2 v 2 Vice vs. Cipher Nex

[Call me J]

This battle will end in two weeks. Best of luck to all four competitors.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"Madison, when you're done dusting the upper shelves, I'm going to need you to alphabetize and put away the returns."

"Fine."

"Oh, and when you're done with that, I want you to put the overdue book notices in the post."

"Whatever."

"And then after that--"

"Look, I'm only one person! Why don't you get Nicholas off his lazy ass and make him do something for once?"

My thin, angry shout echoed through the nearly empty library. Mr. Wilkensen, the curator of the Radasanth Grand Library, poked his round face from the doorway to his office. His brows were knit and his cheeks red. He never liked it when I pointed out the blatantly obvious; that his son, a volunteer like me, didn't do a damn thing around the library but complain and waste oxygen.

"Because," the older man curtly replied, "I asked him to wipe down the tables and sweep the floor yesterday."

Whatever, I thought to myself as I glared at the blond teenager who was fast asleep at the front desk. A small trickle of drool poured out of his mouth, darkening a small spot on his red shirt. Anyone with a working pair of eyes could see that the floors and table were still in a less than desirable state; a thin layer of dust and grime covered nearly every polished wooden surface in the building. If you looked closely enough, you could follow the dried, flaky mud prints of dozens of people that visited the library over the past week.

I sighed heavily and set the feather duster on top of the bookshelf I was working on, then climbed down the ladder. "Where do you think you're going," Mr. Wilkensen demanded, his head tilted slightly.

The echoing clicks of my heels against the heavy oak floor almost drowned out my own response.

"I'm taking my lunch now, unless you want me to spend five minutes dusting and disinfecting my sandwich first." I reached behind the counter of the front desk, taking care to nudge Nicholas awake with my elbow as I grabbed my satchel. I ignored the curator's rude protests as I threw open the heavy glass doors and stepped out into the open streets of Radasanth.

As the sun bore down from above, the noontime sun washing everything in a wave of light, I noted that the usually bustling streets of the city's market district were unusually barren and silent. The reason, as I soon guessed, sat in front of me: A giant hawk, easily teen feet tall, stood in the middle of the road. Its head was tilted slightly as it surveyed me, watching to see with its beady black eyes if I would make a move.

I stood on the stoop of the library, frozen. I didn't know what to do--sensing my unease, the hawk hunched down to eye level. Its beak opened and an unearthly screech pierced the air. I panicked. Before I could turn around and get back into the library, the hawk took to the air, grasping my in its talons and taking to the skies, nearly smashing me against a few buildings in the process.


***

Mt. Erebus. The once dormant volcano nestled deep within the Jagged Mountains of Corone was beginning to show signs of activity once more. Erebus was by no means the tallest feature in the mountain range, but it was one of the most fearsome. Every now and then, a small cloud of steam and ash would escape through a fissure and slowly rise into the sky, scaring the living daylights out of any of the local hermits and scattered nomad villages. At the peak sat a crater that was roughly seven hundred meters wide that slanted down at a decent angle into a lake of boiling, writhing magma; a lake that was biding its time until the next big eruption.

Circling the rim of the crater were eight towering stone structures. Enormous ropes bound to the pillars held up eight wooden suspension bridges--four roughly thirty feet over another layer of four. Each of the bridges intersected over the middle of the crater; making them arranged in such a fashion that, when seen from one of the transport hawks from above, they looked like the spokes of one giant wheel.

How would I know? Well... I was one of the two people being unwittingly dragged here to beat the daylights out of two others. After I had calmed down from being hastily snatched up by the hawk, I remembered that today was the day that I was supposed to participate in some sort of tournament. My teammate was a very dangerous woman merely known as Witchblade. We were representing the organization known as Cipher Nex. Originally, I objected to being included in this little ego-stroking tournament, but Christopher Knighton was quick to recall a little favor I owed him. Dirty son of a bitch he was for reminding me of the spot of trouble he got me out of... I would've never imagined that I'd be taking orders from someone who was nothing more than a tavern chef that had some serious megalomania issues.

The giant hawk gave and ear-piercing screech as it flew through the sky, gripping my arms in its talons as we drew closer to the volcano that served as the arena. I could feel the bird of prey's talons pinch me as the wind whipped through my hair and against my face. I had to keep my eyes shut most of the time, lest I wanted tears to streak my eyeshadow before the match.

I could feel the hawk making a circling descent over the rim of the volcanic crater. After a few seconds, it slowed to a stop and released its iron grip on my arms before flying off. I quickly massaged my arms, trying to jump start the circulation again while willing away the sharp pains of the hawk's talons. Now that I was actually here, I took a better look. The bridges themselves were a good five or six feet wide, but some of the planks looked like they were rotted and would give way with the least amount of pressure.

Great, as if I didn't have enough to worry about.

Also, I noticed that stairways were carved into the side of the rock; spiraling staircases that led to the lower bridges. Extra sets of ropes traveled between the stone pillars and the lower layer of bridges, giving them the support they needed. I could feel the intense heat rising from the lava. The lower inside slopes glowed orange and red.

I drew a deep breath as I took a step onto the closest bridge. The plank creaked underneath my weight (hah!), and I immediately latched onto the shoulder-high ropes that served as makeshift railings. Swaying dangerously over the massive pool of death, I froze until the bridge stopped moving. I took another cautious step forward. Once I was one hundred percent positive I wasn't going to fall, I took one more. Then another. And another. I had made it a third of the way over the crater when I was confident enough to let go of the ropes.

It's best to get used to it now, I told myself as I slowly made my way to the other side of the bridge. I was going to avoid fighting on the bridges if at all possible. The heat emanating from the lava below formed a thin layer of sweat across my face--oh, how I wished that I would've worn my blouse and jeans instead of this cursed dress. But then again, my casual clothes didn't offer nearly as much protection as my vlince dress and hard leather corset.

Off in the distance, I could hear the echoing screeches of the other birds of prey as they brought the other three competitors to the arena.

[Dirge]

Vigo sipped at the hot mug in hand, letting the warm acrid coffee sooth his throat. His face contorted at the taste, but it was a flavor he relished. The café was quiet, the streets nearly empty, leaving the dour faced halfling to his solitary business. Soft rays of sunlight lit the thin winding streets, glancing off his back, but warming him very little. Every exhale issued a small thin cloud, the warm breath and cool air clashing. The sorcerer shifted his metal chair further under the large umbrella providing shade, letting the iron legs rake loudly against the cobblestone.

Outside against the wall Vigo sat reading over a small piece of paper that had been slipped under his door, acknowledging him as a member of Vice. He shook his head at it, disgruntled. By itself it would have been splendid news for the dirge mage, being a macabre fellow with little more incentive to carry on than greed. Vice carried with it the names of Max Dirks and Zephyriah Ablione, too the strange little fellow Jacob who Vigo knew personally. However, the letter bore ill news, placing him into some asinine war against ‘clans’ of Althanas.

“Jacob,” he said as he turned around. But the boy was nowhere to be seen. He had been there but minutes before, dawdling around, talking to the serving woman off to the side. Without anyone else in the streets for a good minute, he would have been able to assuredly take her off to some corner and do… whatever sick thing it was he did. “Silly child, it’s like fucking babysitting…” he spat. “He’s part of this whole bullshit too though, so he better come back soon so I can tell him to expect it.”

The dirge mage took the last sip from his small mug, finishing it and taking in the blunt flavor of unrefined and unsweetened beans. He stood from his small chair, tossing on his coat but not closing it and picking up his cane. The damned child had been gone for too long and the sorcerer had news to deliver, people to see, and a plan to devise. Vigo took no more than five steps into the street, looking both ways for signs of his curious companion. Instead he saw the light traffic that had come and gone all morning, women with baskets, men carrying their wares to the Bazaar, but no hunched insane human.

Without notice the immense eagle had swooped into the streets, clenching at the shoulders of the sorcerer and veering sharply into the air. To the cries of fear and the calls for guards Vigo was forced to do little more than grip as tightly as he could to his cane and wonder as the madness of it all. He could only assume that the giant ugly bird was meant as a transport for the clan war and not simply taking him to its nest for food. The thought of being eaten - after a battle with the ungainly disproportionate hatchlings - had crossed his mind more than once throughout the trip. It was not until the peak of the volcanic hill took up the brunt of his vision that he realized he was not to be food.


~X~

“Fucking bothersome war…”

The words were spoken to no one in particular, and yet meant for anyone that could hear the young half-elf bitch. His jade eyes were squinted shut against the rush of wind, barely able to make out the swift movement and blur of the scenery as it passed by. From what he could tell he was being transported through the Corone country side towards the Comb Mountains, no sea or bed of water had been present besides the Niema River. But the flight was unnerving for the normally cocksure sorcerer. He was high above the land below at an incredible speed, the claws of the overly large eagle were clutching at either shoulder, digging uncomfortably. For those that saw him approaching he would look like a martyr, arms outstretched, silky black hair drifting with the wind.

The tip of the mountain was shorn, flattened from a level view. The closer and higher the dirge mage rose the easier it was to see within, catching sight of the soon to be place of battle. It was a wide opening, Althanas’ depths threatening to explode and flow over the edges. The magma was chaotic, bubbles popping incessantly, yet there were constants that did not change. Streaking brown bridges were strung across the opening, sixteen from the center, connected to eight massive boulders set along the lip of opening. Vigo assumed eight that connected to form a single platform at the center. Beneath those was another set of bridges, further into the cavernous volcanic head, as if the competitors would willingly fight closer to the unrestrained lava.

Crossing the bridges slowly was a person, holding to the rope with both hands, as if fearing every step. Vigo wanted to laugh, but the eagle screeched instead. His amusement flashed to anger, and when the damned bird let him go he was more than happy to be free. However, even with the volcanic motion beneath him, he wondered at the presence of the bird. Who had commanded it to retrieve himself, and hopefully Jacob? The dirge mage knew of Max Dirks, but he nor any other members of Vice had the power to command birds. Was it his opponents? And why not just have the eagle drop them into the lava instead of fighting? Would that not affectively end the war for their side? The questions seemed logical for the ill conceived and ambiguous, though dramatic, entrance to what appeared to be an uninspired, first time Citadel battle.

