Anene Minne (Open)

[Ozoric]

Heat welled in Ozoric’s chest. It ran down his arms like volcanic tributaries, and snaked about his legs like rivers of flame. The thermals served as an anchor to the Valakut, much as Erikar’s magnetics tethered the assassin to their impromptu mount. However, at ease on wing and wind, the circumstances in which he found herself were anything but comfortable for the Lancer.

“I have to say…,” he grumbled through bloodied teeth. He smelt of singed flesh.

Slowly but surely he pushed himself upright.

“You are nothing if not persistent,” he spat.

Persistence, in the half-dragon’s eyes, was a weakness. It meant Erikar had failed too many times already, and in doing so, had become reckless. Every little facet of the man lay out on parchment for the strategist to ruminate over. One thing troubled him.

“I will give you that…,” he added as afterthought. He was already an arrogant ‘lording’ to the hellish men of the Order. He did what he could to diminish his supposed ego before commanders in their sycophantic ranks.

Beneath his boots, bound in steel and enchanted to lofty heights he felt the roughshod scales. They were as hard as adamantium, and as thick as a castle’s walls. On either side, spines or spikes like mountains rose roughshod and yet symmetrical. Feeling at home amidst the mania, he readied his blade, and advanced. He did not charge. He did not pounce. He did not stride. Tip levied at Erikar’s heart, he forward marched a king.

[Erikar]

The Lancer marched inexorably onward, towards the would-be hunter. He held his sword in a practiced grip, with its tip pointed straight at its target; Erikar's heart. A look of steely resolve overtook his face. Ozoric felt no more fear; he was ready.

The crimson-haired assassin smiled. It was not a grin of innocent ecstasy; it was a wicked smirk, one reserved for degenerates and sinners. It spoke of many things: anticipation, hunger, blood-lust. But most of all, it spoke of a desire to prove himself; to finally show his master that he was worthy of more than the scraps. It was an evil smile of desire and fiery ambition.

Erikar dashed the last few feet at the Lancer, darting in low to avoid the sting of his cold steel. Ozoric was quick to react, bringing his blade sweeping low at the assassin's feet in an attempt to maim. The youth brought his chakram to bear, catching the sword easily between its many blades, sending a sharp ring crying out into the sky.

The emerald-eyed assassin forced their bound weapons upward, between himself and the Lancer. Their gazes locked for but a moment, but to Erikar, it felt like an eternity. The assasin's eyes held killer intent and desire; Ozoric's, a will of fire and the rage of dragons. The stench of fire and brimstone filled his nostrils, and the moment was over.

Erikar jabbed his iron spike at Ozoric's chest, attempting to find an opening in the Lancer's leather armor and spill his life's blood upon the Valakut's massive spine. A quick shift of his steel-bound boots brought Ozoric out of the ginger man's range, and returned control of his blade to him. The steel in his eyes matched that of his sword as he stepped forward once again. The tip of Newalla's blade struck out at Erikar once, then twice, stabbing like a scorpion's deadly stinger.

The assassin managed to avoid the first lunge cleanly, but the second bit at his youthful face. He turned, the point of the blade catching him on his right cheek. Erikar cursed in anger, adrenaline coursing through his veins and numbing his wounds. He teetered backwards, off-balance, then caught himself. The Lancer swung unceremoniously at his head, obviously more worried about surviving than having a worthy battle. Quick reflexes and a fighter's instinct were the only things that saved his head from tumbling out of the sky. Erikar dropped his weapons and ducked under the wide sweep, then dove at Ozoric's midsection. His tackle hit cleanly, dropping them both to the hard dragon-hide.

They rolled about the back of the Valakut, nestled between mountains of scale, each struggling to attain control. Newalla bared his teeth and threw the burgundy-cloaked assassin down, finding himself seated atop Erikar, poised to strike. However, he hesitated, unsure of himself. The assassin did not; his verdant eyes glowed brightly, and the sword went flying out of Ozoric's grip, into the endless sky.

[Ozoric]

“I should have kn-” Ozoric’s petulant attempt at an insult cut short by a right hook to the face. It was payback for the sword’s passage through Erikar’s cheek.

The wind, strong as ever as the dragon rose and dove lashed against the Lancer. He tried to overcome his opponent, subdue him utterly. The assassin too well trained in his arts undid every attempt with ease. Without his sword, and without his dragons, Ozoric flew back. An ascent made the journey seem endless.

