In the Shadow of Oblivion (Closed)

[Sagequeen]

Some graphic descriptions. You’ve been warned. ^^

Skip to the dashes below if you prefer to avoid tastefully done sexy-time.

“So it would seem,” she replied with a coy grin, and let him lead her hurriedly from the library to the room he had prepared for them. He swung open the door for her, and the maiden padded inside the room. Jensen lagged behind to scuff away the ‘X’ and secure the door, giving it a good shake to test the lock and the hinges. Erissa shrugged out of her jacket, watching him from of the corner of her eye to see if he was watching her as well, and of course, he was. She giggled shyly as she tossed the leather at him, which he slapped aside, looking somewhat like a wolf stalking a lamb as he paced toward her.

Indeed, Jensen was stalking her.

His own jacket dropped to the floor, a crumpled pile cast aside and forgotten. The immortal kicked his boots off, and with a mischievous grin, slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it on the arm of a sturdy, wooden chair. Jensen stripped off his pants, with naught but his shorts left on.

“Your turn,” he said, laughing as the elf gaped and oogled him, all in the same look. Erissa fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, her blue-green eyes wide and heart racing. Jensen closed the gap between them. His practiced hands caressed her, resting finally at the small of her back. He kissed her neck, sending thrills through her body. The immortal pulled away, staring deeply into Erissa’s eyes as he lifted her shirt, and she raised her arms willingly as he removed it.

Jensen bent forward and kissed the creamy, silken skin just below the high elf’s neck, down to the swell of her ample breasts. He felt her breath catch in pleasure and apprehension, and her hands went to the back of his head, keeping him close. Erissa felt his face tighten in a wide smile, but she had neither the time nor the presence of mind to anticipate what he was about to do.

With a quick snap of his fingers, she felt the snugness of her brassiere immediately released. Before she could even think about bringing her hands up to hold it in place, Jensen had slipped the dainty straps down her smooth shoulders. The immortal’s gut clenched and he sighed as Erissa was revealed before him, blushing and beautiful.

“I love that shade of pink on you,” Jensen said, chuckling, and his rough fingers traced diminishing circles around her breast until they brushed against her pert nipple. Erissa flushed and trembled with tingling sensations, never having known the touch of a lover. A moan escaped her lips as she cast her head back and closed her eyes. Her back arched as he bent downward and took her breast in his mouth, his tongue flicking and teeth gently tugging at the rosy flesh. The elf’s lithe body shivered as Jensen gave the other equally as much attention, and then kissed his way down to the button of her leather pants, coming to rest on his knees before her.

“Please,” Erissa said huskily, unsure if she were begging him to stop or to continue. Jensen looked at her questioningly, and she bit her bottom lip as her hands went to the button, unfastening it. She gingerly slid the pants down her hips and to the floor. Jensen agilely stood and took Erissa by the hand; he led her to the bed. The immortal yanked back the blankets hastily, and she slipped between the sheets, her eyes timidly inviting him to join her. Jensen tossed himself down beside the elf, resting on his side, propping his head up with his hand; Erissa lay likewise, facing him.

“Touch me like that again, Jensen,” she said quietly, her eyes shining as they focused on the man before her. She could not remember exactly what had frightened her so badly before finding the library, but Erissa convinced herself it must have been the story of End Bringer that Jensen had told. The thought was washed away as the immortal drew closer, his eyes smoldering.

“Liked that, did ya, kitten?” He put pressure against her shoulder, urging her to lay on her back, and she quickly obliged. Jensen braced his top half over her, his black, red-tipped hair hanging along the line of his jaw and framing his dark, intense eyes.

“Well,” Erissa said bashfully, staring up at him and filled with wonder, “it is different than I thought, and better. Books do not exactly-” As he interrupted her with his kiss, he fondled her body more urgently, along her hips and thighs, and back up to her bare breasts.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfect pair of tits,” he mumbled before filling his mouth with them again.

“Such a sweet-talker,” Erissa murmured absently. The warm ache between her legs intensified, and she shuddered as Jensen’s fingers tickled her fluttering stomach, searching their way down past her navel. There was but a thin layer of cotton between him and her ache, and Jensen growled like a man stricken as his fingers brushed against her warmth. His vision briefly faded to white when he felt the raw, wet longing Erissa harbored for him, and an adrenaline-fed giggle bubbled up from his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her nails dug into his flesh at the sensation of his experienced fingers, her gasping moans further inciting the immortal’s desire.

Erissa Caedron could not, would not, say no to him.

“I love you,” Jensen whispered, nuzzling against her neck.

“I love you, too,” she said breathily. Jensen reluctantly stopped before sighing heavily. “What?” Erissa softly demanded.

“It’s just that you’re.....”

“Pristine?” Erissa asked.

“Yeah, prissy. And a virgin,” he said moodily.

“It would seem to me that you have just the tool to solve at least one of those little problems, Mr. Ambrose,” she challenged. Her grin faded as she watched Jensen’s face, each breath preparing a reply, lips struggling to form words that would never pass them. “Well?” Erissa finally asked.

“Well,” Jensen said slowly, knowing within his core that something was off about the situation, “now isn’t the right time. This isn’t the right place. It’s the fucking Bastion of the Apocalypse, and this is a dead man’s bed.” He regretted the statement immediately, expecting Erissa to recoil. Instead, she smiled wistfully.

“I would give myself to you because I love you, and you will not have me because you love me,” the elf said with a bittersweet laugh. She kissed his cheek, his stubble tickling her lips and nose. “Very well, Jensen. That can wait. But please, I need release,” she whispered in his ear, “and so do you.” Erissa bit down roughly on his neck, her breath sending chills down his spine, and she gripped his manhood. “For the sake of the mission, of course,” she added lightly.

A mischievous grin quickly found its way to Jensen’s face after he had recovered from the shock of her forwardness.

“If you insist,” he rumbled, and set to ravishing her.

A few rooms over, Geoffry shook his head as he set aside a heavy tome.

“For a castle, this place has thin walls,” he grumbled. No secrets in the Bastion, he thought.

- - - - - -

One waggly-eyebrowed look from Geoffry was all it took for Erissa to know the privacy she thought they had enjoyed had been an illusion. He was surrounded by a growing wall of books, stacked neatly on the table before him, his eager face barely visible in the lamplight. The Knight rose from the table to greet them.

“You’re looking rather relaxed, Jensen,” he said, jutting an elbow into the immortal’s side. Jensen shrugged, scratching the back of his head as he chuckled, yet the incredibly embarrassed look on Erissa’s face elicited more guffaws from both Jensen and Geoffry.

“Men,” the elf said curtly, the wounding of her pride lessening as she gazed again at the wonders of the library. She clutched the book on psionics tightly against her chest. “I could spend a lifetime in here,” the arcanist mused.

