Steamed Vegetables

[Knave]

Lawrence glowered at his nails, golden eyes noting every single minute imperfection. The beige nails grew and shrank at his will, and his will was forever changing how he wanted them to look. Currently he was arguing in his mind the semantic difference 0.0012 cm made when it came down to appearances. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but for the last half-hour, he could not tear himself away from the task. Finally, he settled on the last touch. The hands now looked calloused, with all the inattention a workingman normally paid them. The shape shifter breathed a sigh of relief as it all came together.

Leaving his apartment in the Plainview Inn, he walked the streets of Underwood in the guise of Ace Mandelo, shouldering his way through the crowd just as everyone else did. Lawrence slipped into the act of his alias, otherwise all this jostling would push him over the edge, and the only fate that faced anyone who annoyed him was a brutal stabbing. Ace on the other hand excused himself at every bump. There would be plenty of time for a fight, and he could wait. Still, it was hard not to break into a brisk run toward battle. Brown shoes pounded a fast pace over the hard packed and frozen earth.

The Unhalla, struck by the differences walked with wide and wander eyes. In a new land surrounded by new people, the differences that abounded between Coronia and Fallien were heaviily emphasized. The diversity, the freedom, the temperature and the fresh air. The people, the people he would befriend, and the people he would utterly betray! It was wonderful to be alive, Lawrence as himself experienced nothing quite like the euphoria Ace lived. It was essential for everything he would do, and it had been essential for everything he had done.

Up ahead the compound of the Dansdel Arena peaked over the horizon, and lurked behind a thin veil of trees on the edge of the rustic forest grounds. Autumn‘s leaves were still falling, the forests golden hue blazing in the midday sun. The Dansdel Compound rose up into the sky less than thirty feet, but the arenas underground added to the great variety of choices when it came to destruction, and virtual murder. So many possibilities, how could anyone get bored?

Ace unbuttoned the cuffs of his white shirt, rolling up the sleeves as he drew nearer to the main gate, which swung open on early winter’s wind a terrible noise heard as it sang. Beyond the gate, and within those stalls was the entrance to the main building, a tall door, tall enough for things most inhuman. It was a shame Ace had not chosen to make himself bigger, for this imposing door was wasted on him. Several echoing knocks rang out as Ace struck the wood once, twice, three times with the knuckles of his fist.

The man who answered was a familiar and furry face, Ez-ram Carnie faced Ace Mandelo without a hint of recognition. The old druid lacked any sort of readily identifiable facial feature; it was all eyebrow, beard, moustache, and nose hair. However, from that dense forest there was a murderous excitement to match Ace’s own. “Right this way.” The old druid said grabbing Ace by the brown suspenders and dragging him into the darkness. The door slammed shut behind him.

“Now, I’ve got a good idea of where you belong.” Holding Ace by the suspenders and a fistful of his shirt, Az-ram lead the way. Fleet of foot he hobbled at break neck speed to deliver Ace to one of the empty arenas. “My only question is: Can you swim?”

“I can swim, but I’d prefer not to. “Ace could barely feel the ground as his feet scrapped the floor. The old man was more forceful during the later part of the day, he realized as he was nearly carried to the arena. “I--I can walk!” They broke around the corner, Ace almost splattering into the wall if not for the more pressing and more dangerous druid holding onto him.

“Walking is backward thinking, perish the thought, and perish the fool who holds it!” Az-ram said over the whipping winds his speed had created. Finally, they came to a stop, and Az-ram gave Ace a few moments to… regain his feet, and bearings.

Above the door, two words were inscribed into the wall. They read as follows: The Steam Room. As the steel door swung open, it proved that this was a very apt title. Steam billowed up into the air and through the doorway in heavy obscuring mist. In the center nineteen rock pillars rose up with no pattern six feet apart. Extending to the ceiling rods shot out from all sides of these towers.

Where did the steam come from? Well, that was obvious. Water ran down the walls, its temperature no higher than boiling. Almost three inches of water covered the dirt floor, and above the arena stands stood for the viewing pleasure of spectators. The visibility was low, and the light that shined from above was poor.

Ace looked at the arena and asked with all alacrity, “Do I at least get a towel?” His reply came in the form of a sandaled foot to his rear sending him stumbling into the arena and sloshing waters.

“No.” The door slammed shut behind Az-ram.

[The Trap Master]

Well, this was certainly a case of the shoe being on the other foot.

