A Cut Of The Chord (Closed)

[Duffy]

Closed to Bloodrose

The Sky Dome (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXFprnuyOEM&feature=related)

Duffy settled onto the sand floor of the cloudy dome and resigned himself to collecting his thoughts before the melee that would likely follow tore at his remnants, at his experience, his motives. You could forgive a man for forgetting what it was like to be alive in the heat of battle. In the latter few months the young lad had little opportunity to engage in any sort of conflict, except of the heart, mind and wits; he wasn’t really any good with those, either.

The arena he’d requested was sprung from two simple lines, ‘Open aired sand arena with plenty of strong wooden stakes of various heights and trails,’ followed strictly by ‘No dragons! If the rumours were true, for this was his first time visiting this ‘ancient and revered’ establishment, a man’s opponent was oft not what it first appeared, and ‘fair’ was a fairly lucrative trademark and it’s strict meaning kept very loosely. The dome that had been created was roughly eight hundred feet wide, and went upwards into a smooth dome of ceramic tiles, painted blue and white, and held what appeared to be actual clouds. The thin wisps of white trails moved around the lofty heights and served as a focal point for Duffy as he prepared his body for whatever lay ahead.

He had brought into the arena the Tinder Gear, although he’d equipped only one of the glove devices, and only half of the tightly strapped back mounted pack. The reduced weight aimed to improve his speed and to save fuel before his espionage on the docks. There were daggers in each boot, and his new acquisition was strapped to his back, it’s sheath tucked behind his cloak and the Gear. It could be reached easily and it could be kept safely even during Duffy’s peculiar methods of movement. Back flips weren’t ideal with a sword at the hip, and not only for the wielder.

There was only one door into the sky dome which could be seen by Duffy on the North edge of the circular wall. There were a peppering of posts obscuring it like a fence or lattice work frame. The height of such posts were varied, from a foot, to thirty feet, but all could be accessed by hopping up and down and spinning around like a monkey; one in three of the posts, cut from heavy oak and pine had several horizontal perks on them like tree branches. Fortunately, they appeared to be sturdy enough to carry a man’s weight. Duffy was subtly hoping he was going to face somebody slower - or just plain stupid. He was of course prepared to be outmatched on all fronts, and promptly shown the other side of the door. Which would be nothing new.

The small follicles on his back stood on end and at last, with an ominous clatter, the great wooden doors that lead into and out of the sky dome slammed open. The small sphere of darkness beyond showed no signs of life, light or movement, a ‘lack of’ that only served to boil his nerves closer to the brink. “Come to the harlequin king, the dancer and despoiler of heart’s, let the sword that sings in the bright one’s hand pierce your heart! 'Nay son, fall upon it, for death at the hands of a slew of words, is a death far viler than of simple steel…” Reciting his most famous and enjoyable quotation, Duffy pushed himself upright and jogged on the spot. This was the warm up routine he used before performing, a few stretches of the lower calfs, limbering of the upper arm joints, clicking of the neck…he didn’t want a muscle to go at the wrong time, except at the end of a hammer blow.

“Come on then, if you think u’re ‘ard enuff!” With a leap he climbed up a ten foot pole and perched at the top with his flint laden hand free and his dagger hand balancing him - he locked his eyes onto the gap, and waited for whatever was coming for him to pass through into glory, pain, and destiny.

[Bloodrose]

Of late, it was almost as if the Citadel had become something of a second home for the elderly mercenary; the metallic echo of Teric's footfalls off the ancient stone walls more familiar here then most anywhere else. Three and fifty years he'd walked the face of Althanas a man, and in those years the veteran had strode down these same halls innumerable times. So familiar was his face here that even the building itself seemed to recognize his arrival, the walls themselves whispering of past battles as he made his way to whatever arena awaited him...

I lost here as a boy. Teric reflected as he passed a scarred oaken portal bound in iron. He'd lost quite a number of times as a younger man - the magics here that kept fallen warriors from the cold grasp of death forgiving his mistakes as he honed his skills. Again and again he'd fallen to old knights, washed up mercenaries, and trained city guardsmen looking for a quick thrill within the walls of the famous Citadel. I don't even remember how many times I fell, the mercenary contemplated, but with every failure I grew stronger - learned a little more...

It felt strange, in a way, to reflect back on his loses with an almost wistful melancholy. "Back in the day", his Father would have said, the Citadel held a certain appeal for a younger Teric. There was that thrill, the exhilaration of combat that used to consume the man every time he entered one of the famed landmark's magical arenas. His wistfulness, Teric surmised, was that the spark these battles once held for him was long since snuffed out by a terrible truth.

Battles in the citadel are battles without consequence. The old wolf had come to realize. It doesn't really matter who wins or who loses here - anyone that enters these arenas will emerge no worse for wear and no better for it.

That realization sucked all the fun right out of the experience - if a man was even so mad as to consider armed combat 'fun'. It made Teric constantly reassess why it was that he kept coming back to this place at this stage in his life; kept throwing himself into meaningless, inconsequential tests of skill and brawn.

Why keep coming back here at all?

The simple answer: Swinging a sword in the Citadel was a more exciting form of exercise than doing countless pushups in the solitary confines of his room at the inn.

