Confessions (Open)

[Duffy]

Confessions (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FneNQa0IHK8)

Duffy had a confession to make - he did not much like the rain. He did not much like fighting either, but addiction had it's own little way of dragging it's victims back to the fighting arena kicking and screaming. Clad in his new attire of white, brown leather and tightly wrapped arm and leg bands the Tantalum cockily wandered along the entry tunnel to one of the Citadel's fighting domes. He had brought nothing more than his two daggers and a spare in a boot as the Monks had scolded him too many times for fire damage from the Tinder Gear - and the Katarhna was too heavy to carry with the light 'nomadic' demi-cloak and headscarf he had chosen to wear. In the boots there were little spikes, to ease climbing and movement; they were inspired by the Dervish's of Salvar, the mythical warriors Ruby had seen in her travels.

He pushed open the great doors and steeled himself with a deep sigh and limbered up with a bounce or two as the oak and iron gateway clattered inwards. "For the love of..." Duffy snapped, stopping in his tracks and sighing even longer, as if defeated already.

It was raining and the rain smelt of lavender. He dropped his shoulders and wandered in anyway, knowing Ruby would kill him for getting his prayer best muddy. Whatever the monks had conjured this time was suddenly washed away by a dizzy spell Duffy had not been expecting, it smacked him like a cosh to the back of the head from the under dark. As he scrabbled about in the dirt looking for his dagger to try and recover his weakness and exposure, the unfairness of life did a little dance around its latest victim. The mud on his hands and knees caked him in fatigue dredging gunk, which added a layer of neuroticism and annoyance to his usually youthful persona, “What in the-” he muttered, scrabbling upright with the weapon once more in his hand to defend against his unseen attacker.

The distant trees and the central pond slowly came back to focus and the raindrops overhead spiralled in a great melee. He had expected to come across an opponent, or perhaps a loose monster thrown into the dome for good measure, but all he was greeted by was a flat meadowland peppered with bluebells and a smattering of tulips, bright little lanterns of colour on a green canvas assailed by a spring shower. “How twee,” he mumbled sarcastically as he nursed his injury.

On the far side of the arena the door his opponent was to come through loomed. He started to walk towards it, the gravel of the entry way giving way to the blades of deep olive with a silent switch to nature. A scattering of water droplets thundered down into the insect kingdom beneath his heavy hobnailed boots. His head still throbbed and try as he might to forget what had happened; it came back in jolts as he trudged on.

The breeze picked up as he came to the edge of the pond. He took a few moments to catch his breath and gaze into the stagnant water, finding nothing more than tadpoles and water boatmen skimming along the surface. It did not look like an appetising place to take a relaxing bath, but a battle was not the sort of place to enjoy leisurely pursuits, even if the great oak tree overhead gave some modicum of shade to the water from the precipitation.

The pain in his head faded slowly, but was replaced instead by a sickly assault on the senses. He presumed it was because of the flowers and the coalescent blue skies carrying some real world aroma in the midst of the clouds far above, but in the invisible tendrils of light of the realms he and his opponent were being watched, their distant hissing and taunts drowned out by the sombre weather. He stood with his arms on his hips, tapping the edge of Tooth onto the only rock in the arena. He kicked and paced back and forth as he waited for the battle to start and let hell itself loose onto the plains of Corone’s premier fighting establishment.



The arena is fairly standard, but we will be attacked by invisble nymphs if we stray too far from the pond.

[MetalDrago]

MetalDrago was an ages old Citadel combatant. Several of the monks knew him by name if not by sight. As he walked in from outside, he was greeted by the familiar smell of the halls. He breathed it in deep. The entire Citadel smelled of two things to him, victory and defeat, both common in the Citadel itself. “My opponent for today will be…” he said to himself as he walked through the halls, “…in this room.” He could feel it, as if the Will of N’Jal was calling him toward this door in preparation for some huge task she had planned for him in the future. The Dragonian smiled evilly, his orchid eyes showing from beneath his hood as a haunting violet light.

When he stepped in, he realized that it was raining. Thankfully, he had his hood up, though rain didn’t bother him in the least. He was prepared to fight in all kinds of terrain. The sounds of his clawed feet did not echo through the room as they usually would, of course due to the mud in the arena he had been led to. This would make fighting much harder. Mud could either stick you in place or carry you too far forward, making you slip and fall. Either way, it limited your mobility to planned, careful steps that would not leave you with much chance to improvise. His movements would have to be cautious, or he might end up paying for it with his life. “Ha! As if that really means anything here…” No, the Dragonian was not here to win or lose, but to cause as much pain as he possibly could against his opponent.

There seemed to be some kind of spectral force at work around the ring, something that didn’t sit right with the Paladin. He hated the monks at times for their trickery when it came to certain arenas. In his father’s room in the Citadel, the fight had to remain fair, because nothing would give anyone an advantage other than their own strength of character and will.

The Dark Paladin stepped out from within the trees close to a pond. “What the hell…? This field… There’s something definitely weird about this place.” He couldn’t yet put his fingers on it, but he had no time for thinking as he saw his opponent, pacing, seemingly waiting for him to appear. He was sure his opponent knew he was here by now, and stood in the clearing.

The rain poured down from the illusory heavens above. The monks had obviously gone all out to assure that this quagmire was exactly what it appeared to be. He didn't like it, but he did respect the attention to detail that they provided. Back during his heyday he had never once stepped foot in this arena, and he somewhat doubted that it had even existed then. He still couldn't shake the feeling that something was escaping his attention. It drove him mad, because he couldn't make allowances for any dangers hidden in the room without first being able to account for them, and he was sure that like himself, his opponent wasn't keen on giving him the time to do that.

“So, you’re to be my opponent, child? How quaint…” The Dragonian unsheathed his weapon, the Dragon’s Betrayal, the black serrated blade glinting slightly in the nearly miasmic weather. He still sensed something wrong, but what interested him more was the nature of the combatant before him. Something seemed special about this kid, and he aimed to find out exactly what that was. As he assumed his stance, crouching and bringing the katana up, even with his shoulders, point towards the child, he allowed his eyes to shift to a blue-violet color, a sign that the battle was about to begin.

He laughed as he eyed the boy in front of him. “Prepare yourself.” He continued to chuckle lowly, his voice a near hiss. He sounded like he was wheezing as he waited for the kid before him to make the first move.

