Forewarning Of Calamity (Concordia)

[Allennia]

Closed to Majik Swordsman. Set after Dealing With Idolatry.

There is a light that will never go out; it is the light of hope, of the future, of what could be and what should survive eternal. Abhorrash knew all too well the consequences for trying to dimmer that luminance, it was a fate worse than death bereft of any absolution, of any escape. In the cold wind and the twilight hours of the looming dawn he contemplated failure, the shuddering impact of each horse hoof on the broken road knocking him aback. His stallion carried him through the depths of Concordia forest without guidance or intellect, sodden and spurned to movement purely on instinct alone.

“There is something yonder indistinguishable from the ether, a veil covering the truth; you must pierce this entity, this creation, so that the council may seat at the zenith of its power once more.” Abhorrash repeated the line uttered by Magister Jurran not a day ago, exploring the semantics and intricacies of the words over and over, repetition brought to life with each passing of a tree and leaping of a clod. Time and setting and continuity melded into one long tiresome stream of subconscious meandering. The flickering leaves of the overhead oaken canopy formed a crown to the mantle of nature’s passing; the red mage of the Isould smiled intermittently, reveling in the chill rasp of the air and the solitude in which he could work a magic far beyond his own grasp.

What could lie this way? He pondered excruciatingly slowly, but he pondered all the same. In his hand clasped coldly and sternly alongside the frayed leather reins of his steed rested the Compass. Jurran had gifted him this small boon on his departure, instructing him of its use in his typical overwrought manner. “All that is required is the steadfast assurance of an ether stream, conjugated and consanguinity held within the blessing of erudite soul, and then the opening of the seal. Therein will be contained the direction of the disturbance.” Why the old man had insisted on such a complicated description for something even a child could use he had no idea, but he was thankful all the same for receiving an aide in his seemingly futile quest.

He brought the horse to a canter as the forest began to open out into faded meadows spread with hawthorn thickets and sprawling masses of blackberry bushes and ivy. The winds were no more, and the chill faded into the pulsating melody of adrenaline and exercise. Something else changed that Abhorrash smelt, felt, and feared. The unknown. He pushed the steed forwards slowly, keeping his eyes darting left and right as he examined the shadows. What hand benign had brought him here, and what was this arcane radix in the air?

[Majik Sordman]

He wasn't familiar with the sights, sounds, scents, and textures of Concordia forest. Prickly pine trees of pallor greens had soon changed to lush oaks of lustrous emerald hues, and verdant fields of rolling tree-covered hills screamed beauty the further south he ventured from the Shirayama Mountains. This was not to say that his former home of Akashima wasn't a sight to behold in its own, but new places came with new sensations, and it was all almost too much to take in so suddenly.

The winter months had soon waned, leading to a fresh spring that marked the start of Razeki's journey. Natural-born wanderlust had him forever wondering what the world was like, and what lied beyond the mountain dwelling village of Ninyama that he'd been raised in. Duty also fueled his travels, knowing that throughout such a world there will always be opportunities to prove his abilities and exorcize "evil"; going off on his own as soon as his skills were enough to fend for himself. He was never too fond of thinking too much into things, namely asking the questions: How he would survive, where he would go, what he would do, who would he meet? The answers ever eluded the Spirit Warder, but it was deliberate.

Razeki followed a trail-never-walked, along the western side of the Firewiner River that lined the eastern side of Concordia and streamed through the continent all the way to the southern seas. Facts told that a place called Underwood sat in the center of the forest, and that was the first destination that briefly came to the nekojin's spontaneous mind.

He was accompanied by the musical sound of rushing waters, the soft crackling of twigs broken and leaves crunched underfoot, and the shadows that danced a mad waltz all around; puppets of the midday sunlight breaking through full canopies that leered overhead. The woodland environment of his home was nothing compared to the life brimming from Concordia. The feeling put a smile on his face, and he came around a hill bend to witness an animal family having their fill of river water.

Three. Two. Then there was one.

Blaze counted the deer as they quit their daily drinking routine to sprint away abruptly, and he anticipated the reason was because he began to approach them. His jade eyes, widened and amazed, glistened with curiosity as he watched the graceful creatures leap and bound away to disappear the dense forestry. It was then that he felt it, a tingling sensation coursing up his spine.

He stopped in his tracks, putting his left fur-covered hand on the trunk of a tall willow tree that sat beside the Firewiner, his gaze snapping to the babbling river as his ears perked; watching the rapid waters flow over rolling cascades allowed his ears to hone and wait for any unusual noise. The all-too-familiar feeling that an otherworldly spirit was near settled in his stomach very strangely. Had to be very near, considering the range of which he could sense such things. The air seemed to still and grow cold, he felt it stronger. Stronger. It was then that he realized, the deer hadn't fled because of his presence, but because they too sensed something malicious near.

With a flick of his wrist, his blade sang freely from its wooden scabbard. Razeki deigned to imagine a foul being ruining the glory of such a forest, and knew then that it would be him that tried to cleanse it. The sound of cracking twig and the rustling of undergrowth behind him snapped his gaze around. His observant eyes snapped to, and his ears perked like an alerted cat. Nothing but tall oaks and cypress trees filled his vision, their dense formation not allowing him to see much deeper into the forest. In the corner of his eye, Razeki noticed something black and sleek worm its way through some thickets to the west - his right side. Imagining it was simply a snake, he shrugged the sight away. After a moment the spiritual sensation became a fleeting one and he knew that whatever had passed him, had also ignored him completely. Without a doubt, it had an agenda of its own. Something tugged at his mind, intuition telling him that he should go west.

Westward he went, away from the calming serenity of the river's music, up a small ridge, through a tall thicket, and finally the overhead canopy opened as he stumbled into a meadowy clearing.

[Allennia]

Through the navel of the natural world Abhorrash cut a long drawn out sigh. He watched the tree line with a cautious indignation, the breath from his lips invisible, but scouring the reality he found himself of flesh and sanctity. Something was approaching and in his inexperience, he overprepared for the arrival of the mundane through the canopy. The thicket wobbled, rustled and sprawled to one side; as if escaping the vague barrage of movement akin to a great elephant or behemoth of the darker days. In a flurry something burst through the tree line. The hum he heard grew, a magical aura of pious intricacies and the red mage smiled. The clearing they both suddenly came to exist in sparkled.

He made no motion, staying the stallion with a thought and gentle squeeze of his legs. The tenseness in the atmosphere grew, so much so that one could snap it with a flick of the finger, a sneeze, or a kick. Past the red berry copse and the oak trees the creature came, its motions and movements, even to one so close-minded as the red man in the open, spoke clearly of detection. They spoke of the hunter, of knowing he was not alone. He sniffed and smelt the sweat drip down his spine, his nose moist enough to cause a wave of realisation – nerves tingled, fear spiraled.

