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Thread: Victor Valentine: Life and times in Archen

  1. #11
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
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    It might have been the way the light was hitting him, or maybe the unappealing shape of his spectacles, but the boy did not leave a memorable impression. On the outside, the young boy looked average in every way. His lackluster brown hair fell at an average length over his average brow. But behind his lackluster eyes, you could almost see a flame burning. Time and tribulations seemed to weaken it, but the truth could not hide. Even his fire was average.

    “Average,” the bartender called out.

    “My name is Anthony,” the boy responded meekly, “I wish you would stop calling me that, boss.”

    “Maybe when you stop putting in the bare minimum effort in everything you do,” the irate bartender moved closer to the boy, “I will consider that you might have a real name. But until then, in my restaurant, you are ‘Average.’ Do you understand?”

    The broom almost creaked with the force of Anthony’s grip. The boy stared at his feet.

    “Yes sir, I’ll try harder, sir.”

    “See that you do,” the bartender mocked, full of himself. “We have some distinguished guests coming in, go show them to a table and take their orders.” The manager pointed to the entrance where a group of 3 young men stood, clad in tattoos, bruises, and scars. On each of their left shoulders was a design of a sword inside of a shield, surrounded by flames.

    “Welcome to the ‘Anyway Cafe,’ you may sit anywhere you like,” he motioned to all the empty tables, “here are some menus, please let me know when you are ready to order.” With a curt nod, he stepped back and let the men sit by an open window in the middle of the restaurant.

    “Get us some drinks, kid,” the most boisterous of the three men barked, throwing the menu to the ground by the table.

    “Some ale and some meat,” another called, adding his menu to the one on the ground.

    “Right away,” the boy replied obediently bending down to lift the menus. Anything fought to keep shame from showing on his face. Instead, his face was like a stone, devoid of emotion. He moved slowly, lacking any pressing urgency or motivation. He swept up the two menus when a third sailed through the air, slapping him across the face and landing behind him. His glasses fell to the floor, and Anthony picked up the last menu. He cleared his throat and retrieved his spectacles, “will there be anything else?” he asked.

    “Yeah,” the third man growled, “me and my boys want you to apologize.”

    Laughter erupted from the table. Anthony straightened, still silent.

    “Your presence is nauseating. There’s no way we can enjoy our food without an apology. . . ” the leader chuckled.

    “Or some more humiliation,” the rude man added.

    “I’m sorry,” Anthony replied, “I will be back with your order.”

    The young man started away, but the three thugs had not had their fun. As he walked past the men, a beaten-up leather boot appeared in his way. Anthony tripped, lunging forward and crashing into a table in the back. Anthony lifted himself using the toppled table. He did not immediately feel the cold dessert dripping from his head. He jumped to his feet, patting himself down and desperately trying to get at the ice-cream now crawling under his clothes.

    “YOU HAPLESS INGRATE!” a roar resounded from behind the bar, as the proprietor attacked Anthony with the broom the young man had been using. “I GIVE YOU THIS JOB OUT OF THE GOODNESS OF MY HEART, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME!? HOW DARE YOU GIVE THESE CUSTOMERS A HARD TIME!?” The owner finished beating the young man and hurried to the table with the three thugs, “my humblest apologies, such distinguished victors of the Crucible should not have to suffer the presence of someone so pathetic.”

    Anthony struggled to stand, holding his aching sides where the broom did the most damage. He could not look away from his manager, groveling in front of the three men. But in his heart, he didn’t have any resentment.

    I agree. . . I am pathetic. . . I can’t even stand up for myself. Especially not against three Crucible winners. As the young man righted himself, he noticed the table starting to lift off the ground. He hadn’t paid much attention to the other person in the restaurant before, but the man with black hair and red eyes now demanded it.

    “Hey old man,” a deep growl called all eyes on Victor, who held the small table right over his head, “I only had one bite.”

    “What’s that? Thank you for picking up the table, but I can’t hear you,” the owner called out, before being hit square in the chest by the airborne table.

    I SAID ‘I ONLY HAD ONE BITE,’ YOU DEAF BASTARD!” Victor yelled, turning his sight on the three men who rose to their feet.

    “You fucker, what in Hadia do you think you’re doing?!” one man demanded.

    “What am [b/]I[/b] doing?!” Victor yelled, “What are you doing?! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to have diabetes with a sweet tooth like mine!? My doctor says I can only have sweets once a week, and you bastards went and destroyed my sundae!”

    “Who the fuck cares about your sundae?!” the second man said, “do you have any idea who you’re messing with?!”

    “That’s right,” the leader stepped into the floor, nothing between him and Victor, “you see this?” He asked, lifting a fist to his tattooed shoulder, “it means we’ve gone through the crucible and won. You’d better run if you know what’s good for you.”

    “Crucible?” Victor asked, stepping forward, “That sounds cute, are you trying to be cute?”

    “You asked for this,” the rude man growled, taking a knife he had been concealing in his boot.

    Anthony wanted to help. He was not sure if the black haired man had seen the knife, but he knew a fight against a gladiator would end badly for both of them. Anyone who won was ruthless and would do anything to ensure victory. Anthony got to his feet but was no match for the thug’s speed. He blinked, and it was over.

    “Who’s next,” Victor sighed, rubbing his fist and stepping over the unconscious body at his feet. He locked his red eyes on the leader, who took a step back. Anthony's stare grew wide.

    “H-hey, what in Hadia do you think you’re doing?” the leader stuttered, “go get him.”

    The second man hesitated for a moment but charged anyway. Victor launched him over the bar into the wall like a rag doll.

    “What in Hadia are you?” the leader quivered, “if you mess with us, Mr. Steinhardt will kill you for sure.”

    “Oh, good, is he your boss?” Victor whispered, now within arm's reach of the thug, “because I have some words for him. . .”

    “W-what are they. .?” the leader quivered.

    'You owe me a sundae,'” Victor whispered, before throwing the man through the closest window.

    “Don’t worry kid,” Victor sighed, keeping his back to Anthony. Sunlight from outside illuminated his brown coat and gave him an almost holy glow, “just keep your chin up and don’t let little fuckers like these get you down. They have no idea what it means to be strong.”

    Anthony stood in disbelief. He threw those seasoned warriors around like they were children. . . And he seemed familiar with Mr. Steinhardt. . . Just who the in Hadia is this stranger? But before Anthony could ask anything, Victor was gone, and the city guards were making their way inside the restaurant.

