Whispers in the Wind vs. Stalin For Time

[Christoph]

Congratulations for making it to the third round of the Tournament of Champions. Both teams receive four Fate Points for making it this far! The battle closes after 11:59 PM EST on May 8th. Good luck to both teams!

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

Your battlefield is the summit of a jagged, pine- and snow-covered mountain. The icy winds are almost as harsh and unforgiving as the steep cliffs.

[Petoux]

Not again!

The Earth started to shake until both Sara and Hopper fell into the river.

It’s over, we are going to drown.

Suddenly, the water turned into a vast blue sky, different from the first two times, full of white fluffy clouds. Somehow, they were flying through the air without the fear of gravity pulling them to Earth, and killing them both instantly.

What made gravity seem non-existent?

Sara took a better look at herself and Hopper. They were both in a transparent bubble of some kind as they continued to fly over the beautiful scenery. She began to see brief patches of green land below, until she saw a giant casing of water up ahead. The strange object protruded all the way through the clouds, which had to be miles up! Inside the bubble you could see the next arena …

What will it be this time?

As Sara and her teammate got closer, a giant waterfall crashed upon the bubble. Obviously this was a fantasy of some sort, none of this was possible in anyway. Suddenly, their speed increased dramatically to the point she was about to puke as they pummeled to the ground, perhaps to kill them instantaneously.

Sara couldn’t watch as she closed her eyes, waiting for the impact, but it never came. She was in a standing position now floating just inches above the ground. Their fragile bodies planted into the ground as she could feel the soft grass beneath her. The transparent bodies of the team reconstructed themselves to their original state. Sara looked down at herself, trying to verify if the state of her was back to normal.

Still an elf, the same clothing, a beautiful white dress, long maroon colored hair, jewelry galore all intact, her bow and arrows fully stocked and ready to battle once more … and last but certainly not least … my good friend Hopper, seemly in perfect condition.

The elf and the old man, her teammate, looked each other in confusion but didn’t say anything at first. Not knowing what to do, she trusted her instincts which told her to walk towards the bubbly mass. As she looked towards an opening in the clouds, she could see the waterfall that seemed to continue for many miles up, perhaps to even outer space! The water was beautiful, and got louder as they drew closer to the arena in site.

A feeling of walking many miles, she took a deep breath and entered the bubble, feeling it’s cold grasp upon her. Suddenly, the beautiful scenery replaced itself with the feeling of a icy cold wind on top of a steep and jagged mountain top.

Without much clothing on, Sara was getting quite chilly. She would have to move briskly to stay warm. Suddenly, a strange voice echoed in her mind ...

Why are you here Sara? You are here to win,you are here to dominate,you are here to prove that you are the best. BEGIN!!

Coming back to reality, she lightly shook her head to get herself re-focused on what she needed to do.

Off in the distance was their competition. She could see the same bubbly mass they entered appear and drop the opposing team into the arena, as the bubble disappeared into oblivion.

"Well Hopper, let's kick some ass!"

Bow and arrow ready to fire.

[Mikeavelli]

Falling
Drowning
Falling some more
Flying!
At least we're not all covered in blackness this time. Kinda've enjoying the view really

It was a dreamlike journey they took, lost inside their own thoughts.

'Hopper was enjoying the view afforded by this unique method of transportation. Far and away from his teammate, 'Hopper spent the trip laid back, taking in all the sights and sounds and, more to the point, making a mental map of the surrounding areas. Just because the fickle lords of this world saw it fit to give them transport between the various battlefields they had in store this time didn't mean the trend would continue.

At least, he tried. The entire journey he felt under a cloudy haze. Even crashing into the mountainside, an event Sara couldn't even bring herself to watch, barely even phased 'Hopper. He moved on, barely even aware of himself until the moment they stepped through the bizarre bubbly wall into their newest battlefield.

Their newest, ice cold battlefield. 'Hoppers reaction is predictable: "POWERS ABOVE IT'S SODDING FREEZING! I'd like to take whatever addle-coved piker what thought it was a good idea to 'ave us 'ere and..."

'Hopper trails off once he realizes that those selfsame powers in charge of putting him here are probably listening in right now, and impious as 'Hopper is, he's learned by now the right and wrong times to irritate someone infinitely more powerful than himself. Right now would be the wrong time.

No, after allowing himself that little outburst, his instincts take over,taking account of their battlefield and whatever strategies they might have to use. Finally, he takes the time to respond, "Aye, methinks we'll get the chance ta kick some ass this time. Remember though, we've had our victories as much thanks to luck as skill these past two rounds. I dinnae' think we'll 'ave it on our side so much this time. There's no cover up 'ere, trees don't start fer' a hundred feet or more by my view, an' it's too damned cold ta' even breath, much less fight."

Then, after a moment's thought, 'Hopper tossed his golden ring to Sara, "Alright, here's the plan, you remember how ta' use this, aye? Stay back while I charge in, It'll keep ye' from getting blinded when I use me sword. When they've got a face full o' sunlight, fill'em up like yer' trying ta blot out tha' REAL sun."

With that taken care of, 'Hopper drew both his own swords, and waited for the opposition.

[Saxon]

(Bunnying between Arsene and I has been approved for the entire thread.)

Silent black melted into violent white as Brom awoke to the roar of bitter winds as snow fell in globs from the heavens. Laying upon his back and buried three inches deep in snow, only the barbarian's face remained exposed to the savage storm that howled around him. It wasn't by chance that he had survived the sharp drop in temperature, but the hardiness of his race and constant exposure to the elements that saved him. The people of Salvar, though primitives who lived on the fringe of society, endured the worst that nature had to throw at them and they grew stronger for it.

Thrusting his hand upward through the mound of snow he was buried under as if he were climbing out of a fresh grave, Brom dug to the surface, pushing giant clouts of snow from himself until he was free. The blanket of snow, however, must be warmer than the air around it for when the warrior stood to dust himself off he felt a chill sink deep into his gray flesh and threaten to touch his spine. Only once he was sure that he hadn't contracted the killing cold did Brom try to take in as much of his surroundings as he could see.

Great larches whose boughs were covered in white littered the area like the fingers of giants who rested beneath the permafrost. Because of the temperature, easily twenty below, and the harsh climate it was obvious that there would be few signs of life, but Brom's practiced eye as a hunter caught the glimpse of fading tracks of a mountain ram. As the barbarian turned he saw the sheer, icy rise of a cliff that jutted out in crags that were almost like claws of rock, rarely support the hundreds of pounds of snow it typically bore let alone the living.

