Osiris Open Final: Revenant Vs Storm

Standard Osiris Open rules apply. It's up to you to say how the magic of the arches work.

If the legends of them are true.

Standing out as a legend to a time long past, when gladiators fought for their lives all for the glory of the empire, the Four Horsemen Hellhole waits in the Jagged Mountains. As true as an arena as it could be called it is a huge ellipse, reaching a five hundred feet at its largest length and two and fifty hundred feet across at the greatest width. A thirty foot high, granite wall runs around the perimeter of the oval field, designed once to keep all the gladiators in, and protect those without. For those spectators a hundred rows of heavy stone benches waited, arching out like an ampitheatre, with entrances available as holes that led up from the access tunnels.

Time had passed, however, and much of the elaborate, carved facade on the outside of the arena, once depicting the brave lives of the gladiators, had fallen to nothing. Even parts of the many tiered seating had begun to crumble, smashing into one side of the field's wall and making there a direct access to the seating that the viewers would have found fearful. The field itself had a large chunk missing, now, the floor fallen in over time to reveal the labyrinth of pens and cells beneath that once had held the fighters - until it was there time to die.

But some things had not gone. Some form of ancient, unknown magic, it is said, kept the four arches that opened onto the battlefield intact. Carved into these arches are horses - one mighty steed for each - and a word on each one. Starting from the north arch they read:

War. Pestilence. Famine. Death.

Nobody had gone near these gates for many years. If you want to explore the ruins - why you just come up through the now broken floor. Because in through those archways voices could be heard - screaming, crying and drowning at times. Suffering. Stories spoke to say that if you came within ten foot of the fearsome stone horses that terrible things would happen. That war, or pestilence, or famine or death themselves would come themselves and try to kill you.

Riding on their dire horses.

Clack-toom! Clack-toom! Clack-toom! Clack-toom!

The sound of his metal heels against the stone ground echoed like little gunshots here in the aria nestled deep amongst the Jagged Mountains. With tall stone walls and broken stone steps surrounding him, the sound seemed to carry off forever, echoing off into eternity. The timelessness of this place shook the adventurer, who felt struggled to process what he was saying.

A diminutive guide from his perimeter smiled at Storm Veritas as he spoke, thick layers of burlap wrapping his slender frame. Storm squinted through tired eyes at the walking bandage, whose face was wind-reddened, old, confident, and cocksure.

“You know of the horsemen, yes? They bring the apocalypse to any who cross their arches. I promise you, no enemy of yours in the Hellhole, nor anything you’ve ever experienced would rival even one of them.

“The other will emerge soon enough. You have been delivered to fight based on your skills, to appease the Horsemen and save our people from their wrath.”

Gesturing about him, the little old man extended an open hand to each corner of the archaic arena, each aperture topped at the keystone with a large, stoic Cavalryman, each looking decidedly something other than human.

“One of you will live. Should you two decide not to engage, the Horsemen will come for both of you. Should anything befall me, the Horsemen will come. Should you try to escape…” His eyes darted to the gate, as the smaller man walked behind the wizard. A humming noise began to sound behind Storm, as the bizarre old man produced a glowing white key from his pocket.

Ker-shaww…. Svooooop!

“We thank you for your sacrifice.”

The magical bond that had tied Storm’s wrists behind his back were released. Instinctively, he rubbed at them, noticing there was no soreness, no abrasion. These captors were wise enough to avoid metal handcuffs, no doubt aware of the ammunition they’d be providing the aging villain. His captor was slowly moving towards the tunnel from whence Storm had emerged, a series of heavy stone steps emerging through a circular orifice in the stone.

“Your horsemen can kiss my ass, old man. I haven’t stared down Moonwing upon Jormungstadt, or bettered the Moxillus to be scared of an old coward’s superstition. Still, you don’t need to worry for me now; if I’d wanted your blood I wouldn’t need my weapons or my hands to spill it.”

Sneering, the old magician ran his fingers through his hair, just regaining his bearings as he tried to recall when they’d taken him. It wasn’t long after leaving the woods with those kids when he was approached by the emissary; a man who spoke the name of Shinsou from one corner of his mouth while shaking his hand. The handshake felt like fire, Storm remembered, and his consciousness drifted and he had slumped from his own great horse.

Where is Attila?! And who are these people?

Currrr-shooom!

As quickly as the little man had delivered the electromancer to the horrendous place, he had disappeared, a large stone spiraling into place from a slot beside the stairs. The fit of the circular stone was so perfect within the now-removed hole that the seam of the tunnel disappeared entirely. Only a very familiar satchel, and a belt fit with two large daggers and a short-sword in the center of the once-circle served as a marker to identify where the tunnel once existed. Relief washed over the scoundrel as he immediately stooped to pick up the belt, strapping it over his thin hips as the blades fell to their natural posture. A quick glance into the satchel, and a long-thin hand rifled through, savoring the cold, smooth feel of his cherrywood pipe and finger-cold tin of dried tobacco leaves.