A doorway creaked open on Teric's right as he passed the portal on his way down the hall - as blatant an indication of one's destination as one could ask for. Teric did not hesitate, did not linger on the outskirts of the doorway as he might have years ago. Instead the mercenary drew his weapon with little flourish or fanfare and stepped out of the stone hall and into a sandy forest of leafless trees.

Interesting. Was the only descriptive word Teric could find for the place. Very long and covered in a sandy floor, the arena was capped by a physical dome painted up in such a way that it tried to pass itself off as an actual sky. Littering the desert like terrain were a great many series of wooden posts of varying heights that instantly reminded the veteran of the training grounds he'd seen in his time in Akashima. Nimble warriors who were fleet of foot used to train atop posts such as these, running, leaping, and swinging through the air above the ground to both prove and improve their dexterity. So whomever I'm fighting today is either from Akashima, or is keen on the people there.

The mercenary's brain was already toying with the possibilities as he caught site of a figure that was out of place across the forest of wooden stakes. At this distance he couldn't really make out much more than the fact that it was a person, humanoid hopefully, perched several feet above the ground. If there had been wind in this place Teric might have caught what was said, but instead he could only just make out a faint hint of a voice on the wind.

"Time to get started, I suppose." The mercenary wasted no time in setting off across the sandy floor of the arena, jogging along as he closed the distance between himself and the figure in the distance. Hopefully, Teric thought sourly, I'm not made to run all the way over there. Whoever it is might find me a tad cross if they don't meet me halfway.

[Duffy]

Fwoop!

Fwoop!

Duffy leaped across to a nearby pole, and then another.

Fwoop!

Curiosity had got the better of him and he drew himself upright to get a more worthwhile and ultimately foolish look at his opponent. The humanoid figure was thankfully not a dragon, nor was it a naga, or some other fiendish abyssal creature. It looked quite…ordinary, if appearances were anything to go by. Standing on a pole roughly forty feet from the man and about twenty in the air he cautiously hazarded a question, with a deep and booming attempt at sounding authoritarian.

“And who might you be, good sir?” No doubt filled his mind now that he had given himself a better chance, and a better opening to sucker punch with kindness and a general show of humility…ish. It was him…either the man’s fame preceded his every step, or Duffy’s roguish ability to ‘overhear’ conversations he wouldn’t normally be parlay to had failed miserably.

Fwoop, scoot, duff!

He landed on the sand next to the pole, his right leg forward and his left knee back and tucked to coil away the impact into a silent dust cloud. His fist tensed, clicking each finger into and out of it’s usual place, he did the same for most of his joints, safe and confident in the gap between them. The man, if he was indeed he, was a close quarter behemoth, a man of fists and steel and felling trees. Duffy smelt the aroma of fear, and for once, it was his own.

“My name is Tantalum, let our dance be a merry one, our requiem solemn and heartfelt,” he bowed, “and our union ring out a battle mass worthy of the gods!” He pushed back his left foot and rose, his dagger in his left hand cutting across his midriff and his free hand disappearing behind his back. He started to waver, and then started to do his little erratic jumps, like a boxer gearing himself up for the big fight.

“Choose your instrument!” At the back of his mind the aria returned, the distant choral melody and the heightened vocals of his confidence, his dreams, his inner purity. As long as the angels of the stage sung, he didn't doubt his ability one, little, bit. Well...maybe just one.

[Bloodrose]

Well, it would seem my new friend certainly likes to hear the sound of his own voice. Teric noted as the two of them came closer and closer together within the lofty confines of the arena. By the time his squirrel like opponent opted to drop down next to one of the poles some two dozen paces away, Teric had slowed his advance to a dawdling pace, buying time to further size up his competition before moving in for the brawl.

He was a younger man, and while he stood nearly the same height as Teric, "Tantalum" - as he introduced himself - was considerably leaner by the looks of him. Aside from the odd proportion of his weight to his height, however, the man was fairly non-descript. He carried no obvious banner or decoration that would mark him a proven fighter, such as a knight or a gang thug might, but he moved with a sort of natural grace that told Teric that this man knew how to handle himself.

"You know, it's customary to let a man answer your question before carrying on with the conversation." Teric goaded harmlessly, casting a line to see if the young man would take the bait. A seasoned fighter could tell a lot about someone by how they reacted to even the tamest of verbal taunts. A hot-headed reaction would portend a quick, fierce battle in which the mercenary need only wait for Tantalum to make a hasty, clumsy mistake. A calm reaction would be a little harder to gauge...

And judging by his apparent affinity for flair, this guy isn't going to lose his head over a comment as lame as mine.

"My name is Teric, and I chose my instrument as soon as I came in the door." The veteran continued. He waved the white Mythril blade of his sword at the young man indicatively, cracking a half smile as he did. By now Teric's slowed advanced had closed the gap between the two men from forty or so feet to something closer to twenty-five - which while a little too far, was close enough for Teric to make his first move.

A cloud of dust kicked up from the sand where Teric had been standing as he seemed to materialize a measly couple paces from Tantalum, who - through no fault of his own - hadn't had time to move away from the post he'd dropped down next to. For all the world it would have appeared as though the grizzled old mercenary simply vanished, only to reappear as if by magic twenty feet closer to his young opponent. A magic trick this was not, however, as the furrow gouged in a straight line through the sand between his starting position and his current position would testify.

