Bear Man in the Hot Seat (Eskra Pitsiark vs. Kade Underbough)

[Bear Man]

Closed to Kade Underbough
The heat was oppressive; so thick that it almost became a physical thing, salty and smothering. Eskra Pitsiark was not a man used to the heat.

Quite the opposite, actually.

He rose a hand to wipe the now quickly congealing sweat off his brow, then paused, suddenly confused. Heat? He sat up bolt upright and attempted to get his bearings. Everything was completely dark, which meant that his original theory—that there had been a fire inside his small cabin—was wrong. Before he so much had time to as think, there was a voice.

“Let there be light!” said the voice, and there was light. Now he could see his surroundings: a small cave, on a bale of hay, with a small bald man in a brown robe standing in front of him. The man was carrying a small lantern that had apparently just been lit.

“The light is good, isn’t it?” the monk said, smiling an ingratiating little smile. Eskra blearily reflected that as far as light went, it was indeed pretty good, but he had no idea what why the man was blathering on about it.

“What?” Eskra growled. He still wasn’t fully awake, nor was he entirely convinced that he wasn’t dreaming.

The monk scowled. “That's...another dimension, isn't it? Oh well. You wouldn’t get it. But it’s as good a beginning as any I suppose. A beginning for your new life!”

“New life?” Now Eskra was entirely awake, but no less confused.

“Indeed! Welcome to Scara Brae, the Citadel, to be precise. You were drawn here to fight for us while you slept. That is, drawn here while you were sleeping, to fight for us while awake. It would frankly be ridiculous otherwise, no?”

Eskra blinked. He was now fairly certain that this wasn’t a dream; his subconscious never made up something this ridiculous. Because it was ridiculous, it had to be real. Only a man with no imagination could possibly go through such a line of thought and make it work. Only a man with no imagination could ask the next question, too: not ‘Why?’ or ‘How?’ or even ‘What?’, but:

“Who?” Eskra asked

“Whomever we please. Your first match is in...” the monk paused and looked at what appeared to be a small sundial on his wrist. Wait, a sundial? That made no sen-“...maybe five minutes.”

“And what if I don’t fight? What if I fought you?” Eskra’s hand instinctively went to his back and groped for his axe. It was still there.

“Then you would die.” the monk said, still smiling his ingratiating puppy-dog smile.

Eskra nodded. Anyone who could transport him this distance (all the way from his snowy homelands in the far north of Salvar) could probably kill him pretty easily, too. Other men might have resisted, might have broken down, but Eskra just accepted.

“And if I fight, then do I go home?” he asked.

“If you win. A lot.” the monk said. He shrugged. “Well, maybe. Come now, though, you must be dreadfully hot in that fur cloak! And it’ll only get hotter, now. You’re in the hot seat, my ursine friend!” The monk sniggered at his own joke.

More talk that Eskra didn’t understand. What he did understand, however, was the heat. He shrugged off his bear pelt and fur coat, then slid out of his fur pants as well. Now he was standing in a simple linen shirt and pants; hardly befitting gear for his snowy homeland, but apparently perfect for this cavern.

Even at this point, Eskra had made a resolution. He would fight. He would win. He would go home. And, if the monks wouldn’t return him, he would escape. Back in his village in Salvar, as the tribe shaman, he was the sole doctor and spiritual guide of his people. If he was gone it could mean a strain of bad luck and misfortune for all of the tribe members. If he took too long, when he got back there might not even be a tribe. He had to return, at all costs.

Deep beneath the surface of his mind, however, Eskra was enjoying this. He was on an adventure. You wouldn think that leaving hordes of monsters and freezing winters for random deathmatches in an underground cavern might be disconcerting to some (even upsetting!), but he just saw it as something of a challenge.

“Where are we?” Eskra asked.

“Deep beneath the Citadel.” Now the monk was businesslike, impatient. “Ready? Lets go.”

Eskra followed the monk through tunnel after tunnel, until they reached a large stone door. The monk spoke a soft incantation and the door slid open.

“We’re here! Good luck, and try not to die.” the monk said cheerfully, and before Eskra could so much as ask a single question he was ushered into the arena.

The inside of the cavern was hotter than anything Eskra had felt in his life. He was struck by an image of the heat as a physical thing. The heat rubbed its whiskers against the Bear Man’s face; the heat raked its sickening claws down his sides, leaving lengthy trails of sweat; the heat entered his very skull and purred its subtle hymns of madness. How he hated the heat! It was nearly unbearable. Eskra wondered if there could be a spirit for heat itself, and then felt no doubt that there was. Not a spirit friendly towards him or his kind though, no, certainly not. Already large sweat stains had appeared, centering around his armpits and his crotch.

The ceiling was maybe twenty feet high, but its width was nearly unimaginable, seeming to stretch an eternity in every direction. The walkable area of the floor, however, was fairly small. The arena made a rough circle of perhaps thirty feet across, around which there was only a bright red liquid of some sort. Eskra stared at it in amazement. It radiated heat, like fire—there was no way he could touch such stuff and get away with anything less than a massive burn. It appeared to be liquid rock, as if the heat had been so uncomfortable that even the earth itself had broken down sweating. He had no word for such a thing..wait, yes. There was an old myth (or he’d thought it was a myth) about such a thing. It was called...larva.