Thank Am’aleh for small favors, I suppose. Need to clear the head.

It only took him a half minute or so to light the pipe, the warm, rich smoke filling his lungs in a delicious sharp contrast to the cold air that slowly but steadily drove down to the valley and the arena within. He had exhaled his first pair of lungs worth when a new grinding sound echoed across the arena, announcing the arrival of another.

“How do you kill death?”
There was a hidden monastery located deep in the shadows of the Karcelok Mountains. William had stumbled on the place once while skirting the borders between Sommerslund and the Dornation Empire. Border skirmishes between the two nations meant that restricted travel between them. Even having a properly vetted set of travel papers wasn’t a guarantee of safe passage depending on the mood of the local garrison commander on the day that the traveler happened to pass by. Not wanting to escalate the conflict into a full-out war by slaughtering a number of men on both sides, William thought it prudent to simply find his own way through the barrier peaks that separated East Sommerslund from Carslyle County in Dorn.
William’s supernatural toughness, regenerative capabilities, and hellish heat had turned the trek from impossible to merely incredibly difficult. But there were limits to just how much he could subject himself to, and the Karceloks had pushed him to those limits. He doubted that even his abilities would have been much use had he fallen half a mile into the depths of a glacial crag that hadn’t seen light in ten-thousand years. But just as he’d reached those limits and been ready to turn back, William found the monastery.
The monastery had no name, William learned, and neither did the twelve ancient monks who resided inside. When he thought back to it, using the term ancient to describe the monks made it seem like an encounter out of a peasant’s tale. Like his stumbling upon the monastery was the act of fate’s divine hand guiding William towards a mysterious destiny.
It was hogwash, William knew, and yet when he though back on them, ancient was the only term that seemed right. They had each lived a hand span of lifetimes, supported they claimed by nothing more than the energy of the world; and each achieved this by delving into the very essence of existence and making themselves a part of it.
William stayed with the monks for a time, waiting out the piled snows, While there, the monks taught him the beginning steps of their path towards enlightenment, the first of which was to ask oneself an impossible question and then to answer it. William hadn’t really understood what the monks meant at the time and he’d left the monastery with his feet no further down the path of enlightenment than they had been when he’d arrived. Perhaps if he’d had several lifetimes of his own to devote.
But that was then, and William had grown as much in wisdom as he had in power. He’d discovered his own form of enlightenment in the years that had passed and had come to find his own impossible question to answer. How do you kill death? As difficult a question as it was to answer, it was an incredibly easy question to start.
How do you kill death?
First, you find it.
That in itself had proven a problem. He supposed that the average person could simply draw out their sword, reverse the grip, and then fall on the blade. But even if William wanted to choose that route it was closed to him thanks to his regenerative capabilities. And so he’d been forced to find death another way.
“The sacrifice will continue,” a rustling voice prodded. William blinked, realizing that he’d halted in a dead stop the moment the entrance stone had rolled away to show him the Arch of Death. How many leads had fallen cold in the years since William had taken up his search? How many rituals had failed and corrupted spirits been nothing more than imposters? Was this where he would finally find the spirit of death?
“The sacrifice,” this time the prodding wasn’t verbal, “will continue!”
William shot a dark look at the elderly tribesman who’d shoved him out into the arena. Most of the sacrifices that the Jhagati Tribe collected for their ritual were unwilling participants, stolen away and forced to fight one another to the death. But William had sought them out and offered himself up to them in the hopes that their Horseman of Death mythology rang true. The elders who conducted the ritual had been skeptical, but when it became clear that it wasn’t some sort of trick, they had accepted his offer and chosen him. Not that his voluntary presence had earned him any special favoritism.
The elder produced a key to free William from his magical restraints but the revenant simply concentrated on the magical bindings and let his cursed soul pull the bindings apart. The elder stumbled back in shock, looking from the key to William’s now-freed wrists and back. Then he muttered a hasty, “we thank you for your sacrifice,” and disappeared back into the depths of the approach. It was a petty act of defiance, but life was made up of such little joys.
William saw that the Jhagati had left his obsidian warscythe on the ground where he’d exited. He bent to retrieve the weapon, enjoying the familiar feel of its weight in his hands. He’d taken care to stay in his human form during the entirety of his stay with the Jhagati, not wanting to influence their choice to sacrifice him by revealing his war form to his captors. He wondered what they’d have done if they’d known that his true power came from one of the creatures that they were trying to appease.
The afternoon sun bore down relentlessly on the jagged arena and William raised a warding hand to shield his eyes as he rose to scan the rest of the combat field. He wasn’t sure exactly what he needed to do to call the Horseman of Death that the Jhagati were so afraid of, or even it the creature could truly be summoned, but he had to give it a try. But at the same time there was the matter of the other sacrifice in the arena that he’d have to deal with.
It didn’t take long to spot the middle-aged man on the other side of the arena. He looked vaguely familiar to William, but at this distance and with the sun in his eyes, it was impossible for William to know. Keeping his hand up and cupped over his eyes, William decided that discretion was not in the cards today and casually walked towards the other sacrifice.

