A Plague on Your House (closed)

[Il Amator]

Closed to Valentine.
Note: this is a storyline battle and as such, will be slightly different from the normal Citadel battle.
Valentine, my only instructions are don't hold back. I need this to be an overwhelming victory for your character, as you can tell by the backstory. Thanks!

I looked down at the diminutive monk standing before me. “Could you repeat that?” I asked him, for I had not been paying him any amount of attention.

“What brings you to the Citadel today, sir?” he said with just a hint of sarcasm. What a question. Thinking of an answer brought me back a few days…

~~~

“Brammas,” came a soft, concerned voice next to me. “Are you alright?” My eyes slowly opened as I groggily turned my head. Stefania. Skin the color of a russet apple, eyes of bronze, and a thick mane of the darkest hair imaginable. Her voluptuous form and desire to please had made her my eager bedfellow last night. And what a night.

I pushed myself up to a sitting position and rubbed my temples. A pounding headache threatened to debilitate me for the rest of the morning. “Yes love,” I answered, my voice weary. “I’m fine.” She rose from the covers, the sheets lingering on her hips as if trying to hold onto her. As she sauntered over to the window that overlooked the road to the Windlacer Mountains, she looked coyly over her shoulder and batted her eyelashes at me. What a night.

I had arrived at this tavern two days prior and had immediately taken a fancy to Stefania. The way she flirted with all the men, never letting any get too close, sparked my competitive nature. I knew I had to have her. It had taken me two whole nights, but eventually she had agreed to return with me to my room. However, after the amount of alcohol I had consumed, the “pleasantries” had been short.

Though I had pleased her and so she stayed. If I could shake this dreadful headache, today would be a day she would not soon forget.

However, it was not just the headache that bothered me. While I lay sleeping, a messenger had visited me in my dreams. Laidir, messenger of Hromagh the Strong, had entered my dreams and given me a message:

“A plague,” he had told me, “on your house. The Thayne is angered by your ways, but sees it unfit to deal with you personally. He will not do you the honor. You will travel to the Citadel where you will do battle with his champion, the Valentine Bleeder. If you fail to be at the Citadel within a week’s time, the beast god will unleash his full wrath on you. Do not anger him more.”

I didn’t know why Hromagh the Strong would send a messenger to urge me toward the Citadel, but I didn’t feel compelled to test him. Angering the gods was problem enough; provoking them would just be stupid.

“Stefania,” I called over to where she stood at the window, naked. “I must leave Scara Brae. I am called to the Citadel to battle a great warrior.” She turned and looked at me, a look of disbelief on her face.

“You would go through all the trouble of winning my attentions just to quit Scara Brae the very next day?” It was clear by her voice and her posture that this sort of thing simply did not happen to a girl like her. But I couldn’t conceal a smirk as I realized that this would only make her want me more.

“Sorry love,” I said as I got dressed. “It’s my nature.”

~~~

And now here I stood in the lobby of the Citadel. Over the past week I had tried not to think about what fate lay ahead of me. What chance did I have against the champion of a god? But that was most likely the point. The Valentine Bleeder was a warning, meant to frighten me away from angering Hromagh the Strong ever again. I thought on this as I answered the monk.

“I am here to battle Kadarus Salidan.”

The small man visibly paused, sizing me up no doubt. Rather than say anything, he just nodded and had me follow him down a long hallway. There were doors on both sides, each one containing up to twelve names of the warriors within. We arrived at the first door that had no names, the monk turned to me.

“Please picture your field of battle as you step through the door,” he intoned, most likely having given this speech countless times before. “If you fall in battle, the challenge ends and we will attend to your healing.” He motioned for me to step through the door and I wasted no time in obliging. Picturing the battlefield I wanted, I opened the door and strode through.

I emerged standing near one of the peaks of the great mountains in the Windlacer range. The full moon’s light was fragmented by the soft rain falling from the intermittent clouds that dotted the dark sky. However, this was no mere replica of the mountains I had recently taken a fancy to. An arena lay in the valley between the mountains; the roughly flat field of battle was encircled by the Windlacer peaks, effectively protecting it from the ravaging wind. The moon and stars gave ample light, enhanced by the wet sheen off the rocks nearby. And in the center of the arena stood a towering pillar of adamantite. Nearly fifty feet tall and four feet in diameter, the pillar loomed over the battlefield. I wasn’t sure why I had added that particular element to my image, but something told me it would play an integral part in the coming fracas.

I finished my perusal of the battlefield and began my descent. I unsheathed my blades, holding them at the ready in case my challenger should arrive early. The Valentine Bleeder… what hope did I have?

[Valentine]

The Valentine Bleeder walked like no man. An aura of discomfort followed him, instantly affecting any that cast their eye on him. People whispered, frightened, about him as he moved by them, but he paid them no heed. He followed a higher calling, a mission given by one of the Elder Thayne. Kadarus Salidan had a purpose, something that many people craved but few really had. Because there were only a select few that had the blessing of a god and were employed to do his bidding. The Valentine Bleeder had been given Hromagh's strength and he only had to do one thing.

Kill.

Even the monks of the Citadel, so used to people from all walks of life, were perturbed by his presence. It was not his quietly ruthless strength or his eerie yellow eyes; they had seen much worse. It was because they had seen Kadarus Salidan before he had entered the service of Hromagh the Strong. In those days, he was known by his nickname, ‘Kade Lien.’ He had been a jovial soul, a happy hero with considerable skill that had a penchant for the bottle. Now, he fought like a man possessed, ripping his opponents to pieces. He was, in every meaning of the phrase, a killing machine.