While Eskra watched the larva spewed upwards in a massive geyser of liquid fire. This eruption was followed by numerous others of its kind. He made a mental note not go near the edges of the arena; best to stay as far away from the larva as possible.

It got hotter, something which the iceland shaman wouldn’t have even thought possible. This incredible place was getting to him, poor imagination and all.

He locked his jaw and stared ahead at the closed stone door on the opposite end of the arena, reminded of his purpose. He wasn’t here to marvel at the scenery, like some starstruck babe, wondering at the slightest thing. As marvelous (and terrifying) as his new surroundings were, he had one purpose. He was going to earn his passage back to his homeland, and back to his village, which surely needed him as its Shaman. He was going to prove his worth to the monks. He was going to defeat whatever terrible opponent had been chosen for him.

He was going to fight, and he was going to win.

Eskra hefted his axe, and waited.

[Kade Underbough]

A crooked grin spread across Lionel’s face as he dropped Kade off at the Citadel. The captain knew the young man was going to fall in battle very quickly and had decided that a fake death was slightly less permanent than a real one. It wasn’t that he cared for the criminal’s well being. No, he simply needed a trained soldier in battle more so than he needed a punching bag. Kade was trained in some forms of combat, mostly archery, but nowhere near the standards of Lionel.

“Try to learn something in there and make yourself more useful to me, eh?” Lionel snorted as he walked away from his newest recruit.

Thief by trade, he was only in the Empire’s army due to a slight mishap called getting caught breaking into one of Radasanth’s prisons to free his brother. As a prisoner, he became an object of the Empire’s experiment to introduce more men into its forces. This was the reason that Lionel didn’t truly care about Kade’s health. The captain simply couldn’t afford anyone in his ranks failing to protect his company as a whole.

The young man watched the front door of the citadel close behind Lionel, longing to return to his home city just outside the titanic building’s walls. He could escape. There was no doubt in his mind that he could do so. Even Lionel knew this. The only thing to keep him in place was the knowledge that his brother, a member of the army thrown somewhere distant from Kade, would suffer should his younger sibling decide to bolt. So Kade was left in the Citadel with no shackles or chains to keep in place and armed with his own weapons, with the addition of a scrappy short sword, compliments of the Empire.

“Sir, are you ready to start?” A monk popped up at Kade’s side, eyeing him in the same way as Lionel. The monks of Ai’ Brone knew of the thief’s circumstances.

Kade nodded, though he doubted he would ever be ready for what his life was turning out to be. Following the maroon robbed figure down a flight of stairs, through a hall, and then down another flight. The process repeated itself a few more times and Kade was bewildered. The Citadel’s tower was taller than any other building he had ever seen and he had never expected it to continue underground as well.

After a few more stone tunnels, dark and damp, his guide finally stopped in front of a stone door. It opened as if on its own accord, but that was always the case when around the powerful monks. He took a step, but the monk shoved him in the back, sending the young sprawling into the arena. The door closed behind him as he landed on a loose film of dirt, ash-like, matting itself to his face. He gasped for air, but there wasn’t a lot to gasp. An oppressive heat was absorbing much of his needed oxygen. He found himself circled by lava.

It took him a few moments to regain his composure and to realize that he was the second to arrive. In front of him stood a beastly man, holding a similarly beastly axe. His face showed Kade only violence and determination. There’s no chance in hell I’m winning this thing.

“So… uh…” The young man pulled his yew bow from the straps pinning it to his back, notching an arrow in place.

“So… uh… ….yeah” Awkward. Using the one combatant ability in his arsenal, he let the arrow fly toward his opponent and quickly loaded a second missile.

[Bear Man]

Eskra watched but made no comment as his opponent was shoved into the room. The enemy was a teenage boy, fairly small and scrawny, and not apparantly well equipped for battle in such a small arena. He was carrying a bow, for one. As far as Eskra was concerned, bows were for hunting—in combat they were a weapon of the weak or the cowardly. More than that, the boy was scrawny and looked uncertain. Eskra grimaced and growled slightly. The monks would pit him against a child.

He felt a moment of empathy for the boy—he probably hadn’t asked here to die at the hands of a barbarian for a far-away land—but only a moment. Not enough to keep him from finishing the job that had to be done.

“So...uh,” the boy said. “So...uh...yeah.” Eskra simply stared at the boy, making no comment. Had the monks pitted him against a dullard as well?

Is he going to tell me his name? Eskra wondered. This was a duel, after all, and in Eskra’s tribe there were very specific rules about duels. Number one was, you told your opponent your name. That way, if you died, your ancestor-spirit could be appeased with the proper rituals.

It would appear that the boy had no respect for the old dueling rites, for he reached for his bow almost immediately. Before the boy even had an arrow on his string, however, Eskra was dodging to the left. Not fast enough. The arrow grazed his right shoulder, slicing through the thin linen and making a broad, shallow gash in the shape of a frown. Eskra didn’t even notice the pain, his head was clouded with another emotion: anger.

