning, Nyadir shot forth from the sand he rested within. Eyes wide, Acyutani felt her heart skip a beat and race once again. It beat wildly within the cage of her chest, pumping new adrenaline into veins and waiting muscles. Feeling her chest rise and fall with every short breath she drew into her lungs, Acyutani watched him as his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a broadsword sticking out of the ground like some form of anomaly. He threw it at her. The weapon whistling through the air as it crossed the distance between them. Still crouching from her last tumble through the sand, the Akhetamikan threw herself towards the ground. The sword caught her in the shoulder, eliciting a sharp cry from her as it sliced through skin and muscle. The force threw her onto her back, where she landed with a grunt. Blood splattered across the dark sand and soaked into her robes, leaking profusely from the deep slash in her shoulder.

Clenching her teeth together so tightly she thought they would crack, Acyutani pushed herself up from the ground. She barely managed to get halfway to a sitting position before a flash of steel and Nyadir’s quick moving body caught her eyes. Then a searing pain burst through her chest, right above her left breast and causing another cry to escape her parted lips. No blood poured from the wound though, only a deep coldness that spread throughout that part of her body, numbing the pain. Behind her robes, her normally caramel skin began to turn blue and the feeling of ice seeped into her system, as if trying to freeze her very life blood.

Sorry, Nyadir, but I developed a tolerance to the cold some time ago.

He may be trying to bring her down with him, but he would be the first to fall and would not get the satisfaction of watching the life drain from her eyes. Shifting the bow in her hand into a straight short sword, Acyutani thrust up towards Nyadir’s stomach with her good arm as the other one lay lifeless at her side. A beautiful position if ever there was one to end a battle with. Both warriors stood less than two feet away from each other with the sharpened edges of their blades digging deep into the flesh of the other. Joined and yet so far apart.

[Ebivoulya]

In a mental realm of desperate deception the half-elven man struggled with his uncertainty, barely avoiding a lethal barrage of poison barbs as he ducked into a small hole in the elegantly carved stone so covered in cryptic messages lost to erosion and time. Even such a dank place swarming with so many foul creatures must get air from somewhere, and it was one of those vents the swordsman so nimbly slid through into this lost city of death. The uncertain pull of a task undone wrung his mind dry of will until he finally resigned to sitting in a hole in the wall to meditate on the matter before moving on into even darker, deeper places. Within the depths of his mortal mind things were uneasy, for even through deliberate attempt the slayer could not achieve a direct contact with his other side, and he stared at veins of ore sparkling in the dim torch-light while his concern rose. Their brilliance almost distracted from the mold-covered floor, and the canopy of cobwebs overhead. Lost in the shimmer, the warrior allowed his mind to wander to what great treasure must lay within to neccessitate such force.

A forest of black grew up from within him, engulfing his thoughts in a suffocating nausea and eliciting a great ringing which pierced his mind and left it blank. Colors smeared together from the infinite sea of blood and corpses surrounding him but only visible through the corners of his eyes; a vivid scene which to him felt entirely and eeriely real apeared from the swirling mists. He was looking down at his legs, one freshly injured, and both caked with gore and sand. His boots were gone, and so was his sword, for even with the clarity of sight he possessed the landscape was covered in blades too numerous for him to discern the location of his own. Finally, his eyes rested on the arrow shaft sticking from his chest, his hands leaving his sides to grip it without his consent. The jolt of pain as the rest of the shaft was snapped free of his chest drew his mind completely from the imagined labyrinth, and left him too weak to regain control but too aware to be subdued.

It became very obvious to the still nauseas swordsman that he had lost the battle as his body sprinted forward toward the woman he had begun fighting in the Dajas Pagoda; he could even feel the blood filling up his lung. This was inexcusable, there could've been a chance for victory if he had just maintained control of himself. A seething rage overtook him and he lashed out in body and mind, introducing small black swirls into the glowing red eyes of his body possessed. An effective distraction caught the warrior woman in the shoulder, one of many wounds his body had inflicted in his absence, and she fell to the grey ground below. The chill of the weapon it chose next from the lifeless sand bit through the thick leather glove and stung the flesh. Nyadir wasn't making much progress in his attempt to regain himself, and worse yet the demon was trying to draw him into another dream with scenes from his childhood before the barbarian which killed or enslaved everyone he knew even existed. The nostalgic warmth was alluring, and it called to him strongly, but by honor the blade slinger was bound to thank his opponent for the blood she spilled to sate his vicious appetite.

