Prayers for Life and Death

[Knave]

Closed to Arty. Battlefield effects will be changed as speed increases and subjects travel through the levels of the atmosphere.

Druids were a bustle throughout the gardens of the Citadel’s central court. Friends and neighbors, lovers and countrymen mingled among blooming flowers and stylized bushes.

“Alright, my boy, what new disappointments have you got for me?” There was something ancient, wet, and sticky in the tone of the druid that stood before Ace. The hood hiding his head did not cover the pendulous beard that descended. With every flap of the old man’s lip, the beard made strange waving gestures. “You seem to think I’ve taken a liking to you.” The man straightened, removing the weight on his cane so that he could jab it into Ace’s stomach only to come up short and violently settle his cane on the ground to catch him. “And…” He paused to breathe, “You’ve done fairly little beyond beat up an old man.” Az-ram was having one of his weaker days, and for this Ace was grateful.

“Don’t blame me for what other people do… or can’t.” Ace said, squatting down to gain an angle where he could look into Az-ram’s eyes. “Look at me,” his body was defined beneath the mesh of his steel shirt, “look at this,” he flexed, and his arms seethed with strength. “I’m just one man, it takes two to duel, and luck for that duel to be what it could be.” His tone wandered, he looked distracted by the thought.

“I’ve seen you, boy; I’ve seen a good deal of you.” No double entendre, no weak or insane laughter, there was just a tired old man who was sick of getting bad birthday presents. “I’ve seen you grow gills; I’ve seen you change form. These mean nothing to me…” Beneath the cowl, the glow of natural insanity flickered to life for an instant. “Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. You insist on fighting like the man you know damn well you aren’t.” The druid whispered violently, a spray of saliva, and a resentful stare followed suit.

“Even so,” Ace failed to deny, “what does it matter? I’m here looking for the spotlight, and I know you know how to get it.” He began to lead with a large smile; his words echoed in the mind as he tried to get his way. “Az-ram, you know you wa-” A swift smack ended his sentence. Ace was cut off as the cane struck him across the cheek, and knocked the bewitching power from his words.

“I’ve heard enough of you, and I’ll have none of that.” Az-ram said, lifting the cane from Ace’s cheek. The blow had failed to turn the youth‘s head, or even alter his expression. The druid noted the dent that quickly filled in as Ace rubbed at his jaw. “I’m an old man; I don’t need to be told what I want. You’ll have your damn battle, but it’ll be mine to choose.”

“Thank you!” Ace shouted, standing, visibly grateful. “So what have you got in mind?”

“I’ve seen you grow gills.” The druid said, turning away and shuffling in unseen slippers from the garden and the happy people into a darker alcove, one easily shielded from the light. “Now we will see if you can fly, and there is always a solution for little birds who refuse to leave the safety of their nests.” Villainous laughter exited the druid’s cowl, one that made him sick to his stomach as he struggled to stand tall, and forced himself not to retch.

"No one dies at the Citadel." It was one of the mottos this undertaking in magic and violence held. Ace and his opponent were about to test that with every fiber of their beings.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ ++++++++

Within the Citadel’s preparation room, men of that science called magic prepared the first Impact Arena. To do so, they worked around the clock to prepare the means by which this latest spectacle would come to be. What? An arena is a simple thing, you say? Ha-ha, no, sons and daughters. Watch, listen, and learn how druids do these things.

Ace sat atop a large hill within the preparation room; his preparations in the forms of a bracer to his left arm, and a shin guard to his right leg already done. Nearly everyone Ace had bothered to bother asking had stated their purpose cryptically.

The druid, a man too young for his beard, dressed in a robe he would have to grow into, never looked up when the question was asked. Instead he kept his head down as he fastened the shin guard around Ace's leg. He did speak though, and said thusly, "This one keeps you from falling, its the best we can do against gravity." He stood and allowed Ace to roll down his pant leg.

Their eyes met as Ace leaned back, a question enthusiastically burning into the young druids mind. Ace lifted his arm and let it wave, the light silver coloring sparkling in the candle light to catch the eye.

"Ah," The druid said, turning to leave, his voice calm, but his body shaking, "that's to make sure we get the winner back alive."

"What...uh...thanks?" Ace called back, certain that he would win, and uncertain about why they would need to ward or tether him to keep him from dying. Death was trivial in the Citadel, but the shape-shifter in all his forms would be damned if he was going to start dying anytime soon. Ace was not worried, something within him was.

Ace's head swiveled with interest and personal boredom at things they forbidden him to touch, and people they forbidden him to talk to, went on. The rocky mound Ace sat on, some sixty feet in radius, stood covered in runes to battle the worst of wind resistance, the worst of friction, the worst of oxygen deprivation, and the worst of decompression. Again, Ace’s answer to their answer had been a solid, polite, “What?” Which was in fact a question, but the end of their conversation nonetheless.