The sorcerer stood across from the girl, the two the only present. Between them was the string of bridges, and the initial assumption of the halfling had been correct. He let his jade eyes linger on the little human girl across the way just long enough to smirk, wicked thoughts of what Jacob would do with her passing through his mind. With the end of his cane he tapped at the closest plank. It made a clunk noise, the sound of dead and hollow wood. Again he lifted his head and looked at the girl, a slick smile on his sharp featured face.

“They send a woman to kill, and leave us in a volcanic hole. What bullshit is this?” he mused. He had seen many women kill in the past, some affectively and amazingly well, but this one was wearing a dress…

[The Writing Writer]

Her skin was soft, almost silky. It was tan in color and both smelt and tasted of rose perfume. A pleasant scent, not such a pleasant taste. Jacob's tongue ran slowly up her neck, easing it's way into her ear. Her whimpering was soft, but audible; a clear indication of both her inexperience and her unfamiliarity with the pleasurable sensations that teased every nerve ending in her body. Jacob may have lost his mind, but it seemed as though he hadn't yet lost his ' touch '.

The young girl was named Mary. Or maybe it was Maria? It wasn't important. Jacob needed her for one thing, and one thing only. He needed to write. In order to write, he needed parchment. And of course, to make parchment, he needed skin, and her's was flawless.

Jacob thought back to his traveling companion for a moment, he had forgotten to tell Vigo of his intentions and no doubt left the half-elf wondering. They had been traveling together after Jacob had a run-in with a shape shifter that cost him his home in Radasanth. But that story is best saved for another time. As for right now, Jacob decided that Vigo would be fine wondering, as this was important. After the recent destruction of his home, the Mad Poet was all out of parchment, as well as quills and ink. He hadn't written anything in what seemed like an eternity, and it was starting to get to him. Already he had been lowered to speaking out of rhyme to this young woman in order to coax her into the secluded alley in which they stood, tangled in eachother's embrace. The words he forced out were neither lyrical nor beautiful. They were cheap, hollow. The Writing Writer had been reduced to small talk. He almost spat at the thought.

It was for this reason he hated her. Though he had just met her moments ago at a typical cafe, already he wanted to kill her. Her sparkling amber eyes were blind in that they could not see the madness in Jacob's own. Her full, pert lips, when gliding with Jacob's own could not taste the poison within his soul, the corrupting bile that drowned his very being in taint. And for that reason, he hated her. She was blind and stupid; nothing more than a pretty face and a voluptuous body. Eye candy. Worthless.

Jacob was but moments away from taking her head in both his hands and snapping her neck in one, swift motion. She would be dead, and Jacob could hide her beneath the garbage that sat nearby, hidden in the shade of the paralleling buildings. When the sun had set and all was clear he would move her into the room Jacob and his companion had rented. And then the fun would begin. But, as fate would have it, Jacob would be the only one at the mercy of an outside force in this alley.

A loud screech pierced Jacob's ears and cut deep into his head, forcing his hands away from the young girl and around his skull. His eyes shot upwards towards the source of the sound, but the sun obscured his vision, and all that could be seen was a looming, winged shadow, swooping down at the Mad Poet. Jacob's first instinct was to run, but it was too late for that. His outstretched leg was siezed by the winged phantom and he was lifted promptly into the air. The pale young man flipped and flailed about, tossing his arms in all directions, trying to free himself, but it was no use. The massive creature's grip was as a vice. There seemed to be no hope for escape.

In the distance, Jacob could hear the frightened screams of the young waitress, no doubt horrified by the unusual spectical. In this, Jacob found humor, but the quickly passing wind and his inverted position made it difficult to laugh. Though it was difficult to laugh, the Writer still felt somewhat...funny. He assumed that the blood was pooling in his brain, and that he would surely pass out within seconds. But before that happened, he flexed his abdomen and arched his torso forward in an attempt to see his arial predator. It was a bird. I giant bird. No doubt he was to be it's next meal. Jacob squirmed in protest, but his body felt weak, and his vision began to fade. Soon enough, he was off to dreamland, likely to awaken as a large, unsightly white spot on the face of the continent.

~V~

A loud thud, followed by an overall pain in Jacob's back quickly snapped him out of his slumber. He was having a dream about fertilizing soil, and becoming a tree with pink leaves. It was a very dull dream and he was glad to be rid of it. What he was not glad about was his rude awakening. The Mad Poet's eyes shot open and he quickly sprung to his feat, scanning the sky. He saw his former predator fleeing the scene, flapping it's wings arrogantly. Stupid bird. Jacob shook his fist and shouted in protest, cursing his kidnapper. Now that that was done with, he needed to find out where he had been taken.

Jacob turned to take a step and was greeted with a rather unexpected sight; the edge of a tiny bridge, and below, a boiling pool of magma. Only now did the intense heat wave radiating from below register in his brain. The Writer jumped back, startled, and fell hard on his rump. A volcano? He was in a fucking volcano! Why? Why would that damned feathered fiend leave him in a place like this?

Jacob's miniature panic attack subsided quickly when his eyes met with a familiar form just yards away. It seemed that his companion Vigo had also been abducted and brought to this over-sized oven. Quite a suspicious coincidence.

Jacob rose to his feet and waltzed over to Vigo's side. He motioned to speak, but stopped himself when he saw yet another figure. This one was unfamiliar. She was a woman, thin, somewhat tall for her build. She wore a purple dress and had hair as black as Jacob's own. She seemed just as nervous as Jacob had been. Perhaps she had been kidnapped aswell? If that was the case, why then did Vigo face off against her, rather than question her as to why they had been brought here? Something wasn't right. Jacob was missing a very large piece of the puzzle. He turned to Vigo and spoke quietly.

" Vigo my friend, put my thoughts at ease.
Why do we dangle here in this fiery trapeze?
Who is this woman? And what of those birds?
Please practice wisdom in your replying words. "

[Witchblade]

Heat lashed against her skin. Slamming into her like a hard slap and then slithering its way up and along her flesh like the unwelcomed touch of a rapist. It caressed every part of her that she didn’t want it to and never bothered to heed her commands. It made her feel uncomfortable and hotter than any day in Fallien ever could. Lucky for her that she had not brought her cloak with her. The heavy vlince material would only serve to get in her way during a battle and in this kind of setting it would not prove any help to her, enchanted or not. And what good would a chameleon enchantment do for her here in this boiling cesspool of liquid rock? What good would anything do for her here?

Though the Halfling found no remorse in agreeing to this little battle, this game, this tournament, though she did find herself slightly uninterested and irritated with the whole affair. She had not joined Cipher Nex merely to be tossed around at the whims of some little human and whatever he thought best of her and his precious group of ragtag mercenaries and killers. She had joined it to get away from the Gol’bron and The Black Hand, or The Red Hand as they were once more beginning to call themselves.

Trying to get back to their roots, my ass.

The Red Hand could no longer give her what she wanted, what she desired. So she had merely moved on before her deeds and her actions were discovered within that Clan and they forcibly removed her. To be tried as a murderer was not placed very high on her list of things to accomplish during her life. Not that anyone within that worthless sack of a village could properly stand up to her and even bring her down to a level where they could put her on trial. Then again, knowing Sorahn, he might just try to cleave her head from her shoulders before any kind of trial could even commence. If he could suddenly grow himself a set of fucking balls. The men in that little group of his were all special and needed and wanted, human or otherwise and he seemed to take it rather personally when they were killed. She supposed ripping the throats out of four of them and breaking the neck of the fifth would not go over so well to him. That was what murderers did though; he should have known that when he agreed to allow her inside, to drop the guards and lower the weapons and permit her to freely come and go as she pleased.

Was Cipher Nex any better a choice though? Was it any better a notion to change one mercenary clan for another? Christoph did not pretend to accept her like those in The Red Hand, he knew who she was, what she was and what she was capable of and he trusted her all the same. He trusted her when his back was ripped, torn and bleeding and needing a guard to watch it and protect it. But she didn’t know how she really felt about that. She didn’t really know how she felt about him. The others she could care less about. Even her chosen partner today.

Disgusting.

Arguing with Christoph had not changed his mind on the placement of her position in this tournament. He wanted her paired and fighting alongside some human named Madison Freebird, or some fucking shit like that. Cunt. Who had a last name like Freebird anyway? Did she plan on sprouting wings and taking off at any minute? Did she feel as free as the birds or was it just some fucking made up bullshit she came up with on the fly when she was twelve and ran away from mommy?

As the large Hawk closed the last few feet upon their chosen battleground, Witchblade tore her mind away from her thoughts and took a better look at what was around her. Dirt and rock and liquid death some feet below that. Indeed, one wrong move off the edge of any of these eight rope bridges would quickly end one’s participation in this battle. The Halfling could only hope that her partner was not afraid of heights.

The ropes were designed in a rather interesting manner. They were eight in total, four on each level of this playing field and what she estimated to be roughly thirty feet between them. Not a very easy distance to jump. The four ropes met in the middle, creating a slightly bigger and larger area for them to play out this little game of theirs. From the air, it looked like the wheel of a wagon. Each bridge carefully measured and set at exactly the same distance to form the eight spokes that held the outer shell together. Only this wasn’t a wheel and they weren’t precariously balancing themselves upon sturdy wood and careful engineering. They were being held up by rotten planks, dried from years of heat and soaked from years of rain and thick, fraying rope that was not long for this world.

The whole thing seemed overly dramatic to her and quite boring.

A simple setting would have sufficed and made the battle for more interesting. Now each competitor had to take into account the sway of the bridges and the heat rising from below them, their minds far more focused on what lay beneath them rather than in front. Still, she had to make due with what she was given.
Once she was no more than a few feet over the bridge, Witchblade released her tight grip upon the bird’s talons. It would be a cold day in hell before she let one of those things grasp her around the arms and cart her around. She didn’t trust it not to drop her. Her feet landed upon one of the boards, causing it to groan and creak with age, threatening to give out under her meagre weight made all the more heavier by the amount of weapons she carried. Glancing towards her partner—god the woman was wearing a fucking dress of all things—Witch began to move towards the centre of the battleground. There was no apprehension in her steps. Unlike the footfalls of her comrade, she felt no worry over the collapse of the bridge she currently resided upon.

Beside the woman, their two opponents had also made it here making her the last one to arrive. It appeared they were fighting a half elf and a rather strange looking human. The only weapon she could easily perceive upon the elf’s person was a cane, most likely hiding a sword within. He probably performed some kind of magic; most elves did, though in this kind of setting she wondered how intelligent it would be to unleash a magic attack. The human appeared to carry nothing on his person but his own clothes. Odd, she wondered exactly how he expected to fight her.

