True Oldbie Bracket Finals: Roht Mirage Vs Taste of Treason

[Silence Sei]

Sorry for the delay folks! Match begins tonight at Midnight, CST. Have fun!

[Roht Mirage]

“A word, Miss Set'Roh,” the Ai'Brone monk intoned as he shepherded Astarelle into an empty healing room. His manner was brisk, his hand on her arm nearly as solid as the pale, dusty walls and barely-padded stone bed. She didn't know his face, and there was no familiarity in his touch. He might as well have been moving one of their arcane medical instruments from one room to another.

A worried squeak, almost a word, came from the hall's threshold where Astarelle's young friend peered nervously. “It's fine,” she tried to convey to Cellar with just a smile and a terse nod. Then, she rounded on the monk, her smile wide and sweet as honey. “Is anything wrong?” she asked innocently.

The monk, shorter than her and looking very much like a grumpy grandfather, was unimpressed. “I'm sure you are aware, yet I will make it clear. This is very unorthodox,” he said as if it was a vile notion.

“I think of it as realizing untapped potential,” Astarelle countered with belligerent good cheer, “To be honest, this ol' girl, our dear Citadel has become rather...” She waved a hand thoughtfully as if searching for the least offensive word possible. “Unsurprising.” The monk's wrinkly brow wrinkled all the more, but she continued. “Just imagine if people came not only for battle, but to see history. You could put every museum in the world out of business.”

With a glacial slowness, the elder crossed his hands before him, squared his shoulders under his crisp robe, and leaned forward like a cleave of mountain on the brink of crashing over her. “I do not know what you think you saw, Miss Set'Roh, when you became separated from your last arena. But, it is irrelevant. Our purpose is not education. At least, not beyond an education in combat, survival, and personal betterment. The arenas are drawn from our patrons' minds only to serve this end.”

Astarelle leaned in and spoke with a conspiratorial whisper, her head hunkered low against the short collar of her travelling coat. “I know it can draw from so much more. It can show the past... or close to it.” The last part, she added on a whim. She didn't properly know what it meant, but it was an impression that she had been unable to shake since her tumble beyond the Citadel's illusions.

And it was rewarded with a reaction, if slight. The monk's eyes widened by an almost imperceptible degree. It seemed such an unfamiliar expression on his stern face that she expected to hear the sound of old leather protesting. Unfortunately, it did not last long. “It could be said,” he mused, offering her his own deliberate, if modest, attempt at cheer, “That the past does not exist but in our own minds.”

Bury you, Astarelle cursed internally. Philosophy was the death throe of many a constructive conversation. Effectively, theirs was over. She let her false cheer come to an end as well. “After all the spectators I've drawn here, after getting blown up and tossed around and shot through the heart for your blasted tournaments, I think I am owed a small favor.” Her voice was still a whisper, but she couldn't hide the change in her demeanor.

“Combat, survival, and personal betterment,” the monk repeated.

“File it under the third one,” Astarelle snapped.

“Traditionally, a contest between two persons-”

She countered with more volume than she intended. “No!” Her gaze instinctively turned to the young woman in the doorway. There was no way she hadn't heard. The puzzlement and concern in her ocean-blue eyes was obvious. Astarelle gave her a wavering smile, then turned back to the monk. “I won't negotiate on this,” she said softly, yet with enough force to hold strong should his mountainous Ai'Brone will fall upon her. “I am here to support her. I will not fight her.”

The monk's stern gaze seemed to look at her from a lofty height even though it was only level with her nose. He leaned forward. There might have been the soft rumble of stone cracking. Finally, he asked, “Are you this difficult for everyone?”

Astarelle's cheer returned, honest and pure. “Oh, the stories the Knights could tell you,” she beamed, “I'll take that as a yes?”

“This time,” he rumbled.

“This time,” she agreed with a little lilt in her voice that, had the monk known her, he might have realized meant “probably.” As his stoney shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, she stepped around him and rejoined Cellar in the hall.

