AC: Round 2 - Group 2

[Revenant]

This thread is reserved for members of Group 2. The thread will open at noon on September 7th (Pacific time) and will be closed after two weeks.

Good Luck!

Group 2
Mordelain
Ceidon

[Ceidon]

“Well this is peculiar,” Ceidon Lore said, spinning around on his heels. Only moments before, he was sitting at the top of a snowy cliff with his Adventurer’s Crown partners Zack Blaze, Inwuhou, and the life-sized fairy Itera. Now he was standing by himself in front of an immense white stone temple in the middle of nowhere. At first Ceidon tried calling out to his friends, suspecting that Itera had accidentally transported him through one of her bizarre portals, but after ten minutes of shouting he realized that he was, in fact, quite alone.

Wherever he was though, it was spectacular. The temple itself extended nearly 600 yards in each direction and was at least 300 feet tall. By comparison, that was almost four times as large as the Citadel in Corone. The temple’s white stone exterior was remarkably untouched by nature. It had not decayed and contained no evidence of any invasive flora or fauna. At the edge of the clearing were a series of small hills that eventually led down into a dense oak forest. From his current position, the forest appeared to completely surround the entire area.

Somewhat puzzled by the temple’s condition, Ceidon ran his fingers against the stone wall and immediately recognized it as granite. This was odd because granite was quick to decay, particularly in a vast clearing that would constantly be exposed to the sun. Furthermore, granite is quick to erode, and judging by the health of the grass and the nearby trees there was no shortage of rain in this area. This left Ceidon with only one plausible explanation: this temple had literally just been constructed. Well, at least within the last three years. That explained why the adventurer had never heard of a structure this large when it was his job to be informed of such things.

“Wait. Could it really be this convenient?” Ceidon reached down and pulled out a small piece of parchment from his pocket. Fortunately, he had been carrying the map his group had just found on the mountain top when he was transported here. After a short examination, Ceidon frowned. Nothing matched up. Where the map showed cliffs there were trees and where the map showed trees there were hills. This temple was not in Lornius and it likely did not contain the Omega Infinitum.. The adventurer put the map away and spent the next few minutes contemplating what to do.

It was unclear if this place had anything to do with the tournament. Aside from the similar starting conditions—randomly appearing miles away from his previously known location—nothing seemed to add up. Why would Kenneth Stern have participants find a map only to transport them miles away? Maybe it was Itera or another one of his former companions that sent him here. Perhaps they wanted the book for themselves. But, that didn’t make sense either. If they wanted to beat Ceidon to it, they wouldn't have left him with the map! Ten more minutes passed before Ceidon finally made his decision. The tournament and the Omega Infinitum were his mission and Kenneth Stern had given him clear directions. He would map the temple’s location to explore later and then continue onto Lornius.

Effective mapping, of course, first required finding the temple’s entrance. Not identifying anything that appeared to be a door on this wall of the temple, Ceidon arbitrarily decided to start walking to his left. Hopefully the entrance would be that side of the massive building. When Ceidon rounded the corner, he frowned. There was no sign of an entrance on this side of the temple either. The adventurer was about to continue when he caught something move out of the corner of his eye. “Who’s there.” He asked, spinning around. There was nothing. Not even a bird in the sky or a cricket on the ground. Ceidon shook his head and began to turn when a felt a bug wiz by his head. “What the,” he called out, flailing his hands. There was a buzz, then another and another. When Ceidon stopped moving his hands he was face to shins with a really small miniature man.

“Oh hey,” Ceidon said, “I didn’t notice you there with all these bugs! I’m Ceidon Lore. What’s your name?” The little man didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t understand what Ceidon was saying. The adventurer pointed at his chest, “me, Ceidon.” Then he pointed at the man, “You?” He received a response, but not the one he was expecting. The miniature man grunted, and the temple came to life. Ten more mini-men broke free from the wall. They were expertly camouflaged. Ceidon had walked by them without a stinking suspicion. Then, ten more appeared. Each of the men, painted in granite, was carrying a small pipe and spear no bigger than a screwdriver. It was then he realized that the buzzing was not from bugs, but from darts passing by his heads. “You little devils,” Ceidon grinned as the men settled in front of him.

“Do you really want to do this?” he asked, reaching down to grab his trusty sword, Errol from its sheath. But Errol wasn’t there. In fact, it didn’t even exist anymore! The sword had been melted away when Ceidon struck a lava dragon’s behind. Soon his grin turned into a look of pure horror. Tens, maybe hundreds more mini-men broke away from the temple and started closing in on him. “On second thought,” he said. “You win!” Then Ceidon turned and started running for the trees. Though he didn’t dare turn around, he knew the mini-men were following him. Not only could he hear their battle cries, but several of the small spears had pierced his legs as he ran. “Ouch! That hurts!” he exclaimed.