    “There he is!” one Guardsman yelled, “that guy in the brown coat said a kid in glasses started a fight and injured three gladiators and the owner!”

    “Grab him!” another guard yelled.

    “Huh?” Anthony replied, before every fiber of his being forced him to flee through the door out the back, through the kitchen.

    “He’s a louse! He’s a total good-for-nothing scumbag!” Anthony yelled, turning down another back alley.

    “Anyone, I know?” Victor asked, keeping pace with the young man.

    “Holy gods!” Anthony exclaimed, almost crashing into a pile of rubbish that was waiting to be picked up. “It’s you! Go back there and turn yourself in!!”

    “For what?” Victor asked nonchalantly, “you're the one who beat up all those people.”

    “I did no such thing!” Anthony cried as the pair turned another corner.

    “I don’t know; those guards seemed pretty convinced.”

    “Because you convinced them!!” Anthony yelled.

    “Semantics,” Victor picked his nose while they ran, “either way, we need a place to lay low for a while.”

    “Why would I go anywhere with you?!”

    “One because if I get caught, you get caught, and two because we’re now partners in crime!” Victor grinned. “Besides, I’m the only one who believes you’re innocent.”

    “That’s because I am!” Anthony turned to yell more at the man when they ran into a crowded street. It did not take long for them to crash into another person, who had just been walking out of a shop.

    “Damn it,” Victor sighed, rubbing his back as he stood off the ground.

    “Anthony?” the voice of a young woman called out. A lady stood up from the ground, her long brown hair falling against her back as the rosy ribbon which tied it fell to the ground. She tried to dust off her clothes, revealing a salmon-colored dress as the dust fell. Victor noticed the recurring theme of pink in her clothes as he stood. It took him a moment, but finally, he recognized the hostess Ashley who had swindled him.

    “Angela?! Sister, what are you doing here?” Anthony replied, surprise and a hint of fear in his voice.

    "Sister!?" Victor hissed, shocked.

    "Oh? Mr. Victor, how nice to see you again," Angela smiled an empty smile.“I'm doing some shopping for dinner. What are you doing here?” she asked her brother innocently, “shouldn’t you be at work?”

    “I-uh. . . yeah, I mean, no, I took a break and umm. . .” Anthony fumbled for a lie.

    “If by break you mean probably got fired. . .” Victor whispered under his breath.

    “What’s that now?” the woman’s entire demeanor changed instantly, and a chill befell the street. Victor and Anthony could feel her stare piercing them, and an almost tangible intention to kill resonated from her. “What do you mean. . . fired. .? Are you trying to say you lost your job? Anthony?”

    “No! It’s not like that, this guy got into a fight, and the owner was injured and-” but a power grip took hold of his shirt and lifted him slightly into the air. Victor turned to leave but noticed he was not moving. The same powerful grip would not release him, and a profound terror washed over him. Victor turned to argue, to fight, to claim any moral higher ground. But the look in Angela's eye robbed him of any courage that burned in his heart.

    “Did you get my little brother fired?” a sinister hiss asked.

    “I-I s-swear sis,” Victor stuttered, turning back slightly to show a weak, trembling smile “we can beat this thing. Those city guards have nothing on our little bro.”

    “GUARDS?! He’s on the run from the guards!?” she roared and followed it with a savage beating.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  2. #12
    Member
    EXP: 17,033, Level: 5
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
    Job
    Jack-Of-All-Trades

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    “I’m very sorry for my behavior,” Victor apologized, his knees on the stone floor of a large open living room. His eyes remained glued to the floor out of fear of meeting her gaze. The stone-hearted older sister who would do anything for her little brother was not a force with which to trifle. Victor’s bruised cheek and eye were proof enough of that.

    “I’m very very sorry for my behavior,” Anthony apologized for his knees of the stone floor right next to Victor. Blood was still dripping from his nose, beside the bruised skin under his eye. He too kept his eyes glued to the ground, fearing to meet his sibling’s vengeful gaze.

    “I’m super, very, hyper sorry; way-way-way more sorry than he is,” Victor apologized, keeping the same grave and leveled tone he had before.

    “Hey!” Anthony whispered, “this isn’t a sorry competition! Stop trying to one-up me!”

    “That’s where you’re wrong,” Victor whispered back, both men staring at the ground, “all of life is a bare-knuckled brawl to the death, and if you don’t take it seriously, your sister’s bare knuckles are going to beat you to death.”

    ENOUGH!” she interrupted, rising from her couch-throne and putting her foot on the stone table between her and the groveling pair.

    “Angela, it’s not all his fault,” Anthony sighed, standing up. He stepped around the small, stone table and sat down.

    “Anthony,” she sat back down beside her little brother on the animal skin-covered couch. Victor noticed the tension and made his silent way to the kitchen.

    “I hated that job anyway, and the manager was horrible,” Anthony admitted, “every day was nothing but humiliation and disgrace. Besides, you should have seen this guy in action,” Anthony’s eyes lit up, “he was unstoppable! He took those crucible winners out like they were nothing!”

    “I’m sure he was quite the sight,” Angela smiled back. But she saw Anthony’s expression change, and when his eyes dropped again, she knew he was hiding the pain in his heart.

    “It’s just not worth it anymore; this old house, our old lives. . .”

    “Anthony, it’s not-” Angela began as a flash of pain washed over her brother's eyes.

    “Mom and dad are gone!” Anthony cut her off, shutting his eyes and breaking eye contact, “they’re gone, and all they’ve left us with are debts and giant empty house. I don’t care about this house anymore, and I don’t care about their dues. We shouldn’t have to live our lives in chains because they couldn’t free themselves.”

    “I understand how you feel,” Angela smiled innocently, “I have thought along those lines too. At how unfair all of this is. But there’s no helping that, and I don’t want to leave. This house isn’t all bad, and there are many happy memories that I have here; memories with our parents, and memories with my little brother. And I want to protect those memories, and this house, and the ideals that our parents died for.”

    “But we’ll never have lives of our own. . .” Anthony whispered, “we’ll spend our lives paying off an impossible debt and then we’ll die, leaving nothing and no one.”

    “Well that’s not true,” Angela placed her hand on her brother’s face, lifting his gaze, “we have our lives right now, and we aren’t in chains. We’re free, and as free people, we can do whatever we want. And if you want, you can-” But a loud crash broke her chain of thought and alerted the sibling’s attention to the kitchen.