As Acyutanti attempted to stand from her crouch the freezing longsword found its mark, digging into her flesh but not spilling any blood. A satisfaction came over the demon as it looked down at the woman kneeling and bloodied beneath it. Before the creature could enjoy much of its false victory a crack formed in its concentration and the half-elf's mind slipped through. Without the built up layers of distractions between them the demon struggled to maintain control, and in the instant its eyes flickered from red to black a blade formed in the free hand of the woman warrior with the inhabitants of her opponent too distracted to stop her. One final strike met mortal flesh as the battle ended in a poetic pose. Steel slid into the abdomen of the dual-minded man, and as the demon within gasped in surprise he broke through the pain and regained his body. The flickering of dark shadows left his form, and his blackened skin returned to a light tan. His face twisted back from the sinister and snickering visage of a veritible monster, to the deep black eyes and distant expression of a mercerny outdone.

The thought of reaching for the dagger at his waist and plunging it into her neck came strongly, urged on by the bitter and defeated demonic infestation, but his hand remained at his side. During the moment he triumphed over his other half, its memories of this battle came flooding to him, and he found a respect for this woman and her position. His eyes moved to meet hers in a blank stare as he silently resigned himself to lowly thieving and mugging to get by after the loss of all his gold on this chance to hone his skills and find respect given generously rather than viciously demanded. Certainly this city was a fine place for such living, and even though he had lost in the Pagoda, he was quite skilled in terms of common guards and soldiers. Survival would be assured, and after he was healed by the strange monks which permeated the place, he would move on to perhaps even find his brother again. The question of whether or not he would be back to try again was an obvious one in his mind, and he thought to all his mistakes in the fight in the hopes of avoiding them next time.

Silence filled the air just as blood filled his lungs, and it came pouring out of the corners of his mouth. No twisted smile left his intent to question, and no muscle twitch preceded one last blow; he merely stood there while his body slowly died and stared at the one known as Acyutanti. She kept her grip tight on the blade buried in his stomach, and her other arm hadn't moved since the strange sword had found her skin. Certainly she was capable, both for her size and appearance, and the folly of his underestimation of her bit at his already bleeding carcass with regret and anger. He carried a deep and growing hatred towards his other side for robbing him of the joy of the battle, the sheer chance that he might've won, and all the pain which echoed throughout this strange place. His eyes regaining focus and staring directly at the woman, the same cracked lips parted in the suffocating air and spoke his appreciation for the fight as plainly as they could.

"Thank you for the blood you've spilled."

The words came thick and gurgling, hardly understandable but deliberately slow and clear. The bloodied glove covering his left hand released the freezing blade as the final word was said through coughs and droplets of crimson. His knees gave out as blood filled up his throat, and the blade in his gut slid back out again as he fell back into the embrace of the frozen sand. Pain coated his every nerve, and his obsidian eyes blinked up at blackened clouds above. No more words could be spoken, no more moves made. One gloved hand merely rose from the sand to rest on top of the jewel hanging around his neck, his only reminder of his life before.The half-elven warrior had lost this bout, and to a woman, but it was with difficulty she felled the beast. He had managed well enough, for someone so unknown, so young. He'd only regained his freedom some thirteen years prior, and though optimism rarely found his dank and dreary corner of the world, for a moment he took back his wish that a death in the Pagoda be permenant. He would at least have another shot at defeating the famous warrior known as Acyutanti.

Dark dreams faded in and out, clouds of confusion and pain which left the mind blank and unaware most of the time. The murmuring of worried monks from what seemed like just above melded with a warm and sunny memory of his childhood, and all sense of time and space was lost to what was truly the deepest sleep the swordsman had experienced in years. Somehow the monks of the pagoda were able to quell the horrible tides of mental gore for even the briefest of moments, or perhaps the demon within had become exhausted from the battle and had not the energy to torment him. Either way, that unrestricted comfort left everything afterward blank. An unknown warrior had traveled to the Pagoda to challenge the infamous Acyutanti, and he had lost, but a mark he had left and rumors might even spread. Achieving his own fame was not yet out of his grasp, but for the moment, at least, it seemed that the time was not now and the place was not this.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The final encounter had boiled down to this one moment. All of their attacks and their defensive posturing, whatever mocking words they had spat at each other, had all fallen like the grains of sand and tipped the scales to this final end. It could have turned out differently if she’d only performed better, if her moves had been more precise her attacks more defined. There was much she still needed to learn and far more training to be had. Nyadir had almost had her a few times and the cold blade still digging into the flesh of her chest lay as a testament to that. He would have disappointed in her, he would be proud. If he were here, all her mistakes would be laid out before her in a perfect line and he would train them out of her, drill them and force them as if they were some kind of disease. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pride in this battle. She had fought hard and though her blood soaked into the dry earth along with that of her opponent’s, Acyutani knew she had performed well. Perhaps it had not been her best, but she knew that no matter how much and how often she fought the living, a small part of her would always hold back. All of her life she had trained to fight the dead and that was where her comfort level would always remain. At least this time, she found no guilt within her as the life of Nyadir slipped away.