Eventually Ceidon reached the hills. Up close they were steeper than he originally thought. Their angles made it impossible to see what was over the next ridge until he was at its summit. Ceidon passed over three hills, until he saw something strange. Over the next hill was a woman, a beautiful woman at that. At a distance she appeared a few years older than the adventurer, but as he closed the distance she appeared younger and younger. “Hey,” Ceidon called out, waving his arms. “Hey!” She appeared to move her hand towards her waist in a defensive posture. He stopped when he reached her. “Hey pretty lady,” he said, panting. “No time to talk.” When he finished speaking, the mini army appeared at the top of the hill. “We’d better go...now…”

[Mordelain]

Mordelain had just enough time to work out she was no longer in Irrakam before panic became fear, and fear became abject terror. Despite her instinctual defensive stance, she was not entirely sure how to defend herself against a stranger when she was without her kukri, partisan, or her bone blade. She examined the man in the short time she had, made a sly comment about his hat, and then suddenly felt quite foolish for having bothered. Wherever she was, and whoever he was, they had bigger things to worry about.

“What in Suravani’s name?” she asked, mouthing the words a second time as if to echo her confusion. The man, more a boy, did not stick around to reply. Before Mordelain could point up the rise to the descending avalanche of what she could only assume were pygmies, his trundling boots, sandy hair, and strange aloofness were quick as lightning and gone out of sight. She turned, mouth wide open, to watch his form get progressively smaller as it approached the tree line.

“I…” she stopped mid-sentence. She had been chased over dune, ruin, and wasteland oft enough to know that in times like these, there was really only one course of action. She broke into a soft acceleration after her only glimmer of hope; her simple leather wraps light against the rugged terrain, her brown slacks and tight fitting white blouse taught against tanned skin that defied her unnatural age. The world became a blur; with the only thing in focus in her field of vision the boy and the few feet of ground ahead of her.

If she had dared to glance over her shoulder, to risk a few precious seconds to take stock of the strange things that pursued them, she would have seen a teething, seeming, and strange mass of minute assailants. Each one was either brightly coloured or furiously engaged in profanities in a mix of common tongue and elfish, and perhaps just a hint of their own strange dialect. Gargled offs and tingling fucks broke over the din of a thousand, perhaps many thousands of tiny footfalls over the alpine grass and long shattered granite. She would also have seen the glinting points of many tiny spears, and the thin slivers of wood carried by many of the pygmies that projected darts not painful enough to slay someone as big as Mordelain, but certainly adept enough to deliver toxins to the blood.

Whatever the boy did for a living, it was clearly not physical enough to offer him much in the way of a lead. Before long, Mordelain was hot on his tails. Her ponytail flapped in the wind behind her, her fingertips lancing as she drove her body as fast she possibly could towards hopeful sanctuary, and more importantly, towards answers. Less than an hour ago, she had been halfway through a particularly lavish breakfast with business clients in the lower cliff bazaars of Fallien’s capital. The very second she had vanished into literal thin air she had been mid-mouthful of a particularly Moorish humus and lemon balm pitta, smothered in halva, oats, and pepper grains. It was a delicacy few outsiders could afford, and one she had been looking forward to for weeks.

If the boy was to blame for missing the best meal of her life, she would make him pay. If he was just as luckless in happenstance as she, then perhaps, just perhaps, she could let it slide.

“Oi!” she roared, just able to catch her breath as she landed after a jump over a fallen pine tree. As they approached the treeline, signs of forestation, civilisation, or perhaps animal activity cropped up. “What the hell are they?” she added, finally able to turn to point. When she clocked her pursuers in all their infective, abhorrent glory, she swallowed the lump in her throat and shuddered. The abject terror she felt in those first few moments of seeing the boy descend the hill faded, leaving lingering and sedated horror in its wake.

No answer came.

She turned back to the trees, the dark, fortress like barrier between open ground and sanctuary, between weakness and strength. Her glimmer of hope became a faint and distant light of possibility as his boots, his heels, and his cheeky smile vanished into the unknown. With a slump, Mordelain deigned herself to keep running. With no way back, the Troubadour sprang once more into a pained pursuit. As she crossed the threshold between one world and another, the dancer ducked, weaved, and leapt through the branches. If this was another part of the Adventurer’s Crown tournament she had been forced into practically at knifepoint by her mentor, then she safely crossed adventuring off her list of future careers.

