Veteran Bracket: Toy Soldier vs. Bloodrose

[Tainted Bushido]

The match begins at Midnight 7/31/2009 and ends at Midnight 8/15/2009.

Best wishes to both participants!

[Bloodrose]

One, two, three... One, two, three...

Sunlight danced along the edge of his white blade, the reflection morphing and changing as Teric twirled the sword expertly through the air. Slashing, parrying, and countering an unseen foe, the mercenary's feet moved in perfect concert with his sword work - advancing, retreating, and pivoting when appropriate. His breathing was slow and steady - inhaling deep through the nose and exhaling out the mouth - but the glisten of sweat on the old man's exposed arms betrayed the fact that he'd been training for a while now. Having stripped off his shirt and vest under the powerful glare of the midday sun, Teric honed his skills in only what clothing he required to maintain a sense of modesty; boots, breeches, and his haubergeon. Really, he could have rid his torso of the lightweight mythril shirt and been comfortable, but Teric never trained without his armor.

Thrust, shield and retreat, slash...

The veteran fighter recited each and every movement in his head even as his body performed the actions. He thrust, extending his arm forward and then recoiling to take a step back as he raised the small, round buckler on his arm to cover his face. After fending off the imaginary counter, the shield returned to its default position covering the mercenary's left side as he swung his sword around in a wide arc at chest level. Teric repeated the sequence several times - sometimes lunging with his thrust, sometimes countering with the shield low instead of high. Repetition was the name of the game, and having ignored shield exercises for so long, Teric worked twice as hard to get the movements once again ingrained into his muscle memory.

He was at it for more than an hour, the hot sun beating down on him as Teric beat down legions of figment foes. Sweat beaded on his brow, running in rivulets down his nose and cheekbones to disappear into the thick grey beard that hid his jaw line. The back of his neck was red with sunburn after a while, the metal collar of his chainmail shirt chafing on the irritated skin every time the mercenary flexed or rotated his shoulders. The same happened with his arms as well, the white mythril quarter-sleeves rubbing the skin raw a few inches above the elbow. Teric's forearms started to tingle and take on the same cherry-sunburn color as his neck, all but for the myriad of scars that marked his flesh like lines on a map. The scars remained as white as bleached bone, almost giving the Pagoda Grandmaster a red-and-white tiger striped look.

"Whew!" Teric whistled after a while, his body begging for water and a break from the sun. On the west side of his practice ground there was a sliver of shade underneath the pine palisade wall that stood twice as tall as a man. It was for this sliver that Teric made now, his eyes half-closing in joy and his body relaxing as he stepped out from under the sun's watchful gaze and into the cooler air. He had a bottle of water waiting for him, and the fighter plopped himself down with his back against the wall to sip at his well earned refreshment.

As he rested, Teric spent his time casting his gaze around the circumference of his arena...

Running in a wide arc, the palisade encompassed a dirt ring eighty feet in diameter, the wall broken only by a gate placed on the northern edge of the circle. Since he was alone here, the gate was open, the heavy timber portal held ajar by a large rock Teric had stuck under the outside edge like a crude doorstop. Aside from this fixture, the rest of the wall was just a repeating series of pine trunks gleaned of branches and driven vertically into the ground. On the opposing east wall, however, Teric noted the small section of wall that appeared newer than the rest. The Grandmaster had his last opponent in this place, Godhand Striker to thank for that. The fellow mercenary and swordsman had gone through the wall in their historic fight - historic not only in that the brawl had served as Teric's first defense of his title, but also in that it had been some time ago.

"It's because you're punishing me, isn't it?" Teric commented dryly towards the hulking tower of the Dajas Pagoda which was visible from over the palisade wall. When Teric had asked that his arena be built outside the magical walls of the hallowed tower, the Pagoda monks had seemed almost insulted. How dare he, apparently, request that his arena be constructed of real and tangible materials. Heaven forbid their Grandmaster want to conduct his battles in a place untouched by the magics of the tower, in a barebones arena that left the combatants with only the skills at their disposal for leverage. More and more these days, Teric got the feeling that the monks didn't care much for having him in the position of Grandmaster. He surmised that the monks would continue to bore him to death with a dearth of challengers until the mercenary resigned, and then business would likely return to normal. That was how Teric viewed things at least, true, imagine, or otherwise, because Godhand had been his first and last fight in this place.