“But you can’t, my dear,” Geoffry said, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s time, finally. Jensen will go and scout the way to the Chamber of Fate, and we’ll follow behind him.” The man’s excitement was palpable.

“Why don’t you scout,” Jensen smirked, crossing his arms.

“Because,” Geoffry replied sharply, “you do your job better when you’re not staring at her. And I’m so close after so many years that I’ll be damned if I’m going to get ambushed and killed by grave robber trash.” Jensen pouted for a moment but threw his hands in the air.

“Fine. Ten minutes, then follow!” the immortal whined. “It’s always the same story,” he grumbled as he swatted Erissa’s posterior. “Send Jensen; it doesn’t matter if he dies. Well, no one ever asks me if I mind.” The elf coughed into her hand, covering a riotous smile as the immortal strode away, his complaints still echoing through the library when he was out of sight. He threaded his way through the last of the bookshelves and into a long, stone hallway with a series of stairs descending into the belly of the Bastion.

Erissa laughed again, shaking her head. Geoffry eyed her closely.

“We did not-” she began, at once aware of his attention.

“I don’t care!” Geoffry cut in, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Really, it’s not my business.”

“Of course not,” the elf stuttered, the uncomfortable weight of the silence that followed almost unbearable.

“Did you have a chance to read any of that book?” Geoffry finally asked as he leaned back on the table, gazing out across the shadows that plagued the vaulted ceilings.

“Just a few pages, honestly,” Erissa replied. “Perhaps I should have left it with you after all. I have it here in my--” her face paled as she realized she carried the book in her arms, and had no idea where her satchel was. She did not recall seeing Jensen with his backpack, either.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Geoffry laughed, “the two of you left in quite a rush last night, I imagine. I came back here for another book, and both of your bags were laying by the table.” The warrior shifted and nudged two packs resting on a chair near him. “I’d have taken them to your room, but you two were... indisposed. So I held on to them.”

“Oh, Geoffry,” Erissa cried, “thank you!” Her memory of why the packs were so important was hazy, but she knew they were. “As for the book,” she said softly. “I only made it a few pages in before I fell asleep, not that I could concentrate very well with Jensen’s snoring. However, I think I learned a thing or two,” she said slowly, nodding.

“What did you learn?” he asked, his gaze intense.

“Shielding,” Erissa said with a heavy sigh, “from basic assaults only. For example, if you had my ability to read memories, I could make it very difficult for you by concentrating on other powerful memories combined with a very basic mental ward. I suppose it is more like redirecting the course of a river than damming it.” Geoffry nodded thoughtfully as Erissa thumbed through a few more pages. Suddenly, her head snapped up as she heard something no human ear could have caught. “What was that?” the high elf said softly.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The immortal moved between the halls of the establishment with little in the way of bandits, thieves, or even a stray mouse. The halls of the Bastion were emptied save the dead, and Jensen felt a yawn come over him. In lieu of better things, he reflected on the elf and her willingness to try new things. He had to admit she had surprised him as of late, but then again, he was racially blind to her beauty and charm. How, how could he have been so blind?

Nothing in his life ever made him feel so good. Nothing at all. Erissa was like the rock in the storm he could cling to, and her grip was unbreakable. She was a tether of joy that made him sane again from his immortal life. She took his hand; she carried him forwards. The woman was nothing but pure bliss.

He grinned stupidly at the memories of their behavior in the moonlit hours before a knife splitting headache stripped into his mind and cut him deeply. Unlike any time before this time Jensen felt the memory force its way. The power of this memory was breaking through a dam, and he couldn’t focus at all as he woozily dropped to one knee. Flashes of red painfully teased the corners of his eyes as he let out a silent scream, the jacket he wore burning on his back. He clung to the memory, intently gripping fiercely on the vision he was seeing; trying to understand something of the memory fighting to break away from his conscious thought.

Jensen…there’s been an attack… Jensen stumbled forwards as he heard Sei’s voice in his mind, but it had that ancient twinge of the past to it, almost smoky in the manner it flitted into and out of existence. Jensen felt his right eye twitch as blood pooled down his nostrils, lifting a shaky hand up to wipe the crimson away as the memory continued to push deeper. He fought to hold onto it, knowing it was something too important to lose.

We tried Jensen…Dammit I tried, but we were too late…” Zerith’s voice, usually stoic and calm to the immortal, was upset and in grieving. But why? Why was his comrade grieving? Jensen fought to chase the memory, determined not to lose it in his mind as the headache burned so badly he felt a case of vertigo overcome him. Just as he felt the memory in his grips, ready to review the full memory, something emerged around the corner of the hallway he occupied. He tried his best to ignore for the moment, but it was bright and bothered his concentration, and more importantly, it was the oddest thing in the world he had seen inside the castle.

Jensen had seen so much in his life that to say something fazed him was a huge accomplishment. So, when he saw a golden ball of light, mischievous malevolence emanating from it and taunting him onwards, he stood confused, but complied to see it through with his usual gusto and lack of grace. He whooped as he charged after it, eyes lit with madness at the cruelty of life and the pointlessness of battle from the perspective of one who could not die. He never once thought to stop and wait for Geoffry or Erissa. He just chased after the orb that taunted him, heedless of danger that was coming for him as he followed it out into a training courtyard under the morning sun. It zipped back and forth over the terrain, as if searching for something, before it spun in the air upwards.

Then the orb flashed over the open courtyard that Jensen followed it to, an ancient magic that Jensen knew well; the necromantic orb within his own body pulsed with the same energy over his body. His eyes and laughter hit a fevered pitch as he began to giggle uncontrollably, the sensation tingling. The immortal watched undead skeletons of the past rise up, lifting weapons in skeletal digits and mouths opening in a mocking manner to the immortal. They stumbled forwards as a horde, and Jensen felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. He leapt forwards into battle with his weapons, hands whipping against the air and wrapping upon the craniums of the undead Knights of Apocalypse. Their shambling mentality was a feeble joke compared to Jensen’s speed and agility, and with ease he dodged their clumsy strikes, moving in a pattern that kept him always at arm’s length from the foe.

Then, his mouth dropped in a stupor. Jensen’s eyes filled with tears and he crashed to his knees, the pain racking his body so intense that, for once in his life, he couldn’t laugh. The eldritch energy of the Breath of the Undying within him pulsed continuously over and over his body, but instead of regenerating him of wounds that would have seen him felled, it was flaying his flesh one layer at a time. The immortal stumbled into a small fetal ball, crying out in agony as the orb furiously pulsed within him. The more it took away, the more it seemed to try and repair. It saw his living shell as a deadly disease, and Jensen was beside himself with white hot pain.

The shambling horde continued forwards, their soulless eyes and gaping mouths still open in mockery of the immortal.