[Duffy]

Duffy heard the gates open and snapped his attention towards the opening. As the draconic figure entered every worst suspicion in the boy’s mind was whole-heartedly confirmed in a raucous chorus of impending doom. “Ugh,” he muttered, trying to shake out the cold by jumping on the spot and patting himself down shoulder to shoulder. As he thought of something to say a simple breeze knocked a leaf from the great oak above his head. It spiralled down in front of him, whipped up into a spiral flourish at nose level as if to symbolise nature’s confirmation and blessing. It did not help.

His opponent taunted him and he sprung to life, a fire-cracker of smiling and bravado, “A kid I may be guv’nor, but age addles ya mind!” He waggled a finger and trudged down both feet, taking a firm grip to brace against an invisible impact. The ringing of metal filled the empty hallow of the arena and Duffy drew a long, deep breath to still his nerves. “But if ya want summat, ya gotta get it yoursen’!” As an orphan, without hope in a city that quashed dreams in financial misery, Duffy and the other troupe members knew this all too well. You had to fight to survive, even to live as a 'normal' person might in an ideal world. He lived to fight, as much as a flower lived to bring joy to the world.

He did not think his circumstances could get any direr. It was not as if the rain was bad enough, nor the drying mud caked onto his slacks but the creature before him had an aura of malice and a stoic determinism to undermine Duffy’s usually vibrant sense of achievement and confidence. Belittling was a weapon few could deliver so delicately and subtly, but if wielded correctly it could hurt Duffy more than a dagger to the gullet or a bastard sword to his bastard neck. A few moments silence filled the gap between the two men until it boiled to the surface and Duffy could contain himself no longer. He plucked his second dagger from his belt and spiralled them both about in his hands. A little song formed in the back of his mind in a vibrant staccato growing slowly in pitch.

“I’ve been ‘prepared’ mate for twen’ mins. I is wet, I is tired, and these,” he jabbed the points of his blades downwards, “are Fallien leather!” His boots were half covered in mud and half drowned in the deluge that had started to gather in the sanctuary shade of the tree. He had not realised when he had entered, but there was a very slight curve which formed an almost invisible receptacle for the rain at the centre of the arena. No doubt the pond had formed through the natural progression of ‘science’ in the Monk’s magical arts, but the mud would make it difficult for the thief to make a reckless charge. He rolled his eyes and thought Drell it!

Duffy charged. It was an awkward movement, his feet pushed out left and right as much as forwards but it closed the gap quickly and efficiently, despite the struggle and the sense that the arena was dragging him backwards towards the stagnation and despair of the pond. His hair slapped left and right and the leaf that had marked his omen moments before was miraculously set in his natural parting. In the veil between realms the spirits smiled and cackled, their chosen champions of light and dark fighting in a mythological play the likes of which Duffy could never comprehend or write. He was sodden to the core, his pants were chaffing his nether regions and his face was a slimy mask of gritty defeatism, but he ran on all the same. In the wake of all that had transpired recently, he had to remind his body he was alive, that he was here to put up with all the trials of living regardless.

“Feel the heat of passion!” He challenged, spinning the daggers and tossing them mid-stride to catch them in reverse grip – as he approached he held them out at arm’s length with a slight curve in the manner of an eagle’s talons. The smell of wood, peat and desperation filled the air as the bird swooped in towards the dragon in a flurry of muddy splashes and a long drawn out curdling cry, like a hand drawn to the flames of idiocy.

[MetalDrago]

The child was immensely prideful, that much was sure. When treated with a condescending attitude, he balked and bit back. This was going to be easier than MetalDrago thought. He recounted one of his lessons with Terramat as the boy charged him. If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to enflame him and victory is assured. The Dragonian grimaced slightly, he couldn’t help it. His heart went out to the kid, for once upon a time his own temper had been much the same.

The Paladin hissed happily. “The heat of passion, eh?” MetalDrago pulled the hood off of his cloak, his red scaled face appearing fully for the first time. His blue-violet eyes pierced through the rain, the coldness in his eyes plainly visible. He smiled coldly and felt himself tensing up slightly as the battle was joined. The bloodlust within him fought to surface completely, but he ignored it for now. He wanted to test this child, to see if he was more than he appeared to be. He would have to take his time with this one, to tear his persona apart piece by painful piece. At that thought, he couldn’t help but smile more widely, euphoric in his sadism.

Thanks to the effects of the mud on the boy’s movements, he was able to flip his sword around in his hand. He brought his arm quickly down to his side, the sword’s point digging slightly into the mud under him. He concentrated for a mere second as the boy continued to rush him. He would release his favorite new technique on the child, and show him just how fruitless his attempts at bravado really were. He would show this kid the power of the Shockwave Slice.

“Allow me to show you the icy cold of the heartless!” He hissed loudly as he brought the sword up in an arc aimed directly towards the child. The sword glowed for only a moment, cutting through the rain in a crescent shape, as a beam of energy erupted from the sword, following the arc the Paladin had made with his sword. The beam rushed forward from his position toward the child. The Dragonian Paladin couldn’t help but laugh as he jumped back from where he stood to just outside the line of trees. He felt something behind him, waiting for him to take a step closer. Damn those monks and their pathetic attempts at screwing with the battlefields! He thought, as his mind fought to figure out what the hell the monks could have done to interfere with this battle. He would not be denied in his ambition to rip this child apart, both figuratively and literally.

[Duffy]

Duffy caught the blade’s motion in time to realise that swordplay and simplistic combat was not this thing’s foray. His eyes keened on the downward jab amidst his own movements, and for a split-second time slowed down as danger was spelt out in big fiery letters. As the sonic ripple flew towards him he had barely a hair’s breadth to stop, kick back with both feet and perform what could only be described as a jester’s tumble over the deadly rupture of air. As it progressed forwards he leaped again, bouncing on one hand and then a foot and then finally, as he found himself twenty feet back in terms of progress the shockwave zoomed down into the branches of the tree and cut several of them clean away. The thief slipped and fell down.

Out of breath and barely standing, Duffy pushed himself up from his kneeling position and revelled in the dampness of his newly refreshed sludge bath. “A cold heart? I don’t profess to know owt about the sort, but I can see you ain’t gonna let me gut ya like a guppy and toss your fillets into a pie now, so,” he begrudgingly walked up the slope, trudging and sliding with awkward movements to regain the ground he had lost in his acrobatic display. He was not so cocksure of himself any more, he had not been to begin with, but any glimmer of an easy confrontation was now long gone.