“I speak no ill of the world but I must say I am fortunate to find you here-” he snapped his lips closed, thinking himself a fool for allowing his thoughts to get the better of him. The radix began to die as the words echoed away into nothingness, and Abhorrash leaped sideways to the right from the horse and stood by his steed’s side. With the reins held tightly in one hand, the corner of the leather bound book strapped to his waist in the other, he aired his graces and bowed politely. The moss beneath his heavy boots and his clunky armour sprung and the connection with the earth brought the still spinning stream of the long day’s travel to an abrupt end.

The Compass spun at the back of his mind and the needle settled on the direction of his travels, piercing the presence of the prowling man like a beacon. He waited, spying the strange creature from behind his cowl, prying into the unknown like a curious and ironic feline.

[Majik Sordman]

"Yes, that's what most would say upon seeing me."

Razeki's tone dripped of sarcasm as he blurted out the first thought that came to his mind. The feline's emerald-hued eyes darted about the meadow as he took a couple steps forward, his feet sinking slightly into the wet ground, the remnants of a recent rain. The earthly smell of the calf-high whipgrass was strong, to say the least, filling Blaze's nostrils as he sniffed audibly like a prowling tiger.

One would have been able to cut the silence that quickly ensued the swordsman's comment with a knife, even the ambivalent breeze froze in the clearing momentarily, not sure of what was going to happen next. Razeki, content with the fact that he could no longer sense anything significant around, stood up from his previously wary stance, then flashily sheathed his blade with practiced ease.

He snickered quietly as he stood, understanding that, to the knight that stood near his horse about a dozen paces to Razeki's left, he must've appeared looking like some wild animal. Turning to Abhorrash, he said "Heya." Followed by a nod. The red-armored man was just about as tall as the nekojin was, perhaps a little more so with the aid of those boots he wore, and was obviously some sort of errant knight of proud erudite glory.

Razeki felt awkward, but nonetheless stood still where he was, awaiting a response.

[Allennia]

“You will forgive my intrusion if this is your home? I am not certain where it is I am exactly for I fly on a wing and prayers for a purpose I seldom understand.” He watched the creature slowly and sighed silent, mental relief as the sword was eased. The feline figure replied with a curtsy. The rest was easy enough, for it was in the first few seconds of meeting that alliances and hatred were solidified in equal measure.

“If I have not caught you parlay to a previous engagement, could I perchance ask you for some advice, perhaps some direction?” The question echoed out through the meadow, the thickets answering the call with a gentle swaying movement instigated by the gentle breeze. This was a most beautiful and humbling environ for polite conversation, but Abhorrash remained enthralled by the feline to take due notice of nature’s bounty.

“I am simply looking for anything pertaining to ancient, indescribable or unethical power – something earth-bound, something spiritual,” he flipped open the Compass once more to check that his surmounting of his steed had not knocked the needle off kilter. He smiled, it still pointed firmly at Blaze.

“Do you know of such a place good sir, or where I might perhaps find something matching that description?” With an unthreatening movement he let go of the reins and stepped forwards, a slight bounce from the natural cushion beneath his feet kicking him into a lively saunter. He took a deep breath, enjoyed the rose and wild garlic tinted aroma that reminded him of the Isould Village and extended a hand. The metal of his gauntlet scraped over itself and his robes swirled and settled into an emissary-like flow; time had caught up with the child of the hidden valley at last, and he used the only thing he had to work his wonder in the world beyond the only world he’d ever known – discursive wit and politeness, the true tools of the Machiavellian prince.

“It matters not if you cannot help, it is a pleasure, and my name is Abhorrash. Although some call me Red, for reasons I assume I need not explain?”

[Majik Sordman]

Abhorrash was greeted with a coy grin, revealing an animalistic fang from within. Razeki was, quite frankly, immediately taken aback by the knight's pattern of speech. Clearing his throat as he outstretched his own furred hand to grasp the metal of Abhorrash's, he opened his mouth to respond with his own sense of obviously lighthearted, almost mockingly so, poeticism, "Such a strange question for you to ask in this world of tree, my friend, and even stranger that you would be so openly inquisitive, but to what end?"

The whimsically toned words flowed freely from his mouth, his voice slightly melodic as inspired by his nekojin heritage. Whether or not they made complete sense, Razeki cared not. For he was completely enthralled in the ecstasy of their strange encounter, which definitely chanced on the lower side of mathematical probability.

"Call me Blaze, Red." Razeki's voice reverted back to a tone of normalcy, though spiced still with casual amusement. "I wasn't doing anything in particular, no, not necessarily, at least..." He continued, looking around a little as he loosed his hand from Abhorrash's. The worry that filled his mind only moments ago had diminished almost entirely, instead wondering about the knight that stood before him.

He carried on, "I'm an Exorcist from the North, Akashima - " Razeki stopped for a moment, surprised that he'd so quickly begun to converse with Abhorrash as if they weren't in the depths of Concordia, but rather in some sort of tavern where people met daily. It was strange though, that Blaze seemed to immediately take a liking to Red's demeanor. Even surrounding birds took to the situation, harmonizing the two strangers with whistle, hum, and song.

"A Spirit Warder, if you ever heard of them? So, yes, I do know something about earthly bound spirits."

[Allennia]

“Then we have a mutual interest, something I hope we can fathom to our mutual benefit.” He smiled at Razeki and furtively fondled the tip of his rod as he positioned it firmly into the moss and lichen remnants of what appeared to be a Rowan branch. He cast his gaze downwards, looking for the rotten stump that would indicate its location. It rested to their right, a small spire of deadwood crawling with woodlice. “Earth-bound spirits, whatever you wish to call them; they trouble my homeland with divination and ailment. I have been sent to find the source of this disturbance.”

Thrice a magpie passed overhead, its cry following the wind as it broke through the canopy and projected its bitter advance downwards. The breeze kept the oceanic noise of foliage on the move prominent between the two men as they turned to silence once more. The irony of the man’s name went unnoticed, and Abhorrash politely beckoned Razeki back to the side of his stallion. “I have not heard of this ‘Akashima,’ although I must profess I have heard or seen little beyond my own fiefdom which is concealed between the far folds of Concordia and the western sea. Would you do me a great deed, and tell me of the workings of these spirits you claim to be the exorcist of?” He unstrapped the satchel on the right side of the horse and ran his uncovered left hand over the coarse and well-travelled mane.

