Team Registration: Fire and Ink

[Inkfinger]

Team Name: Napalm Artisans
Team Members: Aeraul Smythe & Cael Strandssen
Links to Characters: Aeraul (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17836), Cael (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17816)

[Inkfinger]

The tunnels and cells beneath the Cathedral of Saint Denebriel were, on the best days, a confusing maze that only the most rat-like beings could truly navigate with any ease. Hallways tended to end in closed doors sealed with arcane markings, or blank walls, or – in a few, unfortunate places – just empty air, sheer drops where rocks and things thrown didn’t make a sound for hours after.

Today - or possibly tonight, it was hard to tell in the dull subterranean gloom - was no different. Had it not been for Cael Inkfinger's ace-in-the-hole he probably would have already been dead or (worse) back in his cell, waiting for the next round of tormentors to come knocking.

It had taken the Inkmage the full month and a half of his imprisonment - an unfortunate consequence of a rebellion (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=135320) gone very, very wrong - to chip away enough mortar from around the bricks and rings his manacles had been mounted to. The manacles themselves clanked from his wrist and ankles now; he hadn't even taken the time to try and work them off his body. He'd just taken his opening and ran, stopping only in a storeroom – strangely deserted – to try and reclaim his belongings.

The two guards he'd turned the corner into the moment he'd stepped from the storeroom thought they had him trapped now, in a portals room that the war outside had driven into disuse...

That was where the ace-in-the-hole came in.

"Look, man, it can’t really be that bad, can it?" The voice came through the door in a young-man's exasperated whine. "I mean, I know you're practically every prisoner down here's bitch, and half the damn guards and that one clerk upstairs, but that's no real reason to want to leave, is it?”

Cael tightened the straps of his reclaimed rucksack over his stolen naginata’s harness, ignoring the jibes despite the humiliated flush in his ears. He answered for the first time since he’d locked the door with the head guard's filched key instead - being a poor, defenseless, harmless scribe had an advantage or two, at times. “You're new around here, aren’t you?” He asked as he squared his shoulders, pale blue eyes scanning over the dim, cold arch set in the corner with a tired smile.

He didn't really listen for confirmation. "They didn’t tell you much about me besides that, did they?" His sore, filthy fingers reached out to brush over the pristine white marble, leaving trails of dirt in their wake. "They couldn’t have," he answered his own question, voice harsh, as light flickered along the edges. "Or you never would have let me reach this room, you know that?" He waited to let the guard think about that for a second. "Have fun explaining this to your boss."

“Where is he?!"

"I-in there?"

"Damnit, he’s got my keys, why didn't you just break the damn door down, he doesn't need a talisman to use that thi-" He heard the gratifying sound of the head guard -a voice he knew far too well- yelling over the crackling hiss of the portal waking up –

And then he was Somewhere Else Entirely.


*

Some will tell you instantaneous travel feels like being drunk, or having your entire body pulled into your navel, or existing more than one place at a time. Some compare it to falling, some to climbing, and, to an extent, they are all right. It’s all a matter of perception and personality and the particular method of traveling.

Cael, personally, had always likened it to being lit on fire (only the flames didn’t hurt), burned to ashes, and having those ashes blown on the wind to a place where they were smashed back together again in (hopefully) the right places. And it usually did feel like that.

This time, though, it felt more as each individual ash was being dragged backwards through a very prickly hedge, and then –once they cleared the hedge- gorilla glued back together by the very primates that gave the adhesive its name.

Once all the pieces were back together, he had the very unnerving feeling that that same primate was shoving him into an already occupied space, current occupant be -quite literally- damned. There was a secondary sensation - almost a flash - of moist warmth and a smell like a room full of hot pennies and rotting meat. When reality rudely reasserted itself, the sensation was gone, but he was standing in a puddle of...

He looked down at his bare feet, against his better judgment.

Gods that's a lot of red.

[Aeraul Smythe]

Picture a man in his mid-to-late 30's, give or take a lifetime. One of those rogueish gents whose eventual descendants are all played by Harrison Ford, always wind up with The Girl at the end of the movie in question, and occupy positions as diverse as interstellar smuggler, tomb raiding archaeologist, world leader, grizzled detective, CIA agent, immigrations mook, bellhop, hippy, and beach patrol cop. Striking man at that, dressed in the urbane camouflage of someone used to sneaking into high society get-togethers, having the nobleman's daughter(s, and occasionally sons) in the wine cellar, then making off with a priceless artifact or thirty. His name was Willard van Krausman, a Coronian national and a wealthy employer who had received an invitation from the Cabal and got the best hired help he could find on short notice.

And Willard, being Willard, had arrived fashionably late to the demonstration after having his way with an opposing team-to-be. He hadn't rehearsed the routine he and his retainer were going to use for the demonstration -- the one that would keep their respective bits where their respective gods had put them -- and he showed up stinking of alcohol and sex and markedly poor hygiene for someone who probably had eighty-two kids by as many fawning noble girls.