[Sagequeen]

“We should get moving,” Geoffry said as he grabbed the lantern he had been using, straining to hear what the elf had heard moments before. “I’ve had a bad feeling all morning.” Erissa closed her book and shoved it in her satchel; after hoisting it on her shoulders she took up Jensen’s backpack.

“I will take both,” she said. “You will be free to draw your sword, and I can still concentrate my energy as needed.” Geoffry gave a brisk nod and began walking swiftly in the direction Jensen had taken not five minutes prior, and Erissa jogged after him, trying to keep his pace through the bookshelves and down the first hall. “Geoffry, slower!” she whispered urgently, and with a frown, the man motioned for her silence as she leapt down the stairs and caught up to him.

Erissa’s heart dropped into her stomach when she heard the sounds of footsteps echoing through the bend leading to the second, long hallway. She opened her mouth to insist they go and help Jensen, but Geoffry slapped a hand against her mouth, shaking his head ominously. He leaned very close to her ear.

“He should have been on his way back and met us by now. We don’t know who that is,” he said, his words no more than a sigh only she could hear. Shielding the light of the lamp, he peeked around the corner, and, confirming it was clear, stepped in the next passage. Erissa followed silently.

The pair moved quickly through the Order’s halls, passing by several large oaken doors, eerily ajar and with the sightless eyes of skeletons marking the trespass of the living. Not a single room was left shut, not a single life unextinguished. Geoffry released a sigh of relief when he brought her to a set of double doors, a wrought iron mural of the seal of the Apocalypse and the four Horsemen adorning it. With a strong shove, Geoffry opened the way, the iron protesting in its age with a shrill screech. The sound echoed through the hallway, making the duo grimace.

Geoffry pointed deliberately to a doorway several yards ahead of them, ignoring all else in the hall, and he leaned close to her again. “The Chamber of Fate. He’ll catch up and find us there.” Several eternities passed in the guise of seconds, and they finally entered through the small, nondescript arch. He closed the door behind them and gestured to the room, lifting his lamp so the light would better show the scape of the room. The light was very poor, but it flickered and revealed the perfectly still surface of water in the center of the room. Four large statues of armored warriors surrounded it, contemplating the unbroken surface of water which they guarded.

The first, Erissa noted, shone with the hues of bronze, the chiseled body of it decorated with armor that looked more like a second skin, marking each emphasis of the mighty physique. The statue bore many weapons, from hammers to knives, and even a long broadsword like Geoffry carried.

The second statue was made of pure, flawless marble, and oddly enough, rotting flora and fauna accentuated the armor, though it seemed the vegetation had grown there by accident instead of being planted and forgotten. This warrior held a long, curved blade, reminiscent of a sickle, and the face mask upon the head of it leered with impurity.

The next figure was made of pure wrought iron, with a heavy cloak over the armor platings. A sickly hand gripped the wooden shaft of a scythe. Erissa could not see the eyes, but she knew without doubt they lay behind a cowl of darkness that was not brought upon by mortal hand.

The fourth statue was of a scrawny looking warrior, the steel armor plates rusted almost beyond recognition. Everything about the warrior’s weaponry and demeanor seemed withered, decayed, as if time were eroding the very willpower of the elements with which the figure had been created, and moreso than the other statues that ringed the pool that kept their silent vigils for ages. Erissa shuddered as she looked upon the figure, instinctively knowing the very presence of it as an anathema to life, a bane to everything for which she stood.

“What do I do?” Erissa asked Geoffry, tearing her gaze from the withered guardian and staring entranced at the faintly glowing pool before her. Her soft, timid voice echoed against the aged, gritty stone around her in the tall chamber.

“Just step into the water, and think of the name of the one you seek,” Geoffry replied, his eyes never leaving the elf. Erissa's gaze flashed to him briefly, the intensity in his eyes startling her. She shrugged away the dread that sought to wrap its cowardly fingers around her resolve, and stepped forward over the low, polished lip of the pool. To her surprise, there was none of the expected resistance that water would normally present; instead, whatever substance filled the basin milled around her ankles with weightless ease as she walked. Where it came in contact with Erissa's feet, the substance glowed brilliantly blue, though when her foot floated out of the water in her gait, no trace of it remained on her boot.

Hesitantly, she looked over her shoulder at Geoffry, who urged her on with great impatience. Erissa nodded as she closed her eyes, recalling the memory Troyas had shared with her. The images were crystal clear, the voices perfect as her teacher and a mysterious man exchanged words, and as the man spoke a name, he fell stricken as his every memory was ripped from him. Erissa repeated that name in her mind, and felt the water gain substance and weight as the waves lapped inward against her ankles. The elf opened her eyes slowly, expecting to see a ley line of energy as Jensen had explained, visible only to her, directing her toward her target. However, there was none, and she looked around in confusion.

“I must have done something wrong,” the arcanist said, hanging her head with disappointment. “Why did it not work, Geoffry?” Erissa turned to look at him and realized her mistake immediately; the line was behind her, not in front, and it led directly to the man who stood in the chamber with her.

“You,” she choked, backing slowly away and tripping over the lip of the pool behind her, at the feet of the withered statue. She scrambled to her feet again, her eyes never leaving the man. Every repressed and manipulated memory flooded back to Erissa with a crystalline clarity that stripped her of the will to move. Her knees became weak, barely supporting her when she blindingly considered all the implications.

“Yes, naïve little elf,” Oblivion purred. “Me.” Her eyes wide, Erissa stared at the Fifth of the Forgotten, the Man of Shadows and Eater of Memories, in the guise of a Knight of the Apocalypse and a trusted friend. “At a loss for words?” he asked, giddy with glee. “What,” he laughed maliciously, ”kitten got your tongue?” His shrill giggle was a rusty saw, cutting through her mind.

“I would call you a monster,” Erissa said, a tear slipping from her eye, “but that would be a compliment. What now?” the elf asked, straightening her back and facing Oblivion squarely.

“Oh, how noble,” Oblivion said as he chuckled. “I’ll be taking Jensen’s backpack now.”

The essence, Erissa thought in a rush of panic. The small, circular stone rested in the pack, containing the essence of the last ambrosia fruits, corrupted by Pode in the Red Forest. Jensen and Erissa had heard rumors of the Man of Shadows there, that he had been collecting the fruit, though to what end they had no clue. Jensen had destroyed the tree that bore the fruit and freed the spirit of a demi-goddess, who had then taken control of Erissa’s body and gathered the fruits’ essence for them, warning the Ixians of impending danger.

The very enemy about whom the shield-maiden spoke stood before the high elf, and Oblivion had played Jensen and her like two tightly strung lutes, his strategy flawless at every turn. He had Erissa, the essence, and Jensen was missing in action. The warrior in black and crimson smirked, knowing her thoughts. The one she knew as Geoffry strode forward through the pool, pausing briefly in the center. He approached her cautiously, and snatched Jensen’s pack from her trembling hands.

