Round 3: Osato vs. Dopebeatz

[Atzar]

This battle will end on Wednesday, May 23rd, at 11:59 PM EST.

Have fun, and good luck!

[Osato]

This is our different, young man. You stand aside, watching the world move. But it does not move around you. You take interest in the heroes and their valor, but lack your own courage. You are, as are many, a spectator to a play – this play my very life. Be it comedy or tragedy, it matters not, for when I pass away you will yet be a spectator. When one glorious life draws to a close you will simply move onto the next, my performance but a lingering – fading – nostalgia easily forgotten. Though you may move on, my name will be remembered by the historians. I will be remembered for what I was, for what I did, and for who I was.

You could only hope to be so great.

~*~

I played across the picturesque society of decadence, avarice and vanity my close companions. A loner, I gave need to no one and sought naught but the solace of the night. My prowess was to be tested, finally, pitted against those who had braved the initial rounds – and in some cases just showed up. The remaining competition was a field of the increasingly elite. From them my name would be carved into the very face of Fate and time. By them I would become great, a legend of Althanas.

But the night was yet starting, hardly alive with the criminal youth or underhanded associations. It was a culmination of society’s woes and political throws, bottled and concentrated to the point of a necessary release. I walked through the streets, unafraid. Though the possibility of losing my life was an ever present, I feared nothing. Night was not a risk. The blade of a padfoot would do little against my armor. Even the threat of an assassin meant nothing.

Ha! What was there to be afraid of?

I was strong, resilient, and feared nothing more than my own disability. I was a precarious individual, dancing on the razor edge of reality. My body was toned and perfect, waiting and willing to be tossed into any conflict. My mind was sharp and cunning, but delicate. I must admit, even I am a bit afraid of the unknown and unexplained. Magic was my singular weakness, and only it could make me shutter. But my soul, my very spirituality, was lacking.

“Good eve, dear boy,” I turned to look at the crooked head and sparkling eyes of a curiously age-wizened man. His face was drawn, and his clothes were haggard. He, however, looked more… mentally present than me. “Do you not have a fight to be present at? Osato the great, Osato… a legend among men… you have an obligation…”

“Wha--?” I began, but the man shuffled back into the murky gloom of the corner. His eyes alone remained alight as he disappeared. A vision? A mere hallucination? Or was my name getting out amongst the people? Where people really following my pathway to greatness? “Bloody hell,” I spat as I turned away and started for the Citadel, “I’m late already, and yet… I can only assume my opponent will not show.”

[dopebeatz]

RADASANTH, May 11, 2007

Dear Sirs:

I retrieved your contact information from my Publisher's Index, as I felt compelled to contact you and had little access to such data otherwise. I hope you do not see this letter as an intrusion but rather as an interesting and - potentially fruitful! - business opportunity. As you may or may not be aware, for some time I have been in contact with gentlemen of letters and publication, such as yourself, in hopes of garnering their interest in certain manuscripts which I have produced. They regard time spent with a most intriguing gentleman, who I am sure will pique your interest. You will find one of my texts attached. And with that, gentlemen, I profusely apologize but I must take my leave. I have a meeting with my editor and literary agent, the well-known Dorin Weatherby. [It's a charity case. -Ed.]

Thank you gentlemen, and my well-wishes.

Your servant,

HIRAM WASHBONE

OUR THIRD BATTLE.

CHAPTER I.

A BATTLE AT LAST.

A MORAL DISSERTATION – A CAB IS HIRED – THE FEAR OF MORTALITY – PLAINTIVE PLEAS

Nights in Radasanth are always dark, but this evening seemed especially so. The moon was in hiding behind a cloud and the stars were dimmer than I've ever seen, like candles down a smoky forest trail. It was incredibly black on the streets, with men bumping into each other as they stumbled home. Blindness had descended upon the city, and from the tales that had been circulating in the previous few days, it was a moral blindness as well as a physical one. A nasty murderer who had been dubbed the "Midnight Burglar" was, it was reported, engaged in a spree of thefts and murders throughout the moneyed neighborhoods. Several times average citizens had been in a position to catch the man but had shirked the responsibility, knowingly allowing him to slip past them in the night. Women lived in fear for their lives and homes while their own husbands were unwilling to protect them. In our own neighborhood the sense of outrage that I had expected was entirely muted.

"I'm not surprised," Saxby Corningham said to me as we stumbled through the darkness together, heading home from the opera. We had been discussing the sad state of civic duty among the city's denizens, and I was shocked by his cynical attitude. I said as much. "Don't be so sanctimonious, Hiram," Corningham replied, patting my arm. "People watch out for themselves, first and foremost. It's natural, and I daresay it helps the species propagate and prosper." I was appalled. Corningham chuckled in response. "Well, Hiram, imagine if those poor souls had tried to stop this 'Midnight Burglar!' First, remember the character of this Burglar. He is ruthless, that we know. He is an opportunist of the most vicious sort. He has no morals, at least none that we would recognize as such. Violence is not beyond him, and in fact he seems to revel in it. And if I haven't entirely missed my guess, he is endowed with some preternatural abilities that facilitate his crimes. Now imagine if some well-to-do gent who has little knowledge of physical violence, is not particularly strong and for the most part has an aversion to bloodshed. You, for instance." I blanched at the suggestion, which thankfully he could not see in the dark, but I sensed that he was smiling. The wily fellow had anticipated my reaction.

