MQ: Spring's First Crimson Blossoms

[Slayer of the Rot]

To his surprise, there was no snarled retort, or dry, sarcastic insult; Godhand Striker reacted like the aging, experienced battlehorse he was. The mercenary took a swift step back, stones crunching under boot heel, and with a stroke nearly faster than Kross's eyes could follow, he severed the stone spear in its middle. The death lord had to stop himself from marveling at the exact precision and cleanliness of the cut; the muramasa had passed straight through the rock as though it had been passed through a mountain stream. The spearhead arced into the air, spinning end over end, but neither man made the mistake of looking up to watch its flight.

Mundane, sandy brown stones lifted off the canyon floor and slapped together in a horizontal line with several sharp clicks, then flowed together, erasing the seams that seperated each individual one, before turning a familiar jade green. Kross ignored the sharp whistling coming from overhead as he merged the transmuted rocks into his damaged weapon, baring his teeth as he poured his will into the stone, wicked, hooked blades sprouting from the sides of the spear. He lunged, raising his foot to punish the earth wiith a titanic stomp and throw the mercenary off guard, when, shockingly, Godhand reached a hand out and caught the broken spearhead wiithout a single hint of effort. The silver haired man launched himself forward, stabbing the point of the green blade towards the death lord's eyes.

A strangled obscenity wrenched itself from Kross's throat, and he opened his floodgates, pouring raw, elemental power into the weapon seeking to blind him. A muted yellow light flashed in its core, and as though he could feel the sudden violent pulse that began to crack it, Godhand hurled the spearhead over the death lord's shoulder. Several dozen feet away, it detonated like a fragmentation grenade, splashing razor sharp splinters around it. The noise was distracting enough for Kross to hesitate for a breath, giving Godhand more than enough time to fluidly change his stab turned throw into a hammer punch. Kross grunted, the force of it rocking him, nearly forcing him to his knees. The canyon itself shuddered, as though someone had dropped a boulder into it.

There was no time to bat at one another with useless threats and demeaning insults, no time for grandiose, flashy, crowd pleasing shows of talent. There was barely time to breath. The sadistic glee that had painted a distended, cruel smile on his face was gone. So was the laughter that could only come from a blood hungry sociopath with meth in his lungs, and hate in his heart. It was not that he wasn't enjoying himself; no, far from it. His eyes had the hunger and focus of a wolf scenting fresh hot blood, steaming through the trees, leafless for the moment, sleeping for the warm, silently grasping at the sky with bony fingers.

Now, Kross was trying to kill Godhand Striker.

The mercenary wound back wiith his sword, and all the incentive the death lord needed to retreat was the thought of the flawless cut through his weapon. Lifting a clawed hand, Kross unleashed a mild, hurriedly prepared blast of energy into Godhand, stumbling the man for barely a second, but giving him time enough to hurl himself away wiith a powerful backwards leap. Baring his monstrous teeth, he cocked his arm back, the energy surging and flickering, and then he fired his spear like a javelin, borne on natural magnetic energy. Godhand, seeming to anticipate the action, was already dodging to the left, throwing himself through the air and rolling as he landed. Kross hissed furiously, but it was too late; the spear had already hit the ground, with an ear shattering explosion that sent massive cracks up the neighboring canyon wall and threw a cloud of dust and broken rock into the air.

He hung in the air for a second, not even batting his eyes towards the elven archers who aimed arrows upon him. They sliced through the air, and then bounced off of his hide harmlessly. Grinding his teeth, Kross released a cry of eminent, vicious, wild rage and threw himself to the ground like a comet. Incredibly, Godhand sheathed his muramasa with a sneer, braced himself, dug his feet in - and met the bellowing death lord with a sound that witnesses would describe as the voice of a god, the two locking together. Grunting, the mercenary tossed Kross over his hip and onto the ground, raising a fist with the strength to split helms. Kross growled loudly and whipped a leg up into the side of Godhand's neck with inhuman agility, and scrambled to his feet.