“You, Erissa Alanorah Tarsul-Caedron, have a choice to make,” he said heavily.

“And what is that?” the elf asked, her hope dwindling with every second that passed as Oblivion’s trap closed around her. He was a spider, had lured them into his web, and there was no escape.

“Will you defy me and meet your death, or will you say my name and live?” the Fifth asked. Erissa went pale, her lips quivering as she fought back her grief.

“Why?” Erissa asked weakly.

“Because, my dear,” Oblivion said, “you have talents that I find very useful. I will teach you the kind of power your master Troyas wouldn't dare. He called you a tree, didn't he? Talked about natural limits?” Oblivion let loose a cackle that bounced from wall to wall. “His natural limits are the walls of his library, until recently, that is. He’s taken the final vial into hiding, as I understand it.”

“And there it is,” Erissa said, her understanding creeping as slowly as early morning fog. “How foolish I have been.” Should she choose life and forgetfulness, Oblivion would use her, no doubt, to get to Troyas and the other vial of the Forgotten, the captured, corrupted rip in the fabric of the veil that served to separate the mortal realm from the reservoir of the Eternal Tap. That, in addition to the essence and his own vial, threatened the very existence of Althanas.

“Indeed,” Oblivion mocked. “Quite foolish.”

“Then the answer is simple,” the elf sighed, Jensen’s face flashing before her eyes. She wondered how much of what existed between them was real, and how much had been Oblivion’s doing. “I choose death.” For the immortal’s sake, she hoped he would not feel the same burning in his heart for her that she still felt for him, despite knowing the truth. She hoped he did not truly love her, so he would not mourn her as he did Stephanie. Stephanie. The remembrance of that name brought white-hot shame to the elf.

“I thought you might say that,” the man said, making a show to roll his eyes and sigh heavily. Erissa knew at once there was more to his game. “But I never said when you’d die. I have a few other matters to which I must first attend.”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This was it. Jensen could tell he was dearly close to the dreaded overkill limit his body couldn’t tolerate. He was going down for the count, and whatever this orb was that was reacting negatively to his Breath of the Undying would keep his body in a state of constant agony. The skeletons shambled forwards with weapons dragging along the ground, as if they knew there was nothing Jensen could do to stop them. The orb that animated them continued to spin, moving towards Jensen, making the necromantic power within him speed up and cause even more pain.

The immortal had never felt so useless in his life. He had never once felt the helplessness of not being able to fight back. Yet even as he tried to feebly, definitely laugh in the face of death he could only manage an excruciating moan of pain. The orb flew a little closer, floating towards him like an ominous portent. To be laid low by something he couldn’t even describe properly...Jensen felt his world shatter as his muscles locked into tightness. Jensen rolled to face it, at least determined to face death head on.

Yet the orb in the air suddenly stopped spinning, growing a sickly green as it dipped in the air like the wind beneath it was lost. Jensen felt a cold breeze over the air, an unnatural force that blew through the ribcages of the undead and wisped their life force away like a candle being blown out. They crumbled to the floor in heaps, weapons clattering as the orb began to hover away, slowly, as if something was pushing it away. Jensen couldn’t understand what had happened, but the orb managed to regain light as it zipped away.

Silence ruled the courtyard once more.

Jensen heaved and groaned, unable to move as tears dripped down his face. However he did notice his orb hadn’t stripped him of all his flesh. Yet with a bright green flash he let out another yelp of agony as the Breath of the Undying returned, repairing the flesh that was flayed. Hs muscles were shocked once, before the current of the regenerating energy soothed them like a soft, quick massage. Jensen felt his blood simmer down as he stretched for what felt like the first time in aeons. His body numb, he tried to stand, feeling the sensation of life returning to his limbs as he fought through the needle like shooting pain all through his body. By the time he reached his feet he was no longer inhibited, the orb within his chest still once more.

Jensen looked around, beginning to head out when his jacket tore upon something. He stopped and whipped around to see it had been caught on a fallen spear. He shrugged the jacket off, removing the spear from the new hole it had made. Lifting his jacket up, he looked to the stitching inside, about to apologize to the names etched in it when he froze in terror. His eyes looked to the lovingly, if not amatuer names embroidered in the lining, knowing them all full well, but it was the name that was carefully stitched and well tailored that shook the core of Jensen. Red hair flashed in his vision and suddenly with a rush of emotions Jensen let out an ear piercing screech of betrayal and rage when he remembered the name of his dead lover, Stephanie Odara.

The memories flooded him, starting first way back in Akashima, a crystal clear moment in time when he and the elf were in the room together. He had told her a story about Stephanie, but the memory, it was wrong and it was the first headache he felt. Chanelle, she was the one who guided him up the stairs, it was never Stephanie or Erissa!

A memory of when the sailors that assaulted them came to the fore, when they were attacked by Geoffry. They shouted in Akashiman, words Jensen recalled with clarity and made him cringe with hatred. Betrayer, traitor! They were hired by him, and he used their lives to get an in with the elf and the immortal.

Then on the boat, Geoffry had been insisting on Jensen pairing up with Erissa. It was then that the memories began to get hazy, that his migraines started in full. He insisted to focus on Erissa, and let go of the memories fighting to break through. Jensen let the man touch him like a brother! But that thought spawned several instances of when Geoffry had touched him, the contact of their brotherhood erasing memories, planting false ones. The encounter on the mountain edges! Jensen had forgotten all about it until now! What a fool he was...a fool to trust someone once again.

He screamed to the sky with hatred and loss, damning the Horsemen as he thought back to Geoffry, and the time upon the boat he mentioned to cling to something. It all made sense in a cruel, fatalistic way. Oblivion had pushed him away from his memories, supplanting them with new ones involving Erissa and erasing away the true lost love he had for Stephanie. Bitterness dwelled within Jensen as he flipped the jacket onto his shoulders, feeling the names burn in a supportive fashion. The memory Oblivion was stealing was actually a memory trying to break through. The whole time Jensen fought against himself, his own immortal memories refusing to be silenced. He felt used, and with that he became angry.

“Erissa,” Jensen whispered loudly as he rushed down the hallway towards the Chamber of Fate, the promise he made to protect her burning in his mind. Oblivion purposely set them up so he could move amongst them without any problems. Jensen chastised himself as he ran, hopping over the dead and other obstacles as he rushed into the amphitheater of the Council waiting room.

The marbled floor was stained red with the inner circle knights who had fallen to the End Bringer, the murals of the four horsemen the only portraits that actually stood any longer without defilement. The twin vaulted doors leading to the council room hung open, as if someone just passed by them.

In moments Jensen was inside the Council room, seeing the two large sectional podiums to fit six people on each respective side of a thirteenth podium higher than the others. Lord Ragnarok’s seat of power, the will of the Horsemen in the flesh would sit there. Yet Jensen ignored those memories as he reached into his pocket for a throwing glaive.