“It's okay,” she said to preempt the obvious question, “They're just sticklers for tradition. If they have a real problem with it, I'll just have more words with them.” She inched her coat open over her blouse; she felt like she was sweating a little. It wasn't because of the verbal sparing -by the depths, no- but due to the difference between the unseasonable chill outside and the almost-living warmth of the Citadel's hollow arteries.

[Taste of Treason]

The entire idea is crazy. Something from a storybook or a bedtime tale. I humor Astarelle as she goes about setting up her experiment. I agree eagerly with every word, and I tell myself it is for her sake. I tell myself I don't believe it will work. I tell myself that even if I could do what she says, it won't change anything.

When I am alone though, I allow my thoughts to be honest. What if this is more than a fantastical idea? What if like magic and Mystics I find that those stories are all too true? Haven't I learned by now that my world is much more complicated than I ever believed? I've seen people fly and throw things with their minds. I've seen dragons and gun cases that summon insects. How farfetched can changing the past truly be?

And if I truly allow myself to believe, how can I deny that knowing how my life could have been could change everything?

I can't.

I stand silently as Astarelle discusses her plan with a strange cloaked man. I keep my eyes on the marble floor, each swirl of stone leading my sight to another mysterious doorway.

The building that surrounds me is beyond comprehension. The moment I saw it come into view I felt a strange sense of reverence. I have, of course, heard of the Citadel. Nothing can prepare you for the moment you step inside the pristine building. I have never felt so out of place as that moment, just minutes ago when I realized how many of Althanas' great warriors had sharpened their skills within these walls. Who am I to take up space here?

Yet Astarelle, the champion of the cell, stands next to me. She reassures me as we walk the vacant halls. She slides her arm through mine, and I wonder how many times she's done the same for other street children. To a passerby we are just two friends, arm in arm, but both of us know she is holding me steady in a world I will never understand.

We are silent, but our footsteps tell the tale. Hers are steady and strong as they send echos throughout the cavernous halls, leaving behind a legacy. Mine are barely there, a whisper in the wind to be forgotten in moments.

If not for a gentle tug on my arm and a sudden deafening silence I may not have known we arrived. With a soft smile the darkskinned beauty opens the door. I take a deep breath and follow.

We are in complete darkness. I can feel it settle against my skin, a weighted blanket that won't let me move. The door shuts behind us with a crash and I try to figure out if my eyes are open at all. I can feel my heart beating against my chest like a prized fighter.

Astarelle squeezes my arm, "Just hold on to me."

Doesn't she know that's the only thing keeping me standing?

[Roht Mirage]

Though she held Cellar at the thickest part of her arm, she could feel the poor girl's pulse pounding away. “Afraid of the dark?” she almost asked, but thought better than to point out something that would either be blindingly obvious or insultingly off the mark. Instead, she whispered the word, “Breathe”, as she did so herself.

She was struck by the potent smell of wood. Her Fallien-born senses couldn't identify the type, but she could tell the difference between a sweet, thriving forest and the dry deadness after said forest was felled and shaped. This was definitely the latter. That, combined with the lack of even starlight, told her they were indoors. “It worked,” she sighed softly, “we're... somewhere. The Ai'Brone know better than to mess with-” There was a smug twist to her mouth and a thick bravado in her voice. Both fell away as Cellar stepped toward her, shoulder pressed nearly to shoulder. “Just stay close,” she said with a reassuring pat on her friend's arm. Then, she took a careful step forward and felt about with the hand that wasn't towing Cellar along.

Her fingertips rapped against the edge of a shelf, then softly padded over the surface of it from left to right. She had no intention of knocking over some row of clatter-y knickknacks. Fortunately, there seemed to be none. What she did find was the yielding coarseness of rough wool. She could feel the folds of an uneven stack of garments, and she danced her fingers to the top. There, she met a billow that was likely a hood folded over. Softly, she made an affirmative sound in her throat.