Finally, the time came when the last bucket of paint was dry, and every druid retreated except for a select four dozen who sat with their backs turned to the dome of rock, and the strange man sitting cross-legged atop it. Why? They would soon be evicting it from Althanas’ surface, and it was better for conscience and concentration that they did not look. As one, they began to play their instruments, and the lights of torches and candles slowly dimmed.

“Your opponent will be waiting on the other side.” Az-ram said, unseen.

The tunes of chimes began to play; soon organs began to bleed into their tune, fighting in perfect disharmony, yet still a strange sort of music. Ace watched, looking around him, his skin growing cold as everything grew more distant. The muggy heat of humanity, the people he cared for, the people he wanted to love him, was fading. Ace stood up as the the music continued, and as the last light died, he was alone in darkness. The lights returned with faint traces of fresh air. He looked around himself at the expanding darkness, and then looked up to see stars.

The stars were birthed one by one, then two by two, and then in droves filling the sky. “What… is this?” Ace turned his head left and right, and he saw the moon with a clarity none in Althanian history ever had before. “No.” Ace said, walking forward, expecting to fall, but desperate to escape. “No, no…” Something was wrong, he felt like he was on solid earth, as though the ground beneath him were the center of gravity itself. “Oh… no…” Ace said, chuckling at the thought of what could not be. A second half to his rock had fused without his notice, a red light fading where heat had fused them together. Just over the tiny planet's horizon, he saw the world in its entirety.

He saw the continents. He saw Fallien, where he had grown up; he saw Corone, where he had lived; he saw the great bay where he had died.

In the distance, they lay — the lands of nations — each greatly reduced, only by maps recognizable, by sight simply unknown. In scale, by comparison, Ace could spread his arms and embrace them. He saw the clouds, which were nearer now than ever before, and the strange blue haze that rushed to engulf him and his little planetoid. The oceans, bodies of deep blue, with all their life hidden from the eye, sparkled, and the supreme giants, the living gods of the sea waded them, still visible even from this distance.

The majesty of Althanas, the terror of heights beyond comparison. None of this was more obvious than the fact that Althanas was getting closer. Ace was falling.

“Welcome to the Mesosphere.” Az-ram said, a dry chuckle in his tone. He was no where to be seen.

A life or death battle atop a shooting star. There were two contestants, one punishment and one prize; victory or certain doom.

[SirArtemis]

Creativity... Inspiration... Bazzak Norlond had told his young apprentice that in order to maximize his potential, he would need to expand his mind beyond the bounds of commonality.


"Unlock the shackles of routine and feel the freedom of inspiration. Look at things in a new light. You can view a sword through the perspective of weaponsmith, bound by the day-to-day processes you follow to produce your goods, or you can push the 'rules' to their limits. I guarantee that it will allow you to notice something different about the same blade. As a smith, you might notice the type and grade of metal used, the grain within the blade, the intricacy of engravings, the method used, and so on. Yet what about those other details that are equally as important that you simply ignore? What could you change, or do differently, that no one else has tried to do before, or at least succeeded? For example, you can't make a sword out of gold. 'The metal is too soft,' they will tell you. Yet I've done it. I won't tell you how, but it can be done, with some creativity and know-how.

Once you are able to stand by a forge, hammering away, and not think like an everyday blacksmith, then you're ready."

It seemed odd to Artemis, though he had faith in the dwarf's words. Bazzak was a brilliant smith and Artemis' teacher, and it was his duty as the apprentice to heed his master's words. Therefore, he went to the one place that always managed to give him new perspective on one thing or another, with Bazzak playing no small part in the suggestion: The Citadel. Getting his limb severed gave a new perspective on pain. The Trap Master had given him a new view of his father. The duel with Caellach had allowed him to see within his own mind. However, he could not imagine how fighting might give him a new perspective on smithing.

Walking through the halls of The Citadel, his steps echoed along the hard walls, Artemis rubbed his face with open palms, hoping to keep them from closing.

"I don't even see how this is going to help. Will having another limb cut off or dagger in the skull really help change my perspective, or just traumatize me? I need to sit down."

Speaking into his palms muffled his words, and as he brought his hands together, cupping them over his nose, he spotted a backless stone bench situated in a small enclave along the wall and began walking toward it.

"Leave it to The Citadel to give you exactly what you want, when you want it."

Lying down along the cold bench, he stared up at the dark and empty ceiling, which reminded him of a starless night sky. Exhausted and confused, the man envisioned the blackness of the ceiling as the blank slate he needed in his mind. The sooner he figured out what the dwarf meant, the sooner he could get back to his apprenticeship, doing what he loved.