Willard greeted Aeraul, his retainer, with a groggy smile and a simple, "Hello," then turned to bow to the assemblage of Cabal representatives; the people who would judge whether or not the two of them would actually join the tournament.

Silence. The representatives waited.

"Say your name," Aeraul mumbled at him. For reference, he had actually shown up fully armed and good to go, having laundered and meditated and even eaten his medieval wheaties with goat milk and a rabbit on a stick. Because everything is better on a stick.

"Ah," because only peasants say Oh. "My name is-"

FZZNK-SPLURCH!

Uniform silence followed; the kind where you just have no idea what to say. Mostly because, in its entire history, Althanas has only ever seen a blessed few true telefragging incidents. Most of which were about as messy as this one, which left one of Willard's lungs and a length of intestine draped across Aeraul's shoulder and neck like an especially exotic boa. It could've been worse. One of the judges now wore Willard's face, backwards, and another had Willard's man-bits lodged securely in her hair.

Sufficed to say, everything was covered in blood. Except for the guy who did it. Scrawny little street-rat bastard compared to the six foot six wall of muscle and civility that was Aeraul, holding a naginata and looking fidgety and perplexed and not at all like he could pay the remaining chunk of the retainer Willard had owed Aeraul.

Aeraul considered this for a few seconds, as he unwrapped the intestines from his neck with great care and dignity. He plucked the lung off after that, then calmly cleared his throat and asked, "Excuse me. My name is Aeraul. Who are you?"

Fidgeting. Then, "Cael, er, Cael Inkfinger."

Silence. The judges nodded approvingly. Give or take Willard's leavings.

"Pleased to meet you," the runt said, as the situation in general finally dawned on him.

"Likewise," Aeraul said, and then reached for his dao. Both of them. "Hope you can use that thing, by the way." Twing!, or whatever sound happens when you draw swords in a flashy manner. "I'll explain later. Try not to die, please."

[Inkfinger]

Cael barely had time to discard his rucksack before Aeraul was on the attack in a controlled flurry of blades that it took all of Cael’s skill to counter. Even then it was close: he felt the hot brush of metal against his knuckles more than once. He didn’t stop to focus on that, backpedaling frantically to keep the towering man at range – he just thought of the request: try not to die.

He’d even said please.

So Cael tried. He didn’t even think about the fact that he was using the naginata in mostly the way it was meant to be used - it was just happening. He managed to get enough distance to venture a slash across Aeraul’s chest, across and down, but the naginata’s blade struck a dao’s blade before it could even brush armor, rebounding off lower than would make for a good guard position.

And Aeraul took advantage of it too, lunging in to catch the naginata’s shaft between his blades and twist, just so. The naginata flew from his hands to slam into the front of the judge’s desk, where it stayed, quivering in the wood.

The judges didn't even blink as Aeraul’s broad arm slammed across the base of Cael's throat, flipping him off his feet. He had the brief view of things from upside down, bracing himself to hit the floor –if the time he’d spent imprisoned had taught him nothing else, it had taught him how to fall- but it never happened. Instead, Aeraul caught his arm and sent him flying backwards, still upside down.

He landed hard -though not as hard as he had been expecting- and moderately right side up, rolling, clumsily, to his feet. He barely even noticed the scorched scent rising from his already-ragged clothes as he grabbed the chain around his wrist and lashed it out -like a clumsy whip- at Aeraul’s legs...

Or that was the idea, really.

He hadn't expected the fireball to the face.

[Aeraul Smythe]

Picture a squirrel in the forest.

It chitters around, so very innocently, munching on nuts and stowing them away for the inevitably harsh winter ahead. It makes mating sounds, it chases around its rivals, and once in a great while, it dons a ninja mask and assassinates the local woodpecker. In all, the squirrel is one of nature's most timid, chipper, avoidant, friendly, and above all else, amusing creatures.

As a consequence of his time learning how to chuck fireballs at things (and of his time learning how to chuck fireballs at things while very, very hungry), Aeraul knew exactly what it sounds like when a squirrel goes from snuggly bushy-tailed nut-ninja to Crispy Afternoon Snack in about the same amount of time it takes to blink. It's a high pitched SQUIYAFFLRGH sound, just so you know. And it's also the same sound issued by Cael Inkfinger when nailed in the face by a fist-sized fireball at six or seven feet. The scrawny little mage immediately flopped backwards with his limbs flailing about, casting the chain away as he fell.

This wouldn't be worth mention, except for the part where the chain hit the half-orc in the groin.

For reference, Aeraul's response was about the same as the squirrel's. Down he went, and he didn't get up for a good long while.

They looked pretty pathetic. A few of the Judges chortled under their breath, and one of them eventually, pointedly, cleared her throat to say, "We will call upon you with our decision when...the decision...has been made." She was fumbling for words, of course. After the brilliant conclusion to that little...demonstration, you could hardly blame her...

[Taskmienster]

Judged by Taskmienster, reviewed by Mathias, Max Dirks, and Remaeus. Panel A.



