Fallen

[Allennia]

Fallen (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xyGOeG8vdo&feature=related)



Set after the events of Embers of Sorrow.

Closed to Revenant.


Heaven bent to take my hand
And lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight

Truth be told I've tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
And the cost was so much more than I could bear


1936


Bent, broken and bruised in the mind, Abhorrash crawled from the valley he called home to the Citadel. His ego shattered and his world ablaze, he turned to the one thing in all the world that kept him calm, collected and sedated; war. Conflict bridled his inquisitive nature, it drove him to find answers to the million questions left barren and unanswered under the glaring heat of the midday sun. It acquiesced his nature, his soul, his fire.

Although he had fallen from grace amongst the Council, beaten by his mentor and tyrant Lord, the Magister Jurran had given the red mage a spark of hope. If he could not prove that danger threatened the Seven Households of his home, then he could draw out Jurran in conflict, show the world his anger and loathing for mankind instead. As he stood, Abhorrash could never defeat the sorcerer, he was too weak, too young, too late.

The Citadel proved to be the answer, and he stood amidst the dome's piercing light once-more. His hood was back and his mousey brown hair glinted under the sunlight, and he leant forwards on the Yielding Rose to steady his mind and his tired body for the coming battle. He gave himself no time to rest and no time for respite, he had come straight here, to push his body to the very brink of collapse until he could stand against the greatest of sorcerers and tread the firmament for salvation.

He set his eyes on the far door and waited with baited breath. There were no tokens of imagination in the dome, only a sunny blue sky beset with vultures circling far, far overhead. The sandy floor was level and clean, except for the few heavy footfalls the mage had made as he had entered. One was deeper than the other, weighed down by the heavy armour plates which covered only one half of his runic and deranged appearance. Sweat dripped down his nose, and the arcane words of his meagre spells rolled around in his head.

Abhorrash clenched his fists until the sharp crystal on his rod reminded him what pain was, then sighed. He would redeem himself from the fall soon enough.

[Revenant]

William came, drawn to the vast halls of the Citadel like a moth drawn invariably towards an open flame, and the death lust came with him. It was a feeling of growing urgency and desperate need that throbbed deep within the core of the revenant’s being, not unlike a virile man’s need for sexual release or the overwhelming pressure an addict felt when denied their habit for too long. But as similar as William’s urge was to those base needs, it was transcendently different at the same time. William was a living weapon, a demonic being bound to a human soul, destruction given a physical form, and the red tide was rising within him.

“Greetings, Lord Arcus,” a quiet Ai’Bron monk whispered in greeting. The gray robed monk nodded in deference to William’s arrival, and though his face remained shrouded under the hood of his robe, William could tell that the man was smirking. William himself chuckled at the titular greeting, a grating, unnerving sound, and waved the man off with a casual, backhanded motion. The monk merely gave a half bow and opened the Citadel’s heavy entrance with an easy, practiced motion.

“What is Radasanth coming to?” William muttered, shaking his head in amused disbelief. He, raised as a small town woodsman in a distant country, was completely disinterested in titles of rank and the prestige that went with them and he had certainly never desired to be a person of noble heritage. But he was on the leaders of the Ixian Knights now, and working in such close confidence with Sei Orlouge, the so-called Hero of Radasanth, gave him a certain amount of deference in Corone’s capitol. It still carried a tinge of oddity with it, but being a Lord to the common man was something that wouldn’t be going away soon, and William was resigned to have to deal with it. Plus it gave those who knew him a unique opportunity to irk the bloodthirsty warrior without fear of deadly retaliation.

“And what do you require today, Lord?” the doorman asked, scurrying after the inhuman warrior.

“Nothing special,” William said, waving off the opportunity to shape a battle chamber to his liking. “I’ll take whatever you have available as long as there’s an opponent inside who will put up a fight.” William grimaced at the thought of his last opponent, a writhing coward of a man who had soiled himself at the first sign of William’s demonic transformation. The man’s mewling cowardice hadn’t stopped William from dismembering him in a violent display of physical power, but there was little pleasure to be found in slaughtering an opponent who couldn’t properly stand against him.