“I said OI!” she bellowed, hoping that for just a moment, her only ally in the world would throw her a lifeline.

[Ceidon]

Ceidon was far too winded to keep running, even if it meant death by midget. Once he crossed the tree line, the adventurer slowed and eventually slumped against a wet oak. The woman, who wisely decided to follow Ceidon into the forest, continued running past him. If he survived, he would be sure to compliment her on her stamina.

After taking a few deep breaths, Ceidon looked up. Much to his surprise, he found that the trailing army had stopped pursuing them and was standing idly at the edge of the forest. At first Ceidon wondered if the mini-men were superstitious and afraid to enter the woods, but on closer inspection they seemed more disappointed than frightened. Eventually one of the small men grunted and then they all turned around and began walking away.

“Wait,” Ceidon called out to the mysterious woman. Without waiting for her, he started back towards the edge of the forest. The mini-men did not react. They merely continued walking towards the temple, which still towered over the clearing even at this distance. Ceidon stopped once he reached the fallen tree the two had previously hopped over. “I wonder…” The adventurer vaulted the tree and immediately the entire miniature army turned around ready to attack him.

No sooner than the first spear was thrown, Ceidon hopped back over the tree and took cover behind it. But, just as he predicted, no assault ever came. After a moment, he peered over the tree to find that the mini-men army was once again heading back for the temple. By this time, the woman had reached him. “They’re bound to the temple,” Ceidon said. “We pose no threat to it outside of the clearing.”

Ceidon turned to the woman, who was more beautiful than he originally thought. Between the nun, Inwuhou, the fairy, Itera, and this mysterious woman, Ceidon had encountered quite a few good looking women in the past few days. If only he wasn’t knee deep in a mission to save the world. “I’m Ceidon Lore,” he said, extending his hand. Before she could take it, he turned his hand and pointed at her. “Wait. What on Althanas were you doing in the middle of a field full of little people?” He shrugged. “You know what? Never mind. I was going to map that temple for further exploration later, but now I humbly leave that responsibility to you. Good bye!” When he finished babbling, like he did with all beautiful women, he bowed and started walking away.

[Mordelain]

In the chatelaine quarters of Irrakam, Mordelain would have to have tolerated such indignant dismissal. A woman could be shot, despite Jya’s role as queen, for talking out of turn to men. A foreigner would be double damned, for outstepping her place in another’s land, and for ignorance of their customs. Here, though, she was beholden to no laws but her own, and Mordelain Saythrou was not in the mood to be ignored.

“I said Oi,” she shouted for a third time, as if to illustrate the point. She trotted up behind Ceidon, as if his attempts to flee were futile. “I don’t care who in the nine worlds you think you are,” she flapped her hands irately, “or how you know about those…” she blinked, stopped dead in her tracks, then realised just how absurd she was being. Wherever or not she was actually in the next round of the tournament, she had to take everything she saw as if it were real. She doubted the miniature spears and arrows would have done her much lasting harm even if the illusions were false, but she could not take chances on the contents of the grand ziggurats and crumbling necropolis that littered the forests.

“Look,” she said, starting down a new approach, “it’s clear you know your way around the back end of nowhere.” She set her hands to her sides, and began shuffling casually from heavy foot to heavy boot. They were battered, sandblasted, and well-worn standard issue from the Abdos, but very comfortable. They danced around the spruce pines and damp smelling fungi that sprouted up through the thick moss bed that began to form as they approached the forest. Heather blossoms danced here and there in the cool breeze that rolled down the same slope the pygmies had, as if their distant cackling were stirring the winds.

“I’m the best at what I do,” Ceidon said, somewhat reluctantly. His cheeky grin faded. It was clear he was not going to talk his way out of this encounter. “Less can be said for you, if you’re running around the wilds like a horse saddling’ belle!” he waved over Mordelain’s plain attire, and noticeably unarmoured person. “Is there at least a knife tucked away in those clunky boots?”

“No, because not every problem can be solved with a pair of testicles and a sharp blade,” she spat back, her eyes and nostrils flaring.

Ceidon chuckled, a little immature outburst of mirth. Mordelain turned the heat up, and folded her arms across her chest. It did not take the adventurer long to warm to her. “Okay, okay,” he sighed. Although he’d met many a beautiful woman since the start of the tournament, and banked on meeting a few more, he had never considered finding one with brains and spirit too.

“Are you ready to be reasonable?” she said, somewhat unreasonably.