Turning her eyes towards her comrade in this battle, the Halfling formed a telepathic link between the two of them so that only she could hear her words.

“Any preference to which one you want to fight? Or, perhaps you would like to paint this bridge red together?”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Clunk. Creak. Clunk. Creak.

Step by step, I had made it across the bridge with no problems. While the rickety structure swayed over the boiling, churning lake of lava, none of the rotting wooden planks gave way; a fact that gave me a small boost of confidence. At least it was safe to walk across--but I was doubtful that it would stay in one piece against the impact of a falling combatant. I heaved out a heavy sigh and wiped a layer of sweat off my pale forehead. My heart felt like it was trying to push itself up my throat. Calm down, Maddy. You'll need to focus soon.

But despite the immense wave of heat coming from the maw of the mountain, the steel wire hidden underneath my dress sent a cool shiver down my spine as I moved away from the edge of the bridge; the thin strand lightly tickling the skin on my back. As the telltale beating of wings grew in intensity, I took a brief second to take in the sights. The towering peaks of the Jagged Mountains rose from the earth as far as the eye could see. Clumps of late autumn snow adorned the caps of some of the higher mountains. A crisp breeze weaved to and fro through the range--occasionally I had to brush my wayward bangs out of my eyes.

A screech from one of the birds of prey ripped through the air, shattering the serene orchestra of the breeze like a thin plane of glass. I turned around to see the giant bird roughly dropping off one of my opponents onto the rocky outcropping near the edge of the crater. He was a lean man; tall and a little bit darker than myself. He wore a copper-colored cape that fluttered wildly at the mercy of the winds. The man's features were also sharp and well-defined, as if they were molded by an artisan rather than left up to genetics to toy around with. Underneath his flowing mane of long, dark hair, I could see the pointed tips of his ears. Not quite elven; perhaps he was a halfling.

A slightly slanted set of leering eyes, the forest green orbs focused on me, told me quite a bit about the man himself. I caught a whiff of arrogance from him; a taste of false superiority that made the bile rise in my throat. There was no doubt in my mind that I appeared to be weak to him. Good, I thought to myself as I locked eyes with the man. That'll make my victory and your blood taste all the sweeter. The wind rattled one of my daggers as it rested behind me in its leather sheathe. It was as if the thin damascus beauty was claiming the man's throat, marking him for slow, painful, blood-soaked death.

Another cry came from the heavens. I looked up in time to see the third bird drop another figure. The second man fell gracefully from the talons of the bird, his back hitting the jagged slope hard and sending a few pebbles and stones rolling down the face of the mountain. I couldn't help but to chuckle as he quickly shot to his feet, looking around with panic all but tattooed onto his milky white forehead. My second opponent wore nothing but four scars across his sunken in, sickly chest and a pair of tattered blue jeans. His unkempt hair swayed as he looked around.

What struck me as odd was that this second guy talked to the first in rhymes. Although I could barely hear him, the wacko's voice was tainted with unease. His posture, his looks, the tone of his voice... There was no doubt in my mind that he was nothing more than a raving lunatic.

I was too busy sizing up the two men that I didn't notice that Witchblade, my teammate, had arrived. Her harsh, venomous voice echoed through my mind. I quickly glanced over to see my teammate walking calmly across the old bridge, towards the three of us. The glowing lava below cast an amber light off her otherwise pale skin, giving her a hellish appearance. I couldn't tell you that I fully trusted her as the second half of the team. There was something about her that irked me. The woman played the parts of a cold-blooded killer and a heartless bitch through and through, but after the stories that Christopher told me in private, I'd be damned if I didn't respect her.

Which brought me to my current situation. The telepath brought up a good point--which one of my opponents did I want to tear apart?

As Witchblade drew closer to the three of us, I decided to leave it up to chance. I placed both of my thin hands behind me, each within millimeters of the hilts of my daggers. I waited patiently... The wind whistled past as I waited for either of my hands to twitch--left for the psycho, right for the prick. Making the first move was never my sort of thing, but it didn't appear that either of the men in front of me cared to throw the first punch either.

Twitch.

In a flash of purple, I immediately took off towards the smug halfling, drawing my left dagger out of its sheathe and keeping my right hand glued to the hilt of my other toy. I bounded from rock to rock, playing a dangerous game with the ragged face of the mountain as my heels threatened to catch and trip me with every step I took. As I drew closer to the half elf, I feinted towards his teammate, at the same time ripped my right dagger out of its leather sheathe and thrust it at the shirtless freak, hoping to add a fifth line to his scarred chest.

You can have the halfling, I thought to myself as my dagger cut through the air, figuring that the woman I was unwittingly teamed with could pick up my thoughts.

[Dirge]

The unique rhythmic tone of the younger man struck the halflings peaked ears. His whispered worries brought a cautious smile to his face, a genuine smile so rare. Instead of responding immediately the half-elf sorcerer shrugged aside his half open coat, the volcanic depths were more than enough to keep him warm. The heat danced across his body like a wayward hand, clenching and releasing in waves, flowing to and fro with the delicate winds. The churning lava popped and bubbled endlessly, adding to the noisy atmosphere.

“We have been accepted into the ranks of Vice my friend and we’re supposed to fight these two for the first services required by Max Dirks,” he responded in the softest of tones, trying to put the chaotic mind of his companion at ease. “Though your questions I can’t help with. I’m not sure myself why we weren’t just thrown into the lava instead of allowed to fight with these women…” The second of the two women drifted in lazily as they all had, by the wings of the oversized eagle. She was a decadent beauty draped in the most sinister of attire, all black of course.

Vigo almost laughed at the pair. One was wearing a dress, her hands held behind her back fitfully. The other’s mouth was sewn shut, and her dark dress somewhat cliché. Granted, he knew, himself and his companion were hardly threatening warriors by any means. The sorcerer placed a soft, manicured hand on the bare shoulder of the boy as he stepped up next to him. “Don’t fret though, if this war is going to take place, we’ll definitely be making a mark either way,” he continued as he tapped the cap of his cane on the rocks underfoot. “On a side note, what the fuck is wrong with that woman? Her mouth’s fucking sewn shut!”

He did laugh with that though, muttering about what a crazy bitch they were fighting. However, the laughter was silenced rather quickly. The dress wearing bitch jolted forward, skimming over the uneven rocky surface. She made her way along the lip of the edge, a quick assault despite the overly precarious perch they were waiting on.

Her dagger stretched out effortlessly; at first the sorcerer thought he was the target. Vigo raised his cane in defense, holding onto the sword handle side and waiting for the distance to close. Anyone who carried a cane was undoubtedly suspected of concealing a sword within it, but if the assumption was even second guessed the mage would keep it that way. Instead of letting the daggers edges bite towards him, however, they shifted at the last second towards his shirtless companion.

A toothy grin rose on his face. Being so close in proximity allowed him to assist, defend and attack with Jacob as opposed to splitting the battle into two separate single fights. It was the way the two worked better anyway. They had been around each other a lot in the past year, getting to know each other, getting into more trouble than Vigo could account for. Instinctively he attacked the dress wearing woman.

Holding his cane like a long club, he swung heavily for the side of her head. If she had truly dedicated herself to attacking Jacob her guard would be let down far more than intelligent towards the half-elf’s attack.

[Witchblade]

((I apologize, this cold is getting worse and it's going to be reflected in my writing.))


The closer she got the more the smell of the two men permeated the air. It rose above the dirt and the heat and the smell of turning, molten rock. It invaded her senses the way it always did when smells tainted the air. And it sickened her. If the smell of human filth coming off the shirtless man wasn’t bad enough, she had to deal with the mixed scent from the half elf. Elves always smelled odd to her, perhaps it was their innate magical abilities that made it so, or something that she couldn’t perceive but their trace was almost as indistinguishable as the smell of a rotting corpse. His was different though. Being only half of what one of his parents was his odour tainted and dirty, which wasn’t any less offensive to her nose.

She took a step off the bridge and moved closer behind her ally, her comrade and her sister in arms just for this one fight. The hard soles of her leather boots crunched down on the rough, brown and grey rocks, grinding them against one another in a symphony of sound that was grating to her ears. The ground along the side of the volcano was no more stable than the bridges themselves. Though it seemed solid and quite capable of holding up the fighters, every step they took created a shower of loose rock that broke away and travelled down into the glowing pit of magma. While upon the bridges they had to worry about them snapping and breaking under their weight, here they needed to concentrate on not slipping. One false move would send any one of them tumbling over the edge and towards a certain death that would quite possibly be rather excruciating.

As the words of the half elf carried to her ears, Witch couldn’t help but narrow her eyes upon him. The strings that held her lips together was a testy subject for her and one she appreciated not being brought up, especially by strangers that smugly stood upon the threshold of their own demise. Screw giving Madison the courtesy of first choice, she wanted the elf now, she wanted to enjoy wiping that smug look off his face as she ripped through the flesh of his neck and spilled his blood upon this rock. Before she could say anything though, her partner reacted.

She was nimble and quite good on the surface they were fighting on. Her small frame raced towards the two men with only one purpose on her mind, and it made the Halfling smirk. She waited as she felt her own muscles tense and pulse in anticipation of the battle to come. Her heart rate increased slightly and the blood pumping through her veins filled with that wonderful and natural drug called adrenaline. With the wide assortment of weapons upon her person, Witchblade found her wondering what best to use against the elf and what best suited this terrain. The Rot Slayer was quickly disregarded, it was too cumbersome and bulky and though it would serve to intimidate the two men it would do nothing more for her. She was going to have to use her melee weapons.

Daggers or Sais?

Madison’s movements brought her towards the half elf, making Witchblade growl low in her throat. She didn’t want to fight the shirtless human, he had an air of insanity about him and she wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in him. But then she saw the tension along her ally’s body change even before the motion began. She faked and brought forth her other dagger moving towards the crazed and deathly, pale skinned human, trying to slice him wide open. She’d even caught the thoughts of the woman, clearer than any words spoken aloud.

Perfect.

But then the elf began to move. His body turned towards the unprotected side of Madison and just as he was beginning to raise the weapon to strike her, Witchblade was on the move. It was dangerous to use her full speed on such unstable ground, but her sure steps led her toward the man without incident. Just as the long, thin cane he wielded approached the woman, the Halfling was there and the sound of clashing metal rang out throughout the silence. To anyone incapable of following her movements, it would seem like a blur as her body had shot from its stationary position and moved towards him. At the same time her hand had wrapped around the hilt of one of her daggers and pulled it from the sheath upon the small of her back. Then she’d thrust it forward and collided the blade with the side of his cane.