Duffy would not have it any other way. Ever since he had found a place in the troupe and found a family, he had been given something to fight for, something to defend in the darkest hour at the cost of a life. He vowed it would one day be his own. Altruism was at the centre of his heart and in all his hot-tempered short comings he knew what was right, and what was just. He knew, or he supposed he knew, that so much struggle and effort and continuous improvement was the only way to stop his death. He would be a prophecy’s fool no more and he would take every little cut and thrust this monster could throw at him to prove his point.

He kicked into a spurt of movement and rushed at the dragon to cover the distance of the last thirty yards or so. He roared as he delivered his opening move, his knee rising as he brought his arms back and lunged. In any other circumstance, the blade of Tooth and the pommel of Nail would have shimmered in the midday sun, but the mud concealed their motion and sharpness as they swept inwards in a dual thrust, like a bird’s wings beating at the zenith of its climb to the skies.

[MetalDrago]

The kid had a pure spirit, that much was sure. He was a kid with a good heart, uncorrupted by the hate that had festered in MetalDrago’s for far too long. The Dragonian frowned slightly, as if in thought while the kid went on his little rant. He stepped away from the edge of the trees and felt the presence behind him seem to give up. This was starting to get on his nerves. His supply of magic would begin to run thin if he tried to kill whatever was waiting for him out there, and he was beginning to tire of being on guard in the front as well as in the back.

The kid had some acrobatics under his belt to be able to dodge the Shockwave Slice so easily at such close range. However, how he’d managed it while mired in the mud hinted at something a little more devious about the child’s origins. “Let me guess, circus folk?” MetalDrago said as the kid began running towards him. The corrupted, evil smile never left his face as the child continued to rush at him. The Paladin knew he had the kid beat in experience. Only beginners would fight with iron weapons, much less with iron daggers. He threw his cloak back behind him and bared his steel scalemail, a still-prevalent memory from his days as a would-be hero. The kid would not win, at least not the way he was fighting now.

When the child brought his knee up in his attack, the Paladin merely leaned forward. While daggers were immensely useful in close combat, and would not usually be leaned into, MetalDrago had his experience to fall back on in this case. He brought his katana up in his fist, using the edge of his own blade to shrug off one of the impending knives, while twisting his torso to allow the second to glance the side of his mail. He may not have been heavily armored, but a dagger did not have the puncturing capabilities of a sword of heavier make.

He brought his face in close to his opponent and whispered evilly, “Tick tock, tick tock. Time’s running out for you, young one.” before he brought his knee up brutally to catch the young man in the abdomen. Uncaring if his first shot had hit, he then brought the back of his blade to touch his arm, right along the bone, and executed a swift downward spin, careful to keep his center of balance. Where his elbow was, the blade of his sword extended out a little further by about two feet. Where his elbow would have connected with the child’s midsection, his sword would attempt to cut into it instead. MetalDrago did not waste any time in jumping backwards from his position, standing again just short of the treeline.

He stood up straight to get a good look at his opponent when a wave of dizziness washed over him, and his eyes became unfocused. Dammit! What’s going on?! Is this the presence I felt earlier? He stumbled forward slightly, towards the pond, to escape that wretched, nauseating feeling. He fought himself to bring his eyes back into focus and looked up. “So this is the secret of this battlefield… A hidden nuisance for anyone who strays too far away.” He smiled without humor and swallowed slightly, holding back his lunch from earlier in the day.

[Duffy]

Duffy passed wind as noisily as it left him and buckled forwards under the impact of the draconian knee. He had long cursed the decision to remain a ‘street-fighter,’ to rely on agility and guile in combat instead of the puerile and somewhat cowardly protection of metal and smithing. Before he could even stand upright the sword spun and he was promptly reminded why he did not need armour; his right dagger snapped with lightning speed to clash with the blade. The impact, even in his inexperience clearly damaged the dagger’s fragile form. The shock of the blow jolted his forearm and shoulder so that his defence wavered, and he had to leap backwards to avoid the follow through.

All this went by in a blur and he did not realise that the nick caused by the sword had snapped his dagger clean in two as he had pulled it away. The handle of Nail remained in his hand castrated of its glory, and its bite had disappeared below the effluence to be retrieved only when the incantation that the false world in place was repealed. Duffy gave his opponent a very stern and very aggravated stare, the sort that suggested he was perhaps a trifle annoyed. He had wielded his favourite daggers ever since he was a young boy, and it had been Nail that his thief gang leader had driven through Duffy’s palm as punishment for his failure to ‘acquire’ Lady Ingres’s Ring. The scar tingled as the memory stirred, like an old injury firing up at the most unfortunate twist and turn in an acrobatic display. It was his punishment for being so malleable and gullible, so nice and pleasant.

The poetic and charismatic persona of Tantalum appeared, as if he had suddenly been possessed by a more mature and capable individual. “I am neither circus folk nor dandy, neither artisan nor thief, I am all and more besides sir – I am of the Tantalum Troupe, the playwright Duffy Bracken is my name and you have aggrieved my performance with your wit ” he curtsied in contrast to his over eager and brash actions. Switching roles was part of life to Duffy, part of life to any actor or bard. He told tales as lord, lady, chancellor and tyrant, but behind his innocent eyes the same turbulent winds howled. He was decisively outwitted, impressively under armed for such a heavily defended behemoth of a man, and running out of creative license to do anything other than offer entertainment to his murderer.

“Time is indeed running out, however,” Duffy smiled as the same sickness that had hit him when he entered found its mark in the half-dragon. “We shall see for whom the bell tolls!” He stooped to pull his third dagger, Wainwright’s Riposte from his boot and tucked the remainder of Nail into his belt. The once white and regal Tantalum stood with legs spaced apart and weapons ready, the blemish of nature on every part of his attire, skin and hair. “Know one thing in your triumph or fall – I relish every challenge, every role I succumb to and every new little plot twist I devise. There is still chance yet, I assure you, that the audience faux may be surprised by the culmination of our efforts,” Duffy applied the riddle with all the grace of a true legend of the stage, his dichotomy edgy and imperfect, but mimicking the mystery of the rain and mist that flowed in from the edges of the arena.

There were forces greater at work here than neither he nor the swordsmen could understand, and in the back of his mind, The Aria sung a great portent of doom (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMzVps2JYzw), a tumbling tune filled with cacophonic melodies and righteous drums beating in the dark. It had been the same song he had heard the last time he had died in the Citadel, but it would be the first time he had the chance to pen his name in the moment of doing so. He beckoned for the doom bringer to swing his blade one more time, dared him to try as he brought up the Vibrato style and held his daggers crossed together like a symbol of defiance.