Each of his intricate movements added a small flourish of metallic scraping or rustling, like a small marsupial foraging in the blanket of olive-green life beneath their feet. As he progressed deeper into conversation he paid no more heed of Razeki’s appearance; Jurran had described and shown him visions of all manners of beings that bore sentience and kindness and life in them just like he did. Whilst the spirit warder had climbed the embankment through the thicket to cross paths with him, Abhorrash was climbing a very steep learning curve out of discomfort into the well-travelled man he often spoke of to the children of his town. Soon he could tell those stories with passion, love, and of course conviction.

“Perhaps, in my little education I can share in knowledge and help you with whatever thing seems to trouble you so. I know enough of the wideness and vastness of Althanas to know one does not find one alone in a forest such as this without a mission or task of great importance to contend with - am I right? Mayhap we could even partake in the exchange of talent, of form and artistry – I possess some connection to the ether, if that is of any use to you?” He cast Razeki a casual patriarchal look, before rummaging in the satchel in search of a meagre morsel to offer in toast to a blossoming friendship; akin to the new blooms of heather and cherry flowers that rocked to and fro like midday stars above and around their lonely forms.

[Majik Sordman]

Blaze patted Abhorrash's steed's head and received a snort in response. He always liked horses, forever fascinated by their unmatched speed, grace, and strength. Such qualities made him feel a certain sense of kinship with those animals despite their difference in race, bearing an unquestionable resemblance to the ferocious felines that ruled the wilds of Althanas himself.

Razeki nodded as Abhorrash went on, then spoke himself. "Some sort of mage then, I take it? My my, I am most impressed, I think you must be the first I've met in my life. You should be honored." A smile crossed his lips. The nekojin's movements, however, were exceptionally fluid with a sense of cautious reservation, a keen gaze kept watch on Red as their interaction continued. "If you consider wayward sovereignty a mission, then I am indeed a very, very busy person."

The calm wind kicked up with their conversation, the swaying and rustling of the surrounding tall oaks provided a mixed symphony that encompassed the meadow. The sun's rays bore down on them through a beautifully clear sky, continuing its westward path as time slowly followed its unending course. The encounter with Abhorrash along with the tranquility of the environment made Razeki ponder the aphorism that explained why he'd left Ninyama Village. It was on a whim, in the pure spurt of spontaneity that explained his personality. Without exact cause, expedited without failure. His training wasn't even complete, and the thought made Blaze contemplate returning for the time being with this new man, Abhorrash.

"Let's find a more suitable place to sit and chat, shall we?"

[Allennia]

“A mage is one description amongst many I have heard, or taken upon myself to uphold over the years. It is not one I hold highly as I am still very much in the tutelage of my master and the service of the house I am in the debt of. I do possess some talent, however, something I am only too willing to explore or share in greater lengths if the person is willing or able.” He produced a leather-bound book and tucked it under his belt, meaning to write any information discovered in it’s pages.

Upon the suggestion of finding a better place to sit and talk, Abhorrash guided his horse by the reins to the edge of the clearing and dissapeared into the treeline. Beyond the veil of oak and pine, of scented dew and faint mist, they came to a small copse clearing devoid of clutter, one off the beaten track. Whilst he waited for Razeki to make up his mind and follow him, the ‘mage’ walked to the center of the clearing and began reciting the Rite of Ina; the presiding chant to which all of his magic, to which all the magic in the world, according to Jurran was bound.

“...returned to thee threefold...” Only a slight snippet drifted upwards, but it was heard by the nature that bound magic to man and man to magic, and the aura in his hands and heart burst into life. “Fire, burn!” Abhorrash’s hand ignited into flame and from the burning aura a small sphere formed, glowing with inner light and outer fury. It hovered for a few moments under its master’s gaze, before falling to his feet and igniting the lichen and peat.

With magical pragmatics a small fire pit formed, burnt into the land like a rended scar. As it began to grow Abhorrash lazily walked to the edge of the clearing and smashed at a small tree with his rod, its heavy weight easily knocking the deadened branches of the Rowan sprucelings to the ground. It did not occur to him that all the life about the trees was flamboyant and vibrant, and he was too pre-occupied to notice the forewarning flicker of green fire errupt from the ground as he bundled the first armful of kindling onto the burning napalm. Images of the Rowan in the meadow and the one before him flashed before his eyes but registered nothing but the mundane tenacity of nature's effluent cycle, of living and death.

Whatever feeling had brought Razeki to Abhorrash now brought calamity to them. It waited in the darkness, watching the cat-like Blaze approach the clearing and the tall and pompous Abhorrash made an enemy of the forest in which they stood. Such a creature was an ancient force, evil and malign and bound to the collective spirit of the Rowan tree throng...

[Majik Sordman]

He felt it prominently as well, having followed Red in stride. A gut wrenching feeling that one felt now and then again. It felt as if an unknown, omnipresent predator crept behind each passing oak and trailing bush, stalking the darkness until the opportune moment came when it would pounce with fearful vigor.

The day moved on and the sun that marked the passage of time's flow neared the horizon to blanket the clearing with evening twilight, the flickering light of Abhorrash's budding campfire reflected in the deep green emerald pools that were Blaze's eyes. The coppice would temporarily be their home, their Concordian microcosm, nested in the midst of dense forestry. Hopefully it would provide a suitable refuge, doubt hanging on Razeki's hunch; the feeling that they were being watched. They could do nothing but shrug it off for the time being.

"Our abilities are similar, yet different, you know." Blaze began, his tone a little more serious, watching Abhorrash work on the opposite side of the fire. He looked down at the ground before him, at the ankle-high whipgrass that covered the small clearing, then bent down to toss a few large stones carelessly aside before sitting cross-legged a few feet from the growing fire. "Your 'ether', as you have it, is - how I see it - drawn from the forces and energies around us. Me, however - " Razeki held up his hand when Abhorrash was facing him, palm facing skyward, "I must tap upon the spiritual energy that flows into and out of me." A hot burst of bright green flame erupted from his hand, taking the shape of a thin spire to mimic the foliage around them. "You see?" He held the ethereal flames for a few seconds before they dissipated into nothingness, leaving only slight vestiges of black smoke.

Along with the feeling that they were alone.

[Allennia]

“Similar?” Abhorrash began with a questioning tone axed onto his phrase. He dropped the last gathering of kindling he could spare the effort for and prodded the heart of the fire with his rod. “Certainly, although you will forgive me for any impending lecture; my tutor has drilled the empirical nature of magic into my head a thousand times it now bleeds at the mere thought of being useful.” He made to produce the rations from his satchel, remembering his manners finally. He silently appreciated the small display, beginning to understand as he did the importance of their meeting in the trees; whatever talents Razeki possessed, they were important to the grand order of things and to the discovery of the source of the Council’s Corruption.