When he arrived inside the Chamber of Fate Jensen saw Oblivion by Erissa, holding a knife to her neck and smiling a bastard’s smile. His whole demeanor had changed, and Jensen chastised himself as the man put the elf between himself and the enraged immortal. There was a momentary standoff as Jensen glared to The Fifth, the man’s smugness mocking the immortal’s.

“No laughter, no haunting giggles for me?” Oblivion said after a tense moment, feigning a shrug. “I suppose that means I really got the immortal,” he mused.

“Let her go,” Jensen ordered.

“You know, I poked inside your mind Jensen Ambrose, and if there is one consistent thing you excelled at, it was botching hostage situations. And as you failed to learn with Lady Cassandra Remi with your precious daughter back in the citadel some time ago, I will have to remind how this whole thing works,” Oblivion snidely jeered as he lifted up a dagger, dragging it along Erissa’s back. She let out a whimper of pain, then a small yelp as he dug the blade in deeper. Jensen instantly dropped his weapon with a roar of irritation and helplessness.

“Dammit, let her go!”

“Yes, let the one who knows my name go. I only allowed her to use the Chamber so I could be sure she knew it, and now she has a ley line to me. What would you do, Jensen, if you were in my position?” Oblivion’s taunts made the immortal angry, but the forgotten one merely shrugged and moved the conversation along. “Funny a name,” Oblivion muttered. “The Forgotten One. I lived a very long time in that shadow. Truly I was the forgotten one. But you see, in the dark...oh how did Xavier Sigma say it to you? Hold on, let me think that for you...”

Jensen felt a knife cut into his mind, and he screamed as Oblivion pulled the memory to the immortal’s surface.

“Ah, that’s right,” he mused. “The Light may be all powerful, but it must always reveal itself to the Darkness...the Darkness though has no such compulsions to show itself to the Light.”

“What do you want, Oblivion?” Jensen seethed as his nose ran with blood again to have a memory so violently ripped up in his mind. The Forgotten nodded his head with a damning smile, placing his dagger under Erissa’s neck and leaning heavily on her shoulder like a lover.

“Well, for starters, I’m taking the elf. You had your fun with her, now it’s time to be a good boy and share your toys. Not like you really loved her. For god’s sake you hated the race of Elves, but well, with my guidance, I can make all things possible,” Oblivion chuckled. Jensen for the first time looked into Erissa’s eyes, and they both felt a shiver pass over their hearts as Jensen quickly looked away, shame coming to the fore.

“She’s more insurance than anything else, really,” he went on. “To keep you in check. You are her knight, sworn to protect her as you so violently made clear to me. With her, I’ll keep you chained onto the leash like the dog you really are, Jensen. Secondly...” Oblivion looked over Jensen’s shoulder, and the immortal turned to see the bright golden orb of light behind him. The malevolence was there once more, and with a spark of light formed into a fist, talons digging into the immortal’s chest and grabbing the Breath of the Undying.

Erissa let out a helpless cry of shock, covering her mouth as Jensen’s eyes fluttered. He dropped to both his knees as the green eldritch orb clashed against the light of the other orb. It floated to Oblivion, and dropped Jensen’s regenerative tool into the sack with the ambrosia.

“Immortality will come in handy in the next phase. Thank you for this prize. I had to see it in action, make sure it worked properly and wasn’t melded into your soul. When that bandit I augmented killed you I was able to see the power for myself. The Thaynes know I tried to do it the easy way and have you die on the stupid trip, hitting every single ward I could to kill you. But your stubbornness impressed me, and much more drastic measures were needed. Yet in the guise of a comrade I was able to learn how your power worked, and I’ll take it for myself when the time is right.”

“What...the...hell....” Jensen felt his heart explode in his chest as blood ran rickshaw through his body, nerves causing him to twitch as the regenerative gift of the storm herald was gone. He could feel the coldness of the stone floor beneath him, woozily swaying back and forth as he fought to keep it all together. Oblivion looked to the immortal like some kind of test subject he was unsatisfied with, and began to drag Erissa with him.

He lifted a free hand up to the air, and with a snap of his fingers the orb lifted upwards, and began to spin wildly in the air, golden light hitting corpses in the corner as Jensen felt bile lift into his throat. He purged as the undead shambled forwards in a death march, ready to kill the immortal by hacking him into tiny pieces.

“You are a thorn in my side Jensen, but at least with your death I’ll be on my merry way. And while you are dying, I’ll erase your memory of me, and of Erissa. At least, the Erissa you knew. See for her...well I’m going to make you guess what I have in store. And for my ultimate plans, with the help of an old friend of mine, I’ll make the world beg at my feet.” Oblivion lifted up the satchel of the essence, and Jensen looked to it with confusion. he tried to move to stop him, but his body had given up after the trauma he endured. “I suppose you want to know what the fruit is all about? Sorry, Ambrose, but a magician never reveals all his...” Oblivion stopped as the room suddenly grew unnaturally cold, and Jensen felt the kiss of dark magic in the air. The orb had stopped spinning, retreating behind Oblivion.

Eyes watering, the immortal turned to see the shadows in the room suddenly begin to shimmer and crawl. His eyes followed the procession all the way to front door, and Oblivion lifted his knife to Erissa, scowling as his undead horde suddenly fell apart and collapsed. The shadows in the room lifted to a solitary, short curved blade, where a man with long black hair stood, dressed in fine black boots, khaki colored denim pants and a tight black vlince shirt. From his shoulders hung a tattered robe that looked more like a cape. The man stepped forwards into the room, flashing a vile smile that would give even Cassandra Remi pause.

“Who are you?” Oblivion hissed, looking to the newcomer like he were some ant. Jensen also felt curiosity overcome him as he looked to whom it was.

“My name is Vladimir Sigma,” the warrior said with a dark, leering grin. “But you would better know me as the End Bringer.”

[Sagequeen]

If it came down to a choice between her life and protecting the vial, for the sakes of all who live in Althanas, I would choose the vial.

Those had been his words to Jensen before the three of them set off on their respective journeys. The old elf moved among the crew of the schooner as one of them, his skin and recently-cropped hair stained with the filth and grime of poor upkeep and harried travel. Troyas lugged rope, swabbed decks, scrubbed latrines, and did everything required of him until his hands were once again rough. How eager he had been to set out into the world once more, to taste again the adventure of his youth. Yet as he lay in his hammock at night, exhausted and sore, he questioned his sanity in taking on with a privateering ship out of Gisela.

“I got a hunch you’re more than you seem,” the sea-wizened old sailor remarked to Troyas as the elf buried his nose in a tome, his day's work complete.

“Is that so?” Troyas replied, not removing his eyes from the faded and cracking pages.