"Now, this Burglar makes a regular habit of doing in old ladies and stealing their jewelry," I protested this particular characterization but he continued. "He's done it nearly a dozen times. Imagine that every time one of these fellows had stumbled across him, they'd tried to catch him red-handed. We'd have a dozen more murders on our hands." I unwillingly accepted his logic, and I detected a hint of victory in his voice as he finished. "So, I much prefer to live in a city where murderers are left for the proper authorities to apprehend." I did point out that he might not feel the same way if he found himself in the Burglar's path. He made a noncommittal noise, and then: "Ah, we're home. I hope Mrs. Yves has prepared our late supper. As you may recall she forgot last Thursday..." I did not remind him that she had been urgently called to her invalid sister's side last Thursday.

We entered, but rather than finding supper prepared, we were presented with a summons to the third round of a martial tournament that Corningham had entered. I was surprised that he had not withdrawn himself yet - his spirit is strong but I fear the same may not be true of his body - but he seemed entirely excited at the forthcoming battle. "Join me, Hiram!" he entreated. "It will be a rollicking good story for your memoirs, I'm sure. Mrs Yves! Keep supper warm for us!" And with that I accompanied him back into the street, where he hired a cab to take us to the Citadel, where the tournament was being hosted. This imposing altar to the worship of warfare stands in the center of the city, and any cart driver would know his way there despite the darkness of the night.

"I know, Hiram," he addressed me as we jostled through the streets, "That you don't approve of me participating in this tournament." I told him his perception was quite right. "Well, dear friend, I can't change that, I suppose. But when you're my age, you want to feel alive every now and again. After a certain birthday, you're treated like you've already passed. You're an urn full of ashes that can't be bumped too much or it will shatter. Well, by gum, I'm through with that!" He slammed a veiny fist on his sharp knee with such finality that I couldn't object and turned my attentions to the window and the dark outdoors. Before I could properly adjust my eyes to the murk, we'd arrived and were exiting the cab onto the steps of the Citadel.

"It's a venerable old place," Corningham said to me. "But I haven't been here since the Great Pie Assault." Leaving this cryptic quip unexplained, he wobbled up the steps. I was shocked at how old and bent he suddenly seemed, his body squatting close to the ground, barely holding itself up, his skin stretching to cover some parts of him while bunching up in tumbling wrinkles in others. His eyes squinted terribly behind his glasses, even in the light being cast down from the lamps at the front door of the colossal building. I felt a surge of concern, and rushed to his side, begging him to rethink his participation. He simply looked at me, silently, peering into my eyes clear with youth, and then continued climbing the stairs toward the battle chamber.

((I leave it to you to describe the battleground.))

[Osato]

I, as dashing mercenary, inflated and nearly choking on my recently prodded ego, sped through the Citadel. Was I late? Would I be another counted amongst the deserters, force to cede my ‘oh so precious’ position? “No,” I thought as I ran through the eerily quiet cobblestone halls. Forced forfeit was the cause of his sour mood to begin with; I would be remiss to force the bitter victory upon another. “I should be just on time…”

Indeed, I was just that. The hollow, empty halls echoed his heavy footfalls, sending a resonating report of his hasty approach. Only a solitary monk waited, his impatient foot tapping from beneath his plated robes. I flashed a pristine, toothy grin as I closed with the man. The Ai’Bron monk only responded with a dour sneer. It was very odd to see one without a bright smile or at least a kindly grin.

“So very sorry,” I said as I nodded to the man. He sighed heavily and shifted uneasily. Before he had even situated his polearm, or his steel plates finished clattering, I pushed open the heavy door and entered my arena. Only another huff and half formed word chased after me, lingering on the edge of my hearing before the blinding light swallowed me. It was more relaxing the more it happened, nothing like the first time it happened.

~x~

As the blinding light faded, the scene before him evolved. From within the small confines of the room an entire world formed, created from the mere imaginations of the monks. It was a destitute creation, however, one that brought with it a rather uneasy sense. I looked around, despite being bothered, and found that it was not near as bad as it seemed.

I shifted uneasily through the silt that fell from the sky. My eyes turned upwards, scanning the sky. It was a wicked sky that hung overhead. The clouds were thick, grayish orange, and raining small bits of ash. It smelt horrible. A quiet wind flitted through the area, delivering the harsh smell to burn my sensitive nose. But it tasted worse, something akin to standing too close to an uncontrolled fire. It was not acrid, like the smoke of a Salvaran cigarette, nor sweet like that of a Fallien hookah.

“This scene is ugly,” I said as I waved away the ash that was drifting before my face. It only swirled and danced like a light snow being tossed around by a minor blizzard. But the ash was not snow, no matter how much I wanted to make it snow. When my hands struck it the small pieces burst into a bunch of little pieces, scattering the harsh rain into a hundred more scattered flakes. “How are we even supposed to breath?”

[Cyrus the virus]

Round 3 is concluded, judging will follow soon!

[Atzar]

Eh, dopebeatz had nearly ten days to post again. I think we have another winner by disqualification here.

Osato gains 50 EXP and advances to Round 4!

dopebeatz gains 25 EXP.

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added.