"Someday you'll get another chance to watch me work." Teric reassured the lonely arena off-handedly, his free hand patting the dirt floor of the ring lovingly as his other brought the water flask to his lips. "Until then you'll just have to settle for watching me practice."

[Toy Soldier]

There was something odd about today.

After serving a hearty helping of 'gray days' and downpours for nearly an entire week, the weather chose to show mercy toward its subjects in the Raiaeran area. The sky now flaunted a brilliant, beautiful, and alluring azure hue that only found but a few blemishes in the form of white clouds dispersed scarcely throughout the heavens. It was the initial hallmark of the perfect day, a day in which had the ability to ward off all manner of discord residing in its inhabitants. No matter the care or concern, a simple glance upward could’ve purged the fiercest battle-hardened warrior of any feeling that had root in negativity, even if for only a moment.

On this day though, the firmament was not alone in its distribution of grace and clemency. Accompanying the empyrean were the seas below its domain. Not a rebellious wave broke formation, as they gently and docilely ushered their sailing guests across their watery backs. Such compliance from the oceans was a rare sight to behold. Most relished in the good fortune when it fell upon them, but others grew unsettled by the occurrence. The latter were indeed wise, for experience taught them that there was always a calm before the storm.

The conditions on a particular Tel Aglarim vessel were no different. Though the ambiance on board matched the serene nature of today’s sea and sky, there was thick underlying tension that hovered over the ship like dense fog; An invisible, unseen beast that sinisterly waited in the thicket of the mind, eagerly looking for an opportunity to spring forth unrestrained ire upon the emotionally turbulent on deck. In its sights were Tobias and his Bladesinger master. Not a word had been exchanged between the two once Feanaro informed the young boy prior to leaving Anebrilith that he’d admitted him into this year’s Magus Cup. The pervasiveness of the statement had imbued the child’s head with the woeful events that had transpired some time ago during the last tournament. Desperately hoping to avert experiencing anything like that again, he attempted to construct a defense against this aggressive decision.

Feanaro had never inquired heavily about the boy’s past, and Tobias appreciated that. Yet such consideration was nothing more than an expendable chess piece in the game of wits that Battalion was trying to play with his caretaker. The strategy was to utilize the enigmatic nature of his dark past and get Elensar to sympathize with that which he didn’t fully understand. However, the elven warrior already saw the holes in his pupil’s scheme for he’d anticipated that Tobias might’ve attempted something like this, especially after giving him an introductory lesson on mind warfare. Feanaro’s decision on the matter was final nonetheless, and it was that finality that bound Tobias’ tongue and lips, leaving him speechless at least until now.

“This is so stupid! It makes no sense!” Battalion had shattered the silence between the two with an abrupt outburst coupled with a resounding kick to his red wagon. The Bladesinger kept quiet as his eyes fell toward his pupil’s ominous possession, staring at it through a lens of extreme distrust. Never before had the wagon been a cause for concern, but ever since Tobias witnessed first hand the power of Xem’zund, he hadn’t been the same.

As Eluriand fell, the lucid option within that scenario was to flee the city. Feanaro Elensar along with the rest of his Raiaeran companions could no longer parry the necromancer’s unholy onslaught, which prompted them to shift priorities. Save the citizens! We must bring as many as we can to Anebrilith! The Bladesinger could still hear his General’s last command before he was savagely torn apart and rendered a blood-soaked meal. The first personal action under this final instruction was no doubt to ensure Tobias’ safety. At the time, the youngster was being protected within Istien. The rumblings of war were heard deep within their walls but not seen since the university was among one of the most well guarded, magically bolstered edifices within the capital. However, the solid layer of asylum had vanished when Elensar delivered the dire news to his student as well as others nearby.

