The Aequitas Chamber

[Godhand]

If the commando had been a hawk hunting a dove, then Godhand had been the eagle hunting the hawk. They'd matched up just right; the shots were still difficult but they were moving in more or less the same direction at more or less the same speed. Godhand smiled as he unleashed a rain of lead on his opponent, but amazingly enough the bullets failed to have any effect on Joshua. They drew blood, certainly, but Godhand wielded .50 caliber handcannons and he expected bones to break and flesh to rend when he landed a shot. They'd always done so before, anyway. What was so different now?

He kept firing even as his adversary advanced on the helpless mystic, and it was only by an incredible stroke of luck that Sei managed to avoid a fatal head stomping. And then a curious thing happened. The commando couldn't seem to breathe; pretty soon he was writhing on the ground and choking to death. Whether it'd been the soot and smoke of the arena-turned-volcano, or the shredded glass permeating the air, or a previously-unknown spell cast by Lillian, Godhand couldn't tell. It could have been a myriad of other things, as well. Perhaps a failsafe put into place by one of the vanquished competitors? In any case, his sheath seemed to be protecting the mercenary for now.

He watched, mystified, as Joshua ambled away from Sei before seemingly committing suicide by leaping off their raised island into the magma below. Godhand immediately thought it some sort of ruse, but sure enough he heard the sizzle and smelled the smoke when the commando plunged into the burning liquid. It was possible he could have survived. He definitely didn't put it past him, seeing how little effect his bullets had had on the man. Still, something told him he wasn't going to emerge from the lava. At least, not by his own power.

Afterward, he heard Sei's voice in his mind, asking someone, anyone, to be his mercy angel. Godhand didn't quite know how to react. He could have put a hole in his head right then, sure, but it just didn't seem right. He wouldn't call him his friend exactly but they shared history and at his age that's something you valued. Anyway, he justified it to himself by considering that if the wounded paladin had his way, Sei wouldn't be around much longer.

Just then, a geyser of magma soared into the air and some sort of inhuman elemental monster formed out of the molten rock. Jesus Christ, it never ended with these people. He swung a fist made of lava towards the mystic as Godhand opened fire yet again, the lead melting inside the creature almost as soon as it penetrated. And then he'd attacked Lillian with another wave of magma, and there was nothing he could do.

He'd always wanted to believe otherwise, but it seemed that he was the type of man that when faced with a chance to either protect his protege or destroy his enemies, would pick the latter.

But life was all about self-improvement, right?

He flipped in the air and landed feet first against the wall, immediately using his superior speed to run across the vertical surface before gravity could take effect. He dashed madly across the arena, firing at the creature all the while as he raced towards Lillian, but it was to no effect. He grew desperate and holstered his Magnums, instead pulling out his muramasa and cutting a burning thread that stood in his way.

It was a stretch, but he was almost there. He could do this. He could make it. Just a little more...

And so he leaped, hoping he'd manage to tackle Lillian, his own personal hero, out of the way.

[Amen]

Iron met stone with a dull spark, and Marcus leaned heavily upon the hilt of his old blade. This was the first time he felt some connection to the hand-me-down weapon, like it was actually an extension of his body as opposed to a dead weight he wielded about for want of something better. That was sure to be the last time he wielded this blade in the Aequitas chamber, hit or miss: Book didn’t have the strength to extricate the weapon from the fleshy hold of a corpse, so he certainly wasn’t going to get it back out of solid stone.

Sei was gone, and the battered paladin didn’t have the capacity to lift his head and look about, to gauge his position or that of any other gladiator. He had been running on fumes and determination, and those last vestiges of strength were spent. With a quiet grunt, the big warrior sat himself down on the arena floor, oblivious to the heat now. He leaned back against his blade, which was so deeply imbedded in the stone that it supported his weight. For good or ill, Marcus Book was done.

He grinned hardly as he rested the back of his head against the cross guard of his sword, and lifted his eyes. The lava hissed and bubbled all around him, and the ground trembled beneath him. A shadow fell over him, and he chuckled soundlessly, closing his eyes and letting his chin fall against his chest.