Without hesitation, the two came at each other again, like wild animals in contest over a juicy peice of the kill. It looked so much like a mirror image of the earlier close quarter fight with Xem'zund that it was eerie; neither mercenary nor death lord's strikes could be seen before they collided with enough force behind them to reduce lesser men to gruesome tooth speckled pulp. The fists of the two brutalized one another for nearly three minutes, neither refusing to give ground to the other, the interior of the canyon sounding as though it was being shelled by heavy artillery cannons.

Suddenly, they burst apart, a vicious string of vile expletives spewing from Kross's mouth. He held his left arm closely to his chest, and it bent downward, at an awkward angle. The glassy black horn on his right temple had been shattered, leaving a jagged stump jutting out of the dark gray skin. Godhand was smirking smugly, despite the bleeding trenches that had been ripped across his chest and right arm, and the wound that had nearly cleaved bone just a hair beneath his left eye. Grimacing, Kross raised his uninjured arm and tensed the hand into a trembling claw. The ground around the mercenary trembled for a moment, making small stones jitter and shake on the canyon floor. Then, in the blink of an eye, a dozen long arms of stone pulled themselves up from the dirt and darted towards Godhand, their intent clear; to rend, crush, catch and dismember.

But they never had a chance. The mercenary's hand shot to the hilt of his sword, and with turn executed at break neck speed, he drew the muramasa, and severed the hands at their wrists

Kross came from above.

Silent as an assassin on the highest paying mark of his career, the death lord dropped down from the sky, softening his landing with a controlled magnetic sheath around his body. Fearsome as a feeding lion, Kross leaped forward, opening his jaws wide, wider, even wider than humanly possible, his tongue, long and pointed, covered in slick spittle. And swift as a master of war, Godhand Striker thrust his muramasa through the death lord Kross's stomach.

The blade hadn't had the leverage it needed earlier when it had brushed the demon hide, but now, it had all the strength and momentum of a titan behind it, driving it in deep. However, the cold peice of unbreakable metal slicing into his guts didn't stop the death lord. He pushed forward, sinking the sword in deeper, locked his hand around the wrist of Godhand's sword-arm, and pitched his head downward, locking his jaws into the mercenary's shoulder, tasting sweat-salted flesh and tangy, sweet blood, even as the lights began to fade from his otherworldly eyes, and the pulsing cracks in his skin began to close.

The dagger like teeth slid out of the meat, and the face that met Godhand's eyes was a very familiar one. Gone were the intersecting, gruesome scars, as well as the healthy, tanned skin. As though the horned, green eyes demon had been a chrysalis of wasting, instead of rebirth, the man that stood, pinned on the legendary sword, looked older, twenty years older than the sneering Kross. Dark circles hovered beneath gray eyes like drops of ink on sickly, pale flesh. Thin, nearly colorless lips pulled back to reveal the same predatory grin.

"You fucking cunt!" Dan Lagh'ratham cocked his head back, and spat on Godhand's chest. "You fucking stabbed me!" The mercenary looked bewildered for a split second, before he pulled back and punched Dan across the face, pulling the sword free - though not without a sizeable spurt of blood.

The fuck are you doing here?" Godhand demanded, ready to cut the death lord - because, after all, that was still what he was - in two if he came at him again. But Dan only laughed, the psychotic, cracked sound finding its way back in again.

"Hey, I was bored, you know? Plus, Xem'zund promised to find my daughter if I ate or knocked off a couple assholes giving him trouble.

"You're a god damned, brainless idiot." Godhand scowled, relaxing a little. "How the hell did you change appearance? Some kind of voodoo black magic hocus pocus bullshit?"

"It's...ah, fuck it, I'll explain it later."

Finish him, Kross! The voice sliced into his mind like a finely honed razor blade from untold miles away, and Dan winced, clutching the side of his head that had sported the broken horn.