“Astarelle?” Cellar asked, voice shaking.

Astarelle faced her in the dark as if she could read her expression. She couldn't, of course, and Cellar couldn't see the bewildered grimace on Astarelle's face. What's gotten into you? You seemed to like this idea earlier. Cellar might not have been as enthusiastic as Astarelle. But, she definitely had been curious. There was some question she wanted an answer to, something she hadn't shared the details of. It was what had shaped this... 'arena', in Ai'Brone parlance.

“Hold these,” Astarelle whispered sharply as she plucked two garments from the top of the pile and pushed them toward Cellar's chest.

With a surprised grunt and a steadier voice, she asked, “What is it?”

“Cloaks, probably.”

“Why-”

Astarelle shushed her by feeling up the girl's slim arm to place a hand on her shoulder. “Priorities,” she said softly near Cellar's ear. “We don't know where we are or who is around. So, first order of business is to blend in any way we can.” It sounded like something her old teacher might say, though she couldn't remember exactly. How long ago that seemed, back when she needed such rudimentary lessons on infiltration. She sensed the motion of Cellar nodding. Then, she blinked and hissed, “Light.”

With their shoes scuffling softly, she inched them toward a narrow bar of light low to the floor; a closed door. Her hand brushed across its surface until she found the handle. There, she froze, and she listened. Cellar remained silent except for her rapid breathing.

Patience paid off.

“- bloody disgusting. We aren't here to feed the wicked,” came a voice from some distance, growing louder.

“You have a better plan?” countered another voice, juvenile and cocky.

The first seemed to answer with a rasp of metal on leather, perhaps from easing a blade in its sheath. “Same plan as always,” he growled.

“Brilliant,” the younger man snorted, “You get a face full of demon glass and we have to go snatch another one.”

The only answer was an angry grunt right on the other side of the door as they passed. In the lull of conversation, she could hear their footsteps fading. She turned the handle and teased the door toward her, revealing a sliver of vision.

Beyond the door was a hall wide enough for six men abreast and tall enough for wooden rafters to be lost in shadow. The light was the color of an orange dusk piercing through smokey windows. On the opposite wall, she caught a reflection. Two points of reflection, to be precise. Two beady eyes. “Bury me,” she hissed, hand to her mouth. The eyes were dead, likely glass, and situated in the head of a boar. The rest of the beast had probably disappeared into a stew pot long ago, perhaps even the very pot that sent a rich smell of venison down the hall and across her nose. Her tummy rumbled on reflex.

Hush, she chided it as she leaned into the hall and looked toward the retreating backs of two men, then the opposite direction where dinner seemed to be bubbling. The hall ended at a high doorless frame with cupboards beyond; not a soul in sight. She turned back to the two that continued along. One wore dark armor. Its dings and scratches shone with an inner iron layer as he passed the narrow, vaulted windows. He had a cloak, though it was unfastened and slung over one arm. Astarelle couldn't be sure if it matched those that Cellar held. His other hand played over a long sword at his hip. The second man wore no armor, weapon, or cloak, just a plain brown work shirt. There was a certain manner about him, though. It was in the bulk of his shoulders and the rigid way he held his torso. He was an archer, she guessed, and not the casual sort that might frequent a hunting lodge – a hunting manor? - such as this. Toward a turn in the hall, the two men marched with a step that betrayed a small amount of formation training, more militia than soldier.

Another animal loomed over them, this one intact. It was a bear with front paws skyward, jaws agape in a ferocious yet silent growl. With some of that same fury, the armored one tilted his head and resumed his guttural complaints. “I'm just sayin'... bloody waste of good food, especially the cake.”

The other's broad shoulders shifted in a silent chuckle as he adjusted something in his arms. It sounded like utensils rattling on a metal platter. “Want it for yourself, huh?” he chided.

“Maybe,” the armored one huffed, “What kind is it?” Their voices broke down to ghostly whispers as they took the bend in the hall.