The monk assigned to Brammas Ghistre had only just let his charge in when he heard the sound of the Valentine Bleeder approaching. His leather boots tapped on the floor of the Citadel loudly, alerting all to his presence. All in the vicinity looked, but none for very long, scurrying back to their corners like scared mice from a cat. Kadarus never paid them heed, for he moved single-mindedly, his mind already thinking up ways to which he would slaughter. The unfortunate monk was the only one that had to talk to him and he cursed under his breath that he had to interact with this vicious individual. After Ghistre, he was perhaps the unluckiest person in the Citadel today. One look into his piercing yellow eyes was all that anyone needed for a year of nightmares.

As much as he wanted to, the monk could not find himself able to tear his eyes away from Kadarus Salidan as he walked down the hallway to approach him. He still bore the same childishly handsome face that he had before, but his skin was considerably paler and his once baby blue eyes had turned jaundiced yellow. His body was the same it had always been, lean and boasting enviable power. However his once comfortable and handsome clothes used to accentuate his appeal to females were gone, replaced by Hromagh’s uniform of death. There was no shirt, his mythril chain mail the only thing covering his formidably built torso. His pants, low cut, came down to form leather boots, nearly weightless but causing a minor racket as they brought Kadarus to his targets. Only the glimmering silver of his hair and mythril chain mail broke the pattern of black and it was on that which the monk focused. He told himself it symbolized the purity that still lay within him, the innocence of the immature Kade Lien that existed before Hromagh that hopefully still existed somewhere.

“I am Kadarus,” the Valentine Bleeder said softly and almost rhetorically. Everyone knew of him. The monk shook his head slightly from side to side to wake himself up, shocked by how fast the distance between them had been closed while he daydreamed.

“Y-yes sir, Brammas Ghistre is waiting for you,” the monk stuttering, extending his hand to beckon Kadarus into the room behind him. Turning his back so that he would not get a view of the Bleeder’s horrifying eyes, the monk softly counted to ten. When he finished, he turned around, realizing that Kadarus had moved off, sparing him of that terrible sight for this day. At the rate that his opponents fell though, the monk knew that he would get his chance to see those chilling yellow eyes again.

Kadarus had chosen not to bring his arsenal of weapons, carrying only his signature weapon, the Valentine, in his right hand. The masterly crafted katana was more comfortable in his right hand than his fingers; such was his skill with it. Still, the Valentine Bleeder chose to take no chances with this one. If Hromagh had wanted his emissary to personally snuff him out, then there must be something about him. Kadarus concentrated for a moment, and felt the magic flow within him. He stood still for ten seconds, then held his hands before him and watched as they vanished. His invisibility spell had activated and even the monk that was so frightened and wary of him could not see him.

Without a second thought, the Valentine Bleeder walked through the door, purposely stepping loudly on the ground to alert Ghistre that he had arrived. Kadarus enjoyed letting his prey know something, but not everything.

Just because Hromagh asked him to do something, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t have fun while doing it.

[Il Amator]

As I stared at the adamantite pillar in the center of the battlefield, I had a spark of inspiration. I quickly sheathed my rapier, the steel making a soft whisper against the leather as I did, and raised my right hand before me. My slender fingers worked my glamour magic and the adamantite pillar slowly disappeared from sight. However, no rain fell where the pillar stood. Frowning, I twisted my fingers in the air and worked a second layer of the spell. Soon, the same light rain falling across the rest of the battlefield became a part of my illusion. I wasn’t sure if the ruse would hold up under the power of the Valentine Bleeder, but it was worth a shot. I’d press any advantage that I could think of in this situation.