His eyes were locked upon hers but no malice lay within them. As she watched, the twisted look of pleasure that had overcome his features faded away and left him once again looking human. The red of his eyes changed to the colour of the obsidian stones behind them, so dark that she could not discern the different between pupil and iris. Knowing that he may not yet be ready to give up on the battle, Acyutani never dropped her guard. Even though the hand which held the blade in his stomach began to quiver and shake with exertion, she held herself up and ever ready for one of his counters. The man was as battle drunk as any she had met before and even with his bleeding wounds, the Akhetamikan warrior knew there may still be fight within him. But then he did something completely unexpected. He thanked her for the fight she had given him, the blood she had spilled. Her eyes widened in surprise by the words, knowing that the dark thing within him must have receded and left the real man behind. For that monster would never have thanked her for anything unless it was her own death.

Once the gurgled and blood-drowned words left his mouth, Nyadir fell to his knees before and then slipped back onto the cold sand. The blade still gripped in her hand slipped free of his stomach, leaving the wound gaping open and the blood to flow. Only at that moment, as his black hit the ground did Acyutani finally know that he had fallen and the battle had come to an end. Dropping the sword from her shaking hand she reached up and gripped the blade still protruding from her chest. Wrapping her fingers around the blistering cold metal she yanked it from her flesh slicing through her palm and fingers as she did. By now, her body was being wracked with shivers from the deep cold that had spread throughout her entire torso and up to her neck and shoulders. Tossing the blade aside, Acyutani closed her eyes and tipped her head up towards the darkened sky, releasing the grip of Yuddhara upon the sands of Ranajira. When she finally cracked her dark eyes open once more, she was surrounded by hot but clean air and golden colours that shimmered in the bright light of the sun so strong it almost blinded her.

So this is it, hmm? I won. I won...

It didn’t feel like very much of a victory to her. It felt like nothing, just an end to a struggle the two of them had gone through, brought on by them. Almost every battle that Acyutani had fought before this day had some form of meaning to it. It had been a necessity, something that needed to happen. But just seemed like an empty bout between two people to do nothing but prove who was the more dominant fighter, the more enduring and the stronger. She didn’t feel the stronger of the two of them and yet she still breathed while Nyadir had already passed into shadow. It left her questioning her position here, her reason for being here and for fighting in this wretched place. Was finding one person, one man really worth all of this, really worth that small part of her slowly dying in this place? She didn’t know, would most likely never know but Acyutani understood that quitting was out of the question.

Knowing she didn’t have to push herself any longer, the Akhetamikan warrior fell back onto the now warm sand, letting the light of the sun bath her and warm the cold that Yuddhara had left linger upon her skin. It tingled across her skin and slowly began to erase the effects of that blasted sword. Closing her eyes, she waited for the monks to come and heal her so that she could leave this place and return to her chamber.

[Ataraxis]

Quest Judging

Sammutth a Ranajira – Nyadir vs. Acyutani

Greetings my fine fellows, I will be the judge in charge today. I expect you are both eager for your long-overdue results, and so I shall dally no further! Good luck to you both, and onto the rubric!

Ira is in Blue, Ebi is in Red!

STORY

Continuity ~

7.5/10. This was fairly well done, as I knew how she got her position in the Pagoda and the reasons why she took the job. You also gave me a fair bit of insight on her past and what she used to do (or is still doing on the side), that is to say, dealing with wandering souls. I did have a bit of difficulty with Abrapatha and Iren, and that’s even if I read your profile some time ago. I did understand it was Iren who led to Abrapatha, whatever it is, to become a sort of corruption of her soul, as well as an integral part of it. Otherwise, the ceaseless references to Malagen, while never naming him, left me unsure of what to think. It was obvious you really went out of your way to never mention his name, though I’m not sure if this helped you much. Otherwise, you didn’t go deeper into her story, which is fine, but sometimes the small details of a character’s past can enhance the reading experience.