“Know what?” The same cold and unending hatred that drove Erikar through life drove him to advance, all too quickly, towards the fallen strategist.

With a grunt, the boy pushed himself to one side, and then half upright. He glared, dizzy and lofty in his ego back at the red head. He felt the scales of the Valakut, like fortresses each one of them, and felt a kinship. A bond. A familiarity. Strength.

“Know you would not take the high road.”

The words seemed pious and self-serving because they were. Ozoric touched the Valakut mind and ignoring rules, tenets, and statutes, he gave a command. The dragon resisted at first but relented. Something deep within Ozoric, a legacy that transcended all other commands overrode the creature’s hatred of man. It dove sharp, and drew the wind around it as it closed its wings to reduce drag. It gave him time to rise on a thermal and land. A whip of wind brought the sword by fate to the owner’s hand and the sword’s cold twang was unforgiving.

“Time to get off.” Ozoric charged. Sweat was his armour now. The cut and thrust of his words were weak and feeble. Erikar had drawn out the swordsman, the warrior, and the Wyld in the lancer.

[Erikar]

The redheaded assassin sneered in anger and pain as Ozoric made his valiant charge. This man, whom Erikar had taken for an easy target, was proving to be quite a nuisance. The searing pain that now radiated up his arm clawed it's way into his mind, demanding his attention and distracting him from his objective. His gashed face bled freely, dyeing his white linen shirt a dark crimson. Stars blinked and flashed in his vision; if he didn't retreat, sleep - followed by death - would soon claim him.

'Oh, how my master would laugh..' Erikar berated himself once more, ashamed and enraged at his continuing failure.

He turned and ran from the Lancer, down the spine of the massive Valakut and towards his salvation. The open sky stood unending before him, and the youthful killer rushed to meet it. Ozoric followed close behind, eager to see his adversary fall, his blade's tip seeking blood hungrily. Erikar reached the end of the colossal beast and turned, studying the young Lancer of the Drakengard with a speculative eye once more. Ozoric halted, wary of another trick.

"You're right, it's my stop," He gibed, reverting back to his young and sarcastic nature. Unable to resist sending one last barb at Ozoric, Erikar continued. "But I'm sure you'll be seeing me again, and it'll be soon, no doubt. Maybe I'll bring a present: The head of Tobias Stalt?"

His wicked smile crept across his pale face once more, full of dark promise and anticipation. The furious Lancer charged once again, ready to see his unwanted passenger off. The assassin obliged, leaping from the Valakut's hind into the endless sky.

The wind whipped and sliced at his porcelain skin as Erikar fell, slicking his skin with scarlet liquid and clouding his vision. His heart rose in his chest and caught in his throat; his pulse pounded like the beat of trouper's drum, fast and excited, almost ready to explode. Erikar closed his eyes and let the feeling of free-fall envelop him in it's wondrous embrace. The pain in his body faded to a dull warmth, and sleep threatened once again to overtake the young assassin.

However, his honed instincts of survival and self-preservation would never allow death to come so easily. Emerald eyes snapped open of their own accord, shining like beacons of hatred and determination. The ground rose to meet him, and Erikar welcomed it. His breakneck descent slowed slightly; the armor and weapons of the fallen, still lying motionless below, acted as a perfect anchor to repel off of. The murder of carrion crows scattered as he plunged - rather quickly - between them, cursing him with their harsh call.

Despite his successful attempts to impede his descent, the assassin struck the ground like a falling star. Erikar tumbled over corpses and maggots, finally coming to a stop next to a headless soldier. His emerald eyes forced themselves shut; the peaceful silence of sleep finally claimed the youth.

Erikar awoke an hour or so later. The pulse of his blood pounding in his head drove him to open his eyes and inspect his surroundings once more. His decapitated, nameless companion said nothing, as was to be expected. One of the black birds picked and prodded at it with it's beak, savoring the decaying flesh of the body.

Erikar stood quickly, eager to be away from the disgusting sight. On shaking legs, the youth retreated. It was time to make his report, and to endure Lye's rage once more.

'He is not going to be happy...' Erikar reflected with apprehension as he limped away from the battlefield.