As the vibration of her attack ran down through her fingers, her hand and into her arm, the Halfling smirked.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk... I believe it is considered rude to attack a lady, Vigo.”

Then she tensed her arm and used her strength to shove the cane away from her. Her other hand did not remain idle either, it latched onto the handle of this dagger’s twin and pulled it from its hiding place. Hoping to give him little time to react and even less time to think, the Halfling brought her other hand around in a sweeping motion aimed low at his stomach. She wanted to spill his guts upon this battlefield, she wanted to kill him but slowly and mercilessly and watch as the pain filled his eyes before the darkness came for him.

[The Writing Writer]

The well-chosen words of the Mad Poet's half-breed companion served well to calm the sporadic twinges of confusion that tormented the broken mind of the former. Though Jacob had no idea what Vice was, or who Max Dirks was, he knew that he could trust Vigo. The two had been through many trials together, building an almost brotherly bond. Vigo was the one man Jacob truly trusted in this world, and his word was as gold. If Vigo trusted this, Max Dirks, then Jacob trusted him aswell.

As the Mad Poet pondered the reason behind his recruitment into Vice, a third arrival entered the inconveniently placed battle field. Her dark clothes, the sewn lips, Jacob recognized her. She had been one of the combatants in his recent Citadel battle. What an all-star match it had been. Unfortunately, Jacob had not seen her fight, as he had been pre-occupied with other opponents in that particular skirmish. It was in fact likely that she had not seen Jacob at all, as all her focus seemed to be locked on a lightening wielding mage.

Jacob's recollections were cut short when Vigo's comment met with the Writer's ear drums. A sinister chuckle and a toothy grin were a clear indicator of Jacob's thoughts on the peculiar facial situation of the newest arrival. He had been thinking the same thing all along, Vigo was simply the first to anounciate how strange it was that her lips were sewn shut. But that was how things were. Vigo usually took care of the verbalizations, unless ofcourse the situation called for poetry.

The woman's arched brow and narrow eyes hinted that she may have taken offense to Vigo's comment. A valuable piece of information to have. An opponent with an easily tested temper could also be easily distracted, and in a situation such as this, with death lurching behind every false step, a clear head could be the difference between victory and a considerable sunburn.

Just as Jacob's laughter faded, the other young woman, clad in purple, was on the move. Her footsteps were perfectly timed, almost mechanical. It appeared sure footing wouldn't be much of a concern for her, unless ofcourse the Mad Poet saw fit to share his madness with her. As she grew nearer, Jacob focused in on her forehead, seeing deep beyond the oily skin and the leaky pores, past the pink flesh and the crimson blood, past the ivory of her skull and finally, deep into her grey matter. There, deep within the many corridors of her mind, Jacob layed a tiny shard of the broken mirror that was his mind. With any luck, she would not notice the attack on her perceptions, and would continue fighting gimped. But Jacob was new at this whole ' attacking with the mind ' thing. He wasn't even sure if he did it right, but at least he was getting practice in.

As the purple woman grew close, she drifted towards Jacob's half-elven pal. The Mad Poet stood ready to defend his comrade, but at the last moment her focus was shifted from Jacob's partner, to Jacob himself. She had gotten very close, and it was difficult to react properly. Instead, Jacob acted out of instinct, simply moving his left leg leftward and allowing his torso to follow in a quick jerk. The Mad Poet managed to evade the initial strike, but his attacker was still close with a blade in hand. As quickly as he had reacted to her strike, Jacob brought his right arm down, palm spread, attempting to grab her blade arm and pull it downward. As his arm moved, so did his right leg. It skimmed across the graveled ground so that his shin could strike against her's. If all worked out as intended, she would be brought to the ashen ground.

Sharing is caring ability activated. BaBE's perception altered slightly, unless she resists it.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Details of this post discussed with and approved by Writing Writer

As my feet found their way across the rocks and towards our opponents, I couldn't help but to feel as if something was... off. The closer I drew to the scrawny, shirtless man and his halfling teammate, the blurrier my eyesight got. The sun's rays intensified as they bounced off the earthly colors of the mountain, slowly eroding away the outlines of the figures before me. My head spun slowly... I almost felt like passing out. As I juked away from the halfling towards my intended target, I almost stumbled, having caught one of my heels on the edge of a rock.

What's happening to me..? I know I'm not drunk... Mr. Wilkensen would never let me sneak vodka into the library...

As I thrust my death-dealing damascus dagger forward, the blinding white blur of the man quickly moved to my right, leaving me cutting through nothing but thin air. Before I could spin around and make another pass with my other blade, I could feel his cold, steely grip around my wrist. Almost as if it were instinct, I commanded a length of my wire to come out from underneath the right sleeve of my dress. I focused my energy through the thin steel chord, guiding it swiftly through the air and around his own hand and arm, binding him to me. I grinned, baring my whites at the lunatic. Let's see you prance around now, fucker.

And then, I felt something brush against my shin--something hard that ended up taking my leg out from underneath me. For a brief second that seemed like an eternity at the same time, I was airborne; almost weightless. I could hear the telltale clanking of my daggers as they bounced against the rocks and ash-covered ground.

Earth to Madison: Prepare for impact in three... two...

THUD! I came back to earth with a sickening crunch. My frail frame bounced against the rough face of the mountain, jabbing into my skin in a hundred different places and knocking the wind out of me. I could feel a stream of warm, thick liquid begin to flow from my forehead--I lifted my eyes up to see a couple drops of blood carpeting the sharp edge of one of the loose stones that littered the ground. It was that moment that a sharp wave of pain shot through my skull. I clenched my teeth and tried not to scream. It felt like I was stabbed sideways in the forehead with a shard of metal fresh from the forge.

The good thing was, though, that my vision was slowly starting to clear up. Behind the crazed man, I could make out Witchblade's lithe figure as she was doing her part in the battle, deflecting the halfling's cane with one of her own blades while going in with the other for a quick kill. I drew a sharp breath in, trying desperately to extinguish the fire that burned in my chest.

I had to act fast, unless I wanted a boot to my spine. Feeling my right arm dangling in the air, I quickly spun around on the rocks so I faced the black-haired man. I drew my left hand back, drawing on my inner energy and focusing it in my palm. His hand bound tight by the wire to my wrist, I quickly pulled my right arm towards me, hopefully catching him off balance. I thrust my left hand forward, firing off the tightly-packed ball of kinetic energy at his windpipe, hoping to either disable him now or buy myself enough time to do it manually.

[Dirge]

Out of the corner of his eye the sorcerer could see the advancing opponent, her movement little more than a blur. She had the ability to rush forward far faster than Vigo could have reacted had he faced off against her alone. His focus was split though, a moment of vulnerability being present. Under his breath he muttered a curse, but tensed his muscles to continue the swing nonetheless, hoping that it would strike before she could hinder him or hurt him. Instead of attacking his exposed side, taking advantage of the opening and removing him from combat, she protected the dress wearing woman. It was a small reprieve, one that allowed Vigo a quick look into the combat that would come to dominate the awkward battle.

The cane was mid-swing when the sewn mouth freak attacked, her dagger striking and sticking into the wooden side of the halflings weapon. The secreted blade quivered beneath the wood, the vibrations rattling through his white knuckled hold. He could feel her strength through the attack, up either arm and into his shoulders. If she was like the sorcerer and the insane child, opting to defend her companion before finishing an opponent, there was an advantage present that Vigo saw opening.

Her thoughts, telepathy her assumed only means of communication, passed into his mind. They were pervasive, angering, annoying. Worry streaked his cocksure façade, wondering at what else she had at command mentally and fearing that she had chosen him as her opponent. Had she attempted to enter the mind of the younger Jacob the scene would have changed dramatically; had she toyed with the boy’s mind, she might have possibly been absorbed by his overwhelming insanity. Instinctively the sorcerer let his hands loose a little on the cane, allowing her to push her momentum into the lodged dagger.

Her second hand removed another dagger, a move that the sorcerer assumed would happen. It was purely logic that brought his conclusion that no Althanas person every carried only one dagger for use, and everyone wielded two at a time. He, however, was as prepared as the precarious place he had been forced into would allow. His booted foot pushed off a jagged rock, his attention turning to the arching blade aimed for his gut. It was moving quickly. He did not back away too far, assuming the secondary weapon was shorter.

Assumptions fueled his very survival, natural and learned tendencies that seemed pervasive throughout the society of Althanas. They were correct to that point, and he could only hope that they would continue to prove useful. The blade swiped through the point where his exposed chest had been, barely missing the twin layer of clothing that wrapped his thin frame. Vigo let go with one of his hands, the sickly glow of his devious spells coming to life suddenly. His opponent was close, just as he needed, and he took full advantage of it.

“Fuck off,” he squeezed through gritted teeth as he launched himself forward. The jerk of movement, changing momentum so suddenly, put him off step but he was close enough to compensate for it. His free hand reached out towards her smooth face. The sewn mouth would suffer first. It was an open palm strike; an attack would not injure the woman enough to be noticed. However, at the tips of his fingers, he reached with the necromantic touch, attempting to place the rash and boils across that macabre beauty.

What happened with his companion was all but unnoticed, there was a more pressing issue at hand.

[Witchblade]

The blade missed. She watched as the sharpened Titanium whizzed through the air, cutting through it like she wished it would cut through him, only the attack never connected. He shifted his position and moved just far enough away from the blade that it pierced the area where he used to be and the sharpened tip passed within a fraction of an inch of his clothes. Any closer and she may have sliced through the fabric and possibly skimmed the tanned skin that lay beneath them, releasing that wonderful smell of blood to taint the air and fill her nostrils. But he had been quick enough to avoid it.

As she pulled her arm back in towards her body, she felt a tingle wash over her skin. Like a snake crawling along the surface and making every hair to stand on end as it left its slimy residue behind.

Magic.

She knew the feel of it anywhere and as the half elf before her began to charge his little attack she could feel the muscles within her stomach clench and turn as Witch pondered what he was planning. He was quick on his feet with his counter attack though, giving the halfling little to no time to move out of the way or prepare for it. Instinct demanded that she move away from it, that she dig the soles of her boots into the rough ground and push off and away from him as fast as she could. But even as her legs tensed and she shifted her position, ready to do such a thing she knew it would be futile. He was just too close to her, even for her quick reflexes.