Escaping from Eluriand and trekking to Anebrilith was an absolute nightmare, especially for Tobias. Watching legions of undead beings rip into Tel Aglarim, Bladesinger, and citizen alike, only to see the mangled bodies of the victims rise up moments later as members of Xem’zund’s ghastly army had been nothing short of horrifying. The child’s young mind could stand no more, so he ran in very close proximity to Feanaro, opting only to gaze straight ahead despite the bedlam around him.

Ever since that day, the Bladesinger saw the change in his student. The uncharacteristic eruptions of indignation along with the acts of delinquency in Anebrilith were just the early footprints on a fresh road to destruction. With each misdeed also came the accompaniment of those of the wagon world. Never did a word of correction sprout from between their twisted grins, that only seemed to grow wider as Tobias further engaged in his petty crimes. On several occasions, Feanaro had spoken to the wagon denizens about this issue, but they shared not the distress that the elven soldier harbored and in fact encouraged the boy to continue to pursue his ‘goals’. Realizing that rationalizing with these menacing individuals was an impossible task, Elensar knew what he had to do from that point on.

* * * * * * *
Two Weeks Ago
Oak Grove Orphanage Complex
Woodsy Green, Corone


The sound of children playing flooded into Feanaro’s ears as he made his way down the dirt road that led to the orphanage. For all of the strange things that occurred at this location, it appeared to be quite the quaint and tranquil place for lost and abandoned youngsters to call home. Each face that the Bladesinger set his eyes upon looked up at him eagerly, no doubt anticipating yet another lonely parent wishing to share an abundance of love with a child. Yet the smile exchanged between him and the little ones was deceptive, as the warrior had no intention of linking anyone to his name today.

From the distance, a certain man took notice of the elven soldier walking down the path. With pure elation, he ran to greet the man. “You must be Feanaro Elensar,” The man uttered jovially. “My name is Vaughn O’Brien and it is an absolute pleasure to have the opportunity to finally meet you!” The Raiaeran’s elation was equally matched toward the gentlemen that’d approached him with the utmost kindness. Vaughn O’Brien had been Tobias’ social worker and caretaker during his days at Oak Grove, and over the past month the two were in constant communication regarding the child and his enigmatic wagon.

“The pleasure is all mine Mr. O’Brien,” The Bladesinger grasped Vaughn’s palm, delivering a firm handshake. It was truly joy for him to have traveled such a long distance to the orphanage, even though his very presence on his student’s former stomping grounds was already a grave mishandling of the trust that Tobias had in him. Yet the deception cast upon his pupil regarding this voyage was akin to Tobias’ own, when he was less than honest about journeying to Corone with his wagon allies to free a group of criminals from a certain prison. That particular occurrence didn’t make the Bladesinger’s own actions justifiable, but it at least made it easier to stomach.

When the two entered the orphanage and found a quiet, closed, and secure room to speak, the demeanor of Vaughn O’Brien had instantly changed to a solemn one. “Mr. Elensar, forgive me if this all seems a little odd, but Tobias is a very sensitive topic around here. You’ve researched Oak Grove and also old Coronian papers that detailed his past deeds so I’m sure you can imagine why. But the reason why I’ve asked you in my response letter to meet me here was because I did not want to say too much about the boy’s wagon and risk it falling into the hands of his…..companions,” The social worker paused momentarily, recalling the horrific events between him, Tobias, the wagon, and the orphanage several years ago. He grew teary-eyed, but the middle-aged man quickly gathered himself. “But the bottom line is this. Tobias must be separated from his wagon, but the only one who can do this technically is Tobias. When I first met the beings of the wagon world, I knew right away that they were bad news. Tobias was much too young and impressionable to see their wickedness, but that didn’t stop me from trying to destroy that thing on numerous occasions. Unfortunately, each attempt ended up with the wagon finding its way back to him in perfect condition. So what I’ve concluded is that if Tobias were somehow able to realize the evil of his accomplices, then maybe he’d be able to destroy them with the same power that he calls them forth.”

Feanaro soaked in the information that O’Brien freely distributed and he knew that in order for Tobias to obtain enough power to sever his ties from the wagon, his student would need to be inserted into situations that required the true nature of his companions to come to light. Perhaps if he were to once again to experience the thin line between life and death, yet this time in a controlled environment, he would see that those of the wagon world only sought to bring his life into ruination. The challenge though, was thinking of the right milieu. The mental exercise was taxing, but through the rough, a diamond of an idea emerged.

