New Blood Bracket: Duffy Bracken vs. Wings of Endymon

[Tainted Bushido]

The match begins at Midnight 7/31/2009 and ends at Midnight 8/15/2009.

Best wishes to both participants!

[Wings of Endymion]

“Soku-no-in… Hiraishunpo!”

The foreign words, barely even breathed from the young woman’s mouth, did not carry far amongst the bustling marketplace crowd. It was as if all the frantic buying and selling beneath the high noon sun acted to muffle her voice, and with it, the powers she’d sought to call upon. Crestfallen, Yuka’s face slumped to her knees, raven-black locks spilling down her shins as her hands tightly grasped a supple yew staff.

She could not recall much about her final defeat in the Cabal’s so-called “Tournament of Champions”. She just about remembered clinging desperately to an abandoned longboat, tossed about like a rag doll by the winds and waves of a ferocious storm, and she also remembered the god-like being of obscene power that had destroyed their ship before they could react and revelled in their doom. She hoped that Lask, the wyrmfolk warrior she had befriended and fought alongside during the tournament, had also survived… that he, too, had opened his eyes eternities later to find himself lying in a cosy bed in a Scarabrian inn.

The curious – and extremely annoying – thing was that she seemed to have lost the vast majority of her powers as a consequence of her defeat. No more could she simply heal a cut by touching it; no more could she will magic into her legs to grant her greater speed and agility. The first time she had tried the former upon her return, she had been made a fool of… when she had tried the latter, she had nearly died as a result.

Grr… she grumbled quite unintelligibly, her delicate features furrowed in frustration. After everything she had done to gain her magic… the tomes she had studied, the sages she had learned from, the risks she had taken… it was annoying to simply lose everything on the capricious whims of a bunch of snobbish elitist power-freaks. Especially since the only reason she had joined their tournament in the first place was to refine said powers, to find out for herself just how far she could count on them in a life-or-death situation. She had been prepared to lose something along the way… but everything…? It was all she could do to contain her anger and regret at the fact that in the end, all she had gained from the experience was empty confirmation of her aversion to conflict. Her chest clenched with suppressed emotion, and she grit her teeth against the hollow sensations of loss and despair that were attempting to swallow her whole.

At length Yuka relaxed, breathing deeply of the salty sea air. She allowed herself to take in once more the blemish-less cobalt blue of the sky, the colourful swirl of the market-goers, and the myriad splendours of wares on display. She concentrated on the faint spicy aroma of sweetmeats, the raucous gaiety of the chatter and the faint tinkle of music on the wind.

“No matter!” she told herself decisively, leaping nimbly to her feet and attracting not a few bemused stares from those that had mistaken her for just another street urchin slumped on the roadside verge. It was obvious now that, while certainly not high nobility, neither was she of poor or low breed; there was an athletic grace to the movements of her slender frame and an intelligent purity to the breadth of her smile that marked her as somebody just a bit special.

I’ll use the last of my money for the ferry to Corone, she told herself, more discreetly this time. The pink flush of embarrassment on her cheeks was a delicate counterpoint to the white of her robes and the royal blue of her cloak. Thomas’s contact there can get me back to Haidia, and it won’t be too late for me to figure out how to recover what I’ve lost.

Satisfied, Yuka took one step into the road, then paused as she realised that the tinkling music was drawing nearer and the chattering crowd was growing more excited. A performing troupe? she wondered, bringing to mind the musicians, performers, and acrobats of the various travelling artists of her far-eastern homeland.

She hesitated, torn between duty and interest. Surely it can’t hurt… just to watch…?

She was even more delighted when they began their performance proper and it turned out that she had practically the best seat in the audience. And it certainly didn’t hurt that the lead performer of the Tantalum troupe, as she learned they were called, was a roguish young man who could pull off some quite amazing acrobatics.

[Duffy]

It had been a superfluous afternoon all in all, Saturday’s matinee had come and gone, but the woes of Troublesome Tuesday were striking back at the Tantalum with a weary cock-eyed vengeance. Today was the day that they sped through the city performing short but antiquated skits known as Tumbles, acrobatic, juggling and dance based routines that were quick, and more importantly, able to be performed with little need for a stage, props, or lots of space. As the torrent of musical assonance swept into the third square of the day, the troupe made a small circle in the ebb of the crowd and Duffy clapped his hands together as hard as he could, setting off the small flint shards to create exactly the right sort of attention seeking bang he was hoping for.

The first seven rows or so of people snapped still with shock, some screamed, some fled, but quickly they discovered that the danger was in fact merely perceived, and turned on their heels to see what the hubbub and commotion was all about. A few garnered their reactions and attached them to shrill shrieks of salivating joy, the white banner carried by the small blonde daughter of an unsung hero gave their identity away rather quickly.

“Ladies and gentleman, citizens, visitors, gentry and gods, I present to thee in the age old and highly esteemed fashion - the Dance of Loquat Noir!” Duffy’s voice boomed up and out over the baleful eyes. The short introduction was all that was truly needed, most of the people wouldn’t know their Loquat from their Waltz, but it was nice to make the right sort of…how would you put it…introduction? No…the right sort of impact! “Gaze in awe and wonderment at our trickery…our deceit, and our selling of souls……” He whispered the second line so that only he and the young banner bearer Macy could hear, and her giggle cheered him up a bit. He was beginning to feel the theatrical burn, and all the while, since the very whip crack of dawn, something more troublesome than stage directions or prop condition had been gnawing away at his pathetic little mind.

