Blackbirds cried out in the dreary Raiaeran sky, circling the scorched patch of dirt and stone below them. In the distance of the south, where a chilly wind was blowing, the bland gray clouds bunched into heavy dark storm clouds. Thunder rolled across the plains that had hours ago been host to a small battlefield between a contingent of tired and wounded Bladesingers, and the monsters that had been hunting them for the previous three days. Though the breeze was quickly gaining strength, and losing warmth, the beast Dan Lagh'ratham paid it no mind on his place, seated on a soot smeared boulder, ignoring the shambling dead around him, slowly gathering undamaged pieces of armor and weapons.
The boulder was situated in front of a leafless tree, whose bark was so badly polluted with smoke, that it was all but begging to be chopped down and put out of it's misery. The survivor of the Bladesingers was bound to it's trunk with heavy coarse rope, breathing shallowly. Her face was badly bruised and streaked with dirt and blood, and her once brilliantly bright silver hair was gray with grime. Strange, unintelligible noises tumbled out of her split lips every so often, occasionally gaining volume when one of the ghouls would stumble up and lay some old sticks or bundles of dry grass at her feet. The slayer held her severed tongue in his palm, and watched impassively, taking pulls from a battered canteen of dwarven whiskey as the Forgotten One's lesser servants did their work without complaint.
"Enough of your mewling, frail," he snarled, finally standing up off the boulder to walk over to the elf and dump the remnants of the whiskey onto her head. Scowling, he stopped back and dropped the canteen, rubbing at a raw, pink scar that made a semi-circle around his neck.
"I wasn't about to simply let you and the rest of those pieces of trash run away from Eluriand after you put a flute sword partway through my neck. Torch! Torch! Where is the fucking torch?!" A jawless corpse with moss green skin approached him, holding up a thick gnarled tree branch, it's top lost in a wad of pitch soaked rags. The surviving Bladesinger thrashed weakly against her bonds, but there was no pity in Dan Lagh'ratham's heart for her. Without another word, he thrust the crackling torch into her chest, and tongues of flame spread quickly across her body. Immediately, she threw her head back and screamed. As soon as she tried to draw a breath, the fire hungrily followed the air into her lungs.
Dan had lost interest in her though; he was paying more attention to the strange, red glowing brand on a large, lumpy knot of the branch. "Where did you get this?" The jawless ghoul stared blankly at him, and Dan crushed the rest of it's skull with a vicious backhand that sent it tumbling down the hill. "Idiots! Idiots! I don't know why The Black calls on you! I can do twenty times the work of an entire horde of you slack jawed jag offs can!" Growling, he jabbed the glowing brand with a finger, and pulled it sharply away. There was no heat, and no moment of pain, and he lifted the torch to his face, unaware that the shambling dead were all slowly backing away from him down the hill, or that the burning elf had gone still and silent. Had he been paying attention, he may have noticed the ominous feeling that had bled into the atmosphere - but Dan Lagh'ratham was not an observant, or careful man. The slayer wrapped his entire hand around the brand.
The first thing he noticed, was the wholly unpleasant sensation of hooks being driven through the meaty part of his heel. His lips drew back from his teeth, and then the world began to spin. Something pulled on the hooks, and he felt himself being flipped over and pulled rapidly through the air. It lasted only a few seconds, but the end result left him feeling the same way he had on one of his first hangovers; sick and weak. Blinking, he dropped down to the ground with a grunt, trying to gather his wits about him again. It was a difficult task, but when he'd finally shaken off the nauseating disorientation, he realized that many things about the world had changed.
He was sitting on red, cut stones arranged in an artful pattern, which created something of a walkway amidst thousands on thriving, vibrant flowers. The sky above was a merry robin's egg blue, without a single cloud in sight. Dan reached up to brush a layer of cold sweat off his forehead - and was surprised to find his hair cut into short bristles, like he once kept it, many years ago. In fact, he was no longer wearing the black vlince coat with Xem'Zund's standard; instead he was wearing a gray coat of wool with a double row of brass buttons. There was a stiff, dark maroon stain on the left shoulder, and when he patted his cheek, he could feel the tacky remnant of some unknown kill there.
A moment or two later, he noticed that the torch in his right hand had been replaced with an envelope.