John Shelby had sent himself out to investigate the Dansdel arena. Rumor had it that it was an underground fighting arena not unlike that of the citadel. The only difference was that the Trap Master would be able to enter at any point in Dansdel with no questions asked, whereas he had to sneak and prod specific monks in Corone's famed building. He had only come to see what the arenas had to offer him.

Apparently, somebody liked the slightly overweight look of the older man. He had heard them mumble something about 'easy prey'. If they had only known that John Shelby had literally destroyed so many people both mentally and physically in his profession. John had been standing at the entrance to the massive establishment while all the chatter went on behind the door. The next thing he knew, he was grabbed by his trench coat and thrown into a fight man against man.

The Trap Master turned his head upwards and circled around at all the spectators. He knew how it felt to have a front row seat to all out violence. He had been so close to N'jal's avatar, Lorenor, that he could have ripped the vampire's eyes out himself. Of course, the closeness of his viewing screen came courtesy of the enchanted mirrors he had placed all over his safe houses. Now that he was trying to expand his reach to teach to Underwood, he had to know the layout.

Guess its better to try it out first hand then use it on someone and the arena craps out.

John looked around at his surroundings. A shot of steam flew up in front of the man, ruffling his hair and sending his coat up for a moment. When the gaseous veil cleared, John could see the man he could only assume was his opponent. Pillars of stone cascaded the arena in a very sporadic fashion. Obviously, one wrong move could lead to one's doom. Looking backwards, John saw the aptly named title of his battleground. For some reason, he was starting to believe 'steam room' was not a way for hairy old guys to relax and sweat.

Another puff of steam billowed upwards as John began to see an outline of someone several feet away from him. The steam had taken on properties of mist in this rather hot area, and as such made John's vision dwindle more than old age ever could. John knew he was probably going to take a good wallop from his opponent in this fight, but considering how long it may take his foe to reach him, John wondered...

"Hello, over there!" John shouted over the hissing of the steam and rushing of the walls water. "Perhaps there is a lesson in all of this to be learned, eh? Maybe rather than fight one another with our fists, we could engage in a battle of the minds?" John would not wait for his opponent to answer. From the sleazy look of this place, his foe could say 'okay' and then slash the man to shreds.

"Let's start with a riddle. You are trapped in a steel room with no doors and one window. Also inside the room is a table. The window is made of adamantine and it seems all but impossible to escape. How does one get out?" John had hoped to stall his foe into thinking about the answer. He would have rather not gotten his clothes dirty with his own blood. Blood was really hard to get out of clothes when washing them.

Wiping away some beads of sweat forming at his wrinkling forehead, John hoped the steam would knock both him and his opponent into unconsciousness before his foe even landed the first blow. Otherwise the victory seemed as though it would go to the guy who wasn't out of shape.

[Knave]

With deep breaths, Ace filled his lungs with steam, and exhaled quickly when his chest burned from within.

In his mind, this was supposed to be a good thing, but for the life of him, he could not think of a reason why anyone would enjoy this. It had only been minutes since he had arrived and the dampness had spread up from his nearly submerged shoes to drench him in water and sweat almost instantly. ‘Maybe I aught to just take it all off, all those old people tend to do this naked right?’ He thought, wondering why he simply did not find this quite as invigorating as people claimed it to be.

‘Fighting or no, perhaps I should stop sweating.’ It was possible, he could do it, but he was certain sweating was an important thing. ‘Nah, it’s not like any opponent I get will be better off.’ He wandered the water his feet kicking up clouds of dirt in the water as he walked. While he did not notice, the water had risen a few centimeters.

Across the arena, the splash of entry marked the arrival of a new foe. Reaching up to his neck Ace began to unbutton his shirt stopping four buttons down. Somehow, he suspected his opponent would not appreciate a half-dressed enemy lurching at him through the fog. In such situations, it was not too unmanly for someone to cry, “Rape!” Mister Mandelo was most definitively uninterested in that kind of an event. Still, Ace’s clothing clung to his body and he felt the urge to be free of them, and tugging at his shirt and brown pants.

Weaving between poles a voice greeted Ace, who replied just the same as he followed it back to its source. Forced to work his way between towers to catch his still standing quarry Ace more than once almost stepped into them. The man on the other side of the arena was talking. Not much by civil standards, but in a battle -pre-battle - weren’t gladiators supposed to address the crowd?