"Let's not waste any time, shall we?" Teric asked almost mockingly as he closed with Tantalum. It would have been easy, or so the mercenary was assuming, to lop the boy's head off before he even had a chance to react. A quick, dirty victory like that wouldn't have been very sporting, however, especially if he was here to exercise, so instead of taking a swing with his sword, Teric aimed a punch with his free left hand right for the center of Tantalum's average looking face.

[Duffy]

First moves came and first moves went, this one, Duffy was ready for. There were few things in life he was truly good at, acting, singing, occasional moments on the ball room floor practising the waltz, but above all, he was spectacularly good at getting the hell out of the way. The old man, appearing not so old now moved quicker than anything he’d expected, advancing across the gap he’d carefully left between them like a rampaging buffalo. With a deft roll to the left he cleared the path of the fist with a hair’s breadth to spare, the movement behind it enough to disturb the air as he toppled and rolled, leg coming out to slow his advance and push him upright with a rickety bounce.

I don’t think I can take even one of those, not one, he thought. Sprightly and wiry and acrobatic he may be but resilient and built on a premise of stamina he was not. Thinking quickly on his bounding feet, he spoke, “forgive my insolence, but it is wise they say to offer your opponent in all manner of conflicts an opportunity to express their chosen accompaniment.” At that moment, his was a heavy dose of panting and nerves, “but it is a pleasure to meet you Teric, fame precedes you, although truth be told I know not why I know your name.” And I am most glad I have not come to know that face, he mused sarcastically to himself. As muscular as he was, the scars and battle weary age veil seemed to be a boon for Duffy, but a badge of honour for the man. Something told the young thief that he was outmatched in skill, outmatched in tactics, and outmatched in weaponry and armour.

Guess I’ll go with the old trickery and confusion, he beamed a smile and brought his gloved hand up level with Teric’s torso. He watched the sand trail turn from dust to silence, and then ran forwards himself, his feet padding on the floor but kicking up virtually no storm in his wake. With a grunt he rolled in a perfect tuck forwards, at it’s apex he kicked up and bounded clear over his adversaries head. No silver streak flashed, no assassin’s dagger fell, only a jet of liquid, a triple dispensing of the Tinder Gear’s contents heralds his ascent, descent, and perfect landing a few feet away on the battle veteran’s far side. Spinning on his heel Duffy jumped straight back into his little bouncy stance, the knife-fighter’s gambit, the street fighters arrogance. Smiling, he spoke once more, in a clear but jovial tone, “I don’t think I will last must longer against that mighty blade and your mighty armour of behemoth proportions, but let us enjoy this moment like as if it were our last!” By that Duffy knew quite well it would be his own last, something a man shouldn’t be happy or proud to speak of. The Citadel’s comfort blanket kept his hedonism warm and fuzzy, there would be no passing on of the Tantalum’s power this day.

He waited for the man to make his next move, one dagger wobbling in front of him held in reverse, and his glove pulled back ready to spread the rest of the liquid on Teric. Duffy’s attempt at overcoming sheer velocity, sheer strength and sheer calculated killing power with what he liked to call ‘a rude awakening’ would be a one trick pony, but he hoped the shock of the flames when the moment came would be enough. Teric didn’t look like the man who knew of combustion and science, least of all, he didn‘t look like the sort to be able to clean himself of the sticky fluid quickly.

With a little flair he might even dress it up as a mighty sorcerer’s boon of soul fire, but he’d have to remember the lines from The Sorceror’s Apprentice for that, and he wasn’t much fond of Elvin. Isn’t this pretending lark good fun! He thought to himself, tensing and gritting his teeth at the prospect of the pain to follow.

[Bloodrose]

The boy's reflexes are as quick as his tongue, it would seem. Teric commented to himself lazily as a spry and nimble Tantalum evaded his punch and skirted away. In an odd sort of way the mercenary was even glad that his fist had connected with nothing but the air where the young man's head used to be. Speed and good reflexes meant that Tantalum might yet prove to be an entertaining foe, considering the young man's obvious lack of physical might.

"You know, I find that to be a more and more common occurrence these days." Teric more than deigned to reply - not only keeping the banter with his foe going, but also adding to it. Since he felt so compelled to "pull his punches" in the interest of prolonging their duel, the veteran used their conversation to keep his mind off the one-thousand-and-one ways in which he could dispatch Tantalum with ease. "It almost makes me yearn for the days when no one knew my name. When I could go anywhere as a nobody and not worry about having my reputation proceed me."

Tantalum rushed forward without reply, and Teric raised his sword arm in defense. He expected a thrust or a jab, maybe even a horizontal slashing motion from the young man as he closed with the veteran, but Teric found himself mildly surprised by his opponent once again. Up and over the mercenary's head went Tantalum, somersaulting neatly through the air as some sort of liquid jetted from his arm. Teric tracked his foe with his defensive arm instinctively, shielding his face from the artificial rain and wondering his Tantalum realized just how open he left himself by vaulting directly over the mercenary's head like that...

...and then that was it. His vaulting complete, Tantalum resumed a defensive position just outside of range, the young man eyeing Teric keenly as if very proud of himself. No attack, no flashy trick; just the liquid spray and then that was that. Rather than attack, Tantalum seemed quite satisfied to merely comment on the grandiose nature of Teric's arms and armor while he moved about.

