Round Two, Bracket A: Penumbra Intersect v The Whole Glory

[Christoph]

Congratulations for making it to the second round of the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive three Fate Points for making it this far! The battle closes after 11:59 PM EST on March 16th. Good luck to both teams!

Arenas were arranged at random, and your prompt is as follows:

Your battle takes you into a steaming, fetid jungle thick with thorny vines and infested with mosquitoes.

[Shadowed]

All bunnies between myself and Logopolis approved for the whole thread. Similarly, I have permission from my last team to use their characters in this post for the sake of continuity. As stated here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=142320#post142320) we've (tentatively as of this post) agreed to allow edits to fix typographical and grammatical errors.

With a fantastic roar, the echoing thunder matched Honuse Relaiyent’s exhalation; the giant, who stood above the mightiest warriors of Valhalla, felt his body tiring at the strain of his exertions. Through the ancient knowledge he had embraced centuries ago, the Lawmaker, beloved of the gods, had commanded the living fibers of the rooftop where he stood to shift and bend, weaving them into a structure of his own design. The building, which stood at equal height to its hundreds of neighbors, rested in a shadow borne of the thick night, lit by naught but the occasional flash of lightning overhead. The newly constructed cage, however, shone faintly with the dampened light of the Glowing One, a strangely luminescent warrior of unknown birth, of whom the Lawmaker had been tasked to slay.

Such was the reason the man, named abomination by others, came to be in the forsaken city, bereft of the race of giants that built it. He and a companion, a dvergr of the mountains known to him as Till, had been sent by their lord Thor to distant lands, to partake in a tournament. The tournament, which had promised to gather combatants of renown from across the cosmos, would be a bountiful feast of souls to harvest, to aid in the struggles of the Aesir at Ragnarok. It was for this purpose that he suffered the trivialities of tournament, despite his own loathing for such; Honuse Relaiyent undertook his baptism by combat many ages ago, and had no love for the formalities of such warfare.

A greenish tint pervaded the ever-present smoke that clouded the Lawmaker’s gaze; such was his only form of sight, having lost his eyes in his comparative youth. The mist swirled about, defining shape and color to a limited extent, forming itself in this evening against the vision of a tall warrior held within living bonds. Yet the bonds did not hold; even as the Lawmaker extended his perceptions to locate the biological mass of the Glowing One’s companion, the first enemy writhed about, having extended a sharp blade through the comparatively thin material encasing him. With a burst, he came free, before leaping over the edge of the building.

Whispering an ancient curse to himself, the Lawmaker beckoned his companion, who had stood at guard nearby, and sheathed the blade, which had been grasped in his right hand. Till, having reckoned his companion’s meaning with some reluctance, similarly cast his own weapon upon his back, preparing for a detestable return to the air. For such was the manner of arriving upon the rooftop; the abomination ran towards the dwarf, grabbing the tall being under one arm even as he bounded up the half-step which bordered the ledge. The muscle in his legs promptly dissolved, forcing themselves through the giant’s body and out his back, taking shape as leathery wings. Though in his haste, Honuse Relaiyent had not formed substantial strength or control in them, they were enough to guide the descent of the pair to the earth below.

The Glowing One, who had seemingly bounded off the sides of two buildings to slow his fall, met his own partner along the ground. The pair were swift of foot, requiring the Lawmaker to return his muscles to their natural state, taking up the pursuit in a more standard way; though the rainfall had rendered the ground muddy and slick, the Lawmaker’s innate talents sufficed to harden it beneath the footfalls of him and his companion, speeding their chase. They headed south, insofar as the giant could tell; his body, which was imbued with pure electricity, held a magnetic attraction similar to a compass, though its bearing was oft skewed in strange lands.

Till, gifted with the impeccable night vision of his subterranean kin, took eagerly to the pursuit, deftly maneuvering through the increasingly dense labyrinth of trees; Honuse Relaiyent, having hunted such quarry countless times without aid of true vision, was likewise unhindered by the prevalence of the biological material glowing effusively in his mind. The thunder continued to roar its anger overhead, the clouds covering the midnight moon as they spat a torrential downpour upon the land. The very earth was brooding this night, creating demons of mist and madness at every turn. Yet still their opponents fled, whether through fear or clever strategy, the giant did not know.

Seething inwardly at the pursuit, Honuse Relaiyent vowed to speak what words he could with his master upon returning to Asgard; though the finding of worthy souls be an admirable goal in the pursuit of the Whole Glory, such pointless formalities as tournament were wasted upon the unrivaled destructive power of the Lawmaker. Even Till, who had deigned to spit at the gods and enact his vengeance upon the green grass of Thor’s house, had not the prowess to stand before the Lawmaker; though his sabotage was terrible, he himself proved to be as an ass upon the field. Such a stand he made, though it ended in defeat, marked his sole reason for continued existence, serving his punishment as Honuse Relaiyent’s companion; though to the Lawmaker’s mind, it was he, not Till, who stood punished.

As the miles passed, the surrounding foliage grew ever denser; the Lawmaker found himself within a jungle, lush and verdant in its expanse, though brooding and malignant with the weather. Dark hues of green engulfed everything, as the ground itself was covered in a deep moss; though to the eyes of the abomination, it was but a jagged expanse of broken shadows, contrasting with the bright texture of his inward perceptions. Such was his distraction that the giant failed to notice a large creeping mass interpose itself between him and his still-distant enemies; it was Till who first shouted the warning, bringing Honuse Relaiyent’s thoughts back to the path ahead.

Before them, crouched low in the underbrush was a massive construct of dense muscle, appearing as a tiger from the far eastern reaches of Midgard; without a sound it sprung, leaping past the dwarf to strike Honuse Relaiyent full in the shoulders. His armor, which covered the expanse of his body below the neck in matte black leather, resisted the piercing claws of the beast, though the physical force of the attack staggered the man back a step. With a grunt, the Lawmaker thrust his right arm forward in a punch. The arm, as was the case with its pair, had a peculiar modification attached to it; a long, thin blade emerged from the top of the forearm, pointing outwards at a parallel angle, terminating just beyond his fingertips. This blade, as dark as the night around it, entered the abdomen of the tiger with such force that the abomination’s right foot slid backwards a step in the soft mud.

Bracing himself further, Honuse Relaiyent held the enraged animal away from his body, before plunging in the second arm blade. With a great strain, he flung his arms outward, shearing the creature open across the gut. It fell backwards with an anguished cry, splashing around pitifully in the darkness, unable to escape the pain it felt; the Lawmaker extended his will to its primitive brain, severing the connection to its spinal cord with a thought, more from annoyance at the sound of its cries than any sense of humaneness. Briefly checking himself over, the man found no significant damage to his person, save a rather putrid smelling blood upon his gauntleted hands. Wiping them against the unstained fur of the slain beast, he turned his gaze once more upon the road; though all that existed within it was ambling smoke and plants, bereft of his quarry.

“They are beyond my sight. Let us look to our next foes, and pray a meeting within the tournament village.” The Lawmaker said, turning to his companion; though he was a warrior by the sword, having little use for words in the best of circumstances, Honuse Relaiyent found it vital to assert his supremacy in the team where possible. The perceived necessity of speaking such words, which were already well known to both, was as close to an insult as the giant ever came. Turning about, the abomination prepared to return to the center of festivities to await their next combat; yet a partially noticed tingle upon his spine halted him in mid-action. Whether it was an effect of the dwindling adrenaline in his body, or the perceived notion of distant watchfulness, he did not know. Having learned across a terribly long career to trust in his own instinct for battle, Honuse Relaiyent dropped to a crouch, waiting patiently to see if his suspicions bore out.

[Jericho]

Bunnies approved with Kryos for the duration of the battle.


The occasional pops of the small campfire sent ripples through the thick silence of the night. Heavy sloughs of clouds, visible only by their shadows on the stars, slithered languidly across the sky, wrapping the earth in a deeper darkness than that to which Jericho was accustomed.

Across the flames, his ward and partner sat cross-legged, methodically running an oiled rag over his sword. Kryos' eyes, now a cold, slate mercury rather than their diurnal crimson, caught the castings of the fire and glinted like heated bronze. The swordsman's shadow stretched behind him to the border of the clearing and up the trunks of the thick evergreens at the forest's edge. The position of the fire and the distance to the trees enlarged the dwiilar's silhouette into that of a giant, reaching nearly to the utmost branches.

The day had gone well. They'd found this world through one of the many portals in the Garden, a vacant wood where they could train away from prying eyes. From the first breaking of the realm's blood-red sun, Kryos had tested the limits of Jericho's strength and skill. But as they passed from drill to drill, skirmish to skirmish, Jericho's attention had rarely been on the training. Rather, his thoughts had fallen back to the first day of the Tournament, when, caught up in one of the Cabal's portals, he and Kryos had touched each other's minds.

The memory he had awakened in that emptiness came bubbling back into his consciousness, sweeping and quivering like the dark giant in the trees. A memory set so deeply within the dwiilar's mind that it had taken a schism of space to draw it out, a memory so sharp and dark that the barest hints Jericho retained made him shudder. A memory of screams, of blackness like oil slicking down into his very soul.

The elkin closed his eyes, blotting out the image of his partner's mammoth shadow. He fought to still his breathing, to quell the rush of panic and adrenaline that the memory always sparked. He reached out with his spirit, called to the Voice for guidance—but the One kept his silence, as he had throughout the day.

Jericho sighed, running his hooved fingers over the fur of his arms and hugging his elbows. A sickle of brisk wind whipped through the camp, slicing through the fire's meager warmth. He shivered, his features bunching into a wrinkled frown.

Heaven had not held its tongue from him for so long in years. Time and again, during Kryos' drills, the familiar Voice that had guided him in all his journeys had fallen suddenly quiet, followed always by the cold fire of the dwiilar's steel on his flesh. Wounds that only days prior he could've healed in moments had taken hours to close, as the Light seemed reluctant to show itself. Jericho dreaded to think what that could mean for their next battle.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes again, and Kryos' monstrous shadow towered over the camp to meet his gaze. By some trick of the light, the branches of a spruce formed two enormous, unblinking eyes in the behemoth's face. Trapped under their stare, Jericho felt a terror too deep for understanding.

One thing had stood out to him during his skirmishes with Kryos. Every so often, when the Voice stayed with him long enough, he had managed to gain the upper hand—and each time, something in his ward had snapped open, something had unlocked. The dwiilar's eyes lit with a sharp rage that flowed into his blade. Those had been the times that Jericho sustained the most grievous wounds.

Jericho tore his gaze from the gaping knot-eyes of the shadow, but as he looked to his partner, he realized that Kryos' eyes, catching the firelight like razors, frightened him even more. He felt a rage in the dwiilar that blazed with greater fury than a hundred thunderstorms—and if it stemmed from the memory he had glimpsed in Kryos' mind, he could scarcely imagine the depth of it. Never before had he been given an assignment like this; never before had he faced such giants. He had helped mothers break free of grief, aided men in quests for self-honor. But never, not once, had he stood in opposition to such wrath.

And in this moment of greatest need, the Voice had fallen silent.

That thought twisted in his heart, forcing a cervine snort from his nostrils. He drew his arms closer around his torso, pressed his hooves into the grass, and curled his legs to his chest. For one more moment, Kryos' giant of a shadow stared down at him from the trees, and then the elkin slid his eyes shut and let his neck droop, resting his forehead on his knees.


“Father, Father!”

Heavy hooves come clomping. The door opens, and Father has a lantern. The shadows on his antlers look scary in the dark.

“Jericho, are you all right?”

I pull the covers closer. They're scratchy and they smell like goats, but the monster can't get me through the covers.

“Father, there's a monster by the window!”

Scritch scritch scritch, it's still there! I can see its shadow from the moon. Father looks up and goes to the window. He opens it! The wind is howling outside.

“Father!” He reaches outside. It'll get him! “Don't, don't!”

Snap. He brings his hand back in, and he shuts the window. He has a little branch from the ash tree.

“See? This is all it was.” He sits on the bed. He smells sweet, like cedar. He puts the branch on the covers.

Oh, it was a tree. I'm glad Father isn't like Caanen. Caanen would laugh at me. “I thought it was a giant.”

He smiles, and he sets the lantern on the table by my bed. “Do you remember the story of Gavin and the Giant?”

I smile too, because I like that one. “Gavin won.”

“Yes he did. And was Gavin a big, strong warrior like his brothers?”

Father curls his arms and flexes his muscles. He looks silly, and I giggle. “No.”

“Did he have armor and a big sword?” He swishes his arm like Caanen does when we play knights.

“No, he was a shepherd.”

Father's eyes sparkle. “Yes, he was. But when that big, ugly giant—three times as tall as Gavin's oldest brother!—came to his village, what did he do?”

I scrunch my eyebrows because I can't remember. Then I do remember and I smile! “He listened!”