“All magic is the same; it matters not from whence it came or from where it is drawn. According to the teachings of my humble Magister, it matters not if it is drawn from the divine, the gods and the monsters, or from the heart, soul or mind, it is all ‘ether,’ it is all ‘spirit.’” As the gloom of the day began to fade and the dancing flames of the fire began to rise up the wall of trees around them, the cosiness and sanctity of their little hovel in the world encroached up and around. Abhorrash’s face stared down into the inferno, analysing its movements whilst he recounted the very principle lesson taught to him in his study, when he was but a child.

“Here,” he paused to offer out a chunk of bread, a bloomer sprinkled with poppy seeds and laced with cinnamon and pepper; something rough and energy giving with a warm kick to saddle away the cold saddling of a long journey. He waited until it was taken from him until he placed his own piece on the end of a stick and levelled it over the fire like an old wife or gypsy on the highway; rural living, now that was something he had read of, but always wanted to try.

“It is the same with gods. It matters not whom or what you worship; it is the fact that you observe such a creature or lack of that is the important act. Faith is faith, belief is belief, wherever or not you believe in something or nothing perfectly mundane, they are different but utterly alike.”

Abhorrash waited a moment, concentrating on getting the exposed flesh of the bread to the right state of toasted before smiling at Razeki with a warm grin. “But you are right, our ‘gifts’ are much the same, but I fear mine are brought to bear for more selfish reasons, those born of need and defence and paranoia. The place I hail from is not one that allows a person of standing as me to travel the world undefended. This fire inside me, the tailwind beneath me in flight, they are all symbols of my faith and of my learning but at the same time - they are nothing more than tools, useful and dangerous to myself and to others.”

Finally he plucked the toast from the stick and smelt its aroma with anticipation. He was tired and hungry and now his mental capacity was being tested between bouts of lethargy and cautious stares into the tree line. He could not tell if Razeki had felt something beyond the veil, but he did not wish to raise suspicion until he was sure. As he smiled at the cat, and continued to recount his teachings and philosophy, he slowly levelled what ether he could maintain without detection into the cold beyond the flames. He hoped for some sight or sound of whatever hunted them so mercilessly.

“My father tells me there is no good or evil in the world, no natural birthright or angelic proclamation. He states that there is only responsibility for action. If we use magic for the wrong reasons, it will hurt us in return and our luck will fail; but if we use it to sustain life, to protect life - then we are rewarded most humbly,” he gestured to the toast and tore into it in a flurry of crumbs and crunching.

“So tell me friend, how does one such as yourself decide to draw on the spirit to ward against an evil. What mandate draws you to the role of the great protector, when there is so much in the world to see? I have talked long enough, I would love most dearly to hear of your home and culture before I bore you too much with the hierarchy of my own.”

[Majik Sordman]

Razeki nodded, an understanding expression on his face. He was more than happy to have some sort of philosophical discussion with Abhorrash and reveled in the night. Whether or not the two would decide to part ways in the morning or for some reason decide to continue their travels together, that didn't worry the nekojin. Honestly, he even contemplated leaving as soon as Red left the conscious world to swim in the vivid dreams his ether most likely granted him. Not out of spite or any form of malign intent, but rather he kept thinking that he came to the forest alone, what was the purpose in bounding off with the first strange man he met? Indeed, the son of Isould was strange to Blaze, in his tone and mannerisms, his dress and knowledge.

"Let's just say... I fell into the role, Red, " He began as his gaze diverted past the roiling fire and the Abhorrash that sat behind it, to smile at a pair of hares that too had decided to have their meal, nibbling on the undergrowth foliage of the tree line until the sharp crack of a branch further into the growing darkness sent them scattering. Another animal, perhaps.

After a moment he returned his attention to the Red Mage, not continuing right away but maintaining a casual stare, fidgeting with the bread in his furry hands. The aroma filled his nostrils, the enticing scent made him even hungrier. One fault of his spontaneous exit of Akashima was that he forgot to retrieve ample supplies, but that wasn't the main thought on his mind. He wasn't sure if he should suddenly spill out his short life history for the man, it didn't make sense. "I can't say that my story is - "

Another sharp crack erupted from the depths of the trees, this time behind Razeki. The noise bit off the end of his sentence and made him snap around to peer into the shadows, a free hand held towards Abhorrash as a cautionary sign. Normally he would assume that such sounds were only natural chords in the forest's music, and as thus he wouldn't be bothered, but... Razeki disliked the feeling. He listened for a moment with ears sharpened by his heritage, and eventually the only thing that could be heard was the chirping of crickets.

"I'm sorry." He said, turning back around but keeping a straight and rigid posture, ready to move at the slightest disturbance. "My spiritual training as a Warder, my exposure to the realm of the ethereal, allows me to feel when otherworldly beings are around. Beings that shouldn't normally be here, and..." Razeki's words got choked in his throat as he hesitated to speak, but eventually finished. Not only did he sense them, but over time, being almost one step into the spiritual realm at all times changed a man. He saw things in the shadows, heard the sounds in the eerie darkness that children only ever imagined to hear, that their fear being only the result of a roaming mind rather than actually knowing that otherworldly beings lurked around every corner. The fact was dizzying.

"... I feel it strongly. Right now." He finished with a tone of profound sincerity.

[Allennia]

Abhorrash ignored the snap, presuming it a twig crackling in the inner blaze of the fire he had kindled and through some small miracle, kept alight. Life had a curious way of going on about you wherever you paid it any attention or not, and he was too occupied both with listening to the traveller’s story and with reaching out into the growing shadows of the Concordia night.

“It matters not. I understand the need to not divulge your heart’s desire and birthright to the first stranger you meet in the wilderness, forgive my forwardness and inquisitive nature,” he bit his tongue to stop the adage about curiosity and cats from slipping out. He was not in the slumber parlour after the evening meal; there was neither time nor place for humour when something watched them.

Finally the ether sphere he had sent into the tree line found...a thing, a prowling behemoth in a vast blanket of nothing. From the spirit warden he had detected nothing, and from his own body there was nothing but a faint glow; so the well of power that the ancient spirit bound to the dead Rowans in the copse reeled Abhorrash with a sickness he could not contain. He tensed his hands and pulled the sphere back to stare into the flames, finding a stabling thought in the company of the dancing devils that pranced along the last remnants of heat.

Abhorrash listened as Razeki apologised, turning back around but keeping a straight and rigid posture, ready to move at the slightest disturbance. He listened to the cat as he went on to express his concern, and allowed the silence to meld their thoughts together for a moment before leaning closer into the flames. His face, once concealed by his prominent red hood now burst to life in the cascading cranberry and azure glow as he replied with a sudden enthusiasm.

“It is...funny you should say that. I did not notice it at first, but something is watching. I cannot say, for I have no eyes in this perma-dark, but...”