My boot hit the arena floor and the echo of footsteps bounced off the mountains around me. I instantly froze and the steps continued. He was here. Footsteps fell loudly and evenly, sounding nearer and nearer. But I couldn’t see my adversary. Fear clutched at my lungs, how could I fight what I could not see? As the grim reality of my situation finally dawned on me, I remembered how this had all started…

~~~

The smell of sulfur assaulted my nostrils and the acrid air stung my eyes. This couldn’t stop me though; I had come too far to give up now. My uncle had entrusted me with the responsibility of carrying out this task and, on his grave, I would see it through. As I wandered down through the meandering passageways of the cavern, I thought about my uncle’s passing. I had stood over his deathbed and he had told me a grand story of pledges, deceit, and broken promises. The story had been long, but the telling had lifted a great weight from my uncle. He confessed that Hromagh the Strong had named him The Judicator in exchange for inhuman strength. My uncle had greedily pledged his soul and received untold power in return. As he lay dying, he told me that he regretted it every second of every day. His tale saddened me, but there was nothing I could do. That’s when he told me of the amulet.

“When Hromagh named me The Judicator, he sealed my soul in an amulet, Brammas,” his voice became weaker as he spoke. I leaned in close to hear him as he continued, “I need you to find that amulet and release me from my eternal torment.” He coughed and I waited patiently as he regained his strength. “Take my blades, but beware; Hromagh will not take kindly to you interfering in his business.” He handed a scrap piece of parchment as another coughing fit overcame him. Within the hour, my uncle had passed. The Judicator of Hromagh the Strong was no more.

So here I was, walking the tunnels of Hromagh’s Crypt. Apparently it was where the beast god kept items of value so my uncle figured that his amulet would be here. As I descended, the stench got increasingly unbearable and soon I pulled my shirt over my mouth and nose to block the smell. The walls of the dank tunnel were streaked with long grooves, almost as if something had dragged its claws on the walls as it walked. I shivered as I thought of the size of such a creature. “Hopefully I won’t meet it,” I muttered to myself. Unfortunately, I heard a low growl rising from further down the tunnel. Just my luck.

A few more minutes’ travel brought me into a great cavern and I paused at the mouth of it. Chained to a pillar in the center of the stone room was a beautiful woman. My charm immediately kicked in and I could feel a smirk forming at the corner of my mouth. Scanning the walls quickly for any sign of danger, I crept into the cavern and made my way toward the lady. “Hello there,” I greeted when I was close enough. “I -”

But I never got the chance to finish before she snapped the chains binding her to the pillar and lashed out at me with he claws. As her hand closed in on my face, I realized what a fool I had been. From this close, the illusion was shattered. She was no beautiful woman, she was a gorgon.

I pulled back and unsheathed my blades, taking up a fighting stance as her claws swept harmlessly by. She shrieked in fury and snapped the rest of the chains; freeing her arms so that she could attack me. Claws snaked through the air and I parried with my dagger. The steel vibrated upon impact and I could feel the raw power coursing from the woman. Unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly out of place, I sidestepped and thrust forward with my rapier. The thin blade lanced through the creature’s side and another unearthly wail greeted my ears. Both sets of claws lashed out toward me and I tried to dodge as I brought both blades around to block. However, I was too slow. My rapier caught one set, but her left hand brushed past the dagger and sliced across my cheek. Crimson welled up in the corner of my vision and I felt the claws rake against my skin. The pain was intense and sudden, but I knew I had to press on. Then I saw it.

She wore my uncle’s amulet around her neck. That explained the increased strength; she was channeling my uncle’s soul into her attacks. I backpedaled and countered her swipes and my mind raced with what to do. I needed that amulet, but I was tiring much faster than she.

As she swung her claws toward my face yet again, I had a thought. Instead of blocking, I ran the point of my rapier through her palm. She shrieked with the sudden pain and went to pull away. I followed her and thrust harder, forcing the tip of the blade into a crack in the pillar she had been chained to. She thrashed about viciously, clearly hoping to slice me open with her wicked claws. With my dagger working vigorously to block the attacks, I moved in toward the amulet. As my hand grasped the cool metal, the world turned upside down.

Her claws made it past my blade and bit deeply into my neck; though I couldn’t see because a flash of light erupted from the amulet. At the same time, a low rumble began in the floor under my feet. Hromagh the Strong clearly did not welcome intruders. Suddenly I found myself in an ethereal world; mist swirled around my legs and obscured my vision. I felt the sting of the scratches on my face and neck and the metal of the amulet pressed against my palm. Before me stood a hulking brute of a man.

“I am Hrothgar,” his voice boomed. “Hromagh is displeased with your actions.” He extended his arm and pointed toward the amulet. Pain laced across my body as my mind blacked out.

The next thing I remembered was waking up in a tavern near the Brokenthorn with a blackened fragment of the amulet clutched tightly in my hand. That’s when I had begun running from place to place, eager to avoid the full wrath of the beast god.

~~~

But here I stood now, facing another of the beast god’s champions in battle. Rumor had it that the Valentine Bleeder was even more formidable than Hrothgar or The Judicator. I had stood before Hromagh’s wrath before and lived; there was no telling if I would be so lucky the second time.

“Kadarus!” I yelled across the arena. “Show yourself!” I knew that the plea was hopeless, but I couldn’t very well just run out and start swinging. My chest heaved as I stood in the rain and shouted to the champion. Drawing my rapier once again, I held both blades ready in the first fighting stance my uncle had taught me. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight; short-lived though it may be. Breathing deeply, I trained my ears for any sign of my opponent’s movements.

[Valentine]

None could see it, but the muscles in Kadarus’ lips twisted into a sadistic smirk as soon as the look of fear descended onto Ghistre’s face. Sweat slowly forming on his brow, hair standing on end, his pupils dilating… all of these signs gave the Valentine Bleeder the thrill of the hunt that he enjoyed so much. Kadarus circled his prey like a lion around a gazelle, studying him to learn of his possibly exploitable weaknesses. He was no where near as skilled when it came to wielding the blade as Kadarus; this would be quick.

The hunger welled up inside him like a cancer, spreading all over his body. Could he wait any longer? It had been too long since the Valentine had tasted flesh, since blood had flowed off its flawless edge. The weapon craved death, just like Hromagh and its owner did. But Kadarus had self control, he wanted to amuse himself and play with his food before he viciously devoured it. Perhaps, that was the immature Kade Lien, still existing with the Valentine Bleeder, at work. Was that truly better for the Bleeder’s victims though?

Ghistre's desperate cry was one of fear and distress. Invisible features twisted to form a sadistic smirk, an expression that the victim would never see. Kadarus was almost sorry for this fact, that yet another intimidating feature would not get a chance to frighten. Almost. The prey was beginning to feel the fear crawl through his body, infecting his senses and emotions. With every fearful tremble of his quarry's body, Kadarus felt the bloodlust well up within him. He had to do something to satiate it, while keeping the amusement of watching this man frighten himself.

Sadistically satisfying himself through Ghistre's fear caused Kadarus to temporarily lose concentration and his thumb flicked Valentine's cross guard, sending a loud sound echoing throughout the illusion of a battlefield as the perfect blade brushed against the iron sheathe that contained it. It almost shocked Kadarus, for he had done it subconsciously, as if the desire to taste flesh had overcome him.