    “Just who in Hadia are you?!” an unfamiliar voice called from the kitchen.

    “Says the goon that's breaking in through the kitchen door?!” Victor called back. Angela and Anthony exchanged concerned looks and made a break for the kitchen door. As the siblings passed through the doorway to the kitchen, bright natural light filled the room through a large window. In the moments it took for their eyes to adjust, one of the intruders, who made it furthest into the room, grabbed Angela’s wrists and pulled her in, bringing a knife to her throat. The girl screamed, and both Victor and Anthony directed their attention to her.

    “Easy does it,” the kidnapper whispered nervously “just keep your hands where they are, red-eyes, and she stays safe.” Victor’s flour covered hands remained on the table among the eggs and pastry ingredients he was using, as instructed. In front of him, on the table was the base for a multilayered cake. The smudges of cream and flour that covered the apron he was wearing did not betray his intimidating presence; and as the two men took advantage of the situation, they couldn’t help but look back to the third member of their group who had been put through the window, next to the stove. Victor held a wooden spoon in his hand; it’s tip covered in the yolk, flour, cream, and blood.

    Anthony took a step forward, but the second man raised a hand crossbow and pointed it at the brother, “don’t you move, kid.”

    “Come on now, are you going to be this cliche?” Victor asked, gripping his spoon tight, “just pretend you thought this is where you parked your horse and leave. Let the girl go before she gets mad.”

    “Shut up!” the knife-wielding man cried, “our boss said to bring her back or not to come back ourselves!”

    “Oh?” Victor smiled sinisterly, “so you’re saying you can’t kill her?”

    “Idiot,” the second man whispered. In an instant, Victor let his spoon fly, like a spear from a ballista it sailed through the kitchen and knocked the crossbow out of the goon’s hand. Anthony moved quickly, closing the distance between himself and the kidnapper; he twisted the man’s knife arm, keeping the blade far from his sister and locking the arm behind her attacker’s back.

    Victor was already moving over the table, his boot leading his path; which ended in the face of the unrestrained kidnapper. Angela ran around the preparation table to where Victor had been standing, while the two men turned to the last assailant with murder in their eyes.

    “W-wait a minute. . .” the last goon trembled, “t-this isn’t where I left my horse.”
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  3. #13
    Member
    EXP: 17,033, Level: 5
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
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    Jack-Of-All-Trades

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    "What exactly is going on," Victor asked, no humor in his voice.

    "Well. . ." Angela started but was cut off.

    "It's De L’argent," Anthony said adamantly.

    "The man who our father owed, owns a lot of the property in this area," Angela continued. "Our father dreamed of starting a blacksmith, but we were poor. One day some men approached him, and offered him a large property where he could set up shop and make his dreams come true."

    "What they didn't tell him is how much he would owe them," Anthony added.

    "Yes, but after many years building the facility and rounding up skilled blacksmiths, the lender came calling. His name was Harper, and he claimed we owed more than double the original loan. . . And if we didn't pay," Angela paused, drawing strength to continue, "they would take."

    Victor watched the orphans relive what must have been their most painful memories.

    "They took his hand," Angela struggled to say, "and then the war found us. Our parents died in the fighting, and their debts transferred to us. Right after the war, De L’argent took on most of the debts of the community, but the men our father owed took it on themselves to collect."

    "And this isn't the first time they've tried something like this," Anthony said, almost like he was reminding his sister.

    "And so now, the both of us are working part-time jobs just to keep up minimum payments, to protect what our father left behind. And now. . . Thanks to you. . . It's all over!" Angela finished, drawing a blade from her boot and leaping at Victor. Before she could get very far, Anthony stopped her, holding her at the waist and struggling to keep her back.

    "W-was your sister raised by bears?" Victor asked, taking a defensive pose. Angela roared, swinging the blade wildly trying to reach Victor.

    “She has a slight anger management problem,” Anthony sighed.

    “I’m gonna skin you alive for putting my little brother on the wrong side of the law!!” Angela roared.

    "Hold your horses," Victor countered, "I can't do anything by getting killed, but I can definitely clean my own messes. These days, you can't be too picky about the jobs you pick, right?" Victor asked as he stood.

    "Look, right now I work for Nova, but I’m thinking about starting a business, and the name of the game is to do whatever I'm asked to do. I'm 'Odd-Jobs Victor,' if you've got problems, I'll solve them, no matter what,'" Victor said as if he rehearsed it for hours. But before he could say any more, the siblings launched a fierce attack, kicking and punching the would-be entrepreneur.

    "You're the one who caused us problems!" Angela yelled mid-assault.

    "Find me another job, damn you!" Anthony added.

    "Relax!" Victor cried as he received a beating, "I can't get you a job, but I can teach you a prayer so that you won't be nervous at interviews!"

    "Sis," Anthony started moving away from Victor, "it's impossible to work a functioning smithy with just the two of us. . . Even if we could, no one here can pay for the things we could make. . . I don't think we can ever revive what this place once was. We don't have anything to gain by protecting this place."

    "It isn't about profit or gain," Angela replied, level-headedly, " does a child need a reason to protect the things that it's parents cherished?"

    "But what did they ever do for us!?" Anthony objected but was interrupted by a crashing sound at their front door.

    "Today I am finally going to make you pay me back," a voice rang through the empty house. A thin, weaselly man entered the room surrounded by seasoned fighters. "I can't take it anymore!" the man cried, shaking his arms like a child throwing a tantrum. His clothes fluttered on him as if they were for a man twice his size. Purple undergarments bounced under an ill-fitting leather jerkin.

    "Hey," Victor groaned from behind the siblings, "are you two in debt? You're leading pretty dangerous lives, for a couple of kids. . ."

    "Were you even listening to our tale!?" Anthony yelled, kicking Victor in the gut where he lay.

    "What in Hadia are you blabbering about!?" the loan shark interrupted, "hurry up and give me my money!"

    "Just a minute," Anthony pleaded but was cut off once more.

    "Shut up! My father held this debt for years! After your father had died, he was patient! And since he passed, I think I have been more than patient," he went on, very pleased with himself, "you agreed that if you couldn't pay, you would sell. You're going to keep that promise!"

    "Wait, just a little long Mr. Harper," Angela attempted to assuage her debtor.