The letter that had arrived a few days before contained the simplest but most foreboding of prophecies…it contained general information about something called ’The Magus Cup,’ and also, a single line in guild hand, that said: “Her face shall appear to you, a foreign wonder in a familiar crowd, no mirror will shine brighter, no rock face more deadly, you will know your enemy at the height of your flight.” Now, Duffy wasn’t the brightest, but he’d had a few pops and guesses and had gone without much luck so far…time was running out for the first round, he was starting to think she’d never appear, and he’d miss his chance at spreading the ’Word’ once more.

A moment or two went by as he went through the motions of the easier steps of the Loquat, the smaller members of the troupe rattled and rolled about the larger adults at the routine’s centre, and all in all it went well. At the apex of a backflip Duffy caught sight of somebody…

It’s her!

He was certain of it, so much so, he landed with a fist slightly too hard onto the cobbles and his knee buckled and gave way. The crowd ooh’d and aahh’d, teased by the near accident, but thoroughly unsatisfied all in all. He rolled forwards and stuck out a rose to a somewhat lacklustre local rose on the inner circle, and glanced the woman a second look, carefully peering over her shoulder to the woman behind. Yes!

Knowing his luck, he was about to fling a dagger at a perfectly innocent individual. As he rolls back into the centre circle and the children lift up the cloth screen to hide his costume change, or at least, as much of a costume change as you could get when you had to carry everything by hand through the streets, he winks at the woman. In the cover of the red cotton the Tinder Gear is adjusted, the knives in his boots corrected, and his wallet secured…he hadn’t had a real scrap for a while, he was half unsure about what to do with himself…she looked so…she looked so…serene? Beautiful?

The dance was about to finish…Duffy wasn’t just going to ‘bring it on’ in public, even if people did know about this tournament, now was not the time. The next dance planned did not require his presence, which would give him ample opportunity to slip away, attract the woman’s attention, and…well, go ‘at it,’ the cloth descended, and the crowd rip into a round of applause, followed by another, and another, and another, each one louder and louder with each increasing display of vertical acrobatics. On the fourth leap Duffy landed into the crowd at the same time as he set of a Tinder Gear clap, when the smoke cleared, he was no nowhere to be found and the troupe carried on dancing and singing and haphazardly ploughing through the crowd to their next performance space.

He appeared behind the woman as silent and indiscrete as he might, he dropped a heavy enough stone to be felt into her pocket, faking a pick pocketing, and leapt back towards the alley that lead to the Greenfield Park. He waited for the woman to turn round and notice, and then he’d attract her attention with a tin mug, some cleverly deployed jazz hands and a knowing nod - hopefully she’d garner ‘Magus Cup’ from that, and follow him. Of course, he’d also swiped the coins from her left pocket, but he had to make a living somehow!

[Wings of Endymion]

The performance was far less subtle than those of her homeland, unafraid to utilise the utmost of spectacle and impact to literally amaze the audience. To the young woman, more used to slow-paced elegance and delicate emotional undertones, there was a fascinating freshness to the show that captivated her senses like the allure of an intoxicating perfume. The atmosphere reminded her of a midsummer festival, complete with fireworks and beating drums and the gay whistle of tinny pipes. Spark and flint sounded again like a thunderclap, and only as the smoke dissipated did she realise that she had been holding her breath in at the magnificence of it all. Shakily Yuka exhaled, an innocently beatific smile of appreciation wreathing her features.

Then she realised something else. The pocket of her trousers that used to be empty was now weighted down by something cold and hard, and the pocket that had contained the small pouch of coins that was all that she had left in the world was…

Oh no…

Yuka’s mind went blank, a panicked white slate that refused to act or react to any of the information her senses were supplying it with. All she could think was…

I need that money!

Primeval female instincts kicked in, and with a graceful swirl of dark hair, blue cloak, and white robe, she spun around. There, as if waiting for her to notice his existence there, was the leader of the performance troupe.

Their eyes met, an eternity trapped within a brief moment, before she found her voice again.

“Thief!” she yelled, ignoring – or rather, simply not registering – the frantic movements of the young performer who seemed to be trying to tell her something. A few of the closer members of the audience glanced disinterestedly in her direction, but the majority were far too engrossed in following the dancing troupe to pay her much attention. The wall of bodies barely even shifted, and there was certainly no unnatural movement amongst them to suggest the presence of a fleeing footpad.

Her wits chose that moment to return to her in their entirety. More importantly, their long-awaited return established a tenuous connection between the faceless pickpocket, who had almost undoubtedly snuck up on her from behind, and the troupe leader who had so conveniently disappeared from in front of her and then reappeared to her rear.

“Thief!” Yuka cried again, but this time her free arm was extended towards the one she deemed responsible, a slender finger pointed in accusation. Whether or not he reacted would likely prove or disprove her hypothesis, but either way her legs were tensed for action.

Yuka was a runner of quite some fame. If his reaction found him guilty, the street performer would not be going far.

[Duffy]

Duffy’s arms flapped in a panic and he glanced over his shoulder, at the end of the alleyway he could see a slip of light flickering with the shadows of passing citizens on the far Boardwalk, he could, if he proved to be the quicker pad foot, lose the girl in the crowd to regroup and tackle her from a different angle, judging by her temporal speed however, he didn’t think he had the slightest chance.

The only way therefore…

Bounce!

Was up!