The boy had shot an arrow at him! He hadn’t asked him his name! None of the proper dueling rites had been observed. And they called Eskra’s people barbarians? He was just a boy...and on that topic, why was he being pitted against a foolish child, anyway? It was infuriating.

Eskra felt the ancestor-spirit rising within him, the one that had come with his name: his great-grandfather, Eskra the Bear.

We’ve been insulted! the spirit seemed to scream, begging for Eskra to charge forward in the berserker manner his great-grandfather had been known for. Eskra breathed deeply and ignored the cries of the spirit. His opponent was just a child. Perhaps it was reasonable to give him a chance.

“First blood is yours, maggot!” he shouted across to his opponent. “My name is Eskra Pitsiark, son of Redkra Pitsiark, great-grandson and name-son of Eskra the Bear. Tell me your name, heathen, so that I might give your spirit honor when my axe separates that head from your shoulders.”

He stepped forwards and walked towards his opponent. His words (in his opinion) were calm, forgiving, and, more importantly, traditional. More than the boy deserved. Inside, however, he remained tense. The rage of his ancestor continued to build, and he felt ready to react at any moment, to release the anger and obliterate this small boy that had already disrespected him. Had he a mirror, he would have seen his own normally brown eyes flashing bright blue fire.

The boy had an arrow cocked. Eskra gripped the shaft of his axe tightly and stared him down.

[Kade Underbough]

Kade watched his first arrow do next to nothing to the wildish looking brute. His attack had been read immediately.

The only reaction he saw out of his opponent was a seething anger. Horribly scarred and wearing the skin and head of a bear, the muscular man glared at him in a way that made his skin crawl. The thief doubted his foe would feel any but the most painful wounds.

His enemy spoke for the first time, with words full of venom and hate, honor and threatening.

Fear began to creep into him as he took in another gasp of the thin air. He knew that everything about to happen would be undone with the ending of the battle. Every wound would be healed. That didn’t stop him from thinking about being decapitated. The thought was too painful. He couldn’t allow it.

As the wild man took a step forward, the young man took a step back, making sure he was still a few feet away from the lava.

“My name is Kade Underbough.” Compared to the man’s declaration of his lineage, Kade felt insignificant. This man appeared to have a reason to fight. This man had a purpose. Kade had nothing to fight for. He had no family, other than his brother, who was more than capable of fighting for himself. His livelihood was to steal and run. Combat was a last resort, to be used when cornered.

Boy am I cornered now.

“I’m sorry about that first arrow. I’m… just… new to this sort of thing.” Yeah, I’m sorry about protecting myself; just like you’re going to be sorry when you try to kill me. Psh…

Eskra kept moving toward the thief, axe in hand. He looked like an executioner. He quickly let his second arrow fly at his opponent and dropped his bow. In its place, he pulled out the rusty sword that he had no clue how to use. As his enemy got closer, he stuck the blade out in front of him awkwardly, bracing himself for an uncomfortable melee skirmish.

[Bear Man]

“My name is Kade Underbough.” the enemy said, his voice shaking and cracking. Eskra smiled without mirth. Now when he killed this child, he would be able to honor his spirit properly, or at least more properly. That was good. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, though...

As Eskra charged, the blind rage inside him slowly built to a fervor. His enemy let loose another arrow, which took Eskra awkwardly at a thirty degree angle in the left breast, not cutting in deep but sticking nonetheless. The barbarian hardly noticed, hardly even paused except to rip the shaft out with a grunt and toss it on the ground. What was there to do about it? The monks could heal him, and it hadn’t been particularly deep. He felt almost no pain.

“I’m sorry about that first arrow. I’m… just… new to this sort of thing.” the boy whined, and he stuck his tiny toothpick of a sword out. As Eskra made the last few steps towards his opponent, he felt his emotions change rapidly. Anger he still felt, yes, but no longer the berserker-rage that could come with a good fight. How could he feel such a thing? It wasn’t a battle, it was slaughter, no, murder. This boy was a child, completely inexperienced; that much became more and more apparent the closer Eskra got to him, and his rage drained accordingly. The poor boy probably hadn’t even been with a woman yet. It was pathetic, not infuriating.

The boy, Kade, did cut a pretty pitiable sight. He held his sword out in front of him like some sort of magical talisman that would come to life and protect him of its own accord, without him having to do anything. The blade wobbled pathetically. His eyes were squinted ever so slightly out of anticipation and fear, and sweat dripped down his face, as it did Eskra’s. The heat was, oddly enough, making it hard to remain angry or worked up over anything.

Eskra sighed and slowed down in front of the child. He was still bleeding from two places (mostly from his chest, and slightly from his shoulder) and he began to feel the sting now. Go home he must, yes, but much of his previous determination faded in the face of this new opponent. Had that been the monks’ plan all along? Match Eskra up with an enemy he couldn’t possibly fight honorably, much less defeat? Next thing you knew, they would match him up with a...a woman!

But that would just be ridiculous.