Eventually the dark silhouette of his opponent loomed. Seeing the head of height the man held on the shape shifter, and the girth of his entire body which exceeded Ace’s by comparison, Ace thought in earnest, ‘This is going to be fun.’ He might not have looked it with his now thin frame, but he was strong, the only problem was that the man did not seem to have a weapon…

The man continued to talk. Ace could only wonder just why this man was here. The lone goblin in his last match had done more in the first two seconds of her arrival than this man had done in the last two minutes. ‘Disappointing is what this is.’

“A lesson? If the purpose of a game is to teach, then certainly.“ Hands in his pockets Ace stepped closer, listening. Ignoring people was against the rules, rules imposed on him... by himself... sometimes he didn’t like himself. Sometimes when people prattled, they said something interesting. “I’m not really here to learn, though. that’s what the academy is for.” He replied, drowned out as the big guy tried to buy time.

Mere feet apart, Ace cocked his head at the riddle. How do you get out of something like that? A box with no doors, one window, a table, and some metals thrown in. The window was unbreakable. The walls would have to be solid. Much like the steam room arena, without a clear solution there was very little chance of escape. It was a hard one, and solving the odd conundrum was made harder by the mighty impulse to simply stab the man. Ace’s left hand shook, clenching, resisting the urge to summon Black Mesa from wherever it was hiding.

Finally, he zeroed in on the answer, raising a hand as if he had unearthed a devastating epiphany. “Either the window is open! Or you don’t!” Fingers curled so quickly the knuckles popped. He stopped himself from swinging when he took a good look at the man before him. “Um, are you supposed to be here?” This person simply did not look like a fighter, or a lover. He looked like the sort of person that did little else beyond eating, sitting, and reading.

Ace could not afford to go around beating up the wrong people.

[The Trap Master]

John's face grew into a smile as his opponent gave up on how to solve his well worded puzzle. The man then questioned John on whether or not he should be in the arena. The man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. First he would reply to his opponent's question, and then he would answer his own riddle. John began to instinctively breathe heavier due to the thickness of the air. It was almost as if the heat was taking the oxygen from his lungs, and he had to inhale and exhale harder just to survive.

"I didn't mean to wind up here," spoke the Trap Master, "but I've always been one to make the best out of a bad situation. There's no use whining and complaining to the higher ups watching, because they can change the rules on ya last minute." John began to reach into his pocket as he spoke, feeling around for a moment for something that wasn't there.

Once he had realized he was subconsciously trying to obtain the pack of cigarettes he used to carry with him, he stopped his pawing. Noticing that the sounds of splashing water was getting closer and closer, John looked down. The water was rising at an exponential rate, and John figured he had only a couple of more questions to ask before he would be swimming in the equivalent of a giant soup cauldron.

"Anyways, about the riddle. You look out the window, and then move away. What you see is what you saw. You take the saw and cut the table in half. Two halves make a whole. You climb through the hole to escape." The riddle was definitely a play on words, and one John enjoyed thoroughly. His mind began to drift back to a simpler time. He used to make up riddles he would tell his family on a daily basis. They enjoyed his riddle so much; they would share them with all of their friends.

That was before his wife was gone. That was before Anna had died. That was before he had become The Trap Master. The battle before the man was bringing out a John before Althanas had become a harsh environment to live in. It was a place of happily ever afters and the hero and heroine having a big family and living out the rest of their days in pure bliss. John began to realize that for all of his mechanical and magical ingenuity as Trap Master, he was fighting this front as John Shelby.

John's breath grew heavier as his eyes shifted back towards his opponent. "Next riddle, if you will. Two fathers and two sons go hunting in the woods. They shoot three deer, yet all of them bring home their own buck. How in Althanas is such a feat possible, I ask you?" John's arms slowly began to slip out of his trench coat, letting the clothing fall to the ground. His gray t-shirt would help his overweight body sweat a little less. Of course, the khaki long pants he decided to wear today would not.

Even if I'm the one to pass out, at least I won't feel anything. This is actually kind of... fun.

[Knave]

Ace let his current weapon of choice (his fist) fall to his side as the aged any-day-now geezer explained himself briefly, and gave his rational for not scraping at the door begging to be let back in. He spoke with personal experience, and Ace could see the reason to his words.

“Now that’s the way to look at life. No complaints.” Ace replied with mild candor, “No worries. I wish I could live like that.” No, it was most decidedly impossible for him. Ace had many complaints, ‘Like why were they still talking?’ Lightning surged under the skin of Ace’s palms. Real energy was growing with his impatience. “Sadly, I live in the future. Anticipation is supposed to make everything sweater, but sometimes it just makes things unbearable. You know?”