In a not so altogether composed gathering of momentum the troupe master kicked off the left wall and leapt over to a windowsill on the right, grabbing on with his fingertips and pulling his feet up to continue with a kick back to the opposite side like some deranged jack in a box. By the time he’d made it to the roof’s edge the woman had closed the gap, her speed was not a good sign for the young acrobat, if she could dart that quickly after him down the alleyway without a shadow of a doubt, perhaps this tournament had been a hasty decision to make…

“Thief?” He shouted down over his shoulder and pushed up and rolled onto the roof in one perpetual turn of events. “I am no thief m’lady, I a martyr to the stage, an actor of the grand theologies,” (he had no idea what the last word meant, it just sounded impressive) “and what’s more, I have your coins, and thus,” he disappeared from her view and ran back a few steps to give himself room to pick up turbulence to make it to the far side, and the next step in getting up to the rooftops and hopefully somewhere more plausible. As he did so the words dropped down to the cobblestones with a slight zoom to them, caught by the air and dragged down into earshot, “catching me is imperative!”

The wind left him as he dropped onto the roof edge and popped up onto the sandy surface above, but was nothing more harmful than could be healed with a pause to catch his breath. There were countless stairways leading to backdoors and servant entrances to homes on the alleyway, even if his opponent was, how should he put it, ‘vertically challenged?’ He was sure it wouldn’t be long before she could make her way up to him. It gave him time to climb up one more height and admire the cityscape as the buildings and the clutter began to fail, the tiled forest and weather vane forest wilting into a sea of tranquil, sun kissed tree tops and distant districts even Duffy hadn’t been to.

With a great degree of gusto the young lad slapped his hands together a few times to test that the Tinder Gear was still operational, it was partially due to the firm grip of the gloves he needed to wear to prevent his hands from burning that he’d managed to climb, as nimble as he was, the brittle sandstone edges of the windowsills would more than likely divulge their contents, and him, back down onto the alleyway. Some of the rooftops and the tile ledges were older than the oldest citizen, be he Elvin, dwarf or darker still. It was all in order, and even though it might serve only as a distraction, the charm of this tournament, the allure that had dragged him siren song, hook and sinker into the melee, was the chance to perform, not just with the dagger, the kick and the scorch of flame, but with words and guile and a bit of demanding method acting. He liked the balance between multi-tasking and doing what his grandma said he’d be good at, or what he assumed she’d have said, if she was alive. It’s what they all seemed to say.

Now all he had to do was to wait. The spot was overlooking the busy bustling boiling square below, the sun was striking the rooftop with it’s delicate charm and the hubbub of the city rose in a cloud of distant nose that sort of reminded Duffy of an afternoon spent in a busy café, chattering, clattering and chaos. “Please don’t have heard I Want To Be Your Canary…” He prepared his retort and the opening line to the soliloquy that would suffice as his first serve to her, if that didn’t phase her attempts at reclaiming her gold then he perhaps a bit of jazz time spring step, or Arcadian Ballet?

He waited.

[Wings of Endymion]

“Hey…”

She had to admit; the young man was quick to think and even quicker to move. As soon as he had seen that she was just as speedy on her feet as he was, he had nimbly escaped to the rooftops… and there was no way that she could duplicate that particular feat. His taunting words floated down to her like petals on the wind, and her brow furrowed in irritation as she mentally cursed all rascals, pickpockets, and thieves.

Think…

Yuka bit her lips, consigning her shock and her anger to the back of her mind where they belonged. Judging by his reaction, the performer was either the pickpocket himself, or an accomplice to distract her attention while the true thief escaped elsewhere. Given what she had observed of her surroundings earlier, it was more likely the former… which then begged the question of why he had bothered to steal from her in the first place, only then to attract her attention and start a chase. Either he’s in it for the thrills… or he’s holding the money hostage for some other reason.

Whichever way the truth lay, she concluded, he would not simply disappear. And that gave her just a fraction more time to weigh her options.

She swung her keen gaze from side to side, studying her immediate surroundings in search of a clue. The alleyway was typical of one that could be found in any moderately sized city: dank foul-smelling cobbles that had not seen the light of day for years, looming buildings to either side that sought to fold in upon her claustrophobically, and a labyrinthine maze of back doors and servant entrances that beckoned her inwards. But there was no guarantee that from them she would be able to reach the rooftop…

There!

Her eyes focused on a nearby bell tower, nearly hidden from view as it projected from the church on the next thoroughfare into the narrow slit of azure sky. And though her personal sensibilities prevented her from barging through private homes to get to her prey… the church, if she remembered correctly, was public domain.

***

Two minutes – a swift sprint, a hurried apology, and three flights of staircases – later, she was in the belfry, breathing heavily as she peered out from the open ledge onto the rooftops. Thankfully, it was only about a metre’s fall to the roof below, and though the well-worn red slate tiles screamed to her of their treacherous footing, Yuka had enough confidence in her athleticism to gauge a safe landing.

The street artist was silhouetted against the wisps of cloud in the sky, perched at the pinnacle of the multi-tiered rooftops that overlooked the square in which this had all began. Yuka noted the elegant poise in which he held himself under the beaming sunlight, as the brisk breeze whipped at his scraggly brown hair. A little voice inside her warned her that this was no ordinary pickpocket that she faced… but then, she needed her money back.

The young woman took the time to count to ten and restore calm to her breathing before she fell to the rooftop herself, neatly killing her momentum with her feet such that only a small whiff of dusty sand rose in the wake of her impact. Without hesitation, she held out her staff at arm’s length and proceeded to draw an imaginary line from it to her chest with her free hand. The air coalesced in the wake of her movement, forming a silvery arrow woven from the very strands of magic itself.