Of f*cking COURSE they brought you a dance partner… all these pious assholes enjoy watching the real talent work.

Of the many peculiarities that lingered about Althanas, perhaps none were more resonant to the aged warrior than the omnipresence of the truly gifted, and the propensity of those less endowed to force those powerful people to fight. The allure of gladiatorial combat was universal; an insight to the primal components of the human (or at least semi-human) instinct during times of duress. In times of peace, the uncovering of the great unknown horrors of war that could scare men into peace.

And propping up the power-puppets puts all those pedestrian pussies toe-to-line right quick. Some day I’m going to rally all of the special, and take down the controlling pedestrian class with me. This bullshit has to end.

His deep thoughts resonant as the tobacco swirled about his lungs, Storm popped a few large rings of blue-grey smoke out as signals to the approaching monstrosity. It was a familiar ghoul – the massive lava-man that called himself William. William had made his presence known to the wizard a few times; in previous combat alongside Shinsou, and in a similar combat-type scenario not so long ago. The staggering pile of rock, meat, and fire should have been stupid, but a keen intelligence lied behind those burning eyes. Finishing the intoxicant exhale, the electromancer felt his nostrils flare as he sized up the approaching danger.

Good news: he’s reasonable, likely pissed off at this nonsensical establishment, and makes a hell of an ally.

Bad news: he’s probably just pissed in general, and may see you as the barrier to getting what he wants, including possibly freedom.

…and he’s really good at fighting, and a hammer is wont to see the world as nails.

…and with his fiery affinity, your electric touch likely isn’t going to do shit here today.

Appearing wholly nonplussed, Storm instinctively tapped his daggers, sword and satchel, tiny touches to make sure that his faithful tools were still there. It wasn’t entirely clear if they’d be useful at all for anything except for making lovely craftwork amid the staggering heat of his potential adversary, however it still left the mage slightly more reassured to have them on hand.

Tugging his gauntlet into place beneath his long-sleeve shirt, the adventurer stood tall, as an Alerian Blowing-Beetle puffed wide to appear strong in spite of his internal terror. If he wanted to be run over, appearing weak or unconfident would make for a hell of a start. His voice boomed loud and clear, mid-range deep and strong.

“Well, well, Am’aleh be damned! William, correct? Storm Veritas at your leisure; I think last we spoke we tore down half of Radasanth in our wake.”

Or so he should remember. If he forgets the part about you being left to bleed out in a pool of blood, with electrically fused scars about your torso to prove it, all the better.

Gesturing about the large arena, Storm extended a raised, open palm at the two gates behind him.

“War. Famine. Pestilence. Death. These religious types have a flair for the dramatic. I’ve been told if we don’t play nice and try to kill each other, they send one of those big horse-backed bastards at us to end our little party. Conveniently, they’ve stripped me of my own big bastard of a horse.”

With eyes fixed on the approaching goliath, the wizard felt his silver-flecked hair yield a bead of sweat that had made its way to his brow. Hiding his nerves with this abomination bearing down on him was futile.

Ooh, the float! The float is always imposing. Do the float.

Smiling, Storm lowered his hands, directing an invisible pulse of electromagnetic energy at his own feet. The repulsive force of the charged field did the trick on his metal-soled shoes, lifting him casually some four feet from the ground, as though he were on the spine of an invisible horse. Clenching his teeth, the wizard struggled to keep perfectly steady as he maintained the hover trick he had learned.

“Me? Well, shit, I’m never one for playing nice. You have a particular horse you’d like to bet on today?”

“I remember you, Storm,” William said, grinning at the display. Was the flight meant to impress the Jhagati, he wondered, or did Storm intend to use his show of power as a warning against William himself? The mage’s obvious wariness suggested both reasons as equally valid, with perhaps a slightly heavier weight in William’s direction. The revenant felt honored. He continued with a chuckle, “and if I remember correctly, your lightning was the catalyst Moonwing needed to reduce Jormungstadt to rubble.”

William lowered his hand and moved to his right, positioning the floating mage between himself and the glaring sun instead. Satisfied with the result he nodded up at the crowd overhead, gesturing for Storm to follow his gaze. The Jhagati circled the arena, watching the two men intently. They didn’t roar and jeer in the fashion typical of gladiatorial spectators the world around. Instead, they swayed rhythmically and moaned a low chant that William could only barely catch at the edges of his hearing. Definitely some sort of ritualistic thing, he decided.

Still, under the calmness of the Jhagati’s demeanor William could feel a sense of urgency. The blood ritual, they claimed, was a small evil that was necessary to sate a greater evil and keep it dormant. Even so, the fact that their entire tribe had come out to witness their so-called atrocity told William more than their words could about just how necessary this evil was. Besides, in William’s experience the greater evils would only remain dormant for exactly as long as they wanted to, sacrifice or no.