Whilst Wainwright's Dagger (Riposte) would likely break under the duress of the sword you wield, it is of a quality and importance to Duffy to warrant suspension of disbelief for the time being.

[MetalDrago]

MetalDrago struggled to his feet to look at the child before him. “Duffy Bracken, eh? Considering your impressive skill, I think I should introduce myself more formally.” The Dragonian bowed, his cloak wrapped around his arm slightly. He could feel it, still, the pain that radiated from deep within, his wings struggling to attain their true form once again. “My name is MetalDrago Scorpio, Paladin of N’Jal.” He stood up. Considering that Duffy was an actor, he felt that it would be best to end this quickly. Nothing he said or did would be able to faze the kid in the slightest, because he could hide behind the face of someone much older and more mature than he really was.

The time has come… Unleash the shadow that dwells in your heart, my Paladin. Make this wretch suffer! The voice of N’Jal echoed through his soul. He could feel himself filling up with her power. She was telling him to unleash his inner demons, his dark and terrible bloodlust. The Dragonian could feel it, blackening his heart ever further with each breath he took. He crouched low, blade in hand, as his eyes began to turn blue and furious, two streaks of lightning in the rain. His entire body seemed to relax as the pure euphoria of battle washed over him.

Then, out of nowhere he placed his left hand on his forehead and laughed. It was a venomous, grating laugh full of darkness, despair, and discord. He removed his hand, still laughing, a frightening smile upon his lips as he turned to face the child, no… the man before him. If one was for reading auras, they would see that the Paladin’s had changed, from a calm, collected strategist to something more primal, something that should not even exist within a rational mind. He lurched forward, his hair falling in matted bits and pieces over his face. As he crouched down, his cloak touched the ground, finding itself covered in the mud underfoot.

“The stage rises on the closing act, Duffy Bracken. Let’s see if the hero kills the dragon and saves the princess… or… heheh… hahaha!” The Dragonian succumbed to another fit of hysterical laughing. “Maybe the dragon wins and tears the hero limb from limb!” The sword in his hand seemed to come to life, merely dragging his hand along with it. The tell-tale glow on the blade made it obvious what the Captain of N’Jal’s Dark Dragon Corps was planning. He swung the sword twice, releasing the Shockwave Slice in an X-shape toward his opponent.

This was only the beginning, the first step toward the madness the Dragonian called his bloodlust. He bent forward and began to run, following shortly behind the Shockwave Slice. His sword seemed to eat the light around it, building an aura of darkness around itself. As the Paladin closed in on his prey, he swung his sword violently to bite into the young man as he continued to run past him. The sword seemed to scream as it travelled through the air. He allowed himself to be carried on beyond his opponent by about five feet, and then turned around, his bare-scaled feet digging into the mud underneath him. He clenched his talon-like claws into the mud underneath him and looked towards his opponent. He then smiled coldly.

The fight was not over… It was only starting, and the Paladin was going to take his time in tearing his opponent apart piece by piece. He would not be stopped. The mad euphoria was clearly evident in his eyes. He took no efforts to reign himself in. He would not be satisfied until one of them was dead, and he planned to enjoy himself in the meantime. Another grating laugh escaped his lips. Things were taking a turn for the worse. Whatever those things surrounding the arena were, they couldn’t come anywhere near him… In his insanity, he was beyond terrifying.

[Duffy]

And you give, and you give, and you gave yourself away…

With or without you…with or without you…I.

I can’t live, with or without you.

The Aria spoke to Duffy, a ringing death knell for the doubt in his mind and the lethargy in his bones. As the shock wave slice rushed through the mud and stagnating air the thief brought both his daggers about and crossed them into the centre of the devastating wind attack. He gritted his teeth as the impact rocked his arms and then, as if divine intervention had dropped through the dense rock of the dome’s structure, the voices in the dark spoke of success.

Duffy faltered for a moment, uncertain as to how his feeble blades had deflected the attack. The cross of the wind slash had connected with the cross of his own blades and the vibrato notes of each seemed to have cancelled each other out. Something kindled at the back of his mind about the musical properties of sound, but it was last in the moment, lost in the sudden impact. The dragon’s words span in the air as he charged, a follow up intent on gutting the Scara Brae orphan with a simple, precise deliverance of pain.

“I am no hero, and you are no dragon!” He back flapped with a handspring and with each advance of the paladin, he continued his fool’s tumble until he was more than clear from the sword’s arcane motions. With a double flip, Duffy landed in a crouched position, more tired mistake than intended finale; the flop of wet material into the peaty ground sounded the end of his acrobatic display. “Only the director calls the closin’ act guvnor, and I be thinking you is just a stage ‘and!” He wobbled as his strength began to fade, the draining effect of the nature all around the beginning to claim it's first victim.

The subtle backdrop of the meadow calmed the thief as he watched the paladin intently. His keen eyes and youthful vigour mirrored that of the spirits at the edges of their stomping ground. At the back of his mind the defiant parry of Wainwright’s Riposte weighed heavily on his mind. He had long suspected that the artefact held an unseen, dangerous and potent potential in its structure, but he had never had the time, energy or patience to test it in the field of war. He enjoyed the dragon’s attempts at gulling and belittling him, after all, he lived with the infamous Ruby La Roux – the ‘ball crusher’ of the noble houses. As angered and annoyed at the half-dragon’s attempts at distraction as he was, this was not the place to lose oneself in the heat of words and poultices applied to aching limbs.

“I’m gonna run, smash into you –

I wanna run, smash into, smash into youuuuu!”

Duffy did just that, speeding into a channelled strike. With the staccato stance brought into effect, he splashed through the mud, twin daggers blazing a trail of silver light through the air. In his mind he would strike solely at the sword before him, unleashing a blitzkrieg the likes of which a lesser man would fail to deflect. He didn’t think the paladin was made of such weak material, and with foresight, he vowed to not let his guard down until the glint of hope appeared in his assault.

The scent of summer blossom, winter rain and lightning clung to Duffy’s nostrils, adding to the mud and the blood and the delirium of being.

At the end of all this melodrama, he would have a great many confession to make indeed.