“There is a young sorcerer who is waiting for an opponent in one of our basic training rooms,” the monk offered, somewhat hesitantly. William’s most recent battle in the plain, sand-floored training rooms had resulted in an overwhelming defeat and the revenant’s death at the hands of the mutant Lorenor. The monk scanned William’s face for any hint of anger at his proposition but William merely waved it away as trivial. Death was a common occurrence in the Citadel, especially when one sought to challenge the strongest and most fierce opponents, and only a weakling shied away from it. Besides, the fabled magical healing of the Ai’Bron monks made even death a minor inconvenience.

“Take me there,” William commanded and the Ai’Bron monk scurried to comply.

The training room, true to fashion, was wide open and held none of the normal accoutrements of the more fancy, ensorcelled battle chambers. A single trail of footsteps in the sand led William’s eyes to rest upon the crimson robed figure in the chamber’s center. Disdain was writ large upon William’s face as he studied his lightly armored opponent and a low, gravelly snarl escaped his lips.

“Fucking mages,” William said, and stepped into the training room, letting the retreating monk delicately close the entrance door behind him.

[Allennia]

Abhorrash smiled weakly as his opponent made his entrance and muttered a remark. His hood concealed him against much of the hate behind the man's words and he shrugged them aside as endearing mementos of unmodernised times. His exploration of Scara Brae and it's almost terrorised fear of the magical arts and its practitioners had worn against his sense of expectancy. He was surprised he had expected Radasanth to be any different.

"The sun is strong and the wind is incessant before us, I bid thee welcome to the conflict of arms." He steeled his stance against the newcomer and tensed every muscle in his body to do away with the stagnating tension and loosely flapped his limbs to breath life into them. His heavy boot scuffed the dirt and the light of the midday rays shimmered as they flowed over his blood red robes.

As his voiced trailed off a gentle breeze kicked up, rolling the lighter fragments of glass and mountain that settled on the surface of the arena in shimmering, almost living waves. It was portentous, but held no hidden meaning or power. The Lord Isould's request to the monks was for a self-regulating, self serving and cool environment to fight in. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had intended the tepid winds to fan the flames of his anger and rage.

He waved William closer and lifted his staff into his left hand. He rested it casually over his shoulder like a standard marching to war and unbuckled his spell-book with his free hand. He let it fold open between two fingers and thumb and held it before his academic eyes like a confessor on the mount.

"Let us begin, and may the best warrior be victorious!" Without hesitation he stomped his foot, levelled the Rose at his opponent and roared a defiant and mystical line of power, "Hallrim dran Ivictus!"

A fireball the size of a small melon ripped into being from the end of the rod and rushed straight toward's William body without direction, but with every burning and passionate intent to scorch and inflame.

Either he fought the flames, or they would consume him first.

[Revenant]

Typical, William sneered, already in motion as the melon-sized ball of fire spat from the tip of the mage’s ruby staff. An opening salvo of hurled fire seemed to be par for the course where mage’s were concerned, and William had faced enough of them that his defense was automated reflex. The demonic power that ran like molten fire in William gave the revenant inhuman speed and strength. While it was less in his human form and in his demonic one, William was nonetheless faster and reacted quicker than a normal man could. Faced with the oncoming ball of fire, William ducked down and aside, releasing the mental seals on his coursing power while he pulled his cloak over his head and threw it to meet the offending flame.

Anchored by the weight of the cloak’s simple clasp, the long bolt of cloth sailed directly at the mage’s attack. Wool met fire with a shock and a flash. Dancing flames billowed and swirled from the cloak’s point of impact, surrounding the heavy travelling garment. Within a fraction of a second the cloak was shredded and scattered, smoldering pieces of rag that would never be of any further use. But that didn’t matter to William, as the cloak had served its purpose well enough and absorbed the brunt of the attack to the point that only a brief flash of lingering heat reached him. Besides, the restorative magic of the Ai’Bron could mend a cloak as easily it mended flesh, and the cloak would leave the Citadel completely intact, no matter what level of damage was done to it during the fight.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” William snarled, his voice become hoarse and grating. He rushed forward, booted feet kicking up a wash of sand behind him as he propelled himself to close the gap. Experience taught the demonic fighter that casters excelled at range, but up close, where his strength and steel-hard claws could do their bloody work, he was king. The last traces of wispy fire and burning cloak washed over his back as he moved, but the molten heat that charred his flesh warded him against the dying surge of heat. It wouldn’t save him from a direct strike from the mage’s crimson tipped staff, but his opponent didn’t know that and William wanted to give the impression that his power swollen demon form made a mockery of his conjured flames. Mind games, after all, were just another piece in the game of war, and another thing that William had learned in facing magic users was that something as simple as shaking their confidence oftentimes brought them to utter ruination.

