This match-up will last until 8 P.M. E.S.T. on 2/23/07. Remember, if you finish your battle early, I can score you early - and finishing early is a good, good thing always.
Best of luck!
This match-up will last until 8 P.M. E.S.T. on 2/23/07. Remember, if you finish your battle early, I can score you early - and finishing early is a good, good thing always.
Best of luck!
-The Althanas Chief Administrator and Editor
It was a bustling city. C'est Vrai was staring up at it from the middle of the road just before the actual entrance, and he could tell even before entering it that he would not like the place.
He had been sent to Radasanth, for some reason or another, on some sort of solo-mission from his organization, the Spirit Hunters. He hadn't been paying much attention when the old man was blabbing to him about the whole thing, probably another person abusing some sort of magical thing again... yadda yadda. C'est Vrai hated it how people always yammered on about everything, so he didn't normally pay attention. Most of the time he managed to figure it all out later anyways, when it was more important. Still, at the moment he was at somewhat of a loss about what to do, normally he had the little girl Pourquoi or the big lug Qu’est-ce to direct him. He was nevertheless confident he would figure it all out and return successfully though.
But besides all that, he could tell he was going to hate Concordia's capital.
The tiger elf's ears twitched with disdain as he gazed upon the countless people jostling each other in the streets, yelling, arguing, laughing, crying. He'd heard it was a beautiful city, but to him it seemed like it would just be annoying. Why did people always like each other so much?
Suddenly he was jostled from behind as some punk kids ran past, laughing in their incessantly high pitch voices. He snarled and spat after them, "Hoi! Watch where you're going, you lousy flea-ridden rodents!" He was tempted to actually chase them down, but it wasn't worth it. He was supposed to show restraint when he wasn't pursuing his assignment anyways, bah. Well, he would play the game... but he wouldn't like it. He was feeling like he might actually bite the next person who touched him unannounced. He spied an older couple with a cart eyeing him oddly as they passed. Oh yeah, you better watch out.
Ah well, whatever would transpire he’d just have to figure it out. He hoped the old man wouldn’t be disappointed if he had to find a contact and asked for a reminder on What the bloody blazes am I supposed to do in this insufferable place?
Out of Character:
Level 0.
Evil lurks within all our hearts. Those who do great deeds are simply those who manage to fight and conquer it.
Dorian's pen flashed furiously across the page, notes and chords blossoming into being. Earlier that morning, the metered paper had been blank, but a brief jaunt through the city had changed that. The bustle of the city had been alive with music--Hawkers! Squalling children! Carousers, organ grinders, half-mad priests on streetcorners! The inspiration had come quick and fast, and Dorian had jaunted into a nearby restaurant to record the moment. And now, three hours later, his formerly blank page was filled with diminuendos, fermatas, rests...music.
With a flourish, he imposed the double-bar at the end of the piece, and at the top he scrawled a rough title: Cobblestone Crescendos. It was done, and just in time -- he had to deliver the piece to his publisher and have it duplicated before the sun set. Glissando Conservatory had not seen a published work from its premiere professor in some time, and the Dean was getting restless. A new piece would change all that.
Darting out into the street, Dorian clasped the music tightly in his hand. The sun was nowhere near setting, but the printers were across town in an entirely different district from the one he was currently standing in. He wanted the piece printed before another passing day become one day enough to convince the Dean to fire him. So he set off, trying to move as fast as he could through the crowd. He couldn't quite run -- the mob was too thick -- but he did his best.
Suddenly, someone passing too close and too quickly bumped his shoulder, and Dorian's papers went everywhere. Dorian cursed at the man, who quickly mumbled a word of apology before hurrying on to wherever he was going. Taken aback by the man's rudeness, Dorian stooped to gather up the papers before they were trod upon by those passing by.
Pulling the last papers together in a stack, he folded them smartly and tucked them into his breast pocket -- no sense in losing them again. But he'd wasted precious time. Turning to set off quickly in the appropriate direction, he moved too fast, and stepped hard directly into yet another passerby.
This time, Dorian was not so lucky. He fell back with great force against the cold, uneven surface of the street. Dazed a bit, he looked up to see who it was he had knocked into...whoever it was had not fallen.
((Sorry for the delay. I've been tremendously busy -- but with a little work by both of us, we can finish this by Friday, easily))
C'est Vrai's nerves were itching for some opportunity to release the annoying that was heavily building up on them as he entered the city. His ears were actually quivering with tension, and his eyes had taken a paranoid look as he glanced nervously about. The worst part was he couldn't even do anything to release that, not if the head honchos had anything to say about it! He supposed it wouldn't be fair anyways, to bite the head off some oblivious punk, but it would make him feel a lot better.