There is something very wrong about this. The mercenary decided quickly. Even though he didn't have a complete understanding of what Tantalum had just done, it didn't take much reasoning for a seasoned battler like Teric to figure out that something about the liquid meant danger for him. It didn't burn like acid, nor did it smell very flammable or alchemical; it was just sort of sticky like pine pitch and covered the forearm and chest of his shirt like a glue. There was even a little in his hair, but Teric was predominantly concerned with his clothes.

There had to be a reason - some devious, threatening reason - why Tantalum would spray this gunk all over him, otherwise why do it at all?

"This was my favorite shirt." Teric said brusquely, grabbing the neckline with his free hand and ripping the garment off his torso as if it was made of paper. It was a shame really, to ruin a nice Vlince shirt like that, but the veteran got the distinct feeling that the shame would have been much greater if he'd left the goo-covered shirt on. "I'm going to have to make you pay for that."

Stepping into range of the younger man's knife-fighting stance, Teric brought his sword up vertically, raising his hand grasped around the hilt up past Tantalum's head and trailing the tip of the blade along behind it. If he wasn't careful, the nimble youngling' would end up with a nasty scar from chin to hairline and an interesting story to go along with it.

[Duffy]

The Aria sung a soft requiem of warning, it's once calm blue view slowly churned into a tidal orange torrent. Tantalum watched the man remove his shirt, and cursed repeatedly. He hadn't thought of that, why hadn't he thought of that?

"Crap!"

“Oh, don’t worry,” Duffy cracked a nervous smile, “I know your name but I do not yet know why…troublin’ as it may be you’re just another guy with a sword and some pansy pants.” Now that he thought about they were nice pants. Evidently the man, whomsoever he was or chose to be had the good fortune to survive long enough here to take care about his appearance. The thief gave himself the once over and made a mental note to try and be a bit more presentable next time. Perhaps magenta?

Teric informed his opponent about revenge, something Tantalum only managed to smile at before realising he was about to receive the tail end of that promise. Speed was beyond the man, his age was nothing more than a mask for a deadly array of talent. His sword rose in such a form you couldn’t flinch before it sung it’s death knell. The sound of his attacker’s feet shuffling instinctively made the dagger move to greet the blade, both connecting tight to his chest as if he’d misjudged the distance and found himself wanting. The shock of the impact jarred up his arm and despairingly embedded itself into his shoulder for later, no doubt it’d bruise.

“Ugh,” Duffy grunted, pushing down as much as he could to try and prevent the upwards slash from taking his head clean off. His strength failed as his reverse grip on the dagger did, twisting his wrist to the right and the dagger up. The sword continued and with a satisfyingly sickening snick, it cut into the front of his left arm and the force of impact tucked it up into his chin. The acrobat’s limited reflexes allowed him some comfort of movement, just enough to take the tip of the sword to the left cheek and not his nose and eyes.

Fwoop!

THUD!

Lifted clean upwards from the shock as much as the strike Duffy fell onto his back two feet away, he’d kicked back in a futile attempt to avoid an early death. He pushed himself half upright and brought a finger up to inspect the damage. The gash was neat and cut vertically from his chin to the bottom of his eye socket. It stung like a wasp sting. Lots, and lots, and lots of wasp stings…the eye flickered and he rocked with momentary realisation that nobody was immune from the fear of dying here, even when there was no such occurrence. The survival instinct welled in him, making as it did even the most feeble of man think of themselves great warriors and knights.

“Why is it that I’m getting’ the ‘orrid impression you’re not doing this right?” Duffy rocked back and flopped upright with a snap of his back. A droplet of blood ran down to fall from end of his fingers. He hadn’t noticed the cut on his forearm until now, looking at it with nonchalant expressionism. “Fight me properly as if this were real or don’t fight at all!” He goaded Teric, perhaps unwisely into an actual fight. Even though the man had removed his shirt there still remained some of the Tinder Gear’s fuel on him, not enough to serve as a bright enough distraction, but enough to make amends for his foolish attempt at parrying. His wrist twanged, adding to the growing list of ailments which would make this conflict interesting, very interesting indeed.

Every word Duffy spoke was resigned to memory, every kick of dust and every sword stroke from Teric he collected and remembered. What a glorious epic this would make, even if the character’s names and costumes changed, it would live on in another life! Tantalum clenched his gloved fist and pulled it back, tucking it neatly to his side in a position that would allow a quick dispersal of fuel. There was only enough for two heavy doses left so he had to make sure they struck their target. The knife he carried in his left hand came up once more, and his feet started to hop weight left to right, left to right, right to left. He fully expected to be dead within seconds, but he saw compassion and reluctance in the old man's eyes, or at least the impression.

“Now fight! Remind me why I know your name and show me why you long for days gone by. Show me you realise how lucky and glorious it is to be alive!” Running straight at Teric was perhaps a bad idea, but with deft little stings he attempted to harass and test his defence like a wasp trying to a sting an elephant’s hide. He waited for the perfect moment to spray for a second time and pushed up with the glove. Gobbets of blood spattered the air with every swing and clashing of steel.

[Bloodrose]

Bunnying approved by Duffy Bracken.