The light visibly shifted from orange to red - inevitably toward black – as Astarelle inched the door mostly shut and turned to Cellar. She had a question on her lips, but it froze there when she glimpsed her friend's face in the sliver of light. Cellar's ocean-blue eyes looked as haunted as a shipwreck.

[Taste of Treason]

Memories are a funny thing. The moment I hear the gruff voice I relax. The familiar scent of cedarwood fills my nostrils and a small room with only a single high window fills my vision. I am still standing next to Astarelle in the near-darkness and yet I know that I am somewhere else at the same time. I can almost taste the cake. It was rich chocolate with a hint of mint. I have never again tasted anything quite the same. It took away all the pain.

I stare down at the robe in my hand uselessly in the darkness, but I don’t need to see it. The insignia of the Nights of the Dawn is cemented in my head from years ago. I enter the abandoned hallway slowly, allowing Astarelle’s touch to leave me for the first time.

I look above me at the giant boar head. I remember walking through the large, main room of the lodge and staring through the doorway. I remember fearing the creature would come down from the walls and eat me. I remember the gruff voiced man, with his deep green eyes as he told me that it was long dead. I would be safe. I would go home soon. He left out that the stuffed creature was the least dangerous thing in a place like this.

He never lied though. Suddenly I am filled with fear and nausea and a thirst for more.

Somewhere in this space I am eating the most delicious cake with a small tube stuck to my arm. Somewhere in this place I am being changed forever into the broken person that I am. I will never be human and I am no longer a Mystic. Yet, somewhere in this place is a little girl who could still be whole.

“We have to stop it.” The words are more for myself than Astarelle, but her smile tells me she is on board. I slidethe cloak on over my light jacket and feel the itchy material against my fingertips as the sleeves swallow my small frame. I open a door across from where I entered and peek my head through. I feel like I’m in a dream but the morning haze is starting to fade and I will soon forget all the important parts. In time we could figure the place out without my memories. The truth is, I’m not sure I have that kind of time.

Astarelle seems calm, and I do my best to mimic her. I look around me only half taking in what I see.

The room is empty. Candles adorn the red-wood walls. Wax drips down the labres as though the group has been here for quite some time. I try to remember which way we went all those years ago, but my mind refuses to cooperate. I was so small.

Suddenly I feel weightless for the tiniest of moments. My mind races, trying to place the strange sensation when I am deposited gently on a rafter high above the floor I’d stood on moments before. I look to the left and catch Astarelle’s eye. She holds a single finger to her lips. Her tattoo seems to shine in the dim light and it takes me a moment to pull my gaze from her deep brown eyes.

When I do look down I breathe a sigh of relief. Astarelle has saved me once again. Three large men in leather armor cross the room beneath our feet. Their voices reach us at first a whisper but soon one loses his temper.

“So how long are we babysitting this little witch?” I can barely make out his plump features, but his chest rises and falls as though even speaking the words tires him.

The smallest of the trio laughs. “Another day or so should do it. We’re starting the experiment tonight. Hang in there big guy, the stench of Mystic will be cleared out before long. Then, we’ll all go for a proper night out.”

The fatty grunts. Obviously he isn’t quite sure.

“Let’s just go, the sooner we do the rounds, the sooner we can get some sleep.” The third man seems to be the voice of reason, and in moments they are gone. Their reverberating footsteps soon follow them. I glance at Astarelle, and in seconds I am again on solid ground. I can still feel the imprint of the beam on my rear end. “That’s really cool.” I let the words slip as though we aren’t in danger.

Fur rugs mark each exit. I stare at the pelts in the flickering candlelight and listen for more voices. Then, I remember. When the gruff man brought me the cake, we were alone. He let me walk through the halls and he…

"I want to go home."

"You will, as soon as you are better."

My eyes filled with tears. "I don't feel sick though."