Father nods. “Yes he did. He listened, and when the One told him to go kill that big mean giant, he knew it didn't matter how big the giant was, because the One was bigger. Isn't that right?”

The One sure is big. Caanen says he's bigger than the mountains, and smart too, which is why he doesn't step on us. I bet he could have stepped on that giant. “Yes, Father.”

Father leans in and kisses my forehead. His fur is scratchy, the way it gets when he works late in the shop. “You remember that.” He stands up and takes the lantern.

“Yes, Father. I will.”


The elkin shuddered, rubbing the bases of his antlers against his kneecaps. Gavin. Gavin and the Giant. That's the way things were supposed to happen. The way he needed them to happen. For he too was a child with wool for armor, casting pebbles at giants—at whatever dark leviathans had claimed Kryos as their own. He knew that was his task—to somehow lead Kryos back into the Light—but he felt so weak, so alone...

He let out a sigh, but it sounded much more like a whimper than he had intended.

You called me here, and I answered. You promised me there was a way—but how can I follow it, if you do not reveal it to me?

“Do you often let your mind wander during battle?”

Jericho started and looked up across the fire. The dwiilar continued to draw his sword across the oilcloth like a bow over a violin, never lifting his eyes from the blade.

“You won't be very useful in a fight if you aren't focused. What was distracting you today?” Kryos' eyes remained on his work, his voice as hard and edged as the instrument he was treating.

The elkin exhaled slowly and dropped his chin onto his knees. He closed his eyes—but no Voice answered his plea for guidance. No words came. He was alone.

“Why did you come to the tournament, Kryos?”

The steel-eyed swordsman paused for moment, then continued to play his silent melody with the sword on the rag, never once looking up from his work. “For the prize, of course. The wish.”

No turning back, now. He had set out on this path. He would follow it to its end. “And what do you wish for?”

The blade slid once more over the rag. Then Kryos lifted it, eyeing its sheen, and spun it in a gleaming arc through the firelight. “Strength. Power. Doesn't everyone?”

Jericho chuffed. “Not everyone.”

Kryos halted his blade in mid turn, lowering it to the grass as he lowered his eyes for the first time to his partner. “And what would you wish for? That girl, maybe.”

Jericho's shoulders went rigid. “What?”

“I caught a memory of her in the portal on the first day.” The dwiilar drove his sword into its sheath with a soft thud. “One of your kind. Honey-colored fur, green eyes—”

“No.” The elkin let go of his elbows and stretched out his legs, as though preparing to flee. No, no, no, he had prayed, he had prayed Kryos hadn't seen that, not that, anything but that—

“Ah.” Kryos smiled, picking up a prodding stick and shuffling the logs in the fire, loosing a torrent of crackling sparks into the night. The light caught on his eyes, painting the shadows on his face into a fiendish sneer. “So she broke your heart.”

“NO!” Jericho wrenched away from that metallic gaze, twisting to turn his back on the flames. Then he froze.

His own shadow stretched behind him, cast on the trees as a giant even larger than his partner's, the silhouettes of his antlers curving over his head like the grotesque horns of a demon.

He gasped, shuddered, and his muscles turned to mud, leaving his petrified spine to hold him upright. He wanted so badly to close his eyes, to blot out the sight of that monster, that creature crafted in his own form from the darkness. But he knew, even if his eyelids had obeyed, it wouldn't have mattered. He would still see that shape burned on his retinas, carved into his very soul. After all, from his soul it had been made.

A quaking sigh trickled from his muzzle. He fought to keep tears from forming in his eyes as he turned back to the fire. That was what separated him from Gavin the shepherd boy. Whatever giants lived in Kryos were nothing compared to the one that lived in him. The shadow, the stain, the scar of sin he had carved into his heart those years ago was the real reason the Voice had gone silent. He could still feel her fur, see her terrified jade-green eyes—

He clenched his eyes shut lest a tear escape. “No.”

The fire clacked and snickered in the stillness. The elkin stared into the coals, his muscles hard as stone, as he felt the weight of his partner's brooding stare from across the fire. The moment waxed into a long spell of silence. Every so often a sharp breeze came, slipping through Jericho's fur, clearing away the musky smell of woodsmoke. The flames had fallen nearly to embers before Kryos spoke again.

“I don't know what's happened to you, Jericho.”

Without moving his head, Jericho lifted his eyes to the dwiilar. As the firelight faded, Kryos' shadow was slipping into hiding in the cover of the forest.

“But I have too much riding on this contest to go into battle with a distracted partner. Whatever your issues, deal with them. We don't have...”

The swordsman trailed off. Jericho's fur bristled, and the flames suddenly dimmed to nothing as a strange wind moved through the camp. His spirit prickled, and he felt crackles of energy start to dance around the clearing.

Kryos got to his feet. “It's the Cabal.”

His paralysis broken, Jericho scrambled on his knees to retrieve his staff. He stood, darting back to take up his cloak and set it around his shoulders. The creases were more numerous now, more frantic. He almost felt he could see them, tiny flickers of shadow in the darkness of the night. Static skittered over his fur, and he planted his staff to steady himself. He stared through the plume of smoke released by the vanquished fire, and even in the mottled starlight, Kryos' eyes gleamed like daggers.

“Be ready,” the dwiilar said.

The seams of energy were converging, spiraling down over both warriors' forms. Jericho tightened his grip on the quarterstaff as the world cracked and slipped away.

How does one get ready to war with giants?



-

[Kryos]

Bunnies have been approved of by Jericho for the duration of the battle.
The gray thrashing of soundless wind buffeted against the two companions, submerging them in wave after crushing wave of uncertainty as their bodies and minds were taken beyond the conscious realm, leaving nothing but their existence to survive the suffocating space and encompassing currents of doubt and unbelief. And yet, it was almost as if, at the same instant, their very souls were breaking apart into numberless shards of thought and life, allowing the void of the portal to fill in the aching gaps that yearned to be satisfied, swirling their broken spirits into a collective tapestry of blazing alabaster and burning onyx. Without the edges of the physical world, nothing could impede the quintessence of one from coalescing with the other.

Still, even in their unified state, separation remained, enough that Kryos could keep his own thoughts hidden, just as Jericho did with his own. The brief manifestation of power had given them ample time to steel themselves against this horrifying oblivion. He could feel the elkin’s presence, though his partner’s thoughts were sealed safely within the deepest chambers of his heart. For a moment, the dwiilar was tempted to reach in and probe his comrade, but thought better of it. They were entering battle, so it would be best to leave him alone.

His own worries didn’t ebb, however. Jericho’s brash reaction to the memory of the enigmatic girl played unceasingly on the forefront of his mind. That, and the tortured expression that carved deep lines of pain across his companion’s face as he tried to hide his emotions. Looking at the shrouded memory with this new light, it was simple for Kryos to determine what had transpired. A small piece of the mystery cloaking Jericho fell into place, and in doing so released more questions, the most vital of which was why that memory was so important.

Kryos had no answer, nor could he perceive any possibilities with his attention chasing itself in helpless circles like a raptor searching for prey. It was evident that the truth behind the elk’s origin and purpose here was wrapped in chords of suspicion and fear, lined with barbs to keep all hands away. Finding a way through the tangles would be difficult, if not dangerous, for he recognized that his own secrets were similarly guarded behind silence and lies. While what he had told Jericho had been true–that he sought power and strength–his true motive for accepting the Cabal’s invitation remained unknown to all but the hosts themselves. Nor did he intend for that fact to change.

The distraught features of his partner’s face refused to leave, a plague upon his mind, clear in the ever-present, all-consuming maelstrom of gray. The face of a convict as the bars clang shut, of hopelessness denied the noose. A face so familiar to him that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before.

It was the mask he had worn when he learned of Lorin’s death.

He knew pain and the horrors of war. He knew betrayal and the double-edged sword of lying to loved ones. And he knew of the soul-crushing agony that came with the self-inflicted wounds of the past, of crimes committed that couldn’t be changed.

In the spell of reminiscence, he remembered the words of a dear friend, one of the few he had allowed himself to grow close to along his path of redemption. The question whose answer still remained outside his grasp.

Can you do it? Can you save him?

The scattered remnants of his being resonated with the question, loud in the silence of their prolonged banishment from reality. He wondered vaguely if Jericho had caught the echoing of his spirited memories. The questions brought back the scene, of hard granite beneath him as he sat with eyes and head downcast, face obscured by shadow. The assuring, calm voice, like a summer’s breeze strolling through a pine forest as it beseeched him for the truth. Asking for the impossible.

The past suddenly fused with the present, shocking Kryos into a heightened awareness with the intensity of a thousand lightning strikes so much like their last battle. Meaning filled the formerly inconsequential inquiries.

Can you do it?

Somehow, fate had seen him to this tournament, this invaluable chance at redemption. The Cabal had certainly proven the extent of their power. There was no mistaking it. The opportunity to undo the past had been laid before him, ready to seize.

Can you save him?

His strength had grown considerably since that time, so long ago. Surely, he could do it now. The full realization of the Cabal’s promise hit him like a glowing brand on a horse’s hide, jolting him to awareness. He didn’t know if he could succeed at this, but he would try. For redemption, for a second chance. For Lorin. In his mind’s eye, the ruffled brown hair and constant grin that always accompanied the warm glow in his friend’s bright blue eyes appeared, before dripping into nothing as chaos matured to order and the physical came whipping back to awareness.

He dropped to his hands and knees, his face a mask of disgust and horror as his recently-returned body fought the instinct to gag. What abominable place had the Cabal chosen for them this time? Thick, shadowy fog covered the place where they had entered, vile wisps swirling with the discharge of energy and veiling the surroundings. Not that they were necessary. The ungodly smell that clung to his clothes and seared his nose and the soft, damp ground beneath his hands and feet revealed the truth from the clutches of darkness.

A jungle fit for the most loathsome creatures known to infest Althanas.

He coughed, breathing in more of that putrid air in an attempt to rid himself from it, and he struggled to control himself. His eyes glanced up and about, piercing the first few layers of the steam that stuck to his skin and clothes like perspiration–oozing down his back like mucus from a slug. Thick, ropy vines draped around them like elegant curtains while large, sharp, and in some cases, serrated thorns sealed the two in the natural prison. From the ground erupted many exotic plants, darkened in the absence of light, thus making the sharp leaves all the more dangerous. The trees themselves, warped and twisted in the foul environment, towered as colossal sentinels over all, beings who never slept and never ceased their vigil over the jungle. They blocked out much of the surrounding area, as well as the midnight sky, not that Kryos would be able to make out much detail with the defiling smog that interfered with his sight. So thick was it that he could almost taste the grime when it entered his mouth.

Forcing himself to breathe in, he rose to his feet. Next to him, Jericho also struggled to contain himself. The dwiilar felt sorry for him, embodied in chestnut fur as he was. This humidity must be torture for him, ten times worse than what Kryos was feeling, but he didn’t let it show on his face. Jericho was good at masking his true feelings. The elk’s cloak draped about his frame, almost pulled him down into the plant-life around him, antlers fitting in well with the more slender vines. Their eyes met, cold steel clashing with roasted cinnamon as mutual revulsion and apprehension resonated between the two.

Calming his surprised mind, Kryos reached up and unsheathed his sword, the metallic rasp melding into the natural sounds of the jungle as one. The enclosed and cramped and dangerous setting in which their most gracious hosts had set for them would be tricky to deal with. For one thing, movement would be limited, and if their enemies were already waiting for them, their deaths may have been insured before they were even claimed by the teleporting magic.

Unease filling his heart, he took another sickening pull of the fetid air and let his power flow, evoking the abilities of his kind. His eyes blossomed with silver, immersing themselves in the gleaming drops of moonlight that radiated luminescence. He let his new awareness expand to his full range of vision, an orb that saw through the obscuring snares of the jungle and mist, picking up the presence of any living thing.

He stiffened. While he could detect no threats in their immediate vicinity, all around them life flew and darted about, the subtle humming of wings now evident in his new sight. The infectious pests that ruled the labyrinth of decay. One was creeping closer to Jericho from behind. Whipping around, his sword slashed the darkness, splattering ink upon the black ground as the creature twitched and died, covered in its own blood.

Mosquitoes, changed beyond recognition just as the trees and the vines. It was as big as both of Kryos’ fists, with the finger-length, infamous needle that drew blood. Such a thing was a crime against nature, an aberration to the essence of life.

The swordsman glanced at Jericho, who stood a couple feet back, eyes mirroring his own disgust. It went without saying that the danger was evident to both of them. They were clearly out of their element. He flicked his wrist, using the motion to fling as much of the vile blood from his weapon’s blade as possible, before turning his back on death’s claim.