They were soaked. Each drenched in perspiration and condensation, though the old man looked like he was certainly getting the worst of it. Crystalline clear beads ran trailing down their faces as the heat worked its way through their bodies.

Ace could feel the water sloshing about his shins, the steam sealing his pants to his leg so tightly that he had given up on getting them to release their grip. Instead, his hand kept grasping at the thin air by his side, Black Mesa just inches out of reach between the alien dimensions. Could Ace attack an unarmed opponent?

’ Yes, but not in public. ‘

The redhead’s expression dropped into a frown when the answer to the riddle was not his own. The shape shifter could take being wrong, but he felt it was all the worse that he had not thought of these things himself… like when the saw suddenly appeared in the equation… or how one could see through adamantine to get the saw in the first place. Ace pinched the bridge of his nose, vaguely aware of a keen deception in play. ‘So this is my enemy. A politician?’ It seemed Ace’s opponent liked to use words, Lawrence did too, but Ace was more inclined to the straightforward method.

As the next riddle riffled off Ace stood a stance, bringing up a hand to point straight at the roof. It was a grand gesture. “Got it!” He shouted triumphant. “The father is a father, as well as a son!” Ace grinned, his lips peeling back. There were so many reptilian teeth. Like knives, they shined in the dim mist.

The shape shifter’s shoulders began to shake as his lungs heaved oxygen into his blood; his heart began to pound. “Now here is one for you! What can you put in a man to make him lighter?” The old man might like to use words, but Ace preferred the direct route, like a cannonball through a wall. Bringing his hand down, he attacked.

Ace lunged, heaving up a spray of water as he attacked. Stepping forward, Ace led with a straight right, firing of a punch to the man’s pregnant stomach.

[The Trap Master]

John had listened to his foe answer the riddle correctly. The man smiled a bit as it seemed his foe was falling for his little ruse. He could feel his pants starting to stick to his legs, as if it were trying to become one with his form. His socks were becoming soaking wet to the point of making a loud squishy sound whenever John moved his toes. He only had to keep this up a bit longer and it would be over.

However, when John's opponent had answered the riddle, he began to come up with one of his own. It was a simple riddle with no elaborate setup. John brought his hand to his face for a moment to think about it. He quickly snapped his fingers as he began to answer. "I got it, you put a hole in him! Wait, what?!"

John had been a little too slow to react to the punch. It buried itself deep within his belly. John had taken enough biology to know that his foe had damaged his stomach. The second Ace pulled the fist out, half-eaten foods and stomach acid would begin to pour out of his mouth. John was no battle hardened warrior, so getting gut-punched hurt him, a lot. His mouth fell open as he felt the throbbing within him. Every time his heart made a beat, it seemed like the pain dug deeper into him.

Blood began to seep out of John's mouth, running slightly down his shirt. Ace had definetly hit something vital. By this point the water had reached their feet. The blood of The Trap Master's mouth began to drip into the water and spread out over its surface. John could feel the searing heat of the steaming water as it began to cover his shoes and burn his feet.

John coughed a bit, blood spewing out (presumably) over his opponent's form. The overweight man quickly reached towards his foe, attempting to grab him by the back of the head. The move was slow and resembled more of a romance scene than an attack. If he had taken a hold of the man's head, John would proceed to fall to his knees in an attempt to take his opponent with him. He would then try to drown Ace in the steadily rising water.

Of course, John was no warrior, he was a thinker. Getting hit with such focehad taken it's toll on the man and his power level dramatically decreased the second that closed hand found his flesh. Of course, within a minute or two, John would be able to recover from the massive blow to the gut, and his strength would return. But would Ace give John enough time to regain his power? The only thing the Trap Master knew that he was going to try and get out of here alive...

...And he would find out who this man was, and make him pay....

[Knave]

Lightning struck aged blubber, a fist pounding atrophied abs in what may have been an attempt to gut an old man.

The velvet sensation of soft flesh folding over knuckles was, at the very least, quite pleasant for Ace as he watched the man’s face. The old man’s expression registered mild shock and apprehension, a flat “what” dying on the edge of his lips. As the younger with drew his fist from the senior saliva flew from the old man’s lips along with a bit of breakfast. The pure scent of boiled water was soon tainted with bile.

The sludge of meals past flew over Ace’s shoulder as he kept his head out to the side. The number of teeth to his smile grew, rows of venomous fangs shining. Reptilian, saurian glee, etched into the muscles of his face. A cruel smile had formed and then faded when he found no rebuttal, no swift jab, or verbal barb, just silence.

