New Blood Bracket R2: Inkfinger vs. Falling with Style

[Tainted Bushido]

This match begins Friday 9/4/2009 at 12:00 AM and will end on 9/19/2009 at 12:00 AM.

Best Wishes.

[Inkfinger]

"I was down, my naginata broken, defenseless..."

The light of a dozen lanterns flickered, dramatically, making short shadows long and menacing on the walls, casting gleaming light and fire onto the windows. Cael Inkfinger, the storyteller, couldn't hold back a slight grin -the rain drumming on the roof and trickling down the windows meant he had a nigh-captive audience. The setting was, for once in his miserable life, cooperating.

He took a pause to raise a spoonful of soup, blowing on it as he watched his audience watch...well, him. There weren’t that many in the inn’s dining room that night - perhaps fifteen, sixteen if he counted the goat (which he didn’t) but he had a good two-thirds of those fifteen on the edges of their seats; waiting, breathlessly, for his next words. He made a production of enjoying his meal. In truth, the soup was too salty and tasted suspiciously of dog, but timing was everything, and this particular audience…

Easily amused, or slow news day, he found himself musing. It really couldn’t be his tale. He hadn't told stories in so long, this one wasn’t all that interesting, he was rusty and his pauses were all off...

…And it was time for this particular pause to end.

"My opponent,” he continued, voice lowered to something a step above a whisper, “The foul shapechanger, stood over me ready to strike, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light..." He left out the part about how he, personally, was drunk. And if the audience really wanted to imagine the angry bartender he'd brawled with the night before as, say, a malevolent, ten foot tall black-furred creature out for his throat, well. Who was he to argue with them? The truth often lacked color, and the ugly slash bisecting his cheek lent some credence to his tale.

At least it’s scabbing.

"His knives shimmered like the northern sky, all colors of the-” He was going to say rainbow, but a quick survey of his audience (three men he’d guess were sailors, two men-at-arms in Corone Rangers colors, a harried looking elf-woman with two small children in tow and a very drunk husband) he and a … “Dawn sky before a storm.” He saw the soldiers nodding, and hid another grin. They know what that one means. “I felt for my weapon, desperate, as he lunged. And-"

"And ol' Bottlebrush passed out by the time 'e got to ya!"

The raucous voice came from the back of the small inn's dining room, somewhere past the light’s shifting edge. Cael plunked his spoon back in his bowl, drew himself up to his full height (or as close as he could manage, perched as he was on a stool) and glared back into the shadows.

"An' you were there?"

A dangerous question, that. This inn was only a day’s journey from Radasanth, and if Cael had made the trip, it was conceivable that someone else could have as well.

"Yeah, I was there, dotty."

Cael's scowl deepened, his fingers curling in on themselves. The ink stains that had faded during his prison time were returning, slowly, dark against his still-too-pale skin.

"He's laid up sick now, the Dragon’s Head’s not got a decent booze slinger, an' you're still leavin' out all the best bits..." The voice (Cael still couldn’t find the speaker in the shadows) sniggered. “Like the bit where you was runnin’ scared from some little pussycat…”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think It learned to speak… he glanced, suspiciously, at the table before him. His origami familiar, It, curled there, its papery beak tucked under one carefully folded wing. He sighed, shrugged once, and nodded.

“…alright, yes. He passed out before he had a chance to attack, and I got thrown out of the pub. I may have exaggerated just a bit…” Though if I don’t exaggerate, it’s simply no fun. “The events are open for interpretation, if Bottlebrush-” Was that his name, then? “-wants to complain, he can speak to a barrister and we’ll see what we can work out.”

That left a couple of them looking at each other in confusion. Good. Cael glared in the general direction the voice had come from. “Anyways, if you think I’m tellin’ it so bad, maybe someone else could entertain you lot. I’ve just about had enough!”

…and if they’re really that bored, that should earn something of a protest….

[Falling With Style]

Mods: I'm afraid I just can't finish this one in time - I'm forfeiting to Inkfinger rather than throwing down a crappy post and having it end in a toss-up. Ink's been consistently more active, more enthusiastic, and I'll admit he's likely a better writer, so he's got my backing (whatever that's worth :P) for this challenge.

Ink: Quite sorry I couldn't finish this one. I was very excited about the idea of our tall-tale battle and life kept getting in the way - classes, money, work, the lot. I really want to do this "battle" in a normal thread if you're still up for it.

Again, my apologies to Ink and the rest of the tournament goers. Best of luck to you all.

[Tainted Bushido]

InkFinger Advances.