[Ozoric]

Cold wind whipped over the Lancer. The wing beat of the Valakut were a repeating thunder in concordant skies. Atop the beasts back, venerable and ancient as the mountain peaks below, Ozoric Newalla dwelt in thoughts succour. His eyes were closed, his feet apart, and his sword hand was still singing.

What aisles you?

The ancient voice jolted Ozoric to life. He turned to face the headwind.

He thinks he can get to Tobias Stalt.

Fatigue struck. Unable to hide his wounds and his worry behind a mask of defiance anymore, Ozoric fell to his knees. He was defeated, despite his one-upmanship. He was deflated, ego and pride bruised and battered like his body. He let his sword rattle to the scales and stay its outrage with an echo. His knees throbbed as bony protrusions pushed hard against steel plate.

Perhaps he can…

Ozoric could not be sure, but the Valakut appeared to laugh. Its voice turned into monotonous peals of lightning, each syllable unnerving the boy as it echoed and bounced about his skull. He grit his teeth. All the same, the creature had a point. Though Tobias was one of the Drakengard by now, there was stillroom of treachery from the witheringly evil and calculating mind of The Order.

No, he said after several leagues of silent gliding.

No? The Valakut enquired wearily. Its maw dropped wide, and from its fanged abyss came a gout of flame that ignited the sky. The blast cleared a path through a frozen clifface that marked the border between Eiskalt’s war town plains and the infinite and open sea twixt isle and Salvar.

Ozoric smiled. He sat cross-legged above the creature’s shoulder blades, connected to it through love and respect and a firm grip of the grooves in the ancient and unbreakable skin. One long, deep breath dredged the smoke and burnt air from his lungs. The taste of charred flesh was still on his tongue, signalling many days of rest in the infirmary still to come. The journey home to Corone would afford the youth much time to reflect on what had happened on the mausoleum plains.

I will show him what it means to be a dragon, he pledged. He closed his eyes, folded his legs, and sat in a meditating position.

Easy! The Valakut demonstrated with another blast of fire so hot it could have torn apart the thickest armoured phalanx. Its sheer size could smash through the cliff, but the plethora of scars and broken horns about its jagged mane showed experience in such folly. It roared, and the roar filled the clouds with such energy folks in towns below ran for cover for fear of snowstorm.

Ozoric smirked and let his worries go with the gale. His tattoos faded. Roils of thermals about him ceased. He found peace in war, and finally, on dragon back, he found a place to call home.

[Philomel]

Thread Title: Anene Minne
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Erikar vs Ozoric

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Plot: 17 --- 16

• Story- 6/10---5/10

Overall story was simple and continuous for both of you. You had a good development of plot, and general rise of tension, though it was a little short of blows or melee action for a “battle” in the first place. Both characters explained why there were there, but some development especially on Ozoric’s side could have been done to expand this, perhaps adding forshadowing, or prologue in the first couple of your posts. It was actually Erikar who noted that Ozoric’s dragoons had been a part of the recent battle (post 4) with, "whom had so recently scorched this barren, lifeless battlefield."

What was a particular weakness here was the shorter posts, that, while they make the story concise and do encourage the action along somewhat, they contain one or two pieces of dialogue, that add up to a full conversation; post 4 has Erikar asking, "Where is Tobias?" and he is answered, "Dead," to which he responds in post 6 "Dead?" more or less pulling the story telling out to a point where it becomes awkward. As an opening to a battle, this is unconventional, and you do have a particular strength in continuation of general plot from the Eiskalt War, but here it could have done with a stronger story-telling base with more background and, dare it be said, more fighting.

• Setting- 6/10---6/10

Setting was appropriate for a battle and clearly reflected what had gone on in the Eiskalt War.
The bodies and the descriptions of the carrion birds were brilliant and added an extra layer of grimness to the state of the chaos, especially in post 3 with Ozoric's, "Overhead, crows circled. Donning the mantle of vultures and vixens, they dived periodically to engulf manhood and mottled flesh freely."

However, additions could have been made in reflection to the smells of the corpses, or the difficult act by either character by walking over them. When you are writing something as simple as walking it sometimes helps to imagine what you are walking over and what sounds footsteps might make, or what the ground feels underfoot. This can add more depth to your writing for such an ordinary action.