"I'd have to believe that this was a real fight in order to treat it as such." Teric scoffed, meeting Tantalum's advance with a precise series of careful counters. The young man was either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish, and yet while the mercenary couldn't place his finger on which attribute his opponent possessed, it all mattered for naught anyways. As quick as the boy could strike, Teric was faster. As skilled as the young man might have been with his short blade, the grizzled old veteran was more masterful. Tantalum's flurry of punches, thrusts, and slices were turned harmlessly away time and again by Teric's free arm and the dancing white blade of his weapon respectively. Their footwork in the sand of the arena floor was a careful dance choreographed to the musical shriek of iron on mythril and the percussion of fist on bone...

Teric gave ground, letting the stalwart young man press forward until fatigue reared its ugly head in the form of slowed strikes and sloppy footwork. It took perhaps a minute's time, maybe less, but that's all it ever really took. Few people truly realized just how quickly the arms could tire and how quickly the lungs could grow weary when one threw themselves whole-heartedly into a fight; and if not for the glorious vigor of youth, Tantalum might not have lasted even half as long.

"It's quite a bit different than trading single shots with a game opponent, isn't it?" The mercenary asked rhetorically. Tantalum made for one last, eager thrust to the older man's abdomen - a thrust made sloppy by an aching arm. Teric caught the boy easily by the wrist with his free hand, turned the arm away, and socked his young foe squarely in the jaw with the basket hilt of his sword.

Tantalum was coughing blood into the sand before he even knew what hit him.

"Huuuuuu..." Teric sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging and his weapon dropping harmlessly to his side as he stood over Tantalum. For a moment there, the warrior had considered the fact that he might be enjoying himself. While not overly difficult, the thought, skill, and reflexes that went into successfully parrying a long string of offensive attacks was no laughing matter; it had felt good putting those skills to use. In those sixty seconds of combat, Tantalum had rekindled the spark that was the only thing that kept Teric coming back to this place - the joy of skilled combat.

Too bad it had to end so abruptly, and with such little satisfaction.

"You’re still young, so I don't expect you to really understand what I'm talking about." Teric started, stepping back from his bloodied foe to lean lazily against one of the wooden pillars that had all but been forgotten. "But me, I've played this back and forth of cat and mouse a hundred times - probably more - and no matter how hard I try, I find myself wanting."

There was a pause, almost as if the veteran was gathering his thoughts.

"I've come to realize that no matter how hard I try - no matter how much illusion the spooks that run this place can cram into one corner of space and time - the result is always the same. I come here looking for a fight, and I leave having played a game. It's a farce really, all of this." Teric swept his arm around to indicate the arena, then hefted a handful of sand from the arena floor and let it sift through his fingers to illustrate a point. "None of this is real, in a sense, and no matter how much I, or you, or anyone else for that matter attempt to convince ourselves otherwise, it can never be real. I come in here, I smash up your face, I gut you like a fish, and for what? So you can stroll out the front door as lively and as healthy as the day your bitch of a mother spawned you from between her legs?"

Another sigh, and Teric took note of the fact that Tantalum, probably still dazed from the wallop he'd taken in the head, was starting to look a little more clear; a little more recovered. The veteran cast a skyward glance to the painted dome ceiling, readjusting his grip on his weapon before rocking off the post to step back closer to the young man on the ground.

"You want me to remind you how glorious it is to be alive?" Teric asked the young man solemnly. "You find me in the streets, where there are no monks to raise you giddy and laughing from the dead. Find me, and you'll find that a man can never truly appreciate what it means to be alive until he's faced with a very real and very permanent death."

With that, Teric wrapped both hands around the hilt of his sword, holding the blade downwards as he raised the weapon over Tantalum menacingly.

[Duffy]

Rabbit rabbit say yes!

‘It was funny Teric should’ve thought of it as a spark…’ The narrator chimed at the same time Duffy went down.

Thud!

Lights spun round Duffy’s head collecting assonance and momentum as he hit the sandy floor of the cloudy dome. He thought better of himself to scream and settled instead for a spluttering of blood and a rubbing of the temples. Teric’s fist had slipped through the melee like a night assailant, crashing into his jaw and knocking his dreams off their golden pedestal in a single calculated blow.

He thought idly to himself as Teric occupied the moment with a long winded and morally dubious speech on matters of battle, war and terror. What was the reason he’d come to the Citadel in the first place? Why had he not remained in Scara Brae, to do battle in the Pagoda, where the cold hard thud of the mat and the regal aura of the place at least made him feel more special than this. It was ironic, he laughed, he’d spent the better part of his life performing I Want To Be Your Canary, and here they were, spinning around his head with a twaint little chirping chorus. Fame? No, not that…money? More than likely…

"You want me to remind you how glorious it is to be alive?"

He did not wait for an ominous pause to fill the silence, Duffy replied, his deluded compliments and half bothered obscurities clearer now than they’d been when he was fully conscious. It was a small pile of good fortune that the second spray had hit Teric in the clashing of iron vs. mithril and wit vs. skill, not so much for the old man, but it wasn’t he that was about to be impaled.

“You have no need to remind me what it means to be a living, breathing, pulsating bundle of happiness, Teric. I have no need to fight, to kill, to main to feel at one with this world we struggle to call Althanas. It is beyond us, the true meaning of existence, but we can touch the firmament of the beyond in moments of true passion. If you,” Duffy smiled, pushing up with a hand to crouch, rise and stand with a hunched back. He wiped the trickle of blood from his jawl, spat, and continued. “If you think, for one minute that age has anything to do with it, your arrogance is greater than King Leo, blinded by nobility to see his daughter’s true love.”