[Allennia]

The pious and simple movements of his opponent perturbed Abhorrash somewhat. Until now, his enemies had reacted, responded, succumbed to the irate nature of humanity following a casting. Here, the strange creature simply folded into shadow and cast the fire aside with a flex of it's strange attire and ravenous glare.

"I will indeed," he stared with a stony expression and stood upright. He dropped the Rose and held it's heavy tip in both hands. Like a judiciary priest, he leant on it to catch his wits about him and let the cloak and the runes and the vibrant light cast an aura of power where no power rested. Unbeknownst to William, Abhorrash was bluffing every bit as much.

With a cautious advance, he stepped closer and closer. With each movement the Lord Isould recited the first line of the Arcana Noblis and imagined himself swarming with the colour associated with the mythical colleges.

Jade, giver of life, despoiler of the shadow.

Ruby, scorching matron, mistress of destruction.

Onyx, father of shadow, eternal concubine.

Mercury, the stalwart son, defender of souls.

Fuschia, the ageing sage, taker of souls.

Hazel, daughter of the earth, spring tide queen.

Captivated by the rainbow hue that surrounded him in his mind, Abhorrash smiled at Revenant with an eager glint in his eye. The gap between them was closed halfway now, and without warning or declaration, the red mage skittered forwards and lifted his rod into the eager swing of his right hand.

He counter balanced it against the crunching weight of his armour and levelled the rod out to his side. "Magic or metal, it matters not. War consumes the living all the same!"

As he closed in on his opponent he gritted his teeth and brought the solid metal round in an arc levelled straight at the man's shoulder. It possessed no cutting edge but the force of impact, if it were fortunate enough to connect, would blunt the man's hatred of mages beautifully so.

[Revenant]

Magic was a tricky thing. The aura around the red mage could just as easily be a mystic play of light as a powerful warding spell that would rend William apart and scatter him to the four winds. Though he had a fair amount of practical experience in combating those who called upon the eldritch forces, William was far from an expert on the effectiveness of particular castings. In light of this fact, and knowing that discretion was the better part of valor, William tempered his approach to give his demonic power time to fully complete his transformation. If the aura spell was defensive in nature, then he would meet it with the full brunt of his power and then he would tear the offending mage asunder.

The revenant prepared to face yet another barrage of mystic projectiles, another burst of flame that he would be forced to dodge around or else plow through. But instead of lashing out with arcane power, the red mage did the unthinkable and countercharged. The assault, utterly unexpected, caught William off guard but had the side benefit of letting him know one major piece of information, which was that the man’s shimmering aura was likely nothing to be perturbed by. In his experience most mages who shielded themselves preferred to let their enemies come to them to crash upon their erected barrier. Striking out away from his center of power meant one of two things; that the spell was a minor one or that his opponent was powerful and haughty enough to maintain an extensive casting on the move. Judging from the relatively weak strength of the mage’s opening salvo, William surmised that this case was representative of the former option and that the aura was not significant enough to worry about.

But as beneficial as this knowledge was, it didn’t negate the fact that William was being struck against where he wasn’t prepared. The whistling hum of the metal staff as it spun towards him filled William’s ears, drowning out whatever quip the mage made. Reacting purely on instinct the revenant shied away from the impending strike and brought his inside arm up. Though it was nothing more than a gut reaction to protect his head, the move deflected the brunt of the mage’s strike by bringing the steel-hard bone carapace that covered his arm from elbow to fingertips into the path of the mage’s strike.

Staff met bone with a resounding crack. It was a terrible sound but, though the strike left William’s arm tingling with numbness, the defensive reaction meant that the revenant took no further damage. But left without a chance to brace against the suddenness of the mage’s attack, and denied stable footing in the training room’s sandy floor, the force of the swing drove William off his feet. Though being caught off guard by the initial attack had meant that William’s defense had been purely reactive, he recovered enough of his wits as he fell to make an awkward swipe with the claws of his trailing hand towards the mage’s midsection while he twisted to blunt the impact of his fall. It was an imperfect strike, one that would likely do nothing more than superficial damage if it even connected at all, but the revenant was far more preoccupied with other matters as the grit and dust of the arena floor rose to greet him.