Instead, the old man just stood there. Wisps of white wavered under the man’s labored breath, flecks of red soon stained them, blood spreading from his lips down. Ace stood not two feet away, starring shocked at what he had just done. This was wrong, this guy should have run, or asked to leave. ‘How the hell is he this out of shape?’ Ace asked himself.

The crowd in their towels and underwear were dead quiet, clearly disappointed in their semi-naked haze.

“A-Are you okay?” Ace was chirped, incredulous that he had been so strong, and done so much harm. Lawrence, when he used this body, never did much fighting beyond the martial forms of throttle and strangle. The fading stench of vomit still gave their corner of the steam room a miserable tang as it carried into the air. Ace extended an unsure hand through the mist. He wasn’t sure if the old man would fall here and now.

The man’s mouth opened, moved, and sprayed Ace with blood. It was almost unnoticeable as it pelted Ace’s skin in a light spray, mixing with water and spittle. What was notable were the few drops that hit Ace Mandelo in the eyes. They did not burn, but the fact of it was disgusting. Ace like lightning withdrew his helping hand to recoil and wipe at his face.

The shock of the man’s failed defense allowed the old bastard an opening that anyone would be glad to take advantage of. Reaching out the old man placed a hand on Ace’s cheek. Like a caress, it was soft, a weak stroke as it moved up the side of his head. Ace looked up at the taller, soaked man with wide, and by design, soulful eyes. The only sound around them being the sloshing burning waters about their feet. Then those thick fingers knotted in Ace’s hair and dragged him down. The six or seven inches of water did nothing to stop Ace’s fall. He slammed into the tiles below, his shouts turning into muffled bubbles that stole his air away.

Kicking and scrambling Ace’s feet found no purchase on the immaculate floor. ‘No way.’ This was ridiculous, Ace thought, as he floundered. The weight of the old bastard held his head flat against the oceans floor. ‘I am not going to drown in six inches of water!’ Finally, like a tomato escaping the fork Ace freed himself, scrambling for breath, and distance between himself and his surprisingly murderous opponent.

Up in the stands their spectators were laughing. Guffaws, ha-has, rofls, and such were had by all at this turn of events. Finally this was getting good.

Somewhere in all that panic, a thought that refused to claim Ace as its own glared in a way only the metaphysical could, ‘Just grow some gills, you scrub.’

Ignoring the insult, and the laughter, Ace braced himself against the pole dragging in ragged breaths as what water he had inhaled came back up. Doing his best to keep his eyes open, and the heaving down, Ace was livid. He could not get back to his feet fast enough, grabbing onto the stone pillar’s posts for support as he drew himself back up to his feet. The shapeshifter's face was growing red, his teeth clenched and his pity gone. Ace could not kill the old man here, but he could try. That was totally within in the rules!

Ace was after the old man a second later. If old bastard was on the ground, he’d kick him in the teeth. If the old bastard managed to get back to his feet, Ace would slam him to the ground, and show him how to really drown someone.

[The Trap Master]

He had forced himself upon his opponent. His weight was being used to his fullest advantage, despite the fact that he had grown so weak physically. His foe was quite determined to beat him, however, and quickly wriggled his way out of the attempt. John listened to the crowd while they laughed at the older man's attack. Apparently, watching someone drown like an infant in the bath tub seemed to satisfy their bloodlust.

John was still on all fours when his opponent was being humiliated. It seemed as though Ace did not take lightly to being drowned, and swiftly began his counter attack. John ducked his head downwards to look at his scalding hands when Ace delivered the kick. The foot of the man slammed into John's shoulder with a sickening thud. The force of the blow sent the heavier man onto his back.

His clothes were now soaked in the scolding liquid that surrounded the two of them. Reacting from the immediate pain, John scrambled to his feet. It was then that the soreness from his right shoulder kicked in. John gripped the shoulder with his left hand as the rising water began to burn his knees (his feet had grown accustomed to the heat at this point). John looked behind him to see that he was on the edge of the pillar he shared with Ace, though that wouldn't matter much longer.

"Might as well give it my best," John mumbled to himself. The man then lunged at Ace with a lower-than-average speed. He was planning on tackling the man into the rising water. This would not be another drown attempt, however, as John would try to plant his teeth into the right shoulder of Ace. Whenever a fresh wound opened up on a person, hot water caused them an even greater pain. John was trying to open a wound in Ace the best way he knew how to.