Judgment Time! So, this is just a skeletal rubric we will be using later on in the tournament, just so that the opening registration threads will be done quickly and proficiently. That being said, this is also a way for you to understand what is expected of the full rubric and get a good feel. If you have any questions on how things work you are free to contact me at any time for assistance. I am also going to be putting in ‘general notes’ at the end of the judgment, with a post signifier [post number] so that you can go back and look over the part that I commented. This is for your convenience only, not something that all mods will do, and is not required, but something that I like to add in for further help. Just for reference, a 2.5 out of 5 is the pure median for a score, so don't worry, it's not like... 'epic fail'-ness. Haha.


Story (3.5/5)




~This section is most notably used for how well you did. In the full rubric it will be split into three different parts: Continuity, Setting, and Pacing. Continuity is the section regarding the background of who your character is and where they came from, without a good bit of reflection on your back story it’s difficult for the reader to understand most other categories that are also being looked over. Setting is the part of the judging that is pretty much self explanatory. A good setting not only shows the reader as well as the participants of the thread were you are and what’s around, but also involves the tactical and practical use of the setting your character is interacting with. Final section of Story is the Pacing. This is the most complex of parts to analyze, normally. However, in a battle the pacing of the story is the intent of the writer to keep the reader on the edge of their seats, build the suspense well, and let it dwindle correctly.~

~Both of you gave a very good background for the characters, telling me where they came from, tying in your personal backgrounds with the current storyline as well as how you got there. Thankfully that helped integrate your personalities into the thread as well, which in all honestly boded well for all the sections later on too! The setting was explained, a little, but not all too well. I got that you were in front of a group of Cabal that were going to be judging you based on the actions taken in the thread, but that was about it. They had a desk, but how big was the room, what did it look like, was it dark or light? I get that Cael came into the place in a bloody mess, but you gave me no description of the senses other than that you were disgruntled at looking down. Don’t forget to write in smell, sight, taste, how it felt… it all helps. And I trust that it was mostly passed over in favor of word count, so it’s not going to be held against you to much.

~As far as the pacing goes, it was REALLY quick, but since we’re judging these quick little examples of writing I understand that the bunnying of both characters as well as the overly quick pace was probably due to the fact that you had to do so in order to compensate for the word count limitations.




Character (4/5)




~This section is looked in regards to another three parts: Dialogue, Action, and Persona. Each of these is rather simple to explain, compared to the story section. Action is a matter of following actions and a direction that makes sense for your character. If your character is a powerhouse then his actions sulking and hiding wouldn’t make much sense, same goes for if your character is a spy or assassin, up front confrontation wouldn’t make sense either. Dialogue is self explanatory, what you say, but it is not just that simple either. Dialogue pertains to whether your character is speaking in ways that make sense. A quiet character wouldn’t talk a lot, but maybe have inner thoughts instead, a cocksure character might stop in the middle of a fight to talk a lot, or a character whose persona isn’t either probably wouldn’t pull away from conflict to give a long speech. Persona is how well you keep ‘in character’, it is not just a part controlled by what you say your character does, but how he performs actions and why he does so. This section is contributed to by dialogue, action, pacing, continuity, and to a degree setting.~

~Not much to say other than both of you did exquisitely well with this. Your actions were hasty, but I outlined my reason for somewhat disregarding it in light of the word count mentioned above in pacing. The characters that you both have are dynamic and not straightforward or bland, and you portrayed this through your writing better than anything else that I saw. The dialogue that you both had was strong, though I feel that Aeraul’s was not quite as good as Cael’s, though that’s due mostly to the opening post and the dialogue between the guards that helped that out.




Writing Style (4/5)




~The final section is the compilation of the final three parts: Technique, Mechanics, and Clarity. Technique is the section that we delve into your personal style of writing, in regards to ‘advanced’ styles of writing. The use of alliteration, foreshadowing, and metaphors or similes are going to heighten this score. Of course, stylistic uses of technique that go against proper grammar are also goo ways to use Technique, and will not be counted against you in the next section. Mechanics is the grammatically correct part of the judgment. How many mistakes you made with spelling, punctuation, and other mistakes is how this section is scored. Clarity is by far the most simple to judge. Were all the other sections clear? Was the way you told the story clear? Was your writing clear? That is what the entire section of clarity is about~

~The excessive use of hyphens somewhat detracts from the overall appeal of the way the thread is read. Try and use less than you did so that it looks much better. Other than that, you both have a very funny and unique writing style which offers the reader a very interesting story to read. However, it felt way overdone in the final post, with the long and drawn out description of a squirrel… Keep up the style that you both have, but make sure that you don’t overdo it to the point where the reader is drawn back and asks themselves ‘wtf mate’? Other than that, it was clear and concise, well done and I look forward to seeing more in the future.




Total: (11.5/15)

General Notes




~He’d even said please. [4]~ My only real comment is this, the part that came before it was the request that said “try not to die”, so the following sentence (the one quoted) would feel better written if it said “He’d even [say] please.”