No, there was no way he could fight this boy. There had to be another solution. Perhaps if the child surrendered it would count, or if they both refused to fight it would at least be a draw. Eskra lowered his axe and looked down on the boy. He still felt contempt, but, oddly enough...pity. Contempt, yes, but pity as well. Something had to be done about this child. He’d handled the bow fairly admirably, and he certainly had potential. It wasn’t his fault for growing up in a society that was so...soft, so without honor or dignity. It wasn’t his fault that the monks had brought him here (or Eskra assumed that it wasn’t).

The boy’s reactions to those circumstances, however, were his fault entirely—and those reactions were pathetic. Contemptuous. Cowardly.

Thus, instead of decapitating him, Eskra slapped the boy across the cheek. The ringing sound it made echoed across the cavern, but was soon replaced with the sound of Eskra’s shouting in rough Tradespeak.

“Stop whining, maggot!” he demanded. “Do you think I care that you are new to this sort of thing? Do you think the monks care? I am sure you did not want to be here, but I did not either, so make the best of it! Man up! For sake of the Good Spirit, how could I fight such a coward?”

Another thought occurred to Eskra as he spoke those words, so similar to words his own mentor had spoken to him years and years ago. Maybe the test the monks had set out for him in this chamber wasn’t to fight this little boy. That would hardly be impressive, or even interesting, would it?

Maybe today his duty wasn’t to be angry, but to control his anger. Maybe today his duty wasn’t to fight, but to teach.

The lack of contractions and in Eskra’s speech is entirely intentional, as are the few missing words in his dialouge, just so the judge knows. Not typos or errors. I’m trying to make him sound like he has an accent. Not sure if it’s working or not...hmmm...

Also: Approval was given for the slight bunnying in this post.

[Kade Underbough]

A slap?

Kade couldn't believe it. It was inconceivable. It was...

A slap?

He could find no reasoning behind it. Mere moments ago, he had seen a man with murder written all over his face. He had seen a brute, so enraged that his arrows had caused about as little pain as a bee sting. His fearful respect for that image disappeared.

Allowing his sword to droop to his side, he took a step backward and massaged his bruising cheek with his free hand.

"Wa woo woo wa woo," his words came out too jumbled to comprehend, and he worked out his jaw a bit to regain his lapsed ability. "Whoshaid anytang abou whinin?" Well that didn't come out much better.

He saw something change in the tribal man's expression. The warrior seemed more relaxed, more at peace with himself. There was a short pause in the tension and Kade wondered if Eskra was going to stop the fight right there. Then his eye wandered to the axe still firmly clasped in his enemy's hand.

He's not quitting. There's just no way.

No. Kade was trapped with this massive warrior until one of them fell. That was the law of the Citadel, right? He wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't have time to think about it.

With a quick dash forward, he jabbed his sword at Eskra's chest.

((I'm ok with bunnying. Bear Man and I are in cahoots via PM.))

[Bear Man]

Bunnying done with permission.
Eskra looked down at the boy in vague amusement. His expression was so shocked and hurt that it was almost comical. Whatever he was mumbling (and Eskra had no idea what he was saying) sounded an awful lot like more whining. His face certainly was a whining sort of face. It was the expression most of the pathetic Urodans that lived to the south of Eskra’s people gave when you injured them; not anger or fear but just dull surprise. This boy was slightly better. There was some steel in him, Eskra could see it in his eyes.

Enough steel that he wouldn’t give up. The boy thrust his arms forward, attempting (albeit poorly) to pierce Eskra with his shortsword. Eskra stepped back once and grabbed the boy’s blade between his thumb and forefinger. He yanked it out of the kid’s grasp and held the sword up to eye level. It was atrocious quality, poorly balanced and rusted nearly all the way through. Who would anyone send him into a fight with such a weapon?

“You need a tighter grip, maggot.” Eskra commented. He chucked the sword into the larva that was a few feet away without a second thought. The iron let loose a slight hissing noise as it melted; it sounded to Eskra like some snake had taken residence in the flames. In just a few seconds it was entirely gone, sunken beneath the oozing fiery lake.

No great loss, Eskra thought. Good Spirit, he’s probably better off without that thing.

Eskra kept an eye on the kid and adjusted his shirt to cover his two wounds. They weren’t serious, but if this went on too much longer things might get uncomfortable. For the first time since he entered this fiery hellhole Eskra wished for his fur coat and thicker clothing. He’d had some strips of cloth cut up for such an eventuality, to bind the wounds, but now there was nothing to do about it. Or was there?

Eskra propped his axe against his leg and shrugged off his linen shirt, revealing the muscular, scarred, and sweaty body beneath.

“Something important to remember, maggot.” he said almost cheerfully. “You are never far from a bandage when you have a shirt.” He ripped the shirt into two strips, one of which he tied around his chest and one around his shoulder and upper arm. The cloth stung when it touched his wounds, but the pain receded after a moment.

All the time, however, he kept an eye on the boy; waiting for him to make his move. Odds were that the kid had another weapon concealed somewhere, probably a dagger or hunting knife, and in the eventuality he charged, Eskra wanted to be ready.

What he would do if that happened, however, he really didn’t know. The monk who’d brought him here hadn’t exactly explained the rules: just to fight, and win. As far as Eskra knew, that could mean the opponent’s surrender, or simply knocking him out, or killing him. Three options. He would have to try them one by one. Preferably not in reverse order.