He’d just have to wait till he figured out what he was here for.
He hated the city as much as he knew he would. It was as loud, obnoxious, crowded, smelly, and arrogant as it appeared from the outside. People had presumptuously propositioned various products to him more times than he cared to bother with, but then, he didn’t even care to deal with one salesman, not to mention a multitude. It would suffice to say though, his temper was strained.
Which was probably not a good thing when you’re in a crowded city, and don’t particularly care to be touched and knocked about, especially for someone who might happen to bump into him, even if that person was a generally inoffensive pleasant composer rushing off to meet an important appointment, and so simply not watching where he’s going.
Such as just occurred, not that C’est himself knew who lay behind the assault. With a seething fury he spun around and set upon his adversary, about to release the wrath of all hell upon him. But that was before he realized what a pathetic sight it would be, a primped peacock of a man clutching a scattered assortment of papers to his chest. The elf snorted, and derided coldly.
“Hoi! You watch where yer going! I’ve been itching to set an example all day, and I don’t want to waste it on you.”
((Probably not, but let’s get done what we can.))
Level 0.
Evil lurks within all our hearts. Those who do great deeds are simply those who manage to fight and conquer it.
Something in Dorian's fall must have affected his head, because he did not interpret the elf's comments as he should have. The elf was taller than him by a head and way out of Dorian's weight class, but Dorian considered none of this...all he could see was the spiteful expression of pity and scorn on the other's face. Dorian could take many things; disrespect was not one of them.
Getting to his feet with a sense of hurried dignity, Dorian's right hand quickly slipped into his breast pocket, withdrawing his baton. His other hand slipped into the pocket of his breeches and grasped his songstone tightly. And with one quick concerted effort, the songstone glowed and sung out -- the G was muffled, assuredly, but the note could still be heard. And as it sprung to life, a thin stream of fire swung from the tip of the conductor's baton.
With a quick and precise motion, Dorian brought the slender piece of wood and whipped the line of fire towards the elf's hand, like a mother swatting away a child reaching for a cookie. It would do no damage to the elf -- the strike was far too quick to cause any substantive wound. But the heat would be enough to raise a red welt.
Even as his wrist flicked the baton back into his breast pocket, he spoke, "I'm sorry to have to chastise you, sir, but I was about to apologize and go on my merry way when you decided to turn things personal. I'll let you off this time, but in the future when someone runs into you, you might at least offer them a hand up!"
Dorian was obviously not thinking. But it didn't matter...his feelings had been hurt, and he would have compensation.
C’est Vrai didn’t really respond when the smaller man withdrew what appeared to be a small stone and a stick of some sort, nor really when a string of fire shot from it and washed over his hand. He felt the presence of magic, kind of a cold undertone to the heat of the fire. His mind went calm, and then became heated again. Aha, so that’s what it was. Clever.
He had found his target, he was sure of it. No doubt a minor sorcerer, enrapturing the populous from the shadows as he went about his everyday life, and what’s more: C’est had found him without even knowing what he was looking for. That’ll show you old man, I’m perfectly capable of working on my own. He knew that they all suspected he was always in need of a babysitter back at camp, but no more!
Now what to do about the matter, C’est Vrai wanted to just knock him around and drag him off to some sort of authorities, but even he wasn’t dense to the point where he thought he could get away with assaulting a bystander in the street, especially one of a higher class. Sometimes though, he tends to act without thinking.
“You’ll let me go this time, but who says I’m letting you? Maybe next time you should watch where you’re going, but you won’t get that chance!”
He charged, a straight vertical punch would be fine, with his burned hand. This opponent wouldn't need anything fancy, certainly not his Claws. It would be fast, but he figured he’d at least give the Primp a sporting chance. Overkill probably wouldn’t go over well in the crowded street, although it’s always good for a performance… so maybe in a bit.
Of note, the burn hadn’t even welted, it was maybe reddened as if sunburned.
Level 0.
Evil lurks within all our hearts. Those who do great deeds are simply those who manage to fight and conquer it.
Tigereye, your first two posts were very repetitive, not to mention you dropped many names in your first post. What are the spirit hunters? Do they chase ghosts? Do they dispel evil magic (this was the idea I got)? A sentence is usually all it takes to remove any gaps in the writing. Dorian, you write neatly. Your work flows very well, but there seem to be a few character gaps with your writing as well. I didn't know enough about Dorian prior to him attacking out of no where. Even when the time is short, you tend to get more points for going where the story would go, not by throwing in some "action" in hopes of receiving a higher score.
Dorian advances to Round Two.
Althanas Operations Administrator
Dirks GP amount: 2949
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