“Mr. O’Brien, tell me what you think of the Magus Cup..……..”

* * * * * * *

“This looks to be the place, Tobias….” Feanaro disbelievingly mentioned, as he scanned the area supposedly set to be the site of his pupil’s first match. They’d arrived into Scara Brae nearly two hours ago, but struggled to locate the battlefield since they were erroneously told that the first round would be held in the Dajas Pagoda, not outside.

“There’s a stone holding that gate open over there. Maybe that’s the spot?” Tobias wheeled his wagon some fifty feet down the grassy path and passed through the opening of the palisade with Feanaro closely following him. He was still irate about having to take part in this tournament, but he understood that if he desired to survive the madness that is this brutal competition, he’d have to sharpen his concentration and prepare himself mentally for imminent battle. But just whom was he going to be battling? He noticed that an elderly man occupied a part of the open space inside the ring of crude timber, but the child dismissed him as a possible opponent since the fellow appeared worn down from a previous confrontation.

“Excuse me old sir, I think this is the place where the first round of the Magus Cup is being held. You look kinda’ banged up and I don’t want to be rude, but would you mind leaving? You can probably get some help from the Pagoda if you really need it that bad.” Tobias displayed a forced smile. He wasn’t sure how the aged gentleman would respond, but he hoped that it’d be with a simple nod and a farewell gesture.

[Bloodrose]

"Old sir." Teric echoed, chuckling and shaking his head as he took another pull from the water flask. There was certainly no denying his age, but the mercenary still found it odd and unnerving to have someone make such an audible point of it. "Sir" would have sufficed just fine as a greeting, but the fact that the young man had obviously felt compelled to include the adjective made Teric feel his age far more than any physical ailment.

Setting his water flask back on the ground next to him, Teric used the wall at his back to push himself to his feet. His hands reached down to absently brush dirt and dust from his backside as he took the first step towards the man and boy waiting near the gate. Stepping back into the sunlight, the mercenary squinted against the bright sun.

"I think there's been some mistake." Teric replied in a friendly, even tone as he approached the duo. The Grandmaster's shod boots made a rough scraping sound with every footfall on the dirt arena floor; the dust each step kicked up adding to the growing shade of brown collecting on the fabric of his breeches. "I'm not entirely sure where this Magus Cup you're looking for is being held, but I can assure you it's not here."

The Grandmaster stopped just short of the two, his eyes casually sizing up each of them. The boy was your pretty typical pre-teen kid - his face young and as of yet unmarred by years of shaving. He had what appeared to be a professionally done haircut, but it was easy to tell that the boy's hair would grow heavy like lamb’s wool as it got longer. The man with him was middle-aged and just as non-descript as the boy, and Teric found himself wondering what kind of event this Magus Cup was to attract such average looking contestants.

"My name is Teric Barton." The veteran added, considering the possibility that the two might not just take his word for the truth. He extended a hand in greeting towards the man. "I'm the Pagoda Grandmaster, and this is my arena. If there was an event taking place here, I'm sure I'd know about it."

[Toy Soldier]

Perfectly aligned fingers attached to a thick, solid, and no doubt powerful palm pierced through the air like a sharp dagger, halting but a mere foot away from the young child’s sternum. No malice came equipped with this sudden move by the elderly gentleman, but Tobias was unaware of that fact which in turn caused him to flinch. The boy’s chestnut colored arms came to his aid as they instinctively rose in ‘cross’ fashion to shield his face. He’d seen stout and burly men before like the one that stood in front of him, and never did their muscular frames harbor a spirit of benignity. A pummeling session was surely to commence, and his young mind knew quite well that the sinews that joined his small muscles to his thin bones would in no way be able to withstand the force that oozed out of this warrior like boiling, bubbling water over an open pot.

However, the ominous might of destruction had not come as the boy had internally prophesied. His crossed arms slowly parted, thus permitting a startled Battalion to witness the surprising phenomenon. “A handshake?” By this time, the boy’s brain ordered his arms to loosen and fall by his side. He didn’t know what to make of this gesture. A glance toward Elensar though, showed that the Bladesinger was just as mystified as he was yet he displayed no sign of alarm. Feanaro invariably narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw when danger lurked around the corner like a wily thief.