“I take it you’re here for the,” she wrinkled her lips with concentration, “Tournament.” She stared as she waited for a reply, but got only a stout nod accompanied with a fearful twitch. Despite her beauty, Mordelain was as stubborn and gnarly as the vast oak heart trunks behind him. She began to sway left to right, lifting the weight of each foot in turn to keep the blood circulating. Ceidon took note of her form, and put aside any thought of trying to run away a third time. “Good, caus’ so am I!” she smiled. He beamed a smile through the smile, just in case she didn’t get his excitement.

"I'm you're only hope, busty!" he added, with a little too much spunk.

“You’re telling me I’ve gone through steaming, verdant jungles and fire-lit thickets, only to be landed with you.” Her contempt was so dry on her tongue she could practically taste the sands of home. “A boy with lofty ideals, no manners, and a-“Ceidon snapped the gusto right from her mouth.

“-one of the keenest senses of direction known to man, and a fair few years’ experience in tomb raiding ahead of you.”

Mordelain did not reply instantly. She took the time to gauge her surroundings, weigh up the odds, and get a grip on her temper before it ran away into the horizon. Given she was lost, unarmed, cold, and in desperate need of carbohydrates, what could giving the whelp some credit lose her? The voice of her mentor, Suresh, echoed loudly at the back of her skull, screaming money in seven different languages. She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, which was scented with pine and walnuts. It was the smell of the open, undisturbed, and perilous air. This land, though magical and unreal, had been crafted in the image of the true heart of Althanas. It reminded her of the Tree World of Bulganin.

“Alright, Ceidon. I am Mordelain, though I don’t expect you to remember that name beyond this crossing of paths and the victory ceremony.” From the matter of fact way she said it, it sounded as if she had already made up her mind, or had her mind made up for her. There was a lot riding on taking the trophy back to the Abdos. The prosperity of Suresh’s mercantile empire depended on it. Mordelain’s burgeoning need to explore dangerous ruins to recover the lost artefacts of the pre-Vhadya Fallien civilisation depended on it. The foreigners chastised and stigmatised in Fallien needed a hero to call on in times of trouble. “You’ve convinced me I shouldn’t run you through.” She said it without much conviction.

“Great, I’m so glad we’re on the same level,” Ceidon said flatly, finally able to relax his muscles. He didn’t like killing, or even scratching another, but sometimes the prize, the world, was worth a tarnished broad. He had to wonder what sort of victory ceremony she liked to hold after a successful raid, but he guessed he'd never know.

“So tell me, oh great one,” she prodded a finger over her shoulder, “how do you know so much about temples and dark sandy cracks?” she began to walk forwards, pouncing and dancing over fallen tree and lichen smothered bolder.

[Ceidon]

“Uh,” Ceidon began, but he was fresh out of witty replies. Instead, he turned his head to the side and just watched her walk away. Even in her plain attire, Mordelain was gorgeous…and clearly out of his league. Truthfully, Ceidon had a better chance of marrying a nun than appeal to this pale beauty. With a sigh, the uncharacteristically debonair hero turned back into a sheepish scholar. Ceidon lowered his head in defeat until he realized that in his lust he had brushed off something vitally important. Mordelain, like Ceidon, was in this random clearing for the tournament! His heart dropped. This meant that the Omega Infinitum was not in Lornius, but was likely behind the impenetrable temple protected by an army of ankle biters. Ankle biters...

“Wait!” Ceidon yelled to Mordelain, but it was too late. Immediately after she crossed into the clearing, the miniature army turned and set upon her. Ceidon watched as she effortlessly tossed aside dozens of the small men at a time. This woman clearly did not need weapons to be deadly. However, the impacts merely dazed the small soldiers and soon Mordelain was surrounded. If he didn’t do something, she would be swarmed. Without thinking, Ceidon jumped over the fallen log and grabbed Mordelain by the waist. He flung her over his shoulders and hopped over the log before setting her down. Like before, the miniature army retreated.

“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed in her unique accent. She pushed Ceidon aside so hard that he nearly toppled over the moss covered boulder near the log. “I really don’t see what the big deal is. They’re less than a foot tall; I can step on them all…”

“Until you get swarmed,” Ceidon interrupted. “Look, you asked me how I know so much about temples. The reason I know so much about them is because I don’t get killed by the help!” He pointed into the clearing. “There are thousands of those things. No matter how strong you are, if you fall you’re dead.”

“Then how do we get to the temple?” she asked coldly.

“I…” Ceidon was about to admit defeat a second time until he thought he saw a willow tree hanging in the distance behind Mordelain. At first he thought he was hallucinating. A willow tree in the middle of an oak grove would be far too convenient. But after closer examination he found that this forest was actually full of different types of flora. It was almost as though natural selection hadn't had an opportunity to run its course here. When he saw a log on the ground nearby, he had a thought: a terribly absurd thought that might work. “…have an idea.”