A flashback caught him off guard and he was suddenly twelve again, a young boy atop the study’s glimmering spire overlooking the entirety of the valley - the entirety of his world. Jurran stood before him, not having aged a day in two centuries. The immortal words echoed, “You are a red mage, one of the schools of Isould – you are destined never to learn the true extent of any discipline, but garner power through the fusion and adaptation of your merit – after all, many small spells well applied, can be multiplied many fold to be greater than one single genus.”

He licked his lips to cast away the parched froth and cracking skin, suddenly returning and realising he had paused. “I believe we should be wary, we do not know when or i-“

PROOFFFM!

Two great tendrils of shadow leapt from behind Abhorrash and loomed over his shoulders like a daemon’s wings emerging from a hell mouth. With little warning they descended onto the grazing and slumberous steed that had spurned the son of Lord Isould from the valley, and snatched it into nothingness; a faint rush of air followed it. Abhorrash twisted about on his unarmoured foot and dug his heavy gauntlet hand into the sodden earth, peering into the obsidian veil for signs of life like a jaguar, like Razeki.

He twitched nervously, looked over his shoulder and let the bone-tingling screeching and braying of his horse in its death throes cast the true horror of the world into his vision. He pulled back his hood, flicked the hair from his eyes and pulled the fire’s rage from the fireplace into his palm. The flames flickered bright orange and Abhorrash turned to face Razeki brandishing the fireball like a portent to battle.

“I do not like it one bit either, let us see this ‘spirit warden’ you speak of!”

With fear and growing terror he tried to mount a wave of bravery, looking back to the tree line with a quivering lip. In its wake there was a great plough of earth, moss and mud kicked up into a great trough like those found at a way stop, filled with water or perhaps grain for a rider’s mount...the irony was lost on the palpitating perspirations of such a rider. Jurran’s words flashed into his ears once more as the smoke pearled up in a great rolling plume, kicking off a musky scent of dead wood and peat – “one single genus...”

Abhorrash did not know it just yet, but fear was hiding a brilliant idea.

"Shall we run, or shall we stay and fight?"

[Majik Sordman]

The nekojin's response was hesitant, but his body movements explicated his motives. He was on his feet in an instant, kicking up dirt and loose pine needles as he dug into a bent stance, a sturdy stance. His runic katana, withdrawn from its wooden scabbard in an instant, rested in front of Razeki in an unrelenting grip. Eyes of jade were wide open in an attempt to discover just what was beginning to attack them that early evening.

The sun made its escape first, crouching behind the faraway horizon to cast Concordia in a soft vermillion light, and the world beneath its canopies - Abhorrash and Blaze's world - was thrown into an even deeper darkness as the light fought its way through the trees. The previously calming forest melody had been interrupted with a cacophony of splintering wood and disturbed leaves. Even Abhorrash's campfire took a life of its own in the tumult as he manipulated it.

With a fanged grin that screamed fierce determination, Razeki finally responded with the very first words that flashed in his mind, "No harm in welcoming a third to our party!"

His statement was bold, almost naively so. In truth, Blaze didn't like their chances. Abhorrash's horse had been easily plucked from their grove like a bird might pick a worm from the dirt, and despite what emotions that induced, the horse's agonizing neighs and blood curdling screams (of which the Warder wouldn't even have thought a horse could make) actually served as a temporary respite. His thoughts dashed back to his training days, when beginning Warders could only withstand so much subjection to external spiritual energies before their minds twisted. That was what malicious spirits did, they bent a person's will mentally and most of the time, succeeded. He couldn't believe -

Razeki heard the whoosh of wind passing through his ears, and it snapped his mind back to reality with one realization: There was no wind blowing. Immediately after, something as cold and slimy as Death wrapped tightly around his waist, and Blaze - to his misfortune - knew what it was. He looked down to witness the inky tendril that grasped him, it seemed to be made of pure coalesced shadow that sent jet black pennons of anti-light coiling around him.

"Red!" Razeki screamed out as he too was plucked upward into the trees, opposite of Abhorrash's dead steed.

[Allennia]

The simplicity of his question brought about a simple, blunt, and wholesome answer. Abhorrash made to reply, tensing his fingers so that the fire shard flowing around in a sphere in his outstretched hand glowed and pulsated, but in the darkness, he was overcome by surprise. He saw a flicker, a movement beyond the senses then felt a rush of bracken tinted wind as Razeki was, and then wasn’t. With a tumbling gasp of air he looked over his shoulder and saw the tree-line rustle and bob, as if a deer had ploughed through it on a run from a hunter’s bow.

"Blaze!"

The mage sighed, kicked up and leaped over a rotten trunk into the night in pursuit. The heavy footfalls and damp moss did not make progress easy. He pummelled forwards under the duress of his armour, his staff in one hand held like a hammer and his spell book in the other, quickly pulled from his belt to be ever ready for what lie just beyond the borderline. He needed no torch light to follow Razeki and the tendril, for a glow appeared ahead, illuminating a tunnel of debris and half shattered branches to his destination.

Fear crept back into Abhorrash’s mind, all the doubts that had been quashed in the moment of panic and adrenaline returned. He had known the strange cat like creature no more than an hour, but he had been taught to respect anyone who would break bread with one of the scattered sons of the Seven. There was...something in the man’s eyes that made Abhorrash respect him, compassion, perhaps - or a nubile love of discovery he saw in his own heart?

Something glinted in the dark and the mage came to a standstill as he almost ran straight past it. It was not a typical object to find discarded in a forest, but there it stood at the centre of the devastation and upright all the same. There could be no doubt that it was a sword, although the design in Akashiman steel was beyond description to the secluded noble. He grasped the cold hilt and pulled it lightly from its mud and pine tomb, swinging it side to side to test the weight.

“So much to learn,” he sighed and ran on, tucking the blade into his belt as he dispelled the fire from his fingertips. The brief silence was broken once more by splashing and pummelling greaves. “So much to forgive...”

The light brought hope to Abhorrash as he entered the clearing but the figure standing at the epicentre of the heart of darkness most certainly did not. The tunnel behind him quickly disappeared as vines and devilish barbs swarmed over it to wreathe and weave a blanket of binding, and the air went stale and sickly. As the sun faded overhead, so did the last dredging light that peaked down at them through the dense canopy; with it, day turned to night.

Rowan glared at the intruder, red eyes of poinsettia hue levelled with Abhorrash’s own and they deadlocked. A furnace burnt in both their hearts, the spirit’s one of malice and despair, Abhorrash’s one of pronging pain and the limits of a mortal body not used to the hardships of exercise. The long tendrils that spread out from the nymph’s body formed a mockery of a tree that may perhaps once have been a living, breathing entity. Now all that remained was the tree’s shadow, and in its left tendril hung Razeki. In its right was a vestigial offering; the beating heart that was mistakenly not human...