“Mr. Barton,” A greatly relieved smile plastered across the child’s face, as he also extended his hand in greeting, realizing that he was not in the presence of his enemy but rather the Pagoda Grandmaster. “It’s nice to meet you sir. Sorry I called you old. I’m mean…you are old, but you’re definitely the strongest looking old guy that I’ve seen!”

Listening to the Coronian orphan ramble on prompted his elven master to step forth. “Forgive my young disciple, he means you no disrespect,” Feanaro kindly said in an attempt to curb Tobias’ anxiety. Being with the boy for several years now awarded him an acute sense in realizing when Battalion was overwhelmed and not mentally prepared to engage in battle. Perhaps Barton was not the enemy, but the true foe could have arrived at any moment. “My name is Feanaro Elensar and the energetic boy by my side is Tobias Battalion. We’ve come from Raiaera to enter him into the Magus Cup, and the locals told us that a palisade was to be the location for the first round. But if there is perhaps, some other palisade in the area that we are unaware of, then we would greatly appreciate it if you could point us in that direction.”

The Bladesinger waited to receive insight on this particular matter from Teric, seeing how if there were anyone familiar with the terrain around the Pagoda, it would be him. Yet a serene ambiance turned foul and portentous with the rattling of the child’s red wagon. “Tobias, are you truly and utterly this idiotic?” Black mist seeped out of the four-wheel carrier, and from the midst of it, a dark doorway emerged. Slowly did the handles turn, and with a push, the eerie gateway revealed a hardened faced fellow donning an emerald beret. “Have you no idea who this man is!? This man is none other than Barisilus “The Basher” Brass!”

Immediately, Tobias froze in shock.

“What!? This is the guy!? Are you sure Talisman!?”

“Damnit Tobias, I told you to stay on guard when you entered the Magus Cup!” Grail walked up to the boy and slapped him in the face thus knocking him to the ground. Elensar rapidly drew his blade, but found his arm instantly restrained by a mysterious chain that shot forth from the ominous opened doorway.

“Genocide…..” The Bladesinger dropped his sword and remained still. He was in a less than advantageous scenario, and was well aware that in the presence of the masked iron man, any sudden moves would’ve led to decapitation.

Talisman Grail smirked at the sight of the powerless Feanaro. Turning to Tobias, who was still on the ground, he grabbed him by the collar. “Get up now child! This warrior is one of our enemies! Did we not tell you that this year’s Magus Cup was uniquely filled with foes that we’ve long sought to eliminate? We will never get a better chance than this!”

The strange words of the strategist were beyond cryptic to the Bladesinger, but a silent Tobias showed that he understood full and well what was mentioned to him. “Master Elensar, you have to leave now.” Battalion rose to his feet and locked his ice blue eyes on the brawny individual. Nervousness still resided in the youthful orphan, but an advancing force of determination to accomplish the mission at hand was slowly encroaching upon the hindering emotion.

Genocide did not wait for Elensar to respond. Without hesitation, the chain that’d wrapped around Feanaro’s wrist had been used to toss him powerfully over the top of the palisade. That wicked smirk once present on Grail’s face had returned yet again, as he approached the metallic mercenary. “Make sure that you take care of…business. We don’t need any mistakes.” The strategist whispered to him, before making his way back toward the doorway. However, before returning to his realm he saw the elven Bladesinger outside the gate of the palisade, writhing in the pain caused by his fall. The smirk on Grail then mutated into a widened, sinister smile.

“Everything is going according to plan….”

[Bloodrose]

What kind of sorcery is this?

An ominous black mist flowed from the seemingly innocent, docile little red wagon Tobias towed along behind him - the supernatural tendrils of smoke curling and rising like snakes to a charmer's tune. From the mist appeared a doorway to who knew where, and the figure that stepped out from behind the portal when it opened made the muscles in Teric's jaw clench tight.