Thank the kami I still can do this, she breathed in relief; at least the Cabal hadn’t stripped her of all of her powers. Distance twenty metres… he’s standing about two metres or so higher than I am… no need to compensate for the wind…

“Leave the money where you are now and disappear, thief,” Yuka warned, her voice echoing through the air louder than the swirling noise of the crowds in the city below. “Or I’ll shoot, and I promise you I won’t miss.”

[Duffy]

His confidence dashed by the prolonged wait, Duffy bobbed over to the edge of the rooftop and peered straight down into the square. The similarities to ants had been drawn countless times before in this city, and every city beyond, but it was one that came to him every time he sought solace in the heights of Scara Brae, Corone…Lamar…wherever he was. Had she just given up, had he misjudged her abilities or was this woman an innocent bystander in what he’d presumed to be the start of this wizard’s chalice…or was it magi’s cup? He couldn’t remember.

Something blanked the sun for the briefest of moments, something most normal eyes would have missed, and so did the troupe master’s, if it were not for his niggling doubt that the cause was not a bird or some such, but something else, he might’ve cast it aside and thought nothing else…

The woman’s words caught him by surprise, he’d expected her to follow him up onto the sun kissed borderline, but the direction gave way to one side, and was coming from a lower point than his supposed advantage. “Well…” He breathed a long sigh of defeat, “I didn’t expect to be outflanked, not on my own turf m’lady, but I garner your enthusiasm is all partake of a need of this?” Added the line 'He jangled the coin purse with seducing temptation. His natural, native speech was a sort of cockney meandering mishmash of polite country speak, slum tradespeak slang and far too much elision. “But irony ‘as it, you’re holding me up like a midnight robber, so I guess that saves me havin’ to go through me ‘honour amongst thieves’ ramble.”

As he turned he brought his cheeky little grin to bare, she’d come about to take a shot a him from the lower rooftop underneath the belfry of the old church the Tantalum made spurious donations too whenever it needed…shall we say, somewhere to ‘vacate one’s sin,’ the turn of events amused him, even if it potentially meant a sharp barb of steel in his gullet. “I ain’t sayin’ what I just done was right or wrong, but allow me to talk ‘bout the reasoning. Firstly…the Magus Cup -” it’d taken him several brain wracking minutes to remember, but he got there in the end, it was the vague recollection of title from long hours spent in the taverns and inns of the city, and one such drunken night was how he’d been signed up, ‘volunteered’ to enter. “Are you not ‘the Eastern Woman with Azure Eyes?” He tucked his belt and shirt in properly and produced a letter, albeit in very slow and no uncertain movements, “It says ‘ere, ‘You will meet her on the stage, her eyes alluring and mysterious - she will not seem native, more like a seed adrift at sea, her distant beauty deadly, but here to settle these shores at last.”

He cocked a smile, the solemn sort that showed pity and misunderstanding, but one which was meant wholeheartedly nethertheless. “I ‘ad to get your gullible to make sure you were she the letter spoke of - we’re supposed to ‘do battle for glory’ and all that theatrical crap. I ain’t got quite the same range to my trappings but I’d sure like to see what you can do besides stick a pin in me -” he clapped, hoping the sudden and very loud bang would make her flinch, as it did the pidgeons in the alley below and the bats in the belfry above. The servants of heaven and hell scattered into the air and Duffy rolled backwards as quickly as he could to make use of the elevation he had, if he was quick enough, he would get out of sight and of the bow’s range before the shaft could find it’s mark. It’d force her up to the same rooftop as he.

[Wings of Endymion]

Oh, for…

He’d called her bluff magnificently, for she’d never truly meant to shoot him, and the impudent grin on his face let her know that he recognised that. The flint-struck bang as he disappeared wasn’t unexpected, but the flock of birds and bats that erupted at the sound was; Yuka cringed instinctively and ducked low to avoid the cloud of agitated wings. Zoophobia welled within her like a cresting tsunami, and it took all her years of training and discipline to clamp down on the panic.

She stood back up a moment later, relieved that only a brief gasp of surprise had betrayed her inner turmoil. In turn, her slender frame trembled with annoyance barely held in check. The cheek of the troupe master reminded her of the young children back home in Nippon that she’d used to take care of and play with, but with the added dimension of a strong desire to wipe the expression from his features with the blunt end of her staff. After all, he had her money, and that made him nowhere near as innocent as they.

“Look,” she began, struggling to keep the exasperation from her voice in an attempt at maintaining some semblance of feminine calm. His accent had been quite pronounced, and there had been one or two words she had missed, but she’d had enough exposure from a young age to the international community for her ears to pick out the gist of what he was trying to say. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This Magus Cup… it means nothing to me.”

Her own words were spoken in Tradespeak that was nearly neutral in its inflection… something that she was quite proud of, in fact. Not many from her homeland were able to achieve perfect pronunciation in the common tongue of the west. Relaxing the muscles in her arm, she lowered her staff-bow and allowed the arcane arrow to dissipate harmlessly into the breeze. She began to pad towards the pavilion of tiles behind which she assumed her opponent sheltered, her stride steady and sure-footed despite the treachery of the unstable rooftop and the capriciousness of the whistling wind.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Yuka continued, hoping that the sound of her voice and the lack of deceit in her movements would convince him of her sincerity. But she held her staff close to her chest, just in case. “Please, just give me back my money… it’s all I have left to go to… Corone… with.”