He had laughed even as tears threatened his eyes too. He looked away. "I know you don't, kid. I know you don't"


I run with all that I have. My feet nearly slip on a tiger hide as I enter a long hall. I have no idea how long this moment of clarity will last. The room that was my prison is the first on the left, but I rush past it in an instant. I try to keep my feet quiet against the worn wood floor. I reach a rear door that I am almost certain leads to an open field. I exit the building and look around. The treeline is less than twenty paces away. I smile at Astarelle like a child who has just discovered chocolate. Her face is a mixture of confusion and exasperation, a look I've come to know well as she tries to figure me out. “Do you really think we can change this?”

[Roht Mirage]

“Can we?” Astarelle asked as if she didn't understand the question. Her voice was so quiet that it just wandered away in the open night air. Her hand fluttered toward the door that Cellar had left open. She pulled it nearly shut, but kept an ear close. By the depths, Crazy Bee, she thought with more venom than she would bare throw at the girl, If Akashere was here, he'd slap you so hard you could masquerade as a drow.

The full weight of Cellar's question finally struck her.

Astarelle shivered in spite of her long coat and the stolen cloak over top. “If we can change this...” she muttered to herself. Her eyes dumbly tracked the worn trails through the grass; one to a woodcutter's shed a short distance away and another reaching twice as far to the treeline. The moon hung nearly full in the blue-unto-black sky. Her gaze locked on it no matter how she tried to push away the memory of laying under the Fallien moon with her mentor, her lover, and thinking that it could last forever. Was this the reason for the Ai'Brone's reluctance? Was the Citadel a glutton's bounty of resurrection and second chances? It was silly to imagine... but what if...

“We have to focus,” she snapped with enough force that Cellar's eyes froze, wide and concerned. Astarelle reach out a hand to rest softly on her friend's shoulder. “We're going to try, and we're going to do it properly.” Cellar nodded sheepishly. Her eyes drifted earthward, but her mouth still curled with enthusiasm and overpowering hope. Astarelle tried to tamp down her own. “Now,” she said, beckoning eye contact, “Do you remember which room?”

Cellar's eyes sparkled in the affirmative, but she didn't get the chance to answer.

“Come on,” came a voice from the crack of the door. Astarelle eased it shut. “No, this way,” said the voice again, softer through the wood.

Her eyes darted left and right. The expanse of grass behind the building was too deep for them to reach the treeline, and the corners that lay far away on the manor's bulk could easily bring a patrol. They were fortunate that they hadn't already run into one. “Let's hope they don't come out,” Astarelle whispered as she stepped away from the door. She lifted a hand, fingers straight as a dagger. Golden sand wafted from her sleeve and began to form a weapon just in case she was being too wishful.

“They will,” Cellar informed her with a confusing tone that was elated, terrified, and absolutely certain.

Astarelle believed her. She grabbed Cellar's shoulder more forcefully and gestured to the wood shed. The half-formed blade over her hand returned to wisps as a line of sapphire gem chips shot from her cuff. They travelled low over the grass like the teardrop trail of a fleeing pixie, beyond and then behind the shed's rear wall. With a reassuring glance as Cellar, she willed them both to disappear.

The wood of the shed creaked against the press of their backs. The forest lay ahead, still too far to dodge into, but close enough to tease Astarelle with the strong scent of Corone's opulent trees. She turned her head toward Cellar, feeling as she did the unnaturally cold weight of the sapphire pendant under her top. Between their rafter escape and this, its magic was drained. They would no longer have a line of pixie tears to draw them to safety.

“Careful,” she whispered to the girl who seemed on the brink of peeking around the corner, but she didn't stop her. She was tempted herself when she heard the voice that emerged.

“See? It's a nice moon tonight,” said the man she had identified as a cake-bearing archer earlier. His voice had a strange gruffness to it, though, compared to his cocky manner with the other soldiers. She immediately recognized it as a facade over some softer emotion that he did not dare betray.