Stepping in the other direction, Brom saw snow then nothing but sky a few feet after that. Which could only mean one thing, and it put a small grin upon the warrior's face when he walked apprehensively over to the edge and looked over the side. Thousands of feet below crags stuck out, disappeared beneath the clouds and only once he peered far enough could he spot the end of a massive river dappled in ice floes that must have winded back to it's source.

The speed at which the snow was falling might have been alarming to those who weren't accustomed to being this far up a mountain, but Brom managed to take it in stride. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of snow would roll off the mountain in the years to come, but it came as a reminder to the barbarian's odd silence. Avalanches always a present danger, the warrior had spent time as a boy with his clan training himself to speak sparingly while upon a mountain. His people had called it "Mountain Talking" whenever they attempted to hunt for the goats that dwell upon the crags.

The sky was splashed with the pinks and purples that meant a coming dawn, and Brom began to notice that with every passing second the sky grew more pale and obscure. Which meant that a white-out was coming, something that killed more men than any storm or avalanche Brom had ever witnessed. It was subtle and could drive a man mad, but the barbarian knew that he would be in little danger if he found shelter fast.

Taking in the scenery one last time, for the first time in months since the beginning of this tournament, Brom felt at peace. "At home," he quietly corrected.

It was a welcome break from the other horrors and tribulations the warrior had experienced in the previous weeks. Right now, he was in his element, making it harder for the warrior to be rivaled while in his natural environment. But, while Brom walked about the small plateau on the side of that mountain, he quietly searched for his partner with the grim fear of what he might find if the Russian had been buried under the snow as well.

(Summary: Brom awakes to find himself buried in snow. Getting up he gets his bearings and notices a white-out is coming on top of the blizzard that already held it's grip upon the mountain. Now he searches for his partner.)

Killing Cold = Hypothermia

[Arsène]

The Russian winter had a reputation to it that many Europeans had heard. Unlike the watery fortifications of Albion that deterred all but Normans and Vikings, the Motherland allowed an enemy deep inside her womb. They enjoyed their victories as Muscovy troops fled the field. However, when frost began to harden the plains of Russia, the tides would turn. Russian soldiers, who had played dead to attack victorious enemy armies, began their true counterattack. Hitler had Moscow in his sights as previous victories at Stalingrad and Leningrad gave way to encircling tactics, and no more territorial gains would be awarded.

Winter was a sidearm to any true Russian soldiers; one which he employed with glee and skill to his advantage. And if Aleksey considered himself anything, it was a true Russian soldier.

The jagged mountain was a treacherous terrain fraught with a fierce frost and bitter biting winds. As the breeze kicked up and the blinding blizzard approached, the young soldier could only lean against a large pine tree with a smile on his face. It was a small copse by any means, with jutting roots and gnarled branches that created a makeshift roof of pine needles. Shelter was what you made it on the tundra; a lesson learned in basic training of any Russian training. It was hard not to get caught up in the whimsy of the moment. Aleksey, young and untested, could only imagine the excitement felt during Russia's 'Winter War' with Finland. The Finnish people, though fierce, could only hold out so long against the massive Soviet force.

The wind strung the soldier in every crevice of expose skin; but his woolen parade uniform and hat were suitable enough to keep him alive. Removing himself from the tree, he bent down to grab a scope of snow with his gloved hand. It was an old sniper trick, putting a handful of snow in your mouth lowered its temperature and made a person's hot breath less noticeable. Though uncomfortable, it was a necessity.

Through the break in the small forest, with his keen eyes not yet blurred by the furious storm approaching, he could see the outline of a large man in fur and armor. His partner, the barbarian, was only a few meters away. His rifle at the ready, he took a quick look around before trudging over to his partner.

The snow was clean and white in dawns light; it would be red at night.

[Petoux]

Fancy dancy writing this time huh? Two can play at this game! Good luck! :D

Sara smiled and walked briskly, taking a path that led around to the right, past Hoppers' side and out onto the mountain top. Ahead of her, the great many slopes of the mountain were a dim shadow against the greater upcoming dawn light of the sky. Beyond it lay a thousand miles of bitter cold on the rocky formation they stood upon.

She walked out onto a pale mountain stone, her best guess was that the ground was roughly 300 feet below them, the great muscular shapes of the mountain up ahead. Standing there, she thought of Hopper and what was to come.

It had told her little that she did not already know or suspect, yet, reading Hopper's words at this distance, she had, against all expectation, been impressed by his intellect, and had found herself wondering what he might have become if the tournament never started. And that thought had spawned others. Was it really his fault that he had become what he'd become? The destruction of his hopes at such an old age had probably traumatized him as a boy, yet could everything be accounted for that? What of the cruelty of his many jouneys, that twisted aspect of someone, or something else? Was that a product of events, or was it something natural in his childhood that, through circumstance, had been encouraged rather than controlled?

It was impossible to say. All she knew was that her herself had been lucky. Lucky to have Hopper as not only just her teammate, but also her good friend. Knowing in her heart that their connection to each other slowly grew as round by round, they continued to work together, two people fighting together, but as one solid force, anxious to conquer over any challenge that swings their way!

And then there were her own family...

She pushed the thought aside, then turned, hearing soft footsteps with her enhanced Elvish hearing just behind them.

"Hopper?"

"Let's go," she said at just the right volume and tone for only Hopper to hear, and not their enemies. "Today, we show them our strength. Today, we use their own fears against them. Today, we will reign victorious!"

Her face, silvered in the now daylight, was smiling strangely; it was Sara's secret.

A burrowing worm blinks in the sunlight
and pulls his eyes down over his eyes,
Earth's mouth steams. Deep voices grumble.
Time draws a jagged line upon the sand
in which the woman waits.

Sara's mom told her this strange poem whenever she needed extra strength to conquer something. She wasn't sure what it quite meant, but nevertheless, it was a powerful tool to use in any situation that lays ahead of her.

[Mikeavelli]

"I never told ye' why I came 'ere, did I." 'Hopper said, ostensibly talking to Sara, but his tone wasn't a question, just a lead-in to his coming story, "Not the real reason anyways. It weren't an old friend, asking me. Was an old enemy, and he was telling me."