“We need to leave this place, in case our opponents arrived before us and noticed our entrance.” He stepped nearer to the elk across the spongy jungle floor, disturbing the ghastly fumes. “I wasn’t able to detect them within our immediate vicinity, but that will no doubt change. If possible, we should locate them first.” Pausing briefly, he glanced about for the clearest path to take, growing frustrated by the thick plants that closed them in. “Our movement will be hindered, even without the danger of the creatures infesting this place,” he added, scorn evident in his firm voice as he gestured behind him.

Taking another unsteady breath, he moved through the thick, dark vapor once more, angling for a small space between two large trees that wasn’t as obstructed by vines and the spiny plants that littered the clay-like, moss-covered ground.

“Wait.” The voice made him pause, and he looked behind him. Jericho was glancing off in the opposite direction, face rigid and jaw locked while his ears batted from side to side. Strange–Kryos hadn’t heard anything, and the impossible path, one filled with a legion of thorns, cords, and obstacles, was one which he preferred to avoid. Yet, without looking at the dwiilar, Jericho pointed with two hoofed fingers, although his movements were slow, hesitant. As if he himself wasn’t quite sure. “This way.” Without waiting for a response, he strode forward, his staff thudding quietly against the giving ground as he went. Stopping a few feet away from the dense plants, he stretched forth his hand, palm facing out and fingers straight. A small glow appeared, flickering wildly in its weakness, before growing to some degree of light. Then, before their very eyes, the plants began to move.

They shuddered at first, as if blinded and burned by the mystical light emitting from Jericho’s hand, before twisting and moving themselves to get away from the intruding presences. The vines hissed as they rubbed against each other, pulling and tightening, rising higher and higher until they disappeared into the darkness. The large bushes that lined the ground leaned away and out, almost shrinking in an effort to escape. Even the putrid mist seemed to ease up. Within the space of two minutes, during which the swordsman watched his partner with speculation and intrigue, the way was cleared. The light vanished from the elkin’s hand, and he breathed deeply. Now that they had been in the jungle long enough, they were becoming accustomed to their rank surroundings. In the brief pause, Kryos silenced another set of wiry wings.

Jericho glanced back toward the dwiilar, and smiled briefly, though the dwiilar barely caught it in the darkness. In truth, he was impressed once again by the hidden power that resided in the humble and meek figure that stood before him, though he wouldn’t show it. Not now, when anything and everything could go wrong. Instead, he gave a single nod of approval as he approached their newfound path, eyes still glowing with power, ever vigilant to watch their surroundings for peril.

For the web and shroud of the jungle masked the secrets within, protecting their prey and enticing the two comrades–warrior and beast–to journey down false trails. Roads, it seemed, that led inescapably to oblivion.

[Shadowed]

Amidst the sounds of the torrential downpour through the dense foliage of the jungle, new sounds manifested themselves to Honuse Relaiyent’s ears. Large snakes plied through the thick moss and underbrush; mosquitoes the size of dogs flew intermittently about the area; and a single pair of wings, borne upon the back of a large humanoid shape, sounded overhead. The steady thrum was that of a valkyrie, as would be assigned to carry forth the slain to Odin’s halls; yet why it had manifested itself prematurely, the Lawmaker did not know. Such an omen did not bid well.

The buzzing of an insect drew nearer, distracting the giant from his thoughts. With an idle sweep of his right hand, a flicker of lightning shot forward to electrocute the interloper, leaving Honuse Relaiyent to ponder the implications of the messenger he had detected above. Though it had not happened for hundreds of years, the gods occasionally used valkyries as messengers, when the servants of their own house failed in swiftness. Such would bode ill for the Lawmaker, as he was many days’ travel from the house of his Lord; yet what matter would be so urgent as to require the swiftest of messengers to take flight? There had been no portents of doom upon the eve of his journey to the tournament, save the trifle of Till’s insolence in the week past.

As pressing as the matter was, a new concern thrust itself into the Lawmaker’s mind; far off in the forest, yet approaching inexorably closer, came two bipeds of unknown birth. Though it was difficult to distinguish the sounds of their footsteps, the background noise of animals fleeing before them was clear, as was the dying buzz of mosquitoes hewn along their path. The distant hum of breath lapped gently upon Honuse Relaiyent’s ears; as it came from two mouths, accompanied by the soft call of dirt undergoing compression, the initial belief of two bipeds as opposed to a single quadruped proved correct, as near as the man could tell. Such would be the cause of his subconscious wariness; though the giant’s hearing was above that of the kin of his birth, his brain was incapable of deciphering and interpreting the faintest of sounds that he heard, though at some basic level such anomalies still registered.

All thoughts of valkyries and distant lands removed themselves from his mind. There could be no doubt that the pair were enemies; whether their initial opponents, returned to ambush the Norse warriors, or some new pair of interlopers striving for honor and victory amidst the dense jungle, he did not know. All that was of concern was the knowledge that their path would intersect the two soldiers of Thor’s pursuit; a suitable welcome would be necessary. Turning back towards the dwarf, Honuse Relaiyent bid the tall dvergr to climb a nearby tree – such a command, though it would be obeyed, would undoubtedly rankle his companion, who had lived for many years deep under mountain, and had no love of heights. For his own part, the Lawmaker fell upon his knees before the thickest bole around, forcing the entirety of his will upon it.

Though the strangers were yet many thousands of paces off, the giant did not wish to squander the time he had available. A deep prayer, cast from the bowels of his mind, bled through his tightly clenched lips. The thick smoke in his vision danced about wildly, finding new passageways amidst the tree, even as the giant sundered its living core. A hollow was made, while the displaced wood stretched deep underground, creating a culvert below the mossy surface of the area. Gasping for air, the Lawmaker bent a portion of his well to his own body, increasing the flow of oxygen and adrenaline, lest his strains render him unconscious; with a fresh surge of vitality, the abomination rose to his feet, striding forward to land easily within the pit he had created. With another utterance, the tree was healed of its wound, encasing the Lawmaker in thick, ancient armor. His breath flowed easily through the plant itself, and no visible trace remained to suggest a man waited within, preparing for an ambush.

Outside, the thunder continued to echo mindlessly, while the lightning cast thick shadows through the foliage. Till sat quietly in the branches above, his dark skin brought to wicked illumination with the manifestation of Thor’s heavenly fury. Far above, the lone valkyrie sighted the dwarf; it circled about, an ill fated portent of events to come, though it no longer held a place within the heart or mind of any within the land. For indeed, Honuse Relaiyent waited patiently within his hidden abode, sapping miniscule amounts of vitality from the tree to refuel his own body after his labors. The calmness of his mind belied the unseen itch upon his palms, for his task within the world was one of brutal combat, of glory and splendor undimmed before the fading breath of his adversaries. The wait was simply a nuisance, vital yet wasteful in its own right; for who lived to stand at arms before the unbridled wrath of Asgard? The very thought of such a warrior rising unheard of from the lands beyond was contemptible, for none such man of arms could exist without bearing the scrutiny of the tireless gods.

Relaxing within his earthen pit, the Lawmaker stretched his awareness to the jungle beyond; dozens of large creatures filled the area, yet even they could not distract from the perception of intrusion that surrounded the interlopers. Their footfalls brought them ever closer, with whatever wariness they embraced; perhaps sufficient to espy the cloaked and diminished form of the dvergr, perhaps sufficient to reveal naught but their own rain soaked hands thrust forward in the tangible darkness. Their advance came steadily, moving within a mere handful of hundreds of feet before the abomination. Though the jungle was alive and enflamed in interconnected systems of roots and vines, eager to rid itself of the invaders, its will was strong enough to limit the giant’s own powers of persuasion to such negligible ranges.

Trusting his companion’s sharp eyes to catch sight of that which he desired to do, Honuse Relaiyent began imposing his will upon the living boughs and vines surrounding the approaching warriors. Draining the vast reserves of stored sunlight found deep within his shelter, the Lawmaker felt a rush of energy course through his veins, allowing him the strength of will required for his chaotic designs. All about the intruders, trees found their roots detached, even as they toppled about with a roar mighty enough to silence the distant thunder. They fell about the expanse of a hundred feet, to the front, back, and sides of the pair within the center of carnage. The massive trunks formed a barrier of man height, while the twisted branches formed an imposing, if less cohesive, wall many tens of feet higher.

Even as the ancient trees toppled over, the water within and atop their bark was altered; the hydrogen evaporated, rising high into the air faster than the now-destitute oxygen could follow. Before the echoes of their collapse had faded, Till, rising to his full height in the distant branches, prepared a stone upon his sling. To the stone he imbued the rune of Kenaz; upon striking any surface, even bare rock or dirt, a fantastic spark would erupt, hotter than the sword of Surtr, lord of the fire giants to the south. It flew unerringly towards the chaotic mass of flash-dried trees, creating small devils of flame upon any vines or leaves it caressed while in flight. With a mighty roar of combustion, it struck the piled wood, igniting the entire square cage within an instant. Bright tongues of fire lit the night, casting furious light through the misty confines of the jungle.

The sky answered with its own furious laughter; lightning flashed about the land with unmitigated potency, igniting fires of its own across the land; though the torrential rainfall limited the scope of the flames, it became evident that the earth was unwilling to be surpassed by the devilry of magic. The maniacal laughter of its thunder drowned even the crackling bitterness of the conflagration, while the unceasing downpour cast a thick pall of steam about, obscuring what vision the light of fire offered. Such a madness of destruction did nothing to please the Lawmaker, who sat comfortably silent within his living armor. The death of the jungle was a triviality to him, for it existed only to serve the higher purpose, as did he and Till. Whatever fate existed upon this day would be shared by all the house of Thor, from the unquenchable flame of combat to the slow decay of boredom as foreign machinations supplanted the thrill of steel.

[Kryos]

All bunnies have been approved, as well as from the other team. Logopolis has dropped out, and we have agreed on how to continue. See the battle discussion (link at the top of the thread) for clarification.
As one, he and Jericho moved cautiously through the thick entanglement of the unrelenting jungle. With quick arcs of silver, Kryos’ muandrian severed the ropy vines that barred their way, and their eyes always watched the blackness that swirled at their feet. The churning, charcoal clouds above the canopy released their reservoirs of rain upon the land below with the fury of a tsunami, soaking their clothes, dripping into their eyes, and further hampering their vision. Though his sight bested the elves, Kryos found himself straining to see more than twenty yards ahead. Only with the frequent flashed of celestial power could he restore his mental image of their surroundings. They entered a small clearing, a welcome respite from the ensnaring growths.

That was when all hell broke loose.

Like a groaning giant, the great trees at the glade’s edge heaved to the side; a devastating chain reaction shook the ground like a stampede. He dropped to his knees for balance, noting that Jericho did the same. Kryos watched as earth shot into the air as the gnarled roots sprung from their dirt confines. The great impact of tree on tree and bark on earth, though muted with the fresh rain, vibrated through his frame and pounded on his ears. His eyes flashed, darting from point to point in an effort to locate their enemy, no doubt the cause of this calamity. A sudden movement of air, as if the very rain had been displaced. The snapping of branches and rending wood almost paused in their descent, holding a communal breath. Waiting. Then, their world erupted in flames.

The blast echoed outward and inward from the wreath of now blazing trees and vines, throwing the two to the ground. The sheer sound of the shockwave pierced Kryos’ ears like arrows that pounded his mind as the bolts from the heavens, drowning out his own yell. The heat that blossomed outward flowed over the two, his skin surging with the uncomfortable sensation of the biting heat. His right hand threw away his sword, now hot to the touch. All around them raged the flames of the eternal pit, spurned on by the terrible lances of lightning the struck the trees, beating their ears with the thunderous cracks of light and wood alike.

Though the blaze threatened to consume all life, the rain fought with all its power. A continual hiss replaced the pounding noise as steam and smoke rose into the warm, wet air. Kryos staggered to his feet, a wince wrinkling his features as he felt his right arm and neck. The fire’s heat had burned his exposed flesh slightly. Looking to his left, he helped Jericho to his feet. The wet fur relieved his red palm minutely, and to his satisfaction found that the elkin was in no worse condition as he was. As he bent to retrieve his cooling sword, his thoughts turned to action.

“Let’s go.”

He jogged toward the far end of the burning ring of trees; just before the sound wave had flattened him, he saw that this was where the fire had started. It had spread in a blink of an eye. Such power was a force to be reckoned with.

He came to a stop before the wall of wood, vine, leaves, and fire. The unceasing downpour had little effect against the snarling flames; they had died only slightly in the rainfall. His eyes scanned for a path clear of fire, one that they both could navigate without undue harm. As he reached up to sheath his sword, he heard Jericho’s approach.

The elkin stared at the barrier in apprehension, warm brown eyes seeming to shrink smaller and smaller. His mouth was open and his matted fur shone with reflected, tangerine light, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the glare. The man shook his head, sending water droplets to join their brethren as they fell from his mighty antlers, and his hand tightened on his slender staff. Whether from fear, uncertainty, or disbelief, Kryos wasn’t sure.

“After you,” he said, gesturing with his head.