[Allennia]

The surprise on Abhorrash's face fazed his concentration and he stalled, stopping deadpan and suddenly with a brazen sigh. The hook from the man's claws took him even more by surprise, and he felt the cold connect of raking implement with his stomach. He stumbled back blindly, his rod falling to his side and his eyes glimmering with fear.

With a cautious exploration he dabbed his robes and cursed the style he fought with. If he did not wear his armour, he would not dabble in the Stoic Step, but if he wore more, he would lose his spell-casting ability. A duality if ever there was one.

"How...infuriating," he muttered, staring intently at the crimson liquid on his fingertips. He doubted that the injury was severe enough to level the playing field and end the conflict there and then, but he was now on a clock, his life was ticking away by the second. He re-focussed his gaze on his opponent and smiled weakly. A sickly nauseous rose from his stomach and urged him to 'resolve' his sins quickly.

"I am impressed, a mere peon outwitting me." His nobilis and dichotomy slipped through with a seething and obnoxious tone, but it was befitting of the moment, a slight on his opponent's obvious hidden depths to make up for lost time, lost face, lost direction.

The aura he had conjured around his body grew in intensity as he concentrated on the energies fluttering between one realm and another. He took two defiant steps away from his prone opponent and lifted the Rose into the air. The gems caught the sun and shone radiantly, a sceptre of command amidst a sea of desolation.

"Magic, fire, flame and wind, it matters not how I fight, or what unveiled talents you conceal behind your masque - show me the dominance, the hatred, the strength in those bones and claws!"

The rod fell. It's weight kicked up a flurry of dust as it connected with the earth and instantaneously, the energies gathered in Abhorrash's body jettisoned itself full force into reality. Every ounce of magic rolled from him like a thunderstorm cresting on the horizon and the rod began spinning on the spot. The red mage waved his arms in concentric circles with the staff between his opponent and himself, and recited the new found tether between spells he had conjured before in the ocean tide of the Namazu lake.

"Eight sons shelter the provinence, eight signs of death and mana. Love, hate, fire, expend all those souls to the fires of war!"

With a flash, Abhorrash's face lit up with orange and vermilion and azure lights as three vibrant fireballs rose from the spinning rod and hovered ominously. Overdrive, overcast and containing all the rage of the Lord of Isould, the fireballs flew at William, each as vibrant as the last, but each tainted with blood-lust and revenge.

Abhorrash's eyes darkened and he felt a wave of weakness hit him, starting at the legs and knocking him to his knees.

The rod span one last time, stopped, then fell to the sand. The feathers on his robes sparkled, and the runes on his clothes faded into threadbare stitching. All his hope was gone, all his power drained, the only thing he held in reserve was a defiant display of strength and agility hidden in words and buoyant soliloquies.

[Revenant]

The worst thing about dealing with mages, William decided, was being forced to listen to all their inane prattle. Talking in the midst of battle, in his mind, was akin to admitting that one was unable to actually contribute anything useful to the encounter. A well placed curse or taunt directed towards an opponent was a fine thing and could turn the tide if used correctly, but the sheer volume of words that flowed from the lips of a caster took that thought to the edge and beyond. Having to listen to the red mage’s ritualistic droning was almost more torturous than being attacked by the man, but the snarling retort on William’s charred lips died in the wake of the glowing orbs the man summoned.

Move! his mind shouted, prompting the revenant to scramble from where he lay sprawling on the sand-covered floor. For as much disdain as William held for magic-users and their trade, he could not deny the raw effectiveness of a properly timed spell. And given the position I’m in, William thought as he watched the balls finish orbiting their perch atop the mage’s ruby rod and shoot towards him, he couldn’t have timed this any better.

But the speed with which the first of the fire balls advanced meant that William had no more time to ponder the situation. Logic told him that he would never have enough time to get to his feet so William was left with only one option. A grunt escaped the from the revenant’s panting mouth as he tucked his head into his chest and made a twisting back roll over shoulder. Pushing with everything that he had, William just barely managed to heave his bulk out of the path of the first ball of fire, which showered him with grit as it exploded on the sandy training room floor just two feet away. Though he loathed the demonic essence bound to his soul, William found that he was blessing the inhuman speed that it granted for the second time that day.