As she spoke, however, her mind picked up upon a detail that had so far slipped by her unnoticed. By the time she cautiously clambered onto the rooftop where the thief had previously stood, warily projecting her consciousness in all directions in case he was waiting to ambush her, her head was full of suspicion and doubt.

She had no recollection of entering into this ‘Magus Cup’, which naturally meant that the thief was robbing from the wrong person. But if he was to be believed, then the description he had received of his first target matched her exactly.

And just how many Nipponese women stopped to watch a street performance... his street performance... in Scara Brae…?

Yuka had a bad feeling that she was in far over her head… again.

[Duffy]

The consequences of his actions were amusing to Duffy, very few people, not least one who seemed perfectly capable of defending herself, were ever afraid or brought aback by his quirky, youthful misgivings. He hadn’t considered that he might’ve been mistaken, Destiny, Fate, whichever of those blasted sisters were at work here seemed to playing a very sick and twisted joke…

Or was she trying a counter-bluff?

That was something you had to learn the hard way, no matter what city you lived in, in whatever province, on whatever continent; ‘opportunity knocks’ was something Duffy and Miss Rose had both considered having embroidered or tabooed onto or about their person far too many times to recollect. Still, either she was genuine, or she was doing something awry.

“Tell me now,” he swaps his focus to his other foot with a little coy hop, the sort that started a bow or theatrical twirl, “whaddya reckon ya chances are of scooping up these coins - you’ve gone and gotten me all excitable about a ruckus now - are you really not in the Magus Cup?” It was a shame, she looked fun, and she wasn’t like most tournament competitors…the big, burly, sword laden type.

“Now that you’re here, dance with me?” He didn’t wait to ask, it was a short and brief reply but one that brought a coin from the purse flipping and spinning into the exact dead centre between them. “Out dance me, and scoop up the coin, I’ll have the honour of waltzing with such a wonder, and you’ll earn your free ride to Corone - although one wonders what you want to go there, over the delights of Scara Brae!”

He didn’t wait for her, he leapt forwards, spun, and began a matador’s waltz around the coin - she would have to out step him swiftly indeed, and show him a dance he couldn’t mimic to get the gold - or shoot him, whichever she proffered, he was twirling, with each rotation watching her very carefully - he felt tingly, the same tingle he got on the stage, or when Miss Rose was about, or when a dagger was drawn - thrill of the unknown, a buzz and a hubbub, the foreplay to the most romantic and erotic dance from the steppes to the North.

How could he have been wrong about her?

[Wings of Endymion]

He reappeared in front of her, not to the side or behind as she’d half feared he might. That alone helped to disprove one of her biggest fears, for it indicated that this particular opponent was in it for fun, not for her life. Yuka relaxed her stance and allowed herself to breathe deeply of the crisp rooftop breeze. Was it only her imagination, or was there a noticeable thinness to the air that she drew into her lungs?

“I told you I don’t know anything about this Magus Cup,” she sighed, allowing a hint to appear in her voice of her exasperation at having to repeat herself. “And I really shouldn’t be playing your games, especially when it’s my money at stake.”

He wasn’t paying any attention to her words, of course, and she had already resigned herself to the fact that she would most likely have to put up with his peculiar mannerisms for at least a while longer if she was to successfully retrieve her purse. His movements were nimble and intricate as he performed for her, his footing simple and sure despite the crumbling ground. It took her a moment or two of careful reflection, but at length she was able to identify the graceful pattern he wove around the coin on the red slate tiles. She could feel him studying her in return, ready to react to any movement that she made.

Fine. If he wants to play…

The more Yuka watched, the more she realised that though she didn’t think herself incapable of “out-dancing” him – as he so eloquently phrased it – any effort she made towards that goal would invariably escalate the confrontation until one or both of them were injured. What she wanted to do was the exact opposite; like a disapproving schoolmistress in an unduly rambunctious playground, she had to diffuse his unfettered fighting spirit in order to get him to listen to her demands. Setting aside her directionless worries about what possible trouble she was embroiled in this time, the young woman concentrated on the thief’s movements, timing her own action as close as possible to perfection.

Very deliberately, so as not to injure him beyond a scolding rap, she brought her staff down on his head.

[Duffy]

The crack of wood on Duffy’s head was not a tantamount highlight of his career, certainly, he’d been so wrapped up in enticing her to play a game or two he’d not seen the swing and was suddenly, most definitely feeling the consequences of his ignorance. He leapt back and rubbed his injury, instinctively checking his fingers for signs of blood, pus or worse. You couldn’t trust a weapon to be just a plain old weapon these days, too much ‘magic’ about.

“What in the blazes did’ a do that for?” His natural reflexes took over for a moment, and his hand raises and tenses, the tell tale signs that it was going to let lose a spray of the liquid propellant that gave his Tinder Gear, and many of his performances that extra edge. “I was hoping you’d indulge me, but something tells good old Duffy that there’s more to you than meets your somewhat superfluous eyes -” satisfied that his injury was merely bashful, and not blood soaked, the troupe master glanced a look at the solitary coin on the floor that would’ve served as his proverbial centre point. “You want these coins? You want to leave? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just leap clean from this rooftop now and leave you to find your own way home, huh, huh? How d’you like those Reddens!” (A local form of apple).