[MetalDrago]

Staccato… a series of abrupt, sharp attacks. MetalDrago did not release his grip on his sword, nor did he hold still. Cloak billowing in a sudden updraft, the Paladin jumped backwards from the attack and slouched as he landed, slightly altering his center of gravity. Even in this form, he remained conscious of his opponent, just in control of his madness. His eyes locked onto the young man as he smiled. He was having so much fun he could scarcely believe it.

He was no stranger to battle, and had in fact lost more battles at the Citadel than he cared to admit. However, this never took away from the fun of it, even when he was a sane, would-be hero. If he saw himself as he used to be today, he’d probably laugh at him before beating him into a bloody pulp. He’d lost his sense of justice, but what he gained, the power he had gained from N’Jal and the brotherhood he had formed with those in the Narenhad, was more than sufficient payment for him. The path he had chosen was no less difficult than the one he had taken before, but the rewards were substantially greater. He’d gained a new brother, a man he would give his life for without hesitation, and had subsequently become one of the Paladins of N’Jal, a warrior in her ranks, a leader. Everything he’d ever wanted, delivered to him in service to the Dark Lady. And he did not regret one second of it.

He could see Duffy before him, drenched in mud and sweat. He’d been so far unable to lay his blade upon that skin, so that it might drink of the young man’s blood, but that was no matter. He was quickly tiring. A desperate attack upon the blade of an opponent was a sign that the battle was beginning to quickly dissolve into a mere struggle for survival. The Captain looked at himself. Besides the problem with the miscreant spirits that seemed to haunt this room, he was almost wholly unscathed. A small knick in his armor was the only clue that he’d even been attacked by his opponent’s blade. He couldn’t help but almost feel sorry for his opponent. Experience was the main difference between the two. The Paladin had been in many varied battled over the years, against people who were equal to him in strength, and even against those who had outmatched him in every category.

However, he could not bring himself to feel sorry for his opponent. The young man had proven himself to be both agile and skilled in avoidance, if not particularly strong on the offensive. His ability to move with such grace in the pouring rain and sticking mud made him dangerous enough in this kind of environment. The Dragonian couldn’t help but wonder what he would be able to do on solid, dry land. He shifted his legs slightly, so that his feet would not sink into the mud. The rain was coming down continuously, muffling the sounds of the room around him. He doubted at this distance that Duffy would even be able to hear him over the rain. But, nonetheless, he was going to try to be heard. In his hissing voice, he spoke very simply, “This will be over soon, Duffy Bracken.”

In his mind’s eye, he could picture the end of the battle, and in none of his visions did he see himself losing. This was the Citadel, his home away from home for years now. He lifted his sword, rain drops exploding outward as they hit the blade, and then suddenly, the rain seemed to stop for a moment. No, time slowed down for MetalDrago in this moment of calm before the storm. And then, like a bolt out of the blue, an old saying hit him. Every life is like a snowflake. Each is unique, and once that snowflake has melted, never again will you see one like it.

Then, like a sudden crack of thunder, the calm before the storm was over, and the Paladin’s eyes began to glow evilly as he bounded forward, slinging mug behind him and his claws dug into the ground. He brought his sword up and made a single upwards slash aimed at his opponent’s midsection. This time he did not turn around, but instead kept running forward, until he hit the edge of the clearing. He then made a sharp turn, heading instead to the edge of the clearing opposite Duffy. If his gambit worked, Duffy would have dodged to the edge of the clearing, instead of dodging further in, meaning that he would be assailed by the things that lived here. Assuming this was the case, the Captain would have no problem attacking Duffy while he was being assaulted by that sense of vertigo.

[Duffy]

Duffy leapt into a handspring to the right, out of the way of the deadly blow. He landed a few feet from the edge as predicted, stood upright and beamed a smile despite the pain in his muscles. Although he was perturbed that his onslaught had done nothing to faze the half-dragon’s defence, it was clear he was angry. Emotions were the same in all the beings of Althanas, but it was only a human who could accept, control and placate the reactions to those feelings. Elves, Dwarves, Dragons alike felt illogical, irrational, and distraught under the guidance of their inner thoughts.

This Duffy said to himself, was too easy. All he had to do was keep mobile, keep out of harm’s way and wait for his opponent to make a mistake. He confessed for the second time toda, that he was a little disappointed in this paladin and fighter. He watched MetalDrago run to the other side of the clearing, and caught a glimpse of the tree which stood at its centre. For a brief moment the sludge on his clothes and feet faded away and he was at the centre of a summer meadow, a halcyon breeze and a jasmine scent wafted over him.

He almost blacked out from happiness, until something touched him on the shoulder and cackled. The thief flailed his arms and leapt forwards whilst turning. It dawned on him where he was, and what the dragon’s true aim was. A feint attack! He gasped. In his own arrogance and human stubbornness, he had forgotten they were not alone. “I…” he mumbled, his lip quivering in fear. “I, errr, hello?”

The nymph had appeared from the ether in the form of a middle-aged woman in a translucent white dress. The blossoms which spiralled around her form concealed a rage that only nature could produce, and the unseen creatures of the dome were no longer invisible. On all corners of the clearing fae creatures of dreams and nightmares floated in silence, watching, waiting, deliberating on all things.

After a moment they spoke a simple word in unison, confessing to the combatants that they were the true power here.

“CENTRE!”

The nymph moved with such speed that Duffy did not register it until he was up in the air and falling backwards. The uppercut and light bound explosion propelled him half way down the slope and as he landed he skidded and slid down to the edge of the pool at the centre of the clearing. The spirits faded once more, content with the blood they had drawn. Duffy very groggily got up and spat the blood and mud from his mouth and scraped it from his teeth with the tip of his tongue. His ego was bruised, his chin hurt, his arms were aching and he looked like one of the sewer drifters in the Scara Brae slums, but he was damned if he was going to go down without a fight.

With a feeble show of stubbornness he turned and scowled at MetalDrago. He stepped forwards into the sun once more, like a beast emerging from the shadows. “It appears, that I underestimated you, stagehand, but that don’t make you the leading man!” He waded towards the dragon with his daggers twirling in his hands, little flecks of mud and blood flying off in a rhythm pattern.

The third confession Duffy Bracken made, was that he loved it when the plot twist was truly unexpected. He only had one final struggle left in him, but he would burn his name into the half-dragon's mind if it was the last thing he did.

[MetalDrago]

The feint had worked, but not in the way the Dragonian had planned. He hissed as he saw the things that were assailing them come out from the shadows only to strike Duffy and disappear into the pitch blackness of the surrounding forest again. “Nymphs… spirits of the wood, in an arena… how quaint.” He looked behind him and watched as another of the spirits walked towards him, a beautiful naked woman with eyes as green as the leaves of Concordia. “I don’t have time for this…” the Dragonian hissed as he dispatched the spirit with one swipe of his Shockwave Slice.