    "Why?! You've done enough, haven't you?" Harper went on, flashing and antagonizing smile, "you don't have to feel obligated to your idiot of a father who left you nothing but debt when he died! Get rid of this old house-" he tried to continue, but Angela had had enough.

    With a fist, as hard as a rock, she landed a crushing blow to Harper's nose and sent the meretricious man to the floor.

    "You bitch," he cried, holding a hand to his bleeding nose, "what in Hadia is wrong with you?!"

    Harper rose slowly, but by the time he stood, his underlings had already restrained the two siblings.

    "You moron," Harper stood, wiping away the blood that had reached his mouth, "did you think that I wouldn't hurt you just because you're a woman?"

    The man stepped in and moved to strike Angela back when suddenly he stopped. Victor stood next to Harper and exerted no effort to hold back his attack.

    "That's enough," Victor said in an almost pitying tone, "even though bears raised her, she's still a lady."

    His men released the siblings, to focus on a more prominent threat. But Victor released the attacker's hand and took a step back, raising his arms in surrender.

    "And just who are you?!" Harper asked, rubbing the part of his arm Victor had held, "does this smithy still have a craftsman? Honestly, you people try my patience. Forget this ruin! But," Harper grinned once more as he moved and took Angela by the shoulder, " I'm going to make you work off your debt." He used his free hand to grab her by the chin, turning her head slightly to the side.

    "I've started a new business," Harper whispered, "an idea I got from De L'argent. A traveling cabaret!"

    "A cabaret?!" Anthony protested, "why!?"

    "Obviously because I like to employ beautiful women who owe me," the sleazeball chuckled mockingly, not taking his eyes off Angela.

    "This is just an opportunity to make the most of a bad situation," Harper continued. "I've gathered beauties from all over town, from families who can't pay any other way, and you would be an excellent addition," he told Angela, whose eyes showed a mix of fear and uncertainty.

    "Well," Harper sighed, releasing the girl, "it comes down to either selling this place or selling yourself. Which will it be?"

    "Stop joking!" Anthony began to protest, "she'd never do something like that!"

    "All right, I'll go," Angela interrupted.

    "What?" Anthony yelled, surprised.

    "What a dutiful daughter you are," Harper laughed, as Angela began to walk towards her debtor.

    "W-wait," Anthony said, still confused, "why would you do this?! We've done enough haven't we?!" Victor watched from the corner of his eyes, decidedly not facing Angela.

    "Anthony," Angela said, pausing briefly, "it's just like you said. . . Nothing good will come from saving this place. . . Only pain. But it's also painful to let it go." Angela thought back to all the time she had shared with her family in the warm home, memories flooding like a storm. "It's painful to keep or to discard something that you can never get back. . . If it's going to be painful either way," Angela turned, a hopeful smile on her face and playful tone in her voice, "I'd rather suffer trying to protect it."

    The group left quickly, Anthony and Victor staying behind. The younger brother let his sister's words settle in his mind, as they played back over and over.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  4. #14
    Member
    EXP: 17,033, Level: 5
    Level completed: 51%, EXP required for next level: 2,967
    Level completed: 51%,
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
    Job
    Jack-Of-All-Trades

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    "Gods dammit!" Anthony yelled at last, "what in Hadia good was that useless father? All he did was work and play hide-and-seek with us from time to time!"

    "Was your father bald?" Victor called out from the kitchen.

    "Well, he was mentally bald," Anthony said, readily. "Wait, what in Hadia are you still doing here!?" He found Victor continuing to work on the pastry half-finished on the counter.

    "Well, I can't go on without eating something sweet periodically," Victor explained nonchalantly. Time passed quickly, and Victor had finished and eaten the small cake he had made. Anthony sat on the patio with his back to the room, while Victor ate sweets.

    "Hey, shouldn't you be going after your sister?" Victor asked, scratching his head. Anthony cringed at that, slightly.

    "I don't care," he replied petulantly. "It was Angela's decision to leave, and besides, it’s not like I don’t know what she does for work. She is my father's daughter after all. . . She's just like him. Out father was good-natured and always talked about duty and compassion. And because of that, he got taken advantage of and died in debt. I always wondered, 'why was he so careless?' I don't want to die with only grand ideas to my name. . . That kind of thing only gets in the way nowadays." Anthony said, walking out of the kitchen and to the collapsed front door. His father's words, mixed with those of his sister swam in his head.

    "But no matter how much times change, there are things you must never forget, his father had said, shortly before he passed. The words his sister had just said stood out in his mind like a blinding light, and he could not seem to move past them. "Does a child really need a reason to protect the things that it's parents cherished?"

    “Is that so?” Victor sighed, “but you don’t seem very smart to me. . .”

    Anthony trembled, the whirlpool of emotion churning inside him picked up speed and took his self-control. Tears welled up in his eyes as Victor took the mixing spoon and joined him at the entrance to the house.

    “Warriors don’t need a reason to act,” Victor mumbled, while Anthony turned to regard him. “If they have something they have to protect, they should ready to fight. . . Do you love your sister?” Victor asked, his eyes tired but sharp. Anthony nodded, his eyes no longer able to hold back the tears.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  5. #15
    Member
    EXP: 17,033, Level: 5
    Level completed: 51%, EXP required for next level: 2,967
    Level completed: 51%,
    EXP required for next level: 2,967
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
    Job
    Jack-Of-All-Trades

    View Profile
    “They’re at the massive warehouse, just past the southern gate!” the henchmen cried as Victor dropped him to the ground. The red-eyed man took off running out of the alley where the impromptu interrogation took place. Anthony followed the man from where he stood as the lookout, and neither said a word.

    The pair ran past people hard at work. The people of Archen always seemed to work, and while many young lives hung in the balance, nothing changed. But the same could be said of any place in the world. Althanas is no stranger to pain and torment. For every story of an innocent young girl picking flowers in a field under a straw hat, there is another story of sex trafficking and death. Nope, nothing new.

    They burst through the edge of the crowd like water forcing its way out from under the ground. An open field stretched out before the pair, at the end of which was an enormous storage facility, built at the edge where a thick forest once stood and the field. Roughly a quarter of a mile between the gates of Archen and the warehouse.

    It looked like a barn that had grown while consuming the land around it. Grass and foliage grew up the side of it, trying to claim the human-made obstruction for nature. It seemed impossibly tall and wide, and from where the pair stood, they could hardly tell how far back it went.