Countless lines of text scrolled before his eyes, The Aria sang in a wave of euphoric bass notes to crush tile and rock.

“You are more foolish then Othello, madder than Hamlet, nay, you are the indemonstrable Advent Child, too stubborn to pass away when a new hero rises to meet your blade, too selfish to let go of the past. When birds sing and people tell of the man named Teric in years to come, it will be a supporting role, the shadow light cast of a military amble that the critics do not rave about.”

No more thought slipped from Duffy’s tongue. He knew that he was about to die, if that was the right phrase. Nobody died here, but that still didn’t ease the sense of mystery, the sense of feeling close to the End. The traditional light at the end of the tunnel came to mind, sanctuary within your grasp, only to be pulled back at the very last. His glove connected with the hilt of the katana and he unsheathed it an inch.

Teric’s blade rose threateningly high, clasped tightly in both hands. In Akashima it might have meant something else, a friendly gesture in other lands, but here, Duffy knew it meant time was running out.

Mithril edge dropped, up and back and in both hands, the katana brought itself up, dragging Duffy’s hands behind it. With a quick squirt of the last of the Tinder Gear's fuel the shining Akashiman blade was enshrouded in liquid. In the distance, inaudible by anyone who was not of the Tantalum, a small voice recited lines from Lysander’s Flock. The steel edge of the katana connected with the tip of Teric’s blade and they passed one another with a long sching that was harmony to a warrior’s ear.

Teric's blade struck Duffy square in the chest, piercing his ribcage and windpipe like a knife through nothing more than angry air. His own blade ran along the edge of his death knell but fell short as the life was stricken from him like chalk on a blackboard with a hasty sleeve. The sparks ignited it, a flame brand scorching the sky.

Clang.

The katana dropped to the floor with a clatter.

A spark flew through the air from the tip of his pot shot, as if dragon's fire had sprung from the very tip of his sword strike.

A spark of genius.

A spark of glory.

A spark of the rude awakening.

Please reach… The troupe master muttered his last request.

It touched Teric’s torso.

His eyes went wobbly and closed and he ‘passed on,’ as if he’d performed the death scene from Romeo and Juliet for the thousandth time.

[Bloodrose]

"...a supporting role..."

Of all the sounds rambling out of Tantalum's mouth as he awaited the certain death blow to come, those three simple words cut Teric deeper than any blade the young man carried with him. The truth had a tendency to do that, really, and to hear the horribly simple truth of his life summed up in the dying utterance of a man half his age wounded the older veteran in ways he didn't even know a man could be wounded. The shock was enough to stay the blade in Teric's hand, wavering above Tantalum's weakened form, as the mercenary gave careful contemplation to those words...

Mercenary.

It wasn't the sort of profession a man could take pride in - at least not in any meaningful way. One mention of the "sellsword's" more common moniker to anyone and their head was immediately filled not with thoughts of brave, skillful men, but rather with the mental image of dungy hangouts crowded with common street thug trash. Any snot-nosed brat with a sword could call themselves a mercenary, and a fair number did, dummying down the pool of talented warriors who could actually bring something to the table in a war. Mercenary work was a profession that cared more for how little you'd charge than how good you were. Quantity over quality, and that was nothing to be proud of.

Likewise, in keeping with Tantalum's stringing truth, the world never remembered the names of the mercenaries on either side of a conflict. The history books, the annalists, and the bards remembered the names of those whose conflict it was originally - the men and women with fire and conviction behind their will to fight - not the names of those they paid in paltry sums of gold to bolster the strength of that fight.

With no friends of family to leave behind as a legacy, Teric was forced to surmise that his name might even be forgotten more quickly than most.

"Jerk." Teric muttered under his breath as he let the killing blow fall. Tantalum made one last ditch effort to save himself - a credit to the young man's tenacity - but it didn't save him. He died with cold metal between his ribs, his life snuffed like the dying the orange light of the spark that flew off their swords as they slid against one another for the last time...

That tiny instance of flame - a grain of sand sized ball of heat - landed in a dribbling pool of the syrup-like liquid Tantalum had been spraying about earlier. The mercenary hadn't paid it much mind, the liquid, as it didn't seem all that dangerous on its own. Had he known what he was about to know in the next couple of seconds, the veteran might have paid closer attention to the fact that Tantalum had been oozing that goop onto him the whole time they were locked in closer quarters.

FWOOM!

That one, harmless little spark touched off a volatile reaction that raced up Teric's arm, spread across his collarbone, and leapt into the sticky goo still in his hair. Orange flames licked hungrily at the old man's skin as surprise almost instantly disintegrated into an agonized scream. Teric's vision went black as the old man's eyes snapped shut, flames blossoming up in front of his face to sizzle away his beard and eyebrows. His nostrils filled with the gagging aroma of burning hair and flesh, and Teric fell to the sandy floor of the arena kicking and floundering like a fish out of water.