"Not so damn loud! Why don't you fuck off, man? I ain't had a smoke break in I don't know how long. And Union Charter states - "

Fine. I will. Dan opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped when he felt the air in the canyon grow ice cold. His jaws shut with a snap, and his eyes were drawn to a point in space between him and Godhand, where a tiny pinprick of swirling, dark violet had burst out of nothing. He didn't even have a moment to curse before he leaped forward and shoved Godhand back with his good arm, and tried to jump away.

It happened in an instant; the tiny ball suddenly swelled with massive power as a necromantic flare tore itself open in the air, catching his arm from the elbow down inside. What felt like a million frosty daggers shredded skin, muscle and bone as the spell continued to grow larger, threatening to envelope him; and then it imploded in a humongous scarlet firebal, pulling him off his feet and hurling him across the canyon, where he smashed for a second into the ground, the breath leaving his lungs. He bounced two more times, high into the air, before again hitting the dirt, tumbling several dozen feet before coming to a rest.

He laid there for a minute, struggling to breath, hearing nothing but a sharp stinging as blood poured from his ears. Finally, he sat up painfully, looking at the stump where his forearm should be. It stunk of decay, and as he watched for a few breaths, blackened flesh crumbled away and fell onto his lap.

"Fuck me," he groaned, in a voice he couldn't hear, and then squinted into the distance, where he could see Godhand rising, untouched by the necromancer's assault. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted that son of a bitch." Carefully, he climbed to his feet, a little unbalanced, and then paused for a minute, wobbling unsteadily. Three amber stones on the back of his injured hand flashed a bright gold, and without a sound, puff of smoke, or blinding glare of ethereal light, the Ether Band took Dan Lagh'ratham far from Raiaera.

All bunnying perpetrated on Godhand was preapproved by himself. All I ask of this thread for spoils is that the lock on Dan's Saraelian abilities is removed. Let's just say Xem'zund destroyed the seal once and for all. I'd think that would be well within a demigod's capabilities.

Thanks for letting me guest spot here.

[Flames of Hyperion]

The thundering charge of silver-clad knights swept like a tide across the battlefield, driving through the undead lines without reservation or hesitation. Torn asunder by spear and sword, or hammered into the ground beneath mighty hooves, it was not long before the complexion of the battle changed completely. Flags that had once wavered beneath Xem’zund’s pressure now stood tall and proud once more; the eagles in the sky were joined by the bright ithilmar armour of proud Sky Knights as they drove the necromantic forces from the heavens.

In the midst of the devastated trees, a small knot of Elven resistance silently relaxed as the fighting inexorably was driven elsewhere. From amongst their number stepped the blooded, exhausted form of Nalith Celiniel, her fine blade chipped and worn, her silver armour tattered and dented.

She nearly drooped to the ground once more, but the exhausted cheers of those Elves that had survived the bloodbath did just enough to keep her going. Thrusting her sword to the skies to convince those around her of their victory, her exhausted mind already began to turn towards their next move.

The war was not over yet.

***

In the aftermath of the battle, a single figure strode amongst the fields of death, his tunic stained with the blood of his undead foes and the dust of the three days of hard travel that he had endured from outside the siege lines of Eluriand. Every step he took was accompanied by either flame or tears; the former he controlled with careful skill to purify the taint of the Necromancer’s dead from the field, while the latter was saved for the innumerable faces of the High Elves who had fallen that day by the banks of the River Escaldor. His dark irises swam with emotion behind the oversized spectacles he wore: regret that he had not been able to sway the outcome of the battle in their favour, distress at the thought of those who had fallen so valiantly in defence of their homeland, loathing at the pathetically weak self who had been unable even to try to save them.

Your sacrifice will not be in vain… Ingwe Helyanwe vowed to the blood-stained skies, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails drew blood from the chapped skin of his palm. He had walked many battlefields before, some almost quite as grim as this one, but he could never steel himself fully against the overwhelming tides of despair that he always felt. He wondered if that was a good thing, proof that he had not yet devolved into the very monsters that he fought.

He wondered how much longer it would take before he did.