The sickly green glow that surrounded his hand came dangerously close to her face and she moved her head back, but not far enough. She felt his fingers touch her first, the nails along the tips of them scraping against the smooth and sensitive skin of her cheek as his rough, hot skin met her smooth and deathly cold flesh. Then his palm smacked against her next and the whole of it rent her face, moving across her cheek to her jaw and then across her lips. His fingers pulled at the strings that held her mouth shut, tugging at them and ripping through the flesh, making her mouth fill with the wonderful, metallic taste of blood. Only it was her own blood that she tasted and the pain was not coming from someone else, but from her.

A throbbing pain exploded across her flesh next. She could feel it, like hot, molten steel rip through her flesh and explode down her cheek and across her mouth. She felt the skin shift and change and as a low animalistic growl escaped the depths of her throat, her crimson eyes narrowed on the half elf, Vigo. She didn’t bother to raise one of her hands and assess the damage, she didn’t need to. Her healing would take care of whatever he had done to her and if he thought a little bit of pain was going to stop her, he had another thing coming. Pain was just a state of mind that let someone know they were still alive. And according to the fiery burn that was covering her face she was very much alive.

Already she could feel the skin along her face shifting and pulling tight as her healing began to kick in and fix whatever kind of damage he had dealt her. Wanting to quickly counter Vigo’s attack, the halfling leapt from her stationary position towards the half elf. He was close, ever so close to her. She could smell the sweat that was beginning to bead along his skin, she could hear the steady beat of his heart and even the sharp take of breath that he took in through his lips as she made her move towards him. The move was meant to be quick and vicious and injure him, but not kill him. No, not yet. She wanted to have fun toying with him and watching him suffer until he was begging her for some sort of release from this world. Only then would she let him go.

Rocks crumbled and fell away from her step as she crossed the three foot distance between them in a second, maybe more. The Mythril blade in her left hand moved for his side, thirsting for his blood as she moved to plunge it into the flesh. It would miss the major internal organs, but it would cause a great deal of pain and would be a constant source of blood loss. The light enchantment placed upon the blade caused more damage to creatures of darkness, but with Vigo being an elf she was unsure of any damage such an enchantment would do to him.

[The Writing Writer]

The Writer was too ecstatic to notice the icy, slithering wire crawl up his bare arm. Too enthralled was he by the sight of his attacker's blood upon the rocky surface in which they danced. Too intoxicated, too drunk with bloodlust was he to follow up his attack with a finishing blow. Normally he would have immediately smashed her precious little head back into the rocks that beckoned for her blood only moments before. He would have jammed his grimy, leathery foot into the back of her skull, effectively cutting their fight short. But Jacob once again found himself lost in his own entertainment. He wished at times, he weren't so very, very amusing.

A tugging on his arm sent a sharp sting over his shoulder and into his brain, forcing a wince out of the normally indiscernible mad man. He felt his torso follow his arm, and soon after his head. No doubt the arm was leading his other body parts astray, but unfortunately, at this time, the arm could not be contested.

The Mad Poet's alarmingly pink eyes shifted awkwardly in their sockets, bringing the form of his opponent back into view. She lay on her back, blood trickling down from her head, kissing the delicate features of her face. Her angry, determined expression was something The Writer had seen before. It was his dearest Jennette that he saw before him. She too lay in the same way, that same look in her eyes. Oh what a long while it had been since Jacob's thoughts wandered back to his late fiance. She was the reason he was like this. She gazed upon the mirror of his mind, and shattered it without regret or remorse. She hated him, and for what she had done, he hated her too.

The Writing Writer's toothy grin was wider than ever, the tiny ivories grinding against each other. So loud was the grinding, that the sounds of his comrade's shifting feet were drowned out near completely. So rough was the grinding, that the collision of whatever hit his face was all but unnoticed. Upon it's collision however, Jacob's head was shot back, forcing his gaze skyward. For a moment he stared, unable to take action as blood trickled down from his nose and into his mouth, lining his teeth with crimson. Only the iron-like taste of his own blood seemed to bring him out of his maddened trance. He looked down again at his opponent, who's appearance had changed. Her sapphire eyes and midnight hair were both converted to a familiar chestnut. Gone was her purple combat dress, replaced by an olive green gown that Jacob knew all too well. His eyes widened, his smile stretched the very corners of his mouth, threatening to break the surrounding skin in two. His body trembled as the words spilled from his mouth.

" Oh my, Jennette! How long has it been?
Two? Three years since I tore off your skin?
And yet, here you are! Still...fucking...alive.
Perhaps I was not thorough enough the first time.

But don't worry my dear, I'll send you back home.
Back to the valley, where the dead like you roam.
It's been nice seeing you, and I wish you well,
BUT I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU HERE! GO BACK TO HELL!! "

With that, Jacob took hold of his opponent's wrist, the very same wrist that bound him to her. At the same time he reached down with his other arm, taking her other wrist in hand. With all his anger, all his fury he pulled her body towards his own, ignoring the steel wire that cut into his arm. He then thrust his knee as hard as he could towards the very center of her chest, hoping to crush her sternum and fill her lungs with blood. This was no longer a game for Jacob. He had lost all control. The memory of his former love had sent him as far down as he could possibly go. He would not stop, he would not halt until she was dead.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I've seen this look before--it was the visage of someone who had lost everything. A person who had become nothing more than a hollow shell of his former self, a person filled with a maelstrom of emotions that I cannot pretend to understand. The kind of person who is run by hatred, sorrow, and anger... Those kind of people, that allow themselves to be overcome like that, truly terrify me. So needless to say, as I stared into the pale man's strangely pink eyes, I was beginning to panic.

A jagged, psychotic smile split his face as his head reeled back from my telekinetic punch. Blood was pouring out of the cracks between his teeth, a cascade of crimson that didn't seem to have any effect on him other than to give his sharp features a little frightening punch. He gazed deeply into my eyes and spoke.

His little rhyme about killing a woman named Jennette--whom I could only guess that he pictured me as--sent a shiver down my spine. There was no doubt in my mind that he wanted to kill me. Why? What did this Jennette girl do to him to make him like this? But regardless, his little monologue gave me time to plan my next attack. I tore my gaze away from him long enough to see one of my daggers lying a few feet away. Wasting no time, I sent a length of wire out from my left sleeve to retrieve the sharp damascus toy.

Come on, just a little longer with that poem of yours, you fuckin' psycho, I thought to myself as the steel strand coiled itself around the leather hilt. That's right, give me some time to slash your--

My thoughts were interrupted when the bastard grabbed both of my wrists and pulled me towards him. Almost instinctively, I flung the wired dagger from its resting spot on the warm rock, aiming for the man's thin, blood-soaked throat.

The smell of volcanic ash and blood permeated the mountaintop air. I didn't see if my improvised attack added to the presence of the latter--I was too busy dealing with something else. As soon as I moved my weapon towards his artery, he fired off a knee strike at my chest. I struggled in the split second before the impact, turning slightly. His bony knee buried itself into my left ribcage. My eyes went wide, and I let out an unearthly, painful howl. While the edge of my hard leather corset absorbed a good portion of the blow, the sheer power he put into it still managed to fracture a couple of my ribs. The pain was like none other I had ever felt. A fire roared through my body with the intensity of an eruption from the volcano we were doing battle on, flooding my senses with a new definition of pain and bringing tears to my eyes.

I bit my lip through the pain, my canines tearing through my own soft flesh and filling my taste buds with the metallic tingle of blood. I couldn't waste time hoping that my airborne dagger was going to do its job--I tried desperately to gather enough energy to assault another telekinetic attack. I twisted my right hand through his steely grip just enough to aim it at his left temple this time.

I had to kill this guy quick--or he was going to kill me.

[Dirge]

Just a stroke, a stroke every so gentle, it was all Vigo was afforded for his trouble. Her face was so soft, so cold, and the sorcerer’s slipped across it with the gentleness of a tender caress. At first it was little more, but he pushed harder and strained the muscles in his arm. Each perfectly manicured fingernail stroked her face as the palm of his smooth hand collided with her cheek. He felt the imperfections of her ghastly beauty tear under the pressure, felt the release of the tightly bound tendrils that kept her mouth forever immobile. How long had it been since she had been able to scream? How long had it been since her voice had been heard? Vigo pressed his luck and waited for the pain to be expressed through that awkward mouth with a curiosity befitting only the most insane of people.

When she stumbled a bit away from the halfling he could only manage a wiry grin of self satisfaction. She had groaned, and how sweet it had been. But the damage done was little more than skin deep at best. The boils and blisters, the stretched skin coated in rash, it slowly began to reform. So shallow a victory it had been, and a small one at that. If his spell was put to the test and failed he was assuredly going to die at the witch’s hands.

She moved with the grace of an elf, and speed that the sorcerer could not hope to match. He pulled at the dagger lodged in his cane with a free hand and tried to spin away at the same time. His booted foot caught a rough stone and jolted him in a clumsy and costly misstep. The dagger streaking towards him caught his side even as much as he had turned. A flare of pain made his head spin, his knees weak, and his hands shake. He had not been on the end of a blade for a fairly long time, and had not wanted to be in that position again. It burned, but not as much as it would have had he been a creature of the darkness. He only used their abilities and their fear, he was above them though.

In his turn he had been wounded, but he had also caught the scene of Jacob and the dress wearing woman locked in combat. Through the air was a small dagger, soaring for his companion’s throat. Without worry about his own safety the dirge mage swung his cane like a club again. The blunt weapon and the dagger struck each other, sending the wayward blade careening harmlessly to the ground. It would be a small boon at the most, having an able, though psychotic partner to help him put an end to the witches power.

She was to his side; Vigo could see her sewn mouth bloodied. But what she could do to him would be no worse than he was about to do to her companion. Jacob had both her arms clasped tightly with his knee in the side of her ribs. Not wasting a second the sorcerer spun his cane at her exposed head. Only one arm held it, the other crossed against his abdomen and holding closed the bleeding wound.

“Jacob…” he muttered as if the boy would understand to watch his back. Words were not necessary, but Vigo feared for his sanity and understanding.