The elkin glanced at him, briefly, before looking back. “You go first. I’ll catch up.”

“Very well, then.” Stepping forward, he readied himself, making sure his equipment was secure. “Don’t take too long,” he murmured before jumping into the air toward the charred, flaming branches.

He scaled the obstacle quickly, using his speed, agility, and power to their fullest. His body twisted, spun, and exploded with energy as he leaped from place to place, through flames and wood alike. Sparks constantly showered into his vision and bursted from his quick, sure steps on the weakened branches; he was weary to linger too long on any limb. As he climbed higher, his sensitized skin burned, first a warm simmer, then erupting into a purging heat as if his arm and face danced with flames. Adrenaline surged to his legs and he jumped clear of the licking fire into the rain, enjoying the second of wind and blessed coolness before coming back to meet the inferno. His body hurtled upwards, limbs a blur with the speed at which he rose. Within the span of several moments, he landed near the summit. He turned and, for a fraction of a second, took one last glance at Jericho. The elkin hadn’t moved in the brief time lapse–eyes still wide and staring at the flaming mass of trees. The smoke obscured him slightly, and the rain further shielded him from view. He was a shadow in the light of the fire, barely existent. Before his eyes had left the haunting image, Kryos dove through a thin veil of orange tongues and dark, grasping fingers which tried to hold him to the burning stake.

His descent was swifter than the journey upwards, and soon he found himself with unrelenting, warm soil beneath his feet once again. Without pausing, he reentered the confines of the jungle, sure in his footing, even with the dimming of the passionate light. Jericho had said he would catch up, and Kryos would trust that. He knew that, as inexperienced as the elkin was at combat, he would not be abandoned. Jericho would not leave him.

All around, heaven-sent rain fell from the boiling sky–webbed with lashing lightning–and showered the canopy of the jungle in rolling sheets, pouring in streams off the huge leaves and drenching the mist-covered ground below. The furious snarls from the clouds that shook the earth and reverberated in his lean form masked any sound of his passing as he swept through the dense undergrowth like a wraith. As his distance from the fire’s light increased, it was only at the whim of the storm’s might that the pervading darkness revealed its true form, one full of mystery and danger.

He felt good, eager for a chance to prove his worth and stretch his limits. Although lightly scathed, the blessed coolness of the rain soothed his slightly seared skin and steadied his nerves. All that mattered now was finding his enemies without coming to further harm in the process, for they were formidable foes, no doubt. And though the insects had, for the most part, been dissuaded from venturing out, the treacherous plants always warned of danger. His legs pumped beneath him while his glowing silver eyes scouted for the trial he should take through the serrated leaves, infectious weeds, and the menacing thorns that waited on their respective vines for a misplaced step that would send the dwiilar careening into their piercing clutches.

Fairly sure that he was going in the right direction–traveling parallel to a trail of dying flames that lead back to the clearing of burning trees–he nimbly avoided all obstacles in his path, though the rain constantly tried to obscure his vision as it raced down his soaking hair and face. Shaking his head to dislodge the flowing rivulets whenever it happened, he cursed the wicked humor of the Cabal. How he would enjoy a battle without a cloudburst and overwhelming shadows to hide the sun. Although, a challenge meant that he would, perhaps, become stronger.

He skipped to a stop, heart hammering in his chest at the sudden flood of anxiety and anticipation that accompanied the prelude to battle. One of his adversaries had come into the range of his heightened sense about a hundred meters off, crouched in a tree. Unease swept through him at the appearance of the unknown, but regardless, he took off in the direction of his target.

The jungle grew thicker, and his progress reflected the slowing of pace. Impassible sections of the jungle often confronted him, and he used all of his creativity, agility, and physical might to overcome, leaping off tree trunks and swinging from low branches. He considered for a moment of taking to the branches above, before rejecting the idea. It would be safer on the ground, as slow as it was, although he regretted his choice as he fell into the wet, slimy, fusty mud and a thick, thorn-defended vine when his foot slipped on an invisible puddle. The cuts on his left arm and chest smarted badly, as if the foul miasma that covered the lower ground infected it on impact. Luckily, the wounds were shallow and required no immediate attention. Wiping the mud and moss stains from his shirt, pants, and sheath, he continued on, closing in toward his prey.

When he finally laid eyes on his opponent, a breathless gasp escaped from his lungs.

The thing was hunched up in a crouch not far from the ground, supported by a huge, warped branch of a tree. But it wasn’t the weapons that glinted dull-gray in the pitch, nor the mask of darkness that the giant’s hood cast over his face. It was the sheer size of the man, if it could be called so. The position in which the titan waited hid the true size and power which dwelt in his frame, but Kryos knew that this person was easily seven feet tall. And what was worse, it seemed that his approach hadn’t been as unnoticed as he had hoped. Like a boulder rolling off a cliff, the man stepped off his perch and thudded to the ground. Straightening like a leviathan rising from the deep, he began to walk toward Kryos, slowly unstrapping his monstrous weapon–something that closely resembled a lance–from his back. The polearm was, if it were possible, taller than the figure who held it. It was as if Kryos was outmatched in size in every possible way. Luckily for him, he didn’t need size to win.

With a screech, he unsheathed his blade once more, bringing to life the soft white glow of the enchantment upon the edge. If the divine magic had any effect upon his enemy remained to be seen. Kryos checked his range once more, looking for the accomplice, but found no one. Satisfied that he wouldn’t be ambushed, he went out to meet the warrior.

With a flash of lightning, he stopped, as did the being before him. They sized each other up in the darkness, nothing but the dying thunder and the falling rain to feel the tension in the air. Kryos eyed the weapon across from him–the three foot long blade and the longer, most likely heavy, shaft. Strength wouldn’t win him this fight. Cunning would. Speed was his ally, one that he needed to hide until the time was right.

Another paint stroke of ethereal light blazed across the sky, and Kryos charged.

Sparks flew as weapon grinded against weapon, the impact shaking his arms. He pulled back and struck again, putting all of his force in the downward slash. The blow was blocked again, and the behemoth pushed away the sword as if it were nothing more than silk, before countering. He swung his instrument of war, letting the shaft slide through his tree-like fingers. The blade whistled through the air and would have claimed the dwiilar’s head if he hadn’t ducked at the last second. Kryos darted forward, trying to get inside his attacker’s guard, coming in with an upward attack. That too, was stopped, this time with the dull thunking of wood. The shaft of the warrior’s weapon hadn’t even chipped. Without warning, the blunt end of the bladed pole slammed into his chest.

Getting to his feet, he fought for breath before blocking a thrust meant to end his life. Flashes of steel sliced the dripping air, and he tried to keep just ahead of the giant’s movement, always watching the pale hands, looking for an opening, trying to stay one step ahead. Both warriors drew labored breath as the silent contest continued with only the snapping of lightning telling the passage of time in the chaos of battle.

Slash! Follow up. Stay ahead. Thrust! Parry. Reposition and go!

With a growing realization, he noticed that his opponent was slowly taking the offensive. It was as if he had been measuring Kryos’ strength this entire time. Calculating, plotting. Now, they exchanged blows equally, water splashing from the growing puddles and flinging outward from their clothes, threatening to steal their footing at the first chance. He needed to end this immediately, while he still had the strength. His limbs began to feel the slight ache from such powerful blows, and his right arm and hand burned slightly with the adrenaline and blood that surged through his body. In contrast, his attacker seemed to draw strength from a limitless reservoir, muscles sure and powerful. He ducked another blow, keeping his eyes on his target, and for an instant that was accompanied by a flash of lightning, saw twin gray eyes glare at him from within the shroud of the hood.

So similar to my own . . .

Spinning his long weapon to his left side, the brute attacked again, his blade racing straight toward Kryos’ heart. The swordsman’s silver eyes flashed brightly, reading the move even before it came close to his flesh. More importantly, he saw the way the giant’s hands were gripping his tool of destruction. He hopped back, keeping just inches from the blade, and brought up his muandrian, guiding the enemy blade safely to the side. Then, Kryos struck with all the speed he could muster. The distance between them closed within a split second and, sword shining as a terrible fang from the heavens, Kryos thrust his blade toward the exposed left side of his prey, eyes gleaming with the excitement to feel his weapon slide through flesh and past bone to steal the life of the colossal being.

[Shadowed]

To the dawn we ride alone
Face the terror in your soul
To the death of flesh and bone
To the kindred cast in stone
Through a night so cold and long
As the miles take their toll
Ride as one, O vengeful throng
Fly to arms, ten thousand strong

Within the amaranthine darkness, cast asunder for breathless moments by the casual cruelty of the furious skies, two warriors fought for supremacy, their strikes shaking the earth to great trepidation. Yet in the last, the chanced hand of Loki’s malice fell true; a lone blade, forged of some metal in lands unknown to the soldiers of Thor’s pursuit, nevertheless felled the great dvergr, Hvastillitr. The gods shouted their protest; thunder bellowed unceasingly across the land, gaining in terrible power and majesty with each mounting second. Freyja, in whatever distant land she currently walked, fell to her knees in sorrow, without fully knowing why; the god of fertility echoed the rage of the forest, many worlds away, which likewise felt angered at the death of the Elect.


A father’s march with sister’s son
Across the lands of barren sod
Brothers all in battles won
Arise till deeds of tale are done
Leaving hard the mountains fair
Across the land we seldom trod
To spiteful blood and morning rare
Fly to arms, where devils dare

The earth shook, echoed by the trees suddenly thrashing about in agony, joining with the thunder in its majestic cacophony. Animals great and small wailed in consternation, lamenting the passing of one as noble as the dwarf; the very land was alight in impotent rage, trumpeting and railing against itself to pound out a death tattoo for Till. Lightning fell from the heavens in great sheets, striking great furrows in the earth. It intersected the forest, creating a circle of magnificence a thousand feet distant from the body of the dvergr as it fell; the furious beat of earth and sky rose to crescendo, fully engulfed in the sorrow of passing. Finally, with startling quickness, silence prevailed. The frenetic music fell to malevolent quietude, stifled in an instant to mimic the passing from life to death.


Elect of Thor, mighty kin
Curse the blade of foreign steel
Passed in rage of thund’rous din
Kiss of earth ‘round ashen skin
March upon the open earth
Pray for slaughter’s hand to deal
Out from land of solemn birth
Of favored son, bereft and dearth

Atop the branches of the Yggdrasil, Thor sat within his fortress of Bilskirnir, entertaining his brother, Tyr. About him, a multitude of servants completed the work of restoring the halls to their state before the vengeance of Hvastillitr, repairing both the damage done by his sabotage and the lengthy battle between the dwarf and the Lawmaker, whom Thor had summoned to enact his vengeance upon the impudent dvergr. A distant rumbling noise filled the air, growing in intensity for several long seconds before falling abruptly silent; moments later, a winged valkyrie dove from the sky, finding entry through one of the few remaining holes within the ceiling. Prostrating itself before the mighty god, it whispered its tale, a chilling recitation of the recent deeds of those whom Thor had placed upon the pursuit of the Whole Glory.


Vengeance won for fathers slain
A sabotage both fair and bold
‘Cursed,’ said he, ‘let honor wane’
‘Tis fair indeed, in wrath be slain’
For in his crimes, a solemn day
With silent breath let gods behold
Under Lawmaker’s mighty sway
Life in loss, let honor pray

With a mighty roar, Thor rose from his throne; his anger had been kindled as had not happened in many thousands of years. His eyes blazed with palpable fury, alight and wroth, while his brother looked on in smoldering rage, sharing in the emotions of his kin. Thor Jotunslayer, mightiest warrior of the Aesir, awoke to a mind of murder and destruction, furious at both the loss of the warrior and at his failure alike. For three days, he rained lightning down upon the dvergr of the north, caring not that he kindled their wrath against Asgard; his vengeance was served upon the people for the failures of their kin, and his mind was once again at ease.


Fury borne of Thor’s defeat
Fire kindled of molten skies
Kindred fled for halls to meet
Fearing wrath no mind may cheat
So now upon this fateful day
Hear the call of battle cries
For Hvastillitr’s death we gladly slay
Thus we march, so far way

[hr]

Thus he died; Hvastillitr, dvergr of the north, Elect of Thor, brother in arms of Honuse Relaiyent, honored and worthy above all. Such were the songs of his passing, as Thor’s wrath kindled the hearts of the dwarves to battle, though such events would not pass to fruition for many score of days. Deep within the unfettered jungle, the silence of Till’s passing held true for many long moments; even the rain appeared to have ceased. Of such events, Honuse Relaiyent was only aware in the barest sense of understanding. His actions of minutes past had so thoroughly tired the man that he forced himself to undergo a healing trace, focusing his mind inward to replenish the spent energy. Electricity flowed with his blood, igniting it within his muscles, urging them to greater strength as would be needed soon.