    A group of sell-swords gathered at the large doors of the barn. Victor and Anthony did not approach immediately. The unknown situation waiting for them inside gave pause to the pair, and they paused to assess the situation. Victor scratched his head out of frustration, and his audible groan was drowned out by the passage of incoming and outgoing merchants, travelers, and carts.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  6. #16
    Member
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
    Job
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    "You're all going to behave," Harper cooed from the top of a stack of crates. He had removed the leather jerkin and wore a shabby purple business suit. A large group of nearly thirty women looked up at their captor with disdain and apprehension. As he crowed, women flinched and recoiled, and whispered terrified and uncertain fears.

    "You're going to behave and put on the show of your lives, every night. If a patron takes an interest in any of you, he will write your name on paper and hand it to one of our waiters. You will all show interest in anyone who wants to meet you. And you will all be very, very grateful."

    Angela grimaced when Harper pointed her out in the crowd.

    "You, come with me, little angel," Harper cackled as he jumped down. "The rest of you, to the carts! I will audition the newest 'actress,' and we will depart in an hour."

    "more like two minutes," a sellsword chuckled.

    "Last time it was forty seconds," another laughed. The jeers and taunts continued to echo from one employee to the next until the entire warehouse became an endless parade of insults at Harper's expense.

    At the back of the warehouse, in a large dimly lit room, Harper and Angela faced off.

    "I want you to wear this," Harper said, taking an outfit made of black leather and pink feathers. When he let it hang, it was evident how little the thing covered, of the female form. Only the parts men had an interest in would show.

    "But that. . . that outfit is. . ." Angela replied nervously.

    "What's the matter," Harper sighed, "it's too late to be losing your nerves now."

    Angel moved towards the door, but the man's quick hands stopped her. He tossed her farther into the room and was atop her in moments. From the main warehouse area the sell swords could be here the action beginning, and even through the closed door of the small room, they heard Angela crying out for help.

    The large group of men closer to the front, having come inside, heard a knock on the doors.

    "Special delivery," a young man's voice called.

    As they moved toward the doors to investigate, a deafening crash resounded in the enclosed space. A large cart, filled with various wares and goods exploded through the gate, splintering them and tearing them off their hinges. The vehicle barreled through the large group, crushing at least half, and knocking the rest aside. It rolled fast and long as if a giant threw it.

    "Boss, are you okay?" several sellswords ran into the private room in the back. The cart had made its way far enough through the warehouse to break part of the wall adjacent to the door of the large room. The impact knocked Harper to his side. Angela lay where she had was, still dressed in her pink dress.

    "What in Hadia is happening!?" Harper demanded.

    "Don't worry," a powerful voice called out, "it's just a rental."

    Sounds of sudden and effortless beatings echoed in the background while the two voices dialogued.

    “So basically she’s crazy and evil, and I left there to go to work for myself. I think I’m going to start an Odd Jobs agency,” Victor began.

    “What in Hadia is an Odd Jobs agency?” Anthony asked.

    “I’m glad you asked, the way I see it, it’s basically a jack-of-all-trades office,” Victor replied.

    “What in Hadia does that mean!? You’re not making any sense!” Anthony demanded.

    “You know, it doesn’t have to make sense! It just is! It’s like a place, and when you come in, you just sort of know what to do! Like prom night! You just let your body act on its own!” Victor reasoned.

    “What in Hadia is wrong with you!? That sounds like something the guards should be looking into! What did you do to your date?!” Anthony cried out.

    Victor moved passed through the shattered wall and cart, Anthony following close behind.

    "Victor's Odd Jobs, at your service," the man with red eyes said proudly, holding a sheathed sword he had picked up on his way. His brown coat brushed past the rubble near his knees as he approached.

    "Anthony?" his sister exclaimed in surprise.

    "What in the name of everything do you think you're doing?!" Harper roared, "do you know who you're dealing with!?"

    "We've come to get my sister back!" Anthony yelled in response, getting in between Angela and Harper.

    "Don't you donkey-brained idiots understand it's too late?!" Harper shouted, "your house will no longer be safe after this!"

    "I don't care about the house," Anthony replied defiantly, "I want a house where my sister is, and is happy. If I have to see her cry, then I don't need it."

    "Fools, what can just the two of you do?" Harper hissed, "get them!"

    "Hey, I'll distract them," Victor whispered from behind Anthony, take your sister and get out of here."

    "What about you?" Anthony asked.

    "Just worry about protecting your sister," Victor said, moving ahead of Anthony. He unsheathed the sword he'd found and stood before a group of twenty, "I'll protect what I want to protect."

    "What in the god's names are you talking about," Harper yelled, "can't you see you're outnumbered?"

    Harper removed a thin, ornate sword from inside his purple coat. But before anyone could move, Victor was already in front of the sex merchant. Red eyes seemed to glow in front of Harper and fear froze him. A fist knocked the wind out of him, and a dark boot sent him tumbling into the wreckage that once was a cart.

    "Alright! Next!" Victor yelled as he ran into the group of sellswords. With each swing of his blade, his enemies fell. They tried to defend, but could not even hold onto their swords or shields. Victor's shear strength knocked each man who stood against him aside.

    "What in the-" Anthony began.

    "I've never seen anything like that!" Angela added, both looking in awe of Victor.

    "Average, go!" Victor yelled, as three men appeared before him, blades drawn.

    "It's Anthony, you idiot!" he shouted, taking his sister's hand and running out of the door behind them.

    The pair ran towards the exit, but more incoming sellswords blocked their way. Anthony veered right, fleeing up a set of rickety stairs with Angela close behind. They found a winding path between stacks of crates and various other packages.

    "Will he be alright?" Angela asked, turning back to see no one following them. "Why is he doing this for us?" she asked.

    "I don't know!" Anthony replied, "but he'll definitely come back. I can almost feel it inside him. That thing that father talked about."

    They both turned at a crash and a yell. Victor was running behind them, a group of sellswords following close behind.

    "That was tough! That was way tougher than I thought it would be!" he yelled as he caught up to the fleeing pair.

    "Try a little harder!" Anthony yelled, berating their would-be protector, "you didn't even last forty seconds!"

    "Idiot!" Victor replied, "It's really hard to write a forty-second fight scene! Keeping it going for forty seconds isn’t easy! A lot of men have an issue with that! Don’t think yourself all high and mighty because of your youthful endurance! Just find a way out!"