The young man forced his feet to begin walking again, taking slow deliberate steps through the mountains of strewn corpses. He was not alone in his bleak duty; a jagged line of Bladesingers, Wanderers, Bards, and Seers mimicked his actions from the river plain on his right to the forest on his left. The process was a deliberate and repetitive one, and numerous small pyres burnt like dying fireflies in their wake, tracking their forlorn progress through the twilit battleground.

As nominal figurehead of the Legion of Light, he knew that technically his responsibilities lay elsewhere, such as in the makeshift command post in the safest part of the forest where even now Nalith Celiniel met with High Prince Turgon Elanesse of Tor Elythis. But the implicit assumption, understood by all present without the need for it to be expressed verbally, was that the Lady General would not necessarily take kindly to the presence of a human within her command structure. Hence, as soon as the skirmishes had died down and the last of the Forgotten One’s forces had fled beyond the reach of the pursuing Elythisian cavalry, Ingwe had pulled a quick disappearing act into the rank and file of the army.

It was he who had convinced Prince Turgon, along with the rest of the commanders within the Legion, that they should spare their swiftest units in an attempt to reach the main body of the Raiaeran resistance, despite the lack of solid intelligence and the fact that there was no guarantee that they would be able to arrive in time. Similarly, it was he who had discerned the movement of Xem’zund’s armies as they surrounded Nalith’s beleaguered Elves, and who had swiftly ordered the redeployment that had, in the end, rescued Nalith’s bodyguard from the tide of undead warriors that threatened to swamp them from the field. The price they had paid was the chance to pin the Necromancer himself between the anvil of Nalith’s main force and the hammer of the Elythisian Silverwind, but for now both Prince Turgon and himself had agreed that it was more important to preserve the flower of Raiaeran defiance than to confront Xem’zund in open battle. The time for the final confrontation was soon, but not now… and though the numbers of undead warriors were endless, surely even the Forgotten One was beginning the feel the pressure in terms of the number of skilled lieutenants he was losing to the headhunting tactics employed by both the Legion and the Elves. Sooner or later…

Dare we hope we have a chance?

As he bent double over the next pile of corpses, a sudden whisper of wind danced in his hair, sending a swift chill racing down his spine. Instinctively Ingwe straightened tall and turned his gaze to the burning sky, trying to catch the fleeting zephyr over his shoulder as it escaped into the approaching night. But by the time his gentle gaze had settled upon the path it had traced overhead, it had long since disappeared from his sight. It left behind only the faint hint of words unsaid, of strands of fate starting to unravel beyond his control.

The young man stood still for a moment, squinting into the distance as if trying to catch something that had long since gone. Then, slowly and reluctantly, he turned back to the task at hand.

The night ahead was still long and dark.

[Zook Murnig]

Quest Judging

Moderated Quest: Spring's First Crimson Blossoms

STORY ~ 19/30

Continuity ~ 7.5/10 This began wonderfully, as did most sections. I knew what led up to the battle, both for the individual characters and tactically, and what each side stood to gain from it. However, there were several things that brought this down throughout the thread.

First, Godhand's use of Earthly concepts, such as espressos and Jesus Christ. These things don't exist on Althanas, the former being a result of the technology of Earth, the latter a result of the culture. In the past, I would have told myself that Godhand might be from Earth. But I know he was born and raised in Radasanth.

Second, I was much less familiar with Homunculus' story before this thread, and he left incredibly abruptly and cartoonishly.

Third, Slayer, you came out of nowhere. That could not be helped, and in fact it was interesting. However, what was revealed in your final post, that you were working for Xem'zund because he promised to help you find your daughter, there is no other mention of this reason, or of the daughter. I'm incredibly confused. I'm sure I wouldn't be if I had read more of your threads, but I shouldn't be expected to do so to understand what's going on in a particular one.

In the end, it all got tied together in the final post, which brought it back up a little, but nowhere near where it was at the beginning.

Finally, bonus points for tying in Devon dan Sabriel, the Starslayer, and the last person to kill Xem'zund, as well as the little lesser known details about the character.