Ceidon ran over to the fallen log and drug it to the willow tree. When he arrived, he reached up and broke off one of the flexible branches. “I need something sharp!” Ceidon yelled to Mordelain. At first she hesitated, but soon grew curious. She reached down to her boot and pulled out a small knife, walked over to Ceidon and held it out to him. “Um,” he said, “What was that about testicles and knives?” She merely shrugged.

Ceidon took the knife and started digging into the log about a third of the way down. Once he broke completely through, he began to fish the willow branch through the resulting hole and tied it into a tight knot. Mordelain must have realized what he was doing at that point because she called out, “Oh no. You’ve got to be kidding me. I would rather be swarmed...”

“Well,” Ceidon grinned, “You have to do what you can when the fate of Althanas is at stake.”

“Wait, what did you just say?”

Ceidon’s grin disappeared instantly. “Nothing...go find me another log!”

[Mordelain]

It took a lot to make Mordelain confused. It took a lot of humour to make her laugh. Stuck between the two, the planes walker could only chuckle, uncertain of her own opinions, as much as she was about her new found accomplice in this strange world. She wiped the corner of her mouth, dry as it was from her exertion and the moist, yet somehow dry atmosphere of the island.

“Okay,” she said firmly, as if it somehow made sense. She was making a statement as grand as the stars, but she was an audience of one. “Right, I’m…” she hesitated, cocked her head, and continued to watch his supposed handiwork for a few languishing seconds. His ability to mould wood into something was renowned, she could tell, but despite her word spanning knowledge, she could not work out what that something was. “Still not sure what you’re doing…” she mumbled. If she were more subservient, she might have turned on a spring, sultry heel and done exactly as she was bidden. She had come too far in life to bow to whim, however.

Ceidon looked up from his tinkering long enough to smile weakly and point over her shoulder. “Log, fetch, not hard,” was all he could manage before dropping his gaze back to his triple knot and bark bound lashing of one branch to another. Apparently, though oblivious to etiquette, he was more than confident in what he was doing. Somebody had to be, Mordelain supposed. When she turned away to find said log, she missed the boy’s cheeky spying of her behind.

“Oh, and make sure it’s not damp!” he heckled, as if the common sense of every woman he met was somehow lacking.

Mordelain rolled her eyes, but did not look back. Whilst she would never admit it, he had saved her from the…whatever they were. Now he had described her fate, she was certain that if she had fallen, she would most likely be dead by now, or at least momentarily. Their adventurer benefactor had assured them, that although the fears of death would forever linger over the arenas and battlegrounds and necropolis of the tournament, it would only be a passing dream of solitude. At that moment, she had declared the man insane, but no more than she was for accepting his terms.

She rooted through the rushes and the reeds in piles of debris and long since rotten trees. She pulled out several gnarled branches, clumped with lichen and moss and owl refuse, and tossed each to one side with a look of pure disgust splattered across her face. Her skin was moistening with exertion and fatigue, and her stomach growled in mimicry of the wolves on the distant peaks that howled for a hunt. The mists rolled down over the icy peaks on the horizon, and the dullard wind that rolled over the verge became chill and ominous. Her ordeal was beginning to feel more like a nightmare and less like a tale from the adventurer’s annuls she was recounted as a child.

“I always thought,” she picked up a log, tosses it in one hand, and then turned back to Ceidon, triumphant. “I always thought adventuring was supposed to be,” she shrugged and began to walk back to her companion. In her absent minded search she had wandered a good few hundred feet off towards the shadowy treeline, so had to shout to be heard over his wood cutting, “I don’t know…fun?” Ceidon mustered a weak laugh between downward strikes, and stopped to wipe away the flecks of bark from his lapel. He too was sweating and the bristling hair on the back of his neck only stood more on end when he caught Mordelain’s figure again.

“Oh heck, I don’t know,” he said, with far too much obvious mischief, “it has it’s,” he licked his lips and drove the knife downwards through the last of the thin strands that connected to pieces together, “it has it’s perks.” Mordelain raised an eyebrow, dropped the log at his feet, and folded her arms stubbornly across her breasts.

“That is not funny.”

Ceidon stopped trying to stifle his laughter, “No, it is tremendously funny,” he pushed himself upright, held out the knife with one hand, and propped the strange implement up in his other.

In all her many years, Mordelain had witnessed some strange occurrences. She had seen a Sand Wyrm descend onto Irrakam, only to be defeated by a dragon barely as large as a watermelon. She had seen the spirits dance in Hudde, where all the darkest of enemies dwell in eternity. She had seen the trees themselves swarm around bigger trees; much like the little pygmies had done, though the trees had done so with much more brute force. She had never seen a man no older than her left knee pull together the perfect solution from nothing before.