• Pacing- 5/10---5/10

Pacing is hard to mark here. At first the scene is slow and progressive, and it built up when the fighting finally occurred, which is what you want. However, to some degree at the start it was almost too slow, and the reader felt the atmosphere “dragging,” perhaps because the better part of the action and fighting did not start until post 9/10, the second page and/or the usual short posts that gave a “stop-start” issue of reading flow that you do not want to some degree. It is difficult to find the balance between rushing and going too fast, which you overall showed well as a strength, but marks are lost slightly because of this issue of the beginning.

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Character: 20 --- 19

• Communication- 7/10---7/10

As appropriate as the setting is, there was no deviation with communication in terms of characterisation, and both Erikar and Ozoric were justified in their sense of tone when it came to arguing.

Specifically Ozoric’s strength was found in post 7 with his interrupted speech and attempts to find polite ways of saying Tobias was dead. It is strange, though, that Ozoric calls Erikar “boy” (post 7) even though there are only 4 years separating them.

Erikar’s particular strength was his internal thoughts that more so than Ozoric gave us an idea of his personality inside, such as 'Almost.. there,' in post 8, showing the internal struggles within him and dealing with his power, and also has excellent forshadowing for the lightning attack he uses.

• Action-6/10---5/10

The action was slow at times, especially within the first half of the thread. Though mentioned in pacing that this fitted for the generation of the action to the fighting, it seems somewhat vague and uninteresting. We get to know the characters very well but not minor things, such as their reactions to the war so far, or minor habitual actions, which could have added depth to the piece, as a suggestion. Everything is rather basic and simple, with no experimentation as to basic acts sequence.

In terms of individual weakness, Ozoric could have been developed when it came to his connection to the Valakut mind in post 15, yet his actions added more interest than those in the first half to the reader and allowed them to visualise more. You missed an opportunity here to really explore a unique and intriguing side of Ozoric that other characters will never have, so it would have been nice to see some expansion on that.

However, as a strength, after the first half when it got to the introduction of the dragon we are clearly shown Erikar’s stamina and endurance, and Ozoric responded in kind with personality and vivacity.

• Persona- 7/10---7/10

Persona was well performed, with personal reflections from both characters, and inner thoughts being written in italics. Both Erikar and Ozoric were shown to have deep personalities as well as personal ideals and morals. Within post 2 we got to know right away about Erikar’s emotions to do with Lye’s anger, which set the reader off already at a strong understanding of him and his motivations. Similarly in post 3 there were hints of Ozoric’s own reasonings, but to a lesser obvious degree.

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Prose: 22 --- 20

• Mechanics- 7/10---6/10

You both were near-perfect in mechanics. There were a few spelling mistakes upon Ozoric’s part (“ails,” not “aisles” as in post 15) but overall both of you made good use of more unusual punctuation (colons and elipsis) and sentence structure with short and long sentences according to pace and movement. Ozoric gets a lower score here because of more spelling errors. A quick read before posting can help this.

• Clarity- 7/10---7/10

Each action was clear and precise, and there was no confusion as to where blows fell and the reaction to them. The bunnying at times seemed almost extreme, but you both seemed to be happy with it. Despite it being a battle, which is often easy to become overwhelmed with in accordance to clarity, it was straight forwards and a pleasure to read. In this case your slow development to action helped you both. Well done.

• Technique- 6/10---5/10

Technique in itself is a difficult one to judge in this. There was a sense of safe-ness being played upon here, as there are not many literary techniques used such as imagery or alliteration. The piece opened with a great metaphor - “harsh call of carrion crows shattered the haunting silence of the battlefield” - yet this was probably the strongest example within the battle. For this reason Eirkar is getting a slightly higher score, but I think both of you could have experimented a little more with your literary devices. Despite this, the description itself, solely on the adjectives, is fantastic.

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Wildcard: 7 --- 7

Opening: For both of you it was a fantastic opening to a scene that ties in with the recent war and shows the personal struggles of your two characters. The depth of visual imagery and colour the reader gets from the opening two posts brings into Althanasian reality of it from the start. Even though it takes time to develop, there is a significant strength from the very beginning that was especially spectacular.

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Final Score: 64---60

Erikar Wins!:

• 1100 EXP!
• 90 GP!

Congratulations!


Ozoric Receives:

• 300 EXP!
• 45 GP!

[Alyssa Snow]

EXP and GP added!