“No, not yet,” the Valentine Bleeder said loudly, though he moved around as he said so, making it difficult for Ghistre to estimate where his invisible lips were moving. That statement was said to his prey as much as to himself. Kadarus calmed down somewhat, containing the bloodlust within him for now.

“Are you so desperate for death?” he asked his prey, his voice menacing. His invisible yellow eyes were alive with desire, knowing that he would satisfy both his master and himself if he did this slowly. “Your executioner hides in the shadows and yet you want him to step into the light.”

Kadarus continued to circle Ghistre, the steps of his boots growing louder with each step. “Tell me why,” his voice commanded in an unnaturally deep tone.

[Il Amator]

A sharp ring sounded across the battlefield and I instantly honed in on where it had come from. The Bleeder stalked the arena just opposite me. “No, not yet,” he answered my desperate cry. I could hear sadistic laughter in his voice and hear his steps as he slowly circled toward me. It began to rain more heavily and the ground quickly grew slick and dangerous. Perfect battle conditions, I sarcastically chided myself. The clouds began to move in, carried by the winds that blew down over the mountains. Howling through the valleys between the peaks, the wind chilled the air and a shiver ran its way down my spine. The Valentine Bleeder continued circling, the worsened conditions doing nothing to give him pause.

“Are you so desperate for death?” came his menacing growl from much closer than I had estimated. I jumped slightly and increased my steps to keep the cloaked pillar between us. When I didn’t answer, his voice boomed again, “Tell me why.”

Visions flashed through my mind; visions of my uncle as he lay on his deathbed, of the gorgon chained in Hromagh’s Crypt, of the sweet Stefania waiting for me in Scara Brae, and finally… of the beast god himself. The wind wrapped its wicked arms about me, beating raindrops against my skin. My hair plastered itself to my head and water ran rivulets down my face. I blew the water out of my eyes and tried to wipe some of it off my face with the back of my gloved hand. My breaths came fast and ragged, a combination of the cold mountain air and the mind numbing fear that gripped my chest.

The stark reality of my situation hit me full force as I continued to circle the stadium. I was fighting the Valentine Bleeder. The same man who unleashed the wrath of Hromagh on his victims. The same man who was incapable of emotion as he rent limbs from bodies. The same man who… I stopped. There had to be something I could get out of this. Death would teach me nothing. Hromagh desired retribution for my actions. Retribution.

The Valentine Bleeder’s footsteps sounded louder and closer than they could be. Had I become too wrapped up in my idle daydreaming? Unless I broke into a run he was going to be upon me in a matter of seconds. And there was still the weight of his unanswered question hanging in the air.

“I came here,” I began my explanation, “because my uncle asked me to save his soul as he lay dying. Now Hromagh sends you to punish me.” My voice rose in fervor as I continued, “What chance do I stand!?” I could hear the fear in my voice, but I didn’t care. The Bleeder knew what emotions he evoked in others; this would be no surprise to him. “Death will be the last injustice done to me!”

My voice echoed from the mountains and the footsteps of the Bleeder continued forward. No doubt he was grinning sadistically as he closed in, ready to tear me limb from limb. I turned toward the sound, blades at the ready, and waited for the swift hand of justice to deal its first strike.

[Valentine]

As water fell from the sky, matting his hair uncomfortably to his head, Kadarus looked skywards, lamenting silently to himself just how much he hated the Citadel. By entering this room, he was entering an area where his opponent had all the field advantage, where he could twist and turn the battlefield to his own liking and generally make life for the Valentine Bleeder as difficult as possible. His silver hair falling all over his face was uncomfortable yes, but it was not important. The pertinent factor in the rain was that the cascading water was falling down, revealing his outline, as they did so. Luckily or unluckily for him, Kadarus could not yet decide which yet, Ghistre had not noticed.

The rain on the rocky floor was also beginning to give Kadarus away, as each step he took; he displaced water that followed his next footstep, marking out his trail like mud on cement. It was nothing that the Valentine Bleeder did not know; he wanted Ghistre to follow him. This hiding game was fast growing old and it was only so long before his quarry's fear for the invisible enemy was overcome. Before that happened, Kadarus wanted to instill a few more fears.

The Valentine Bleeder concentrated for a brief moment, forgetting about everything in the Citadel arena, and evoked his invisibility spell once more. This time though, to deactivate it. His body hummed and sent pulses through the deluge of rain that fell onto it as his ability stopped twisting and playing with the spectrum of light. A frame appeared out of nothingness, more visible than the one outlined solely by the rain. It wasn’t completely opaque but it was there.

“Death is the last injustice done to everyone, fool!” Kadarus shouted, his body still transitioning from invisible to visible. The process was purposely slowed by the Valentine Bleeder, who wanted the chance for his victim to see the glint in his yellow eyes. He had moved to about ten feet behind Ghistre and his cry would surely have alerted him to Kadarus’ location.

Before those words had left his mouth, color had already returned to his frame as the yellow of eyes, the silver of hair and the red of lips materialized where there was none before. Surely Ghistre could see him now. In a few moments though, as the last parts of Kadarus’ invisibility spell were deactivated, he would be as visible as his quarry before him.

The Valentine Bleeder did not wait though and spoke up anyway, his tone harsh and sharp.

“Do not lie to me, knave. Hromagh does not steal souls,” Kadarus lied. The beast god did indeed steal souls. In fact, the Valentine Bleeder’s one was hidden, sealed in a magical item somewhere on Althanas at this time. But Ghistre was begging and pleading for mercy by pulling at Kadarus’ heartstrings. Unfortunately, he had none.