A giant composed of molten stone loomed over him, and its vocalizations vibrated in the paladin’s chest. It turned its baleful attention to the revived mystic, but Marcus did not lift his head to watch what had to be a brutal end. Instead he let go, released himself to the will of his body, which begged for unconsciousness and oblivion. He sighed in relief, liberated from so much pressure and hardship, and waited for the black to rise up and take him.

A moment passed, and then stretched. One tick of the watch became two, and then three. Then six, then nine.

On the march went, but peace would not come. A solitary tear of inexpressible frustration cut its way through the blood and grime on its trek down the paladin’s cheek. His heart beat stubbornly on, pushing heat through Marcus’ battered limbs, heat born of a fire growing in the man’s chest.

This fire had little to do with its natural cousin, which plied its destruction all around the Aequitas chamber – it was a personal flame, an incorporeal but existent one. It was born of fury and could not be seen or touched, but it could be measured. How could one deny it when a man who should have been long on his way to hell was standing again, oozing blood from every pore on his left arm, the skin of his back rendered one giant blister, his right shoulder caked with curdled gore? His lower jaw was war-painted with his own red life, and his irises were golden cinders as they scanned the scene before them.

In the throes of combat, Marcus would have overlooked the big picture in the struggle to survive: he would not have been able to tear his eyes from the molten giant. Now, a man already past death’s veil and breathing yet, he had no concern for oblivion. He watched as one of the competitors – another giant, untouchable in Marcus’ estimation – ran along a wall and slashed at what seemed to be a free-floating line of fire, and somehow it all began to make sense. When the line was severed, the half-visible wisps of flame faded, and the molten portion of the giant that wisp connected to seemed, if only slightly, to cool. Marcus suspected he had died and the experiences of the last few moments had been one vast hallucination, but he felt compelled to act.

Possessed of his second wind, Book reclaimed his sword from the stone, and turned. He ran hard, searching his surroundings for any sign of…yes! He saw it now: a knife rooted delicately in the adamantine of the wall, trailing an oh-so-thin length of what looked to be thread or wire, which itself burned, and from that burning fed an endless stream of ghostly fire to the magma giant. The paladin brought his sword down on the throwing knife once, and then twice, and on the second blow it lost its anchor in the wall and fell, and the fire rolling off of it dissipated.

Marcus tried to raise his voice to the others, and found that attempting to yell made him first cough up a fresh mouthful of blood and phlegm. He spat, and tried again, and this time his voice reached out over the hiss and pop of the surrounding lava and the rumbling moans of the elemental. “There are strings!” he screamed, “Cut the fucking strings!”

[Silence Sei]

When Sei had felt the rumble in the ground, and the incredible heat rise up beside him, he was shocked to say the least. The mute tried to run from whatever was to his side, tried to escape. But it was no use. While he had narrowly avoided getting smashed by the giant arm, the shockwave of its impact to the ground sent the mute flying. Sei could feel a sharp stinging over his left arm. As he focused his eyes on to the appendage he found that it was gone, melted away with one splash of the acidic magma.

Sei landed on the ground and forced himself back up, blood pouring from his arm socket. His last ace-in-the-hole had failed him. Now he had only a matter of moments to do something, anything. Sei looked up towards Max Dirks as he decided his next course of action.

One step. The mute's mind filled with the vision of a scared eight year old girl. One who was defended by the mystic just barely in time to save her life. After slaying the beast that had come after her, Sei picked the child up and took her from that cold Salvar air. She would become his daughter, and she would be the best thing to ever happen to him.

Two steps. His eyes began to see as another girl approached him in his home. She wanted to help him defeat a bandit and maybe find her past. Sei accepted the task. With a few laughs and journey to one of his races home town, he had another daughter. Kyla Orlouge had always been a part of his family, but now he could declare her a 'daughter' as well. Sei's eyes began to well up with tears.