[Taste of Treason]

A chill runs through my spine as I see her for the first time. She is tall and lanky, but no where near as thin as I am now. Her cheeks are filled in and her eyes are bright. I struggle to place this seemingly normal child within my own being. Where does she fit into what I am now?

She is quiet. Her eyes search the treeline and for a moment I think she might run for it. For a moment I think he just might let her. A small tube sticks out from her right arm, tied off harmlessly, at least for now. Soon though, a deep brown liquid will be injected and the little girl will become very tired. She will wake groggy in a carriage with the gruff man holding her. She will be deposited at her parents doorstep, and they will no longer understand who she is.

With that tiny bit of ‘medicine’, she will become me.

I can’t let that happen.

The green-eyed gentle giant edges ever closer to the treeline. I can’t hear the words he speaks, but his voice is meant to calm. I struggle to remember each syllable, but I cannot. Little Cel seems to trust him though, she never once moves for freedom.

He bends down on one knee, meeting her eye to eye and biting his lip. He clears his throat and puts a single, large, worn hand upon her tiny shoulder.

The tiniest prod might push him to make the right choice, the one he so desperately wants to make. Or would it only frighten him into changing his mind?

I don’t have time to test it. Voices fill the thick night air. The men have returned. I try to make myself invisible, but we’ve already been spotted. The trio grab their weapons and then notice the unlikely pair behind us, huddled together like friends instead of prisoner and guard.
The fattest one lets out a grunt and pulls the gruff one’s attention. He stands and grabs little Cel’s hand, he’s about to take her back in. He would claim the cake made her ill. She needed to be healthy for the serum to work.

This was her one chance! I can’t let it all play out the way it did before. The gruff one searches the area quickly as shouts fill the air. He sees me.

Astarelle and I search each other’s faces for a plan. Finally she smiles and gives me a nod. “Go.”

I run as fast as I can, hoping that the man is as kind as I remember. I grabs Cel’s hand a pull her into the treeline. She doesn’t fight, just silently allows herself to be dragged away. The gruff one shouts and follows us. I run with all that I have until I am suddenly pulled backward as the little one loses her footing. We fall to the hard forest floor.

“Damn it,” the curse leaves my lips uninvited. The gruff-voiced guard walks slowly toward us, his hand on his weapon and his eyes filled with venom. Was I wrong about him? Have I killed the little girl instead of saving her? Would death be better than growing into what I am?

I can hear the other men screaming in confusion, ready to follow. Then, I hear the sound of sand.

[Roht Mirage]

Leaves thrashed in a sudden wind that seemed to come straight from the Fallien desert. The confused screams of the patrol rose until they turned to panic and pain. Having sand forced into one's eyes would do that.

Astarelle couldn't fight all three; not head on. So, she slipped into the trees as they blinked, cursed, and chopped their way through like a pack of angry boar. “Do you see her?” one snapped to the others. If they responded, she couldn't hear over the sound of his cursing.

Don't rub your eyes. That only makes it worse, she thought smugly. With her back to a tree, she heard them charge in her direction. She could just barely see the two Cellars running ahead, little more than mismatched shadows in the moonlight. Keep going, she urged.

A boot stomped somewhere to her left. “Is that them?” asked one patrolman. He sounded as if he might run on without waiting for an answer, and he was looking in more or less the right direction. Without moving, Astarelle summoned a sizable mass of sand from her sleeves. It spun into a hissing cloud, then shot through the underbrush. Thistle and thicket twitched in its wake as it passed just behind the lead man. He turned toward the sound. His sword swept the air like a bloodhound's snout. “There!” he cried.

There were definitely two figures in the space he pointed to. They ran with hair aflutter and limbs pumping. In the gaps between the trees, they appeared for only a moment here, a moment there. The three men charged, shouting guttural and hateful words that she couldn't make out. She sighed. No doubt owing to the patchy starlight above and their sand-obscured vision, her desert apparitions were convincing enough. Those three would be well off the trail when they came upon nothing but two pools of sand.