[Witchblade]

The blood fuelled her senses. It made the pupils in her eyes grow larger and her nostrils flare as she breathed it in as deeply as if she needed it to live. She could almost taste it across her tongue, but then again the metallic taste lining her mouth at the moment was coming from her own blood. The thick, blue liquid was passing through her lips whenever she opened them the slightest bit and mixing with her saliva, creating a rather intoxicating blend to the halfling. She wished that these strings were not holding her mouth in place, and then she could sink her long canines into the neck of the elf before her and drink his blood until he fell to his knees. It would be a sweat victory on her behalf and one she would take a great amount of joy in.

As it was, she was already smirking over the feel of her dagger sinking into his flesh. Her sensitive hearing picked up the sound of the rending flesh and the squishing blood and innards. She could feel the lovely thick liquid began to pour over the handle of the blade and slither through her fingers like that of serpent, finding every nook and cranny in her fingers to slide into.

Witch pulled the blade out and shivered as the sucking sound followed it. It was such a beautiful found to her ears and she wanted to hear more of it but her opponent was already on the move. There was pain in his eyes and a grimace on his face. It appeared that her attack had shocked him slightly, which made it all the more sweeter, especially with her knowing that there was more to come. She saw his move with her sharp, crimson eyes and narrowed them on his person. Attacks would be too slow, even her quick reactions may not save the head of her comrade from a rather crippling blow should she lash out. But, she didn’t exactly need her hands in order to attack someone.

She had wanted to save this for later, when it would most surprise her opponents, but she was finding herself using it in order to save her current sparring partner.

As the wooden cane went sailing through the air towards Madison’s head, Witchblade took a deep breath and focused her telekinesis. She could have blasted the weapon and removed it from its path, but there was a chance she’d also hit the woman in the process and injuring her only partner was not something high on her list. At least right now. So, instead she focused on controlling the actual trajectory of the weapon itself and sending it off course.

She watched as course of the weapon veered off to the side and missed the head of Madison; it looked more like it would slam into her shoulder instead. Easily, a much better target that the side of her skull. At least this would only hurt instead of debilitate her.

[The Writing Writer]

Sweet, sweet satisfaction. Jacob could feel her bones give way as the cap of his knee crashed into her rib cage. The give was slight, but it was enough to cripple her, and more importantly, to cause her pain. Pain was Jacob's purpose now. More specifically, his purpose in life at this very moment was to cause his resurrected fiance the greatest amount of pain she could possibly endure, and then cause her some more. He would tear out her hair, rip out her eyes and fill the sockets with salt. His grip tightened around her wrists as the anticipation grew within him. He couldn't wait another moment. He had to be rid of her now.

But as fate would have it, the Mad Poet would not have his release just yet. A shimmer of light sent beams of sunlight into the corner of Jacob's vision. He squinted his eyes as he turned to face the object, unsure of what it was. Even as he gazed directly upon the object that was fast approaching his head, he could not make out it's form. And even as he could feel the air the object parted brushing across his face, still the sunlight obscured his vision. Only until his comrade's cane was brought to intercept the projectile, was it's form discernable. The clank of wood and metal gave Jacob a considerable clue as to what the object was. When it met with the cobblestone earth, he finally knew what it was, and it's origin. It was a dagger. A blade sent to collect his life. It's owner? None other than his beloved Jennette. Jacob turned to face her and roared in anger, screaming loudly into her face. How dare she strike at him? After wounding his heart, she now sought his throat? Unacceptable! He would end her now!

But as Jacob lifted his leg into the air, intending to crush her head with his heel, the voice of his friend Vigo slipped ever so gently into his ear, rattling the drum within. Jacob's eyes darted leftward, in the direction of his companion. It seemed in his psychotic rage, Jacob had become neglectful of his comrade, who now bled from his abdomen. The Mad Poet knew immediately why the honey-colored elf had called his name. Vigo was in danger, and unless Jacob acted now, the half-elf would meet with a grim fate. Jacob turned back to Jennette, then back to Vigo. He grumbled in annoyance, and soon screamed in frustration. His eyes flared with hate as he turned back to Jennette.

" Do not think you will get out alive!
For once I am back, it's your turn to die!
Lay in wait, I shall return soon.
And then you shall have your last dance with this groom. "

Jacob spit angrily at the face of his former love, then moved on the witch. He released his grip of Jennette's arms and reached down, picking up her dagger, holding it tight in his right hand. There was no time for flash or flare. The Mad Poet needed to dispatch the oddly pigmented woman quickly, lest Jennette make her escape. Gripping the dagger tightly, Jacob lunged at the woman clad in black, who so rudely interrupted his vengful antics. Thrusting the dagger forward, he hoped to pierce through her ribs and puncture her lung. At the very least he would injure her arm, giving Vigo a slight edge that he did not have before.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

As my dagger zeroed in on its target, that halfling son of a bitch deflected it with his cane. My eyes followed the spiraling damascus blade as it arched away from the pale psychopath who was pinning me down. The ping of the wooden stick against the metal echoed through my head, nearly shattering my hopes of taking out this wide-eyed, black haired freak. I prepared to fire off my telekinetic blast as the side of his head , but I was interrupted by the deafening sound of another crack and a sharp pain in my shoulder.

I looked over quick enough to see that the halfling had struck me with his cane. I immediately cried out--my arm went numb, scattering any energy I had stored up and aimed at my attacker. The man on top of me joined in my unholy chorus, his harmonic howling filled with rage--but at what? I unclenched my eyes long enough to see that his foot was suspended in midair, aimed at my head; and I did nothing about it. I laid there; a tear streaking my pitch black eyeliner, a vengeful scowl ripped across my face, but immobile nonetheless.

Why? Why didn't I move? Why didn't I kill this man in his moment of hesitation? Was I truly frightened by him? The man turned to face me again, speaking to me once more in his strange rhyming fashion before spitting in my face.

For some reason, the sounds and sights of my last day at my family's estate popped into my mind. I had just gotten back from an assassination mission gone terribly wrong--my brother Trevor and I were ambushed by some of our target's goons. I barely escaped with my life... Trevor was killed on the spot. My other two brothers, Justin and Michael, blamed me for the his death. I snapped; I rushed for my two siblings, beating the living daylights out of both of them until my parents hand to pull me off of them.

I guess that the way the lunatic spat on me opened the floodgates of my subconscious. One small action to sum up my life at this point. I felt my self-restraint slipping away--for a brief second, I could see Justin's smug, condescending grin and bushy light auburn locks imposed over his face. The man stood up and rushed to his teammate's aid. I tried to focus the wire, to keep him bound to me, but the pain wracking my thin body kept me from restraining him as his arm slipped out of the steel thread.

I felt a wave of resolve build up inside me. Not out of the necessity to win, but out of pure, blind rage. I heard the faint scraping of metal against stone as the bastard picked my dagger off the ground and rushed towards my black-clad teammate, hoping to save his halfling friend from getting utterly destroyed by the bitch. The expression on her face was not unlike my own--save for a hint or two that said that she was enjoying this fight.

My body screamed out in fiery protest as I quickly rose to my feet. I wasn't really in any sort of condition to continue this match, but hell if I gave two shits. I had to kill this freak, and I had to do it now. I quickly called my wire-wrapped dagger to my hand, gripping the smooth leather hilt tightly. With each dashing step forward I took, my shattered ribs and shoulder sent out a fresh wave of pain. I didn't care, though. I could see nothing but a rage-induced haze, where only the pale white body of my opponent stuck out. My feet had little trouble finding their way towards him as I raised my dagger in the air over my head, ready to bury it in his soft flesh and muscle. I lunged at him for all my broken self was worth, before he could put my other dagger into Witchblade. With any luck, I would bring him to the ground, where I would immediately plant my dagger into his eye socket--like I should have done to my other brothers that fateful day.

[Witchblade]

Fuck!

There was too much shit going on around her at once. Even with her high senses and piercing eyesight it was hard to keep up with. The humans and the half elf moved slow—slow compared to her—but their attacks were still put forth with effort and ferocity and she was having a hard time keeping her eye on Vigo and the man at her back. Madison was not being of very much use either. The woman had gotten herself in a tight hold—literally—and had her ribs and her head bashed a few times. Not to mention the hit to her shoulder. Unless she had a very high pain tolerance, she had a feeling her comrade was going to be of very little use unless she could do something about it. Problem being, that madman of a poet with his fucked up rhyming words decided now would be a good time to attack her. As if he could actually get the drop on her. Fucking disgusting pig.

The problem was, turning her attention to the freaking psycho would leave her open to the half elf and that little wooden bat of his that he liked swinging around. Odd that he hadn’t tried to use the blade on her yet. Perhaps he thought himself so superior that he didn’t need to use it.

Turning her now completely healed lips into a grimace, the halfling pulled at two of her Titanium throwing daggers with her telekinesis. They rose from their sheaths and shot off towards the half elf with deadly accuracy. One was going straight for his throat and the other for his chest, each trying to bury deep beneath the flesh and find the veins and arteries that lay within, puncturing them and causing blood to rush into the open air. Sadly, if they met their mark she would not be able to take the complete satisfaction from watching the whole thing, not when her attention needed to be on Jacob and his advances towards her.

He thought he could attack her when her guard was down. He thought that puny little dagger in his hand was going to do something. He thought he had the strength to bring her down. Boy was he ever fucking wrong! And was she ever going to enjoy showing him just how much.

Her body turned to face him as a sick and twisted grin began to pull at the corner of his lips. Her mouth and her cheek was distorted and grotesque looking from the blisters and the rash that Vigo had given her, only because there was dark, blue blood still coating her deathly pale skin. The wounds may be healed but the evidence of what had been there still remained. As the stolen dagger passed through the air, the halfling did little to stop it. She merely moved to the side and allowed the blade to pass into the side skin by her ribs and dig into the flesh. It was shallow at best and would heal fast, but she let him think it might be much more severe than that. Her eyes were widening in a show of shock and pain and utter disbelief. The pain was sharp but it was not enough to make that face of hers genuine. In fact, she enjoyed the pain. It made her feel alive and it fuelled her further in the fight.

Before he could pull away though, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and then pulled him in closer to her. The look upon her face had melted away and left nothing but a pleasurable smirk, the kind that might have look maddening to anyone else but this freak, only because he was far more insane than her. While her mind may have broken long ago, his was lost in a sea of darkness far different from hers, one she had no desire to venture down. Reeling her head back and then bringing in forward the halfling made to slam the harden bone at the front of her scalp into his face, his skull, she didn’t care as long as she caused him some kind of fucking damage. Besides, if she could just keep his distracted enough, then Madison would be able to finish him off. That spunky little human was already on the move and coming after him, even though a brief look into her mind told Witch how much pain she was in.

