The Decimation Duo - Aralak and Lucien!

[Lord Synical]

Team Name: The Decimation Duo
Team Members: Lucien Senus-Lytharih & Aralak Mogra'thir
Link to Profiles: Lucien (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17702), Aralak (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17762).
Battle: Posted. If requested, we will write out the rest of the battle.

[Aralak Mogra'thir]

The fine sand had tasted blood. Human blood, orc blood, elf blood, it made not a drop of difference. The dust knew the flavour of the flowing scarlet liquor that had slaked its thirst and it craved it in abundance, but the thirst that the dry grains felt was made insignificant by the clamour of the crowd, drunk on bloodlust.
A craggy and crevassed face waited in the shadows, observing the bright sunlight as it made the sand shimmer with crimson orbs framed by thick orange eyebrows that sat either side of a sharp nose that that was in turn set above a solid jaw. The figure drew deep a draught of air, relishing the atmosphere: the enthusiasm of the crowd around him, the acrid smell of a hundred dead men’s passing, and the blazing heat of the midday sun that reminded him of a small tribal war camp on the edge of the wastes. Resting a heavy, jade green skinned left hand on the weary portcullis that separated him from the spectacle ground, the orc examined closely his mighty axe, brushing the shaft’s binding with his thumb to remove any grit that might impair his grip.
Without warning, there came a metallic clank. The orc swiftly withdrew his hand and the bitter iron before him gave a tremendous shudder and began to rise into the archway overhead. Once it was high enough, he ducked under it and jogged out into the arena, his footing sure on the uneven sand, the axe held just below the head, loosely in his left hand. There was a tremendous uproar from the multitude of spectators. Gazing at the stands that towered around him on all sides, the warrior noticed that not one of the many thousand multi-tiered seats was empty. Most of them were shouting insults at him, or making rude gestures. ‘Of course,’ he thought to himself with a wry grin, ‘the elf will be the crowd favourite.’ None the less, somewhere off to his left were a group of his dedicated supporters, cheering and chanting his name, “Aralak, Aralak, Aralak!” He faced them as he raised his axe in both hands, gave a deafening roar, and swung it once about his head. It was all part of the display, and he would give this crowd a show that would be worthy of memory for decades to come. All he needed was his foe.

[Lord Synical]

Heat meant little to the elven paladin, an insignificant pinprick to a greater blade of anxiety firmly embedded in his ribs. He was here of his own will, of course. But there had been coercing involved; a cryptic call that alluded to little other than power and glory. Wary, his gauntleted left hand stroked the dark leather of the freshly wrapped hilt connected to the crystalline blade of his fabled longsword; the hand-and-a-half length of the hilt itself allowing for mobility in combat that he relied on for an edge in close quarters.
Pupils of molten gold and ringed with crimson irises peered out with a practised scrutiny at the unforgiving sands that made up the arena bed, naught but confidence glimmering behind the rounded surface of his near-unmarked helm. It was smooth, perfectly forged to flow around the two narrow eyes slits that allowed Lucien relatively unimpeded vision with the exception of his peripheral.
A putrid stench of unrelenting madness permeated the heat-laden air, merciless rays of the golden sun reflected from the white sand in a shimmering display of light. He could play on that, more than easily. Shifting his right hand to the iron grills of the worn gate before him, the crown-prince perused his options within the confines of his mind.
There was no shame in retreat, if not outright surrender. His foe was an orc warlord; a berserker of some renown. “Aralak Mogra’thir...” The name rolled off his tongue with a melodic perfection, harmonious in its chorus of syllables, whilst Lucien pondered his circumstance further. It was due to the pyromancer’s musings that he only became aware of the grating of gears when the portcullis was groaning upwards from the holsters that sheltered its blunt, spiked bottom from sight.
Vertebrae straightening, the paladin tilted his armoured head somewhat as the gate clicked into place above; the elf drawing in a steady breath before drawing his blade in his right hand and hooking his shield upon his left forearm; striding out at a height of six feet and ten inches to the roars of the crowd. ’Blood lusting savages... I will give them their so badly craved performance.’ The venomous thought skittered upon the inside of his mind as he formed the void.
It was an ancient warrior art, a means of attaining complete inner sanctity. The knight summoned forth an image of flame and within he poured all his thoughts and emotions, coalescing into a nothingness that detached him from the physical world. Someone else’s arm brandishes a shimmering crystal-bladed longsword, someone else’s eyes transfixed on the green figure of his opponent.
Someone else’s body surging with soul energy, in anticipation of battle being joined.