    The three of them turned a sharp corner, only to face a large metal door. "Move!" Victor yelled and went through the door, foot first. They entered a large room, stacked to the ceiling with large barrels and crates. All of the merchandise had large red and black seals with an ornate design and a skull and crossbones symbol below them.

    "What is all this?" Anthony asked as the trio stopped at a dead end.

    "It's a dead end," Harper laughed from behind them. The escapees turned from deep inside the large store room to find themselves vastly outnumbered and surrounded by all the remaining sellswords.

    “Wow, what a creative entrance, what are you gonna say next? You gonna tell us how vastly outnumbered and surrounded by all the remaining sellswords we are?” Victor mocked.

    "Let us end this game," Harper said with a bloody smile. "How pathetic. Warriors who once protected entire kingdoms with their swords reduced to good-for-nothings who can't even protect a single woman." Harper approached, a crossbow in hand.

    "How did you know she isn't secretly seeing someone?" Victor asked nonchalantly.

    "Enough puns!" Harper screamed, "enough games! I'm going see to it you all rest in pieces, courtesy of the Red Crows!"

    "You work for the Red Crows?"Angela exclaimed.

    "Who?" Victor asked.

    "We are honest merchants who use any means necessary to profit in this upside-down world," Harper grinned.

    "They're thieves and slavers," Anthony corrected, "they trade in anything and everything."

    "And now that you've seen our latest venture, I'm afraid none of you can leave here alive," Harper chuckled.

    "Wait. . . That smell," Victor whispered, taking deep breaths. Now that the room had settled, a distinct aroma filled the air, "gunpowder."

    "That's right!" Harper laughed, "Magnificent! We've struck a deal with Alerar. We're going to be doing some trading with a few known enemies of Archen. People who would very much like to see this city fall."

    "You bastards," Anthony growled, "you're going to kill thousands!"

    "What of it?! There's nothing you can protect anymore. This city, the lands and even the women all belong to us, the Red Crows." Harper hissed once more.

    "The city? The land?" Victor asked, almost surprised, "You can have it all. I'm busy protect the things right in front of me. I don't know how many things I've already failed to protect," he sighed, looking down at the blade he held. In the reflective metal, he once more saw the orange eyes of Eliza staring back at him. The young girl he could save from being sacrificed by fanatics trying to summon a demon."I don't have anything left, but at least if I see something fallen in front of me, I want to pick it up."

    Harper laughed, "what a half-hearted warrior spirit! I've had enough of you, die!"

    "Boss, no!" a sellsword yelled, moving quickly and lowering the crossbow, "the gunpowder, the door smashed a crate," he whispered, "what if you set it off!"

    "Idiot!" Harper scolded, knocking the man back "that's not how gunpowder works!"

    "Oh?" Victor grinned holding his sword over his head and already standing next to the gunpowder that had spilled onto the floor. "I, on the other hand, know very well how gunpowder works."

    "You psycho! If you do anything, you'll kill us all!" Harper screamed, panic filling his eyes.

    "What's precious to my client is precious to me. To protect them, I'll do. . ." Victor used his foot to dislodge the metal door wedged in a broken crate. He turned to Anthony and Motioned to the large windows on the wall, "I'll do anything!"

    The blade fell slowly. Time seemed to stop for the sellswords in the room as they turned to flee. Anthony and Angela made it to within a couple of yards of the window when they leaped into the air. Harper stopped with time. Victor grinned like a madman.

    Alla lit a cigarette, and when she took her first inhale, the whole room shook. The ground rumbled with fury. She looked out casually, breathing out a thin line of smoke.

    "Damn brats getting carried away," Alla sighed.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  7. #17
    Member
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
    5' 11" / 195lbs
    Job
    Jack-Of-All-Trades

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    "We were lucky that tree was there to catch us," Anthony sighed, sitting back while the town guard arrested the sellswords and Harper.

    "Honestly," Angela said, "I've never seen anyone that crazy. . . But, in the end, he saved us."

    "What!?" Victor yelled, far behind where Anthony was sitting, "I aided in the arrest of a sex-trafficker-slash-arms-dealer! You can let the fact that I borrowed that cart slide!"

    "Borrowed?" the nameless merchant chimed in, "my cart and I are a complete wreck now!"

    "You've always been a complete wreck; you actually look even better now!" Victor countered.

    "Realy?!" the merchant asked sarcastically, "what part?!"

    "Sis, I. . ." Anthony started, unsure how to bring up his request to his sister.

    "Go," Angela said, reading her brother's mind. "You found something in him, right? Go and find your sword. I'll look for it in my own way. It's alright; I won't do anything rash or crazy anymore. . . I don't want to see you cry either." Angela smiled and began her walk back to town.

    Anthony thought back to the last time his father spoke to him. On the day he passed away.

    Even if there comes a time when I can no longer pursue blacksmithing, and you two can no longer practice your swordsmanship. . . You must never lose the unwavering sword you keep in your soul.

    "Father," Anthony said to no one but himself, looking on as Victor argued with the merchant like two children on the playground, "what sort of soul does this guy have. . ? It's hard to tell. It's dim, but it's definitely shining. . . Right now, I think I'd like to watch it shine a little while longer."

    Anthony made his way to where Victor argued, ready to jump into the fray. The argument was childish and irrelevant and lasted for hours.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  8. #18
    Member
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    Good for Nothing Captain's Avatar

    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
    Build
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    Job
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    De L'argent sat behind a desk; stray papers peppered its surface. He repositioned the small, half-moon spectacles that had slid down the bridge of his nose, with the pinky of his left hand. His sigh was heavy, so much so that some of the papers nearly blew off his the edge of his desk. A flicker of light took his attention from the little script of a furtive note. The candle was alone, bringing light to the dark study. The soft amber glow gave the shelved books and piles of paper an aged look, but the moving light made the room almost come alive. There wasn’t a single thing out of place, except the documents that recently fell from the desk. Taking the glasses off his nose and placing them on the table revealed a dullness in his gaze. His eyes were tired and betrayed an ancient exhaustion.

    Moving through the room was like walking through a moment frozen in time. De L'argent was the only moving a shape, highlighted by the candle light as if he had command over anything and everything in the room. The candle was not enough to light the whole room, and moving from light to shadow seemed as natural to De L’argent as breathing. He fits perfectly in both light and darkness, but a careful stranger might have observed a subtle change in his expression. In the light his eyes seemed warm, caring if not empathetic. If it was all of that in the light, it was none of it in the darkness. Cold, expressionless, almost void of all feeling and emotion. His eyes, however, held the truth. In the dark, they came alive, bright and alive. His stare was sharp, almost piercing; like a monster in the darkness. Like he had command of the night. He imposed his will onto the darkness and held the room in his grip from there. From the open window, no sound broke his silence.