While human in appearance, it took only one glance into the predatory eyes peering out from beneath that green beret to confirm in the mercenary's mind that this was a creature born of darkness. The words that spilled from this creature's mouth were directed at the boy, but seemed to be in regards to the Grandmaster. "Barisilus 'The Basher' Brass" the demon called him, a name Teric had never heard before. Yet, while he had never heard the name previously, the moniker had an almost awe-inducing effect on Tobias Battalion. The pint-sized lad froze like a startled deer, and didn't even move to avoid the blow 'Talisman', as the boy called him, delivered.

Feanaro reached for his sword, and his movement made Teric suddenly very aware of the fact that he'd left his own weapon on the ground in the shade...

Trust magic to ruin a perfectly peaceful day. The mercenary grumbled internally, his head turning just enough to cast a longing glance back towards his abandoned sword. Talisman, the dread magical creature, seemed to have his attention locked on the boy and his older companion, whose arm was now restrained by an ethereal chain linked back to the doorway ripped into the very air. It can never just be a father and son out for a stroll can it? Magic just always has to rear its ugly head and make my day miserable.

The mercenary was wary of magic, and for good reason. When fighting a man composed of flesh and blood, survival was as simple as killing that man before he killed you. Weapons made of wood and steel were real and tangible, easily understood and easily avoided. Magic on the other hand, like any other supernatural force, always seemed to tip the scales against Teric's favor. Magi were unpredictable and dangerous creatures - their actions never quite as straightforward as swinging an axe or firing an arrow.

And whatever magic this kid is using, it certainly looks unpredictable and dangerous to me.

While the attention of his visitors was focused elsewhere, Teric quickly began backpedaling a return to the shade where he'd left his water flask and his weapon. He kept an eye on the party near the door the entire way, watching warily as Tobias rose back to his feet and began to stare him down. Feanaro disappeared over the wall with a yell, the mysterious chain lifting the man bodily and tossing him like a discarded toy. By the time he'd scooped up his weapon, Teric was watching Talisman move back towards the door, the stern-faced demon pausing as if talking to someone.

"Tobias, is it?" Teric directed his words towards the boy, trying to ignore for a moment the dark portal and the shadows lingering inside it. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but I think maybe it's time you left."

[Toy Soldier]

“Huh?” A grimaced countenance served as the response to the verbal sewage that poured out of Teric Barton’s mouth. “Why should I leave? You’re the evil person that’s killed like a thousand innocent people in Corone! So you should leave…..in a bodybag!” The dark mist thickened in density, swirling around the orphan’s feet like a charmed serpent. Innocence that was once present in Tobias had been lost upon being told by Grail who the elderly warrior was. It was as if a switch had gone off in the child’s mind thus shifting his mental gears to awaken the side of him that’d earned him the nickname Little Weapon, which had been birthed from the infamous reputation he acquired at Oak Grove.

Yet no longer was the enemy of the Little Weapon the social workers, foster families, and government authorities. Instead, he shot frigid glances at the adversary of the only beings whom he felt truly cared about him. “How can you live with yourself after all of those horrible things that you’ve done?” A tear fell from Tobias’ left eye has he thought back to that which Talisman told him about Barisilus Brass. “You were called the ‘Rural Reaper’ around Jadet. You went after little old farmers who worked really hard to help their families. And you killed them. You killed as many as you could!” From the deep depths of the wagon, a scream harboring a great deal of indignation was heard from within the enigmatic dimension. There was no mystery behind the identity of this individual though, for he who had reacted to Tobias’ statement had made his presence known shortly after.

Emerging on the dry grassy terrain of the enclosed battlefield, a mage donning entirely white apparel walked beside Genocide and the child with his gaze also targeted on Barton. “And somehow you still live,” The new resident of the wagon world spat on the soil before removing from an inner pocket of his garments a folded newspaper and opening it up. “The Jadet Inquirer 25 years ago. Do you remember this? Do you remember this little boy in the picture? Of course you don’t…….because that little boy was me. You murdered my parents in cold blood right in front of me! I…I can remember it like it was yesterday….”