Eskra waited for his opponent to make the next move.

[Kade Underbough]

Awww, what the hell!

His sword was gone. In the blink of an eye, his lack of experience left him watching the blade bubble and disappear. He wasn't pained to lose the weapon. It truly had been a piece of garbage. What bothered him was his loose grip. What bothered him was his opponent still having the deadly axe.

The warrior paused the fight once again, apparently feeling the injuries caused by Kade's arrows. What is this? Is trying to fight me or teach me?

He allowed Eskra to tend to his wounds, using the time to catch his own breath. Pools of sweat were clumping the ashes on the ground into cakes of soot wherever they went. He pushed it around with the tip of his boot, feeling idle in a place that killed idlers. He was glad there was no one else around. If Lionel saw how foolish his newest soldier was in battle, Kade would never hear the end of it. He was outmatched to the point that his opponent seemed to be toying with him.

A dagger... That's all I've got. I doubt it'll do much good.

He watched Eskra put the finishing touches on his small injuries. The scarred man was being patient. Each of Kade's failed attacks had the time to sink in. He was beginning to realize his mistakes. Thoughts of Eskra teaching him, rather than trying to kill him, crawled over Kade once again. This was growing to be one of the most confusing battles of his life.

Screw it.

He was hot, tired, and out of options. Hopelessly, he sprinted toward Eskra, pulling out his meager dagger. With only a few feet between the two, Kade dove, intent on stabbing or tackling.

((Punish Kade's stupidity!))

[Bear Man]

Once again, bunnying in this post approved of via PM. Same goes for Kade's next post, I already talked to him about it. Go Team Planet :D
It was almost possible to see the boy’s thought processes as his facial expressions changed. Fear, doubt, confusion...determination. The last was good. Very good. Most such boys would doubtless have given up by now, have plead for their lives, or any number of things. Kade Underbough had not, and that was admirable. He’d whined at first, but that seemed to have stopped, at least on the outside. His fighting, however, was sloppy. Clearly he was self-taught, and had little natural talent. Pluck and grit could only make up for so much. Still...there was something likeable enough about the kid.

Truer blood than many of these other maggot-ridden city folk, I’ll warrent, Eskra thought.

And...yes, his guess about the dagger had been right. He’d concealed it well enough, but it still didn’t come as a surprise. The boy’s speed was good; the dagger appeared in his hand like a magician making a flower appear for a little girl. Now you see it, now you don’t. He wasn’t fast enough, though. Not even close. Eskra side-stepped out of the way of the boy’s haphazard charge and stuck out one beefy arm. He struck the boy in the chest and the kid went flying, kicking up thick clouds of brown cave dust as he slid along the ground. The dagger went flying out of his hand, clattering like a utensil dropped on a kitchen floor from a clumsy housewife’s hand. It was small enough to be used as a utensil too, Eskra realized. More a knife than a dagger. Someone really needed to get this boy a proper weapon. An axe, maybe. That would be good.

Eskra realized distantly that he was beginning to get attached to the child. That wasn’t good.

He walked over the the place where Kade lay sprawled on the floor and pressed one foot firmly in the small of the boy’s back. After coughing once on the dust that had been kicked up, he spoke hoarsely.

“Sloppy, maggot, sloppy! You will have to do better next time or there will not be a next time. There’s no room for mistakes in war! Understand, boy?”

Eskra didn’t even notice that this was the first time he’d called Kade anything but ‘maggot’.

“There’s steel in you, surely. But will you yield, boy? I know not if the monks will accept such an end, but yield you must, either of your own will or with help from the blade of my axe.”

“Yield!” Eskra demanded, and he expected nothing less than that word in return.

[Kade Underbough]

Kade choked on the ashes as is face laid on the ground. The black film encompassed his nostrils, making it almost impossible to breathe. He struggled to get up, but Eskra’s foot kept him glued to the stone floor. Pain ringed in his head from the hard landing and it took him a moment to regain his sense of surroundings. His combatant loomed over him, threatening to put the battle to an end with the might of his axe.

His fear forced the brigand to tense and recognize his peril. Desperately, he groped for his dagger, but it was several feet out of reach. Eskra waited, allowing him the chance to give up. He’d feel no pain. He’d be free of the Citadel. Something in him stirred and he found it was pride.

There’s got to be a way…

He lay there, pretending to contemplate his surrender, when in actuality his mind rushed through plans of escape. He noticed the weight of his quiver pressed against his right shoulder, numerous unused arrows yearning to touch his yew bow and sing. But his bow was nowhere nearby. Then his mind clicked.

He whipped out an arrow with his left arm and pounded it over his head, onto his enemy’s foot. He finally got a small yelp of pain out of Eskra as the man stumbled back a bit. He quickly picked himself up, the quiver falling from his shoulder. Not allowing his opponent to recover, he scooped up a pile of ash and slapped it into the man’s face. He made sure to smear the grayish-black material in an attempt to blind Eskra. His foe stumbled backward even further, clearly bewildered by the sudden offensive of the boy he had assumed have defeated. Kade took that time to grab two more of his arrows from the fallen quiver.