“I will not be distracted by such meaningless illusions as these.” His opponent had already stood up, coming out from the shade, and the Paladin couldn’t help but smile. He was having so much fun he couldn’t stand it. The power of this place may have made the match a bit unfair, but, as the rain would continue to fall, MetalDrago would continue to fight, taking joy in tearing his opponent to shreds, piece by painful piece.

He had been called a stagehand twice during this battle, and now, on top of that, he was being told he was not the leading man. Duffy, of course, was right. “I am no leading man, nor have I ever claimed to be. Heheheh.” He chuckled under his breath, the euphoria of his bloodlust still strong in his veins. “However, neither are you, and soon I shall show you this, as my blade drinks of your blood.”

The sunlight, what little there was, glinted off of the young man’s daggers as he twirled them. There was something about him, something that was different in this little act of his. For once during this entire battle, he seemed to be showing his true face, and more than that, he seemed to be taking things a little more seriously. This was good. This meant he was ready to do or die. This would be a final struggle to remember. Would the shadows of the Dragonian’s madness engulf his newest opponent, or would the light of this young man be enough to drive off the shadows and send them retreating back into their goddess’s embrace?

The curtains were rising, the stage was set. The grand finale was awaiting them, and the audience wouldn’t allow them to make this anticlimactic. The battle of flaming passion and freezing resolve was coming to a close, and this was going to be one hell of an ending. The Captain was sure of it.

He walked slowly toward his opponent, his cloak billowing out as he did. His scalemail glinted slightly as the sun caught it. He brought up his sword in a stance he was all too well-known for in the Citadel. He didn’t know the name for it, but he called it the Scorpion’s Tail. His katana rested in his hands, held straight out, positioned slightly above his shoulder, and pointed at the young man. From this position, the sword would be able to slash from any direction, seemingly at random. The cold smile never once left the Dragonian’s lips as he continued to approach his prey.

The rain hissed and evaporated as it hit his scales. He’d built up quite a bit of body heat as he’d been fighting. As he watched the young man, he began to feel that something was a little off. Something about this young man was… familiar. His eyes scanned the air around his opponent, as if searching for some tell-tale sign that there was something similar between the two, but he could find nothing. However, he could tell this wasn’t just his imagination. If he moved his eyes slightly out of focus, he could see it, an almost imperceptible shadow standing behind his opponent, guiding his steps without directly interfering. Could it be? the Dragonian asked himself.

He locked his knees and waited for the attack. It wouldn’t be too much longer and the end would come. In so little time, the decision would be made. Who would stand victorious, and who would be subject to death in the arena where death was merely a transitory state and far from the eternal rest depicted in all the old stories and legends?

[Duffy]

The draconic swordsman rattled off a line to Duffy and he deflected it with the determination he wielded to keep himself alive. As he closed the gap between dagger and katana, he realised that this was the crux of his argument, his very lest attempt at a resolution. The steam drifting up from the scaled form of the opponent made him nervous, but all the more determined to bring to bear his wrath. The spirits that kept the fringes of the arena alive with the crackle of danger and the bridling enthusiasm of fae malcontent were but one of the things keeping the fighters together, the other was simply desire – a need to fulfil one’s macho desires, one’s bravado dreams.

His boots sloshed through the mud and his clothes hung limply to his body, but he made quick work of the distance. As he approached, he brought the right dagger across the tip of the katana and span around in a pirouette. At half rotation he buckled a knee, bringing the second dagger across the dragon’s waist as he slid and ducked under the guillotine blade that waited to cleave his head from his body. It was all Duffy had, his repertoire of retorts would be useless against the zealot before him and his combat skills were lacklustre against the behemoth of steel and degenerate greed. All the closing lines and Deus ex machinae of the plays he had performed in his life failed him; there was nothing but luck, a single chance.

Across the din, cutting through the fae presence with a piercing clarity a simple piano concerto sounded. The noise came from the nauseated head of the Tantalum, a song projected from the depths of the Aria by the deep desires of playwrights long dead. In those last moments, as either one or both or through some sick twist neither man found release; the Aria sung a song to all and sundry and proclaimed the Eternal Sonata. The emotion in Duffy's heart pushed it out in waves, his body unable to contain the ruck-us any longer.

Duffy closed his eyes and hoped that Wainwright’s Riposte would follow in its prior owner’s footsteps, and claim the blood of a shadow-bound soul. Duffy had one final confession to make in the final moments to come and it would be the greatest truth of all.

[MetalDrago]

Music?! MetalDrago was forced to question himself and what was left of his sanity as he heard it. Of course, he was taken completely by surprise as the music erupted forth from within his opponent. He back off a little, only to have his opponent’s dagger dig into the back of his wrist, breaking through the scales and cutting into the flesh and blood underneath. This brought him back to reality with a sickening speed, smashing into him like a bolt of lightning out of the blue. He jumped back, wrapping his cloak protectively around himself as he knelt slightly. His hand snaked out of the cloak so that he could look at the back of it. He could feel the burning sensations running up and down his entire arm. Blackened blood ran down his arm and dripped off of his elbow. When he saw it, he almost looked surprised, losing the smile for an instant before it returned with even more disturbing glee. If there was one thing he enjoyed as much as causing pain, it was feeling it. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through him as the blood began to clot.

The music, that chorus brought forth through the ages, reached a crescendo of might as the Dragonian stood up from his kneeling position, a faint but wicked gleam in his eye. He dropped his arm to his side as he started to laugh. He swung his katana through the rain as he looked at Duffy with a new respect. “I must admit, young man, you’ve definitely given me one hell of a show for my money. Bravo, bravo!” He clapped his hands slowly, that wicked smile still upon his lips.

He slouched visibly as he continued to look at Duffy. Then he felt the music course through his own veins much as it did through the man before him. And the music told him one thing and one thing alone. It was time to end this façade. His bones creaked as he took a step forward, approaching Duffy at a sure and steady pace. He was going to take his time in all of this. His katana snapped to life in his hand as he moved it up to be held perpendicularly with his chest. His weapon was not meant for cleaving through meat… No, it was meant for tearing into flesh with its serrated edge.