His body slowly healed, even as the rain began once more with renewed fury. The oceans could not have been removed to the skies with greater effect than the vigorous downpour that now beset the land. The still reverence for the fallen passed as dreams in the mist, leaving no trace but the bitter anxiety that brooded eternally within the grove where Till died. Feeling sharp awareness return to his mind, the Lawmaker extended his perceptions once more beyond his own withering shelter; it was at this point that he found the still corpse of his companion, lying below the feet of one of the interlopers. With a sadistic reverence, the giant recognized the fate of the dvergr, and bore a moment of mixed quietude and subtle gloating in honor of the event. Yet no such honor would be complete without a second slaying to accompany the warrior to whatever fate lay before him.

Recognizing that the decaying aura about the dwarf had not yet faded, as traces of vitality still lingered in the corpse, Honuse Relaiyent moved swiftly. With a gentle touch of his mind, the abomination located the wellspring of that contemptible energy, and, with minute alterations to the molecular composition of Till’s muscle tissue, formed a potently destructive weapon. Another casual touch held the skin down, igniting the oxygen-rich tissues around the target zone. They exploded inward, compressing the gaseous residue of death; it reacted with volatility, detonating into a cloud of thick grey smoke, resisting the downpour to maintain cohesion in the open air.

The biological fog, acting not as a disease but as an airborne corrosive, reacted to dense concentrations of matter. Affected constructions, whether wood, metal, or flesh, reacted roughly the same; it appeared to age at an advanced rate, to the point of losing years within seconds of exposure. The intense oxygenation of the corrosive self-replicated, turning all hydrogen into oxygen that it contacted, until separation from the initial propellants introduced adaptive mutations that failed to produce the same results. As such, the explosive cloud traveled outwards a dozen feet in every direction from the corpse, though the aging effect would only work for a matter of seconds, resulting in the equivalent of twenty years being effectively added to any targets.

Though his face remained passive behind the petrified wood surrounding it, the Lawmaker truly considered smiling; it was a fitting end for such an ultimately worthless companion. Perhaps Thor would be more apt to recognize Honuse Relaiyent’s self-reliance in the future; though Till would be missed for the service he could have rendered, the abomination could not deny his preference for hunting alone.

[Jericho]

-



Jericho lay under the wash of heat, a heavy tide measured by the throbbing echoes the explosion had left in his skull. Sparks bit like flies as they settled on his fur, and he clamped his eyes shut, the blast's blue afterimage boiling on the inside of his eyelids as claws of ash raked through his lungs. His shocked eardrums beat their fists against his brain, couldn't think, couldn't think—

He lifted himself to his hands and knees, opened his eyes and clenched them shut, blinded by the night's eruption into flame. A touch on his right shoulder. He took the hand, gasping for breath as he pulled himself upright, lifting his staff from the muddy tangle of the jungle floor. Cracking his eyes open, he squinted against the mad tarantella of the flames.

“Let's go.” Sharp words cut through the conflagration's roar, and Kryos jogged ahead. On quaking legs, Jericho followed.

He lifted an arm to block the heat from his face. The explosion had singed the fur on his left side but spared him further harm, save the ringing in his ears. Flames thrashed on every side, cackling at the rain's attempts to subdue them. Kryos stopped at the barricade's edge, showing no sign of discomfort in the blistering heat.

Jericho slowed to a stop somewhat behind his companion, struggling to hold on to his breath as the flames sucked away the air. Somewhere beneath the fire's ragged roar, he could almost hear a growling, bellowing voice. Behind the tongues of the inferno, he thought he could see colossal bodies flailing, thought he felt the pounding in his head reaching with long fingers down his veins into his core—

He shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to loosen the thick weave of the smoke and rot-smell with his antlers, trying to clear his mind.

“After you.” Kryos nodded toward the fire. Jericho looked from him to the flames.

Breathe. Breathe, and listen.

He reached out with his spirit. He cried out to the One who named the stars, the One by whose power Gavin slew the giant. He lifted his plea to the Oldest Name, the Only, the Opener of Doors, the One who had cleared every path to bring him this far.

And he heard nothing in reply.

He swallowed, clamping his left hand in a death grip on the staff lest his quivering show. “You go first,” he said, surprised by the volume of his own voice. “I'll catch up.”

“Very well, then.” Kryos stepped toward the blockade like a man walking toward the doorway of his home, becoming a shadow wreathed in orange dragonsbreath. “Don't take too long.” And then he was leaping, turning, slipping through the flames as he might weave through a crowded square.

Then the elkin was alone.

He took a deep breath and coughed, the sludgy stench of burnt decay clinging to his ribs like oil. But despite the mauling of his lungs, he stretched his free hand out against the fire.

“In the name of the One,” he wheezed, “let the way be made clear!”

The tremendous pop of a bursting gas pocket loosed a swarm of sparks into the sky, and a new, larger flame licked its way up out of the opening in the wood.

Please... His outstretched arm began to tremble. Please, hear me!

Another crack of dark amusement split the timber, and a hollow silence flowed through his blood, spreading darkness at the corners of his vision. His staff suddenly felt heavy.

“In the name of the Victorious, I defy you! In the name of the One, let me pass!”

Something moved. Something bigger, deeper than the fire, than the jungle—in his spirit, he felt it turn with the immensity and depth of an ageless thing, sensed it spiral out and converge with wide arms on the obstacle before him.

But this was not Light. It was Shadow.

A second blast rocked the glade and threw Jericho backwards onto the earth. The flames roared, driven to frenzy, leaping from the tree trunks to the blanched undergrowth in front of them. Jericho's heart went mad, too shocked to hold a steady beat, and though the inferno scorched his retinas, he could not bring himself to close his eyes.

A Face.

It leered at him through the gaps in the blaze, bared its teeth, licked its maw with tongues of fire. The void of its eyes struck Jericho's soul dumb of all thought save recognition: a Stronghold. A Presence. One of the enormous behemoths of shadow he had felt moving over Kebiras when he had first arrived, now not a distant, foreboding body brushing the edges of his spirit but a ravenous, giant beast, holding him trapped between claws of fire.

The face offered a final sneer of malice before slipping into hiding. Sudden pain bit Jericho's fingers—he bugled in alarm and leapt to his feet. The fire had spread from the confines of the barrier, advancing by some power over the damp mess of the undergrowth.

He snatched up his staff, adrenaline pouring into his muscles and his mind. He sprinted to the side of the cage Kryos had scaled, lifting his cloak from his shoulders and leaving only his light tunic and breeches to bear the brunt of the heat. Beating his way through the ground fire with the soaked garment, he thrust his quarterstaff into the blaze like a spear, sweeping it from side to side, breaking away what branches he could. The fireline drew closer behind him. He threw the staff as a javelin over the wall, took one step back—

Even in the face of the fire, he felt the hot tears running over his muzzle. Please, Father, if you can hear me—he stretched his hand once more toward the blockade—let the way be made clear.

The flames chortled their mockery.

His arm quaked, and he slowly clenched his hand into a fist. As the fire drew around his ankles, he loosed all his breath in a single bellow against the night, the fire, the Face, and the heavens' silence, charging with all the strength his legs would offer. At the last moment he cast his cloak before him onto the wood, leapt, stepped, pushed off, crossed his arms over his face, flew, saw the flames parting, saw the cool darkness beyond—

—cried out as his antlers nearly tore themselves from his skull, seized in the talons of a tangled tree branch. His momentum threw his legs out in front of him, and he fell on his back to the timber.

He screamed and thrashed as the fire ate through the canvas of the tunic, tore away the weave of his breeches and started on his skin. He flailed his arms blindly, seeing only red as the air filled with burnt fur and flesh. Somewhere over his own screams he heard snapping, somewhere beyond the searing pain felt wood breaking under the writhing of his arms.

Then he fell.

He tumbled from the gnarled wall still screaming, rolling over the vines and moss to extinguish the fire clinging to his fur. His howls died with the flames until he lay still on the earth, steaming and sobbing. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, he felt no Light coming to cool the burns, and that made the tears run freer. Ignoring the ripping of his skin, he got to his feet, turned toward the fire, and lifted his face to the sky.

“Why will you not answer!” he bellowed. “Why did you leave?”

His throat went hoarse, and he turned around.

The flames cast his shadow, huge and monstrous, on the backdrop of the trees.

He roared again, lifted his hand, summoned the Light to come and blot out his darkness. But no light came, and the Giant leered down at him, speaking wordlessly, You know why.

Tears spent, the elkin's shoulders sagged. He knelt to retrieve his staff and had to use it to push himself upright again. Drawing the rod close to his torso, he curled his neck to his chest, and despite his burns and the waves of heat rolling from the fallen trees behind him, he shivered.

Risking a final, hateful glance at the monster in the trees, he turned away from it. Kryos was nowhere to be seen. Stripped of all protections, he headed at an angle into the darkness of the jungle—very much on his own.



-

[Shadowed]

Even as the airborne corrosive decayed within itself, Honuse Relaiyent noted a second form moving through the trees, angling towards the rough area of where he stood hidden. Confidently, as he knew that the one who had slain Till did not at present know his location, the Lawmaker slowly began altering his camouflage, using the minimum amount of concentration and strength required for the task. As he did not have the benefit of cover once his strategy was enacted, his actions required a certain frugality to remain practical in the ever-changing field of battle.

A low sigh escaped his lips as fresh adrenaline coursed through his veins. His will embraced the surrounding tree, subtly moving the petrified wood closest to his body upward, freeing enough room for him to turn around, to access the weapons cast about his person. It did not take long to gain such a space, as the bole was already thick enough to accommodate his bulk. Satisfied, the giant removed four of the long, thin daggers that hung across his ribs on either side, taking two in each hand. Placing them at chest height in a four-pointed star around him, the abomination crouched low to the ground once they were set.

With an intense crackling, lightning fled the Lawmaker’s skeleton, pressing itself in a thin sheet against the inside of the trunk. It stayed there, building up in power throughout the opening, as smaller tendrils penetrated cracks within the thicker sections above. As the power reached climax, it expanded outwards with tremendous force, using magnetic propulsion to destroy the petrified wood encasing it. As it detonated, the knives fixed within the wooden shell similarly flew outward, focusing the electricity between them in an ever-widening circle; for a hundred feet in all directions, electricity ignited flammable objects, while the petrified wood splinters acted as high-velocity spears. The carnage was over within seconds, yet the aftereffects lingered on in the form of falling leaves, and flames smothered by the ever-present downpour.

In the epicenter, Honuse Relaiyent stood alone, calmly removing a pair of short swords, one from behind each of his calves. The smoke of his gaze once again moved freely in the open air, creating ghostly images about the decimated forest; the lightning flooded his mind with brightness, giving rare clarity to the shapes he perceived. With the rain falling on his masked face, he stalked through the underbrush, seeking any sign of his enemies – or at least of their remains.

[Jericho]

Bunnies approved by Shadowed.



He felt something. Something that was not the Voice but that told him something was wrong. A prickle on his fur, a tension in his muscles, a hush among the trees like the jungle holding its breath—

—a CRACK like the earth's bones breaking, a flash like a scream of the sun, and reflex alone saved him, throwing him into a crouch behind a thick tree trunk as whipts of shrapnel tore through the foliage. The blue cast of lightning faded to amber fire as the first boom subsided into the dying squeals of burning plant life.

For a moment, panic and adrenaline locked the elkin's muscles in a rigor mortis, but once his heart recovered its cadence, he breathed, and peeked around his refuge.

No...

A giant stalked through the fires left by the blast, silhouetted by a halo of flames. Like a monstrous dog sniffing for carrion, he searched. Blades extended from his very arms, and he swung them with a grotesque grace bred of a lion's bottomless hunger and a dancer's thoughtful precision.

Jericho spun behind the tree again, blotting out the screams of his cauterized back against the bark. No, no, no... He had nothing. Nothing left—he was a child coming at a rabid dog with a stick. He shuddered and looked skyward, but the canopy was too thick here to see the stars. Why will you not help me?

He dropped his chin to his chest. The behemoth's footsteps reverberated through the soil and the tree trunk, coming ever closer, resounding against the hollow in Jericho's marrow, shaking the shattered pieces of his spirit—

And then one of those pieces broke loose, rattling down through the empty places of his abandonment until it lodged, sparked, and started to burn.

No.

He would not lay down to die. If the monster, the shadow in his soul had separated him from the Voice, then he would fight it, he would fight it with everything, and he would kill it or die trying.

The fire in his spirit grew, spreading warmth into his limbs. He took one hand from his staff and planted it on the ground to steady himself as he stood—then he stopped, looked down, and smiled. A small pile of smooth stones lay there beneath the vines, as though someone had left them there for future use.

His breeches had long fallen away, but a scrap of his tunic remained. He tore the carcass of the fabric from his shoulders—it was little more than a jagged strip with charred edges, but it seemed sturdy. It was enough.