“It is,” the man said, straining to sit up in his hammock. “You elves, never can tell your age, but you walk around like you know a thing or two you shouldn’t.” He spat on the floor, knowing it would be Troyas who would clean it up on the morrow.

“And what is it, exactly, that I know?” Troyas asked, raising his eyes to meet the sailor’s scrutiny.

“If I knew that,” the man snorted, “I wouldn’t be asking, now would I? A healthy lot of us are hiding from something in these ships, as the captains are more forgiving than the landlubbers. But you? You ain’t like us. You ain’t bringing trouble down on us, are you?” The question caught the elf off guard, and a barely perceptible smile touched his lips.

“Trouble indeed,” Troyas replied cryptically, “but not to you, not now.” The old man grumbled as he leaned back in his stained, cloth hammock, the calm of night’s waves and gentle creaking of the ship beginning its lullaby.

“I met somebody like you before,” he said, a yawn gripping him. He closed his eyes. “Almost got us killed. He musta stole a mermaid’s heart for all the hellfury that followed him, clear across the sea. Wanna know what we did with him?”

“And what is that?” Troyas asked with a detached sigh, studying his book once again.

“Threw him overboard an’ never looked back.”

“Charming.” The old elf’s subtle sarcasm was not lost on the sailor, who snorted with a chuckle before rolling to his side. Troyas thought of Erissa and Jensen as his mind went to the ornately carved wooden box in his stow that held something far more valuable than a mermaid’s heart. So far there had been no word of them, and Troyas dared not use powerful magic to track them. He could be easily tracked himself with such a display. He had, as it were, been relegated to simple question-asking.

His ship had docked in Akashima not a day ago, his questions had turned up some information, or rather the lack thereof, that caught his attention. An entire crew, one of the most notable out of Yanbo Port, had been murdered in the streets, though no one had heard nor seen anything, and the deaths remained an unsolved memory. The dead crew's ship had still been moored there, and Troyas had witnessed the auctioning of it. It was the odd lack of details that tortured him, as he knew that Jensen and Erissa had planned to travel there first. The old elf realized, as he searched the memories of any who were around, that many had been tampered with, and it reeked of Oblivion.

“Not to worry, friend,” Troyas said softly to the snoring man. “I will be on my way at the next port, and you will have no need to throw me overboard.” From Akashima, their current load of cargo was bound for Corone. He would disembark, and with all haste, make for the Ixian Castle. He had to risk the trip to speak with Sei, and to see if the Lord of the Ixian Knights had heard from or could contact Jensen and Erissa.

If it came down to a choice between her life and protecting the vial, for the sakes of all who live in Althanas, I would choose the vial. Troyas remembered those words again as he considered the other option he had not mentioned.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The room suddenly tensed as Oblivion, Erissa, and Jensen all stiffened to the title laid before them. The End Bringer. Here in the flesh, before them now, was the man who singlehandedly destroyed the entire order of the Apocalypse. He stood aloft of Jensen, but not in a manner to show he supported him, and lifted his blade to Oblivion.

“So it is true,” Oblivion muttered. “You were the Child of Destiny to destroy all of us.”

“Weakness need not be spared,” Vladimir said, his hand moving behind his blade. Oblivion nodded to his comment.

“Too true, Mr. Sigma, but I can tell you are using Shadow Magic to detain my magic. A powerful ploy, but a ploy is still another word for excuse. And this is a sad one. You can’t hold that power forever. It’s stronger than you and most assuredly more ancient than you, and the second you make an attack I get my power back. All you did was simply shut off magic in the area until you are ready to let go.”

“I should expect a member of the Forgotten to be a studious one,” Vladimir arrogantly nodded to Oblivion, confirming the man’s suspicions.

“So you side with the immortal?” Oblivion asked, the question obviously on everyone’s mind. There was a long pause as the End Bringer gave a once over to Jensen. Vladamir lowed himself into a combat ready stance. The immortal, using the last of his might and adrenaline, stood, lifting his stained crimson dagger. Oblivion narrowed his eyes, placing his own dagger in a manner so Jensen could see he held Erissa’s life in the balance of his patience.

“I side with myself, and I want to know why you are in my castle.” Vladimir said evenly. “And more importantly, why you are disturbing the dead?”

“Oh it’s not me,” Oblivion laughed as if he was being complimented, and humbly shook his head. “It’s the shade of the Great Lich Lord, Xem’Zund who is playing with your gravestones.” Vladimir’s eyes narrowed as the orb rose up again, and with a bright flash that made everyone blink, the orb flowed its essence into the rotting bones of a dead carcass in the room, the body lifting up as the spirit of the great Lich Lord began to infuse the body with magic, making the already dead flesh rip as it grew in mass. It stepped in front of its master protectively. “Ambrosia greatly enhances one’s powers, and I used it to fuel the shade I called hither from Xem’Zund’s corpse. I fed him the essence of the fruit, powering him back to a semblance of his original state, but with a unique twist in the ritual. I will control him!”

“Whatever on earth for?” Vladimir blurted. “The second word is spread you brought him back, the world will march to destroy you. An evil such as that will not live long.”

“No, not by myself. But you see, I happen to know of four bastions of the finest warriors ever trained. With this essence, I can distill the power and give the High King of the Undead the power to return their prowess of fighting, but remain undead thralls of my will! An unstoppable army, tireless and peerless to any other, and I can use them to crush the pathetic armies of the world. And with the greatest ease, Xem’Zund will raise the dead, causing a never ending supply of horrors and terror to blight the world until they acknowledge, me, Oblivion the Fifth of the Forgotten, as master of the world! I will show Pode her Red Forest is but child's play in comparison to myself!”

“Erissa,” Jensen suddenly blurted. “You need her because she knows Troyas...”

“Catch on quick immortal,” Oblivion stated as Xem’Zund brought the undead back to life before the two warriors of the Apocalypse. The horrors of the undead lifted themselves up with eery silence, the weapons they wielded scraping the ground as they began to saunter forwards with a hellish vigor. The spirit of the Lich King grabbed one, shattering it and lifting the head up, and the bones repaired themselves into the shape of a spinal scythe. With a twirl the Lich King slammed the weapon down, prepared to fight if need be. “With the power of the Tap, I’ll have unlimited power to fuel Xem’Zund to my will, and keep him in my thrall. Soon, I will no longer be forgotten! I will be remembered throughout history as the Emperor of the world! And so bloody will my eternal reign be!” Oblivion felt himself gibbering with madness, but with a composing breath he merely grinned as he began to tug Erissa with him.

Jensen moved to stop him, but in a blink the weapon Xem’Zund’s spirit wielded crashed into the Knight, knocking him down and out. The immortal coughed up blood, the clavicle bone sticking deep in his upper torso. Vladimir moved next to stop Oblivion, but a wall of Skeletons moved around him, hoarding upon him with greater speed than he had first thought they were capable of. The elf screamed for Jensen as Oblivion tugged on her, and Jensen fought to stand as the weapon was ripped violently out of his wound.