Greetings Contestant
Long have we heard tales of the blood hungry hunter, and we have seen fit to spirit you away to our home - against your will. Surely you understand. Your mix of vicious brutality and unforgiving cruelty has allowed us to come to the decision that you would be quite a thrilling spectacle to observe in a fight. We would like to extend, to you, an invitation to a grand tournament. The great, grand prize is one wish. You'll have to be nice and make friends though, it's a doubles!
"BASTARDS!" Dan leaped to his feet, crushing the letter in his hand, and throwing it to the ground. The hammer of his revolver snagged on his belt and refused to let go as he yanked at it. When he finally struggled it free, he leveled his gun at the paper wad, and shot it twice in his fury. Red chips of stone burst through the air as the bullets ripped through the invitation, and then he replaced the weapon, looking about with wild eyes. The word "wish" hung heavily in his mind, next to the face of his long missing daughter. Idly, he fingered the hilt of his knife as he slowly walked down the red stoned path, searching for someone, anyone that looked useful.
Last edited by Slayer of the Rot; 12-27-08 at 07:48 AM.
Bastards never die.
It was a voice that echoed inside his mind. A whisper that touched the depths of his soul, that captivated the deepest of his attention.
You have been selected to participate in a grand tournament of fighting skill. Participation is mandatory.
Surrounded by darkness, Kylin Rouge could only perceive this unknown voice. He felt like he was dreaming; he didn't doubt the words for one moment.
"And if I refuse?" he replied to the darkness, his voice inquisitive yet slightly aggressive.
Despite being trained in some of the most deadly arts of assassination and shadow magic known to man, Kylin was not a killer. He wasn't even much of a fighter. He was just someone who wanted to make things right. Fighting needless battles wasn't his thing.
We know of your hidden village. We would not hesitate to dispose of your entire clan.
Kylin was silent. He remembered the village he was driven away from, and all the people he left behind. It was entirely his fault that he was banished, and now he was once again causing them needless grief. The mysterious voice knew Kylin's weakness. The idea of murdering people for sport still held him back.
Don't worry, the arenas are designed so that no death is permanent. Everyone comes back. Also, if at any point we feel as if you are throwing the fight, we will terminate your village. However, you are not required to win.
So they wanted him to participate, try to win, but didn't actually care if he won? The absurdity of all it was getting to him, until he heard...
The prize is one wish... and just for you, a shard of the Miasma.
Kylin felt his heart start racing. The Miasma crystal was an ancient relic of the earliest days of this world. He had encountered it before, and it was an extremely dangerous item in the improper hands. The wish, however, was an entirely different proposition. What would Kylin wish for? What could he possibly want? A sullen darkness set within his heart as one thought constantly crept within the confines of his mind: The return of his father. He would want to erase that tragedy. Maybe they would even let him back into the village? All this wandering... would it finally end?
However, a great guilt washed over him. How selfish of him to take a wish and turn it into his own personal redemption. He could end wars, solve world problems, truly make a difference, and yet the resurrection of his father was in the forefront of his mind. In the end, he couldn't decide what he would wish for.
Contestants are required to participate in teams of two. Find a partner.
Suddenly, he found himself standing on a red stone walkway, surrounded by great fields of flowers. The sun glared through the cloudless blue sky, and he felt a serene moment of clarity. It appeared as though he was admiring one of the flowers, as he was holding it in his hand, but he didn't remember how he'd gotten here. He started looking around frantically, trying to figure out what was going on. The entire exchange... did he imagine it? No, because attached to the flower was an envelope that contained the words he heard in his mind. Then, the memories returned to him.
He was walking through the woods of Concordia. There were reports of nearby robberies of some of the local villages, so he was trying to find the hideout of the thieves. It was getting late and he was looking for a spot to set up camp. After spotting a strange light nearby, Kylin's curiosity got the better of him and he investigated it. It was a beautiful red light sitting on a stump, and at first he thought it was some sort of rare firefly. As he stepped on the patch of grass in front of the stump, he felt himself fall through the grass and the next thing he knew, he landed on the walkway. There was an envelope on the ground in front of him attached to a wildflower, and he picked it up and opened it. That put him where he was now. He became quite skeptical of the letter contained in the envelope now, but he felt like he caught a glimpse of the one who wrote those magical words. A glimpse of someone who could indeed destroy his entire village in one fell swoop.