The spell was all but gone by this point and the Valentine Bleeder stood prominently, a few feet behind Ghistre, his back straight and body taut. His eyes glinted with bloodlust that could match a score of orcs, but his lips betrayed him. They would not twist, they would not turn to show any form of pleasure or emotion. His prey had either lied to him or knew something about Kadarus’ service to Hromagh. Either way, it meant he was more dangerous than the average man.

Still, the Valentine Bleeder knew he had nothing to fear. For, in his right hand, he held a dangerous weapon, the perfectly balanced, murderously sharp katana, Valentine. Its edge seemed to draw in the rain, which hit and rolled off it in a cruel foreshadowing for what would soon be crimson red blood.

“Do you see Valentine?” Kadarus asked, his head angling towards his weapon. “Do you see how it hungers for your blood, how it is never satiated no matter how many fathers or uncles or sons or daughters it devours?”

The malicious yellow eyes of the Valentine Bleeder turned to Ghistre, who by now must have surely seen him.

“Do you see the blade that will end you?”

[Il Amator]

“Hromagh does not steal souls,” the Bleeder told me. I knew it was a lie. The brute merely wanted to play on my emotions before he tore into me with his blade. I turned at the sound of his voice, but it was hard to pinpoint an exact location.

“Do you see the blade that will end you?” came the booming voice from only feet in front of me. The Valentine Bleeder had dropped his invisibility and stood menacingly before me. His sharp-edged katana rested by his side as he inclined his head toward it, drawing my attention. My mind raced through a thousand different scenarios; I knew nothing about what Hromagh’s champion was capable of.

The only thing of which I was certain was this: I had to act.

My uncle would never be able to rest unless I took matters into my own hands, of that I was sure. Spurring myself into action, I closed the distance between me and the Bleeder with quick strides. My dagger held low in a defensive position, I swept my rapier down toward the man’s neck. I had no chance besting the champion with strength; I would have to rely on my agility. Beyond that, my fate rested with the gods.

[Valentine]

(All bunnies from now on approved.)

Ghistre's lips did not move; he did not even show any outward response to Kadarus' taunting words. He stood there, steely, in a pool of his own thoughts. The Valentine Bleeder paid him no heed, knowing that his prey was scared and beginning to turn to children, begging for their lives. He had seen so many act rational and coherent; only to give up before their weapons came close to strike. Only Valentine emerged content on that occasion. Kadarus did not get the sadistic pleasure from toying with an opponent and the enemy did not even get a chance to fight back.

But this one was very different to any other victim. Ghistre knew something about Hromagh or was a very lucky liar. Kadarus knew that the former was true, to a certain extent. If there was information in the beast god within this one's head, then the Valentine Bleeder would have to extract it without splitting a brain in two. He knew little about his Thayne master and would love the opportunity to learn more.

This victim appeared just and honorable, if a bit naive. He could have ran, hid somewhere. Kadarus would eventually have found him but at least he would have lived for a few more days. Perhaps Ghistre was gung ho or simply just stupid, the hungry blade of Valentine cared little. As long as the red fluid flowed within his veins, he could have been the hero of Radasanth and the katana would still drink.

Ghistre then did something that Kadarus did not expect. He attacked. The Valentine Bleeder had expected more lies, maybe a few more stall tactics but he had definitely not expected a sprint and an attack. The charge was slow though and the blade slice predictable even before Ghistre’s muscles had tensed and contracted. Kadarus read the attack all the way, waiting until the last moment before his formidable weapon, so often on the attack, jumped to his defense with blinding speed. With a simple twist of his wrist, Valentine shot up in its master’s hand, the blade turning in the air and finding itself just above Kadarus’ neck. Ghistre’s rapier clanged hard with it, the impact of the defensive maneuver sending the attacker stumbling a few steps backwards.

The Valentine Bleeder did not waver though, taking one quick step backwards before twirling expertly on the spot. He used the momentum of the three hundred and sixty degree turn to add extra power to a smash, that connected well with the side of Ghistre’s torso. So many people had their eye on Valentine that few took the time to see that the sheath which contained it was a weapon in its own right, for it was crafted of iron. The hard metal sent the air shooting out of the stomach that it hit against, knocking the breath out of its target.

Instead of progressing though and going for the kill that he could so easily achieve, Kadarus hung back. He even took a few steps backwards, changing from his battle stance to a posture that was more comfortable, possibly informal at a stretch. The Valentine Bleeder stood up straight, with his katana in his right hand and his iron sheath in his left. His most formidable weapon at that time though, was his glaring yellow eyes which shot invisible arrows into the reeling Ghistre.

“Now tell me, whelp,” Kadarus menaced, Valentine raised into the air so that its extraordinarily sharp tip pointed directly in between Ghistre’s two eyes. “Tell me what you know about Hromagh.”

The Valentine Bleeder advanced, his glimmering weapon’s edge growing ever closer and more intimidating. Not as much though, as his terrifying eyes.

“And no lies. Or your death will be slow… Very slow.”

[Il Amator]

I rejoiced as my rapier closed in on its target; perhaps I had caught the brute off-guard. But then at the last second Valentine whipped up to smash my blade out of the way. The force of the impact made me stumble back, but I kept my footing. No small miracle considering the conditions. I readied another attack as the Bleeder spun in place, probably coming on the attack after my opening strike. I stepped toward him only to double over as his iron sheath crushed my abdomen. The air was forced out of my lungs and it took a few seconds before I was able to breathe again.