'Hopper was walking forwards while he talked, towards the highest point of the mountain, where their opponents would no doubt also be heading, eyes scanning the mountaintop for any sign of life, "Fiend by the name o' Varsinax. . . One o' tha' most powerful an' evil bloods in the Multiverse, an' he knew it, too. Now, I probably could've slipped his noose when e' came knockin, But that's not 'is style. Said he'd be after everyone an' everything close ta' me, an' I cannae' do a thing ta' stop'im."

A little voice in the back of 'Hoppers head was screaming, you're getting distracted! Your opponents are going to surprise you, they're going to take advantage of your weakness! They might be sneaking up behind you even now! But he silenced it, he kept going, because if not now, then WHEN? "Is' always like that, too. Cutters followin' me, around me, dragged inta' things darker an' they ken deal with. It dinnae' matter iffin' I ken save meself, it always ends with me friends written up in the Dead-book."

He sees the opposition now, at the far end of the Summit, near the treeline. The for reminiscing was gone, his mind and body needed to be here, now. "So that's why I'm 'ere. That's why I keep telling ye' to keep yer thrice-damned head down, I know how ta' make it through this, how ta' win this damned tournament. But I want ta' win it with you still bein' a young, livin pain in me arse. Keep yer head down an' yer wits about ye'. This is about ta' begin."

Their opponents were some distance away, but his eyes were still good enough to pick them out even through the worsening snowfall. The cold was bad enough, and even 'Hopper could tell it was going to get worse. His goal now was to see to it that the battle ended before it reached a full-on whiteout, and the magic of those terrible masters of this tournament would take them far away from the gods-forsaken cold.

What else could he do? If his opponents didn't see him already, they would soon, it's pretty hard to miss when 'Hopper twirls both his swords into a backhand stance, and charges towards them like a billy-goat after a troll.

[Saxon]

(Bunnying you a bit, Micky. If you have any problems with it, let me know and I'll change it.)

Brom's gray, weathered flesh grew more and more cold as the blizzard continued to pummel the mountain with snow. The barbarian didn't even take more than ten steps when a shroud of white engulfed him and soon even his surroundings were swept away by the rush of white. It looked like the white-out had come in faster than he had anticipated, leaving the Salvarian to count on his memory to try and map out his surroundings before being blinded. A difficult practice to learn, and an even harder one to master, Brom thought as he trudged further into the wilderness.

The snow had rose above the barbarian's ankles, growing higher and higher with every passing second. It is almost if the storm was devouring the landscape, relentless and brutal until everything is buried. Though rare, these are the type of blizzards that had shaped much of Salvar's savage tundra during Brom's childhood. They weren't fond memories.

Hunched over by the bitter cold, Brom kept his head bent downwards as he stumbled across the shifting plateau, trying to remember where he had seen the cover of a nearby crag. He was so focused on his goal, driven by the will to survive that the Salvarian had nearly ignored the call of his partner, The Russian who was standing seven or eight feet from him.

"Brom!" Aleksy roared above the howling winds, cupping his mouth to amplify the message. The Russian watched as the barbarian turned in his direction and ambled over, his entire visage smeared in frozen snow as if he had been sleeping in the middle of the blizzard.

"Have you seen them yet?" The Salvarian rumbled, his voice so gravelly and hoarse that it wasn't very difficult to discern it from the gusts of wind.

Looking up at the barbarian, Aleksy shrugged and shouted, "No. I don't think they're here yet, because if they were they would've done something by now. Attacked or kept us apart maybe?"

Brom snorted as he pulled his furs closer to give him some warmth and said, "You might be expecting a pack of wolves instead of a pair of doe, friend."

Aleksy nodded, understanding his partner's meaning. The Russian could be giving these two too much credit, but one never knew just what to expect in this tournament. The last couple of fights the two had were testament to that. As Aleksy moved to say something, he suddenly fell over as a blur in the blizzard barreled into him headlong. The two tumbled head over head into the storm, soon lost in white.

Brom trekked after his friend, only pausing to draw cold steel as he tried to get a bead on where they might be. It was the screaming that led the barbarian to his partner's aid.

(Summary: Brom and Aleksy run into each other and after a brief exchange are attacked by Hopper. Aleksy is struggling with Hopper as they become lost in the blizzard, the barbarian following after them.)

[Arsène]

Sorry for the wait.

The Russian's heart warmed his body as his eyes caught sight of the barbarian he'd grown accustomed to. Brom was a towering man that the soldier often compared to a tank; an unstoppable force that infantry fled from in droves. As the storm began to roll him, his couldn't help but admire how well his partner fit into the environment, silhouetted as it was against the patchy forests and rocky crags that dotted the landscape.

Their pleasantries were barely finished before Aleksey was swept up in a furry he first suspected belonged to the godless storm. However, as he tumbled into the white abyss, he realized his opponents had made their move. His sword slashes were violently bright despite the harsh white that blasted the pair. As the soldier lost his footing, he was only saved by quick thinking and ingrained training. His rifle was firmly in hand as it deflected the volley of blows that fell upon him.

Just as the Russian was convinced he'd succumb to the endless assault of the charging enemy, the familiar shadow of the barbarian trudged through the blanketing snow, with his mighty blade in hand. It bought Aleksey just enough time to break away from the fight and roll to the side.

EDITED: To give Mike a chance in edgewise.

[Petoux]

Sara moved swiftly. Silently beneath the increasing daylight, the mountain mysteriously veiled in an oddly colorful light. From where she waiting in its prow, she'd turned and looked back briefly to see if anything was behind her she could use for a better spot. Nothing.

She had been in this tournament less than a few days or so, yet already she was half in love with all of the strange and wonderful arenas. Of all the places they had traveled to, none came close to comparing with this, she began to wonder who started this whole thing, how the void came to be, and how it crafted the physical characteristics that had permitted such a place to develop.

Sara, watching Hopper, saw how he suddenly “blossomed” in this new environment. Admiring him as she did, she had nonetheless thought him some-what dour, a deep and taciturn man, but suddenly things were “transformed” … a conversation could be heard not far from her location.

"Brom!"

Ah ha! There you are!

Sara readied her bow, making sure Hoppers’ ring that was given to her was secure on her finger, aimed towards the sound she made out. With her elvish hearing, she knew that she could get the target quite well, even though Sara could not see it.