    Even the bird, sitting in his cage, did not dare to break his silence. Its sleek feathers reflected the subtle moonlight flowing through the window. The cage sat in the shadows of the room, by the window, where the candle’s light could not reach it. He rolled up the little note he’d been writing, and set it into a small container strapped to the modest raven’s foot.

    “You know what to do,” he whispered.

    With barely an audible sound the bird took off, his eyes following it for longer than it liked. De L’argent turned from the window, and with his back to the outside world, a breeze blew in, as though by his command. The candle flickered, against the assault from the window. His eyes narrowed, focused on the candle, imposing his will on its light. The closer he came to the source, the weaker the light got. But the little candle did not go out, struggling against the dark and the cold wind of Archen. The darkness was a force of nature, unstoppable and encompassing. But the little candle stayed lit.

    “Now, now,” De L’argent whispered, stalking his prey, “there comes a time for all of us to go out. It’s not good to hold on passed our time; to keep going when no one wants us to.”

    He stood over the candle, the rest of the room in the darkness cast by his shadow. He moved his hand to his mouth carefully, licking his fingertips in preparation to snuff out the light. The tiniest hint of a smile, a flicker of joy in the thought of what he would be doing, and the power that action implied. From behind him, and from the open window a soft blue light began to break. De L’argent turned to see the coming dawn, disappointment flashing in his eyes. As quickly as it came, it left, and De L’argent snuffed the candle out, keeping his stare fixed on the window.

    “I suppose my time this night is at an end as well,” he closed the window, moving back to his desk, “but that time was well spent. Interesting things are on their way. Exciting changes. . . I can’t wait to see where things go.”

    “We do what we must do,” De L’argent said, interlocking his fingers and moving them under his nose. His eyes pierced like daggers, aimed at prey somewhere in the distance. “What we must do to keep the game in our favor.” He closed his eyes for a brief reprieve, a short slumber, before returning to his ambitious machinations.

    A knock at the door.

    “Enter,” De L’argent sighed, opening his eyes.

    “Sir, there’s been an incident,” a man spoke from the shadows, “with Harper. And the man with red eyes.”

    “We have work to do,” he whispered, and like a breath, he disappeared into the night.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  9. #19
    Member
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    Name
    Victor Valentine
    Age
    29
    Race
    Human
    Gender
    Mr.
    Hair Color
    Jet black
    Eye Color
    Red
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    By the time it was over, night had fallen, and the city guard had finished freeing the women held hostage. The sellswords were gone, and any remnant of Harper's ill deeds had been gone over and inventoried.

    Victor stood at the doors he had broken down, staring into the darkness of the now empty warehouse. Life did not stir inside, but the evidence of corruption remain. Anthony stood next to his new boss, the first official employee of Victor's Odd Jobs.

    "I see you've made quite a few waves, young warrior," a smooth and careful voice sailed from behind them.

    De L’argent stood in the middle of an empty field under a sky of stars. His black cloak draped the most expensive clothes someone could be expected to have this far north. Even his boots, barely dirtied by the ground he had passed from his carriage. The horses stirred softly, but the driver quieted them with a whisper.

    "It would appear the men working under me have taken actions beyond what I have allowed," De L’argent fixed his half-moon spectacles.

    "You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with this?" Victor asked, without turning around.

    "There are a lot of dealings I am involved in," De L’argent sighed as he moved closer to Victor, "I had Harper working on the debts he had from before the war. I had no idea he had flown so far on his own. Little birds tend to stray far if not properly looked after."

    Victor picked up the hint.

    "Suffice it to say; I would never willingly make allegiances with foreign powers such as Alerar. My life and my profit are here."

    "I didn't hear you say you weren't in the human trafficking business," Victor replied.

    "I am not in the human trafficking business," De L’argent echoed. "Alexan- or should I say, Angela, is a valued worker and hostess. I have never been more appalled at the treatment of another human being than I was when I heard what Harper intended to do with her."

    Victor turned to face De L’argent, on hearing his stance. He looked deep into the old navy eyes of the old man with white hair. The two shared a moment of honesty, and Victor could not help be believe the successful merchant.

    "I honestly knew nothing about what was going on here," De L’argent added on.

    "Now that," Victor growled, "I do not believe."

    "Well that," De L’argent mocked, "is your business. I have no business with the Red Crows, and I have made my home in Archen. I am as much a citizen like you, and I will fight for these walls as much as the Queen would."

    "I never mentioned the Crows," Victor growled.

    "Do not insult either of us," De L’argent replied sharply, "you know very well that I am well informed. As soon as the information is available, I hear it. Harper was not a part of their organization when we met, but their interest in Archen's fall is concerning. I do not know where these events might lead, but I intend to prepare, regardless of where the future might lead."

    Victor watched for any sign of deceit but could find none. He watched De L’argent nod to him, a quiet sign of acceptance and recognition. And then he watched the merchant depart for destinations, while known, shrouded in mystery.

    "What now?" Anthony asked.

    "Now we get to work," Victor replied while picking his nose, "I'm sure a cat is missing somewhere we can get paid to find."

    Anthony nodded, as the pair began walking back to town. Nova's rest was their destination. The managed to get back to the main road before Anthony was apprehended by a group of guards, about a fight that had broken out at the restaurant where he no longer worked. Victor simply walked, pretending not to hear the young man yelling. Victor simply ran, when the young man convinced the guards that it was Victor who was the culprit. Victor and Anthony simply escaped, because, sadly, not every character in a story can be the main character. And while there are more interesting and impressive guards, none were among this group of NPCs-I mean, people. Not all main characters are heroes. Victor ran through Archen, unsure where his path lead. He was not looking forward, towards the future. He was no longer fixated only on the past. He was now looking at his sides, at the people who began gathering there. And the weight he had vowed no longer to carry returned, and with it, he grew stronger.
    “Excellence is never an accident. It is always the result of high intention, sincere effort, and intelligent execution; it represents the wise choice of many alternatives - choice, not chance, determines your destiny.”
    ― Aristotle
    Rau-ko-rad
    1. Elven; Red Demon
    2. Victor Valentine

  10. #20
    Maul-Slayer
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    Joshua Breaker Cronen
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    Thread Title: Victor Valentine: Life and Times in Archen
    Judgment Type: Full Rubric
    Participant: Good for Nothing Captain

    Hey Cap! Thanks for choosing a full judgment, I enjoyed reading this thread and providing feedback for it. My rough notes on this were extremely rough, so I won't be including them. However, if you have any questions or want further elaboration on anything at all, feel free to shoot me a PM! With that said, onto the rubric.