But there was no time to for William to congratulate himself as the second fireball darted out at him. Move, move, the words pounded a staccato beat inside his head, but this time William was unable to comply. Rolling over his shoulder had taken him out of the path of the first fireball but had put William crouched forward on his knees. He was upright now instead of being prone, but it mattered little since the revenant lacked any maneuverability without having his feet under him. With the second fireball only a breath away, William’s mindless survival instinct kicked in once again. Without conscious thought, knowing only that he needed to shield his head from the blast, William raised a bone covered hand to swat at the incoming ball of fire.

For the first time in the match, the red mage’s arcane power touched William as the ball of fire exploded against the revenant’s bone gauntlet. William’s own molten aura of heat and the solid nature of the bone meant that the flames surging around the impact site were largely inconsequential. Likewise, the pulsing shock of the exploding ball managed to do little more than make several superficial cracks in the steel hard carapace. It was an irritation certainly, but only a minor one. William would certainly have thought little of the flame burst if it weren’t for one slightly more significant problem.

The burst of the fire ball had thrown William’s arm back, opening him up and exposing him to the red mage’s last, and final, strike.

This time there was nothing that William could do to avoid the oncoming ball of fire. Any sound that the revenant made as the arcane ball struck him in the dead center of his chest was lost amid the roaring explosion of fire and force that lifted William off his knees and threw him bodily away from the impact site. William came to rest on his back a half dozen feet from where he took to the air, arms and legs akimbo. His chest was a ruined mess of red meat, the leathery charred skin flayed from him by the red mage’s power. It was a horrible wound, one that would have instantly sent any normal combatant to the Pyre for judgment. But William was far from the normal combatant and though he lay stunned and unmoving, the raw flesh of his chest still rose and fell in time with the revenant’s shuddering breaths.

[Allennia]

If Abhorrash were stronger, if he were more capable, he would have taken his small victory in his stride and clamoured over to the opponent to deal a death blow. Today however, he could not rise to the occasion and did nothing but pant slowly to try and recapture his energy and enthusiasm in between twangs of pain. A slow draining release of life from his extremities as the feedback from his over castled spell took it's toll.

A flash of home appeared before his eyes as he tightened his belt and wrapped the blood stained robes tighter around his injury. The scintillating tree tops of the cliff side village he called his own and the sun backdrop of the ice-laden valley calmed him enough to offer hope. His sister's song drifted down across the cavalcade of tree top huts and the waterfall that split the west wing of his manor from the right, and the scent of lavender wine and the heat of his study washed over him like a summer breeze.

Was that all he was fighting for? Was that all a man such as he had to make claim of in the afterlife? Redemption was Abhorrash's sole concern, his only regret and his only drive. The more he thought about it, and the more he came to realise that causing pain in the minds of overs was not to be his path to salvation, the more he despaired.

"Get up!" He roared, pulling his hood up and stroking the plume that sat on his robes, a crest and sigil of his office. "Stand!" He pushed himself upright with a stern grimace of pain as the muscles in his stomach flexed and wobbled on his feet. Small trickles of blood had stained the sand beneath his feet red as he had prayed for the strength to survive. He looked down at it and frowned.

"I am bespoken with this endless quest for salvation," he watched the steam trail up from William with a sickening sensation spiralling in his stomach. It caused bile to rise in his throat. Am I any different to Jurran, to the tyrant that has caused me so much pain? "Fight, let us fight with steel and claw and tooth & nail - let the master of the hunt take us in his stride!"

He leant forwards to pick up his rod and took the pain like the man his father had taught him to be. As he stood upright he smiled from beneath his hood. "Show me your providence, and know that I hold no more magic up my sleeve. My time is spent, my mana drained, I am every bit as mortal and human as you, and ready to die to defend that right."

Abhorrash waited for William to bare his ferocity against him.

He waited with his rod at his side, and no idea what lurked inside his own mind, or that of his opponent...a daemon uncaged by the constraints of modern society.

Dangerous, brash and blazing with a power they both held unknowingly.

[Revenant]

The only thing left in the world, as far as William was concerned, was the searing, white-hot agony that filled his mind with every… miserable… second. An excruciating death in the Citadel was not a new experience for the revenant, but as much as he longed for death’s sweet embrace just then, his heart refused to give up and continued stubbornly beating fresh waves of pain through his body. Though he lay immobilized for only a half a minute each of those seconds dragged on as if they were an eternity.