So, he was stuck. However, he wasn't the only one, as further along the path he heard a couple of loud bangs. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked toward the direction of the noises. He put his hand over his mouth and his eyes wandered along the stones of the walkway as he came across another realization. That's right... he wasn't the only one tricked into this charade! The others would understand, and at the very least they could all get out of this relatively bloodless. That is, if the creators of this hellish tournament were sticking to their word. Kylin knew of only one group of mages that could orchestrate this event, and they were indeed quite powerful. For the moment, besides that tidbit of information he couldn't remember anything else about them. Maybe they had infiltrated his mind and altered his memories, or maybe he just considered them a distant rumor and paid very little heed to it.
In any case, he began approaching the source of the sound. He enjoyed the view as he walked, his eyes glossing over all the flowers and then staring in the blue sky. There was a kind of quietness here that he wasn't used to. A dreamy sort of calm that put his mind at ease. A tall man came into view. As they got closer, Kylin noticed something strange about him. He was wearing a stained wool coat. He was a shifty man, his eyes wildly darting about, his body moving with an eerie stillness like a cat about to pounce. Kylin couldn't tell what, but something about him was very off. The shadow warrior stopped and felt like backing up, felt like getting out of the way. However, whoever that was must be in the same mess as him. With that common link, he ignored his casual shyness and tried to reach out to him.
"Hey!" he yelled, waving his right arm at him. "You got caught up in this mess too?"
Someone had apparently just finished watering the millions of flower beds (or perhaps just those in his path, out of spite), as thick chunks of mud head begun to cake on his boots as he tramped across the colorful fields. The slayer's head swung slowly back and forth, scanning the enormous garden, his scowl still prevalent on his sour face. Healthy green stalks and stems crunched pitifully under each step, but he ignored them; they didn't quite have the satisfying noise as a man's arm gave when it buckled under the stamping of a boot. "This is ridiculous," he griped under his breath, patting at the side pockets of his coat. The wool was becoming heavy and itchy under the bright, cheery sunlight.
He found his mind had drifted back towards the contents of the letter after he'd found a tarnished tin of rolled cigarettes in one of the coat pockets. The promise of a wish had surely attracted more than a few people from the world, but who? Would Godhand be here, perhaps Seth? Surely, Raelyse would have come; Dan was positive the vain little betrayer would be attracted. Perhaps even the gunman, Dirks...the slayer took a long drag off the cigarette; the smoke was harsh and burned his throat. The tobacco had apparently gone stale, but he held onto it, anyway.
What was the point of a tournament, though? There weren't many left on this world that posed much of a threat to the man called The Red Beast; he'd been the one to slay Letho Ravenheart, which was a kill very, very few could boast of. He sincerely doubted that while the prize had drawn numerous swordsmen and mages, that there were any that wouldn't give out once he had their heart-meat between his teeth. The patrons - or matrons - of the tournament may as well have given him the wish.
And if they did, would he really use it to find his daughter? That thought made him stop as he stood on a patch of roses. Scratching at his stubbled chin, he looked down at the flowers, and smashed a few out of annoyance. He'd paid a great deal of sweat and blood to find Meredith but...he could wish for inexhaustible power. Indestructibility. How easy would it be to become a god of war with that wish, that would be used so trivially by others. He could see himself in his mind's eye; a blood soaked, wrathful deity, with billions of people on their knees before his feet, slavering and groveling...the grotesque delight continued to dance in his eyes, even as he heard someone calling out to him.
Dan turned towards the voice, regarding the speaker with a cocked head. The redheaded man still looked young; not far from the days of child hood, and a look of concern on his face. He was dressed in an odd manner though, and the slayer could feel an odd, hard lump tighten in his guts. "Yeah, I got snatched up in the middle of...some business." Fleetingly, he wondered if the smell of roasting elf-flesh still clung to him, but he waved the thought away. The slayer started to approach the younger man in a strange limping pace, keeping his left side partially hidden to keep Kylin from seeing his hand sneak down to his knife.
"I could use me a partner too, for this 'mess'," he called out, revealing his strangely long and sharp looking canine teeth. Slowly, the knife rose out of the sheath strapped to his thigh, hissing quietly as the razor sharp edge scraped against the leather. "Just anyone won't do, though. I want someone who's gonna be able to keep up with me...not someone who'll roll right over on their blood and intestines." His arm shot upward, in a rapid blur, launching the blade across the garden and towards Kylin's chest.
"So which one'll you be?!"
Kylin's second post there ends the trial for us, basically. What follows is simply us, completing the thread for ourselves.
Last edited by Slayer of the Rot; 12-31-08 at 07:32 AM.
Bastards never die.