He swung the sword horizontally with the ground, releasing what would be his last Shockwave Slice of the fight, and then, in what was sure to be a very surprising move, pushed himself forward behind it and jumped up from behind it, throwing all of his weight down on the sword for a final strike. He had a feeling given the acrobatic nature of his opponent that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from trying to jump over his attack to dodge. This was the moment of truth, his final chance. His sword screamed in pure ecstasy as it keened through the air.

The music hit another climax as the dark form fell from the air, sword under him. He’d never felt so alive in his entire life. This was what he lived for. This was the eternal dance of battle, the eternity of war and strife, euphoria greater than anything in the entire world. A single hissing laugh escaped his lips as he continued to fall.

[Duffy]

Duffy smiled. It was a simple and defeatist smile, but one that showed acceptance and mirth all the same. He withdrew the dagger and let the blood congeal on its tip in it’s sheathe. The shockwave hit him first but he did not move out of its way or attempt to block it. In the grand scheme of things the thief had decided he was beaten minutes before, and had resolved to leave this beast to the scrutiny and savagery of the feral fae spirits that bound them together in the Citadel. The pain was excruciating and knocked him back onto his backside with blunt force.

The music grew until it reached the raucous chorus and it rocked the pond into life in a spiral of ripples. It accompanied the half-dragon’s ascent into the sky and the ominous obscuring of the sun from Duffy’s eyes. In those few moments he held up his palm to the descending comet and took great delight in crushing his murderer’s form between finger and thumb. It was his secret little victory, his little dream of one day possessing such strength and power. The blood and bruises on his chest had remained hidden beneath the mud until they could be contained no longer and they ruptured the faux earth like a volcano caldera falling apart. Blood bubbled from his mouth and ran down his chin with a gargling release.

Like all the other times he had died in this strange place, the warmth was the first thing a combatant noticed. It washed over you like a summer halcyon bolt, and took your breath from your lips with dry and exasperated rakes of pain in the chest. Time seemed to slow, and he revelled in the timeless descent and the impending finale as thought and desire were washed from his mind. Looking up at the opponent, having seen the pain he had caused not to his body, mighty and impenetrable to all but the deftest of strikes, Duffy could safely make his last confession without trepidation.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”

The blade connected squarely with his chest and pierced the plate that fused the ribs together beneath the mud and skin. The song ended almost instantaneously as Duffy passed into semi-permanent stillness, its echo caressing the winds and bouncing off the far walls for a few seconds afterwards. He slumped back, head to one side and held upright by the pin of the sword. It had gone straight through him with little resistance and dug into the mud beneath; it had skewered him in much the same manner as his words had flambéed the dragon’s ego.

It was funny how life perceived fairness, but Duffy accepted it all the same. He stretched and bounced up and down at the end of a long pier set before a vast and infinite horizon, and gazed down into the still silvery waters of the Aria below. Soon, he would re-awaken, and congratulate the victory of his opponent with a flagon of ale and a round or two of whiskey, but for now, he had all the time in the world to consider the many admissions he had made this day. He dwelt in the sound of silence with nothing but his weakness and blood for company.


Concluding post.

Spoils:

The Darkened Dichotomy: This thread is to be utilised in support of the upgrade to Wainright's Riposte in Duffy's level four profile (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=164903#post164903).

The Enrapturing Melody: Duffy’s connection to the Aria is increasing to the rate that he can now project the songs he hears in his head in moments of heightened danger, such as a combat, or emotion, such as a death or heightened duress. The range of the song depends on the strength of the trigger, but it can reach three hundred feet at best.

[MetalDrago]

MetalDrago was surprised the young man hadn’t so much as dodged his attack, but that is not what mattered. He hit the ground kneeling and rolled, leaving his sword stuck in his latest victim’s body… He stood slowly, wrapping his cloak around his injured left wrist. His breathing heavy, he walked over to the young man and withdrew his sword, sheathing it with a finality that rang crystal clear through the now silent arena. The nymphs disappeared, one by one, the performance they had been watching having come to a deciding close. The throbbing pain in his wrist left little to be desired, and he felt an increasing pleasure with each heartbeat.

The rain suddenly stopped, and in the light of the sun, the Dragonian looked like he’d been through hell, not for the damage he had taken, which was very little, but in the fact that the look in his orchid colored eyes betrayed a sadistic euphoria that only the most monstrous of people could afford to have. He walked toward the exit slowly, ticking off each step in his mind. The battle was over, his bloodlust sated, for now. “The curtain falls, the audience leaves… but I have the distinct impression that this is a mere intermission, Duffy Bracken… We will meet again.” The Paladin finally came upon the door and opened it unceremoniously, for battles in the Citadel were nothing short of elaborate shows put on by fighters to test their skill. In the world outside this hulking building, a man who died would stay dead.

The Paladin closed his eyes as he was approached by one of the Citadel monks. His body was beginning to show signs of the strain he’d had to put himself through to keep up with the acrobatic young man he’d faced within. He swore to himself that he would become fast, and that the next time they met, the Paladin would have no trouble keeping up with anyone who used skills like that ever again. His thoughts drifted back to his younger days, when he’d thought that just by becoming stronger you could win any battle. No, this was different. You needed more than strength to win. You’d either have to be able to absorb attacks or dodge them. MetalDrago decided he was the latter.

The monk finally caught up with the Dragonian and asked him to come with him so they could heal his wounds. He was too tired to argue, so he assented and followed the shorter man to the infirmary, where they would tend to his wounds and keep him in top health for the next time he decided he would participate in a battle. His orchid eyes seemed to glaze over as he walked, and he thought back to the haunting music and the almost imperceptible shadow that guided Duffy through his life. That had been a Thayne, he was almost certain of it. That would easily explain N’Jal’s insistence that he unlock his bloodlust when he did.

He shivered as he wondered what would have happened if either of them had reached their potential as avatars of Thayne power. They could have shaken the entire foundation of the Citadel, and then he smiled ruefully. If such were the case, the battle would have been easily ten times as much fun as it had been for him already. I doubt my heart could handle that much excitement. he thought to himself as he continued walking. A greater power than he knew drew the two men together, an imperceptible force that resided over all life. This was only the beginning of something much greater in the workings, he was sure of it. He looked to the future with sadistic anticipation. The world was changing rapidly, and he would be damned if he wasn’t going to experience some of those changes first-hand.


Spoils:

Uh... a nifty scar on the back of his left wrist that does nothing whatsoever?

[Silence Sei]

A pretty good battle if I do say so myself. I’ll try to be as detailed as possible with each of you. But bear in mind this is my first battle judgement in a long time.