He gathered a few of the rocks, holding them in the same hand as his staff as he stood. Holding the two ends of the fabric strip in his other hand, he fit a stone into the loop.

He sucked a deep breath of the rotted air. The vine-wrapped trees of the jungle leered at him in the flickers of the fires, a myriad mass of shadowed Faces—one of them bore a mask of terror, with shining green eyes. But he stared back defiantly. Any fear that remained in his heart was vastly outshone by the blaze of his rage.

No more running. No more hiding. I don't care how big the shadow in me is. I will fight it, and one of us will die. His spirit flared, and somewhere beneath its blaze, he thought he felt a hint of the Light.

He spun the sling in a slow circle as he rounded the tree toward his foe. The giant looked up as though it were not at all surprised to see him, and it raised its arms to the ready.

The sling raced in faster and faster arcs, the heat in Jericho's blood fueling it with a strength the elkin had forgotten he possessed. The force and weight of it swelled in his arm and in his soul, and all the jungle, all the fires, fell away, save the face of the Shadow Giant, the Face of years of guilt and self-loathing, the Face of his sin.

With a roar of fury and determination that outweighed every fear and doubt, Jericho loosed the stone, followed through, stepped forward with the strike—

With a flick of a bladed wrist nearly too fast to see, the giant batted the projectile aside.



-

[Kryos]

Bunnies have been approved.
Kryos coughed, deep billows rippling through the thick, gray fog like curtains. The particles, the remnants of the fallen man before him, penetrated his lungs with each inescapable pull and seemed to stick to his mouth and throat like powdered mucus. His eyes widened and he dropped to his knees, hands clenched and pressing into the yielding earth. Revulsion rolled up through his spine and his shoulders hunched with the recoil, storing it as it searched desperately for an outlet. Silently, but with agonizing horror, his gut heaved as he gagged, trying to expel the vile dust which inevitably brought on more coughing as the cadaver, or what was left after its unexplainable combustion, entered his system. His arms locked, and he tried to endure tides of disgust that boiled beneath his skin wherever the lifeless miasma touched. It was as if the decaying smog seeped in through his pores, eroding and desecrating his life’s spark. He had seen the gruesome scenes of battle before, but this . . . this was beyond words. His whole being fought against the suffocating fog, and time stretched endlessly.

Soon though, the unceasing rain that fell from the brooding heavens managed to thin the layers of corrosive vapor. Little by little, he gained control over his body. He rose, sword tip dragging over the clay and dried plant life, water streaking down the edge and washing the crimson from its cold surface. The urgent demands for clean air sent him stumbling away from the haze. In his stunned state, he barely noticed the unnatural, stone-like surface of the now dead trees and vines. Didn’t realize what that meant for him, even as his legs ached from placing one foot before the other. He didn’t notice anything at all, until he heard it–a snarling that sent tendrils of power streaking past him, giving him an instant’s warning, enough for him to turn his head. Surging toward him came a ring of thundering blue electricity, blasting the trees and vines apart into deadly projectiles. His arm strained as it raced to bring his weapon up in time. The world washed white.

His body slammed into the ground, thrown back from where his blade met the arcing light, right hand and arm on fire with shredding pain. He blinked, clearing his blurred vision, eyes no longer simmering orbs of silver and taking in the blackened canopy above that dripped water. Where was his sword?

Groaning as his sat up, he spotted it a little ways ahead of him and to his right, alight with the sputtering fires that appeared in the wake of the attack. Clenching his teeth against the pain, left hand clutching his throbbing right arm, he staggered forward through the dark rain and flashes of light.

The sword lay embedded in the ground, steaming and smelling of burnt ozone. Though he wished he could do otherwise, he wrenched it from the earth with his uninjured hand. He wasn’t as skilled left-handed, but using his right would hinder him even more.

Body aching from his exertions, he stood still, shoulders slumped, letting the rain beat at his fatigue. He needed to move on, needed to find his other opponent. He couldn’t give up. Even without his eyes’ abilities, Kryos knew his target was close. It was just a matter of finding him.

A yell of fury and hopelessness sounded from beyond the tangles of vines and trees, and Kryos’ heart filled with dread.

Jericho!

He lurched into action, stumbling past the roots and shattered branches and fires toward the sound. Closer to where the lightning had spread from. As he went, the fires became more frequent until he was illuminated by the glare.

I should never have left him alone, he berated himself.

He rounded a fallen tree, branches dancing with flames and air rumbling with dying thunder. The scene brought chills to his spine.

Another giant, this one even larger than the one he had just killed, stood surrounded by fire, although his form was darker than black. A shadowy wraith of the most terrifying kind, blades extended from his forearms. The warrior took large, sure steps away from Kryos and stalked ever closer to the slight form of Jericho.

What is he doing?

The elk looked like he had been through hell and back, battling demons far worse than the adversary that stood wreathed in flames before them now. His clothes were nonexistent, just blackened strands of cloth that sparingly embraced him, and beneath the flickering shadows of the jungle, dark streaks covered Jericho’s body. The charred fur, seared skin, and still oozing wounds, heinous in any circumstance, sent a wave of guilt through Kryos’ gut. More forceful than that, however, was the disappointment he felt; the injuries could have easily been avoided, if only the elkin had been more careful. Yet despite the agony which his comrade surely felt, he swung a loaded piece of cloth over his head in quick circles before loosing a stone toward their foe. But the behemoth mearly deflected the stone with his weapon–a blade extending from his forearm–before continuing his advance, dark as night. Jericho didn’t stand a chance. Not alone.

Kryos sprang into action, pressing his seared arm tight against his body as he ran as silently as he could. He concentrated, harnessing the power of his soul, pulling it, condensing it until it appeared in the physical realm. Ebon flames rivaling the darkness of the giant raced into existence along the length of his blade. The effect wouldn’t do much against the huge muscles that gripped the giant’s bone, but it might give them the moment they needed to stand firm. As long as the titan had a soul . . .

He swung right, coming in for a direct attack just as Jericho, holding his staff before him and backing away slowly, disappeared behind the monstrous form. Kryos’ narrowed eyes flashed against the rain and he gritted his teeth against the pain that tore at his body. Legs heaving with a surge of energy and will, he brought his sword across his chest.

He struck with all the power his battered body could muster, eyes fierce and hoping that fate would see him safely to Jericho’s side.

[Shadowed]

Bunnies approved by all parties.

Honuse Relaiyent stood upon the bridge of combat.

On both ends stood foes, whose strength and determination was both tested and unknown; the ability to survive the Lawmaker’s trivial amusements was noteworthy, yet spoke of tenacity and resourcefulness rather than prowess in combat. About the giant, bright swirls of green life mixed with the choking solemnity of smoke, reducing the interlopers to rough outlines. Either end of the bridge was open to him; if his enemies held their ground, he would come to them, the walking fury of the gods themselves. If they instead ventured forth, their corpses would be cast aside, their souls lost for millennia of torment.

A dark shape pierced the murk before him; with no more than a stray thought, the abomination deflected it with an armblade, amused by the clear tone it elicited. It was but an echo of the music that would await his triumphant return, though at present his exploits were undeserving of song. His every step sought to rectify that; his booted feet slid gently in the mud, his only traction coming from the underbrush – yet even such negligent fortunes could not prevent his irresistible march. A second stone flew towards him, to which he responded similarly. His contempt for the bombardier was such that he did not deign to honor the assault with a more intricate response.

As the faint sound of the rock hitting earth reached his ears, Honuse Relaiyent likewise heard the steady rush of feet, the shrill whistle of a blade piercing through the air. The noise of the warrior’s approach was so great that the Lawmaker imagined himself deafened by it; such was his amusement, to belittle the foolish predations of those who refused to acknowledge his dominance with proper subservience. With a suddenness belying his size, the giant stopped his inexorable progression, spinning easily in the soft mud to face the attacking swordsman. His right arm came up, holding the long blade angled from his right hip to left shoulder, a classic guard position to deflect the angled sweet of his enemy’s weapon.

Yet his purpose was not to fully resist the blow – it would be far too simple to block the attack with one arm, whilst using the second to pierce the man’s stomach. Too many of his foes had met a similar end, to the point that the Lawmaker tired of such meaningless victories. It was the Norse equivalent of playing with one’s prey; make them suffer in new and imaginative ways, offering humiliation before defeat. The sky laughed at the smaller man’s ineptitude, belting the jungle with a long peal of thunder as steel clashed, counterbalancing the low echoes with a shriek. Honuse Relaiyent, his blade absorbing the majority of the kinetic force built up in the swing, allowed his enemy’s blade to force his own inwards, until the opposing steel bit into his right shoulder.

As the metal weapon cleaved the leather armor and flesh alike, a brooding maliciousness rose to the front of the Lawmaker’s mind, its glee palpable as the foreign sword contacted dense bone. Many hundreds of years earlier, a comparatively young Honuse Relaiyent stood before Thor himself, defiant in the face of death and humiliation. Yet the god’s own lightning had failed to kill the man; instead, it had forced its way into his skeleton, where it traveled continuously, controlled by the Lawmaker’s own indomitable will. And now, having come into contact with the naked metal of the intruder’s sword, it was unleashed in unmitigated fury. Thousands of volts of white fire traveled along the blade, crossing the hilt to the shaking hands of the weapon’s foolish owner.

Lightning fell from the sky, eager to embrace its distant relation; a bolt hit the abomination upon the head, charring his scarred and tattooed skin even further, reacting explosively as the stream crossed with the sword lodged in his flesh. With a tremendous noise and a kick of energy, the blade was thrust out of the wound, still clasped reflexively by its wielder. Grunting against the unpleasant intensity of the lightning strike, Honuse Relaiyent swept his blade upwards, forcing the attacker’s weapon back with renewed strength. The abomination rotated with the blade, pivoting on his right foot to bring his left up in a devastating kick against the midsection of the smaller being. As his spin continued, a third projectile flew inwards from the first enemy; finishing his rotation, the abomination slid to the side of the stone before using his sword to bat it, increasing its speed tenfold.

The rock flew backwards, aimed at the body of the reeling swordsman, while the Lawmaker focused his attention solely on his first opponent. The sling-wielder was attempting to load another stone, until his gaze found the leather-clad giant resuming his steady trot forward. With an inward smile, Honuse Relaiyent noted the man’s shift in tactics; a wooden staff was chosen in lieu of a fourth stone, a tactic that would prove equally useless against the mountain of the gods. Mud squished under his boots as he advanced towards the now-charging warrior. Smoke flew wildly out from the sides, while the emerald brightness showed an odd structure to the being; it did not have the same physical makeup as a human, being of a species that the giant had never before encountered.

Nevertheless, from his long experiences in warfare the Lawmaker knew few bipeds that could resist a blade to the midsection. They met with an incongruity of styles and tactics, the larger stopping with his right foot braced and the left leading, with sword rotated into a reverse grip, held to the side with armblade protruding forward, while the left remained at center guard. The smaller of the two attempted to bowl the abomination over through momentum and sheer force of will; his staff was held forward, shoved at arm’s length as he approached the Norse soldier. The wooden haft met the sharpened point of an armblade; it penetrated far enough to strike the abomination’s knuckles before stopping.

Honuse Relaiyent’s left hand darted out, grabbing the center of the pole before yanking backwards with a sudden motion. The weapon flew from the grasp of its owner, still attached by the metal blade atop the Lawmaker’s arm, as it suddenly reversed direction; the giant’s left hand directed it in a blunt attack against his opponent’s head. It rebounded easily, adding momentum to a pivot on his left foot, sweeping the sword in the abomination’s right hand towards his opponent’s midsection, whistling through the air in joyful melody, eager for the kiss of blood.

[Jericho]

Bunnies approved by Shadowed.



The blow sent splinters of shock through Jericho's skeleton, knocking his chin over his left shoulder—and he saw the blade. His knees buckled and he fell backward, catching himself on his left hand as the giant's weapon whisked above him and slid through his right branch of antlers as through a cobweb.

His scream had barely started to boil in his lungs when the monster's arm reversed its swing, lashing across his back with an angled edge to send him tumbling over the undergrowth. He came to rest on his right side, facing his adversary with his raw, fractured antler digging into the earth. Disfiguring him, beating him with his own weapons—the Giant had not changed its tactics in years.

CRACK.

With one hand, the ogre broke his quarterstaff in two to free his blade, absently letting the pieces fall at his sides.

Jericho rose to his feet. His strength, his adrenaline, had long been spent. Only will held him upright now.

He ran. The effort tore at every nerve, ran fangs through every fiber of his body, but he ran, dodged, ducked, and as the enemy leveled another swing at his approach, he fell, rolled, and came to his feet with a splintered fragment of the staff in his hand. With the ragged cry of a stallion choosing death over the saddle, he drove the jagged end at his foe.

With the immeasurable strength and indifference of an ocean wave, the giant spun, catching the jab with a backhanded strike that threw Jericho twenty yards into a tree trunk.