With a deep breath, she dropped her guard, pressed her cold hands into her hips, and nodded with much appreciation.

“Well,” she took the knife, “that’s really not what I had in mind.” She had run through several outcomes whilst she had searched for the last log, and none had been stilts. A part of her wished it had been the catapult. “But it’ll work,” she tucked the kukri into her boot where it rightfully belonged, and then waved towards the temple. “I’ll meet you there, though”, with a flash, she vanished.

Whilst she was hardly a lady, she was not going to give Ceidon any opportunity to look down her bra.

The smell of sulphur lingered in the air in her wake, and she re-appeared a moment later at the foot of the great dome, basking in the light of the thousand runes which danced mysteriously across its indomitable surface. It brought her enough time to try and get one up on him, and try not to come across quite as much as the nubile woman in a man’s world as she painfully was up until now. She rubbed her chin with scholar-like glee, and delved into possibility.

[Ceidon]

“Watch out!” Ceidon yelled as another wave of miniature men started to climb Mordelain’s right stilt. In response, she balanced herself and violently swung her right leg around, sending the assailants flying in every direction. In hindsight, using stilts to fight these creatures was quite possibly the worst idea that Ceidon had ever had. While their elongated strides helped them to quickly bypass the army of minis near the forest, their stilts did little to protect them when another thousand midgets joined the fray when they reached the temple. These new minis could also climb incredibly well, which was something Ceidon completely overlooked when he developed this cockamamie scheme.

Below him, a group of the soldiers started ascending his right stilt. Ceidon automatically shifted his weight in order to flail them away, but before he could swing his leg he noticed that two additional midgets had attached themselves to his left stilt. They began gnawing into the wood with their teeth. “This isn’t good. We need to get out of here!” Ceidon called out to Mordelain. He heard a distant curse and knew she was too preoccupied to offer a response. If they didn’t move soon, they would be killed.

When he first arrived in the clearing, Ceidon saw two sides of the temple. Now he and Mordelain were on the third. That left only one possible side for the entrance to be on presuming, of course, that the temple actually had some way in. “Follow me,” Ceidon said. Without waiting for a response, he started running towards the final side of the temple. As he kicked his feet, one by one the minis on his right stilt lost their grips and fell aside. However, the minis on his left remained steadfast and continued to chew through the wood on the stilt. Ignoring them temporarily, Ceidon managed to take a quick glimpse over his shoulder and was relieved to see Mordelain just behind him.

Eventually the adventurer rounded the corner of the massive building. He stayed close to the walls, looking for anything that resembled some type of door. Soon Ceidon and Mordelain were in the center of the fourth side, but the temple truly appeared to be inaccessible. “Bait,” the he mumbled and came to a stop. One of his miniature hitchhikers jumped to his right stilt and began biting the wood. This massive temple was nothing but bait in Kenneth Stern’s demented tournament. Even though they had a head start, it wouldn’t take long for the miniature army to catch up with them. Ceidon sighed. Their only option was to retreat to the forest.

Then, in an instant, the wall broke apart. Hundreds of thousands more camouflaged miniature men broke off from the temple and before Ceidon or Mordelain could react, they had completely surrounded them. Escape was no longer an option. The young adventurer turned and looked deeply into his companion’s eyes. He mouthed a truly sincere apology, but was unable to speak any words. At that moment, Ceidon gave into the fact that he was likely going to die, but not without protecting this woman with every ounce of strength left in his body.

The miniature army no longer attacked in waves. They threw everything they had at the two of them. Ceidon fought as hard as he could, using his stilts as a weapon. He kicked, jabbed, swung and impaled, but the enemy just kept coming. Mordelain was having better luck, but just barely. Soon both of them would be overwhelmed. Then Ceidon’s right stilt cracked, and he fell to the ground. This new angle gave him a rather unique view of the temple: from that of midget. He found, much to his surprise, that there was a door to the temple. It was no larger than two feet tall and two feet wide, but it was indeed a door. However, before he could share his discovery with Mordelain, he was jumped by at least fifty mini-men and was pushed against the ground.

Summoning all strength he could muster, Ceidon rose to his feet. “Mordelain! There’s a door!” He said, pointing at the wall. As smart as she was beautiful, the warrior reacted instantly. She came at Ceidon, narrowly missing him before stilting full spring at the temple, clearing a path for the rejuvenated adventurer. When Ceidon arrived, Mordelain had already removed her stilts and was swinging them at anything that got too close. She paused momentarily to let Ceidon through and then continued her defense.