William returned his gaze back to Storm and met the man’s grey eyes. “I find it hard to believe that the Storm Veritas I’ve heard tables of in the tavern of Althanas would lower himself to participating willingly in such a primitive blood sport. But I also find it hard to believe that a man with your reputation could be easily taken by the Jhagati. It puts me in an odd position.”

William tapped the blade of his warscythe in his hand as he spoke and when he finished he drew the razor edge casually across his palm. He held up his hand to Storm, allowing a line of blood to trickle a spiral path down his forearm. The wound that he’d given himself healed quickly leaving nothing but smooth, unblemished skin behind but William’s attention was drawn to the crimson line gleaming wetly in the harsh sunlight.

“I volunteered to be a sacrifice, you see, though truth be told I couldn’t care less about the Jhagati or their superstitious beliefs. I’m here hunting bigger game.” At this the revenant pointed his bloodied hand at the gate of the Horseman of Death. The crowd overhead had grown silent and still, observing that their sacrifices weren’t acting as they were supposed to. Something else moved in the space where the Jhagati had fallen still however, a rippling motion of energy that felt as vast and as ancient as the sea.

Now that he had everyone’s attention it was as good a time as any for his own display of power, William thought with feral amusement. He released the power within himself, swelling in size as the molten energies of his transformation consumed and bloated him. Flesh charred black and cracked, revealing lines of glowing fire swimming just under the revenant’s surface. Blackened spurs of bone twisted through the skin of his arms and legs, twisting together to fuse a hardened carapace. Finally, as if the power had nothing left to consume within William, it blazed out from him in an aura of furious heat, as if someone had dumped a primed forge into the center of the arena.

“War, conquest, whatever you want to call it,” William said with a shrug, “it’s what made me into this. But even though I have power, I am unbalanced. When I realized that I made it my mission in life to hunt down the other aspects in the form of the other Horsemen of the Apocalypse and to take their power so I can balance myself out.”

“I’ve found two of them so far,” William said. He slashed himself again, though this time he simply clawed a line open on his chest with the bone talons at the end of his fingertips. This time the blood ran thickly from the wounded flesh. It sizzled and popped in the open air like bacon in pan, and where it fell into the dust the earth melted into blackened clumps.

“Pestilence,” William said idly. “Corruption. Blight.”

Then William felt out with the cursed void in his soul, touching the edges of the magic that Storm used to keep himself aloft. It wasn’t enough to shake the enchantment, but Storm would likely be able to feel the yawning hunger inside William that threatened to negate and consume it.

“Famine,” William continued. “Hunger.”

William stepped back, clearly putting several steps between himself and Storm. The sound from the Jhagati overhead came back to him as he did so, only this time it was as an uneasy murmuring rather than a ritualistic chant.

“Today I have come to kill Death itself so that I can be whole,” William said. “Are you going to stand in my way?”

It came as some considerable relief that the monster before him remained conscious, thoughtful, and reasonable. William had recognized him and stated his mission, in the process putting forth a display of preposterous rapid healing that the floating mage pretended to not be intimidated by. In truth, the concept of that giant blade across skin, creating such a filet of flesh that William had just conjured made Storm a touch woozy, with memories of significant blood loss and the feeling of helplessness that accompanies it flooding his front brain.

Sure, just let the blood pour out, who gives a shit, right? Fusing that shit closed would nearly knock me out; but you barely blinked. Yeah, sure, standing in your way seems like a terrific idea.]

Everything about him and this seemed tremendously imposing to Storm. The warm sun, although not nearly as oppressive as Dheathain or some of the jungles of Ja’laan, now felt decidedly oppressive. Lowering himself to the ground, the once bouncing crowd about the open theater had transferred from a welcoming applause to silence. Here, moments later, the building roar of rumbles and boos began to rain down as the two did not engage in immediate combat. The entitled were inclined to high expectations, and no doubt expected the open concrete and brick to have its thirst quenched with salty blood by now.

“Sacrifice? Shit, definitely not my speed, friend.” Thinking of William’s mention of having hunted down horsemen and now seeking death gave some direct nod to the notion of sacrifice. After all, chasing death was the fool’s errand that every mortal shared.

“The last I recall, I had teamed with a tandem of little wanderers, taking down some skeletal abomination in the woods outside of Concordia. We parted ways after – at least I thought we did – until a mist began to stream from the ground and smoke me out. I remember being doped up – hell, they gave me some good shit – and here we are.”

Mysteries like this were so frustrating to Storm. Powerful and traveled, he himself expected a higher air or respect, but the fact of the matter was that the larger operators held powers far beyond his. He ultimately remained nothing more than an exceptional puppet; a toy to be dangled and danced for the larger parades. The little monk that had walked him out was no different; a diminutive elite that lorded his advantage over the rich, powerful mage, savoring in the fact that regardless of his infamy, Storm Veritas remained plebeian class.