The elkin's vision ignited with claws of white hellfire, his body blazing as the bark pulled strips of eschar from what remained of the flesh on his back. And somehow, his muscles found the strength to quiver.

I can't. No use. It was too big. The Giant had always been too big, too strong, ever lurking behind the masonry of his mind. The guilt—he had built walls of righteousness and good deeds around it for years, but the Giant would not be contained. It toppled his facade with the same ease with which his enemy had shattered his staff.

With a throaty growl wholly alien to his species, the elkin pushed himself to his feet one final time. The behemoth was strolling toward him, free of hurry. There were no walls, now. No masks of purity and faith to hide behind. Only himself, and the sin he had allowed to consume his soul.

“If you can hear me,” he whispered, with breath rougher than sackcloth, “please forgive me, Father.”

I already have.

His lungs, his brain, his heart all locked, and suddenly his memory was scrambling, his thoughts raging. Had he heard? Or had he imagined it? Had—

A last reservoir of power burst within his blood, his muscles coiling and springing in a final charge, his neck bent to bring his antlers to bear. The giant began to run as well, in long, loping strides, its huge arms rocking in wide pendulums.

The two nearly collided when one of those monstrous hands swung low and out, clamping around his neck and throwing him skyward. The trauma to his spine drove hailstorms through his nerves, and once more his vision flashed as his trachea collapsed.

I never left you, Jericho. I never closed the path.

The giant's vicegrip released, and he hung in the air for a single timeless moment.

But if you are to succeed in the battle to come, part of you must die.

With the force of a thousand stampedes, the giant's left armblade rammed through his gut. He felt his stomach torn from its niche as the blow drove him into the ground, pinning him like a moth on a needle. Every sense was ice, but for one.

There is no Giant stronger than I, Jericho. Can you trust, even now, that I have made a way?

The monster pulled back its right arm and plunged its sinister edge through the elkin's heart.

Yes...yes.

Whiteness.



-

[Kryos]

Bunnies approved by Shadowed.
Kryos’ crazed, silver eyes stared upward, straining to see an invisible object too far to see, hidden beyond the dense growth above him. Fire shot through his body, coursed in his veins with his blood, ripping and thrashing and biting his nerves. He thought his spine arched–mouth jerk open in a soundless scream–but all normal sense of feeling had been executed by the acid that burned his core. Red flashed in his vision, coating the falling rain with the vile hue, as if the heavens shared his pain and bled the crimson water. Steam rose from his charred skin; he knew his left hand was burned beyond recognition with the electricity that had snapped through his body, causing damage to his entire system. His vision went black, and he screamed for release, though only his mind could hear the desperate, agony-filled howl.

Then, the current that crashed beneath his skin calmed. The pain that consumed his being ceased, only to be replaced by many different kinds of feelings. His body burned, muscles locked in a death grip on his bones while an intense pressure crushed his chest. The skin over his entire body felt as if razors were being dragged across it, opening hundreds of wounds simultaneously before starting over again. Somehow, his heart still endured, pumping the blood that was liquid fire through his body and out into the air, down his defeated form and into the already corrupted ground that pressed incredibly hard against his back. His mouth opened, gaping and seeking desperately to intake the foul air to alleviate the burning in his lungs. He was suffocating! The muscles in his chest did not respond, to save him from this fate. It was as if a thousand pounds of the sea had filled his airway, refusing to be expelled as it doused his life. He had no control over himself. He could do nothing.

The crashing beats of his pulse faltered, and he resigned himself. He would endure the pain, in hope of freedom from it. At the end . . . he hoped . . .

With death’s kiss inches from his lips, his body finally decided to extend the pain of life a little longer. Air rushed down his throat with a sound from beyond the grave: a sigh of desecrated spirits. His chest rose with the breath and daggers pierced his lungs, sending him into an excruciating bout of coughing. His ribs, broken when the giant had kicked him, waited to dig deeper into his flesh. He strained to keep his breathing shallow, fighting the suffocating feeling once more.

Order returned to his mind. He needed to move, see what was happening. Where was Jericho? What was their fate? But his body refused to respond, lying there as it suffered the endless torment. Only his head turned as a result of his feeble efforts. His vision spun, rotated so he could see the flames that burned regardless of the rain, the shadows that masked everything in uncertainty. He could see the monstrous warrior, the blade gleaming in the hellish light.

He heard the thud as it plunged downward and sank into the chest of the fallen elkin, impaling the heart, before tearing through bone, organ, and muscle as the warrior ripped the blade through the benevolent creature. Blood gushed from the corpse and into the ground upon which the victor stood, staring down on his victim.

Jericho . . . No . . . The look in the elkin’s eyes stopped him, though. They were filled with peace, as if he had accepted his fate, assured that all would be well. Assurance that Kryos yearned for, but never found.

No . . . The thought was an empty whisper of disbelief that brought a helpless sob to his hurting chest. Jericho didn’t deserve to die. He wasn’t even a warrior; he should never have become mixed up with this damned tournament.

Once again, Kryos stared at the limp and bleeding body of an innocent, dead because he had not the power to intervene.

Memories flashed through his mind’s eye. A boy, infinite shadows. Blood, and a body in a bed, heavily bandaged. Images from the past few days as well. Jericho’s surprised face when they first met, and relief when Kryos agreed to work together. The peace that filled him when they had meditated before their first match. The face of horror, fear, and solitude. Elkin and boy, it mattered not who wore that mask. The guise that flaunted the fact that he was incompetent.

No! Not again!

A strangled groan breached Kryos’ throat in anger. He wrenched back the pain that overwhelmed his senses, bearing the weight with his new desperation. He would strike down the face of darkness with all he had. Face contorted with repressed misery, he commanded his body to move. Anguish searing his limbs answered him, but he forced his arms to move, a scream escaping his clenched teeth. His broken ribs ran against his lungs again, and a new pain in his left elbow racked his exhausted nerves; the joint had been shattered with the stone the warrior had redirected. Putting everything into the action, he sat up. His endurance was just about gone; he wouldn’t be able fight back in his current state.

Nevertheless, he defied the great powers, and suffered another wave of agony as he lurched to his feet, falling back upon the tree behind him for support. He closed his eyes as he fought for the strength to keep standing.

A whistling of air was all Kryos heard before cold, wet steel blasted through his torso, tearing his skin, breaking more ribs, and ripping through organs. With a thud, it entered the tree upon which he leaned, binding him to the spot. Scarlet poured from the wound and he gasped as cold spread from the blade, numbing his senses. With his right hand, he touched the red sword that protruded from him, his own blood pulsing over his fingers and into his palm.

His vision shifted, blurred over as he looked around. A giant shadow moved through the orange glow of the hissing fires, the subdued light dancing with the shadows the flames cast. Everything was surreal, with the rain and steam and lining of decay that blanketed the ground. Each footfall of the warrior of death sounded loud in his ears. His final countdown. He lost the dark form in the rippling shadows that played with his vision. As he dumbly stared ahead, the flames changed, became specters that begged with him, yelled at him. Faces of dread and fear, a last hope when none existed. A mask of regret. And in the legions of the forsaken, Jericho. The elk did not yell or plead with him. Instead, his flaming face just watched him, eyes calm and understanding. Eyes that saw into his soul. The dwiilar bent his head in shame.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked back, and his breath froze. Jericho’s face had been replaced by . . .

Lorin.

Tears welled in Kryos’ eyes, streaking down his burnt cheeks unbidden as he thought of his long-deceased friend. The pain at remembrance cut into his soul, rivaling the agony his body felt. It hadn’t been his fault. He knew that! If only he’d been stronger, things may have been different, just as Jericho could still be alive had he been stronger.

Perhaps wishing for what will not be only brings suffering.

Then, he remembered the promise he’d made. The vow to save him. Righteous wrath built in his soul until it burned with black rage. Shadows closing in upon him, he lifted his gaze to the giant before him, into the empty eyes that stared down at his pitiful form. Silently, the demon grasped the hilt that was soaked with Kryos’ blood. This was it.

With the last of his strength, and fueled by his burning hatred, Kryos summoned the essence of his soul. Igniting the sable power into existence along the fabric and equipment that shrouded the body of the dark behemoth, the ethereal flames scorched the soul with all the power he had.

His vision erupted in ivory light, and the crackling of a surging current enveloped him.



Save him . . .

[Shadowed]

I realize this is a little late. Jericho had some last-minute finals, delaying the close of the thread. So, since it is past the cutoff, I understand if it's not counted towards the score; I just wanted to finish up the thread. Though, if my opponents have no objection, I'd like to see it included, as I feel it's the perfect finish to this excellent fight. Your call, judges.

With a piercing wail, the sword resting upon Honuse Relaiyent’s back erupted into bright flames; though they emitted no heat, the sensation of movement upon his back bewildered the giant, prompting him to release the smaller blade resting within the fallen warrior. With a single motion, he stepped back and unsheathed the ancient weapon, filling the dark jungle with brightness greater than Sol’s own intensity. The smoke reflected the glare, dazzling the abomination’s mind as it struggled to adapt to the sudden change in perception. With a second clarion call, the flames covering the blade, which was named Alsvid, expanded through the surrounding trees and brush.

The piercing light faded to a more common intensity, one suited to the expanse of wild flames cast about the area. For hundreds of feet, phantom conflagrations spread, appearing to ignite the very air. Alsvid, an ancient weapon sanctified in the blood of demon, god, and innocent, was one of peculiar lineage, having been given to the original Lawmaker by Odin, who was gifted it by the skilled smiths of the dwarven people. Though it had passed to Honuse Relaiyent in years past, it maintained the peculiar trait of bearing the living image of the souls its owner had banished to Hel. The image, which was invisible to mortals, now stood blank, an event that had not happened since its ritual birth.

With the sound of crashing waves, a flood of red liquid cascaded through the forest, crashing between burning trees, fueling the fires rather than quenching them. It overcame the giant, forcing him to his knees before dissolving into the ground. In its wake stood tens of thousands of specters, ghostly images of men, women, and children, along with many elves, dwarves, and giants, along with a number of uncategorized species. Each stood with a notable disfigurement; many were without heads, while others had gaping wounds across their bodies, however they had come to death. It was the assembly of damnation, the gathering of lives ended in dishonor by the hand of Honuse Relaiyent. The Lawmaker’s mind worked furiously to understand what had happened to release the river of blood, thrusting its inhabitants upon a mortal realm.

With slow comprehension, the giant recalled the flash of color that had emanated from the fallen warrior as the Lawmaker prepared to finish the deed. It was clear that the attack, or whatever it stood to be, had fueled the latent aggression and malice within Alsvid, incarnating the images of the damned within the lands of the living. Indeed, as he looked about, the smoke did not curl around the bodies, but rather through them, something that would never happen with a corporeal being. With the trace of a smile, the abomination raised Alsvid to the sky; Thor answered, heralding the waning night with a roll of thunder to ease the passage of the damned. Lightning peppered the ground, beating a death tattoo upon the land, casting wicked shadows through the fiery expanse encasing the jungle.

The echoed sounded as a thousand terrible drums, stamping wildly as they raced towards crescendo. With his pulse quickening, Honuse Relaiyent lowered Alsvid to his side, holding his arms out wide. He bellowed, answering the psychotically primal rhythm with his own indomitable will, daring the legions of dead to voice their grievances with the Elect of the Gods. Their images wavered, yet persisted in the grim firelight, shimmering uneasily in the rain; Alsvid flashed, inciting a quiver among the decimated fallen, many of whom had felt its unholy bite upon their flesh in ages past. Satisfied that his honor stood above the very foundations of the earth, the Lawmaker turned to the dying swordsman, who rested against the tree, still pinned in place, while the last traces of life clung to its pitiful shell.

The thunderous drums reached their peak, coming together in a mighty crash that shook the universe; the sound of it reached the distant branches of Yggdrasil, felling lesser twigs by the hundred. Shifting his weight evenly in the burning mud, Honuse Relaiyent grasped Alsvid with both hands over his shoulder, bringing the terrible weapon about in a single stroke. It flashed through the air, invisible to the naked eye, with naught by a shrill whistle to mark its passage. The ancient blade pierced flesh and tree alike, cleaving the trunk in a sheer cut, while the head of the fated interloper fell away. With a crash that sounded as a whisper amidst the fading echoes of thunder, the tree reached the ground, dissolving the ghostly flames and images in a flash of grey smoke.

Silence reigned in the night. Two bodies littered the ground around the feet of a lone warrior, whose arms shook with the closest emotion to joy he was capable of. With a last casual glance at the pervasive destruction he had caused, the man, abomination to his kin, destroyer to his enemies, and servant to the gods, turned to depart, his task completed.