Duffy Bracken

• STORY ~
(15/30)

Continuity (5/10) ~ Pieces of Duffy’s past were mentioned, but I only noted two that were truly explored. The two I saw was Tantalum revealing himself to Drago, and the breaking of Nail triggering a memory in Duffy. You would be well advised either to go out of your way to make another sentence for your reference, or not mention it at all.

Setting (6/10) ~ An average setting with a twist. I enjoyed how you revealed the nymphs rather than just ‘OMFG what was that?!’. I also enjoyed your use of the mud and the rain in your descriptions. I would have liked to seen the lake used at some point considering how long this battle was, but you can’t win em all.

Pacing (4/10) ~ You got a lower score here because there was nothing that truly kept me interested until the second page of the fight. The nymphs who were supposedly going to punish those who overstepped their boundaries only made people dizzy, and it wasn’t until one of them knocked Duffy on his arse that things picked up and kept my interest piqued.
MetalDrago
(14/30)
Continuity (5/10) ~ Like Duffy, there were bits and pieces of Drago’s persona hinter at. However, I never got a feel for who the paladin was. So he visits the citadel a lot and is connected to N’Jal. That’s all I had to go on, really.

Setting (5/10) ~ While you also used mud and rain to your writing advantage, there was really nothing here that impressed or unimpressed me. I was disappointed how quickly you dispatched the nymph but more on that later.

Pacing (4/10) ~ Again, nothing truly got me interested until the second part of the fight. The only difference was I almost –predicted- what your character was going to do before he did it. The Shockwave Slice is a neat move, but it did nothing to keep me going since you seemed to use it every other post. I would suggest using it more sparingly.

• CHARACTER ~

Duffy
(15/30)

Dialogue (6/10) ~ You kept Duffy and Tantalum in character. Though I don’t find Duffy’s accent necessarily a good thing, it was well within character.

Action (4/10) ~ I was not a fan of you or Drago in this department. It seemed like you would cross blades, jump back, assess damage, and talk before doing it over. Drago lost points here because his character struck me as one who wouldn’’t let a nasty thing like dialogue get in the way of his ‘bloodlust’, while Duffy and Tantalum both seemed more keen on talking rather than keeping on the offensive, something that would (and obviously, did) get one killed in the citadel.

Persona (5/10) ~ You acted completely in character and conveyed your fighters spirit, taunts, and speech as you should have. My only qualm was that you didn’t describe the pain Duffy was feeling well enough to me. Yes you described the pain as ‘excrutiating’ but that doesn’t tell me what Duffy’s body is going through. Is his heart slowing down or did it completely stop altogether? How rapid or slow are his breaths? Details like that would keep me from putting down a good read. Or in this case, going to watch something on Hulu half way through reading the fight, Lol.

Drago

(16/30)
Dialogue (7/10) ~ I gotta say I didn’t like the way Drago was so calm about everything at first. When he let loose with the insanity, that got my dialogue juices runnin. The fact that he laughed at the end of almost every sentence gave me memories of Iori Yagami from King of Fighters, and that’s always a good thing, because that sends shivers up my spine.

Action (4/10) ~ While your actions were believable, here’s where I’m docking you for the nymph kill. While they were just illusions, they were illusions strong enough to knock Duffy back into the center of the ring with an uppercut. If something can send a level 3 character through the air like that, I would have expected a level 2 to have to put up a bit of a fight, if any, against one. Try to consider how your opponent reacts to the NPCs in their setting and let it soak in before you go and kill one as easily as sipping a Pepsi ™

Persona (5/10) ~ Drago only had one real emotion in this fight: Bat shit crazy. Is it a pretty style to write? Not really, is it new? Hell no. Does it work? You bet your ass it does. I would only ask that you capitalize on the insanity a bit more. Your added laughter to the dialogue helped with this but perhaps more of those bloodlust visions would help your score? Maybe even saying something such as ‘I’ll rip the skin from your bones and dry this rain off me with your muscles!’ …. Ok, bad example, but you know what I mean. Get more evil with it.


• WRITING STYLE ~
Duffy
(24/40)

Mechanics (8/10) ~ No real errors of any sort, aside from maybe one or two run-on sentences. Sometimes its better to us a ; in order to separate your sentences, or even wording things better so you can make two sentences out of one run on. Just some thoughts.

Technique (5/10) ~ The only real techniques I saw in your writing were the songs (which kept throwing random song lyrics into my head) and Duffy’s dialogue (which, as stated before, I’m not a fan of, but it works). The two really canceled each other out, so you’re okay here.

Clarity (4/10) ~ Like with another character of yours I judged, it was really hard to understand what you action you had actually taken at times. While it’s not pretty sometimes writing something simple and dumbed down is the best way to do it.

Wild Card (7/10) ~ I like Duffy as a character, I really do. Everything about him has me screaming that he pulls out an IC victory of his opponents. He’s like that one person who always dies in an RPG, you always want them to win, even if you know they aren’t.

Drago

(22/40)

Mechanics (3/10) ~ ‘MetalDrago was an ages old Citadel combatant.’ That was your first sentence. Notice anything wrong with the tense? You did this a couple of times during the battle, using the incorrect tense when writing for your character. You had a few run-ons yourself as well that I would tend to re-read to see if you would say the sentence by itself rather than with the paragraph to see if it sounds good or not. In fact, I would advise you run your posts through word (I assume you do already) and then re-read to make sure the program didn’t screw you on past-present-future tense.

Technique (5/10) ~ Nothing really to say here other than use your commas a lot less. I know that’s the pot calling the kettle black, but I figured you would take the advise regardless.

Clarity (7/10) You were a lot clearer in your attacks than Jennifer there. I knew exactly what you had done when you wrote ‘shockwave slice’, which is the main reason your score is so high. The simple attacks used in conjunction with the tried and true SS made your writing an easy read.

Wildcard (7/10) ~ I like MetalDrago as a character as well. I just like him for different reasons. The evil that could (not does, could) radiate off of him is immense. I dare say you could carry a creepier vibe than Valentina Snow herself if you would embrace the evil persona a bit more.


Final Judgement:

Duffy Score: 54/100
Drago Score: 52/100

Duffy Bracken receives his spoils, 1125 exp, and 90 GP
MetalDrago receives his awesome best spoil ever, 375 exp and 40 GP

[Taskmienster]

Your rewards are added. Lickity Split!