Three steps. The mute raised a trembling finger towards Max Dirks for only three seconds. His face remembered the fight in the bar. How he had lost his mind temporary all in the name of defeating the gunslinger. Time seemed to skip ahead to the mute asking the man who was once his greatest enemy if he would be the one to take care of Anita should something happened to him. Now, Sei wanted Dirks to know that no matter what happened, Sei was there.

And with three mighty steps, Sei Orlouge's body fell to the ground, a pool of azure liquid surrounding his body. The crowd fell silent at this revelation. Then almost as if inspired by the mute, they once again began their chant for the hero. Their cries filled his dying ears as the mute sent one last message to only Dirks.

"Even in death... they cry for me over you... I am their champion... you can not change that..."

With that, Sei Orlouge closed his eyes and let death finally take him.

((Concluding post. It was a blast guys. If I advance, you'll be pleasantly surprised I hope by what I have in store next.))

[Ataraxis]

One man had been lost to the burning seas, but another had now risen in his stead… that is, if it could still be considered a man. Lillian could not know with certainty, but she believed the arsonist had found a spark of life in the volcano’s womb, and had let that spark ignite him. What she saw, however, was not a phoenix reborn from its ashes: it was a perversion of the myth, a sickening simulacrum of man and fire alike. The girl thought she saw a smile bubble hotly beneath that amorphous face, and she watched in terror as it drew a hand back, as if to ready a hammer’s strike. The smoldering crust upon its shoulder cracked in a network of glowing veins, and the beast flung its gigantic arm down on the dying mystic. It snapped like a whip, breaking against the floor in a deadly splash of flying magma.

Charred flesh and burnt fat filled the noxious air, and Sei stumbled to the ground. Smoke seeped from the stump that had once been his arm, only partially cauterized by the lava that had devoured it. Blue blood was pooling beneath the mute, and he expelled his last breath under the chants of the ferocious crowd. They clamored his name, but the cries sounded so disingenuous, almost obscene… not the cries that mourned a hero’s death, but that delighted in one’s sordid end. Lillian could feel their attention shift to her now, as if awaiting another spectacular performance to top the last one. ‘Don’t you start looking at me now, you vultures.’

The beast of magma shifted in its boiling lake, slowly bringing its arm to bear as it reserved the girl a similar fate. That was when Lillian saw Godhand run across the burning walls, ignoring the hissing of his boots as he sought to save her. He’d barreled through a thread blocking his way, not realizing that the severed link had drained the heat from a patch the creature’s molten armor: without its precious fuel, it cooled down to a darkening payer of volcanic rock. The only other survivor in this arena had the same epiphany, and she nodded in agreement as the mercenary closed in. ‘Caught between a frying pan and a hard place,’ the girl lamented inwardly, steeling herself for the indescribable pain that was soon to come – either from being melted alive, or crushed by a human freight train.

The train struck first. While it might have been the lesser of two agonies, Lillian wasn’t quite ready to call herself fortunate. She felt like a fly caught in a race horse’s teeth, flattened by the sheer force of the tackle but unable to break free. Somehow, though, the mercenary had avoided crushing her bones, and her organs had not suffered a collective failure as of yet. As long as she could speak…

“Throw me,” she muttered between grit teeth. Before he could question and protest, she clamped his mouth shut with her hand. “Throw me! High!”

Godhand stopped his dash at once, trailing dust as his boots scraped against the ground to a stop. Though reluctant, he lowered his stance, and his muscles coiled as one. Lillian was crouched now, legs bent and feet cupped in his hands. With a stentorian cry of ‘alley oop’, he flung his arms up, and at the end of the swing, Lillian kicked the platform of his hands as hard as she could.

She could feel the wind on her face, but rather than a pleasing breeze, it threatened to tear her face off her skull. She spun in mid-flight, disappearing into the clouds, her body now upside down as she dangerously approached the crest of the force-field. Her boots struck the solid barrier with a deafening shock, but rather than falling like the glass shards from Sei’s destructive spell, Lillian remained stuck to shield as if by some adhesive – her webs. Assessing the arena from the peak of the world, she pinpointed the locations of all the remaining daggers that kept the burning diamond in place.