8/10. Speaking of the small details, I think you did quite well here, Ebi. From the mentioning of Nyadir’s mother and how that related to his eyesight, to that of his lost brother, and of how over half his life, he was trapped in a type of hellish realm where a corrupted soul was fused into his… that, on top of the pre-fight with the goons of the man at the source of his demonic possession, made this quite an enlightening thread about your character. That, plus the fact that his reasons for wanting to fight and for retracting his opinion on the Pagoda’s death policy, helped you a lot in this category. Sometimes, you do seem to go overboard with these snippets into his past, as what should have been passing references became duos or trios of paragraphs, which also slightly affected your pacing.

Setting ~

7.5/10. You both did equally well here, though by using different methods. Simply put, Ira provided general yet detailed descriptions of the entourage, painting a clear canvas of what the reader should be seeing, in addition to a few more specific descriptions. I also had the most complete picture of arena when reading Ira’s posts, mostly due to mentions of the setting that get their point across and don’t ‘overstay their welcome’. Ebi, however, veered his focus on more exact descriptions that added an interesting sense of realism to the world, particularly in how he described Scara Brae and the alley where he fought the assassin goons. Sometimes, the descriptions became heavy and unclear, though you habitually manage to pull them off well. Plus, Nyadir kicking a crate of ‘MUGS’ and a few other refreshing interactions worked toward compensating for that. Ira also had her share of interactions with the sand, notably during her the distraction with her dagger when Nyadir was healing. As a whole, you both mostly referred to the heat (then the cold when the arena changed) and the sand sticking uncomfortably to your skin. There unfortunately wasn’t any interaction with the obsidian pillars, though I can see that neither of you felt that using them would fit your characters’ straightforward battle codes. All in all, neither of you forgot about the setting, but neither of you brought something more to the table.

Pacing ~

7.5/10. As a whole, the battle proceeded at a decent pace, albeit it did seem rather long at times, and for a fight that could be summed up to about eight or ten major actions, seventeen posts seemed a tad overzealous. This, of course, also applies to Ebi. More specifically to you, though, I’d have to say that though I enjoy your writing, you have a tendency of making your sentences read heavier by choice of word, techniques and at times punctuation, and you also had a few moments where you beat around the bushes with your descriptions (I distinctly remember reading too much about the spatial positioning of her knee). Much of my remarks on this can be found in the notes below. The best way to improve here would be to follow the philosophy of ‘every word must count’. Avoiding redundancies, circular descriptions and overwritten paragraphs would easily boost this to 8 and above.

7/10. To be honest, I considered 6.5, but your overall pacing more than offset the few shortcomings that initially prodded me toward that number. At first sight, your introduction post seemed a daunting beast to engage, but the more I read through it the more I realized I breezed through it without missing a single word. It’s basically a style fit for writing books, and the narrative was chock-full of passages that touched on the philosophically poetic, which usually ends up as purple prose for most who try their hand at it. It was basically a very impressive post, but it was also your best: the moment the fight began, your writing lost some of its spark, as if according thought to a character not your own went against your creative liberties. Though you managed to climb back up the hill at times, the pacing became heavier, what with the technical descriptions of a single move that spanned two or three paragraphs. I’m very comfortable with your style of writing, as it’s also my favored one outside Althanas, but you do sometimes overwrite certain things, and can become a bit excessive with adjectives. Relying less on descriptive adjectives and more on evocative imagery would not only improve the pacing, but also your technique.

And something that applies to you both: backtracking. An overabundance of backtracking. Every post summarized half of the previous one, and the new ‘content’ only came midway through. Basically, someone goes from point 1 to point 2, then the other writes from point 1.5 to 3, then the other from 2.5 to 4, then the other this, then the other that, et cetera, et cetera. Overall, each of your posts could have been almost twice shorter if you’d used retrospection and short references to past events instead of actually making the reader relive through them from the other character’s perspective.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~

6/10. I’ll be brief here, as you’re both quite aware that there was a stunning lack of dialogue. Not necessarily a bad thing, as you both made up for it in spades for the Persona category. One line to start the fight, one line to end it, nothing in between, as far as I can remember. There were the occasional inner monologues, and indirect dialogue integrated into the narrative, I admit. Moreover, what dialogue could be found was far from tasteless and insipid, as they conveyed much with an economy of words. I can’t give any higher here, unfortunately, as the facts are the facts.