[Aralak Mogra'thir]

So here he was, the fabled elf prince himself. Aralak was not sure what he had expected of his foe, but he had certainly thought that he would be taller. The armour was exactly as the orc had anticipated, a shining masterpiece of foreign alloys edged with silver and encrusted with jewels like barnacles upon the underside of a galleon. It was, to the berserker’s eyes, excessively theatrical and leaning more towards the aesthetic than functionality, however he would take great care not to underestimate it.
Nothing but a direct hit from his axe would be able to rend such mail, the smooth plates were free of dents or scratches where a blade might be persuaded to stick and shear the steel. In contrast, the war chief’s own armour was a mismatched affair of plundered plates bound against a layer of beaten leather. It was mediocre in comparison, but that would be immaterial if the elf never got close enough to land a hit, and with the five foot reach of his axe, Aralak had the advantage over his foe’s longsword.
Standing in the centre of the arena, the warrior lowered his axe, bringing the shaft across his body. He held the weapon with his left hand loosely, supporting the weight of its head while he gripped it firmly in his right, just above the foot long iron spike. He felt the metal binding of the handle against his fingers and the palms of his meaty hands even through his coarse woven gloves and was reassured by it. Of all that he had seen of the world, here was something he could trust. Testing his grip on the sand, he set his feet apart by the width of his shoulders with his right leg slightly behind him and bent his knees a little, bringing his centre of gravity closer to the ground. There was a matter of pride at stake here, the elf would want to vanquish him quickly so that it could not be said that an orc had fought him to a standstill. Aralak could use that.
His breathing controlled and precise, the berserker flexed blue painted muscles and prepared to face his foe. He was first into the arena and held the middle ground, the crowd would expect the elf to come to him.

[Lord Synical]

Distractions would not be tolerated; the derisive crowd was cast out from Lucien’s mind the guttural peasant rabble unworthy of a prince's notice, his pulsing crimson eyes narrowed upon Aralak. ’Defensive position... he expects me to attack front-on, hm?’ Flourishing his blade and reaffirming his grip, he launched forwards off plate booted feet to the screaming approval of the crowd, their parched hearts waiting to be soaked by the blood-drunk euphoria of live combat.
At the last minute, Lucien shifted position mid-charge; twisting his body to the right and leaning towards his point of origin. The prince’s shield was hefted to form a slight angular crouch as armoured knees bent to support a slide through the sand; sending the coarse grains like a cloud of angry gnats up towards the orc’s eyes with the encouragement of his boots. As an added bonus the reflection of the sun off The Phoenix Aegis landed squarely in the orc’s face. Taking advantage of the momentum, Lucien pushed his shield forwards and slightly raised to counter any axe wrought vengeance; Silthrim striking through beneath the shield in a relatively basic stab towards the warlord’s midriff. It was a simple move, but likely one not expected.
Pride was for fools, and Lucien was no fool.

[Aralak Mogra'thir]

While his foe endeavoured to blot out the sounds, the sensations, the life of the arena, Aralak welcomed it. The crowd were his warband, and as his warriors did they both respected and despised him. Whether they loved him or loathed him, his victory was their victory and he would make their strength his own. He let their anticipation for the coming bloodshed fill him, encouraged their stamping and cheering to become the rhythm by which he would fight this battle. The orc’s crimson eyes followed his adversary’s every step and he donned a stony countenance that would deny his foe any hint into his intent.
The seconds trickled by like eternity, and then the elf leapt into action. Aralak had moments to react before the paladin would be upon him like a vengeful angel, the vessel of divine wrath. He perceived three options: block, dodge, or attack. Avoiding the attack would be foolish; it would leave him off balance and with uncertain footing. The other two options were equally appealing as each other, which left only the matter of which one his foe was less likely to anticipate. Up until now, Aralak had played a façade that suggested he was content to take a defensive role in the opening stages of this battle; it was possible that a sudden change to more offensive tactics might catch his foe off guard.
The elf was close now, only about eleven feet away. Aralak raised his battleaxe and swung it in a powerful horizontal sweep from left to right, releasing it from his left hand as he powered the swing with his right.
The crowd roared in exultation, but instead of rending flesh, the orc felt the jarring impact of metal crashing into metal quake his arm. The axe had glanced off The Phoenix Aegis, leaving a gash of torn metal across the visage of the mythical beast. The shock of the blow having already made Aralak unsteady on his feet, the fountain of sand that issued from the elf’s foot drove him back, fortunately out of reach of the longsword. Struggling to regain his footing, the orc swung his axe back wildly from right to left, preventing his foe from advancing and so hopefully buying the time he needed to regain his guarding stance.