Rather than follow his attack while I was vulnerable, the beast god’s champion stood back and allowed me to regain my composure. The now-heavy rain plastered my adversary’s hair to his face, framing piercing yellow eyes with silvery strands. His face betrayed no emotion beneath its iron mask but he growled to me as he raised the katana. “Tell me what you know about Hromagh.”

My mind raced as I contemplated his request. Hromagh’s champion was asking me for information on his master. Was this hulking man perhaps an unwilling slave to the beast god? What could I tell him that he would not already know?

Warily bracing myself for an attack as the brute drew closer, I replied defiantly, “Why waste words? You know your master better than I would.”

The wind howled ferociously and I began slowly backing closer to the center of the arena and the hidden pillar. I still wasn’t sure if the Bleeder could see through my illusion, but it was worth a try. My stomach was sore from the powerful blow and my hands shook slightly out of fear. Swallowing the urge to turn and run, I raised my rapier beside my face and stood my ground. The adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me the false courage to face the beast god's champion and I called to him.

“Do your worst.”

[Valentine]

It was then that Kadarus realized his folly. He had tackled this situation poorly. Amusing himself with this one's fear and trying to extract information about Hromagh at the same time was a foolish move. He did not have the nous to execute such a complicated task. He didn't feel sad or inadequate though like he would have before entering the Thayne’s service. Lately, he had perfect distractions to take his mind off any imperfections in himself. Some people were just meant to do certain things and the Valentine Bleeder was to do only one thing.

Kill.

The rain was growing heavier now, with the tempestuous wind stabbing at his body, sodden with water, like cold darts. H did now waver though because he was almost unfeeling. Kadarus served Hromagh simplemindedly and even though there were times when his mind wandered, they never stayed off track for very long. He was committed to his mission; lesser beings would have balked at the water logged condition, but nothing hindered his mindset. Shivers still coursed through his body, his almost naked torso a losing opponent against the cold. But Kadarus prevailed, his posture and stance not shifting in the least. He just stood, callous, his yellow eyes transfixed on his prey.

The Valentine Bleeder was more resolute now than before, if that was possible. No more games would be played. There would be time to learn of his master when he had served him well. Hands fell to the side, both of his weapons resting against his thighs. Valentine pulsed with magic greed, knowing that the time for it to feast was growing closer.

Kadarus began to advance slowly, his feet lingering in puddles for a brief moment. The ominous sounds of his boots in the water rang through the arena, even over the loud sound of raindrops viciously falling. Ghistre began to shift himself, moving backwards to put more space in between him and his pursuer.

“Run, fool,” the Valentine Bleeder said, his voice the same pitch as a whisper, yet clearly audible. He was not walking any faster, despite the fact that his prey appeared to be eluding him. “I gave you a chance, but you opted for the path of most resistance. I am happy to send you on your merry way.”

He halted now, his head raised so that he could look straight into the Ghistre’s frightened eyes. The rain pummeled the both of them but none showed any signs of faltering underneath the soggy conditions.

“My worst…” Kadarus began, before his voice grew clearly louder as he shouted with every breath that swam through his lungs. “… is pain beyond your mind!”

As soon as the last word left his lips, the Valentine Bleeder charged. His feet moved so fast that they were a black blur. Water spurted in all directions as his feet seemed to smash every puddle on their way forward. Both the katana and its sheathe were held at his side, in an almost aerodynamic fashion that hardly hindered his incredible speed. When he was about five feet away, Kadarus’ knees buckled for one moment as they simultaneously channeled the momentum of the sprint and prepared energy for an colossal jump. He jumped at least ten feet into the air, soaring towards Ghistre like an bird of prey. Every muscle in his body was prepared, each ready with their own individual roles. His left arm would have come across with his iron sheathe, that would have disabled his defenses and then his right arm and the deadly Valentine would end it with one slash.

But there was nothing; only black.

Kadarus blacked out for a moment, his eyes closed themselves and his mind temporarily turned itself off. When he returned to the world, the Valentine Bleeder found himself lying on the ground, a few feet away from Ghistre, who stood strong just in front of him. His back was wet and a thousand stones found their way through the holes in his chain mail and were stabbing into his back like the terrible teeth of a carnivore. Then, he felt it. His entire body was aching in places that they should not be aching.

His enemy’s eyes stared down on him and he tensed his grip around his weapon. That was until he realized that there was nothing in either of his hands. His eyes scanned in all directions and found that his katana lay about twenty feet to his right while its sheathe, lay about the same distance in the opposite direction.

“You crafty bastard,” Kadarus said under his breath. Then, he ‘saw’ what had hit him. Ghistre had used magic to hide an enormous pillar, in the centre of the battlefield, before the Valentine Bleeder’s arrival. His epic leap had caused him to collide painfully with it in an almost comical manner.

“I will…” he tried to mouth a threat, some form of revenge but found that he was in no position.

[Il Amator]

I inched a few steps to my left, finally lining the hidden pillar up in between myself and the Bleeder. He roared his battle cry and raced toward me. I could only hope that he was ignorant of the invisible threat that lay before him.

The brute lunged toward me, soaring high into the air as he did. I smiled as my mind did the calculations for where his leap would take him. And I was right. With a colossal thud, the Valentine Bleeder smashed into the cloaked pillar of adamantite and was thrown through the air. His katana and sheath were ripped from his hands, sent soaring to land yards away.

I watched as he hit the ground and lay there for a few moments. Silently, I stalked my way over to him, wary of a sudden attack. However, the Bleeder laid still, his eyes closed. When I came within a few feet of the man, his eyes slowly opened and he looked around the arena. The mighty impact had shaken the illusion from the pillar and my opponent’s eyes narrowed as he replayed recent events in his minds.