How do we break the wall? How do we bring the ceiling down on these assholes?

The sweat which had poured down his brow felt as though it would boil as the electromancer fumed, both frustrated and enraged by the glass cage which he felt helpless to escape. The Revenant was truly special; perhaps the two of them could notch a win against the larger establishment. If they could kill the horsemen, and perhaps the crowd which lusted for their own blood, perhaps the echoes of the event would reverberate across Althanas.

Perhaps the blood of these ruling class would offer a toast to the oppressed; a call to arms for the gifted which wriggled under the thumb of control about this magical plane for too long.

Or perhaps the rulers are right, and they ride out, skewer your skinny ass, and put your head on a spike to remind any future revolutionaries of what a bad idea might look like.

His eyes scanning the arena, Storm extinguished his pipe as he took inventory of his options. There was almost no doubt William would kill him if he complied with the ruling class and set to single combat. There was also no doubt that fighting this mysterious horseman was a bad bet, along with the possibility of a rampaging mob. The back of his mouth filled with bitter bile as he pulled up residual tobacco tar. A thick spit of dark brown anger was fired against the stone floor before him, spreading thin and light as the sun mercilessly attacked available moisture.

F*ck it. Better to die fighting a champion’s battle than taking a bad bet battle against this goddamned beast.

Pulling the twisted dagger from behind his back, Storm flipped the blade through the air over his shoulder, catching it in his left hand and delicately scratching his right palm with the titanium tip. He was decidedly more gentle than his new colleague, but still effective to generate a string of scarlet across the skin.

“A tithe, then? I’m not sure how that shit works. I just know I’d rather bring all these sons of bitches down than die a puppet. Let’s go.”

Waves of outrage broke across the ranks of the assembled Jhagati the moment Storm offered his blood. Curses poured out over the two combatants, fierce and as hateful anything William had ever heard. Who were these men to defy the holiest of the Jhagati’s rituals?

“Blasphemy!”

“Kill them, kill them both!”

Anger and spite were nothing new to William. He’d faced down and killed enough people that he was sure he’d heard every venomous thing the Jhagati could throw at them. He let the words slip past through his thoughts and focused instead on the second portion of the crowd, the one’s not worked into a hysterical fever pitch.

“Blood was offered, blood will be claimed.”

“They come. They come.”

This was what William was listening for. The fanatics in the crowd continued their rhythmic chanting in the face of the chaos going on around them. They were the true believers, the ones who would shape the power of the ritual. And there was no doubt in William’s mind that the ritual held power.

Energy responded to those chants. The sluggish ocean of power resisted the motion at first, but the steady rhythm of the Jhagati relentlessly beat at it, coaxing it to life. William felt the vastness of the ancient magic washing over him, even if it was hesitant to actually touch him. Idly he wondered if this had been a place of power before the coming of the Jhagati or if the tribe’s slavish devotion to it had built it into such a place. Whichever it was, the magic of the arena would prove to be too much to halt once the Jhagati got it moving. William’s only hope was to channel it to serve his purpose and not the Jhagati’s.

He nodded to Storm and walked to the center of the arena. While he wasn’t afraid of the electromancer, William knew enough tales of the man’s prowess to be both impressed and wary of Storm. Given all of the uncertainties that he had about finally coming face-to-face with the Horseman of Death, William was glad to have the mage at his side and not trying to stab him in the back. Now he only had to worry about the other three Horsemen and making sure their spirit’s stayed in place.

In Amra, William’s homeland, the people worshipped personified aspects of reality. These spirits weren’t gods in the way that the Thayne of Althanas were, but were manifested facets of reality. The same spiritual liege could be worshipped in two separate Households and though they would both be drawing from the same source of power they could have completely different personalities, appearances, and capabilities. One shrine could worship the Lion of Amra in his form as guardian of the land while another worshipped it as the Great Hunter. Both were equally valid, and the armored lion was the same as the stalking cat, even though they were in no ways similar.

This was how William had come to understand the so-called Horsemen of the Apocalypse. His studies had revealed a dozen different factions in Althanas’ history that worshipped and venerated these beings. Each was unique in its own way, though the underlying principles remained the same. The Horsemen of War, Pestilence, and Famine were already bound to William, so he felt a connection to the Jhagati’s Horsemen even though he had never directly faced them.

William stopped in front of the first arch. The grisly relief carved into the stone showed a parade of skeletal figures being tormented by the light of a harsh and brutal sun. Overhead, the statue of the Horseman of Famine cut an imposing figure. William was amazed at the level of craftsmanship in the arch’s design and reminded himself that he’d have to spend more time studying the individual arches once this affair had been concluded.

He closed his eyes and let the images fade away into darkness. Likewise he forgot the dust and the angry sun. He forgot Storm, the chanting Jhagati and the arena itself. He let only one thing into his mind, the arch and the swirling magic that flowed into it. Then he reached out to touch the magic with the magic cursed void inside him. The magic pushed back, its ancient design too complex and solid a thing to be dispersed by something so frail. Its purpose was to summon an aspect of Famine to the arena and it would not be deterred.