[Lord Synical]

The fearsome impact of axe on shield sent a shock through Lucien’s arm, though he forbade it to affect him. ’Smart bastard... I’m going to feel that one later. Anticipated or not, he’s strong...’ Dancing backwards from the swinging battleaxe, the pyromancer felt the invigorating tide of adrenaline flood through his veins. Life, it seemed, became suddenly brighter. Dormant muscles awoke and he moved like a viper; feinting left, half-stabbing towards his opponent’s right then pivoting on his left heel in a small spray of sand and leading a three hundred and sixty degree right spin with a flipped blade; the longsword inverted in his grip so that if his arm was straight; the crown-prince would have the ethereal construct pointed towards himself.
Due to the nature of the turn and angle of the weapon; his right arm formed an inwards V shape, the sword reverse-held for the point to aim at Aralak. It was a risky move, more often than not considered a feint in and of itself to lure an enemy in. It left the sword arm exposed to harsh reprimand; but the elf’s countenance belied naught save confidence. He was immaculate in his form, a blademaster worthy of his title. This was his life, this conflict was the thrill for which he existed. All men held vices: damaging liquor, gambling or foreign women. For the Prince; only war mattered; only the pinnacle of battle born perfection.
Fights such as these usually held little appeal to him; often they were nothing more than vain struggles of steel by men with no free will; gladiators whose only purpose was to make their owners look good. Slaves... he was no slave. He had accepted, had condemned himself to this utter humiliation for a chance; one opportunity to prove his worth, to test his mettle against the best of the best. He could not be defeated here, he would not allow it.

[Ataraxis]

As judged by Ataraxis, with scores and comments discussed and agreed upon by Ebivoulya and Tristam, the members of Panel B.

Trial Judging
Team 'Decimation Duo'

Good day and well met! I'll be your judge this evening. As a general note, I'd say you two displayed quite a bit of skill here, and I'm fairly impressed. There were, however, a few shortcomings that should be rather easy for the two of you to overcome. In any case, I'll let the Rubric do the talking!

N.B.: As a note, you might want to space out your paragraphs in the actual round battles. As it is, the battle has a rather unappealing format for reading.

Story – 3.125/5
While I understand why you stinted on the storytelling aspect, you could have achieved an easy extra point by inserting a few extra lines to put the reader into context. As I entered the battle you two weaved, I kept wondering what exactly was happening, or what led them to fight other than their personal motivations. Naturally, you don’t need to mention the Cabal (as some write prior to arriving to the Garden of Secrets). The thing is, I didn’t know whether you were battling in your homeworld or battling in a GoS arena. I didn’t know what circumstances led an Elf prince to fight an Orc war-chief in front of a raving crowd on a sandy arena. Dealing with this information shouldn’t take more than a sentence or two from each of you, as the reader won’t need an exhaustive retelling of your characters’ history. A little bit of insight into who they are beyond ‘Elf Prince’ and ‘Orc War-Chief’, while not necessary in the trial, could also have given you a small bonus. Insight into a character is, of course, expected in the actual ToC battles.

On a lighter note, I think you both did excellently with the setting. Aralak did a wonderful job at giving a generally accurate yet light descriptions that set the atmosphere for the battle, while Synical took care of the details (the reflection of the sun on the sand, the dust clouds as he moved) on which he could capitalize in this fight. Therefore, you both also did fairly well in the ‘setting interaction’ department. My only qualm here would be that you both tend to over-write your descriptions, either in detail or in style. It can become thick at times with a slew of descriptive adjectives or simply excessive as you sometimes reach the level of ‘purple prose’. Just finding a good balance of detail and simplicity would make your team an even bigger force to be reckoned with. It would also improve your pacing, which faltered whenever the reader encountered theses instances of flowery language.
Character – 3.5/5
Dialogue is still considered, but is less important as you aren’t fighting as a team yet. As such, I’ll focus more on internal thoughts. From his lines, Aralak was quite interesting, as he doesn’t follow the hackneyed mould of the numb-skulled orc ruffian. There’s even this palpable ‘snarky’ attitude, teamed with a calm and collected battle-mindset. Same goes for Lucien who, against my expectations, wasn’t the arrogant racist noble elf you would take him for: arrogant, yes, but he’s got the fight to back it, and he doesn’t underestimate Aralak at all. Basically, he’s an elf that kept his wits and common sense in fights, without losing that self-important, dignified edge. I might be extrapolating a bit, but I did get a good impression of your characters’ personalities through their dialogue and introspection.