Well, at least the best way he knew how to without the citadels help.

[Knave]

The kick was satisfaction, sending John tumbling back into the steaming waters. The old man’s clothing clung to him intimately, showing off every unsightly bulge, and the image Ace received was deceptive. John was tougher than he looked, and as John scrambled to return to his feet, he did so far easier than he should have, dodging the boot that stomped down where his ankle had been moments before. Spry for his size, the man recoiled back to the same post Ace had only moments ago braced himself against.

Ace waded after the man, sending up droplets and splashes in high sprays. There was little the water could do to slow him. Ace had his enemy. Lips drawn back Ace wore a sneer that promised pain, his hand flexing. The freckles of his face, the boyish charm of his countenance, struggled with the obvious anger. When John moved to tackle Ace, Ace met his charge with one of his own.

The two collided. The shock of it sending waves rolling back in all directions. Moisture was violently liberated from their skin in a spray of mist. John’s massive girth and Ace’s hidden weight met with varying speeds yet they still cancelled each other out. Ace lead with his shoulder into John’s chest, and he felt John’s heavy hands grip his left side and right shoulder, then the teeth biting down.

Pearly whites set themselves against Ace’s left shoulder. By alien design Ace’s skin was tough, John’s jaws forced John’s teeth through it nonetheless. Blood did not spray, it welled, and leaked.

Ace screamed, his hands reaching up to John‘s neck even as the old bastard dragged Ace into the water. Clearlly he had not been satisfied with his last attempt at drowning the young watchman.

‘Stop fighting like a man. No one can see you. Show him what you are!’ Lawrence called from the back of their mind. ‘Do as I say.’ The boss began to give orders.

It was too late to do anything to save himself, Ace fell, and was crushed under John’s weight again, his left arm pinned between them as John gnawed on Ace’s shoulder, and then withdrew to let the boiling water seer Ace’s open wound. Air once again escaped Ace’s lungs, he had to move quickly, and focused his eyes, beyond the waving strands of red hair, directly at John’s chest.

Now this old bag is well over his years. No one would blame you, but you won't get many cheers. That fat hides a precious piece of machinery, its weak, congested, it will be easy.

Reaching up, Ace followed his superiors instructions. Signals fired down the spine, traveling beaten roads, and genetic paths. Along the bones of Ace’s forearms, tiny cells, electrolytes, began to flex and shiver as hideous powered flowed. Ions raced, electricity surged.

Short spasms fired and voltage leapt between the nerves along Ace’s palms, and fingers. The electric current conducting in the water while flexing claws rose up aimed at John’s chest and beating heart there in. Six hundred watts, enough to give a horse second thoughts on how it had lived its life. Six hundred watts, enough to give an old man a heart attack. There would be no sparks, and there would be little warning.

Feet away, the stone columns began to turn with growing speed, and the water that boiled down ivory walls gushed with new force.

[The Trap Master]

John was no warrior, but he had studied basic human anatomy. The tingling sensation that crawled over his skin caused the man to look at his opponent with a shocked expression. There was electricity circulating through the water now. As John felt various body parts growing numb, he wondered how someone like Ace could not be affected by the electric current. They were, after all, under water.

John's heart began to beat rapidly, causing the older man to grip his chest. His mouth opened and allowed drizzles of blood (both his and his opponent's) to flow freely from his body. He body slowly began to rise up from the water as his arm lost all feeling. The feeling of someone squeezing his chest began to fade, and the temporary lightheadedness disappeared entirely.

A few bubbles rose to the surface of the boiling water, followed by a short stream of blood. Finally, the lifeless body of John Shelby found itself face down in the water. The crowd went wild as they realized that a victor had been determined through the hazy steam that flooded the arena. John Shelby had fallen; Ace Mandelo had won the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Death felt odd. John could still feel everything. His body still tingled from the shocks; his head once again began to make him dizzy. The only thing that had changed was that the actual pressure on his heart had not come back. Weren't the workers at this arena supposed to work really fast with healing? John didn't understand what was taking so long.

"Hello, John," a voice entered his ears. John began to look around his surroundings to find pure darkness. The voice had been very familiar to the man. One does not easily forget the voice of their deceased wife. John watched as a white light began to grow in front of him. Several white feathers began a molting process as the white light began to take a humanoid form. The image of his wife brought a smile to John's face.