That was what William needed to know, and as the magic pushed back against him he brought the piece of Famine within him out to meet it. The magic of the arch shuddered at the familiar touch, held for a second, and then simply ceased to flow. As far as the magic was concerned, it had done its duty. An aspect of Famine stood within it. William had succeeded.

He snarled a savage, vicious smile at the realization and then moved quickly to the next arch to repeat the process. And then again, leaving only Death’s arch untouched. The Jhagati had fallen silent, both the anger and the reverence subdued by this sacrifice’s odd behavior. They sensed that something was wrong with their ritual, that they’d somehow lost control. But by now the surging tide of power had been whipped into too much life to be quelled by the tribe. There would be no stopping what was coming next.

And that was Death.

A mighty thunder rolled out across the arena. Sudden and mighty it was like a tremendous storm that was incoming - brutal and unforgiving.

Around the arena, on the many layers of stone seats under the white sun and dimly clouded sky, the warriors and monks and priests of the Jhagati stared with wide eyes and baited breath. Some lips moved in silent prayer. Others quietly cursed beneath their breath. Those who were uncertain glanced around at the thirty foot granite wall that was supposed to pen the two fighters within. Was it enough to also keep within it the Horseman of Death? Would the magical protections that some of them had raised, mostly to protect themselves from the battle, be enough to resist the wrath of Him Who Was Coming?

As the roll of thunder rose they took a collective breath. Before William the area that stood between the posts that made the archway began to shimmer, and flicker. It was like a mirage in a frightfully hot desert, as cruel as the outlands of Fallien, where no one ever went. The air began to ripple like a pool of water, no certain epicentre, but rather many as more thunders came.

Boom. The air shivered. Boom. It waved hectically. Boom. The stone that made the archway itself shook somewhat, as if it was threatening to fall down from the pressure.

Boom!

A sudden rush of chaotic wind and the moving space between the archway ... shattered.

Suddenly a wild, ashen-coloured horse sprang from the midst of the broken air. Its hooves striking forwards it was as if it had broken through a void, for there was no perceptible place from behind the archway where it had come from. Instead, it had come from another dimension all from itself. His eyes blazing with fire he whinnied loud as he bouded through and into the arena. On his back was a gaunt, pale man, with skin sunken and sticking to bone. Seemingly skeletal he wore naught but a great white robe that fluttered in the wind, and he held onto the horse's mane with a single, skeletal hand. Fire burned also in his eyes and he let out a long, painful moan as he raised the empty hand. Into his hand shimmered light, and that light formed into a long, wicked scythe.

The rider and horse landed, heavily on the ground before William. Behind them the archway did not seal, but rather showed the deadly land of their origin. Fire burned over an arid, blackened landscape. Twisted towers of brimstone rose to the sky as mountains. All was lit by a full red sun that blazed in the sky and the stench of sulphur and charcoal wafted in from their reality. Their kingdom.

Hades.

"Sacrifice!" The rider and horse said as one, in a mighty, terrible voice. Then he lifted his deadly scythe, which the fighters would soon discover was as hard as adamantine. His horse reared, shrieking out a challenge, before bounding forwards to throw him and his rider, Death, right at William. With skin of dehlar, and a breath with poison that could kill, this was truly the ultimate foe.

The answer for defiance was given quickly, the warriors met with a horror Storm could not possibly have imagined. The raw power of thundering hooves, the abject fear of the previously bloodthirsty fans, and the haunting explosion of fiery energy from the portal of death was altogether unnerving. Upon the great pale horse rode a skeletal knight, one nothing like the bumbling, bobbing oaf that the wizard Storm Veritas had managed to slay in the woods outside of Concordia. A shiver danced down the spine of the magician, who felt an omnipresent sense of inevitable doom. The horrible orange eyes of the wraith stared down upon Storm, no doubt sensing the old wizard’s sickening conclusions.

At least Moonwing upon Jormungstadt had flesh to carve. The great demonic beast within the hallows had a body to cleave. This thing… could it even be harmed?!

The mage scanned the arena quickly, looking to see if egress was possible. The raised walls and stone architecture may have once seemed unyielding, but now appeared altogether gone, replaced with only smoke and dust and the grand infinite. A barren terrascape as far as his eyes could peer had emerged. The great horror of red was dominated by looming towers now, as the rider had taken them (mentally, or otherwise) to his own realm.

Running was impossible; the speed of the rider was unknown but likely unreasonable; the great abomination had burst forth from the beyond with a tremendous warning but instant presence. Even with his mighty Attila, Veritas found it tremendously unlikely he could outrun this fate. Besides, where was there to run?

Is this hell? Am I in Hades? There is no escape from this place.