Her fingers grasped her bow a little bit tighter, as she unleashed three arrows at the same time through the air. As they sailed above Hoppers’ head with a Whooossh!! noise, they headed straight for the sound of where their opponents would most likely be.
As the arrows drew nearer to the target(s), another poem came across her mind.

…

A seabird calls.
The unknowing one stands at the rail.
Peace. The circle closed.
The last word written.

[Saxon]

(Bunnying a bit on all sides, let me know if it's out of line and I'll change it.)

Brom could feel his mighty heart throb in rhythm with his heavy footsteps as he continued to fight against the roaring blizzard that slammed into him like a brutal wave. The Salvarian felt the savage winds nick and score the already scarred flesh upon his face, it's bite causing him to retreat further and further into his primitive garb for warmth out of instinct. The cold is the worst of it all, because just as the barbarian feared the parts of his body that were still exposed had long gone numb, losing feeling in even the most hardy parts of his giant frame.

All he could do now was try to keep his hands and fingers as warm as nature would allow, because once he lost feeling in those he was a walking ghost. Numb, frozen fingers made one clumsy and more likely to make mistakes, and Brom had seen too many friends and enemies die to such a bitter blunder that cannot be undone. Even the most seasoned of warriors wouldn't be able to count on a victory let alone staying alive when they are unable to perform the simplest of tasks like keeping control over their hands.

As Brom caught sight of the Russian and his hated enemy scramble to end each other, he picked up speed. Once they were in view, the barbarian began to ignore the growing pain in his joints and how hard it had been to move about in the deep snow because he was so heavy. He forgot about the bitter cold and the blood beginning to well in his ears. All Brom could see was the man whose life he was going to take and another he was going to try and save.

The lust for blood began to drive the barbarian wild as he moved faster and faster towards the pair that danced in a way that seemed deranged in the white backdrop. When only four paces away, he began to swing his heavy steel upwards as he peddled his feet harder and harder on the swirling plateau of snow. Brom could see his partner's attacker had his back to him, unable to see death approach with thundering steps in it's wake. Knowing the kill is imminent, a cruel smile curled his lips and the hunger to hear his blade sing and the wet, sloppy thud that quickly followed afterwards spurred him on. And then..

Thuck.

Brom stepped clumsily forward as he felt something sharp sink deep into a part of his upper right shoulder blade. He paused to reach back and with a swift jerk tore the foreign object from his flesh, taking some meat with it. Ignoring the fray, the Salvarian looked at the arrow that had struck him and the bright, almost overwhelming color of crimson gore that had quickly frozen to the tip.

Immediately, the same razor's edge focus that had driven the barbarian to kill turned, and the hunger for slaughter grew deeper as he felt his wet, red lifeblood drip down his back and freeze shortly after. Even beneath his lamellar armor, Brom seethed. Turning his back on his partner as he just began to gain the upper hand, the barbarian snarled as looked in the direction that must have been the path of the arrow.

In the distance, even with visibility this bleak, the Salvarian's gaze traced an invisible line upwards until he could see his mark atop the sheer cliff. It was enough for the barbarian to snap the shaft in two and let the winds carry it into oblivion as he hunkered down and began to move towards the base of the cliff.

The Russian may have needed him to pry his attacker from him and dish out long overdue punishment, but they both now had bigger problems. An enemy with the higher ground and a weapon that could punch through his thick armor was enough to turn Brom's attention elsewhere. Even if the archer wasn't as skilled as the barbarian had first surmised, he or she would only need to get lucky once. And the Salvarian wasn't going to let that happen.

Splashing snow upon his form with his gloved hands until he was sure he would be harder to pick out from up above, Brom ran as fast and low as he could manage to the cliffs and soon vanished under the cover of the savage storm.

(Summary: Brom tries to keep himself warm as he searches for Aleksy in the storm. Upon finding them, the barbarian is driven into a frenzy. Only a hair's breadth away from hacking into Mick, an arrow strikes Brom in the upper part of his right shoulder blade. Knowing what kind of dangers this could impose on himself and his partner, Brom leaves Aleksy to fight for his life as tries to sneak up the cliff and onto Petoux's perch.)

[Mikeavelli]

The wind howled and the flurry of snow bit every exposed inch of flesh like a thousand tiny knives. Snot dribbled out of his nose, freezing into the sparse mustache that had grown in time since the tournament had started. His mind wandered again, How long 'ave I been doing this? S'only felt like hours, must be DAYS, No! Focus! almost there. Every muscle was aching, and he hadn't even begun to fight.

By the time he was upon the two, the white-out was nearly complete, to the point where he could barely see his nose in front of his face, if the two weren't so close to him already, he'd have lost them to the storm. What he'd planned at the beginning of his charge was for some elegant swordplay, a slash and stab that left one man dead before he'd known what hit him, and the other riddled with arrows by his teammate. It didn't work out so well.

Scratch that, The arrows DID come. He heard them anyways, couldn't see a thing. But Sara's experience on the mountaintop was in stark opposition to 'Hoppers. For a man who hates seemingly everything and everyone, he had a special hate in his heart for places this cold.

This frigid, thrice-damned cold is the absolute worst sort of arena they could have thrown him in. If 'Hopper had a personal hell waiting for him after he died, that hell would, at the very least, be this cold. His hands and fingers were numb, legs probably were too, they'd be screaming if he could still feel them. Fancy bladework would have to wait, but luck was on his side, looks like he had the element of surprise after all. The fact that he meets up with the Russian to target first then is something of an accident, Seconds before impact, 'Hopper raises up his left arm to lash out at his opponent with Styx. Though that initial assault might be easily deflected by the Russian's rifle, 'Hoppers true intention was to bring the blade to bear when he followed through into a wholesale tackle.

Styx was a wicked, curved blade, with sawtooth edges that were horribly impractical against armored men, but clung into flesh like barbs, and inflicted painful, gaping wounds that would never truly heal. But, effective as it would be as just a sword, 'Hopper chose Styx for its enchantment, it could steal away the minds of those whose skin it touched. While they tussled, it was 'Hoppers singular goal to sink Styx's teeth into the other man's flesh. For while he might struggle onwards a few seconds, perhaps even break free from the grapple, if 'Hopper could leave Styx lodged in the man, the dark blade's work would quickly be done, robbing him of his fighting skills.

Despite the plan, Lucky's light never came. No-one could see anything anyways, so he didn't need to let the sword flare to life. Couldn't be bothered to concentrate on it either, not when he needed to sink Styx's teeth into the Russian.