Vladimir’s blade cut across throats and stomachs, but the undead had no such care for fatal wounds. Soon two managed to grab one of his arms, and the End Bringer cursed as he tossed one over his hip, punching the hilt of his blade into the face of the other. Three more shambling skeletons gripped his shoulders, dragging him down onto the ground with all their undead might.

The shade jumped forwards, high into the air. It hit the earth with such shattering force the stone laid under Jensen popped upwards, his body moving like a rag doll. The spirit grabbed his hair and lifted him up. With ease it tossed him into the wall, and the immortal felt his hip snap as he collapsed. Jensen gasped in pain as he rolled to his knees; unable to stand with his injury, he collapsed again, holding his injured body. The spirit walked towards him as more skeletons began to pile upon Vladimir, the warrior’s Wo Dao blade severing neck bones from head bones, but the abominations never stopped. He tried biting finger bones off, thrashing around wildly until one set of skeletal teeth clamped onto his wrist. He cried out in pain as his blade clattered on the ground, weapon kicked away thoughtlessly as the shade of Xem’Zund stooped to grab Jensen.

He felt his back press against his shirt as he was lifted, his body unresponsive as Jensen seethed in pain. The creature regarded him like it would an insect, and with a casual flick of its wrist the spirit of the Lich Lord tossed Jensen towards the pool. He was going to impact and shatter it when he felt something break his fall. He landed in a heap atop someone, who rolled him to the side with a snarl, and footsteps rushed before him. There was a loud bang, so loud it nearly made Jensen deaf just to hear it, and Xem’Zund’s ghost spat a hissing curse. Steel was drawn from sheaths and Vladimir was saved by someone in a white robe. A man standing tall next to the savior of the End Bringer, holding two pistols out, let off another shot. Xem’Zund blocked the bullet with his makeshift weapon, but it shattered in the process.

At last a womanly set of legs appeared before Jensen, bending as one hand touched his pulse along his neck. With a pat on his chest she stood. The woman mumbled a few words and the shadows in the room began to crawl towards her. Xem’Zund’s shade shifted in defiance of the incantation before, with a screech, it diminished back into an orb and zipped out the window at high speed.

“Erissa...” Jensen mumbled, pointing towards Oblivion’s escape.

“Later Jensen,” a familiar voice said to him. He looked up into the eyes of the gunslinger, and saw a caring look that made the immortal feel at peace. “I’ll explain later. But for now, rest.” He lifted one pistol up to Jensen’s head, and with a nod Jensen gave him his blessing.

One gunshot later and Jensen Ambrose died.

[Sagequeen]

A single gunshot...

The tears spilled forth as though the storm raging in Erissa’s mind were finding its way out. If one so powerful as the End Bringer desired it, perhaps he could kill an immortal, especially one so weakened with his Breath of the Undying resting in the pack slung over Oblivion’s shoulder.

“Stop snivelling, Erissa,” Oblivion said harshly. “It will all be over soon, one way or the other.” He held her by the forearm and dragged her through the maze of hallways and chambers, deeper into the belly of the Bastion. “I really can’t believe the two of you were arrogant enough to think you could take me on,” he chided. “And Jensen Ambrose, to be so bold as to scrawl his name on the gates at Opassa... idiot. Not that I wouldn’t have found out it was him anyway, but regardless. You certainly bit off more than you could chew.”

Erissa refused to speak to him, instead steeling herself for what she knew she had to do. With a quick move, she removed the small, elven dagger from its sheath and lunged at Oblivion. She never expected the blow to land; her hope was that she could provoke the monster into killing her. The high elf would not allow herself to be used as bait and leverage against those she loved.

Oblivion had read her mind and seen it coming, and he sidestepped in the narrow hall. He grabbed Erissa’s wrist and flung her against the wall, sending her bouncing as a rag doll to the ground. She was up in a second, lunging at him yet again, and he was ready for her. Oblivion ducked beneath the path of the dagger and charged into the elf’s body, pinning her against the wall and knocking the breath from her. Still, she held onto the knife, and with a downward arc, meant to bury it in the traitor’s back. However, just as the tip touched the leather of his jacket, she froze. No matter how hard Erissa struggled to move, her body was frozen in place. Oblivion backed away laughing as he gripped his vial, attached to a sturdy chain around his neck. She had seen that chain often in talking with Geoffry, but the vial on it had always been concealed beneath his shirt.

“So close, only to fail,” he mocked, grabbing the dagger from her and letting it clatter to the ground. “Behave yourself, Erissa.” She felt her body respond to his will, her back straightening to mimic his posture. She frantically tried to search his memories, for anything she could use against him. “‘Ouu, I’m Erissa Caedron. I can read minds; bow and worship my mighty telepathic powers,’” he said, and her own voice emanated from her throat as she spoke the same words, Jensen’s words. “Or better yet, ‘you are nothing but a damned eternal parasite, sucking the life from everything and everyone around you!’” Her heart raced as Erissa remembered the words she had said to Jensen in Akashima, knowing they were not her own, and she had slapped him. “Yes, that was me,” Oblivion said, giggling with glee, “well, the second one. Jensen actually said that little gem on his own. You ridiculous woman, why in the world would you think he could ever love you?”

With that, Oblivion turned and continued his foray into the Bastion, Erissa mimicking his every every step with perfect execution. He led her to a large portal, and with a flick of his wrist, it came to life and crackled with energy.

“Shall we?” he asked her, extending his free hand. “After you, brave knight,” he answered, Erissa’s voice matching his own on the response. With another bout of shrill laughter, he led her through the portal to a place she had never before seen, but it was very similar to the Bastion from which she had just come. “Hmmm, time to leave a little present for our immortal friend and his allies.” Oblivion produced a small device and dropped it through the portal. Several seconds later, the portal went dead and all the energy faded from it. “They won’t be using [I]that]/I] any time soon,” he told the elf as she watched helplessly. “Oh, I’m sure there will be a rescue attempt sooner or later, and they’ll try feebly to stop the inevitable, but if you think my victory today was something, wait until you see what happens when I actually try. You and Jensen were but child's play, amusing at best and generally annoying.”

With that, the Fifth of the Forgotten dragged Erissa Caedron to the place he had prepared, yet another web, another trap, in which all who came to confront Oblivion would be snared.

He had a plan for each of them, a role scripted in bloody ink, and the Forgotten would be remembered for all the ages of the world.