Setting ~ 6/10 Actually wonderfully done. In the first post, this was beautiful, with the personification of the zephyr, the delicate imagery, and the way it set the stage. As the story progressed, the canyon was referred to less and less, and more and more as what seemed like a reminder that it was in one, and not just on a flat plain. This was a little odd-feeling, and hurt the score. Remember to not just mention the setting here and there, but to keep it up throughout, using every little detail to the fullest.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10 Started really smoothly, as with everything else. However, once Homunculus dropped out, and Slayer joined, it got a wonky. The thread shifted from being about a battle of armies to being about a battle between two powerhouses with grudges against each other, with the battle of armies as a backdrop. And then it suddenly, in the last post, got tied awkwardly back in with the battle of armies. This affected Continuity and Action, as well.

CHARACTER ~ 18/30

Dialogue ~ 5/10 Not a lot of it, really, except toward the end, where it was...I'm not sure how to put this. It was uncharacteristic for Xem'zund, from whom I had gotten a certain feel from in Homunculus' posts as well as Hyperion's. It was clichéd for Kross/Dan, and just felt overblown. And for Godhand it was either there or it wasn't. In the beginning, the lack of dialogue actually fit, with the bits of elven commands punctuating the action rather well.

Action ~ 5/10 I loved the large-scale parts, between the tactical plans, the descriptions of the various forces in each army mobilizing, and the overall effect that each step in the battle had. However, the close-in portions were, again overblown, especially regarding the fights between Devon/Homun and Xem, Xem and Godhand, and Godhand and Kross. They ended up boiling down to descriptions of the tactic in anime where the artist will show the clashing of two characters, immediately followed by the arc to the next clash, et cetera, et cetera. That kind of works in anime and other visual media, but even then not well. It does not work well at all in a text-based medium. Always keep in mind that you are writing not for a movie or TV show, but for a written work, and how that medium affects the things that you can and cannot effectively do within the story.

Persona ~ 8/10 Far and away, this is the category that took the fewest hits. In fact it came away almost unscathed compared to the initial impressions I got. You all know your characters and show it. Great work.

WRITING STYLE ~ 16/30

Technique ~ 6/10 As has been said above, the thread began beautifully, and it maintained quality writing almost through the first ten posts. I did not look at post dates, but I get the feeling that it was then that Homunculus began to feel a time crunch and that he might have dropped out of the quest because he felt he was holding it back. Godhand suffered from this as well, but to a lesser extent. Finally, beware the filler. If an event does not add to the story, either now or later, do not include it. The Archivist attacking and being devoured, for example, did little for the overall story, except to add several paragraphs on an already overlong post.

Mechanics ~ 6/10 In the beginning, there were only a few nitpicks of words that got misspelled into other words, which a spellcheck will not pick up. However, it got worse as it went, and by post eleven I was having to piece together sentences. Then it picked back up, but as soon as Slayer joined, the spelling errors came back. Slayer, it is very clear that you don't use a spellcheck, and that you may have a sticky i key. I could literally see your fingers flying across the keyboard as you wrote the posts, hitting unintended extra letters on the way to the h key. The enthusiasm is a good thing, don't get me wrong, but when you write at such a feverish pace, remember to toss it through a spellcheck at the very least.

Clarity ~ 4/10 Overall, I understood what was happening, but in the midst of a few posts I got lost in the action and the breakneck speed of it. These problems with Clarity can be addressed by addressing the problems in the contributing categories, as well as Mechanics.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 8/10 I enjoyed the hell out of this thread, despite all I've said. It was a good read, and an interesting story. And as I said in Continuity, mad bonus points for including Devon.

TOTAL ~ 61

Flames of Hyperion gains 3154 EXP and 488 GP
Godhand gains 3572 EXP and 366 GP
Homunculus gains 1817 EXP and 305 GP
Slayer of the Rot gains 2216 EXP and 183 GP

Slayer of the Rot gains the Saraelian abilities back.

If you have any questions about the judgment or how you can improve, PM me or send me a message on AIM, screen name SuperSonicMatt1.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added!

Godhand hits level 12!