Suddenly with an impossible advantage, my mind raced through the possibilities of what to do. Run to Valentine and try to wield it against its master? Cloak myself and slip away? Attack the Bleeder where he sat? I dismissed every idea as it formed; deciding that each was too predictable.

My glamour magic could serve me well again; illusion was the only weapon I had against the brute. Summoning the power with subtle twists of my fingers, I cast a web over Valentine from where I stood. In the corner of my eye, I saw the shock begin to wear off my enemy and I hurried the spell. The katana disappeared from sight as the Bleeder rose to his knees, his eyes still locked on me in a death stare.

I didn’t know what connection that champion had with his blade, but with any luck he would be hard pressed to find it. The illusion rendered it completely invisible; rain fell from the sky and hit the ground where it lay. No telltale outline marked its place. As Hromagh’s warrior rose, I circled toward his iron sheath.

Luck would dictate the next move in this battle.

[Valentine]

Kadarus' body rose remarkably quickly, his recovery aided by one of Hromagh’s gifts. His superhuman strength ensured that his bones and muscles were capable of handling the impact of such titanic might. A clumsy clattering against the pillar was enough to stun him, but not even a blow of his own accord was sufficient to put him down. The Valentine Bleeder advanced with renewed purpose, with thoughts of revenge and anger circling his mind like sharks around drowning sailors. The blood was in the water and Kadarus was ready to bite a chunk off and feast. Ghistre did not stand a ghost of a chance.

Finding out more about the beast god of the Thayne was the last thing on his mind as he charged forward, blindingly fast, doing Hromagh's bidding after much time wasting on small talk and attempted intimidation. It was high time that the Valentine Bleeder lived up to his name. In a blink, he was upon his target before a gasp could leave his lips. Kadarus' right arm shot forward, his sword arm grabbing an unusual new object. His fingers coiled around the Ghistre’s neck like snakes, scattering the last remnants of breath from the body. All of his Thayne given might was focused into his right hand, its vice like grip crushing the windpipe with enviable ease. Yellow eyes bore into frightened counterparts, watching the clamber for forgiveness, for mercy, for anything that would end the pain.

Kadarus lifted Ghistre off the ground and like a spoilt child, chucked his toy away, for that was how easy it was for him. Like the rag doll, he flew, colliding painfully with the Adamantite pillar from which unfelt bruises still littered Kadarus' face. Ghistre was out of breath and was struggling to get more and the harsh throw had broken at least a few bones in his body. His eyes still had the strength to open, but they must have wished to be closed. In his blurred vision, the only things that he could see were Kadarus’ yellow eyes advancing slowly on him.

Fingers wrapped around Ghistre's neck once more, only this time they were used to lift his body off the ground before harshly pushing it against the pillar.

“You like games don’t you, Brammas?” Kadarus asked, his eyes burning holes with their wrath. “Why don’t you play one we all like? Try and breathe.”

The Valentine Bleeder tightened his grip, squeezing ever harder, putting every last ounce of strength into the killing blow. He was angry, no, he was furious that he had wasted his time when this could have occurred so much earlier. Even the absence of his weapon, which continuously called out to him to be included in the massacre, did not deter him.

“I do not need any weapon to end you,” Kadarus’ pale lips said. Patronizing and sadistic as his words may be, his lips did not move did not twist to form any sort of expression other than neutrality. His face did not waver, his emotions did not shift, nothing at all happened even after the last bits of life were snuffed out of Brammas Ghistre and his lifeless body slumped down against the pillar.

Disgusted, Kadarus turned and left, his disappointed weapon firmly in his grasp, consoled by one fact. There would be more hunts and even more prey. This hunger would never be satiated.

[Il Amator]

The Bleeder’s yellow eyes felt as if they pierced my very soul. He advanced on me with inhuman speed and clamped his massive hands on my neck. I struggled for breath that would not come as he slowly lifted me up in the air. I felt each raindrop strike my face as time slowed and my vision blurred. The Valentine Bleeder grunted as he launched my limp body across the arena to smash into the pillar at its center. The irony; that my secret weapon would so easily be used against me.

I had underestimated the hulking man. He cared not for games or tricks; he wanted only to kill. By hiding his sword, I had only given him yet another weapon. His rage. Bones shattered as my back struck the adamantite pillar. I felt blood ooze from the places where bone punctured through flesh. Pain raced across my brain, triggering untold levels of agony. It was so excruciating that I felt parts of my body begin to numb. My lungs fought valiantly for air, but none would come. The brute had destroyed my windpipe.

He closed the distance between us effortlessly and raised me up by my throat again. “I do not need any weapon to end you,” he growled as his hands closed ever tighter. My legs convulsed slightly as the lifeforce crept out of my and soon he let my limp body fall to the ground. I heard my opponent walk away and then, nothing.

The rain stopped pounding my skin; the dark clouds hiding the moon apparently vanished. The small pebbles beneath me which had been digging into my arms and legs melted away. Sunlight beamed down on me as my body was lifted into the air by a thousand tiny strings. I could not force open my eyes, nor could I even move my body. Somewhere beyond me, I heard sweet music drifting through the air. And then there was a voice.

Soft, yet commanding, the voice sounded from all around me. At the same time, it came from nowhere. Words materialized in my mind, “Warrior.” I did not recognize the language of the words, but I understood them all the same. “Warrior,” the voice intoned. “You please me. As such, I will intercede on your behalf on this matter.” With those words, my pain vanished. A warm glow emanated from deep within me, spreading quickly until my entire body pulsated with divine light.