That only left one. Astarelle ran in the direction the real girls had gone. She didn't expect to catch up to them. But, perhaps she could take down that final pursuer from behind, the one who had almost done the right thing. To her surprise, she came upon all three. The younger of the Cellars was on the ground. Her limbs skittered like an upended lizard's would. Older Cellar tried to pull her upright as the man approached. There was a dagger in his hand – standard armament for an archer. She hadn't noticed it before. Now, it played through the moonlight like a predator's glowing eye.

Wordlessly, Astarelle charged. Her hand seized the man's wrist as she smashed her shoulder into his own. With a gasp from both parties, they crashed over. “Run!” Astarelle ordered before her breath left her. The knight's broad shoulders rose with his wheezing, and he tried to turn her off. She gripped his hand around the hilt of his dagger just to hold on. “Let them go,” she growled as if her words might carry the same authority with him. “You almost released her anyway.” Nearly standing, he faltered. His green eyes locked on her's and betrayed his thoughts.

Guilt. She saw guilt in his eyes. What had once been compassion, perhaps even a swell of conscience, was now only shame and regret. “I shouldn't have,” he said bitterly as he stood, towing Astarelle up with him, “It was compulsion. A bloody Mystic spell.”

Astarelle sneered. She seethed. The man so easily tossed aside the good in him. It was disgusting.

Overpowering her, he twisted his dagger from her grip and drove it toward her neck. She shifted down and to the side like a snake swaying. The blade found only the cloth of her hood. Its tearing sounded almost like the rip of flesh right beside her ear. She saw blood even if it wasn't there, and she hissed as she brought a fist up to his jaw.

On the fist was a spike of sand. And on the spike was his head. He slumped over her, guilty eyes now dull. She turned from the shower of his blood just in time to see a shifting shadow. A footstep fell that was not her's or the dead man's. Astarelle gripped the archer's broad shoulders and spun them both around. His spine took the sword swing that was aimed for her own.

“Do you have any bloody idea what you've done?” growled a man in dark armor. He wasn't one of the three on patrol. She remembered him from the hall where he had accompanied her recent victim. With a hateful expression, he pried his sword from the dead weight of his ally. “You've ruined the cure for one of the world's most unnatural, most evil plagues. Are you some Fallien witch? Has the taint gone that far?” He stepped over the body and trained his sword on her. His presence marched her backward through the trees.

“No. You have no idea,” Astarelle hissed at him. She stepped back deliberately, each step a measure and test. Her body swayed as she slide around trees that threatened to pin her in. “I just killed a man who might yet have children. If this works...” A gold-streaked blade formed on one of her hands. “If it does, then I just traded those lives to make one girl complete.”

“Complete? Those witches are broken!” He swung, catching his sword on a tree. Quickly, as if he hadn't put much force into it, he drew back from the shallow groove. “That girl would have changed for the better.” He slashed again, clearly no intending to strike. He was harrying her - but to what?

Astarelle tried to look behind her. His slashes drew just close enough to deny her. “She will change,” she admitted, “from the girl I know. But, that's her choice.” Her voice cracked a little. “I wouldn't dare stop her.”

Behind her, she heard the gurgle of a stream, and she felt the earth begin to decline steeply. She found herself growling. “I'll take you here rather than some muddy bank,” she shouted. Then, she surged forward.

“Smart for a savage,” the knight said with a smirk as he stepped forward to strike with bloody purpose.

[Taste of Treason]

I have no thoughts as I watch the life drain from the gruff one. I am numb and confused and most of all ashamed that I trusted him. I trusted him not only as a child, but again moments ago. I can't protect myself, even when I know what is going to happen.

Astarelle once again saves us as another member of the Knights attacks. I can't help but realize that even this small version of me is more capable of defending herself than I am. The girl has still not spoken. This is the first time I've thought to consider it strange. Was I really this quiet of a kid? Or had the whole experience already taken some of me away?