[Arsène]

The Russian was far too distracted to know his only chance at rescue was off chasing an archer high atop the mountain. His acrobatics were limited in the cold as his muscles ached and throbbed with every bone-chilling gust that cut through his parade uniform. Only earlier had the weather reminded him of wonderful, if false, childhood memories behind the Iron Curtain, but it soon became apparent that these memories hid the terrors of freezing to death.

Aleksey was in a fight for his life he had little chance of winning. His opponent was nearby and filled with the fury any soldier feels when engaged in brutal combat. This put the Russian at a heavy disadvantage, as his skill in close-quarter combat was nowhere near as proficient as some of the fighters he'd come across. He had but a moments reprieve before his enemies vicious attacks returned.

The faceless shadow, obscured by snow, was relentless. But Aleksey had managed to draw his pistol as best he could with his free hand, while his other hand grasp the rifle with desperate hope that he wouldn't be torn to shreds by the barrage of blades that came swinging through the curtain of white.

His defense failed as one powerful serrated swing soared through the air and knocked the rifle clean from the Russian's hand, leaving a massive scar on his arm in its wake. However, he had time to unload three shots into the air before the hit, their loud echo bounced off the mountain and reverberated all around.

Aleksey's mind grew feeble, and as his feel to the snow with a burning pain running down his arm, he couldn't, for the life of him, remember why he was there. All he could do was wince and scream as he fruitlessly attempted to stop his blood from seaping out and pouring to the frozen earth. And while he was completely at his opponent's mercy, he was at nature's mercy too.

For he couldn't understand why the earth began to rumble, or imagine why a wall of white began its dreadful decent down the mountain side.

((Aleksey tries his best and fails at deflecting Hopper's sword blows, and takes a nasty cut on his arm. The serrated blade drains him of his memory, but not before he manages to get a few shots off. Where the bullets fall is up to you, but the sound has triggered the beginnings of avalanche *you choice what size* down the mountain.))

[Petoux]

The arrow struck true!

A grim expression set into her strong, proud features: a squaring of the jaw and a narrowing of the eyes that had not been present in any of the previous battles. The resolve to fight, and finish it as quickly as possible, was the only clear path to survival. Her green eyes became hard as steel, and she gazed sharply at the barbarian who now started to approach her. Any who might have observed the two would have noted a sort of eerie calm take place between them as she stared her opponent down, a quiet much as one would expect to find before a storm or in its eye.

From that point onward the elf considered there to be no need for words, and it was ultimately the barbarian who broke the standstill as he made his way up the hill to approach her outpost. A man in armor had some advantage over one with little, and so she knew she would have to act with at least some measure of guile.

In one fluid motion Sara rose from her semi-squatting position, every muscle in her body pushing her into a powerful spring. As her feet left the ground, she tucked her right hand against her chest, after dropping her bow, clenching it and setting it against the open palm of her left hand which had joined it a moment later. Fully braced for impact, she aimed her right elbow upwards, intending to implant it into the throat of the barbaric man. Sara had to hope that her foe would be off-balance from her charge, and would be hard-pressed to dodge when on such a full out offensive attack.

In the amazing portrayal of movement, the mountain top started to shake ... an avalanches' approach was near, and grew stronger by the second.

Hopper. Be careful Hopper.

Reassurance of strange poetry blasted through her thoughts...

Torn pages curl and brown.
The flames fly up.
In the flickering light a cry.
Who will lift the fallen stones?
Who will link the broken chain?

Those strange words of wisdom from her mom, even though they rang through Saras' head, were truly meant for Hopper. Sara could only hope that Hopper could hear and understand them before it was to late. Before this whole thing was over, before, before the end of it all.



Avalanche added, sorta, you start building it up whoever is next. I only built up the suspense a little ;p

[Mikeavelli]

Got a PM from Petoux saying Saxon said he wouldn't be able to make the post order, and I should go ahead before the deadline. This is the result:

The elated rush that comes from knowing he's struck what would soon be a fatal blow; the howling winds and blistering cold the assaults him as fiercely as his human opponent, the mild hypothermia that's already setting in, all these things combine to dull 'Hoppers reflexes. He barely even hears the pistol shots blasting through the air. His armor would have saved him any injury at all if they weren't at point blank range, but that first bullet rips through his banded armor and into his gut in a manner that would be excruciating (if he had any feeling left) and deadly (if he hadn't any armor at all). After that first impact, 'Hopper has the presence of mind to activate his silver ring, bringing into existence its mystic force shield, a defense more then capable enough of protecting him from the second two bullets.

His injury is serious, but not so punishing as the one he's inflicted upon his opponent. Indeed, even after 'Hopper realizes he's been shot, he's just about to renew his offensive when he feels the deep rumbling beneath his feet, and the realization hits him, Thrice-damned peeler knew 'e was piked, he wants ta' take me WITH him! With that, a new sense of accomplishment fills 'Hopper with the will to move, to force his numbed fingers into one last frenzy of motion with one idea, e 'as NO idea what's coming, all I 'as ta' do is slip tha' noose an' this is OVER! I can go off an' fight some sod someplace WARM! Maybe BAATOR! That'd be NICE right now!

All the while during his inner monologue, 'Hoppers hands are in motion:

His left hand sheaths Styx in one practiced motion, at the same time turning off the force shield as swiftly as it turned on. It needs to be, despite his collection, he can only use one ring per hand, and the gruesome Troll-bone ring of Regeneration he has on his left index finger needs to be active if he wants to survive the next few seconds.

His right hand sheaths Lucky, but still glows brightly. If the Russian's eyes are good enough, he might be able to see the tiny bronze ring on 'Hoppers right ring finger crackling with arcane energy. This isn't normal, there isn't much point in advertising what he's going to do, the ring is reacting to 'Hoppers stress, his desperation, his will to live.

It soon becomes clear that the avalanche, while intentional or not, is going to be far too large to manage, for anyone. Beginning at the very summit of the mountain, once-solid snow breaks apart into a consistency more like water than ice. 'Hopper and his opponent, even close as they are to the summit, are faced with a small wall of snow crashing towards them, combined with a complete lack of stability, 'Hopper couldn't run away even if he had anywhere to go.