From her perch, she drew an arsenal of throwing knives. Her arms coiled, lithe muscles becoming cords of flexing steel. Her eyes narrowed as she steadied her aim, pulling back on the reins of her gargantuan strength… and she unleashed them all.

The ground broke apart in seven points, and the sound of clanging metal echoed throughout the arena. Her daggers had not only severed the burning strings that formed the ritualistic array, but their sheer force and velocity had dislodged the knives themselves. The diamond sizzled before burning up in wisps of smoke, and the intangible flames that had fueled the monsters dissipated into thin air. “Now, Godhand!”

The mercenary didn't miss a beat. He had cannonballed into the heart of danger, vaulting over the pool of lava to perform a vivisection on the fly. Adamantine slid through the magma like a knife through bread, offering no resistance to slow his momentum. After sailing through the air, Godhand landed in a safe patch of dirt, turning just in time to see the severed halves of the red giant collapse into lava below. A garland of lingering flames was trailing from the chopped corpse to his sheath; as it was sucked inside, it vaguely resembled the ghost of a burning man.

It was over.

Lillian neutralized the webs on the soles of her boots, detaching from the force-field with a smile of abandon. Seeing this, Godhand cursed and bounded once more, catching the girl in his outstretched arms a second before she crashed to her grisly death. “Come on, why do you keep doing this to me!” the man shouted, but she could hear the relief lacing his anxious words.

“Yelled too much. Throat parched. Hassle.” Lillian took a moment of respite in his arms, breathing as slowly as she could. The atmosphere was still suffocating, but it was definitely cooling down; they might yet escape death by convection. Now that her adrenaline rush had run out, the girl looked up at the mercenary, managing a hint of smile. “Also, hi.”

Carefully, Godhand let the girl slide from his embrace, and she relished the firm support of the ground under her feet. “I think we can end this here,” Lillian spoke out loud, though her voice was still raspy from the soot and smoke. “We could always hack at each other until only one of us is left, but from what I understand, these people need survivors for the next round. We’d profit more from staying bruised and battered, than teetering on the brink of death, post-revival…”

She turned her head askance, glacial eyes fixated on the paladin. It was clear now that she had been addressing him. “Don't you think?”

All of this, naturally, done with Rayse's and Godhand's permission (sheath, fire threads, absorption of Rayse specifically done on his request for reasons that will or already have become readily obvious).

Concluding post.

[Neville Longinus]

The present...

The molten giant felt itself weaken when one of the strings was accidentally severed by Godhand. Part of its body felt sluggish, and it could no longer lift up one of its arms. Its face slumped, but continued advancing toward Lillian. Then, she severed the rest of the threads.

The beast of magma came to a full stop, its features hardening as it struggled to move. It let out another deafening moan as the mercenary came in and sliced it in two. Rayse was almost entirely fire now, nearly succumbing to the magical sickness. However, as the last source of magic in the giant he was inadvertently absorbed into Godhand's sheath, preventing him from burning out.

Little did Godhand know, the sheath was acting like a magical leech, slowly turning the formless Rayse back into a human. Was his life saved? Only time will tell.

Many months ago...

In The Synthesis Shop in Fallien, an experienced rune-maker mixed the ingredients Rayse had painstakingly scoured throughout the country.

"How much longer you gonna take, old man?" Rayse asked impatiently, his breath hoarse and his clothes covered in dirt.

All around him was the vibrant display of alchemy. Behind that, many crystals leaned against the stone walls on many shelves, reflecting and refracting the light to make the whole place come alive. It was almost brighter inside than it was outside.

"Just a little longer," came a voice from the tarp behind the counter.

Rayse didn't have time. He could simply burn out and fade away from existence entirely at any moment. The Contractor would not allow fate to play such a cruel joke on him. With his foot tapping and his teeth greedily chewing on the butt of his third cigarette in ten minutes, his glare could not look any sharper despite the black rings of fatigue around his eyes.