“Thaynes,” he swore as soon as he could manage and then choked on the cloud of dust kicked up by his fall, descending into a wracking, pain-filled fit of coughing. Roused back to life, William clawed his way through his pain-filled haze. He wanted to just lie down and let his opponent claim victory, but he was reminded of the almost unbearable agony he’d been subjected to at the hands of the Trap Master almost a year previous. The torture had taken place in the Citadel where he could be restored in the event of his death, but William hadn’t known that at the time and had been forced to grit his teeth and force his way through. And if he could get through that, he could get through this.

William roused himself from his stupor, gritting his teeth against the pain, and rolled back onto his hands and knees. His opponent staggered to remain upright not a dozen feet from him, the mage’s stamina worn down by his spell craft. Explains why I’m still here, William thought, sneering at the man. It was a piteous fool who let a disadvantage as overwhelming as William’s pass by him, and by putting all of his strength into his fire blast the mage had done just that. William supposed that the man’s casting would have been completely ineffective if the mage hadn’t poured everything he had into it, but where did that leave the man in the end? Sure he had some skill with that staff of his, but he would have to be close to William to use it and hand-to-hand combat was where William excelled.

William pushed himself back to his feet, and now that he was moving he could feel the regenerative capabilities of his supernatural physique going to work to heal his wound. Another benefit of my thrice-damned demon soul, he grunted in obscene humor, but it was a benefit that wouldn’t prove useful today. He could heal from almost anything, but a wound this serious would take several hours to heal and this engagement would be over far before then.

Distracted as he was by his thoughts, William didn’t realize that the mage was speaking again until the man was nearly finished with his soliloquy. He was spouting some nonsense or other about salvation and rights, things that must have held some special meaning to him. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter to William. So many warriors seemed to think that dying with defiance and dignity meant more than dying with shame, but that was ridiculous. Death was death whether you held your head high or not.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” William snapped in irritation, the only response he would give to the man and winced as he flexed the explosion cracked claw on his right hand, amazed that he could still feel the wound’s sting against the overwhelming pain in his chest. And now that he took notice, William saw the crimson stain at the mage’s midline, proof that his earlier swipe had connected. I could just let the fool bleed out, how glorious would that be? William snickered at the thought but knew that he would do no such thing. He had been subjected to too much pain and there was too much rage to allow him to do something so utterly inane. No, he would charge at the man, who would fight him off as best as he could, and when the mage’s defense failed, he would revel in the feeling of meat and bone parting beneath the pressure of his touch.

A bestial, inhuman snarl rolled out of William’s mouth, an auditory brace against the pain he knew was forthcoming. And then William surged forward, ready to claim another life.

[Allennia]

"Only when the moment takes me," Abhorrash slurred, gritting his teeth and stepping forwards in one quick motion. He had been given ample opportunity to recover enough strength and determination to rile his wits about him and take stock of his opportunities.

"When the moment allows - silence falls, when it does not, dichotomy of speech is the only weapon I hold close."

Abhorrash's fear was visible on his sweat laden brow. He was without grace any more, no more noble than a common pauper. He had vented all his rage and anger at William in a single correlated attack, a focused over-stretching of his magical ability. The fact that he still stood, relatively unhindered by the barrage of conflagration fire irked the mage, the fact that he advanced and seemingly grew in strength irked him more.

"What are you?" He questioned, walking slowly towards William at the same pace as he was approached. He looked over every inch of his opponent whilst he ran his free hand over the curves and roughshod edges of his armour. The sound of metal over metal filled the silence between footfalls and calmed him somewhat. It was a song to the finale of his dream, it would be the moment he had been waiting for. Death, he knew all too well, would not take him here.

But he would rise from the ashes anew...

"If you shall not fall to flame and riot, fall to the steel of kings!"

He skidded forwards and swung the Rose over his head. As he continued forwards the heavy blunt end of the rod slammed into the ground and dragged behind Abhorrash as he charged. He knew, deep in his heart between a rock and a hard place that this movement and attack would be his last. He would either knock William out, or leave himself wide open for an attack he could do little to defend against.

At the last moment possible he slid the rod up under his right arm and lifted it from the ground in a great forward uppercut like swing. As his rod rose to meet William, he leant back, stomped his left foot and closed his eyes.

All or nothing.

Everything or nought.

He prayed.

[Revenant]

He even babbles when he justifies babbling, William thought, shaking his head in frustration.