I’ve got this

He charged forward with the intent to stab his way to victory. For the first time, he was feeling confident.

[Bear Man]

First Eskra was standing atop his enemy, preparing for victory. Then exquisite pain was shooting up his foot and stabbing at his brain. The barbarian inhaled sharp and dry air, a fish gasping for water. The boy had somehow...but his dagger was...what? What? Before he could begin to comprehend this new development, black dust was clouding his vision, burning his eyes. The hot dirt felt like ashes from a not-quite fire, and it burned like nothing he had felt before. It almost felt cold.

He staggered backwards, confused. The boy had been far, far more resourceful than he had anticipated. His foot was bleeding now. Hot dust caked in the wound and for a moment he wasn’t sure whether to pay attention to his eyes or his foot first—both screamed pain. The bandages on his shoulder and chest had slipped lose too, and dust must have gotten into those wounds too because they were crying for attention. The dust in the eyes and the stabbing (he must have used arrows from his quiver! that was it!) were terrible, sneaky, dishonorable moves. They would never have happened in an honorable duel in his homeland. In other words, the boy was a genius!

Eskra smiled, just a little. There was steel in the maggot indeed!

He blinked furiously, trying to clear his eyes of the blinding dust, but there was no time. A fresh assault came almost immediately. Something slammed into him. There was another sharp burst of pain from his abdomen—he must have been stabbed there too, and what felt like another gash on his left arm. Shockingly, things were not looking good for the northern warrior. Still, years of instinct, honed by countless battles, would not let him surrender yet. He still had his axe in his left hand, and he blindly swung it in front of him in a broad and senseless arc. It wasn’t a move that would achieve anything against an experienced fighter, but the boy wasn’t experienced, was he?

Despite whatever small affection (and now respect) he might have gained for the child, he was not going to give up just yet.

What Eskra did not know was that his last stumbling had taken him precariously close to the edge of the arena. He was a mere foot from burning alive. It would only take a little push.

[Kade Underbough]

Eskra’s blood sprayed onto Kade’s arm as his arrow pierced through the tough, muscular abs. A smaller spray of blood came from his foe’s arm. The bandit felt his pride and confidence grow as Eskra began fall from grace. No more teachings came from the warrior’s bluish lips as he struggled to figure out how it all went wrong. As he took a few more steps toward the edge, Kade slid the arrow out of the ruined stomach.

The battle was done. He threw his arm forward to drive the arrow into Eskra’s neck and finish things. Instead, a searing pain shocked through his entire body. The axe sliced through his wrist, dropping his hand to the ground. A mixed whimper and scream escaped Kade’s lips as he fell to his knees, holding his stump with his other hand. The agony was unbearable as he waited for the axe to come after him a second time. He lifted his bowed head to face the victor.

?

The pain was too great to think of anything coherent, but his instincts told him there was still a chance. Eskra stood on the edge of oblivion, blinded and almost helpless.

Somehow finding the strength, Kade pushed himself forward and propelled his shoulder directly into his enemy’s chest. An “oomph” pushed its way out of the man’s mouth as he fell backwards. Kade’s adrenaline told him he was the winner as Eskra fell over the edge.

Kade’s adrenaline was wrong.

Desperately trying to stay alive, the warrior groped for everything, anything that could keep him from toppling into the lava. His fingers closed around the bandit’s shirt, but he was too light to stop the plummet. The two combatants fell into the molten fire without a chance.

----------

Kade found Lionel waiting outside of the Citadel. Eagerness filled his captain’s eyes when his prisoner came out.

“Well?”

Kade shook his head.

“So you lost?” There was a hint of cheer in Lionel’s question.

“No. We tied.” He really didn’t feel like discussing the fight. It had been a sloppy mess from beginning to end. At the moment, he could only think of one lesson brought by the battle. Lava was hot.

The two left the building behind in silence. It was only after reaching their company’s barracks did that silence break.

“Where the hell is your sword?”

((That was fun.))

((I don't request any spoils. The fun I had working on this with Bear Man is enough for me.))

[Bear Man]

If you had asked the Bear Man one week prior to his death if his life would end in fire or in ice, he would doubtlessly have laughed and said ice. He would have been wrong.

The boy rammed into the barbarian’s chest as hard as he possibly could; it was like being hit with a plank of wood. The wind was knocked out of him and the air was let out of his lungs with a stale “oomph”. Then he lost his balance and toppled over, arms pinwheeling madly, legs scrambling for purchase. The boy’s weight was still on top of him, pushing him down, and he was unable to regain his balance.

He didn’t expect what was coming. Still blind, and not knowing that he was going to fall in the lava rather than on dry land, he had no way of bracing himself for the impact. When he hit the fire he was dunked straight into hell. He wore only thin pants and a thin shirt. Neither offered any protection. His left arm hit the fire first and he felt it burning away. First the skin, then the muscle, then the delicate spiderweb of nerves that had guided him all his life. Those nerves screamed madness at him now, until they burned away too. Then nothing. His left arm was now gone, then his left leg, and finally his side. Still the missing body parts insisted that they existed, insisted that they were in terrible unthinkable pain.