“I care not for the revelries of the fae, I care only that you leave him be...” He spoke with a shrill and sudden authority, the ombudsman and orator in him overtaking the scared and bewildered man like a shackled prisoner possessed by a greater evil. “I will not bargain nor pertain to your beliefs, merely to the service of ending you!”

He ritually unsheathed the strange blade and brandished it in his left hand, swinging it in tandem with heavy but precise movements of the beloved weapon he used as a walking stick, mace and even a door opener; “Razeki, are you alive? Speak to me of this daemon and let us proclaim its end with a song – a medium we shall both understand despite our ontological differences!” He cackled as if possessed, tossed the light blade fifteen feet ahead to the dead centre between himself and the spirit and swung the mace up from low right to high left with two hands. As it reached its peak he let the arching weight of his armour carry him around and down and up into a repeat motion.

The simple word of power was all that was required to project a fireball from his hand, along the staff and in to the air towards the shadowy creature. Its eyes pierced the fantastical gloom and Abhorrash could’ve almost been certain it had smiled a mocking smile in the moments it had left, as if it knew that such a simple cantrip could do it no harm.

[Majik Sordman]

Abhorrash received no response.

Having been torn from the sanctity of their campsite grove and wrenched through countless obstacles like a child's toy, Razeki's body had been battered and bruised to leave him bordering on the edge of consciousness, still being flailed through the air by a thing blacker than the night. Darker than the darkest shadow, the Rowan spirit stood as a mighty tree of obsidian blackness in the center of a large clearing - perfectly created as if the gods themselves planned for that exact purpose, that exact conflict, that exact moment.

His body ached, his mind reeled, and the only thing that kept him alive and hopeful was a steel will. The acrid taste of blood ran through his mouth, his nose inundated with the stench of rotting carrion. The coils of black jet that wrapped around his form like a choking snake grew even still, in an attempt to swallow the nekojin in its shadowy mass. What made matters worse, Blaze could no longer feel the leather bound grip of his beloved katana, the thing that always provided some sense of safety and certainty when facing death. Even worse yet, the bread he was going to eat but moments ago had been lost to the winds! The situation was dire indeed.

"Foolish son of Zuoh."

A dark voice was projected into the depths of his mind, bore into his thoughts like a piercing arrow. Blaze's half stable mind was able to discern what it was: It was the spirit communicating with him, an ability only possessed by Spirit Warders. It was always a give and take situation. When communicating with the spiritual world, the Warder is also subjected to the influence of the spirit in question; Razeki could feel debilitating emotions try and supernaturally worm and twist their way into the deepest recesses of his consciousness. Fear, listlessness, despair. The Rowan was trying to subdue him mentally as well as physically.

Through half-closed eyes, Razeki noticed the son of Isould's fiery ball of magically manifested might streak across the open clearing, leaving a glowing trail of ether in its wake. It roiled and flared with the caster's passion, whistled with the incantation as it flew to its mark in a rising crescendo.

Boom. Abhorrash's spell tackled into the wide, barely discernible trunk of shadowstuff that served as the spirit's physical base, exploding into a mushroom of smoke that slowly rose into the violet sky. For a mere moment he felt the figurative tentacles in his brain vanish, the vice grip that slowly engulfed him took a break. The spirit wasn't injured severely in any way, but it sure as hell felt it.

The weak nekojin tried to wriggle himself free with a painful grunt, to capitalize on the fireball's impact. His effort was titanic, squeezing his wide feline eyes shut and hoping for the best, but the actions were in vain. It had him.

"Foolish son of Zuoh."

The words were repeated in his head. Their purpose and origin confused Razeki greatly, but there was no time for contemplation. He was being sucked into the slimy mass, at that point almost completely save for his furry head and face. It was almost over for the Warder.

But he wouldn't give up...

[Allennia]

“Grah!” Abhorrash shielded his face from the luminous wreckage of his attempt; the flames licked at his eyes like hellhounds, furiously leaping at him through the night. As they faded he saw only Razeki struggling in the air and the devilish grin of the spirit resuming its poker-face. For a man who spent his entire life studying the expressions of others and reading their intent across the council chamber, Abhorrash suddenly felt as if he had last all empathy and hope, all skill and knowledge – all connection with reality.

“Hold on my friend, I shall have you free of this wickedness before the sun rises...and the moon settles...” He stepped forwards slowly but surely, each foot dragging itself through the sludge that formed the spirit’s lair. It was as if the trees themselves had decayed by a thousand years in the single space of a breath, and all the deluge was oozing and rolling, as if it possessed a life of its own. The strange aura in the clearing that gave him light to see by emanated from behind the spirit and as he approached, taunted with hisses and scowls and inaudible tongues, he made out the source.

It was a single, living, almost ethereal Rowan tree. A beacon standing amidst a thousand rotten branches.

Abhorrash brought the Rose up tight to his chest, holding it in both hands and leaning it to the right - ready to spiral it down or up in a swing into the spirit’s form. He knew very little of the other wordless, of the unded, but something he had been taught in his encounters with the dead in the Library, was that you could not cut ghosts. You had to sunder them, prevent them from reforming and cast them to the shadows. He smiled and leapt and scooped his foot into the ground, grimacing with glee as the mace staff found itself up and round over his head. It came down and round and carried back up by his gentle step and the application of the extra weight from his armour.

There was a flash of light as the heavy metal struck the shoulder of the spirit, who did not move or react to the impact. For a moment Abhorrash witnessed the gleaming and righteous resident of the woods, and understood what had happened. Something, or someone had angered it and it had corrupted itself with its loathing...much like the Seven Sons, much like Jurran.

The force of the counter blow almost cracked his ribs, knocking him flying up and back to the edge of the clearing a few feet from the katana. “Grah...” he coughed and sputtered and tensed. The free tendril had risen in his descent and came crashing down in a flurry of dark energy and magical feedback. The inaudible babblings of the spirit momentarily became clear, lucid expressions of magical control, of whispered and dark arts.

Abandoning his attempts to right himself the mage brought both his hands together, palms flat as if praying and dropped back onto the ground on arced shoulders and a swiftly muttered incantation. As the magical barrage crashed down around him, the cupped movement of his hands channelled the earth’s energy up and around him to form a sudden and encapsulating white dome. It sealed Abhorrash away, soldering the very air itself to prevent harm from coming to its caster. The noise that grew riled Abhorrash’s sanity, it was a deep rumbling, a primal, sub-conscious cracking of skulls and pulling of teeth.

The spirit abated, pulled back its tendril and let the spent magic slip into the cracks of nothingness.