Action ~

7/10. Brevity here as well, as I think you wrote Iriah as appropriately as I remember her in older threads. You could have done a bit more when it came to quirks and foibles, the little actions that make her stand out from the other gracious, highly-skilled combat women. Granted, as this was a battle, most of those qualities would be overshadowed, but there was still room for more meaningful body language. The descriptions of her actions sometimes leaned toward the technical like Ebi’s, though in terms of depicting it more accurately, I’d have to give him the upper hand. Her moves were, as she said herself, surprisingly basic, though the dagger-naginata combination was interesting.

7.25/10. As I said, even when you fell from interestingly descriptive to somewhat grey and technical, you remained accurate, albeit at times too accurate. The little peculiarities of Nyadir, mostly seen before the fight (smoking a pipe, always looking out the boat from the railing and the general behavior of a man who wants to be left alone) were nice touches, while during the battle, I did find his use of steel-plated boots fascinatingly unorthodox. Other than that, Ira’s paragraph on Action sums it up for you too.

Persona ~

7.75/10. Iriah’s musings on why she became a warrior, on the contrasts between her previous and current jobs (purifying souls, opposed to possibly killing challengers), and her longing for Malagen while his and her philosophies clashed gave this fight a deeper level. How in the end, she could kill Nyadir without feeling it was wrong was also a sizeable step forward for her, though if it ends up being a good thing is still up to her. The fact that, near the end, she imagined he would both scold her for her mistakes while still being proud of her achievements made her seem almost endearingly juvenile, though that feeling was well-balanced with her growth as both woman and warrior.

8/10. Nyadir is most likely one of the most complex characters I’ve seen on Althanas, psychologically-speaking. Not only is he deeply introspective and conflicted ( as seen when he realizes a part of him finds relief in his mother’s death, and that he knew this part belonged to him and not Malnmre), but he also shares his body with a demon that’s equally complex, though one that favors simplicity when it comes to fight and murder. There were too many instances of good Persona for me to write them all down, but I definitely think this is one of your fortes. The only reason why I didn’t give you higher was because, with the way it’s written, it’s harder for the reader to establish a link with Nyadir. We don’t have to relate to a character by shared beliefs, values or experiences, but some common ground does help.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~

6.75/10. It was far from sloppy, but I did have the feeling your writing was missing a bit of its flair, the smaller amount of imagery and rhetorical devices being the first thing to tip me off. As a whole, it’s still good work and it did leave an effect on me. I personally felt a distance while reading this battle, and though I could appreciate the characters (as can be seen by the previous scores), I didn’t particularly cheer for either one, since my focus was on disentangling some of the actions and on wading through a number of paragraphs. In layman’s terms, the writing didn’t ‘speak to me’, but in arrogantly self-important terms… I kid. Still, I know you’re capable of this, as I’ve already been drawn into the story by your writing in the past, so this a small bump in the road that won’t take you long to overcome.

7/10. Were you at your peak performance throughout the battle, this could have been an 8. As I said before, I was positively impressed by your introduction and the sheer quality of your writing, as I found it both original and insightful. You didn’t fall into the trap of purple prose, and you chose your words wisely, though you sometimes did slip into the excessive. Later on in the battle, however, you progressively lost that edge to your writing and, teamed up with the backtracking, the lengthy segues and the technical-heavy descriptions of his moves… as I said in Ira’s technique, I felt a bit like wading through the text. Depending less on descriptive adjectives and more on evocative imagery would help you here, as I mentioned before.

Mechanics ~

I was surprised by both of you here. I have a little bit over 4 pages of notes for this battle, consisting mostly of typos, punctuation mistakes and misspelling. I’ll also have you know that many of these mistakes were repeated, and I didn’t include these repetitions. Considering the size of your posts, though, I considered the quest more like a 26-30 post long battle, so your scores suffered much less.

5.75/10. See notes. I count over 30 notes concerning you, three fourths of which pertain to mechanics.

5/10. See notes. I count over 40, proportions same as above.

Clarity ~

6.5/10. The occasional heaviness and at times confusing descriptions of certain actions reduced your score here. The writing itself and the other ideas you were trying to convey were rather clear, though. What also lowered it was the sheer volume of information, which makes it harder for the reader to situate himself. For example, I usually can find a passage I remember fairly easily in battles over 20 pages, but I had to resort to the Search function a lot here, and sometimes to no avail.