Drowning in lava is not a pleasant experience. Eskra gritted his teeth and tried not to scream, tried to die with honor, but eventually it was too much. He screamed like a baby.

After a certain point he went into shock, and then there was no more feeling except dull relief. Darkness consumed him.

Eskra Pitsiark, the Bear Man, great grandson of Eskra the Bear, died.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He swam in the darkness, and time meant nothing. Being meant nothing. Feeling meant nothing. Eskra was one with the mind of the universe, and there was darkness.

He slept.


* LET THERE BE LIGHT! *

The first thing that Eskra noticed when he awoke was that it was no longer hot. This surprised him in a dull, vaguely interesting sort of way.

The second thing that Eskra noticed when he awoke was that he was alive. This surprise was much more profound and immediate.

“Awake now, Sleeping Princess?” came a voice. Eskra opened his eyes to the round, wrinkled face of a monk. “I’m afraid that I’m not Prince Charming. Or is that a different story? It’s hard to keep track sometimes, there’s so many stories, so many worlds. Yours included, Mr. Bear Man! And what a story it is so far!”

At this point, Eskra had learned an important thing about the monks of the Citadel. When they stop making sense, ignore them.

“I’m not dead. Or injured.” Eskra said. It was not a question.

“Of course not! It wouldn’t be terribly useful to us if people died and stayed dead all willy-nilly, would it?” The monk looked perfectly serious. “We would probably get complaints.”

Eskra knew better than to ask ‘How?’. Instead he asked: “What about the boy?”

The monk’s smile broadened “Oh, he died too. But he’s okay now! Here, I brought you something!” The monk reached down into his robe and pulled out a rusty hilt of a sword. “A little souvenier for you!”

Eskra took it wordlessly.

“So, Mr. Pitsiark, what have we learned today?”

“Learned?”

“Of course. Fighting isn’t much good if you don’t learn anything from it, now is it?”

Eskra thought for a long time, unsure of what to say. The monk watched him silently. “I think...” Eskra started.

I think that sometimes the only way to really win, is by losing, he thought. What he said was:

“I prefer the cold.”

The monk laughed, ingratiating and completely devoid of any real emotion. “That can be arranged, Mr. Pitsiark. Now, are you ready for your next match?”

That was a freaking awesome thread. I had so much fun working together on this with Kade, it didn’t feel like a competition at all. I’m glad he enjoyed working with me as much as I enjoyed working with him. :D I couldn’t have asked for more from my first Althanas battle. And much thanks to whoever ends up judging us!

As for spoils, other than the normal experience or gold or whatever that usually happens, all I request is the hilt of Kade’s sword. It’s useless to me in any practical way, but it’s a nice memento. *shrug*

[Taskmienster]

Bear Man in the Hot Seat :: Hey hey! As I said, I’d try and get to this before the first round of the Magus started so that Bear Man would have a little bit of experience with how Althanas judging works and such. That being said, I’m going to give moderate commentary on a standard rubric so that you can get a good feel for how to change or fix your writing to fit Althanas a little better. It’s not overly complicated, just touches on quite a few (if not all) of the topics that are necessary to become a better writer. I am in no way an English professor, or even an English major for that matter, so what I saw it what I’ve learned over time both as a writer on Althanas and a judge. If something doesn’t fit exactly to what you’ve learned over time, by all means that’s not an issue. I’m more used to grammatical correctness in regards to writing than stylistic differences. Some people write different, that’s to be expected, but I’m going to take that into consideration as best as possible.

If you have any questions, concerns, comments, or whatever just hit me up via PM or AIM. My screenname is around, in the RPC you can find it in the mod contact list, and I’ll be happy to help you with whatever I can.

Good luck to both of you! Onto the judging!


Continuity Bear: 7.5 | Kade: 7

Bear Man: You gave a good show of continuity, from past events and issues that created who you are, and what you are, to what goals were placed foremost in the thread and how you carried them out. Of course, this is a simple battle thread, so at times the “goals” are little more than kill or be killed. But you took the extra step and time to put in a little bit of realism with the way you went about that, to the extent of including what reason you had for fighting and getting back to your home lands. It was a storyline that fit well, and was interesting. I enjoyed it. My only suggestion would be to add in a little bit more flavor regarding how your past influences and life before this point (which will be an ever changing point from thread to thread) made you who you are. You aren’t just a big hulking guy with an axe because you’re from Salvar, you’re that way because of some way you were raised, or personal beliefs. These little tidbits don’t have to be huge and all encompassing, or even really take up a lot of the narrative, just something small to add throughout that will better help the reader/judge understand your persona and dialogue, and even in some cases your setting.

Kade: Welcome to a crummy world that looks a lot like 18th century England, lol. Your reasoning for being at the citadel was equally valid, worked through well enough, and had quite a hint of passion behind it. Your goals were clearly placed, and without a question as to why a thief would be pushed into a Citadel fight instead of out breaking into houses and stealing shiny baubles. Of course, the true backstory of the character, his reason for being in the employ of the Empire’s soldiers and lost brother, was well done as well. However, there was a bit more that I didn’t get. Most of that was who your character was, why he was a thief, and where he came from. All of these things help build something more concrete for the reader/judge to work with, giving them not only just a figure and a name, but also a rounded character that can be built on throughout the thread.