Whether by accident or by purpose, it was impossible to tell, Teric rolled to and fro, kicking and sweeping sand with his limbs as he went. The sand quickly choked the flames out of existence, ending the torture almost as quickly as it had begun - but the damage was done. Half his hair was burned off, his skin was red and bubbled up like one big, ugly blister, and the old man's senses were tingling with one single sensation - pain. It hurt so bad that Teric almost forgot the truth of his own revelation earlier; with Tantalum dead, the Ai'Brone would we coming through the arena door in less than a minute's time from now, bringing with them the soothing relief of their healing. No more than a half hour from now the burned veteran would stroll out the front door of the Citadel alive, pain free, and void of the disfiguring scars the injury Tantalum delivered with his dying breath would have brought.

It was very comforting, that revelation. Otherwise Teric couldn't have helped but feel that Tantalum might have escaped this place with the last laugh...

[Taskmienster]

A Cut Of The Chord :: I was asked to do moderate to detailed commentary. I’ll throw in some detailed where necessary, but in general I’ll keep to surmising the gist of what should be worked on, what was done well, and how it all played out. I haven’t read a battle in a good while, so it’s taken me just a bit longer than normal. If you have questions or concerns, feel free to catch me whenever.


Duffy

Continuity 4
When you open a thread, no matter where, it’s always best to start with something firm and concrete, something that the reader can immediately identify with and carry on with them throughout the read. This point is of paramount importance when you are working in a battle, which oft times is left without any sense of continuity. I know that you came prepared, since you said that in your first post you had one flint/tinder and had loaded yourself lightly, but beyond that I had no clue why you were present at all. What is it that drives Duffy to join the Citadel? Was it the sentence : “You could forgive a man for forgetting what it was like to be alive in the heat of battle.” If that is the reason behind you coming to the Citadel, it was only a small sentence that really didn’t explain anything. Don’t forget to build on your character, who he was before he came to the thread that’s being written out, as well as what his motives for this particular piece are, so that in the end the conclusion is understood, or at least present. I don’t think you can really have a conclusion, at least not in the traditional sense of a piece of literature, without a motive and drive to create one.
Setting 5
The setting was particularly well explained. I knew the dimensions of the arena, that it had a sandy ground, and some sticks or some sort of wood that was present… in whatever capacity that meant. You explained that they varied in size, and that they crisscrossed at times, but never seemed to go further than that. You didn’t use the setting, and didn’t really explain it again throughout the entirety of the thread.
Pacing 5
The pacing was terribly done, though throughout the thread you tended to write rather long phrases and such that made it slower. You could have used the setting more, really built up the suspense through your dialogue, persona, and technique, as well as kept the sentence structure smaller and more concise… but none of that really felt like it was done. The pacing was not terrible, but for a battle it was not great either.
Dialogue 4.5
You switch between eloquently spoken words, to very broken English, which I understand is probably your character’s regular speech. However, at other times you don’t show that broken English and it’s definitely not a point when you are reciting anything at all. So I’m not sure why, but you skipped about when writing dialogue, so be careful with that.
Action 4
In your first post you seemed to have explained the doors opening, as if the opponent was entering, which is something you should avoid. That is a somewhat green rper’s common mistake, and tends to make me feel like it’s something akin to bunnying. Don’t do anything without your opponent’s permissions first, and try to just set up the opening, instead of worrying too much about making them appear to the place that you’ve come to fight in.

:: “With a grunt he rolled in a perfect tuck forwards, at it’s apex he kicked up and bounded clear over his adversaries head.” :: This is an obvious misjudgment of time, speed, and assuming your adversary will just stand there while it happens. Honestly, it is close to bunnying to be exact. Bounding over your opponent, who has a mythril longsword, is never a good idea. If you had left it at that, I’m sure that the next post could have easily been Bloodrose just slicing through you, since moving through the air is always slower than running. Be careful with that sort of thing.
Persona 4.5
Sometimes the persona was an exhibition through narrative, other times it was through dialogue; however the dialogue seemed to change and in turn made the feel of the character’s personally divert with it. Keep things consistent as much as possible, if you don’t keep it consistent then the reader is left with a feeling as if he’s reading multiple characters, or a multiple
Technique 5
:: “You could forgive a man for forgetting what it was like to be alive in the heat of battle.” :: “You” is a second person expression, often reserved for “Choose your own adventure” books, and other such lower writing. No offense to the creator of that series, they made a lot from it, but it’s just not something that you work towards as a truly professional writing style. An easy correction for the word “you” is “one”, which alludes to other people’s ability to assume and presume. That makes people think a bit more than you, which just makes me wince to see in third person narrative.

:: You tend to write out noises, as if the onomatopoeia is absolutely necessary in order for the reader to understand what it sounds like. It’s fine every once in a while, but you tend to do it a lot. When writing, excluding manga’s, a noise can be expressed through the narrative as well as allow you to write out advanced technique in explaining HOW it sounded. Metaphors, similes and the like are great mediums for expressing a sound, without having to write the sound itself out. Too much of the differing onomatopoeia and you tend to have a choppy narrative that makes posts long but without adding much of anything.