Which is why he doesn't even bother. He's bent over, with his right hand over his stomach, the crackling bronze ring on his right hand ready to burst. With perfect timing, he lets it loose, this weapon of his that has battered so many of his enemies to uselessness. This time it's Hopper whose bones break and shatter. It's 'Hopper who bleeds inside and out from the battering-ram of force slamming into his gut. It's 'Hopper who goes flying, up above the snow, above the battlefield, and over the coming avalanche.

While he's flying, he watches the Russian who caused this, whether he escapes or not, 'Hopper is conscious enough to flip him the bird.

And when 'Hopper lands, it's on the hard-packed ice left behind after the looser snow went falling down the mountain. He's alive, and thanks to his ring he'll probably even stay that way, but he's in no position to do any more fighting. It feels like the sun is beating down on 'Hoppers face, like the blizzard is ending now, almost as soon as it began. A few nagging doubts cling to the back of his mind, did Sara make it away from the avalanche? Clouds were everywhere, for miles, how is the sun out?

But they're not enough to keep him here. 'Hoppers mind drifts off someplace else. . .

Someplace warm.

[Tainted Bushido]

Overall: This had potential guys. I'm not going to lie. There was really only one quasi finish to the thread, and I'm rather disappointed this had no formal conclusion. While I can't fault you for the lack of conclusion I will say this, if possible, finish your fights guys. Alright, now some explanations of how this judging will work. Red will be Petoux for team Whispers in the Wind, Blue for Mikeavelli. Red represents Saxon for team Stalin for Time, and Blue will represent Arsene.

Onto the judging!

STORY

Storytelling ~ 3 , 4/10. I got a better feel for hopper once things had started up. Surprisingly, this wasn't from Hopper's little speech while walking up the mountain. I actually had a feeling Hopper had lived a life full of adventure and excitement. Sara, seemed to reflect on her childhood, but I got no feeling for how her experiences defined her. I know this isn't supposed to be a recap fight, but some showing of past experiences, even if its an irrational fear could have been helpful.

Setting ~ 5 , 3/10. Setting in this case was seldom used. Sara gets a few points for using the high ground. (I hear it gives a +5 to dexterity anyways...) While I understand the blizzard makes it hard for people to make much use of setting, even a small bit of setting could have been useful.

Sara, being in nothing but a dress should have been chilled, possibly even freezing to death. I saw nothing to indicate why she was still functioning in such an environment once the blizzard hit. Huddling near a tree to get a brief break from the snow, perhaps using some kind of magic to warm her, would have been fine. The fact that with such winds trees could have fallen over or even had branches snap off from time. You are not solely guilty of this though.

Hopper meanwhile suffered in this category. While I admit Hopper was an intriguing character your inattention to setting beyond "its frickin' cold in here" was a bit blah. For you, the scenery was just a back drop. Again, its one thing to set the scene, another to USE it.

Pacing ~ 5 , 7/15. There are several ways to help with pacing. The first and foremost is to write a flowing story. While writing is a very hard thing for some people to do, you have to consider how well it will be received as well. If your words cause a momentary jumble not only does it hurt the coherency of what you've written, it also breaks the pace. Now we have to start anew and hope we can continue the story with the same hype.

Petoux took a hit on pacing, because she insisted on placing poetry into it. I actually stopped during one post to look at the poem and figure out if it was a haiku or just non-standard poetry. That killed the flow and pace. If you're going to include poetry, please do so in a manner that takes the battle into account. I saw no inkling that Sara was a bard, so the random bits of poetry seemed merely as post filler. Something that breaks your pacing and flow.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 4 , 7/10. Sara's dialogue, what little there was, seemed forced. The character Sara Sixblades did not function well for me. I had way too many questions about her. While its not my place to question your grasp of Sara, I will put forth this. While Sara Sixblades is your character and your Intellectual Property, if you are going to present her in such a tournament, why do you leave me with nothing to go off of than memories of mother?

Why did she have memories of mom? Why would she be so whimsical at all? She's past the age of maturity, unlike a human she's been around long enough to have calmed down emotionally. Why this sudden fascination with events that happened well over a century ago?

Hopper on the other hand helped out within this. His dialogue showed much of what he thought of the situation. Now, dialogue is not just what is said, but also what is thought. While Hopper doesn't talk much, he does think a damn lot. Atop this he adds in a bit of body language and you have someone who I could genuinely believe was a living breathing person. That is the goal gentlemen, we're working towards suspension of disbelief.

Action ~ 6 , 9/15. Sara's actions were straightforward, however I had no chance to glimpse into the character. I had no idea whether Sara was indeed someone who would fire a bow blindly into a storm, hoping to not hit her team mate, or whether she was someone more reserved. Your actions are decent enough to merit an okay score in this category. I need a better glimpse into Sara if I'm to award higher points.

Hopper's actions were by and large theatrical. I could tell Hopper is the type of guy that in his youth would just as soon punt a bear cub to fight the mother as yell at someone over how he's got the better sword. Not that Hopper would do something so ridiculous, merely that he prefers to LIVE rather than OBSERVE. Add atop this the use of the ram's blow ring to send him above the avalanche, and you have the makings of cleverly done character.

Persona ~ 4 , 7/10. This is where all I've talked about Sara culminates. The thing about this rubric is that when one section suffers, all others related to it suffer as well. Sara Sixblades comes off as flat, I'm sorry to say. I would like to see you imagine having a conversation with Sara. If you can picture that, imagine her personality and charm, Imagine the way she moves and acts during this conversation. If you can do this, convey THAT through writing. A better way to view this tournament is merely this, sit back and watch your character fight. Imagine how they would react to this situation and merely report what happened.

Hopper shines on this front. I have a clear image of Hopper, and I know better than to piss him off.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 3 , 5/10. While I sing praises of Hopper's character, I loathe and detest the technique. One of the problems that will probably show up in my ranting about clarity has to be tense changing. Later you got much better about it, but you were current and past tensing back and forth. I wanted to kick my computer and yell at it to make you choose. The use of a dialect of the English language along with your colorful wordings helped offset this.

Petoux, Your style has a lot of blandness to it. Perhaps you were attempting something new, or perhaps you are more of a roll player than role player. However, your writing had little going for it. With the poems coming across as more of an annoyance than something interesting.

Mechanics ~ 3 , 5/10. Petoux you need to sit down and work on your grammar a bit more. However you and hopper were guilty on a couple of occasions in breaking basic rules. When you use a comma, good grammar dictates you hit the space bar post use. You and hopper flubbed that. Atop this Mikeavelli made the mistake of capitalizing words mid sentence. Both of these could have been fixed on a cursory glance through.