“Well open it!” she cried.

Ceidon dropped to his knees and managed to pry the door apart. There must have been a weight on the other side because once it was fully extended it clicked and stayed in place. “Go, go, go!” he yelled at Mordelain. Without hesitation, she backed up towards the temple continuing to wildly swing her. When she arrived at the wall, Mordelain bent down and dove through the opening. Wasting no time, Ceidon dove in after her. But instead of landing on even ground, he fell at least 15 feet and landed on top of his beautiful companion bosom. Without thinking, Ceidon unintentionally pushed himself up into a dominant position.

Instead of reacting, Mordelain said, “Now close it!” When she noticed that Ceidon was completely oblivious, she grabbed his face and forced him to look upward. The door was wide open and the midgets were about to follow them into the temple. For once, Ceidon did something correctly. He reached down and grabbed Mordelain’s knife from her boot. He wound up and flicked the weapon at the rope holding the weights in place. Whether it was perfect aim or ridiculous luck, the knife broke the rope holding the weight in place and the door slammed shut leaving the two of them in complete darkness.

“Whew, that was close,” he said.

[Mordelain]

Mordelain drew on an inner strength she did not commonly rely on to push the oath from atop her, and as he flopped haphazard to her right, she rolled away to her left. In a trundling, dual flail, they both pounced upright, quite naturally, and patted one another down as if they had been invading tombs all their lives. When she realised that she had been quite caught up in the moment, she glared at Ceidon, who, in his innocence, glared back.

“Yes, quite,” she said.

The plucky adventurer nodded in agreement, and then produced a match and a thin waded torch from within the folds of his cheap attire. Mordelain watched him produce a light source from thin air, just as the door finally slid close and sealed them from the world beyond. A moment of brief silence fused the excitement of their imminent end with a wondrous and infinite discovery.

“Well,” Ceidon mumbled, a bit taken aback by being quite so close to his secondary prize, “let’s see what this madman has us after, shall we?” he held out the torch, still flickering with new and verdant life at arm’s length. Mordelain stepped away from him as he wave it frantically to cast the illumination of the light source into the abyssal innards of the temple.

Wonder was too soft a word to describe what they saw in the beyond. The room they had entered was a mere ante chamber to the grand structure. Golden glows and flows of silky light danced eagerly over the tri-partite corridors that branched out through hallowed arcs into the shadows. Beyond, there was a massive dome, cold, child, and snow-laden. Mordelain tucked her blouse and trousers into one another, rolled down her fur-lined gloves, and clasped her hands around her shoulders.

“This is a bit too fancy, even for me,” Mordelain said flatly. “Look at the verge of the archways, it’s all etched, sculpted, and forged in…” she paused for thought as she crossed the gap between the doorway and the first arch in the long bridge into nothing, “ivory?” she shrugged. She had seldom seen such fanciful and expensive materials used in such abundance.

Ceidon followed her across the pavement of stone, and rested his one free hand on his hip. He gazed out across the Webway of boardwalks and bridges that came into view as his torch moved the beyond into sight. In his limited experience, this was almost a temple of use, more so than religious intent. Some people, and some cultures, lived in temple conclaves as a way of bringing like-minded people together.

“Who do you think lived here?” he asked, casually turning his gaze to Mordelain as if she pure and simple.

“I’ve travelled nine worlds, Ceidon. Not once have I seen anything quite as extravagant underground.” She made the assumption that the bridges tied together platforms and boardwalks in the shadows that acted as meeting places. From the way the domed roof glowed with half dead magical lights and the floor unseen below was silent, dark, and absent, that the temple went underground many miles.

“I’m sorry, I’m almost certain you just said nine worlds…” the pucker lips of the adventurer pursed and wrinkled, showing his doubt.

Mordelain shrugged it off, and stepped closer to the boardwalk to look down. “Perhaps this is some sort of shrine city?” she raised an eyebrow before she turned around, hoping to show she was contemplative before she caught his eye. Flirting was not usually in her nature, but from their…brief encounter, she guessed it was her only way to gain his trust and obedience without having to resort to more clandestine measures. She took a short, sharp, and pained breath and took in the sandstone and the lime.

“Perhaps,” the boy replied dryly. He made no attempt to argue with her logic. He had seen enough agitate High Priestesses and rolling stones to know that temple cities had their downsides. “I thought you were impressed with my expansive membership?” he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his dusty chest. The movement of the torchlight cast new shadows in the golden and blood red tapestries of stone.