He had had enough of this fight. Had had enough of an opponent who was nothing more than a twittering prat, a man who fancied himself a mage despite the fact that he only possessed a single magic trick up his sleeve and who held himself in high esteem as both a warrior and a scholar. He had had enough of the man that had managed to sear the flesh from him and who had filled the tiniest cracks in his body with abrasive, stinging sand. Had had enough of the man who had cracked the steel hard bone which covered William’s right hand, and who had thrown a living embodiment of destruction to the ground and forced it on the defensive.

But most of all, William realized as the two of them came together, he had had enough of his own shoddy performance in the face of such a worthless opponent.

Fall to the steel of kings.

The words hung in the air as the mage came forth and made his attack. To say that the mage was exhausted would have been an understatement, yet even so he still managed to find the strength, the conviction, the sheer gritty determination to make a last stand against his opponent. William would have been impressed with the mage’s resolve if he hadn’t held the man in such utter disdain.

Fall to the steel of kings.

The words echoed in the humming of the mage’s staff as it cut a straight, unwavering path into the air. They echoed in the sharp clack that William’s leading claw made as it struck the weapon and drove it out and away. They echoed in the murderous gleam in the revenant’s eyes as he stepped inside the mage’s guard and formed a ridged spear from the cracked bones carapace of his trailing hand that pointed at the center of the mage’s chest.

Fall to the steel of kings, the mage had commanded.

“Fall yourself,” William snarled and drove his spear hand forward.

[Allennia]

Like a lightning bolt to the chest William's spear pierced the feeble resistance offered by his robes with ease. The bone ground against the edge of the iron plate that covered his left side and deflected the blow sideways as it entered his ribcage. Abhorrash stepped dead in his tracks, a look of abject terror burnt to his face and pain rushing around his right side.

Blood spat out from the wound like a hissing miasma as the air fled his lung; he wobbled, regained enough composure to grab Revenant's arm with his free hand and pull himself from the deadly skewer. Crimson gobbets fell to the ground and stained the sand in slow motion, and fatigue and nausea overtook him like a caldera rising in an eruption.

William dissipated in the swirling visions, and Abhorrash dropped his rod to the ground with a clatter of steel and a rolling drum beat that spelled out his defeat. He took several steps back and dropped to his knees, his teeth gritted and blood pouring from the corner of his mouth and chest in parallel unison. He sighed and peacefully leant forwards, putting out his hands to stop himself falling to the ground in an undignified manner.

For all fo his fire and all of his fury, the fallen son of Isould could not stay the anegr and aggression and sincere precision of his opponent's weapon - no lineage born or scholarly pursuit could have prevented this death. Nothing, at, all. He sighed, and glared at his opponent. The runes on his robe glowed with an electric blue for a few brief moments as the ether held in reserve passed from his body and flickered back into the folds of the other world.

"I am done, I am death, I am revenge..." He hissed.

The six magical circles widened in his aura to encompass the seventh and the eight.

Ragnasha, the White Son, Guardian of the Living.

Drellnack, the Black King, the Scholar of the Dead.

The circle was complete, and life turned to death, and soon to life once more.

"I am Fallen."

He fell forwards into a heap and slipped into the afterlife no more content with his failings than ever.

[Revenant]

A warrior’s mind was a strange thing. Physical combat was one the most physically exhausting experiences a man could go through, but a seasoned fighter could fend off that exhaustion with proper training and focus. Some warriors focused on their surroundings, filling their mind with tactics and stratagems, while some focused on their form and technique to block out internal weakness. But for combatants like William there was only the opponent and the threat of a kill to keep the rigors of combat life at bay. With the red mage slumped lifeless before him, William had nothing left to focus his rage upon and the full brunt of his battle crashed on him like a brick.

While distracted by his opponent, William’s wounds had proven almost overwhelming. Without the threat of the red mage they were. Able to let his guard down, the revenant slumped to his knees with a scream of pain that was normally only heard in childbirth. The demonic pour that enabled his transformation reflexively faded into dormancy, allowing the full brunt of the revenant’s restorative capabilities to bear on the flayed skin of his chest. Minutes passed while his healing ability worked to counteract the white-hot flare of pain burning through his body, and by the time he was again cognizant of the dusty white walls of the circular chamber, a score of Ai’Bron monks hurried across the hot sand to bring their magic to the aid of the chamber’s warriors.