Astarelle makes eye contact with me for a small moment and I can almost feel her urging me forward. I pick up the small blonde child and run. I know the ride was not far from the lodge to the village. Did the Mystic's even know that so close there were those who hated them this much? Surely with all their abilities they could have protected their own.

It wasn't the way of the Mystics though. No, far better to let children be kidnapped and forever changed. Far better to wait for the village to be ransacked in the dead of night. Far better to do absolutely nothing and allow the enemy to grow powerful enough to hurt you. We wouldn't want to look vengeful.

I reach the familiar clearing. I am moments from home. Not my home of course. I hear the tiniest squeal as the small girl wriggles free of my grip. The moment her tiny feet touch the ground she runs, her bright white gown blowing behind her in the wind. Her hair is much lighter than mine, but already I can see the beginnings of the brown that it will become. I am just about to turn away when she stills.

Her eyes lock with mine and my heart skips a beat. Is it possible that I've actually succeeded?

She gives a curtsy and a bow of the head and then she rushes toward the small cabin of my youth. The door opens and a bright beam of light exposes the shadows of the porch. Then, only her silhouette remains before it disappears behind the wooden door.

I hear another squeal and a shout of joy.

I know I should walk away. I know they deserve their privacy. Still, this moment could have been mine, right?

I approach the window and see my father's face. His handsome blue eyes shine in the candlelight and his muscles in his arms stand out as he lifts little Cel into the air in joy. They spin. He is nothing like the worn, tired man I remember. Had he truly once been this young, strong, clean-shaven person?

And my mother. She reaches her arms out, desperate to touch each limb. She pulls me close and I can almost see her count each finger and toe before setting me down on the kitchen table and removing the needle that almost took me from her. I can't even recall her touch.

Perhaps not only my life was stolen that day.

A sickening feeling fills my stomach. I try to place it. Jealousy? Fear? Hunger?

No, something much stronger rips at me with each passing moment.

Heartache. The pain of knowing without a doubt what might have been.

What if we've actually changed things? What if I wake to a whole new life?

I smile. Perhaps I will finally know who I am.

[Max Dirks]

Due to the DQs of both Tobias and Kroom, this thread will mark the Championship. That said, it's unfortunate that it didn't finish. You two complement each other very well as writers, and I hope the adventures of Astarelle and Cellar continue beyond the tournament. As an FYI, both Roht and Taste requested that this thread to be left open to complete outside of the tournament. I have agreed to grant their request, with the only caveat being that they copy/paste the writing from here into the new thread so this can remain closed and archived as the tournament final. Also, though I did assign grades, I will not be publishing them at this particular point, as many of the "issues" with this thread would be minor outside of a tournament. Without further ado:

Taste, your writing was not as strong in this particular outing. I noticed several tense changes and one shift from 1st person to 2nd person. Obviously, these issues are much more apparent with 1st person writing, so I applaud you for your consistency. Roht, your writing was superior in this battle. Your pacing and flow were excellent, making the battle both enjoyable and easy to read. Storywise, you were both relatively even. I feel like your manner of storytelling, Roht, and the associated writing technique was better. However, Taste of Treason's character was better (obviously, as you're setting up a glimpse into her past). I'm always weary of interaction with monks, because they are technically monks, and should not be speaking so non-chalantly. As for wildcard, Roht you missed quite a few days of posting. If the battle had finished, that would not be a big deal, but because it wasn't, I have to attribute the majority of the delay to you. In addition, I noticed an edit after Taste had replied. Even with permission, this is a long established no-no in tournaments.

Winner: Taste of Treason
Runner Up: Roht Mirage

Taste of Treason wins 1000 GP, an Item of Legend (speak with Sei, as some items will be precluded), and a Gold Magus Badge.
Roht Mirage wins 1000 EXP, 500 GP, and a Silver Magus Badge.

Due to the DQs, there will not be a 3rd place winner this year.

Thanks to everyone for participating! Lye will add rewards later. You do not need to request the Badges.