6/10. Very similar to Ira, though your writing could get much thicker. It’s not that you lost me anywhere, or that your writing was hard to understand in any way because of the style you chose. It’s because of the superfluous nature of certain descriptions, ones that could have been written more airily without sacrificing your style – like in your first post. Save for a particularly long and extraneous sentence about the sound of boots on wide boards, it was almost flawless in this category. My impression was that you were trying too hard to live up to the first one in your later posts, which I can say from experience tends to be counter-productive.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~

5.75/10. By average, I usually give 4s and 4.5s in Wild Card, but I do think there was a little something more in this battle, although it was deceptively simple. The part where the names of those Iriah fights are carved into the obsidian pillars was also a nice touch. Your were consistent throughout, and your writing remains good despite the heaviness I mentioned.

6.25/10. I haven’t see your style around these parts for quite a while, which is a pity because I do enjoy reading it. I also gave you a slight bonus because of the fake battle to which Nyadir was confronted, while Malnmre fought the real Iriah. The quality of the introduction post, and now that I think about it, of the conclusion also warranted this bonus.

TOTAL ~

68/100.

68/100.

It’s a tie!

… which makes things very difficult for me, now. Plus, Ebi doesn’t seem to have a level, experience, or gold, which I find really weird.

EXP Rewards

Iriah Caitrak gains: 2000 XP plus the Pagoda Month Bonus: 4000 XP!

Nyadir D’Var gains: 2000 XP plus the Pagoda Month Bonus: 4000 XP!


GP Rewards

Iriah Caitrak gains: 100 GP!

Nyadir D’Var gains: his 100 GP back!


Other Rewards

Iriah Caitrak gains: Nothing!

Nyadir D’Var gains: Nothing!

FINAL NOTES

Well, this is a bit strange… and I’m not really sure who gets the Warrior position in the case of a tie. I assumed that you would get your money back, Ebi, as I cut the hypothetical winner’s supposed gains in half. You,ll probably want to take this up with Christoph, unless you can both come to an agreement on what happens from here.
In any case, I hope this judgment was to your liking, and I’m looking forward to reading your next threads! 

Odd-numbered are Ira, Even-numbered are Ebi

She could feel the tingle; that longing for the land this represented thrumming through her bloodstream like the steady beats of the drums they used. (1) semi-colons are used either to join independent clauses without a coordinating conjunction, to join independent clauses linked by a conjunctive adverb or to join independent clauses with too many commas (which can lead to confusion). The pause you were going for would have worked with a simple comma, or if you wanted to stress it, a dash ( – ) would have worked, as it can replace pretty much any punctuation in informal writing.

The intoxication, the heady sensation of it ran rampant inside of her mind and body, bringing out a longing in her she had forgotten about with him. (1) This sentence could be made much lighter by omitting ‘of it’ and ‘in her’. “‘Its’, ‘the’, or ‘that’ heady sensation’” are much more direct alternatives that clear things out a bit, while ‘in her’ is implied by the context. If I remember correctly, this is a little detail I’ve read in your writing a few times before, but in this battle it’s much more of a slip than an actual problem, so worry not.

an hundred of them (1) a

Would it matter if ice rain down the sky (1) rained

What if the wind held a chill in it (1) ‘In it’ is also implied, here.

Her leg drew itself up to her body, bent and forcing her knee to point towards the jewel like sky. (1) Itself might be extraneous, and the description of the leg’s positioning does seem rather overwritten, though I do like that you managed to use ‘jewel-like sky’.

Only one; Gareth Vandeburg (1) Here, a colon is preferable, as colons are meant to introduce a list, a definition, or in this case, an explanation.

brings pain; unceasing waves which become so deeply-rooted they are longed for, sought after; used. (2) Though I understand the abundance of commas would have been even greater without the semi-colons, their use isn’t quite right, and unless you’re separating couples of words that are separated by a comma ‘Mooseville, Maine; Hell, California’, you usually shouldn’t have more than one in a sentence. I’d suggest a comma after ‘pain’, and either a dash or yet another comma before ‘used’. I know, it’s not ideal. Otherwise, that was a wicked first paragraph.

spent day, and night, (2) formal writing would have you lose the commas, while informal writing would replace them with dashes. Your choice!

a predator; it was the experience (2) A colon, I believe, as that would be an explanation.

A few loud taps preceded cinders and ashes which descended down into the breathing mist before extinguishing quickly, and the flapping of a thick charcoal cloak muffled the distinct thuds of steel-plated boots across wide oak boards. (2) I’m quite comfortable with your highly-descriptive style, but this sentence does seem to go overboard with the number of adjectives. Choosing to be vague at the right times could work quite well in tandem with your particular writing, if only for the contrast.