Clarity ~ 3/10. That's right folks, the clarity score suffered a grievous blow today. There was more than a few times I had to skip portions of posts to move on, rather than waste more time pondering what was said.


Sara moved swiftly. Silently beneath the increasing daylight, the mountain mysteriously veiled in an oddly colorful light. From where she waiting in its prow, she'd turned and looked back briefly to see if anything was behind her she could use for a better spot. Nothing.

Huh?

The first sentance is a bit abrupt, but plausible. The second, doesn't have a subject at all. What moves silently under the increasing daylight? What is veiling the mountain in odd light? Answers to these questions and more help mechanics and clarity.

Also, one last note on tense changing mid post...

Tense changing makes Hulk ANGRY! You won't like me when I'm angry!

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 3/5.

TOTAL ~ 39 , 53/100.

Whispers in the Wind nets an average of 46!

STORY

Storytelling ~ 4 , 3/5. For this round while I had no idea of what happened in previous rounds, you do make an effort to fit this fight into a continuity with other events in Brom's life. I could believe that Brom was going through the motions and merely continuing on as he usually does.

Arsene, Aleksey is a bit of an enigma to me. I mean, you mention training, you mention many different things. What you don't mention, is anything about Aleksey and how he thinks. You do great in describing his background, but fall just short of actually giving me some much needed insights into his character. I know he's a Russian soldier, but you could have elaborated on that.

Setting ~ 5 , 5/10. Brom gets a couple of bonus points for his intro, atop the slowly revealing information that is critical to survival in a cold environment. The mentioning that he was warmer in the snow than out, the little tidbits about adjusting his armor to try and stay warm, these were small things that helped tie into it.

Aleksey gains a few points for the ice trick at the beginning, even if he couldn't make use of it. He actually tried taking shelter under a tree at first as well. However once the fighting broke out, it became a backdrop and largely forgotten.

Pacing ~ 4/10. Pacing was hurt here a couple of times by the action contained in the posts. Battle posts should be short, but there's short and there's too short. At times it felt like Aleksey was skirting to the edge and then when it's followed up by a much longer post, it hurts the overall pacing. Short quick posts work only if an opponent matches like for like. Aleksey could have just as easily shaken up the writing order to allow Hopper a response before posting.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 6 , 3/10. I didn't much a sense for Aleksey as a character. You wrote a lot, and you related to past events in Aleksey's life, however there was nothing to connect these events TO Aleksey. It was a general background that could have fit ANY Russian soldier, not just Aleksey. Add in the fact that Aleksey's dialogue was more reactionary than proactive and you have a recipe that doesn't tell much about the character.

Brom scores a little higher on Dialogue for the Salvarian Proverb, adding in a bit of body language and some characterful, yet blunt comments. The mountain talking worked well for you here, and helped elevate Brom to above just a dumb brute.

Action ~ 7 , 5/15. Brom came off as very knowledgeable for being high atop a mountain. This helped in making his actions justified and acceptable. The mountain Talking, the checking for Hypothermia, the spotting the blizzard coming in, they all helped develop Brom as a Salvarian born Berserker. What hurt was the getting hit and then racing after the archer.

It seemed rather forced to me. I understand why he did it, but someone who's beginning to get their rage on, usually isn't thinking so logically. It would have made more sense to shatter poor Hopper THEN find another source to vent his rage, than to chase up a mountain cliff to reach an elf who should almost be frozen to death in the cold.

Aleksey suffers on this part mainly because I got NO sense of character. Because of this, you can expect your other character scores to suffer as well.

Persona ~ 7 , 4/10. Who is Aleksey? The same problems that cropped up with Petoux show up in Aleksey. Again, its not my place to question your grasp of character, but it is my job to make sure you realize yours. You need to sell your character as much as you sell the story. A story with bland characters is still a bland story, even if it had epic written all over it.

Brom scores well for a character that's believable and well thought out. Once again, a member of the fight achieved the goal, suspension of disbelief.

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 6 , 3/10. Broms posts were elegant and poetic. There was a few times where what you were going for was hurt by mechanical issues. Unfortunately I can't give you credit for something mechanics kill, and so one way to fix this to higher is to fix your mistakes. Don't worry I got a few to point out and one is showing up in the mechanics portion Sax.

Where as Brom's posts came across as poetic, Arsene's came across as bland. I got no sense of anything within them. The posts were either entirely reactionary or even a bit forced. I don't claim to know you Arsene, but I do know you write better than this. Again mechanical issues choked up your posts, and hurt you here as well. Your opening post however, did give me something in keeping with your score, hence the 3.

Mechanics ~ 5 , 4/10. Mechanical issues abounded in the thread, and to my surprise there was some glaring ones in Saxon's posts as well;


It is almost if the storm was devouring the landscape, relentless and brutal until everything is buried. Though rare, these are the type of blizzards that had shaped much of Salvar's savage tundra during Brom's childhood. They weren't fond memories.

Dropped words, awkward phrasing. Better to have scrapped and rewritten this one Saxon. I have SEEN you pull off better.


Arsene's weren't perfect either;


The wind strung the soldier in every crevice of expose skin; but his woolen parade uniform and hat were suitable enough to keep him alive.

Exposed, not expose.

Blatant errors that can be caught with a spell checker, grammar checker, or even by reading aloud. Gentlemen, I would suggest proof reading each others posts to catch such glaring problems.

Clarity ~ 6 , 5/10. Despite the errors which cut your clarity back, you managed to keep it clear what was going on. At the very least I give you credit on that.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 3/5. For a somewhat entertaining read. I felt had you not been screwed over finals wise you could have had a riveting battle.

TOTAL ~ 53 , 39/100.

Stalin for Time nets an average of 46!

There is a Tie!

Both teams receive 500 Experience. For the purposes of a tie breaker a second judge will be able to vote for the winner.

200 Gold shall be awarded to each team.

Apologies for the confusion this may bring, its been pointed out my math was bad. After going over it several times I have come up with the fact it was in fact bad math on my part.

Any questions regarding what was said can be addressed to me via PM or AIM SethDahlios.

[Tainted Bushido]

Judge's notes - Keep in mind this is just what I caught on the first read through, I could probably pull out even more;

Petoux Post 1

Still an elf, the same clothing, a beautiful white dress, long maroon colored hair, jewelry galore all intact, her bow and arrows fully stocked and ready to battle once more … and last but certainly not least … my good friend Hopper, seemly in perfect condition.