[Taskmienster]

Thanks to both teams for completing this battle! This thread will now be closed, and should be judged shortly! For the sake of fairness, I missed closing it before the last post, which is my fault since I was unspecific as to exactly when the extension ended. Therefore it will be included in the judgment and count with all the rest of the thread.

[Ebivoulya]

Well, this judgment’s been done for about a week. I guess the suspense has built to a palpable enough point that I can go ahead and post it. As per the usual, questions or comments can be directed to me via PM. Also, thought you might be interested to know that this thread stretched to a whopping 18,250 words. Without further ado, I give you your judgment:



The Whole Glory


Story: 20.5 / 30


Storytelling: 4.25 / 5

Shadowed: Without dragging on about your past, you managed to both give the reader an idea of who you were, and set the scene from the end of your last battle in one paragraph. You covered almost everything about your character’s past, from why and how he became what he is, up to his reasons for being at the tournament. You give the reader a very deep look into how Honouse thinks, and the mythology surrounding him. Your poems in your third post were exceptionally well done. The anger of the very ground around Till as he died was a very poetic and fitting touch. You always give your posts a sense of a beginning and an end, wrapping things up at the end of each post just as you get back into them at the start of the next. The ending of your last post was good, but I felt like it could’ve been better. All in all, damn well done.


Setting: 7.5 / 10

Shadowed: Your descriptions of the scene around you are both vivid, and very poetic. When describing sounds, you almost always use both the word ‘sound,’ and reference your character’s ears. Your description of the souls of all those you killed surrounding you was exceptionally awesome, and vivid in imagery, though. You don’t ever seem to lose track of the world around you, and that keeps your posts feeling very realistic. Well done.


Pacing: 8.75 / 15

Shadowed: You word things fairly eloquently, but there are occasional unnecessary words or phrases that you could frankly leave out. There are many points in your posts where you lapse into purple prose. It’s never exceptionally thick, but it’s there. There is almost no need for some of the technical terminology you use, and it really just slows your posts down more. You described your attack in your fourth post much more concisely than the others, giving the reader only the information they needed to understand what was going on, and to visualize it. Try to stick more to that level of description, lest your posts drag on.



Character: 27.25 / 35


Dialogue: 6.75 / 10

Shadowed: There was very little dialogue at all in any of your posts in this thread. That was within reason considering your character’s partner died early on, but you could’ve possibly thrown in some taunts during the battle itself. The couple of lines you did include were well done, and fit with Honouse, though.


Action: 12.25 / 15

Shadowed: The way you gutted that tiger was sheer brutality, and the imagery of it was perfect. The fact that Honouse hollowed out a tree and hid inside it is also bad-ass. You got very longwinded in describing the first attack your character made, and the subsequent personification of the sky, though. The scenes of the various gods as their elect fell were an excellent addition. You become rather verbose in describing the effects of the corrosive cloud you created with Till’s corpse, although the actual act itself was very original and unique. You describe both the how and why of what your character does, and as such all his actions seem within the realm of possibility. Honouse’s decision to allow the warrior he was fighting a blow on him just to unleash his electrical attack reinforced his conclusion that quick victories were meaningless. His challenge to the dead before him really highlighted his determination, and was just an awesome scene. I really enjoyed the action in this thread.


Persona: 8.25 / 10

Shadowed: Honouse is one of the most original and fully-developed characters I’ve seen, even if he is based in Norse mythology. His thoughts and conclusions are well explained in the narrative, and his thoughts on the meaning of the valkyrie messenger gave a little more insight into what it means to be the ‘Lawmaker.’ You go into fair detail about the relationship between Till and Honouse, and at several points use that to ironic effect. Your descriptions of how Honouse ‘sees’ are always interesting and unique. You really get into your characters head, even explaining his desire to do deeds worthy of glorious songs upon his return. He is deeply embedded in the mythology you’ve used, and his reaction to seeing everyone he’s killed standing before him was one of the few times he seemed the least bit confused or flustered. He quickly regained his analytical mind, though, and his conclusions about the nature of his opponent’s last attack were appropriate.




Writing Style: 24.75 / 30


Technique: 8 / 10

Shadowed: You can get exceptionally thick with your prose. This gives a great amount of information to the reader, but the trade-off is a bit of clarity and pacing. Your narrative voice even has some qualities reminiscent of old religious scriptures, which fits awesomely with the mythology you’ve chosen. You inevitably use some of the same wording for similar situations, like something ‘thrusting’ itself into his mind, or ‘removing’ itself from his mind, and you reuse a lot of phrases, one example being ‘beating a death tattoo upon the land.’ Still, you’ve got a fairly awesome writing style that’s heavy but somehow avoids purple prose, for the most part.


Mechanics: 8.5 / 10

Shadowed: I don’t think I noticed very many errors, although there were a couple. Given the length of some of your posts, there was less that I was expecting, however. There were really never any problems with you grammar, or anything of that sort. Most of what I saw seemed to be typos.


Clarity: 8.25 /10

Shadowed: Due to the thickness of some of your prose, it was occasionally hard to understand what you were saying. This was never due to any kind of error, though, just perhaps putting too much into one sentence. Luckily, I usually understood it the second time through, and the number of instances decreased as the thread progressed.


Wildcard: 4.5 / 5

Not only do you have an awesomely deep and developed character, but you continued and finished the fight despite your partner dropping out.


Total: 77 / 100


Shadowed receives...

650 EXP and 450 GP!



Jericho’s score will be the first, Kryos’ the second.


Penumbra Intersect



Story: 20 – 19.5 / 30


Storytelling: 3.75 – 3.5 / 5

Jericho: You mention your character’s name before even acknowledging his presence in the scene, and you mention the ‘tournament’ and ‘Cabal’ casually, as if they should be understood things. You explain the missing presence of the ‘One,’ and the effect this has on Jericho and his abilities well, though. Your flashback was both well timed, and denoted for easy understanding. The conveniently-placed stones were a nice touch that reinforced his resolve to overcome his inner shortcomings. Jericho’s calm acceptance of the end after his last-ditch effort was carelessly tossed aside really spoke a lot about his faith. You gave me a pretty good look into your character and his story, but there could’ve been a bit more.

Kyros: You reveal a lot about your character in your intro. There is an overabundance of information not essential to the progression of the story, and wading through all of it is a tiresome task, however. You do an effective job of conveying the rushed mood of a fight, from referencing the clash of weapons before even mentioning anyone moving, to shortening your sentence length. Although it definitely helped the pacing a lot considering your massive posts, it would’ve been nice to hear Kryos’ thoughts on the death of Till. It adds an interesting dynamic to the relationship between you and your partner, but I was wondering why Kryos seemed so worried about Jericho considering their earlier conversation about him ‘pulling his own weight,’ so to speak. Kryos’ has some fairly complicated thoughts and feelings as his body slowly gave in to its injuries, and that gives the reader one last glance into his mind; perhaps the deepest of all your posts in the thread.


Setting: 7 – 7.5 / 10

Jericho: Your style seems to favor narrative and character explanation, but you managed to work in a good deal of setting and emotional imagery as well. You maintain a pretty clear awareness of the arena and its effects on Jericho, but often get lost in the narrative.

Kyros: You describe the void through which you are transported very vividly, and you give a very vivid and visual description of the arena upon entering it; perhaps too much so. You showed the effect of the chaos around Kryos well, and your description of the first opponent you saw was appropriately frightening, and very vivid. Beyond that you really just tried to put too much into your posts, and that detracted from the good parts.


Pacing: 9.25 – 8.5 / 15

Jericho: You’ve got a fairly steady pace in your narration, but that fluctuates when you reach dialogue. Although it was interesting to see the exchanged words from Jericho’s perspective, the backtracking wasn’t necessary and slowed the pacing. Once you get into the arena, your pacing slows more until you actually get involved in the fight.

Kyros: The language you used in your intro post was very eloquent, but much thicker than usual. Your second post was significantly less thick, and a lot easier to read. You picked up your second post at a good point, and didn’t backtrack too much. You give an exceptionally vivid description of the effects of the ‘fog’ on Kryos, but during it there are still several points that are too wordy. All in all, you should look back over your posts and get rid of any phrases that don’t directly contribute to the thread; try not to repeat yourself in different wording.



Character: 24.75 – 23.25 / 35


Dialogue: 7.25 – 6.75 / 10

Jericho: The dialogue you employ is appropriate. The conversation between Jericho and Kyros about that memory explained a lot about both of them, and the dynamic by which they interact. Understandably, after they part ways there’s no more dialogue except for your internal monologue.

Kyros: Kryos’ dialogue seems too thick to be naturally spoken. The dialogue between you and your partner was good, though, and highlighted the mindsets of each of you. It may be in Kryos’ character to speak that way, but I can’t imagine him doing it very well.


Action: 10 – 9.75 / 15

Jericho: Your attempt to escape the fiery cage was very realistic. You milked the suspense just before you fired the stone at Honouse, and the very last line simply stating that he batted it away brought some real disappointment. The last-minute confirmation of the presence of the One really wrapped up the fight well, and I thought it was an excellent way to end it. There wasn’t a lot of action with your character, but the point is what action there was you played very realistically.

Kyros: You give a very good description of Jericho’s power, and its effect on the plant and animal life around them alike. You repeated yourself a lot in describing the attack your opponent made, however, and though for purposes of thread progression, it is very unrealistic that your character could scale a pile of downed and flaming trees. You never gave me any solid reason to believe he could, you just did it. You play your character very realistically after succumbing to the aging fog, though. Your description of the arcing electrical shrapnel attack highlighted the confused and dazed nature of your character at the time, and Kryos’ last attack before he died was very appropriate, as was his final thought.


Persona: 7.5 – 6.75 / 10

Jericho: Your decision to dwell on the upturned memory exposed when your character and his partner ‘touched minds’ really helped explain his current mental state, and gave a bit more insight into their relationship. You delve into his reasons for being with Kryos, and that helps explain more of his personality, and their relationship. Jericho’s struggle to gain the aid of the One highlighted his troubled state. You describe his fear at seeing Honouse stalking through the night very appropriately, and Jericho’s association of Honouse with his own inner giant brought out the struggle he’d been dealing with since the fight started. You really capture Jericho’s fear near the end well, and all his actions are appropriate and within character.

Kyros: Kryos’ own past seemed to haunt him as well as they travelled to their arena, and this gave some good insight into him. You also highlight the unspoken interactions between your character and his partner. Your character seems to make the best out of his situation, and somehow manages to avoid the despair that might grip a lesser warrior in seeing the behemoth he had to fight. You describe the pain and sensations going through Kryos’ mind as he lay there after being shocked very well, and his thoughts on Jericho’s death showed a little bit of his own philosophy. Working the memory of Lorin into Kryos’ last few moments also highlighted his own internal struggles, but I just didn’t feel convinced he was real; there’s very little emotion in your posts.



Writing Style: 23 – 21 / 30


Technique: 7 – 6.5 / 10

Jericho: It seems to me you tried to mimic Shadowed’s verbose style in your first post. Unfortunately, you really only expounded on unnecessary information, which made it seem more complex, but in fact added little to the thread other than some too-wordy imagery. Your interspersal of short narrative lines in-between dialogue and the redundant nature of some of them kind of drove home the ‘childish’ aspect of the memory in your flashback, though. The fact that you only described the important parts also made it seem more like a memory, rather than a scene. You utilize personification fairly effectively, if a little too often, and you used a lot of onomatopoeias in your third post as well.

Kyros: The wordiness of your first post really brings down the pacing and clarity. Your style can be very heavy with visual imagery, but there’s not a lot of emotional attachment, or mood established. You lapse into purple prose a lot in this thread, and I mean a lot. It was sometimes a struggle just to get through some of your narrative. Seriously consider toning it down, more does not always mean better; it’s how you say it, not how much you say.


Mechanics: 8 – 7.5 / 10

Jericho: I don’t think I noticed many errors except for a predisposition to use onomatopoeias as one-word sentences, and maybe a couple of sentences starting with conjunctions. There were errors, but not many, and I thought you did well here.

Kyros: You seem to use a lot of incomplete sentences, and sentences starting with conjunctions. Though the effects of those are obvious, there are more grammatically correct ways of achieving the same effect. Also, given the large nature of some of your posts, there were a number of typos. These didn’t grow too numerous, though, so you didn’t do too bad in this category.


Clarity: 8 – 7 / 10

Jericho: After your first post, you became a lot more casual with your writing, which lends itself to ease of understanding. I rarely had trouble figuring out what you meant, or why you use some particular wording.

Kyros: Due to the large and complex nature of your posts there are many points where clarity becomes an issue. There are a number of typos or small mistakes that add up to a fair bit after two or three massive posts, as well.


Wildcard: 6 – 4.5



Total: 73.75 – 68.25 / 100


Jericho receives...

500 EXP and 450 GP!

Kyros receives...

1,100 EXP and 400 GP!




The Whole Glory is Victorious!

[Taskmienster]

Exp and Gp added!