[Ataraxis]

Quest Judging
insert thread title here

Hello everyone, and sorry for the wait! Without further ado, thither cometh thy judgment!





STORY

Continuity ~ 6/10. Why is Madison in Cipher Nex? What is Cipher Nex? What is this tournament about, what are they getting out of it? I read this and I’m just thrown into this story that doesn’t exactly make sense to me. To be frank, I don’t think I learned much of anything about Madison’s existence outside of this battle. Why is she in Cipher Nex, what does she gain from fighting for that group? What exactly is Cipher Nex, and what are they getting out of this battle? Who organized this and how does the result of this fight play for either group? This isn’t only aimed at you, but at everyone else as well, though in varying degrees of importance.

More specific to you though, since I think you chose the battlefield and the premise of the battle, is that you strung this together, expecting the reader to suspend his disbelief. While I tried to do that, the fact that it didn’t make a lot of sense to me kept me from really immersing myself. You did get a boost with your last post, though, since you included a few snippets of her past and her relationship with her brothers, though that was pretty late in the game.

Setting ~ 6/10. When I started reading about the volcano, I thought it was a bit exaggerated but that it would be a pretty epic fight to read nonetheless, what with all the chaos that should’ve ensued. However, you barely took advantage of the countless things the setting had to offer – same goes for the other three. I don’t see why anyone would make such a convoluted arena if they were just going to put a ledge around it where people could fight with a lot less risk. There was no epic battle on the bridges, no rope-cutting of bridge-burning, no one flung into the mouth of the volcano and climbing up the rock walls as their hands burned and skin melted (yes, as senseless as that sounds, I was expecting it).

Again, specifically to you: getting Madison’s forehead scrapped badly on a sharp rock was a nice touch, and you did mention the heat and the effect the lava’s glow had on Witchy’s skin. You were also rather aware of the bridges and Madison’s wary footing on the rocky ledge.

Pacing ~ 5/10. The thread was relatively long for the things that transpired in it, and it’s also incomplete, so some points got docked there, for everyone of course.

You had a tendency to backtrack to whatever occurred in the other writers’ previous posts. Instead of summarizing it all in two-three paragraphs at the start of yours, I suggest spreading the info over the post in the form of retrospection, with Madison recalling this and that. Also, due to your particular use of the first person, at least at first, your pacing bogged down a bit (more on that in Dialogue and Technique). However, you recovered pretty quickly and I must say I was starting to get pleasantly drawn into your writing. Again, shame it ended so abruptly.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5/10. Since this is first person, you have a lot more moments for dialogue: the habitually introspective quality of such a style should inherently improve its quality (since it includes monologues). I, however, couldn’t get a very accurate feel of who Madison was in your first post, other than a slightly stingy, slightly cynical person. Your method of using the first person has a flaw that I’ve seen a lot before, which I like to call the ‘third person identity crisis’. Basically, I could replace all the ‘I’s with ‘she’s, and it’d look sensibly the same. Using the first person should create a clear, distinct feeling from the third person, only this hasn’t happened here – at least not at the start. It did, however, improve a lot from the second post up, though the shakiness can still be perceived.

Otherwise, in the instances where Madison actually thought or spoke, I can’t say I saw a line that really gripped me, so to speak. I understand that there’s very little you can say in the heat of combat, but Madison had a telepathic link with Witchblade, and that seemed like something someone in trouble would rely on a bit more than Madison did. This is also had an effect on Action.

Action ~ 5.5/10. It wasn’t how I imagined a fight over a giant pool of lava should’ve happened. There was action, combat-wise, and some good scrappiness on Madison’s part. There wasn’t much that really made her stand out, though, as I’ve seen in previous battles of yours. The threads were interesting, and you did have Madison lose her control over them when Jacob walked away after dealing her a rather crippling blow. Otherwise, he’d have dragged the poor girl off with him, or gotten his wrists even bloodier.

Persona ~ 6.5/10. This is better than the previous two categories because you did a pretty good job at describing her emotions, especially near the end, where she felt genuine fear, then a genuine sense of finitude when she didn’t try to evade Jacob’s potentially-lethal stomp. There was also a certain… consistency of irritation and general bitchiness about her.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6/10.
My thin, angry shout echoed through the nearly empty library. or
The echoing clicks of my heels against the heavy oak floor almost drowned out my own response.Now does this sound like something anyone would say when recounting a story? It felt very impersonal. As I said in Dialogue, first person should offer you a lot more freedom with sentence types such as fragments and a succession of simple/semi-complex sentences, since that better fits a human’s usually erratic train of thought. An example of where it did feel a lot more personal was this:
Great, as if I didn't have enough to worry about. I think this should help make the distinction clearer, since if I replaced the ‘I’ with ‘she’ in that excerpt, you’d see it doesn’t sound nearly as good. I do, however, admit that you improved this later into the battle.

Mechanics ~ 7.5/10. Typos and awkward syntax were the things I saw most. See the Notes annexed to this judgment.

Clarity ~ 7.5/10. Sometimes your attacks and descriptions weren’t exactly crystal-clear. Plot-wise, the bit at the library was a bit haphazard and left me wondering about a few things.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Don’t worry, WC is overall low because this thread wasn’t completed. I did enjoy reading your posts and I didn’t stumble that often because of the flow.

TOTAL ~ 59.5/100.




STORY

Continuity ~ 6.5/10. Good job at this: I had an adequate understanding of who Vigo is. I, however, don’t know what exactly Vice is, what it strives for, or how he came to be a part of that organization. You said he was accepted, with Jacob? Odd thing, since Jacob has no idea he was even looking for a job there, regardless of his insanity – he’s crazy, but he showed he’s not brain-addled fool. Still, the fact that Vigo was as confused about the birds, the volcano and the general lack of sense made your posts more believable. Otherwise, I liked how you defined this as some clan war rather than some tournament, though that created two opposed points of view, neither of which having enlightened me to the origins of this battle.

Setting ~ 7/10. What I said in BaBE’s judgment applies here too. You did, however, paint something more vivid in my mind and mentioned something other than rocks, heat and the glow of lava. I think you introduced to notion of bubbling and its sound, which was then reused throughout the battle by both parties.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10. See the first paragraph in BaBE’s pacing. I had a lot less trouble sticking to your flow, though, and I can admit to being drawn into it more than once.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 6/10. Vigo is an asshole, and it’s pretty clear from the way he speaks. Sometimes, though, his lines make him too much of a generic asshole, instead of making him into what people like to call the classhole. After a while, the ‘fuck’s and all their derivatives became just a bit irritating. Fun fact, ‘fuck’ shows up 18 times in total in this battle. On another note, I did enjoy the unspoken communication between Vigo and Jacob – it gave them a nice, new depth. Also, noting Witchblade’s sewn-lips is something that’s usually done, but having the guts to actually mock her about it earns you props.

Action ~ 6/10. It’s as I said in BaBE’s comments. You did do something pretty classhole-like by tearing Witchblade’s mouth open. It made me wince, and that’s good for you. Not so good for me, but that’s not really the point.

Persona ~ 6.5/10. I couldn’t really get a feel of Vigo’s emotions, or I got too much of the same. He seemed hell-bent on causing Witch some pain and was generally pretty violent, though I wasn’t sure if those emotions were always warranted considering the situation. He did get back down to earth when he realized he’d never really hurt her, though I would’ve liked it if he’d at least thought of some strategy to throw Witch into the lava below. That’s, however, more related to Action than it is to Persona.

Technique ~ 6.5/10. If I had to name it, it’d be Fantasy meets Noir, then slightly watered down. I enjoyed how you described crude things in a refined manner. There were instances where you seemed to write less assiduously, and it went in the realm of casual writing, which somewhat broke the feel you set at the start, but not that much.

Mechanics ~ 7/10. Same as BaBE, though I counted a few more errors.

Clarity ~ 7/10. You somewhat cleared out the haze of the plot, but the things you implied weren’t always easy to catch. Your attacks and counters were usually simple enough not to be troublesome, but some wording made Vigo’s intents a bit foggy.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Same as BaBE.

TOTAL ~ 63/100.





STORY

Continuity ~ 7/10. I didn’t see the problems the others had here. You gave me a pretty interesting look into Witchy’s past, the things she’s done, and not only info on Cipher Nex, but also her old clan the Gol’Bron. Though I still don’t know the logic behind the tournament/war-on-a-volcano, the rest of the good stuff did compensate.

Setting ~ 6.5/10. This was sensibly similar to BaBE. Though there were interesting descriptions, I had an odd feeling of redundancy from your view of the surroundings, as if you reiterated the elements that were previously introduced. It made the setting feel forceful at times, like you wanted it to be there for the sake of it being there. Still, that didn’t happen too often, and when it did, there was an interesting detail you’d use to tilt things back in your favor.

Pacing ~ 5/10. See other comments on Pacing. You didn’t do any of the backtracking, but I must say that your posts were sometimes a tad longer than they could have been, and you sometimes focused on a detail more than you should have. For example, Withcblade’s pain when her mouth got torn open, or her psychotic desires: at some point, it lost its pleasantly-gruesome quality and became repetitive.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 5.5/10. Witchblade really didn’t talk a whole lot – of course, she can’t communicate orally, but I think she only used her telepathy two or three times in this battle, which is far from enough as I’ve mentioned in BaBE’s judging: telepathy should’ve been a very advantageous asset, both for you and your characters. Otherwise, save for the flavor of angry bitch that ‘doesn’t get enough of treasure type O’, I didn’t get to see a lot of unique lines.

Action ~ 5.5/10. I’d say action here is on the same level as Dirge’s, and to that I add the lack of telepathic assistance. The telekinetic support came in a bit late and I don’t see why a power that can’t be easily observed (unlike her shadow flare) would be held back. Heck, why didn’t she use her powers on their feet and make them fall into the lava? You can see I really wanted to watch that.

Persona ~ 7/10. See Dirge’s persona. The only difference is that Witch had a psychotic background to explain her general proclivity for violence and the enjoyment it provides. I also liked how she’s a masochist, and the fact that she thinks of pain as a proof of her being alive both interesting and intriguing, considering she’s a half-vampire.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6.5/10. See Dirge. Yours bends more toward very dark and gruesome, and at times it can be excessive, though I’ve seen some pretty flavorful gore.