He looked up and thought about the last thing he would like to do in this world. Maybe find the one true love out there for him and spend one last night with her. Maybe he could spend it under the Salvaran sky, looking over Knife's Edge. Neither seemed very realistic, since his hometown was likely rubble by now.

"All done!" announced the old rune-maker, handing Rayse a short, thick bottle filled with pills.

"What's this?" he asked.

The old man stroked his long, white beard and adjusted his thick glasses, "Why, the cure of course! Now listen here, and listen carefully... No more than two per day. I've mixed in the ingredients into liquid form, added a touch of this and that, and encased them with some thin wax. The side effects are irritability and a loss of clarity; Which means it'll be harder to think clearly. Just take two of them for the next sixteen months and you'll be fine."

"What if I take more than two?" Rayse asked, staring at the bottle incredulously. How could something so small be his cure?

"Well... you would be cured faster, but the consequences would be severe. I'm talking blackouts with entire memory loss during the blackouts as well, coupled with extreme irritability and your rune will likely go haywire as well. I would not recommend it under any circumstances." Rayse hid his inner smile, knowing full well that he couldn't afford to be like this for the next two years. "Even if you did take more than recommended, taking more than two the following day would almost certainly result in a heart attack that would kill you. Speaking of which, don't get any big boosts of energy while you're taking the medication, as it could also cause the rune to go crazy."

Rayse seemed almost dismissive of the old man now, "Right. Got it. No coffee. Anything else?"

"Well, no... I suppose not."

He didn't even ask what the pills did. As Rayse left The Synthesis Shop, he looked at the bottle and grinned like a maniac. Sixteen with only two per day? So that meant what... about fourteen per week? What if he took fourteen three times per week? That would cut down his recovery time to a little over five months.

He decided. If he was going to enter hell, he would go the whole nine yards. Pouring the right amount of pills into his hand, he prepared for the worst five months of his life. As he downed the wax-covered liquid, everything turned black.

Don't go anywhere world, you'll see me again someday.

((Conclusion post.))

[Amen]

As the throng’s chant quieted, Marcus found himself one of them – closer to the action, yes, infinitely closer, but he effectively had no more influence over the outcome of these final events than Sei’s daughter or Duffy’s well-wishers. Less, maybe: his battered body would not be able to carry his sword to all of the enchanted daggers, not before the elemental turned its malevolence on him, and so it fell on the remaining heroes. If they failed, Book died.

Success seemed unlikely, and the paladin's shoulders were tense despite his sombre resignation. The man called Striker was rendered a blur of colors, which swept the slim shape of Lillian Sesthal out of harm’s way and, after a moment’s pause, flung her bodily into the air with such force that Marcus feared that it was Godhand’s intention to kill her by battering her small body against the shield.

She plunged through the roiling steam and the churning cloud, as quick and graceful as a darting sparrow, and just as quickly she became indistinguishable from the rest of the shield above – there was just too much going on. Marcus couldn't see her knives coming from above with uncanny accuracy and untraceable speed, and the only sign of her success was the palpable change in the atmosphere: the temperature stopped rising.

Striker completed the deed with equal speed and expert timing. The monster was done, the last sign of it sinking into the red river that spawned it amidst flames that danced and faded in the space of a breath. The paladin sighed and let the tip of his sword fall to the ground, and he willed himself to walk.

Godhand landed with his partner in hand, both safe, and Marcus limped over to them, dragging the end of his blade on the cooling stone of the arena floor.

“I think we can end this here,” he heard Lillian say. Book imagined that her voice was a pleasant one normally, but now it was raw and cracked, ravaged by the inhospitable air.

“We could always hack at each other until only one of us is left,” the girl continued, “but from what I understand, these people need survivors for the next round. We’d profit more from staying bruised and battered than teetering on the break of death, post-revival.”