The action, while not ignored, was unclear at times. Aralak did fine here, as I had no difficulty understanding his actions and reactions. Moreover, he anticipated Lucien’s attacks in a realistic manner (that is to say, without metagaming), which gives further clout to his defensive prowess in this battle. Synical, you played the actions realistically as well, but the level of clarity was quite a ways beneath Aralak’s, mostly due to the punctuation and sheer information excess. More on that in Writing Style. You did, however, have Lucien fight quite shrewdly, using the shield’s reflective qualities to momentarily impair Aralak’s vision (which, I have to say, Aralak ignored mentioning in his ensuing post).
Writing Style – 3.5/5
I’ve said this often before in this judgment: you two have a distinctly descriptive style that could be described as poetic, though it sometimes veers to borderline ‘purple prose’. The trick is to know when you’re writing too much, and when simpler writing creates a pleasant contrast to your usual style. This shouldn’t be difficult for either of you, considering your skill, so I have no worry for the future. You also both used a more or less adequate number of rhetorical devices, though the most successful, I'd say, would be Aralak's: "The armour was exactly as the orc had anticipated, a shining masterpiece of foreign alloys edged with silver and encrusted with jewels like barnacles upon the underside of a galleon". Be careful in choosing your moments to use figurative language as well, to avoid overloads that cheapen the effect of the better placed devices.

As for clarity, save for the few moments of verbosity, Aralak did very well. However, Synical, as I said before, your actions tend to be unclear. Take this for example:


Dormant muscles awoke and he moved like a viper; feinting left, half-stabbing towards his opponent’s right then pivoting on his left heel in a small spray of sand and leading a three hundred and sixty degree right spin with a flipped blade; the longsword inverted in his grip so that if his arm was straight; the crown-prince would have the ethereal construct pointed towards himself.
Due to the nature of the turn and angle of the weapon; his right arm formed an inwards V shape, the sword reverse-held for the point to aim at Aralak. It was a risky move, more often than not considered a feint in and of itself to lure an enemy in. (…)
The most effective way of describing an action isn’t giving a play-by-play description of every movement of every part of his body, but choosing key points that are easy to read and picture. In this kind of battle, shorter clauses separated by periods rather than the incorrect semi-colon would have radically improved the clarity.

Lastly, you both have a great grasp of the English language. That doesn’t seem like saying much, but it is. Save for Synical’s quasi-abusive (mis)use of semi-colons, I perceived very few mistakes, and they were mostly oversights (or possibly cultural discrepancies). You can find most of them in the notes affixed to this judgment. i'd say Mechanics was the prevalent category that increased your score, here.

Final Score – 10.125/15!



Notes for Team ‘Decimation Duo’

Numbers between parentheses are post numbers. Even-numbered posts are Aralak, odd-numbered posts are Synical.

with crimson orbs framed (2) I very well understand that your style, as well as Synical’s, use a more poetical language. I would only like to point out that poeticism is perfectly fine until it becomes purple prose. When that happens, the reader might be more prone to pull away from the text. You two have a fair eye when it comes to the perception of this fine line, but you both do cross it at times, albeit inadvertently and never for too long. There are times when simplicity in your choice of words (such as using ‘eyes’ instead of ‘orbs’) does not detract from your style, but rather enhances it. I’d have to say, I’m just glad you didn’t use ‘crimson optics’ or ‘crimson oculi’. As a matter of fact, I’m also glad you didn’t use ‘claret oculi’.

None the less (2) Nonetheless

the derisive crowd was cast out from Lucien’s mind the guttural peasant rabble unworthy of a prince's notice, (5) I believe you missed a comma between ‘mind’ and ‘the guttural’.

mid-charge; twisting (5) comma instead of semi-colon. Semi-colons, most of the time, are used to replace a period and make the transition lighter. In this case, though, the usage isn’t adequate.

slide through the sand; sending (5) same as above

vengeance; Silthrim striking (5) same as above. Also, the reader wouldn’t know Silthrim is his sword unless he or she read your profile or side-profile. I’m not docking points, but should you fight in Round I, this kind of information is expected to be included in your writing.

axe wrought (5) axe-wrought

which left only the matter of which one his foe was less likely to anticipate (6) awkward wording

was straight; the crown-prince would have the ethereal construct pointed towards himself. (7) This was an incorrect use of the semi colon; I would replace it with a comma.

Due to the nature of the turn and angle of the weapon; his right arm formed an inwards V shape (7) Same as above. As a note, semi-colons are used to join two independent clauses (as in, clauses that could be complete sentences on their own). Otherwise, it’s used to precede a conjunctive adverb such as ‘however’, ‘therefore’, ‘nevertheless’, etc. One last use is to separate items of a list that already contain a good number of internal punctuation.

For the Prince; only war mattered; only the pinnacle of battle born perfection (7) I suggest an alternate formulation, as the punctuation here is also rather out of place. Perhaps: “For the Prince, only war mattered – only the pinnacle of battle born perfection.” Dashes are to be used sparingly, however, as they may visually weigh down the text.

There were a few more semi-colon misuses that I didn’t point out, as they should be easy to find, now.