Dread consumed the silver haired wizard, who breathed in the rancid stench of rotten eggs without a sense of hope. His aspirations, his dreams, his loves… were they gone? Had they been taken from him now for his boldness? Why had he been chosen, after this incredible journey, only to be so summarily dispatched?

His eyes began to well up briefly amidst the sandy red dust, the sinewy adventurer wavering on the edge of complete breakdown. His knees were weak, his blood running too hot to his forehead, emotions and relationships flooding his brain too quickly to process. There were so many, and there were none.

It was here, in this frozen moment in time, that Storm Veritas stumbled across a great, freeing epiphany. He composed himself, wiping a rivulet of snot which had begun to form beneath his nostril in the dour air. He would not meet his end a coward.

If I’ve been taken by the devils already, then this dance is just a formality, no? Sort of strips this cocksucker of his leverage if he’s just here to run us through the motions and send us on to the great beyond.

Eyes widened at the sight of the massive, looming scythe. The war rapier of the horseman was a terrible thing, looking large and sharp enough to cleave pairs of men at the hip with a single awful pull. To the electromancer, metal meant something else; metal was opportunity. If the weapon was in fact metal, and if the laws of magic that governed Althanas’s astral plane existed in this dimension, then Death had rode in with a terrific present for the scoundrel.

F*ck it. If I’m dying here, let’s make a legend out of me on my way.

A sharp whistle cut through the howling, swirling winds, as Storm Veritas planted both of his feet firmly upon what now felt like red stone dust and called to the demon in white robes. He twisted his right toe inward, improving his posture, and fired an invisible, electromagnetic pulse with all of his might at the blade of the rider.

A lunatic’s gamble from a man with nothing to lose.

Osiris Open 2017 Final

Storm Veritas vs Revenant
Judged using the Osiris Open Rubric


Storm Veritas:

Combat: 19/30

Strategy: 7/10

The first drawing of blood and offering it as a general sacrifice was a clever tactic, and one that was interesting and unexpected (post 6). It showed good resourcefullness as well, of the situation, but is included here as it is involved in overall strategy. Also you had some good internal thoughts about how to best the arena, though never got to fully realising them at all. More detail here perhaps would have been helpful, as well as hints to possibly privately strategising with William to escape.

Resourcefulness: 6/10

Ability wise, the main one of Storm's you used was the hovering, and this did not do much, although you do mention this fact in some way. When reading it you concentrated much on what the arena was, adding extra details, such as the pillar and mention of a roof. This was strong and resourceful, though unexpected. Unlike William you seem to not mention the Arches much and I would have liked to see more of this. The electric bolt at the end was exciting and interesting, and a good show of instinct.

Execution: 6/10

There were no shots hit towards one another, but you had Storm react in a strong way to Death riding in. This was good, you had him react well and attack. There was some realism to his reactions, and realism to the understanding of how powerful William was. I would have perhaps liked to have seen more testing of the arena and of Storm.

Character: 22/30

Communication: 7/10

Communication shows a casual, but pissed off character, with “Well, well, Am’aleh be damned! William, correct?” in post four and references to betting, making a pun about the Horsemen of the Arches. It gives a light, sarky attitude, but one that is also lined with seriousness, and fits the black humour of the situation well. You also continue with this way of speaking, showing good consistency. At times it is a lttle to casual and distracts from the overall dreadful feeling of the situation, however, so this might be something to look at in future.

Action: 7/10

Minor actions, such as the raising of the hands and the playful twisting of his weapon in his hands, show good habits and details of your character. Human qualities such as the beading of sweat make him more believable. I would have perhaps liked to have seen more decisive actions earlier on, however, and an idea of his planning, such as looking around and assessing his situation a little more, as William has, but what you have is good.

Persona: 8/10

You have a strong sense of the inner person from the start. You show Storm's thoughts and attitude to the situation well, with internal thoughts such as -

Quote:

---

“Of f*cking COURSE they brought you a dance partner… all these pious assholes enjoy watching the real talent work.”

---

from post 4. Also in that post you give an internal dialogue, showing us Storm's breakdown of Shinsou and the situation, which works well to show your character's personality. You also clearly have him portray his fear at the power of William, showing that despite his power, he knows there are others more powerful. I would have perhaps liked to see more feelings and reactions internally, which William plays upon more.

Prose: 22/30

Mechanics: 8/10

As far as mechanics go there were no obvious spelling mistakes or errors. Overall it is a clean, well written piece in terms of technicality. Your use of punctuation such as semi colons in post 2 shows your skill as a writer. From here I would encourage more use of more unusual punctuation, experimenting with paragraphing and similar kind.

Clarity: 6/10

Clarity is good in this thread for you, writing in a generous manner that explains the situation well to the reader and the actions that Storm is taking. There is some clarity issues over whether or not the arena has a roof, and others setting wise, but what is there in basics is very well done.

Technique: 8/10

Technique is a strong point for you, with use of imagery and similie. One such example can be found in post 2: “The sound of his metal heels against the stone ground echoed like little gunshots here in the aria ...” You also have a powerful word choice that echoes some of the thoughts of your character well into the prose. From here you can develop, experiementing more and using a wider variety of linguistic measures, such as richer language.