The paladin coughed and spat, and the result was tinged scarlet. He lifted his eyes and realized the young woman was speaking to him: “Don’t you think?”

Book glanced at Godhand, half expecting the second giant to pull his pistol and negate the need for him to answer, and then his eyed turned back to the young librarian.

“Gods, yes,” he croaked.

This is my concluding post.

[Godhand]

Godhand had been about as careful as he could have been, barreling through the air towards the girl at terminal velocity. He'd spread the impact out as best he could but he imagined she'd still have the wind knocked out of her. Still, it was a lot better than dying a miserable burning death. Well, he thought so, anyway.

Still, the girl didn't miss a beat. She was all business and was begging to be hurled into the air as soon as the mercenary had managed to whisk her out of harm's way. He was extremely reluctant to let the girl go, obviously, but she seemed to have a plan and Godhand knew it was probably all up to her at that point. That goddamn monster would manage to catch up with him sooner or later and the sheath only prevented it from maintaining cohesion; it didn't make the natural lava disappear, and getting showered with burning magma probably felt the same whether it was in the shape of a fist or not.

And so, with the steam and soot and generally oppressive heat throttling him down like an unfriendly drunk, he threw the girl in the air and hoped for the best. He'd managed to measure his force enough that he didn't think she'd collide against the force-field. If anything, she might not even make it that high. He'd been THAT careful; that's how much he cared.

Sure enough, though, the little NWO member that could managed to dispel whatever ugly voodoo was holding the lava creature together. Magma limbs hardened and fell off, until all the was left was a quickly sinking coffin of cooled volcanic stone. Godhand didn't want to take any chances; he thought that prick had died on three separate occasions and with his lava controlling powers, it was definitely in his interests to make sure. With that in mind, he leaped into the air and swung his blade right through the lukewarm, malleable rock. It fell in two and sunk into the magma, and Godhand was satisfied. If he came back from that, well, he deserved to win.

And then FUCK HIM if he didn't have to save the stupid goddamn kid again. He soared through the air and managed to catch her, but not without the toe of his boot dipping into the lava when he landed.

"Son of a BITCH! What the fuck is your problem!?"

He didn't habitually curse but the heat and blood and pain had soured his mood.

"I am nearly forty years old. Do you know how my knees feel whenever I make a jump like that?"

He might not have said it, but he was worried about her. She seemed to have suffered a lot of wounds and whether or not they were life threatening, they'd slow her down. You didn't want to be slowed down in The Cell. He wasn't in the best shape either, to tell the truth; the blood was flowing down his arm and abdomen free and clear. Some of it wasn't his. Most of it was. The mercenary could fight on but he wouldn't be comfortable fighting, say, Letho Ravenheart at the moment. He knew Dahlios had signed up for the tournament; hopefully he was in better shape than they were. He could also be dead, come to think of it, but what were the odds of that happening?

It was as he pondered this that Lillian had seemed to make a unilateral decision to spare the new guy. Frankly, he didn't care. As far as he was concerned the paladin could live forever or die that second.

Still, the little girl had really put him through Hell. With that in mind, he swung her around, grabbed her by the cheeks and kissed her on her soot-covered lips.

No tongue. It was all very chaste.

"Never change."

Conclusion post. Kiss stolen WITHOUT permission. Fuck the po-lice.

[Max Dirks]

A few general comments: watch the power gaming. Convenient escapes are one thing, but acting completely beyond your character’s level and Althanas physics are another. Individual comments, as well as EXP totals are below.

016573 – You didn’t strike a good cord with me right off the bat with your door attack. The only reason why I didn’t DQ you in game was because I caught it too late. Otherwise, your character development following Lillian’s injection was phenomenal. You had the best conclusion of the group.

Story: 15/30
Character: 19/30
Writing Style: 19/30
Wildcard: 1/10
Total: 54/100

Amen – You were a pleasant surprise in this battle; however I could tell as a reader that you struggled to push your character in a particular direction during the middle of the battle.