Abhorrash leant upwards and stared, stumped and bewildered. Such ferocity from something so ordinary and benign – he wondered what he or Blaze had done to warrant this attention, this vengeance. The crack on the spirit’s shoulder slowly drew the shadowy fragments that splintered away together, and with a smile, the spirit shuddered as it was made whole again. The euphoria of battle drained from Abhorrash, who relented his hopes for a quick resolution as he did every time the long 'democracy' of the Council reared its ugly head...never an easy solution is there?

“Blaze! Hold on, I am coming for you...this time!” He picked up the rod once more and ran forwards, spinning his weight around and around and pressing down on the heavy greave. He roared, and as if the roar had conjured the very gales of the Windlacer Mountains or Salvar’s night desert itself a great tailwind rushed up from behind him. It lifted him clean into the air like a savannah lion and pressed against his back and his downward blow – the tumultuous descent struck the spirit like an ancient steam train. The light that spilt forth from the shattered ether blinded Abhorrash. The gods smiled, and the armour of contempt gave way.

He opened his eyes and saw the spirit’s face. The rod was embedded in the creature’s torso and time seemed to slow – he frowned, and tugged at the metal, only to find it trapped. “Grah!” He muttered for the third time before realising that the face of the spirit was silver and fair, and was smiling at him gently. Then he was propelled backwards fifteen feet, skidding somehow still upright to a defeated standstill. Behind him, bellowing his sodden and muddy robes into a regal cloak the last remnant of the Gryphon's wind faded into nothing, such was the temporal nature of magic.

The dark masque reformed, and Abhorrash knew what to do.

“If you have an ounce of hope left in your Blaze, show this creature the dawn, show it the true scope of humanity - of glory - of the Light!” He ran forward, spurned to action by his own pious nature. He scooped up the katana from the sluice as he did so and spun both weapons feebly around in the air to distract the Rowan long enough for their last gambit to slip through unnoticed.

He hoped it would be enough, and hoped he could muster one last fireball. Its flames would form an emblem of both their personas and talents, to set the forest free of its own rage.

[Majik Sordman]

Razeki was swallowed completely in the squirming mass that made the Rowan. His eyes shut, he could only feel the cold and slimy shadow wrap around him, imagining it as laying in a coffin of squirming snakes that writhed and coiled with unmatched strength. The throwing knives at his waist dug into him uncomfortably. His only refuge was his mind, his thoughts, and that is where he went as the spirit spoke to him again. The words echoed in the long, hollow halls of Razeki's mind as the spirit chanted them, "Foolish son of Zuoh."

He couldn't move, and the cries of Abhorrash's attempts fell on distant ears. The muffled words rang in his head, then clashed with the icy voice of the spirit engulfing him and fought on the battleground of his stormy mind. Red's words brought hope. It brought sanctity and serenity to Razeki. Then the cryptic statement of the spirit , though simple, brought a hopelessness to Blaze's extremely blurry and jumbled mind - like a frenzied hurricane of doubts, certainties, and questions: How did it know of him, or knew him as his father's son? Why was it only trying so hard to encase the nekojin and not the human red mage? He would get out of it. He would find answers. He wouldn't die so suddenly, so quickly, so unexpectedly. He felt pathetic that he allowed himself to be defeated before his newly found acquaintance. So pathetic. So small. So pitiful...

Abhorrash... Razeki wouldn't let him down.

"Foolish son of Zuoh - "

"Shut the fuck up!" Razeki screamed mentally. He dug into the reserves of his being, tried to scrounge up what was left of his strength, of his body. If he was going down, he was going down fighting. Physically, he was battered, but mentally - nay, spiritually and willfully, he was a titan. He was a Spirit Warder. He was a fighter.

Desperation fueled him like coals would a fire, Razeki emptied his mind and focused on his spirit energy. His brief training allowed access to only a puddle of mana, but this would soon change. He screamed in his mind of rage, of power, of undying determination, knowing that the Rowan would hear it, would fear it. He felt it in his heart, felt the fiery energy that roared inside of him and grasped it, manifested it.

One second passed. Two, three. He was closer to death, and closer to the figurative ocean of his spirit. Four, five. Razeki was nearly there. As the doors of his spirit flung open, his physical body began to glow a fiercely bright green from within the trunk of the shadow tree. Like a beacon of hope it penetrated the supernatural shadow, and there it stood in the center of the clearing; a tall elder oak of malice and hatred taken physical shape, lumbering about. Brighter, brighter the fires of Razeki's spirit raged as time dredged on. Six, seven, eight. Brighter, hotter. Nine... The Warder's mind went blank and his sight to subconscious darkness as he released.

Ten.

The spiritual energy that engulfed Razeki, willed from the deepest depths of his being, exploded in a blinding inferno of roiling, thundering green fire that lit up the moonless night. Even the ground shook slightly as the earth shuddered in response to such miraculous and unexplainable power. The Rowan screamed in agony as its material form was ripped apart, large masses of inky shadow were sent flying to all edges of its clearing domain.

And in the end, Razeki lie sprawled in the center of the chaos, his unconscious form motionless on its back, in a black pool of remaining shadow substance, viscous in its own cold, slimy way. The energy subsided almost as quickly as it had erupted, soaked back into Razeki's crippled mind. The clearing was once again blanketed in the darkness night, and the uproarious chatter of spectating critters ruled the silence. A calming wind made its way northward in an attempt to blow away the acrid stench of burning aftermath.

[Allennia]

Dumbfounded and waylaid by the burst of holiness, Abhorrash’s futile conflict with the spirit ended. Whatever power he had witnessed rend the spirit and left nothing more than a faint and glowing after-image, a realisation burnt into the fabric of being. He let his weapons drop, their weight finally too much, each swing and strike in his attempt to distract the Rowan draining his energy and stamina to the point of failure.

“I…” He saw the spirit smile, as if it was pleased to be relieved of its own corruption. The gentle tingle of the cleansing wind rippled the energy and gave the impression that the entity was made of water or mist, in little time at all the black sludge of destitution and decay was sucked away, and the distant smell of wild garlic and periwinkles began to permeate the sweat and blood odour in his nostrils.

“I think it wants us to…” He thought the rest of his idea to himself, realising that Blaze was in no state to parlay the possibility of an exorcism at this precise moment in time, although the red mage did not know that was the name for his intention. He trotted over and bent down to tend to the fallen cat.

“Can you hear me?” Venting his energy to feel human once more, Abhorrash channelled the last remnants of his manna into Blaze and pushed it like the warmth of a kindling ember into his body. He made no attempt to heal or move him, or to disturb his own reticent aura. He simply waited for a connection, smiled as his energy found Blaze’s, and pulled it back.