He had been so certain that it was his opponent he’d let himself slip, in a bid to avoid a direct confrontation with a better armed opponent, and no doubt armoured, the lanky and sprightly youth had tried to wager if she was as elegant, talented and as exotic as the women of the far away east were supposed, in the few legends, songs and fables he knew. She was turning out to be more temptress and liar, than tiara and flame. Was the letter a plant? A misdemeanour? He produces it to her, “So - this is not you? Did you see anyone else from the eastern lands, a woman forged in battle who is as courtly and fair as I can be?” Scrunching it up he tosses it with an accurate wrist to her feet. “Look me in the eye and tell me you know nothing of a tournament, and I’ll cut your purse lose and let you be on your way,” he smiled and leapt onto the edge of the rooftop to tease her with the dangling leather coin bag. The alleyway behind him was too wide for even Duffy to clear the gap, so the only way was for him to go down, and lose her in the torrential movements of the crowds, moving between the central square and the markets beyond.

“Or perhaps you can sing, or dance through flame, or take a dagger - I ask nothing more of you than the truth - is that so preposterous, for a mere ‘thief’ to ask?” This was Duffy’s final attempt at calling her bluff and culling the pretence she was hiding behind. It was her, he was sure of it, but he desperately did not want to fight her - he felt for his dagger discreetly, and squirted his right hand with the liquid, in case he needed a call to arms.

“The truth! Nothing more, and let us be done with this - be it with a farewell and a victory, or a righteous fall!”

[Wings of Endymion]

Her emotions spiralled in a rapidly shifting kaleidoscope: from impish satisfaction at his surprised response, through mild surprise at his childish tantrum, until finally sheer incredulity at his ultimatum. For a brief instant she worried that she had hit him harder than she had meant to… but no, he didn’t seem to be injured in the slightest.

Slowly, without taking her eyes from his presence, Yuka reached down with her free hand to nab the parchment before it was carried away across the labyrinthine rooftops by the fickle sea breeze. Half expecting him to assault her while she was otherwise preoccupied, she quickly skimmed through the elegantly gilt calligraphy; then, when she realised that he was giving her a few precious moments to concentrate, she read it again more thoroughly.

At length, she looked up once more to meet his angry gaze. Her response was a delicately soft sigh, lost amidst the breathy air like a gentle whisper in a howling maelstrom.

“I don’t blame you for this misunderstanding,” Yuka spoke slowly, so as not to antagonise the troupe master further. Her dark brown eyes bore deeply into his, fixating him with her sincerity. “In fact, for all I know, this document really does point to me as your… your opponent.”

She rolled the parchment tightly and reaffixed the broken seal before tossing it back to his feet, where it quivered in the wind like a frightened beast caught between two hungry predators.

“But I promise you, I don’t know anything about this Magus Cup.” The young woman accentuated every word deliberately, hammering the point home. The wind caught her shoulder-length hair and whipped it about her pale face like a dark veil, but she didn’t flinch an inch. “Only yesterday, I was fighting for my life in a martial tournament set in what I think was an alternate dimension. I don’t know how I got sent back here, or why, but I’ve had enough of violent confrontation for now.”

Not to mention, I don’t know why I’m here rather than in Haidia… and why I’ve lost so much of my powers… she added in her thoughts, but she was wiser than to speak out loud.

Yuka paused to gauge his reaction. Then she sighed again, this time solemn and resigned to the setback.

“Keep the money if you want,” she bid him, spinning away in a swirl of cloak and stirred dust. The tiles beneath her feet creaked with every movement, warning her that they weren’t meant to stand up to heavy abuse for long. “It’s not something that’s worth fighting over. If all comes to worst, I’ll just stow aboard the ferry or something.”

With a nonchalant air that did not quite conceal the fact that she was paying close attention to his every movement, she began to retrace her steps towards the belfry.

[Duffy]

“You…” She…really doesn’t know, d’she? In his puzzlement, Duffy finished the rhetorical question in his mind, his doubt cutting his words short, snapping them back through the air into his lungs. There were times in his live that he wondered, was the world simply a place that he didn’t understand, or was he working on a completely different semantic level, living above the means of others, the minds of others, the loves and sins of others.

“You really don’t know anything about it, do you? That letter, t’notes, either this is a coincidence, and Fate has brought us together to unify our lives on the stage, or Destiny is playing a sick n’ twisted game of role reversal…which leaves me to beg the question, ‘ow does a man get his thrill, and I don’t mean of the sordid low street variety, I mean the mutual exchange of talent -” god…that sounded sordid.

Two days prior flashed before his eyes. He was sat at the edge of the Prima Vista’s stage singing Lucian’s Aria once more, it was about the only song he could truly, truly sing. Pete waddled upstairs with his goofy, toothy little grin and passed him a slip of paper, the same slip that was now rumpled at the woman’s feet. It read as he’d previously declared, but a small fact had eluded him…Pete had said that a woman from the east had delivered it…

A woman from the east…

“Ha!” He leapt forwards into a roll and brought his sodden fist down onto the coin which he’d previously dropped onto the roof. The flicker of azure flame that erupted from the meeting of spark and far too hard to explain chemistry flashed Duffy’s eyes with Daemon brand. He felt bemused, and when he felt bemused, the rush of nerves that took over made him somewhat over theatrical. “I am so sorry m’lady, tit seems like I’ve been had - the letter, could you believe it,” he pulls back his free arm and traces a circle in the ash of the roof’s dusty top. “Who’d have thought, someone’s beaten me without drawing a blade, flashing a sigil through t’air and without even expending the slightest breath!”