:: When you started your 5th post, you started writing with capital letters at the beginning of each paragraph. I don’t know why, but it was as if you had forgotten to do that, and you wanted to for whatever reason, and in turn started on the 5th post instead of editing previous posts to make it all the same.
Mechanics 5
:: “The old man, appearing not so old now moved quicker than anything he’d expected, advancing across the gap he’d carefully left between them like a rampaging buffalo.” :: You need to remember to watch for places to pause in sentences, you tend to write a lot and it may flow, because you mentally put a pause, but there is no comma… so readers aren’t pausing when you want them too. Comma’s aren’t just for clarity, they can be used for emphasis, a means of suggesting to the reader to take a breath before continuing, so that the separation creates the dramatic flair, emotional affect, and/or a greater feel for the way to read the sentence present by showing the difference and the split as a means of explaining what was emphasized and at what times.

:: “Sprightly and wiry and acrobatic he may be but resilient and built on a premise of stamina he was not.” :: “he may be” is a present tense slip that could have been avoided with, and I don’t like it so it’s not often I suggest this, but a past progressive tense change. “he may have been” would keep it past tense, through the use of the progressive tense difference, and make it so that it wasn’t a present tense slip.
Clarity 6
The mistakes that I have posted above should help you out with making the writing more clear and easier to follow. Watch out for comma’s, oddly constructed sentences, as well as clearing out some of the more finite details that should be present in a good story and you’ll do fine with clarity in the future.
Wild Card 5
I’m really not sure why you linked a youtube video… but alright.

Bloodrose

Continuity 6
Your continuity was much better, you set up past experiences as a means of a personal regard for the Citadel, and the tone you used for the narrative made it feel as if you had a grudge against the place and it’s ideals. You continued that tone throughout the thread, eventually moving from word choice influencing the writing to the very outspoken dislike of the free ride fighting that was found in the halls. I enjoyed the way you felt about it, and also enjoyed that it seemed to change a little bit as you wrote, which helped with what I’d call a “pacing technique”. I don’t know which to put it in, really, but it fits best in here. The motives for fighting weren’t so clear though, why would Teric go to the Citadel if what I’m assuming is that he doesn’t like it that much? Just exercise? Or was there something more behind it? I mean, you explained it as exercise, but in the end it just left me questioning possible motives that weren’t really outright explained. Or, perhaps, I’m reading too far into it and you just used exercise as an excuse to join in on the fight… lol
Setting 5.5
Instead of just explaining the surroundings, which is always step one, you went to step two. You tended to associate the setting with something familiar to your character, and in turn familiar to those of us reading that know what you are talking about. Even if I, as a reader, didn’t understand what you meant by “reminded the veteran of the training grounds he'd seen in his time in Akashima”, you continued to explain a little bit more after that to justify your association with the surrounding and past experiences as well as give a bit more insight to those that might have not understood what that meant to begin with.
Pacing 6
Dialogue 6
:: “Hopefully, Teric thought sourly, I'm not made to run all the way over there. Whoever it is might find me a tad cross if they don't meet me halfway.” :: This is a good use of dialogue as a catalyst for persona. You expressed your character’s thoughts as a means of showing that he was not one that enjoyed waiting on others, or being baited towards them, or showing that you had the will to fight but without them joining you halfway that they did not have the will to fight. I enjoyed the show of character through your thoughts.
Action 5.5
Kept the same, continued to do what you do, and made sure that it showed through your persona as well as your actual action. I’m not going to comment on the below section, since it really tied into the dialogue and action extremely well, but I would say that a little bit more emotional attachment to the thread would do wonders.
Persona 6
Technique 6
:: “Three and fifty years he'd walked the face of Althanas a man, and in those years the veteran had strode down these same halls innumerable times. So familiar was his face here that even the building itself seemed to recognize his arrival…” :: “strode down these” and “his face here” are both seemingly slips into present tense narrative. They could be avoided with exchanging the word ‘these’ with ‘the’, and instead of ‘here’ you could just remove it completely. In other parts of the narrative you use “here” as well, which isn’t necessary for the circumstance.
Mechanics 8.5
There are very few things I can say about your mechanics, at least bad things. It’s nearly flawless, I think I could only find a couple points where a comma could have been used, to make things flow better, but even then it wasn’t a grammatical error but a personal writing style difference. I must say, the only thing that comes to mind is nearly flawless. I tried to look for something to comment on, but happily didn’t find much.
:: “A quick, dirty victory like that wouldn't have been very sporting, however, especially if he was here to exercise, so instead of taking a swing with his sword, Teric aimed a punch with his free left hand right for the center of Tantalum's average looking face.” :: This is a rather long winded sentence. It could have been broken up a little bit in order to make it flow better. Technically, there is nothing wrong with it, but when I read it there just seems to be too much. After “exercise” you could have punctuated it. Then started the next sentence with “Instead of…”
Clarity 7
:: “If there had been wind in this place Teric might have caught what was said, but instead he could only just make out a faint hint of a voice on the wind.” :: You started this by saying “if there was wind” and ended by saying that it was “a faint hint… on the wind.” It’s a contradictory sentence, were one clause can be right but both can’t be correct at the same time.
Wild Card 6.5
It’s not the best performance I’ve seen from you, but certainly above average nonetheless. I like how well you write, how it flows, and the way that everything seems to come together well in the end. You tie your opening to the closing perfectly, and any loose ends are caught and reigned in well.


Score:
Duffy :: 48!
Bloodrose :: 63!

Rewards:

Bloodrose :: 2750 exp | 250 gold
Duffy :: 500 exp | 100 gold
((removed a little more than 10% for use of a weapon that would cost more than just 10% to refill.))

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.