    Plot: 19/30

    Story- 6/10
    The story started off fairly strong, with a decisive narrative hook in the form of a bloody Victor traipsing through the snow. However, the rising action was fairly thick and at times confusing (see more on this later), and there were some strange choices made with the ending which brought down this score overall. If you're going to, for example, break the fourth wall, I would recommend doing it early and often rather than once or twice near the end of the story. Something like that really impacts the tone of the prose, so it's important to use it consistently.


    Setting- 7/10
    Sections of this story, such as the opening scene, featured such detailed setting that I could almost feel the Salvic chill. As with the storyline, there were some odd choices made, such as Victor having diabetes and eating a strawberry sundae. These things made me think of Earth in a story which otherwise felt like it occurred on Althanas. Another odd choice was saying that the room was "entirely empty" in post 10 only to then feature a bartender in the room. Be careful with the language you choose when describing a setting, it's important not to accidentally contradict yourself as it causes the reader's train of thought to grind to a halt.


    Pacing- 6/10
    The story moved at a fairly consistent pace, speeding up appropriately for action sequences and slowing down for dialogue and description. However, overall things moved a bit too slowly. I would encourage you to scale back your descriptions a bit, try to only include things that are necessary to the plot and things your character would immediately notice. There was more than one occasion where I found myself wondering why you bothered describing certain things. I found that this usually occurred during mundane actions, so I'll leave further commentary on it for the Action section.


    Character: 18/30

    Communication- 6/10
    Generally speaking, the communication was pretty solid. While characters did not have super specific mannerisms or ways of speaking, I could usually tell who was talking and why they were saying what they were saying, with the exception of post 7 where I lost track of what was going on due to the number of people involved in the conversation. As a general rule of thumb, try to limit conversations to three characters or less. If you need to feature more than that, make sure that you very plainly express who is saying what. You can also improve here by giving characters more unique ways of speaking. If someone is from a different region, for example, they might have a different accent or use different idioms than everybody else.


    Action-5/10
    The action was at times over described, and at times under described, rarely falling on a happy medium. An excellent example of overdescribing comes in post 2 when Victor is described sitting (in vivid detail) twice in a row. Casual actions are one of the places where you can afford to trim some fat, which will result in much less thick prose. On the other hand, many of the actual action sequences were underdescribed. Providing a simple list of movements such as "duck, weave, hit. Weave, parry, hit. Hit. Hit. Hit." is not enough information for the average reader. I've boxed, so I actually understood that, but to most people it would just look like a list of words. This is where you really need to show rather than tell, and it will pay off immediately because your understanding of action sequences is quite solid.


    Persona- 7/10
    Victor is a three-dimensional character with wants, needs, and interesting quirks. The supporting cast could have been a little more fleshed out, but overall you did a good job with them as well. What I'd like to see in the future is better consistency in your main character. At times, you played Victor as an almost invincible fighting force, easily besting all who dared assault him. On other occasions, he seemed to have almost no martial prowess whatsoever. Likewise, at times he seemed the bravest of brave, while at others he chose to tuck his tail and run. I'm not saying this needs to be changed, but it does need to be justified. With a little more showing/telling you could make this character quite deep indeed.


    Prose: 20/30

    Mechanics- 6/10
    There were a surprising number of mechanical errors considering your writing level. Most of these could be captured with a closer editing pass, and I would recommend reading through your posts out loud to capture those little errors that might escape your eyes. I made note of most of the mistakes that didn't seem like mere oversight, and I'll provide them here with appropriate corrections.
    -On more than one occasion you used the word "passed" instead of "past"
    -used the word "decent" (meaning adequate) instead of "descent"
    -"winter" does not require capitalization
    -"salt and pepper" does not require capitalization
    -"you're benefactor" should have been "your benefactor". Make sure you understand the difference between the two.
    -"shear strength" = sheer strength
    There were also a number of issues with verb tense, capitalization, and at times word choice. Again, the best advice I can give here is to read your posts back out loud. Errors which are otherwise hard to find will jump out at you when orated.


    Clarity- 8/10
    With the exception of a confusing scene or two which I mentioned above, this story was quite clear and easy to follow. I probably would have given you a 9 here if not for the thickness of the rising action. If you keep doing what you're doing and follow my advice from other categories, this score should stay consistent or climb even higher.


    Technique- 6/10
    You had some nice lines, such as referring to the couch as a couch-throne and "This isn't where I left my horse!" In post 12. I also enjoyed some of the allusions you made to Earth, such as naming one of the antagonists De L'Argent (très drôle). However for the most part I feel you need to be a bit more careful and intentional with your literary devices. Using your opening paragraph as an example, it felt like you tried a bit too hard to put lots of literary devices in.

    You start with "a winter storm blotted out the sky and sun", and then later on in the same paragraph compare Victor's bruises to "blotches of paint on a canvas." Both of these comparisons are decent and could be stronger, but the real issue is how similar they are. You also want to consider whether a certain piece of imagery adds to the prose. "The brilliant snow danced through a tundra at the whim of some unseen conductor." The unseen conductor part is both unnecessary and confusing, because dancers don't follow a conductor, musicians do. If you'd gone the musical route with this metaphor, you probably could have turned it into a sweeping allegory about the storm and Victor's stumbling through it.

    To summarize here, you do good work, but with a little more effort and consideration you could take it to the next level quite easily.


    Wildcard: 8/10 - "This isn't where I left my horse!" - Made me laugh. I gave you an extra point here because you really put yourself out there and tried different things, even if they didn't always click perfectly.


    Final Score: 65/100

    Good for Nothing Captain receives: 2650 EXP and no GP as per request
    Good for Nothing Captain pays: 7 AP for a full judgment and workshop

    Congratulations!
    ... They fell to him as prey to bluefin
    for the Jya's warriors knew not how to swim...
    13-3-2

    I wrote a book! ~ Most Suave Character 2010

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