She looked just as wonderful as the day she had died. He golden hair streamed down her pale face. Her brown eyes still held the sadness for everything that John had remembered. She outstretched her arms to him, trying to welcome he husband into the afterlife with her. John took a step forward, mesmerized by her flowing white ball gown and shiny gold halo.

After the first step, the man stopped. He shook his head to his wife, smearing a look of disappointment on her ruby red lips. "Cynthia, you know I can't do that yet. I still have work to do. People must be taught."

"John, you've had your revenge. You killed the spider magi scum that sacrificed Anna. We're both gone now, John. Who else do you have to live for?"

The question was a hard one to ask. It was harder than any riddle John had thrown at ace. The man closed his eyes as he felt his wife starting to pluck his memories. Several images of the warrior Jaxx Stone began to fill both of their heads. John still had family in Radasanth, and Jaxx wasn't strong enough to protect himself yet, despite what he himself thought.

"I see. You're waiting for Jaxx to become a true man," Cynthia said as she began to shrink back into the darkness. "We'll be waiting John, me and Anna; we're waiting for you to come home..."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"What the hell just happened?!" Detective Eric Oak and Sasori Abner had taken a break from their investigation of the Trap Master to enjoy some blood sport. While Abner did not quite hold a fondness for such things, he knew that his partner loved it. However, at the conclusion of this battle, Eric was feeling a bit ripped off.

"They went underwater and now the old farts dead! Did he drown?! This is crap, I want my money back!" Eric looked to his superior, who had a look of satisfaction painted on his lips.

"Stop being a child, Oak. You know we shouldn't even be here to begin with. I'm not sure this place is entirely legal." As Sasori spoke, he eyed several seedy characters in the bleachers huddled together with incoherent whispers. The truth was he would have just rather gone back to the Trap Master case.

"Calm down Sarge," Eric said, "it's not like Trap Master is going to be dead any time soon..."

[Knave]

The human body is composed mostly of water. Males, sixty-one percent. Females, around fifty percent. John, given his girth, and general lack of shape in general, had to be at least seventy. It showed in the ripples, and the spasmodic twitches his body performed. Muscles fluttered, limbs for an instant flailed, and then the man was still, his heart still pounding in irregular beats as it died. What Ace had not compensated for was the collapse, and the rising water.

Dead or alive, Ace might have drowned, if Lawrence had not ceased to talk to himself, and his little character.

The boyish features lost much of their humanity beneath the boiling waters, the eyes closed tightly to protect themselves from the rising heat, but the expression he wore lacked any emotion. It was lifeless because there was no one to play witness at that moment. It was just a mask after all. When the eyes opened, they peered through a thin, milky film. A second set of eyelids much like a frogs. He blinked twice with both sets, his vision clearing, but the heat still trying to blind him.

‘A lackluster performance.’ Lawrence thought, ignoring his need for air as though it were a mere creature comfort rather than a necessity. 'I should have given him more time with his little riddles.' That is until he found that with his free arm, he could not shift the weight. Luckily, John proved buoyant, his weight gradually lessening. All Lawrence had to do was grow some gills and wait. He did so quickly.

The pale flesh of his neck bulged, as structures formed beneath it to strain oxygen from the water, black veins were visible as they were pressed against his porcelain skin. Sixteen flaps flared, opening from the base of his chin to the base of his collar, red gills flexing. Billions of microscopic branches of tissue folded over one another siphoned whatever oxygen was to be had. Blood mixing with the water before old blood vessels could close. The blood vanished into his gills. Lawrence, inhuman thing that he was, drew a fresh breath of water.

As the corpse slipped away toward the spinning columns, Lawrence slipped free kicking to swim out, and upward, but not quite ready to surface. Instead, he pursued his fallen opponent, swimming parallel, face to face with a dead man, determined to remember his face should Lawrence ever need it. Reaching out, Lawrence tilted John’s chin first left then right. ‘Poorly dressed, too old, badly shaved, a face a parent would smother with a pillow…’ With calculating eyes, Lawrence gathered the superficial details, his brown eyes squinting and roaming collect them all.

Finally, as the current the columns created drew them in Lawrence grabbed hold of John’s shirt and began to drag him back in the other direction. Once again, he returned to character, the gills closing, and his head bursting out from beneath the steaming waves gasping, and choking for air. He grinned up at the crowd as he rescued his enemy’s body in the spirit of good sportsmanship.

With a winner decided the columns ceased to move, and the water level lowered to steel doors front steps. With an audible clank of an iron bar being drawn back the door swung open to reveal the helping hands of several druids, minus Az-ram who leaned against the opposite wall waiting.