Story: 16/30
Character: 16/30
Writing Style: 16/30
Wildcard: 5/10
Total: 53/100

Ataraxis —You took the crown in this battle for two reasons. First, your writing was very clear. It was easy to follow your characters actions and your opponent’s actions due to your character’s observations. Second, you interacted with the field the most. You planned ahead and worked with other writers to advance the story. Also, in your next profile update I’d like you to specifically enumerate the “boost” ability, as I was only able to derive the ability from your Widow power.

Story: 20/30
Character: 17/30
Writing Style: 20/30
Wildcard: 4/10
Total: 61/100

Duffy Bracken--The number of NPCs you used in the battle made your writing unclear. Without reading your profile I would be at a loss to all of the NPCs you mentioned in the battle. A profile scour shouldn’t be necessary when a one or two line introduction would have sufficed. Finally, your pacing would have received the lowest score of the bunch. In my mind, based on what I was reading, a single one of the songs Duffy or the troupe were singing could have lasted the entire duration of the battle.

Story: 15/30
Character: 15/30
Writing Style: 17/30
Wildcard: 5/10
Total: 52/100

Godhand –You surprised me the most in this battle. Your writing is still a bit choppy (you tend to jump tenses and perspectives), but your actions are well defined. Furthermore, aside from a single instance of metagaming, you did not powergame the entire round. Though if they hadn’t power gamed some writers might have scored higher than you, in my mind this is a well earned second place finish.

Story: 17/30
Character: 16/30
Writing Style 18/30
Wildcard: 5/10
Total: 56/100

Hysteria –You’ve got some room to grow on your writing style. Avoid prepositional phrases and run on sentences and you should be fine. I can give you some additional tips outside of the tournament judgment if you’re interested. I thought your action was bland, but I did give you an extra point for your attempt to “catch” Sei and sacrifice Talen to win. Avoid sentences like, “Sometimes someone could pull an amazing move out of their arse and save themselves…” in passive language because it sounds like your taking a shot at the writer and not expressing what your character would think. That’s metagaming.

Story: 16/30
Character: 15/30
Writing Style: 12/30
Wildcard: 5/10
Total: 47/100

Neville –You had a fairly good start to the battle and your interactions with Lillian and Godhand were fun, but it’s hard to ignore some of the power gaming done. I didn’t punish you as much as 016573 because your violations weren’t as grand, but your area effect actions (like heating the dome and breaking the ground) were excessive.

Story: 15/30
Character: 18/30
Writing Style: 18/30
Wildcard: 1/10
Total: 52/100

Silence Sei –I’m a mixed bag with you. On one hand you had the best character development of the group. Not only did you interact with those Sei knew, but also those who he didn’t. However, you hurt yourself in the end by letting Sei carry on for so long. It’s like I read the same conclusion three times. Furthermore, of all the setting manipulation done, second to Neville, yours was the most questionable. Lions I can accept due to the nature of the Would? spell. However, making the sun appear when I described the rain as torrential (given the fact that your character benefits from sunlight and merely minutes would have passed since I described that) is unrealistic. Also, you took some excessive liberties with the shield that you’ll notice I had to account for in my writing.

Story: 15/30
Character: 19/30
Writing Style: 18/30
Wildcard: 2/10
Total: 54/100

Ataraxis, Godhand, 016573, and Silence Sei advance to round two!

Rewards: Ataraxis receives 2500 EXP, Godhand receives 2000 EXP, 016573 receives 1750 EXP, Silence Sei receives 1750 EXP, Amen receives 1600 EXP, Duffy Bracken receives 1250 EXP, Neville Longinus (Rayse Valentino) receives 1100 EXP, Hysteria receives 750 EXP.

Each participant receives 500 GP.

[Max Dirks]

Updated EXP rewards:

016573- 2490 EXP
Amen- 2195 EXP
Ataraxis- 2760 EXP
Duffy Bracken- 2130 EXP
Godhand- 2630 EXP
Hysteria- 1820 EXP
Neville Longinus- 2080 EXP
Silence Sei- 2495 EXP