Wildcard: 6/10

Wildcard for yourself goes to the introduction and use of the prompt to write an intriguing backstory filled with plot. It certainly brought in fresh ideas from the first post, yet still stuck to it in a whole. Adding in the idea of sacrifice fitted with the theme of the Horsemen well.

Final Score: 69/100


Revanant:

Combat: 21/30

Strategy: 8/10

Strategy is clever in the way that you have William wait to completely understand what the chanting is doing, and trying to think outside of the box. William is straight forwards and does little to hide what his plans are, though only he knows about the link he has with Famine. Overall strategy was done well, with a good build up and mentions of Death, and you linked with Storm's introduction nicely.

Resourcefulness: 7/10

You had an elaborate use of the Arches, using them to your effect and testing/in a unique and unexpected way. Though the piece was not finished you built up to it by hinting at Death all the way through. There was perhaps something missing as you only really mention the arches, and have some interesting abilities that could have made some more drama. However, what was written was strong.

Execution: 6/10

Execution in terms of taking and receiving blows never got fully realised in this battle, but what was done was good. One could say that you had your character react to the situation in an interesting manner, as well as the chanting and understanding of the monks. Perhaps more reactions to the Arches would have been good, even a suggestion to battling the will of them a little more.

Character: 22/30

Communication: 8/10

Communication from William is very straight forward and sometimes blunt, but also lined with meaning and excellence. In post 5 you have him say, “though truth be told I couldn’t care less about the Jhagati or their superstitious beliefs. I’m here hunting bigger game,” hinting at what his plans are cleverly. You use communication here as a tool for suggesting the wider plot, and also show that William's intelligence. You do not shy away from speech but use it well, although one might think he is confessing his plans a little too much and there is some changes in his tone that does not quite suit.

Action: 7/10

Action done by William is strong and decisive, written well and direct. I would have liked to perhaps seen some more habitual motions, such as Storm's, where he has him 'raise his arms' etc, that would hint a little more at William's personality. His actions, however, do always have a purpose and this is good for development.

Persona: 7/10

A lot of what you write is William's internal mind working and although compared to Storm you write little actual internal dialogue, you protray feelings and ideas of your character. These show a strength of how much you yourself know him, which is very good to see. You hint at some deductive reasoning such as, “Definitely some sort of ritualistic thing, he decided.” in post 5, and although it would have been intriguing to see if he thinks the same way as he talks, you have a good solid idea of the man you have created.

Prose: 20/30

Mechanics: 6/10

There were a couple of minor mechanical issues, including the mistake of some punctuation. For instance in post 3 you place, “waiting out the piled snows, While there, the monks” where there should be a full stop ('.') or other sentence-ending punctuation between 'snows' and 'While.' Aside from this mechanics is strong in general and a small read through before posting will help.

Clarity: 6/10

Most of what you wrote was clear, concise and demonstrated excellent writing skill. You commnuicate well with your other writer and manage to portray feelings and reactions to them in a clear manner. Sometimes there can be some confusion as to what William is exactly doing (e.g. when using his essence of Famine to trick the Horseway at that Archway into thinking it was already present), and compared to Storm this is a small weakness in your writing. Also in your first post that you put down the paragraphing is a little unclear. Try indenting or giving double lines. All of this can be improved on however, and you have a very brilliant base on which to expand from.

Technique: 8/10

Similar to Storm you have a wonderful use of technique, displaying strong literary skill. You show some interesting juxapositions - “feral amusement” in post 5 - and some excellent word choice esepcially when describing your War Form, with a constant image of sizzling flesh and so on. Ways to go on from here is to think about what scents and tastes could be in the air when you write William in his War Form and consider more metaphors.

Wildcard: 7/10

Widlcard for you goes to the extra plot of William wanting to conquer Death, and his literal way of going about this, as well as his musings of how one does so. It was a shame this battle never finished for I would have liked to see the battle for this.

Final Score: 70/100

Joint comments:

This was a really close match, just to say first of all. Both of you were winning in different elements. It comes down to Wildcard in a way, but also to other elements. If I could have both of you win I would.

In terms of Resourcefullness I would have liked to see more use of the gap in the floor of the field of the arena, leading to the foundations of the structure itself. This was something both of you used little, and it would have been interesting to see how the battle may have gone in there.

In general it was a shame this battle never finished. You built up an impressive fight, using the prompt in a way I never expected. I would have liked to see the end of it.

Revanant wins!!!

Rewards:

Revenant receives:
675 EXP
60 gold
PLUS: 2500 gold from my account, and 190 gold forfeited from previous losers
Total - 2750 gold


Storm Veritas receives:
935 EXP
60 gold
PLUS: 1250 gold from my account
Total - 1310 gold

3750 gold removed from Philomel's account.
All rewards have been added.