The small ball of spirit and manna melded into a simple, unique and satisfying fireball, not marginally bigger than an apple. Walking slowly but surely over to the decayed Rowan stump at the heart of the clearing. Abhorrash realised that the energy cast out by his companion must’ve been of a similar composition to the spirit itself, like a wave striking another wave of equal size and temperament head on. They’d simply cancelled one another out in a catastrophic explosion, and all that remained was the true nature of the forest’s voice.

Bedraggled, wet, muddy and tired, the nobleman looked at the stump with bemusement - the sort that becomes a hyperbolic quagmire behind the delusion and short sightedness of fatigue. All this trouble and woe because some foolhardy traveller felled a tree? He opened the palm of his hand and relinquished his control of the spiritual flame; it fell, and Abhorrash retreated.

The two fires of different manifestation, purpose, and intent worked together to ignite the air around the stump and scorched it in a rush of conflagration. It formed a momentary pyre in the night, it’s flames forking up to reach for the moon shining overhead.

Abhorrash looked over his shoulder and was relieved to find the spirit’s shining ghost gone, a sudden wave of gratification and acceptance filled the clearing and somehow, he knew that he had been right.

Energy can be cancelled and all magic regardless of form comes from as single, unified source. Jurran would be fascinated by this simple revelation, and the lecturing that would follow would bore even the most overeager student.

He returned once more to Blaze’s side and smiled, “Can you hear me friend? Your soul in the dark has shone a light on the world in my eyes, we are free of the spirit’s wrath and it is due time for you to get up-" he prodded Blaze’s shoulder gently like a child poking a dead bird with a stick, fearing that his sling shot had felled such a beautiful and innocent creature.

Abhorrash felt a deep sense of foreboding for his new found friend.

To Be Continued...


Spoils: The Genus Principle

As a true Red Mage, Abhorrash has started to learn how to fuse several smaller spells into new ones, and to combine their effects. At present, this simply means he can combine his fireball with another, to change it's element, or to give additional effects that are cast at his own level and power; from fireballs with holy element, to wind spheres when combining with air mages, or to create a cleansing flare as with the fireball used to scour the Rowan's trunk. This ability will require a pip to unlock at level up, as per usual, and will count as Below Average, increasing to Average at 3 pips, Above Average at 5, Expert at 7 and at the cost of 4 pips, Mastery at 8.

[Zook Murnig]

Quest Judging

Forewarning of Calamity

Before I begin, let me say that the fonts you both used were annoying, and in the case of Majik, very hard to read (the italics would, to a casual read, appear to be simply static on the screen, until very carefully and closely examined). Keep in mind that while the use of a different font can be a good device for writing in the medium of a forum, making entire posts in a small, tight font can be very jarring for eyes used to the larger font of the rest of the forum. No deductions were incurred from this, as it had nothing to do with the story or the telling of it. Just friendly advice.

STORY ~ 13/30

Continuity ~ 6/10 I had a basic idea of what led to the thread, and where it will go. This was, by Abhorrash's admission, unfinished, but it looks as though you polished it into a complete thread with the intent to continue in another. It was a little rough in that regard, but not horrible.

Setting ~ 3.5/10 Overdescribed when dealing with things your characters did not interact with, underdescribed when your characters did interact with their surroundings. You both loved using synonyms in your descriptions, as well, and making whole sentences within a paragraph about nothing more than, for example, the way the sun marched across the sky. This hurt Technique as well, and see Pacing for a note regarding your use of the sun.

Pacing ~ 3.5/10 This was clearly cut short, and rushed even before that. This lead to a rushed feeling within the thread, as well. You spent several posts just getting to know each other, and then immediately were thrust into a battle before that was finished. That battle then took up the rest of the thread and felt like it was moving at a snail's pace.

As for the movement of the sun, you said in one early post that the sun was almost directly overhead, but marching westward, implying midday. Then, after what seemed like only minutes in character, it was dark as night. When the demon-nymph showed up, it was referenced that the sun was rising, which seemed strange to me, since nighttime is quite a while and it had only just become night. The next post it was referenced as setting. And then Abhorrash promised to have his companion freed by morning, which would be several hours later, a strange thing to say considering (this odd bit of speech had no effect on Pacing, but on Dialogue instead). Either you were both very confused as to where the sun was and how time progresses, or you did not describe it adequately. This effected Clarity as well.

CHARACTER ~ 11/30

Dialogue ~ 4/10 Much as your description of the forest was overwrought, dialogue was overdone as well. The topics that were brought up seemed unnatural (people meeting in a dangerous forest suddenly feeling an urge to tell each other all about their abilities), though once within the topics it moved with a jerky, but present, flow. Then a subject would be changed, and in just as jaunting a way as the previous topic was brought up. In the fight, Abhorrash kept making what seemed to be attempts at inspiring speeches, which were clearly having no effect. In the end, it just made Abhorrash seem like an overtalkative guy in love with his own voice.

Action ~ 3/10 It was present, and it was decently described at times. However, there were a number of actions which made no sense, such as holding the book on his belt, then pulling it out so that he could put it away again. As well, the fight quickly fell into repetitive attempts by Abhorrash to crack the skull of the demon-nymph with his mace, each one unsuccessful.

As for use of your abilities, Abhorrash, you seemed to use a spell that is not present in your profile, and is, as it would seem, one of the spells that you removed from it. As such, I'm going to call that mild powergaming, and a one-point deduction will be taken from this category for it. If you had even one "pip" in a relevant spell, I would have let it slide, as this is a quest and you are not bound in power level as much as you are in a battle, however you used a spell that is simply not on the list.

Persona ~ 4/10 I got a good feel for Abhorrash. I didn't from Razeki. Not much to say here, really.

WRITING STYLE ~ 13/30

Technique ~ 4/10 You tried, and you overshot. As mentioned in Setting, descriptions were laden with multiple adjectives of similar or identical meaning. Metaphors were used, which was good, but then immediately explained, which ruined the effect. Have a little more faith in the reader when you use literary devices, as they will likely pick up on good ones and understand.

Mechanics ~ 6/10 No major complaints. A few mispellings, a couple run-ons, but nothing horrible. However, there were no attempts at unusual sentence structure, so that doesn't net you much.

Clarity ~ 3/10 See Technique, Action, Setting, and Pacing. The things mentioned there made it hard to really tell what was going on.

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card ~ 4/10

TOTAL ~ 41

Abhorrash gains 347 EXP and 110 GP
Majik Sordman gains 325 EXP and 98 GP

Abhorrash gains his requested ability spoil. However, this is locked until your update profile, and is then subject to RoG scrutiny.

If you have any questions about the judgment or how you can improve, PM me or send me a message on AIM, screen name SuperSonicMatt1.

[Zook Murnig]

exp/gp added!