The mage clenched his jaw, making an effort to hold back tears. Tobias had never seen his companion in this state before, which only further drew his fury out. “It’s okay Season. We won’t let Brass get away any more without paying for hurting your family!” Battalion consoled his ally, but it did nothing to ease himself. The rage stirring up within him had reach a level in which it began effecting the environment as it tended to do when Season was around. The mage had now emulated the same sly, wicked grin that Talisman had before he left. “Wow. The fool is actually buying this,” Season thought, as he raised his hands in the air, conjuring up the magic that often was built on the boy’s emotions. “Tobias is as easy to manipulate as ever!”

While this was going on, Season secretly signaled to Genocide to start moving in place for the next phase. Since the orphan was focused solely on the enemy, he was oblivious to anything else taking place. The iron mercenary nodded as he swung his chain in place. His wagon world accomplice had now extended his hands out toward the wooden posts of the encompassing palisade and shot a blazing ball of fire at them. One of them instantly caught fire, but had been seized in lasso fashion by Genocide’s chain the moment the metallic swordsman had sprinted towards it. Never being one for hesitation, the iron warrior made due on his part of the plan and hurled the fiery post like a lance at Teric Barton’s chest. Tobias, seeing the flaming javelin quickly rolled out of the way before he inadvertently felt the wrath of his comrade’s attack. However, by the time that roll was fully executed, he expected this fight to be over.

[Tainted Bushido]

I've been trying to decide how this would go down. The end result was I figured I'd pick who won based on my opinions, backed by some advice so the winner still got the benefit of being told how to firm up for the next fight, while giving the loser a similar service. There will be no rewards for an unfinished thread, as I dislike the notion of receiving rewards for half the work.

Reading over this I notice there was three and four day breaks between the posts, which is fine, because it was rather consistent, right up till the end when Bloodrose posted, then Toy Soldier.

So really I can't blame timeliness and go the easy route anyways, because both of you took roughly the same amount of time to post.

Bloodrose - Your story had a good beginning, and I feel as time went on and Toy Soldier got his ball rolling the momentum shifted from your court. Not that it's easy to respond to toys and figures suddenly appearing, but I could almost sense a bit of "Well what do I do about THAT?" Toy Soldier's character has a bit of a strange carnival feel, which can be disconcerting to write against.

That said, you responded well to what happened. When things got weird and the Bladesinger accompanying Tobias was tossed bodily out of the arena, I could believe you go looking immediately for your weapons. That said, your posts had a rather reactionary feel to them, rather than a proactive feel. This hurt because it only seemed to further the story when Tobias posted, rather than when both of you posted.

That said, it made your posts more supplementary to what was going on, and I believe this would have hurt your scores in comparison.

Toy Soldier - While Bloodrose had a more support role in this fight, you took center stage. Everything seemed centered around Tobias, and the mystical cart that follows him. However, I got no feeling of Tobias as a character, and this hurt a bit. You seemed to also have shifted from first person to third person omniscient, and it was jarring to have the point of view shuffled around like a deck of cards.

The use of nicknames for the characters, like Genocide, and Season hurt for the most part. I had no clue who you were talking about in your posts. This muddled your clarity as I would read things several times, and barely have a hint of who was being talked about. Even now I'm not sure if Season or Genocide is the mage, or who Talisman really is. I shouldn't have to read a profile to understand the characters. When you introduce a character, I need to know who they are, rather than have names thrown at me.

Add in the fact that the only person I got any sense of Character from was the caretaker who had replaced the social worker, and I'm even more confused. Having a lot of characters is a difficult process, and creates a major pain in the butt. You have to develop them all in proper fashion, or their introduction does nothing more than dilute the amount of characterization that is already present. Without a clear view of Talisman or Genocide, the introduction of Season created more confusion.

So, while more was happening in Toy Soldier's posts, I couldn't get a grasp of who was doing what, and where the chain came from that threw the bladesinger on his ass.

Verdict

In the end, I'm going to rule in favor of Bloodrose, while his posts were mainly support, they were clear and easier to navigate. In the future Bloodrose, I would develop mini-stories to use to drive Teric into the spotlight as well. When you're fighting random NPC number 6 this is okay to not do so, as you can build up along the fight. Against other players, the lack of characterization will chew you to pieces.