A competitive streak was an oddity of the persona that the young Braean was rather ashamed of. On the one hand, it took over when the battle was strong and edged him, or anyone, into a pole position, on the other, it took him to dark places of the ego and the soul that causes friction, fracture and malady. “Here,” with a flick of the wrist he tosses the coin purse back to the eastern woman and scoops up the blackened coin.

Flipping backwards in a tumbling spiralling roll he props himself onto the ledge once more and looks down into the alleyway below. With a perfectly timed jump he might manage to slip in through the third floor window on the far side, if his memory served him well he’d end up on Jackson’s hearth - if it didn’t, it’d be old mother Syril’s under garments…and that was a place no man should ever have to go.

“Until we meet again…” He flashes a charming grin over his shoulder before rolling and tumbling forwards. He had the strongest of inclinations that they would… With a gust of wind, two streaks of flame are left in his wake as the young lad disappears from view - gifting the coins back to the woman was but one part of his action - a mutual exchange if you will, because now, the Magus Cup could throw anything at him - he would be ready, he would be singing, he would be prepared!

He would not forget his lines.

[Wings of Endymion]

She turned back just in time to snag the thrown bag of coins as it jingled through the air. The abrupt action almost cost her the footing that she had worked so hard to maintain, the slate tiles creaking ominously beneath her feet as they threatened to cast her like a sack of potatoes into the alleyway below. The young woman barely caught herself as she was about to fall, only to watch somewhat enviously a moment later as the acrobatically skilled thief literally threw himself from the rooftop.

Yuka was glad that she had judged him correctly; the sun on the back of her head felt warm and pleasant as if congratulating her on her success.. He was a man of integrity despite his roguish ways, one who would banter – but not necessarily battle – for the sake of pleasure. However, her contentment at having retrieved her money mingled with a fresh flood of apprehension. Fleetingly, she considered the consequences of his words, and what was in store for her if she really was embroiled in another tournament… with the vast majority of her powers lost.

Only then, reminiscing on the effect that his appearance might have on her life, did she realise that she didn’t even know his name.

“Wait!” she called to the void left by his disappearance, the bright flare of cinder in his wake marking him as ever the performer. Her voice resounded noisily upon the brisk breeze, reminding her of how his words had carried to her from the rooftop.

Maybe if she spoke loudly enough and before he got away, she could still find out.

“Who are you?”

[Duffy]

Duffy stopped dead in his tracks as the woman's voice reached him, the plink of the echo turned him and he instinctively looked upwards, to the skies, and nearly blinded himself in the process.

In the midst of the busy crowd he contemplated the various answers he could give, the little jokes that only someone from the city would understand - part of him wanted to play with her more, but he'd grown tired of trying to extract sport from her. He called up and loud, "My name m'lady, is the name each of my predecessors has taken, and that - that name is Tantalum!"

He chuckled, it was far too busy for him to just shout his real name willy nilly - he had an identity and more crucially a past to conceal - she'd have to cross his paths again in more secretive conditions to seduce him into revealing his True Name. In Scara Brae, as an actor, as a member of any troupe, not least the Tantalum, you had to leave a little of the real you behind when you got up on the stage, Duffy took that one step further.

[Wings of Endymion]

Vagaries of circumstance and distance meant that little more than a strained “… name is Tantalum!” reached her ears, even tensed as they were to pick up any possible reply. Yuka recognised it as the name of the troupe that she had picked up earlier from the crowd, rather than his name proper… unless, of course, he really was called that.

“I’m Yuka!” she shouted back, although she knew deep inside that he was neither interested in knowing nor capable of hearing any more. Still, it was only common courtesy… wasn’t it?

Trying to keep a smile of both bemusement and relief from flooding her features, Yuka pivoted on her heels and headed once again towards the belfry, safely tucking the pouch of coins back beneath her tunic. The road ahead was long and fraught with peril, especially if anything the troupe master had told her was true… she steeled herself against the danger and prepared to meet destiny head on.

Like a puppet on strings, she whispered silently to the unheeding heavens above. Tantalised by something that’s always just out of reach…

[Tainted Bushido]

Overall: I'm going to go forth and tell you guys I appreciate the story you put together. Too often can fights turn into meat head player A punches at player B mishmash that turns everything into a boring old brawl. It takes some guts to actually go against tradition, and neither of your disappointed. May we not meet in the finals, cause frankly I'd be scared and excited to fight EITHER of you. ;)

Lets start with Duffy, and work our way around the fight shall we?


Onto the judging!

Duffy Bracken

STORY

Continuity ~ 5/10. Continuity is the act of keep things consistent in a storyline from beginning to end. In Movies, Continuity is done in the effect of making sure things remain the same, when established. One such example, is in Star Trek, Wrath of Khan, when the Enterprise is attacked, one crewman leaves a bloody hand print on Kirk's uniform. After less than two camera angle changes, this hand print disappears enigmatically.

What does this have to do with your thread? I don't get a sense of where Duffy has really been, and where he was going. All I see is Duffy in the here and now. Now, your score was average for this category, because once you established something with Duffy, it didn't change. To get a bit more here, I need a sense of time for Duffy.

Setting ~ 4/10. Setting I find can't be just set then forgotten. If you are upon the roof, and its rather flimsy, I would find creaks and groans fitting, perhaps a misstep here and there. At least that was how I gathered it. The other half was the culture. People obviously were involved here, but I got no sense of Scara Braean culture here. There was nothing to suggest anything beyond the people were nameless NPC's. That's all well and good, however I need an idea that separates Scara Brae from anytown Althanas.