Towing dead weight behind him, Ace met Dansdale’s Druids before being hauled up onto land, where Ace continued to heave water for two minutes. Meanwhile, Az-ram checked the body.

“Heh, looks like the old one had himself a heart attack. Not one of the best ways to go, but around here certainly not the worst.” Az-ram said to himself, poking at John’s body idly, looking quite bored. “Get him to Quincy Long‘s room.” (The local necromancer.) “We’ll have him back among the living in no time, but I think its best he be given a physical before he‘s allowed to fight anytime soon.”

Outside, among the stands, the cheering continued, apparently Ace had made a good impression on them. Standing with the appropriate amount of effort, he gave the crowd a parting wave.

[Duffy]

Steamed Vegetables Judgement

I am very sorry for both of you that the workshop momentum failed with a lull in activity. I’ve given a few comments to both of you for each category in the hopes that you can get some idea of performance in this thread and how you can improve/where you shined in particular. First up will be The Trap Master, followed by knaveofspades and then the experience and spoils. May the best man/criminal/mastermind win!

Story (17/30)

Continuity – 6 A much more consistent show from you Sei throughout, each piece of the jigsaw fits together nicely. There was no need to repeal tempo and flick back to catch up with what was going on.

Setting – 5 . You have described the concrete and the minor details to bring the setting to life. Be careful not to fall for the trappings of repetition however, once you’ve described sweat, or blood, or stale odours, try not to repeat it or cycle an old idea with a fresh slant.

Pacing – 6

Character (18/30)

Persona – 6 Not only do we know the Trap Master well now, we know him in a different light, due to the twist in the encounter. It is good seeing him weak, and vulnerable, and this got you an improved score. The enjoyment found in post 4 could have been handled better, perhaps with more wry contention and sardonic rasps, but it’s a brash move and it pays off.

Action – 5 As ever, this is a difficult category to master given the context of the thread. You’re effectively passing the baton to your opponent by describing something, and letting them do the interaction, action and reaction to the traps you lay out for them.

Dialogue – 7 Best part of your battle for you, as ever, was the dialogue. Good strong command of the character and a presence that goes beyond simple words in the thread. Whilst knave took control of the scene, the words were yours.

Writing (17/30)

Technique – 5

Mechanics – 5 Use of elision incorrectly once again, some typos and grammatical errors, nothing major to warrant concern; proof-reading and re-reading is as ever crucial. Little slips such as citadels instead of Citadel’s and the like drag you to an average.

Clarity – 7 Much more concise and clear than anything previous I’ve read Sei. Clear head and you reacted well to Knave to keep your actions relatively lucid.

Wild Card (5/10)

Total Score = (57/60)

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Story (19/30)

Continuity – 6 Good solid continuity, no jarring moments or glaring niggles that cause the reader to double think their reasoning or place in the story.

Setting – 6 Much stronger than your opponent, using senses, opinion of setting and interaction well.

Pacing – 7

Character (20/30)

Persona – 8 Outstanding persona. Outstanding. The subliminal messages and subconscious reasoning in between dialogue and the fight itself were excellent little snippets of Ace’s psyche.

Action – 6

Dialogue – 6 Be careful not to use too casual speech, it veers on modernism sometimes, post 6 especially.

Writing (18/30)

Technique – 7 My only real comment to help hit the 8+ mark is draw on your persona more in your mannerisms and descriptions. Pearly whites, snappy little fedora come backs and marked observations written into the post in the form of tripling, alliteration or perhaps rhythmic verse could help develop an upbeat gangster feel. Imagine your character as a rhyme scheme like dun dun dun d-dun and try to write to that frame of mind.

Mechanics – 6 A lot of glaring typos and misuse of apostrophes and commas, but better written than your opponent overall. It’s shaping up nicely and I look forward to watching it grow.

Clarity – 5 A fine line is to be trodden between thought and reality, and whilst the concrete groundwork is present, perhaps utilise italics or alternative text to separate what is thought, what is fact, and what is fiction.

Wild Card (6/10)

Excellent debut, strong character and dynamic combat. Apologies for the limited response to the both of you, but I have a tremendous migraine caused by a receding jaw and no sleep at all last night. In all honesty, write as you are and enjoy doing it, and the quality can only improve.

Total Score = (61/100)


Experience:

knaveofspades is victorious, he receives 825 experience and 250 gold!

The Trap Master receives 225 experience and 50 gold!

[Silence Sei]

GP-EXP Added, Yo.