“I am V’dralla the Fair,” came the voice once more. “Worry not over Hromagh’s wrath, for you are mine now. Kadarus Salidan blocked the healing power of the Ai’Bron monks; you would have died.” The female voice was solemnly silent for a few moments before continuing. “I return you now to the firmament.”

A burning goddess. A fell beast. A portrait of solitude.

I found myself standing in the lobby of the Citadel as my vision cleared. Monks ran up to me from all sides, many speaking overtop of one another. “Master Ghistre, we thought you were lost to us,” one of the monks told me. Looking down the hall toward the door to my battlefield, I saw that the Valentine Bleeder had smashed it to bits. Without a connection to the arena, the monks would not have been able to heal me. V’dralla had indeed saved my life.

I could worry about the consequences of her intervention later, right now I just wanted to get something to drink and forget about the day’s events. As quickly as possible.

Spoils:
I know this is an odd thread, and as such, I have an odd request. Brammas will eventually realize the powers and limitations given to him by V'dralla, but he has no idea right now. Therefore, I ask for additional abilities and upgrades to be available on my lvl 1 update (in addition to the usual). Please consider this.

If that is not possible, then just award Brammas the usual EXP and GP.

[Zook Murnig]

Quest Judging
A Plague on Your House

Despite this being a battle, the two of you requested that this be judged as a quest. I will honor that request, but I still feel that the writing I saw here warrants individual battle scoring in addition to the combined quest scoring. Il Amator's score will be first, then Valentine's, then your combined score, in each category.

STORY ~ 18/30 23.5/30 20.75/30

Continuity ~ 7/10 8/10 7.5/10 Il Amator, you provided a lot of backstory in the beginning, which showed relatively clearly why Ghistre was there, and at the end I got a feel for where he was going, but not a definite one. Valentine, you provided backstory throughout on who Kadarus once was, and it made me truly intrigued that he had become such a monster. In the end, I got a similar amount of information on where he was going as Il Amator gave. You're just going to keep serving your Thayne master, and Ghistre will learn more of his own master.
Setting ~ 6/10 6.5/10 6.25/10 This is where you both were about even. However, it's strange that the challenger, Valentine, made more use of the setting in his posts than the defender, Il Amator, who created the setting. Valentine made great use of the adamantine pillar both in his headlong leap into it, set up by Amator, and in his strangling of Ghistre. Still, this would have been higher if you hadn't regularly forgotten the setting. After the beginning of the thread, I got no reminders of the fact that you were in Scara Brae's Windlacer Mountains. The rain seemed to come and go in your posts as you saw fit to describe it.
Pacing ~ 5/10 9/10 7/10 Il Amator, you need to work on something I've seen here, which is that you like to repeat the events of the previous post from your character's perspective. That's great, sort of. While it gives perspective and shows how your character reacted, it also bogs the post down. That said, why don't you try giving Ghistre's perspective as a glance back, referencing the actions peripherally by saying stuff about how his ribs ached from the throw or something like that. It got really tiring when a lot of stuff happened, and it seemed like you were using that to beef up your post length. On the other hand, you did grab me pretty well with the backstory, and kept me tied to the thread with that.

CHARACTER ~ 18.5/30 23/30 20.25/30

Dialogue ~ 6.5/10 8/10 7.25/10 There wasn't much dialogue, though as a fight I didn't expect much. Still, the interaction, and the words that were and weren't said were a contributing factor to this score. Valentine really showed who he was with the words he spoke, the way he spoke them, and the intimidating undertone. Ghistre, too, had some good dialogue, though there were awkward bits, like when he was talking to the monks or hearing V'dralla's voice.
Action ~ 5/10 7/10 6/10 The action in this thread was great. But it was one-sided. Ghistre did a few things that spoke to his character, and added to the story, but Valentine did a LOT more. It seemed to me that every major event happened in Valentine's posts, and Il Amator was along for the ride, providing reactions and perspective.
Persona ~ 7/10 8/10 7.5/10 I got a good feel for each of your characters. Very little seemed forced, and nothing contrived. Good job.

WRITING STYLE ~ 21.5/30 23.5/30 22.5/30

Technique ~ 5.5/10 7.5/10 6.5/10 Il Amator used some interesting literary devices, and he started out with a flourishing writing style, but that seemed to fall once the action got started. There are ways to describe a fight artistically, as Valentine showed. Compare it to a hunt, to a battle of wills, to land and sea taking territory back and forth from each other. Personification of the Valentine blade really helped here for Valentine.
Mechanics ~ 9/10 8/10 8.5/10 I saw only a couple slip-ups from Il Amator, and a couple more from Valentine. Watch for typos and proofread your posts!
Clarity ~ 7/10 8/10 7.5/10 I got pretty much everything. I'm no expert on the Thayne, so I don't know everything that was going on with regards to that, but I understood that it was largely a motivating force in this thread and not an active force.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 6/10 8/10 7/10 I enjoyed this thread. Very few overriding complaints other than the repetition. Other than that, there was very little wrong with the battle, but a lot more could have been right. I see a lot of potential here.

TOTAL ~ 64 78 70.5

Il Amator receives 595.7 EXP and 98.7 GP
Valentine receives 2150.9 EXP and 84.6 GP

Il Amator's request is denied on the grounds that all characters are to upgrade at the same rate according to their level, whether they're the chosen of a god or not.

If you have any questions about the judgment or how you can improve, PM me or send me a message on AIM, screen name SuperSonicMatt1.

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!