Seemingly?

Why are you here Sara? You are here to win,you are here to dominate,you are here to prove that you are the best. BEGIN!!

Spaces come after commas.

Arsene Post 1

Shelter was what you made it on the tundra; a lesson learned in basic training of any Russian training.

Training sounds repetitive, perhaps meant soldier?

The wind strung the soldier in every crevice of expose skin; but his woolen parade uniform and hat were suitable enough to keep him alive.

Exposed, not expose.

Petoux Post 2

It had told her little that she did not already know or suspect, yet, reading Hopper's words at this distance, she had, against all expectation, been impressed by his intellect, and had found herself wondering what he might have become if the tournament never started.

Chop....it....up....

And that thought had spawned others.

Fragments are not your friend.

The destruction of his hopes at such an old age had probably traumatized him as a boy, yet could everything be accounted for that?

Uh....what?

Sara's mom told her this strange poem whenever she needed extra strength to conquer something. She wasn't sure what it quite meant, but nevertheless, it was a powerful tool to use in any situation that lays ahead of her.

Tense changing is not a fun past time. I would suggest picking a tense and sticking to it.

Hopper Post 2

"So that's why I'm 'ere. That's why I keep telling ye' to keep yer thrice-damned head down, I know how ta' make it through this, how ta' win this damned tournament.

And Hopper joins the chop it up club. While not as long, you could do with choping it up. Try to stick to one comma a sentence, unless you're adding an aside.

Brom Post 2

The barbarian didn't even take more than ten steps when a shroud of white engulfed him and soon even his surroundings were swept away by the rush of white

Once again, try synonyms. Try any attempt to avoid using the same word twice in the same sentence at the very least. In the same paragraph if possible.

The snow had rose above the barbarian's ankles, growing higher and higher with every passing second.

Tense changing makes Hulk ANGRY! You won't like me when I'm angry.

It is almost if the storm was devouring the landscape, relentless and brutal until everything is buried. Though rare, these are the type of blizzards that had shaped much of Salvar's savage tundra during Brom's childhood. They weren't fond memories.

Dropped words, awkward phrasing. Better to have scrapped and rewritten this one Saxon. I have SEEN you pull off better.

Brom snorted as he pulled his furs closer to give him some warmth and said, "You might be expecting a pack of wolves instead of a pair of doe, friend."

Aleksy nodded, understanding his partner's meaning. The Russian could be giving these two too much credit, but one never knew just what to expect in this tournament.

While explaining the meaning behind your words, there are better ways then verbatim repeating the sentiment. I could think of one or two off the top of my head. I'm not saying the word choice was bad, merely that you are writing for people at the intellectual level of late highschool early college at the very least. You can assume reader's can pick up hints at that level.

Arsene 2

Their pleasantries were barely finished before Aleksey was swept up in a furry he first suspected belonged to the godless storm. However, as he tumbled into the white abyss, he realized his opponents had made their move. His sword slashes were violently bright despite the harsh white that blasted the pair. As the soldier lost his footing, he was only saved by quick thinking and ingrained training. His rifle was firmly in hand as it deflected the volley of blows that fell upon him.

Using 'As' to explain actions following one another is well and good. However, you need to vary it up. As this is happening that occurs, as as as. There are three uses of the word 'As' in this paragraph alone. This could follow under the varying word usage rules. More than once a paragraph is pushing it.

Petoux Post 3

Sara moved swiftly. Silently beneath the increasing daylight, the mountain mysteriously veiled in an oddly colorful light. From where she waiting in its prow, she'd turned and looked back briefly to see if anything was behind her she could use for a better spot. Nothing.

Huh?

The first sentance is a bit abrupt, but plausible. The second, doesn't have a subject at all. What moves silently under the increasing daylight? What is veiling the mountain in odd light?

Her fingers grasped her bow a little bit tighter, as she unleashed three arrows at the same time through the air. As they sailed above Hoppers’ head with a Whooossh!! noise, they headed straight for the sound of where their opponents would most likely be.
As the arrows drew nearer to the target(s), another poem came across her mind.

This is very choppy, atop this the abuse of poor 'As' has reached the stage where a restraining order may be in effect. I'm not syaing you guys use 'As' incorrectly, I'm merely reminding you guys there are many words that can be used to pattern actions, such as before, during, prior, after. Also, I would attempt to never use parenthesis again in writing a story. In a legal document or a far more formal setting, the parenthesis is a beautiful thing. In writing prose it can be jarring and draw the reader's attention to it, hurting flow of your writing.

Brom Post 3

The cold is the worst of it all, because just as the barbarian feared the parts of his body that were still exposed had long gone numb, losing feeling in even the most hardy parts of his giant frame.

Awkward phrasing, a dropped word turns what could have been a powerful statement into a confusing jumble.

Hopper 3

The fact that he meets up with the Russian to target first then is something of an accident, Seconds before impact, 'Hopper raises up his left arm to lash out at his opponent with Styx. Though that initial assault might be easily deflected by the Russian's rifle, 'Hoppers true intention was to bring the blade to bear when he followed through into a wholesale tackle.

Random captialization of words in a sentence is grammatically incorrect, good sir. We hope to see you in the future fix an easy to spot error.

[Tainted Bushido]

I read over it without looking at your judgment first. In all I have observed this:

Stalin: Doesn't seem to care about the battles. Arsene's post are small and somewhat boring... though Saxon pulled out a better show he also made a few errors that stood out quite a bit.

Whispers: Petoux is, by far, one of the more bland writers I've seen. She writes well, sometimes, but the style is boring to read. Mikeavelli is a strong character, but the tense changes were so numerous and annoying they stood out a lot.

Now, which to chose based on that? Whispers in the Wind.

I think that ignoring tense change, Mikeavelli had the best show of the 4. Saxon's posts were ok and I'd place him in second. Petoux was close to Saxon's writing, but just a little behind based on the technique... and Arsene gave enough of a show to not get a disqualification for not posting at all.

Hope that helps.

That helps indeed. With the second opinion, its been made clear that Whispers in the Wind advance. Despite this, I am still awarding experience for the tie and the gold is something I'll have to look up for average gold load out. Expect that up later tonight.

Whispers in the Wind advance to the Semi Finals!

Keep in mind what's been said here.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.