Setting Bear: 6 | Kade: 5

Bear Man: Your opening post set up the description of the world around you well, as far as the heat and how it affected you goes. I’d like to see something more though. Writing is a show don’t tell sort of game. You are engaging your audience, the reader, through your ability to write a realistic world that they could imagine themselves in. All 5 senses come into setting to create something that is inspiring and something that people can imagine as real instead of just a canvas being painted with nothing behind it. You did a great job of explaining the heat, like I said, and the way you felt towards it.

Don’t forget to use the setting as well, using what’s around you is just as important as giving the reader a good display of what is there.

The only comment besides that that I have is that the Citadel is in Radasanth, in Corone… not Scara Brae. But that’s a small thing that could easily be corrected, or a misunderstanding due to the way that the OOC information for the place is presented. Either way, not a big deal.

Pacing Bear: 6.5 | Kade: 6

Pacing is all about drawing the reader in and holding them, putting them on the edge of their seats and keeping them there. Bear Man, you did well doing that by the way you write, the dialogue could use a little bit more to make it pull the reader, persona was spot on, and your use of technique assisted in drawing me in. It’s not just that though, it’s the way you write and phrase things. In the heat of battle you want to allow yourself to write something short sometimes to add the effects of emphasizing certain points. When you aren’t in that state you’ll want to possibly have longer clauses, most tend to have an independent clause and one or two dependent combined by commas. It allows you to let the flow of the thread be a combination of what you are writing with and how you want the reader to follow it.

Both of you could use a little bit of practice with that.

Kade: Some of your posts are really just short and quick, like you weren’t trying to write well in them but just trying to get them out there. Slow down, take your time, and really put heart into your posts and it will help in other areas than just pacing. The pacing, more specifically, could help a lot if you fleshed out your posts a lot more instead of throwing out the single sentences that you had more often than not. All in all, it’s good for a battle, but there are times when expanding upon a certain aspect could be better than leaving it short and choppy.

Dialogue Bear: 7 | Kade: 6

Bear Man: As I stated through PM’s. Its best not to repeat what was just said by someone else in the thread. The reader just read what was said, you don’t have to repeat it. Instead you can make a comment about it, such as in your second post instead of repeating what Kade murmured and responding, you could have just scoffed at his roughly spoken words and responded.

Action Bear: 7 | Kade: 6.5

Not much to say for either of you really, both of you did very well for action. However, I’d have to give the edge to Bear Man simply because it wasn’t just back and forth that consisted of his actions, and reactions. It was the way the character was displayed, which in turn helped the persona as well. Tearing the shirt to make a bandage is an action, and one that is realistic and helps portray the character with the combination of action and dialogue.

Persona Bear: 7.5 | Kade: 6

Bear Man: Your description of your beliefs about the cultural differences in regards to fighting was amazingly well done. I not only got a feel for more of your background, but also a whole lot of personality that was displayed not through your actions as much as the narrative. I really don’t know what more to say about this other than keep up the good work, and continue the way you are working. Display your character not just through narrative, is the only suggestion I have. Maybe the way he holds his weapon, walks, or talks would help as well.

Technique Bear: 6.5 | Kade: 4.5

Bear Man: Your use of advanced technique was well done. There were times when the way you described something made me smile, and others that made me really feel as if I understood what you were talking about. It wasn’t just a sense of “he held the sword like he didn’t know what he was doing” (which in itself is a simile but not a very amazing one)… you took it a step forward and described it as a magical talisman that would come to life to protect the wielder. It was funny, and well done. My suggestion for this section is to remember that just one or two can add a little flair to the writing, but make sure that they have emotion and tend to adhere to your narrative and character as well. The talisman one worked because your character didn’t have magic, just a big ass axe. But others were there, but not overly amazing. You can also add more, just be careful of getting to the point where it’s more purple prose than true literary writing.

Kade: More depth for your writing can come through with use of advanced technique. You really didn’t give me as a reader any flair or panache that made me enjoy or adore your writing. Take the time to work on the small things like advanced technique, even something as small as simile’s or metaphors help in the long run. Without those to add to the thread, it hurts the pacing as well.

Mechanics Bear: 9 | Kade: 9

I only saw a few things by either of you, both did an excellent job of writing with great grammatical clarity. Keep it up, and read over your posts even if you write this well, there can always be slips here and there and it’s best edit and make sure you catch them no matter how long you’ve been writing. The only thing I would suggest other than that is that Bear Man be a little more careful with your use of parenthesis. In advanced writing it’s best to use hyphens instead, just because they look more official in a way, but either one you have to be careful with not to overuse.

Clarity Bear: 7.5 | Kade: 7.5

Wild Card Bear: 6 | Kade: 6

Good luck to both of you in the Magus, and I hope this helps you out!

Score:

Bear Man: 70.5!

Kade: 63.5!

Rewards:

Bear Man: 575 exp | 250 gold
((Hilt of the sword is granted… lol))

Kade: 170 exp | 175 gold

[Taskmienster]

exp and gp added!