Kylin's obliviousness to the situation slowly faded as the slayer stomped through the fields, destroying all the flowers in his path. While it wasn't a big deal to not care about flowers, he wasn't exactly presenting himself as a friendly guy. The teeth weren't exactly calming either. However, he only stared on in confusion as Dan began his cryptic speech. His talk about finding a partner seemed dishonest, like he didn't really care. If Kylin wasn't so nervous, he might've been able to intuit that it meant Dan wanted someone who wouldn't slow him down. A chill ran down the shadow warrior's spine and then he saw the sudden attack. His mouth agape the first moment, his eyes wide and unblinking, he quickly tried to shield himself from the incoming projectile, crouching slightly with his arms folded crossed in front of him, his hands in fists and his eyes closed.
A dark, shadowy mist crept from his shoulders, twirling around his arms and extending beyond. It grew thicker and thicker, its concentration covering his arms in darkness. Around the edges of the formation it was partially transparent like a fog. As the knife flew at him, it hit the shadowy concentration and was deflected off toward the ground, where it promptly got stuck in the mud. The shadows dissipated slowly and Kylin opened his eyes, a look of surprise still sharply ingrained in them. His knees were shaking. There's a fine line between creepy and mad, and Dan just crossed it.
Straightening out his back, Kylin held his right hand out sideways and trained his index finger on Dan's position, curling his other fingers inward and keeping his thumb extended. He put his left hand over his right bicep for balance and aiming. His look of shock, while still somewhat embedded into his face, was turning into one of anger and confusion.
In-between grinding his teeth and twitching his eyebrows, he announced to the madman, "I don't know what your problem is, but come and closer and you'll regret it!" He added emphasis on the last two words, showing more emotion than confidence.
He had absolutely no intention of being this man's partner. There were plenty of other people stuck in this that weren't crazy.
Thin mists started appearing around his body, being drawn towards his finger. They swirled around his finger like a transparent tornado, finding their home at the tip, which was now a tiny, but dark and deep concentration of shadow magic. Kylin's previous opponents considered getting hit by this a lot worse than any gunshot wound. It was like having a scalding iron lodged into the affected area and distributing the feeling of being covered in burning coals all over the body, and then leaving burning cigarette ends inside the point of entry. There have been some people that have passed out simply from the pain of it, so it was not something that Kylin used unless he absolutely had to. From this man before him, he felt something sinister. The last time he got this feeling, he almost died, so he wasn't going to let this go on any further. He would fire his shadowy bullet if the slayer made any sudden attempt to go after him.
At this moment, something occurred to him.
The prize is one wish...
He wasn't the only one who knew that. A bunch of people were probably brought in based on their strength and offered such a prize. One wish is like a second chance. It's an opportunity to change your life forever. Which means, he may have been wrong.
Everyone here might be crazy after all.
Judged by Taskmienster, reviewed by Mathias, Max Dirks, and Remaeus. Panel A.
Judgment Time! So, this is just a skeletal rubric we will be using later on in the tournament, just so that the opening registration threads will be done quickly and proficiently. That being said, this is also a way for you to understand what is expected of the full rubric and get a good feel. If you have any questions on how things work you are free to contact me at any time for assistance. I am also going to be putting in ‘general notes’ at the end of the judgment, with a post signifier [post number] so that you can go back and look over the part that I commented. This is for your convenience only, not something that all mods will do, and is not required, but something that I like to add in for further help. Just for reference, a 2.5 out of 5 is the pure median for a score, so don't worry, it's not like... 'epic fail'-ness. Haha.
Story (4.125/5)
~This section is most notably used for how well you did. In the full rubric it will be split into three different parts: Continuity, Setting, and Pacing. Continuity is the section regarding the background of who your character is and where they came from, without a good bit of reflection on your back story it’s difficult for the reader to understand most other categories that are also being looked over. Setting is the part of the judging that is pretty much self explanatory. A good setting not only shows the reader as well as the participants of the thread were you are and what’s around, but also involves the tactical and practical use of the setting your character is interacting with. Final section of Story is the Pacing. This is the most complex of parts to analyze, normally. However, in a battle the pacing of the story is the intent of the writer to keep the reader on the edge of their seats, build the suspense well, and let it dwindle correctly.~
~Slayer’s background and the story you wrote with it, amazing. The way you portrayed the zombies, in a somewhat goofy light too, was very well done. I enjoyed that the symbol that was on the wood took you in a rather sudden and rude a way. Kylin’s background was well written, if not a tad lacking. I would have liked to know a little more about him, his village, and what had happened to his father that had gotten him banished. Setting by both of you was very well done, especially Slayer’s disregard of the beauty of the flowers, but noting their appearance nonetheless, and Kylin’s feeling that the world was a dream like place. Both coincided well, neither of you really telling a difference in the setting which can often happen and make the thread seem disjoined.