“Get away from me,” William snarled, swatting away the reaching hands of the Ai’Bron monks. Damn, he winced, pulling his hand back, the same hand that the mage had cracked with his magic. The battering he had received had apparently persisted even in his human form, given the heavy bruising that ran from his fingers to forearm. The swollen member was so blue it was almost black, and William had no doubt that he had experienced some internal lacerations from the splintered bone.

“I’ll make my own way to the damned recovery room,” he spat at the waiting monks, ignoring the trio that knelt over his fallen opponent. A low wail pushed through his pursed lips as he gingerly rose, careful not to get anymore grit into the raw burned flesh of his chest. It was already healing nicely but further strain would only prolong the process, and the walk to the recovery room would be long and painful enough as he was.

“Oh,” he turned back at the door drawing expectant attention from the monks who with no combatant to assist had turned to cleaning up the bloody clumps of sand spilled across the floor, “and bring me my damned cloak when you put it back together.”

[Atzar]

Quest Judging
Fallen

This was a good thread: short, to the point, and effective. It was refreshing to see how much each of you has improved since the last time I read your work. It’s clear that you’ve both taken commentary to heart (even if it wasn’t mine specifically), and that makes me feel as if my job as a judge is one worth doing.

Commentary, as requested, will be fairly light, although I’m a windbag so it won’t be that light.

Abhorrash
Revenant

STORY

Continuity:
Solid effort from both of you here. The thread was fairly generic, but then, most Citadel threads are. While neither of you did anything wrong, to get anything higher in this category the thread will have to be more original than it was – try throwing in a twist of some sort somewhere. 6/6
Setting:
Advantage to Revenant here – while you both did well in your descriptions of your attacks, Rev interacted a little bit more. Abhorrash noted the sandy floor in the first post, and then largely ignored it for the rest of the thread, while Rev mentioned kicking up the sand, the ‘bloody clumps of sand’ post-battle, etc. Minor details like this can go a long way toward helping the reader ‘experience’ the battle. 6/8
Pacing:
Short, sweet, well done. You both did well moving the battle along. Again, a little more originality would have raised this score higher. 6/6

CHARACTER

Dialogue:
This was done well. Sometimes extensive dialogue can be out of place in a battle thread, but in this case it fit the characters and the fight. 7/7
Action:
Just a few points here. First, I thought Rev’s character did a little too much thinking while the battle was going on. From post #6: “The assault, utterly unexpected, caught William off guard but had the side benefit of letting him know one major piece of information, which was that the man’s shimmering aura was likely nothing to be perturbed by. In his experience most mages who shielded themselves preferred to let their enemies come to them to crash upon their erected barrier. Striking out away from his center of power meant one of two things; that the spell was a minor one or that his opponent was powerful and haughty enough to maintain an extensive casting on the move. Judging from the relatively weak strength of the mage’s opening salvo, William surmised that this case was representative of the former option and that the aura was not significant enough to worry about.” This felt like a fairly long-winded train of thought to have while an opponent is about to brain you with a hefty chunk of metal.

Also, the fact that Abhorrash didn’t press his advantage while William was down disappointed me. It was almost like, OOC, you decided “Uh oh! A level zero can’t beat a level three!” and proceeded to look for a way to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Seeing a level zero overcome the odds would have thrown some aforementioned originality into the thread. 6/5
Persona:
You both did pretty well here. For somebody who loved war, I was somewhat surprised to see Abhorrash take mercy on William when he was down instead of just finishing him off. It’s not something I penalized you for, though. 6/6

WRITING STYLE

Technique:
While Revenant was consistently good, Abhorrash was up and down here. Some posts were very well written (#1, #3) while others felt like you tried to get too wordy (#5). Minor edge to Rev for his consistency. 5/6
Mechanics:
Solid effort from you both here. There were a few typos here and there, but only minor ones. 6/6
Clarity:
Rev had one sentence that didn’t make much sense, and Abhorrash’s occasional wordiness could get thick at times. Nothing bad though. 5/5

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card:
Take 3’s. 6/6

Hurrhurrhurr. But really, 6’s.

TOTAL
59/61

Congratulations to the winner, Revenant – it was well-deserved. With that said, both of you did well here. Don’t be disappointed, Abhorrash – keep improving, and close losses like this one may start turning into victories.

EXP Rewards

Revenant gains 1375 EXP and 150 GP.
Abhorrash gains 375 EXP and 100 GP.

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.