Mechanics ~ 7.5/10. Your mistakes were a lot less glaring and fewer in number, though my qualms here were with your sentence structure: there was a lot of redundancy, as if you were really trying to make each syntagm a complete sentence, which is unnecessary. For an example, see ‘4-WB’ in the annexed notes.

Clarity ~ 8/10. The whole fight was a big ball of confusion for me, but I think you untangled it well enough. Your writing style also makes it difficult to really miss anything, since it’s rather in depth for everything, from the descriptions to the action.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Same as Dirge.

TOTAL ~ 63/100.





STORY

Continuity ~ 5/10. You did things differently here. Instead of giving explanations for Jacob and Dirge’s current situation, you had Jacob not really care for the details. You omitted most of the things mentioned in everyone else’s instead of trying your hand at clarifying, and though that lightened the load of differing point of views, I can’t really award you as many points for continuity. I got insight into Jacob’s past when you mentioned his lair burning during the fight against Homun and his need for skin, or when saw Madison as his late fiancé Jennette, which was pretty good, but I didn’t get much of anything about why Jacob trusts Vigo so much. I know they’ve traveled together and they’ve been in shit up to their necks together, but that was mostly from Dirge’s posts. That reference about the Battle Royale at the Citadel was too short to really tell me anything, and it actually created more questions than it did answers.

Setting ~ 4/10. I reread your posts because I thought I’d forgotten about your setting, but that was because there was very little mention of it after the first post, and even in that one it was scarce. Basically, you described the alley full of garbage between the buildings where Jacob lured a girl, the volcano, the bridges, and sunlight blinding him every now and then. That, teamed with the overall lack of actual use of the volcano battlefield, warranted you a 4.

Pacing ~ 5.5/10. See Dirge’s pacing. Your style doesn’t need flourish to sound… poetic, let’s say, and that’s a plus. It’s simple enough to read easily, and it keeps me near the edge, sometimes tugging at me to pull me into his madness. Because the thread was incomplete and the general turn of events, though, I can’t give it anymore.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7/10. I won’t say much here, but I think Jacob had the most interesting and defining dialogue of all four characters. It’s pretty natural, considering just how he speaks, but it’s more than that.

Action ~ 6.5/10. The whole bit about him wanting to kill Madison/Jennette at the end for reasons unrelated to the fight, and how he was going to skin the girl for parchment at the start, were things that really showed what kind of person Jacob is; his actions were true to his madness. You didn’t get anymore though due to the battle itself, which was standard.

Persona ~ 7/10. The dream about becoming a pink tree, his anger at seeing Madison turn into Jennette: those were good moments for Jacob, though I wish there’d been more in the two middle posts. He was rather placid for a madman, during those.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6.5/10. You had good imagery when there was any, and I’ve already told you in past judgments about the detailed simplicity (oxymoron? Maybe) of your writing. It didn’t however, reflect your best work.

Mechanics ~ 5/10. You had the most mistakes out of the four, and yours were very, very glaring. See notes.

Clarity ~ 7/10. Your writing itself was clear, but the events described or referenced weren’t always done with the most rigor, which caused a bit of a slump in this category.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4.5/10. Same as Dirge and Witchblade.

TOTAL ~ 58/100.


Cipher Nex wins!


EXP Rewards

Madison Freebird gains: 1100 XP!
Vigo Drak Ruinn gains: 675 XP!
Witchblade gains: 2475 XP!
Jacob Zachary Buhrkheardt gains: 675 XP!

GP Rewards

Madison Freebird gains: 300 GP!
Vigo Drak Ruinn gains: 120 GP!
Witchblade gains: 500 GP!
Jacob Zachary Buhrkheardt gains: 120 GP!


Though if you had all exploited the battlefield (and completed the battle, for that matter), it could’ve been a very nice fight, it still was a good read in its own right. Congratulations to all of you, and do enjoy beating each other senseless in the future.





WW – Writing Writer
WB – Witchblade
D – Dirge
BaBE – BlackAnd BlueEyes

Post counts need +1, since J posted the announcement

making them arranged (1-BaBe) shaky wording, ‘arranging them’
oh, how I wished that I would've (1-BaBE) ‘I wish I had’
Zephyriah Ablione, too the strange little fellow Jacob who Vigo knew personally (2-D) ‘as well as the strange’?
and wonder as the madness of it all. (2-D) ‘at the madness’
through the Corone country side towards the Comb Mountains, no sea or bed of water had been present (2-D) ‘for no sea or bed of water’
but he nor any other members of Vice (2-D) ‘but neither he nor any’
skin, and her's was flawless (3-WW) ‘hers’
Jacob thought back to his traveling companion for a moment, he had forgotten (3-WW) ‘a moment; he had’
cost him his home in Radasanth. But that story is best saved for another time. (3-WW) ‘Radasanth – but that story is best’
It was for this reason he hated her (3-WW) ‘that he hated her’
His outstretched leg was siezed (3-WW) ‘was seized’
by the unusual spectical (3-WW) ‘spectacle’
see his arial predator. (3-WW) ‘aerial’
I giant bird. (3-WW) ‘A giant bird’
he was to be it's next meal (3-WW) ‘its next meal’
he quickly sprung to his feat (3-WW) ‘feet’
it's wings (3-WW) ‘its wings’
Heat lashed against her skin. Slamming into her like a hard slap and then slithering its way up and along her flesh like the unwelcomed touch of a rapist. (4-WB) fuse the two sentences with a comma
Lucky for her/ brought her cloak with her/ not prove any help to her/ chameleon enchantment do for her/ good would anything do for her (4-WB) this made the first paragraph burdensome to read, since it’s naturally implied that all those things would affect her. Taking them out would have improved the flow.
Though the Halfling found no remorse in agreeing to this little battle, this game, this tournament, though she did find herself slightly uninterested and irritated with the whole affair(4-WB) take out the second ‘though’.
had to brush my wayward bangs out of my eyes. (5-BaBE) ‘brush wayward bangs out of’
leather sheathe (5-BaBE) ‘sheath’
played the parts (5-BaBE) ‘the part’
struck the halflings peaked ears (6-D) ‘the halfling’s peaked’
shrugged aside his half open coat, the volcanic depths were more than enough to keep him warm (6-D) either separate the segments with a semi-colon rather than a comma, or correct with ‘the volcanic depths being more than enough to’
her guard would be let down far more than intelligent towards the half-elf’s attack.(6-D) I’m not sure what that means (Clarity).
If Vigo trusted this, Max Dirks, then Jacob trusted him aswell. (8-WW) ‘this… Max Dirks, then Jacob trusted him as well’
BaBE and WW: you both backtrack to the previous events, which breaks the flow of the battle that just began. If you want to cover past information, you can do so through short instances of retrospection through your post rather than summarizing it all at the beginning.
lightening wielding mage (9-WW) ‘lightning-wielding’
Vigo was simply the first to anounciate (9-WW) I’m guessing you went for ‘enunciate’, though I believe ‘voice’ would work better.
Unless ofcourse, x 2 (9-WW) ‘of course’
focused in on her (9-WW) ‘focused on her’
As the purple woman grew closer (9-WW) I just wanted to note that I actually imagined a purple woman here, though I know you went for something like purple-clad.
simply moving his left leg leftward (9-WW) Though not wrong, the wording is redundant. I suggest ‘left leg outward’, since that and ‘inward’ are – at least to me – just as clear and easy to visualize.
thin steel chord (10-BaBE) POWER CHORD! ‘cord’
sharp edge of one of the loose stones that littered the ground. It was that moment that a sharp (10-BaBE) r.w., ‘sharp’
the halflings weapon (11-D) halfling’s
If she was (11-D) If she were
conclusion that no Althanas person (11-D) ‘Althanian’, though even that is weird. It’s like saying that no ‘Earth person’ does this or that.
happened with his companion was all but unnoticed, there was a more pressing issue at hand. (11-D) use semi-colon instead of comma or use ‘as/for there was a more pressing issue’
She felt his fingers touch her first, the nails along the tips of them scraping against the smooth and sensitive skin of her cheek as his rough, hot skin met her smooth and deathly cold flesh. (12-WB) I think that’s descriptive overkill. There’s nice detail that adds flavor, but this amount is too much for the reader to naturally, instantly process in one go. ‘his rough, hot skin met her smooth, cold flesh’ would’ve worked a lot easier, since there’s a certain parallelism in form and through the use of antitheses.
He wished at times, he weren't so very, very amusing. (13-WW) ‘at times that her weren’t so’
Upon it's collision (13-WW) ‘its’
who's appearance had changed (13-WW) ‘whose’
I've seen this look before--it was the visage of someone who had lost everything. A person who had become nothing more than a hollow shell of his former self, a person filled with a maelstrom of emotions that I cannot pretend to understand. The kind of person who is run by hatred, sorrow, and anger... Those kind of people, that allow themselves to be overcome like that, truly terrify me. (14-BaBE) You were using the past tense but here you switched, momentarily, to first.
Come on, just a little longer with that poem of yours, you fuckin' psycho, I thought to myself as the steel strand coiled itself around the leather hilt. That's right, give me some time to slash your—(14-BaBE) since you’re writing in first person, you don’t need the whole ‘“x and y,” he said’. For example, this would’ve improved the flow: ‘Come on, just a little longer with that poem of yours, you fuckin' psycho. The steel strand coiled itself around the leather hilt, (insert something about her perception of that action).’
The pain was like none other I had ever felt. A fire roared through my body with the intensity of an eruption from the volcano we were doing battle on, flooding my senses with a new definition of pain and bringing tears to my eyes. (14-BaBE) No actual mistake here. I just wanted to point out that by describing the pain so thoroughly, so technically, the reader’s perception goes from ‘ouch’ to ‘oh, I see’. If you got kneed in the ribs, I doubt you’d think that elaborately, and I’m guessing it’d be more along the lines of ‘Damn, bitch, this hurts. This effing’ hurts. Shit, hurts so much I’m crying. I’m actually crying.’ This is, of course, exaggerated.
and the sorcerer’s slipped (15-D) ‘the sorcerer slipped’
She watched as course of the weapon (16-WB) ‘as the course of the’
and it's origin (17-WW) ‘its’
It's owner? (17-WW) ‘its’

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!

Dirge reaches level 1!