The only concious passenger (2) conscious

A whiff of sulfer (2) sulphur

as he swam inbetween (2) in between is the adverb, and as a note, in-between would be the adjective.

the premeir battling venue (2) premier or premiere.

They talked amoungst eachother (2) amongst each other

By now the other persuer had risen (2) pursuant or pursuer

came back again to meet steel once more (2) ‘again’ and ‘once more’ being both used makes this redundant.

and to verify that the symbols on their cloaks were indeed the signs of the man whom forced him (2) who forced him. ‘Who’ is subjective, and thus used when you can replace it by ‘he’ (the man who forced him – he forced him), whereas ‘whom’ is objective and can thus be replaced by ‘him’ (whom he killed – he killed him; to whom I owe my life – I owe my life to him).

The explaination of how losing competitors (2) explanation

Still, the thought of his surviving brother, and of taking revenge on the man who drove him from his burning home to kill with the rest of the barbarian's enslaved hoarde forced him to rethink his morbidity. (2) Horde (as opposed to hoard, which is pretty much booty, loot and plunder). Also, a comma would work well before ‘forced’.

I’ve also noted you have a tendency of putting a comma before ‘and’. While that is possible, it should only be done in two cases: one is with the serial comma, when you have a series of three or more things (Huey, Dewey, and Louie); the other is when you join two independent clauses (it works with pretty much all of the other coordinating conjunctions, too).

into the portal, wondreing if he would be capable (2) wondering

Hiis newfound visual clarify (2) His, clarity.

the liquid like (3) liquid-like

Acyutani glanced behind her; a bold and dangerous move. (3) ‘glanced behind her: a bold and dangerous move.’ See previous comments on colons and semi-colons.

“You are not him.” She said; her voice flat and accented with the land she came from. (3) “You are not him,” she said, her voice flat and accented with the land she came from.

but of what she could never know; not with her limited skills (3) know – not with her limited skills. The alternative would be a period instead.

Whether or not he willingly or knowingly had that soul inside him was an entirely different conversation, one she cared not to have. (3) This is just a remark: considering how the sentence starts, wouldn’t it be a question rather than a discussion?

Acyutani couldn’t help but feel a smirk pull at her lips as she realized the irony of that. For who had she met within a wall of stone that transported warriors to beautiful and magnificent places? (3)the irony of that, for whom had she met within a (…) places?

Customs in her own home land would dictate that he make the first move. He had challenged her in her own arena; it was his choice to follow through with it. (3) This isn’t a mistake, no worries. I just wanted to point out that it was one of the correct uses of a semi-colon, for future reference.

Though this place may look like Fallien (3) Tense change, ‘may have looked’.

All this sand and heat were mere illusion (3) were mere illusions, or ‘was mere illusion’ if you take the subject in the same way as ‘all that was mere illusion’.

The reach of them (3) A lighter equivalent would be ‘their reach’

pounced upun his prey (4) upon

and found little to not use for him (5) little to no

She needed warriors that could challenge her to be better, warriors that would, not only keep her on her toes but off them as well (5) that would not only (…), but off them as well (…).

other Half Swallow in a finish blow (5) finishing blow

Imagine though, power over life and death itself, power beyond that of the blade. (5) Breaking of the fourth wall? It’s been a while since I’ve read that, and it’s unexpected considering your style.

The sharpened edged armed for his inner thigh (5) aimed?

blood spewed from his earthen pants (6) you use the term earthen pants a lot, to the point where I wonder why not just use ‘pants’, as the reader would have been made well aware by now of their color.

Despite his racing mind; no, perhaps because (6) this is a perfect example of where a dash should be used, instead of a semi-colon. Dashes usually announce in interruption in the idea of a sentence, or an addition either from the narrator or the character’s perspective.

The intoxicating sensation emenating from (6) emanating

Deep-bellied growl of some monsterous dragon (6) monstrous

rushing river that cannot wait to go somewhere and do something (7) Tense change, ‘could not’.

but unsure of exactly what that’s supposed to be (7) tense change, ‘that was’. I believe that narrative present works when you describe something that is in itself permanent, unchanging: an axiom, a truism, an expression, etc.

(7) Iren and Abrapatha are mentioned, and I know basically who and what they are from reading your profile some time ago, but you provide no written explanation of their identity in the battle itself. Well, Abrapatha is described as some sort of thing trapped inside her and also a part of her, because of Iren. Other than that, it’s a mystery.