“Oh,” she chuckled, fazed by his continued efforts, “I am, Ceidon, I am.” She turned on a sharp heel. “That’s not to say I don’t have some hidden knowledge of my own. Temples are usually one of two things;” she pointed upwards at the dome, “surface places of worship, reverence, and of course, obedience.” She pointed down, behind her, with an extended hand. Her eyes sparked azure and red in the torchlight. “Below ground usually means those things, as well as subterfuge, sin, and out of sight ideals.” By which she meant danger, monsters, and long, dark, and perilous tunnel ways.

Ceidon smirked. He could not argue with her logic.

“Well, I guess you’re right. Our brief was to defeat the guardian of a temple and procure the unwritten word beyond the battleground,” it was clear from his explanation that he was paraphrasing. Mordelain sighed. As usual, it was left to the woman to pay attention to the minor details, and the man to make a mockery of well-laid plans.

“I think,” she turned away from him and strode out confidentially onto the wide, rail-less walkway. “We should move on. The battleground,” she prodded a finger over her shoulder, back to the granite and poultice door that was now long since sealed, “is behind. The guardian’s defeated,” the collective nature of her statement alluded to the gaggle of pygmies.

“Oh,” Ceidon mouthed. “Duh me!” he broke into a cantor to follow, and caught up quick enough. “Yes, of course, I thought they were the residents.”

The soft breeze of the nothingness washed over Mordelain and dredged away every ounce of warmth left in fragile form. Had she more time to prepare, she might’ve adorned some were-rabbit fur gloves, a thick woollen doublet, and a long, desert suiting cloak. With none of those things, all she could do was silently shiver as they walked in silence over an arced bridge.

“Hopefully, the true residents of this god-awful place will be a little more accounting to our ample vestige,” the breast reference was lost on Ceidon as he admired the glistening architecture that hung in etched globes and golden spheres from the overhead walkways and the platforms and chambers that hung like raindrops in the starry sky.

“Yeah, I’m with you there. Whatever those…imps were guarding, it must be really epic if they went to such lengths to seal it away.”

Silently, the adventurer and the walker contemplated just what it was they were walking into. The silence, the dark, and the hallowed nature of their environ humbled them both to wordless conversation.

[Revenant]

Plot: (18)

Storytelling (6) – An interesting take on the Ceidon’s tomb raiding theme, with an different take on the idea of pygmies than is normally taken. I don’t even know if 6” – 8” creatures really count as pygmies, but they still had that feel. Though while an interesting take, there was nothing that really jumped out as really special or unique.

Setting (7) – Both of you made good use of the varied scenery here. In particular, the temple and its dark interior were written vividly enough that they really painted a good picture for me. A bit more physicality to the odd forest and the temple’s interior would have really given the whole thread a bit more life.

Pacing (5) – The thread began with a nice slow, smooth start but during the stilt-building scene in the jungle things got very jerky. Part of this I blame on the obfuscation that you kept around what Ceidon was building, which forced you both to write a bunch of stuff that really didn’t maintain the focus on where the story was going.

Character: (17)

Communication (5) – Mordelain had a couple of moments that really felt out of character. You do a good job of setting up the Fallien ties that the character has really well, even going as far as to describe her favorite hummus/pita dish. However, when Ceidon goes running by you try to get his attention by yelling “Oi,” which in my mind is a decidedly non-Fallien way of speaking.

Action (5) – Like pacing, this section started off really solid but started to get really muddy about halfway through. There seemed to be some confusion after the stilts were finished and during your final encounter with the pygmies and exploration of the temple’s last two sides. Things cleared up again in the final couple of posts but you really needed a bit of clearing up with the stilt scene.

Persona (7) – I hadn’t really expected Mordelain’s deep man-hating but you wrote it well and maintained it throughout the thread and it really pulled your character together. Ceidon’s lighthearted, skirt-chasing nature provided a good contrast here but didn’t always seem entirely appropriate in this situation, something that didn’t feel quite right for a seasoned adventurer.

Prose: (15)

Mechanics (5) – Mordelain, I counted at least four different instances of you using the wrong word in your posts. There weren’t too many other errors but these were pretty blatant and, especially in a tournament, should have been caught by a proof-read.

Clarity (4) – Really, this area suffered greatly during the return to the temple on the stilts. Your posts really lost the strong coherency that they’d had up until that point. It really put a bit of a damper on the entire thread. Focus on clearing up your meaning and intent to raise this score.

Technique (6) – There were some good efforts made in this thread but aside from hiding the nature of Ceidon’s master plan for three posts, this was a pretty standard thread.

Wildcard: (5)

Total: 55

Ceidon receives 275 exp and 45 gp.
Mordelain receives 330 exp and 45 gp.