Pacing ~ 7/10. Between you and Wings, you managed to keep this thread moving. Besides a hiccup here and there from reading the thread through, I couldn't honestly penalize you two for the way this thread flowed. Good job guys.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 6/10. Dialogue was very consistent with the Thief Acrobat that ol' Duffy is. The accent while thick was not unbearable, which gives you bonus points. What hurt was that some of the dialogue in body language was not apparent. Perhaps a frown here, a concerned look there. Duffy seemed to have loads of internal dialogue, but not everyone is an expert poker player. Even a small amount of body language would have helped you scored higher. A bitten lip, a frown, a glare after being banged over the head with what amounted to a stick, any of these could have helped your score here.

Action ~ 6/10. Your actions were rather clear, and quite theatrical. All befitting a character that is part of an acting troupe. The Body language hurt the score here as well, and in doing so, the actions of the character belied the inner turmoil that seemed brewing underneath the boisterous boy bravado.

Persona ~ 6/10. I got a sense of Duffy's honor, I know he has people who he relies upon for advice. Ultimately what I feel is missing is more about Duffy himself. Expand upon Duffy, give me some form of context for his actions. Why is he so honorable? What keeps him on the good side of the law breakers as opposed to the darker and more sadistic side of lawlessness? You're obvious a Chaotic Neutral character type, perhaps even Chaotic Good, but what's keeping you from Chaotic Evil?

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 7/10. Alliteration helped you out here. I saw some attempts at simile and metaphor as well. What keeps you from a higher score is my largest pet peeves. Tense changes, are the bane of my existence, and I can't seem to judge a thread without several of them. Still higher points for higher efforts.

Mechanics ~ 6/10. Missed opportunities to read over your work netted you a small smattering of selective senile flaws. In a few cases you even made wrong word usage, as I doubt Superfluous could be used to describe one's eyes. My understanding of the word is that it means unnecessary or extraneous. Perhaps you meant another word?

Clarity ~ 5/10. Tense changes make TB angry! You won't like me when I'm angry! They also hurt flow and jumble up your words.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 7/10. Points for the FFIX references, but I would not do more than one or two in a single thread, as they can easily get you in trouble as well.

TOTAL ~ 59/100.


Wings of Endymon


STORY

Continuity ~ 6/10. You gave me a sense for how our friend Yuka has come to find herself thrust into this tournament. Atop this, we have the situation where Yuka is obviously angry at the degradation of her skills. This seemed to fade rather fast, and I found that a little disappointing. Your slightly above average score was mainly for the fact you gave me some history, but nothing else, atop to staying almost perfectly true to story throughout the thread.

Setting ~ 7/10. While you didn't give me the flavor of country that's necessary for a higher score, you did interact with the background more than Duffy's "set it and forget it" manner. Not that Duffy was wrong for doing so, but it would have helped his score to remind me of the tiles, and the shifting of weight on the roof.

Pacing ~ 7/10. Your working alongside Duffy in this matter means you both scored rather high here. Unfortunately its harder to detract one from the other in this case, as both combatants contribute equally to this problem.

CHARACTER

Dialogue ~ 7/10. Dialogue was spot on what you gave of me. Also the non-verbal dialogue told much of the story. What detracted here was the air of royalty I got about Yuka. Nothing concrete was said, yet I felt the words far too casual for someone who was acting as noble as she was. It detracted from your dialogue giving you problems later one.

Action ~ 6/10. There was actions and they were largely in character. They just at times seemed glossed over. this is what made it difficult for me to knwo how you got up there, as I had to reread through once or twice to figure out when it occurred. This hurt the action score with the subtlety. Especially considering you two were standing on two separate buildings. Perhaps a nod to a jump or clamoring over a railing could have helped in this case.

Persona ~ 7/10. I got a very regal feel from Yuka. This was somewhat hindered by the fact that you showed me no sign of why this is so. I got a bit of the feel that she is rather practical, but no explanation. Other than "she trained in am academy of sorts for some time" I got no feeling for who or what Yuka was. Why travel to Haidia? What was there?

WRITING STYLE

Technique ~ 7/10. High points for well written and carried out. While not flashy it is a decently written prose that doesn't leave me feeling dirty or bored after reading.

Mechanics ~ 6/10. Your mechanics however took a bit of a plunge. From what I read, and have seen of you you are usually better than this. I feel you merely missed a few of these mistakes. Add in the few awkward phrases such as "Snobbish Elitist" that adds a bit of redundancy and you have an above average score, that needs only a bit of spit polish to really shine and be a perfect ten.

Clarity ~ 6/10. Clarity was hurt by the few awkward phrases and conundrums that I had to reread to understand. As was once pointed out to me, you shouldn't need to have things re-explained, it should be over and done with, the writing speaking for itself. That hurt your score here a little.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 7/10. Good writing makes this all the sweeter. You are a joy to read, and I feel you definitely are a respectable writer that others should learn from.

TOTAL ~ 66/100.

Wings of Endymon advances!

Wings of Endymon receives 550 EXP and 200 Gold!

Duffy Bracken receives 165 EXP and 200 Gold!

Any EXP rewards given are based off of the battle equation. Any questions regarding what was said can be addressed to me via PM or AIM SethDahlios.

[Tainted Bushido]

EXP and GP added!