In a way, he had succeeded, her focused could at times be merely infallible, but in her mind it seemed (7) You could instead frame the middle part with dashes instead of commas, as it’s an addition to the sentence’s idea. That, or you could keep it that way with ‘her focus being at times nearly infallible’. Moreover, I’m unsure of your use of merely: was it in the sarcastic sense, as in ‘purely, simply, only infallible’ or a mistake by trying to write ‘nearly’? And finally, ‘her focus’.

end the beats of her heart; but nothing came at her (7) ‘heart; yet, nothing came’ would fit better, though you could just put a comma before ‘but’ to make it correct, though you then lose the ‘bated breath’ effect of a semi-colon.

engulf the blue becon (8) beacon

smell of sulfur were (8) sulfur and sulphur are both correct, so as long as you stick to one, it’s good.

N.B.: For both of you. I’m a bit torn about something that happened: in Ira’s post after she countered Nyadir’s kick to her sword and belly, she went for his leg artery. In Ebi’s post, he included Nyadir bringing down his sword after his leg was cut, to try and cleave off her hand, when in her own post she had already described the events that happened after that Nyadir rolled away, uninjured. Then again, Ira could have described in the post after that that there was a surface wound on her hand, or that she’d noticed his failed attempt at dismembering her. Either way, this got real confusing because ofall the backtracking both of you do. Basically, this is what happens. Ebi’s post goes from Point 1 to Point 2, Ira’s post goes from Point 1.5 to 3, Ebi then goes from 2.5 to 4, etc. With all the backtracking and adding actions to events that have already passed, this battle got rather confusing, as trying to keep chronological track in a battle of backtracking, addendums and corrections can be quite daunting.

Edit: About two posts later, Ira mentions a wounded wrist, which I think was the corollary of Nyadir’s counter. Two, and it was described as if she knew it was always there. I’m glad you decided to take it into account, though you could have always edited your previous posts to mention it.

grains of sand becomming stuck in his teeth (8) becoming

made her wonder why what she was doing here beyond looking for some kind of blind second chance the fates would never give her (9) I think you forgot to delete ‘why’

Even now, after all of those weeks of training with him and lessons from him and having his mindset forced upon her; Acyutani could (9) a comma, not a semi-colon.

not her opponents creased breathing (9) ceased breathing

her blades need not only be used on the wandering souls (9) Tense change, ‘needed not’.

Sand stuck to her sweat slick skin (9) swear-slicked

It was the tortured and tyrranical soul (10) tyrannical

Acyutanti had taken but a few tenative steps forward (10) tentative

Its weight due to muscle mass was reduced by a few pounds along with a noticeable (10) This is odd. Weight is the product of mass and gravitational acceleration, and as his muscle mass is the same (unless you actually turned matter into energy), only packed more densely (which means increased muscle density but decreased volume), and the effects of gravity did not change, his weight would be the same.

drew upon the pent up energy (10) pent-up

it sharped the focus of the demon (10) sharpened

The end of that post became rather technical.

She lad a look of surprise (12) had

the quiet agony emenating from (12) emanating

her actual race, Through (12) I think that was a period.

nearly pulling the torso of it airborn (12) pulling its torso airborne might sound lighter.

chest like a tiger.. (12) a period, probably.

its energy to cleave hear arm from her body (12) her arm

But considering the appearance of Devadi (13) A bit of a description of a Devadi might have helped here

dissipating the Half Swallow lodge in the sand (13) lodged

whom it seemed had become a little dizzy after that last kick (14) who (she, it seemed, had become)

heard the exclaimation of his demonic (14) exclamation

No noticeable effects manifested themseles (14) themselves

He may be trying to bring her down with him (15) Tense change, ‘may have been trying’ or ‘may have tried’.

lay within to neccessitate such force (16) necessitate

obvious to the still nauseas swordsman (16) nauseous

sprinted forward toward (16) redundance. ‘Sprinted toward the woman’ implies he’s sprinting forward.

stared at the one known as Acyutanti (16) Acyutani

that a death in the Pagoda be permenant. (16) permanent

He would have disappointed in her, he would be proud. (17) would have been. Maybe a ‘but’ or ‘yet’ in between both clauses to emphasize the clash.

letting the light of the sun bath her and warm the cold that Yuddhara had left linger upon her skin. (17) bathe, left to linger or left lingering. Moments in this paragraph, you also repeat ‘skin’.

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!

Ebi reaches level 1!