Spoils requested: single shot pistol to Enigmatic Immortal

[Mordelain]

Thread Title: In The Shadows of Oblivion
Judgement Type: Full Rubric, Light Commentary
Participants: Enigmatic Immortal, Sagequeen

Plot ~ 23/30

Story ~ 10/10 – You used a standard structure to tell a non-standard story. Every part of the rubric was complimented by the graceful rise and fall of drama and emotion through every scene. Erissa’s reflections on her past, Jensen’s brawling, and the effluent progression of revelation built on the back of Althanas Canon was a tour de force. It stood the test of being read alone, separate from its prequel, and complimented it well at the same time. My only critique here is to consider the reader as a layman – he or she is not likely to be intuitively involved with the background not just of the characters, but the countries you’re working with.

Setting ~ 7/10 – confident description of the setting, and the location of the characters within it was present through the thread. It was lost to the wayside in the ‘mature’ scene which begins in post 31, but given the nature of any sort of erotic writing, it is understandable. This change in tempo, coupled with a tendency to allow rapid dialogue to break up description gave you your score here. Considering these both will polish an already gleaming diamond.

Pacing ~ 6/10 – scene transitions badly timed, or the much forlorn several changes per post caused the pacing to languish in many places. Sadly these came around the set pieces, be they sexual, action, or both. Give consideration to the ‘note’ of your story, much like meter in rhyme. Decide, if you can, on the structure at the start of the thread and do all you can to not deviate off that path. Wavering, or steady, hammer blow and triumphant – perhaps even river like Sunday afternoon gentility, which works for you.

Character ~ 27/30

Communication ~ 8/10 – posts 10-15, and the finale, were good running dialogue sections, where each character fluidically responded and rolled into and out of one another’s thoughts. Jensen and Erissa naturally is leaf licker and fool throwing philanderers, and they talk as if they were connected on a spiritual level, but you slip into conditioning when they talk to others. Be careful to distinguish their nuances when conversing with everyone from Vladimir to Troyas, and the villain himself, Oblivion.

Action ~ 9.5/10 – Please refer to the commentary from Two Peas in a Pode, and indeed, any thread I’ve judged belonging to either party. Whilst every writer has his or her flaw, the utilisation of motion, violence, and even emotion in a scene is certainly neither of yours. On the edge of my seat throughout, and compelled to read even in the lull between ‘set pieces’, you have both delivered a thriller with a fist full of, what is it they call them…dollars? Whilst this might sound like a perfect appraisal, because this score, and persona, were so strong, the writing overall felt unbalanced. With the improving of other areas of writing, you will naturally clip into the much sought after full marks, though as it stands, a terrific achievement.

Persona ~ 9.5/10 – you both have an advanced grasp of your character’s identity. I only implore you both to look at what you have, and learn to avoid pitfalls common to all mainstays of literature – clichés. That’s not to say you have them yet, but if you continue to create perfection in X way, persona as strong as this will become detrimental.

Prose ~ 23/30

Mechanics ~ 8/10 – the rubric defines the score bracket for mechanics in more detail than the other areas of feedback, because mechanics are typically the mistakes and weaknesses people notice first, if not the most. You have both made scrupulous effort to eradicate careless typographical errors, and you have formatted, for the most part, both dialogue and paragraph correctly. To obtain a 10, naturally, you must be nigh flawless in execution, and possess a good grammatical understanding of sentence structure and clarity. Here, you made so few mistakes I had to scrutinise to find them, but the careless ones were there. Everything from [I*] [/i] errors to the hard to correct without eagle eyes additional. in an ellipsis. (This should universally be three in length, no more, no less).

Clarity~ 7/10 – I afforded a 7 here on the merit of familiarity with the characters from the opening scenes. To improve, I would consider attempting to follow three rules (these are suggested rules, and not standardised laws within the writing process, so feel free to take on board or disregard as you deem fit).

1. Scene Transition – if your post reaches 700+ words, in a thread of this length at least, and a scene transition occurs to another character, then consider avoiding ~*~ moments and simply posting a new post. A reader, on a forum at least, subconiously treats a post break as a new entity. You can use this to your advantage to improve upon clarity with considerably less effort than balancing scene switches within a larger, clumsier body.

2. Tense Rehearsal – if a scene does not make much sense to you, or you are bouncing back and forth, attempt to utilise the correct tense, or switch tenses to represent time instead of simply starting a new scene or page break. You lost focus of respective tenses repeatedly, and I feel you could benefit more discussing with one another which of the menagerie of forms you’d be comfortable with most, even if this means a concession one of your parts.

3. Proof Reading – you’ve heard this a thousand times, but irrespective of that, read aloud and proud read. Sagequeen, as you work in production, perhaps consider ‘broadcasting’ you’re writing to yourself. If you deliver it in a way that would be well received over a real radio, then clarity is understood, tight, and polished enough to improve the writing here on Althanas. Enigmatic, utilise retail skills to think in the customer’s shoes more – you might know who the Emperor is, but the reader just sees a shiny suit of golden armour and a bad perm.

Technique ~ 8/10 – I would feel trite listing off the numerous techniques used here, everything from enjambment, form change (excellent use of songs and sparingly, too), and the foreshadowing and role-reversal within the dialogue and structure of the action scenes. You both know how to write, and I would assume improvements here once clarity, mechanics, and pacing are resolved would be of the certain kind.

Wildcard: 8/10 – I would like to offer my congratulations for yet another strong thread. You crafted a tale worth reading, offered up an enticing, nay, irresistible cliff-hanger, and kept on developing an already strong suit of characters and NCPs in your universe. I feel as if you got lost in the moment, and where the thread scored lower overall, I see enjoyment, as well as perhaps overconfidence. I truly enjoy both your work, and how you engage with the characters that, I can see, are extensions of yourselves is admirable. I would love you to both work on the small areas of improvement, to nail, hook line and sinker, and smash the planned trilogy (or a saga, mayhap?) Either way, I will be there, enthralled to the last, because you to be both my wild card any day of the week.

I appreciate that the brevity of this rubric analysis might perturb you. I can honestly say I have both read as it was being written, and contributed eight hours minimum to the proof reading process. I would be happy to develop on the points above, or provide more in depth examples based on those notes if requested. cydneyoliver@gmail.com, or my Mordelain inbox are both appropriate avenues to do.

If you have any concerns, doubts, and worries, and don’t wish to speak to me directly for whatever reason, then I am sure another member of staff will resolve the matter on your behalf. I am perfectly amenable and open to feedback, as the judge has to develop, as much as the writer put under the scrutiny of the rubric!

Total ~ 81/100

XP, and gold, are to be awarded upon the deliberation of the spoil you requested:

Jensen would like a single shot pistol.

In addition, this thread, in representing everything a Judge's Choice should be, has been put forwards for nomination into the JC forum.

[Mordelain]

Sagequeen receives 1975 experience and 300 gold.

Enigmatic Immortal receives 3000 experience, and 0 gold.

Spoils:

A single, flintlock, one-shot pistol is gifted to Jensen. It's material, and the strength of the shot, must be discussed in the next level update. Gold and experience adjusted accordingly.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.