Character (4/5)
~This section is looked in regards to another three parts: Dialogue, Action, and Persona. Each of these is rather simple to explain, compared to the story section. Action is a matter of following actions and a direction that makes sense for your character. If your character is a powerhouse then his actions sulking and hiding wouldn’t make much sense, same goes for if your character is a spy or assassin, up front confrontation wouldn’t make sense either. Dialogue is self explanatory, what you say, but it is not just that simple either. Dialogue pertains to whether your character is speaking in ways that make sense. A quiet character wouldn’t talk a lot, but maybe have inner thoughts instead, a cocksure character might stop in the middle of a fight to talk a lot, or a character whose persona isn’t either probably wouldn’t pull away from conflict to give a long speech. Persona is how well you keep ‘in character’, it is not just a part controlled by what you say your character does, but how he performs actions and why he does so. This section is contributed to by dialogue, action, pacing, continuity, and to a degree setting.~
~Slayer’s dialogue is funny, in a very brutal way. However, between post 2 and post 4 the WAY you spoke, what words you used and what dialect you used seemed to change. Perhaps it was incidental, or perhaps it’s just how Dan works, but without more dialogue to go off it looked strange. Other than that, it would have been nice to see more inner dialogue, though since you had ample time to be able to write verbal dialogue (not being engaged in a fight) it was fine. Both of you thought about things quick often, though wrote out the thoughts within the narrative style instead of within inner text. The other two sections were spot on, action was careful and concise and to the point. I enjoy the blunt style of writing out the action, while at the same time keeping the pacing of the thread moving well with writing outside of simple back and forth fighting. Like action, the persona’s you both displayed were well done. Slayer is a mean, yet uniquely dynamic sonofabitch, though Kylin I didn’t really get too much of a feel for. At times you seemed cocky, and at others, just as after the dialogue I posted below, you seemed strangely emotional and anything other than pompous… What I enjoyed most was the inner questioning by both men about what they would wish for, one had questions about reviving his lost daughter or insurmountable power… the other questioning wishing for a shard of supreme power or his father’s life and his own clan’s forgiveness. I look forward to seeing what the inner struggle provides in further threads.
Writing Style (4/5)
~The final section is the compilation of the final three parts: Technique, Mechanics, and Clarity. Technique is the section that we delve into your personal style of writing, in regards to ‘advanced’ styles of writing. The use of alliteration, foreshadowing, and metaphors or similes are going to heighten this score. Of course, stylistic uses of technique that go against proper grammar are also goo ways to use Technique, and will not be counted against you in the next section. Mechanics is the grammatically correct part of the judgment. How many mistakes you made with spelling, punctuation, and other mistakes is how this section is scored. Clarity is by far the most simple to judge. Were all the other sections clear? Was the way you told the story clear? Was your writing clear? That is what the entire section of clarity is about~
~Nothing really to say here, at all. Both of you displayed well written technique, knowledge of basic mechanical perfection, and it was all very clearly written. Only two mistakes that I could find to note, and they are posted in the general notes section.
Total: (12.125/15)
General Notes
~ There's a fine line between creepy and mad, and Dan just crossed it. [5]~ “and Dan had crossed it.” Would have worked a lot better than ‘just crossed it’ due to the fact that it remained in the past tense.
~ "I don't know what your problem is, but come and closer and you'll regret it!" [5]~ I think that you meant ‘but come [any] closer’ or ‘but come in closer’… probably the first of the two, but it was a word choice mistake than anything.
~ "In the distance of the south, where a chilly wind was blowing, the bland gray clouds bunched into heavy dark storm clouds." [2]~ 'to the south' should probably be 'in the south', and you repeated clouds twice.
~ "polluted with smoke, that it was all but [,] unnecessary" [2]~
~ "out of it's misery" [2]~ its
~ "was bound to it's truck with" [2]~ its
~ "his first hangover; sick and weak" [2]~ an elaboration should have a colon instead of a semicolon.
Posting Permissions
Submit Thread for Judgment