Barely a minute passed before a monk quietly shuffled over and gazed down with a grin upon the lazy man, who had one leg hanging off the side of his seat. With a sigh, Artemis stood up.

The monk was a bit shorter than Artemis was and wore light blue robes with a deep green sash around his waist. The hair on his head was barely enough to excuse him from baldness, and his hazelnut eyes gave the young man an odd feeling of warmth and comfort.

"I'm guessing you used some special magic or something to read my mind and figure out why I'm here, right?"

The monk shook his head no, raising a piece of paper in the air while never letting his grin all of his face. It was a letter from Bazzak to the monks with a picture of Artemis attached, informing them of his arrival, as well of the purpose behind the visit.

"Of course. I suppose you have the perfect room for me then?"

This time, the monk nodded, and pointed down the hall. Not only were they expecting him, but also within minutes of entering the building, his arena was already set up. Yet just as Artemis was about to make his way down the hall in the direction the monk had specified, a thought struck the man, and he turned back toward the monk.

"Wait... I need a second dagger. My other one is broken. Is there anything you could do to?"

Artemis was surprised that he had forgotten such a simple detail. The Norlond Brothers' demonstration had left the young man with only one dagger, and his dual-wield fighting style did not work without a second weapon. Thankfully, the monk shrugged and nodded, relieving the stress that had started to make its way through to Artemis. With another sigh and a nod, he turned back toward the portal that awaited and began his approach.

The door in front of him was oval and made from what looked like dark and metallic stone. As he pushed it open, a force pulled him forward and he fell to the ground. Just as his hands met the ground, the source of gravity shifted, and though he had fallen, he now felt like he was standing upright. Confused, he looked around and realized that he appeared to have climbed out of the equivalent of a hole in the ground, and the door he had opened was the lid. What was seconds ago the halls of The Citadel was now blackness, empty and endless. Somehow, he was standing in this box of blackness, though there was nothing visibly there. Instead of his hands being on the ground of The Citadel, they were cupped over the cold edges of the hole he was in. Crawling out, he pulled himself up onto the surface of a massive sphere made of the same material as the door. Standing up and brushing his hands off, the vagabond kicked the lid with his foot and let the portal fill. He was standing on what could only be described as a big rock.

Looking around on this bumpy and porous surface, Artemis lifted his arms and stretched them above his head before letting them fall back down. As they did, the vagabond caught something in his peripheral vision that seemed out of place. On his right arm was a bracer, one that he definitely had not put there. Bewildered, he inspected the rest of his body, turning and checking his back, lifting his legs, and he spotted yet another addition. On his left leg was a shin guard as well.

"Now I'm being dressed by strangers. That's new. Gotta love Citadel magic."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, and turning completely around, Artemis saw nothing but the ends of the sphere, falling off into a floating void of blackness. Only then did he look up and see the inspiration behind the map, the massive world of Althanas. White smears on the surface blurred the image and contrasted the black background within which the planet hung. The sun was glowing brightly off in the distance, the moon floated somewhat nearby, and everything else was littered with specks of infinite off in the unreachable distance.

"You have got to be kidding me."

He was in space, and looking up at his home planet. His heart started to race as panic filled his mind, realities of what he had read telling Artemis' mind that this could not be possible.

He looked back to the bracer and shin pad, hoping that these were the answers to his problems. It was still a bit cold, and the air was causing his lungs to hurt a bit with every breath as well. If these two accessories were actually helping, they did not solve the problems completely.

Wiggling his fingers to keep warm, he began to walk, hoping to find something on the other side of whatever he was standing on.

"What the hell...?"

[Knave]

Ace could not help himself, consumed as he was by it. The act, the situation, it was too much, and too ridiculous. He was laughing. He would have slapped his thighs, pumped his arms, and done a dance if he were not so engrossed in looking up at what was, and soon would be, down.

The shape-shifter in his many minds was nearly hysterical; of course, his sanity would never back down from something as mundane as this. Only... buckle.

The laughter soon realized it was unneeded, and unwanted, and died slowly as panic faded. Ace patted his chest, and took several breathes to steel himself. The ribs were sore, and he felt unsteady on his feet, as though he were just now getting his sea legs. Perhaps he was out of his depth, but that’s ‘No reason to act like it. All I have to do is beat the other guy.' Victory would set him free. Now to find victory.

“What the hell?” A voice said, its words losing some of their power as a freezing wind began to blow.

‘Oh… so it’s not just me, I should be grateful…’ Ace thought, glad that someone had arrived, and glad he was not alone in taking this situation poorly. Uncertain where the voice had come from, the acoutsics of this crashing world unfamiliar to him, Ace decided the best course of action would be to simply walk. The world was a lot smaller now; there was not much chance of them missing each other.

The chill was rising, but the wind was held back from what it could be, while these things would be good for some, for Ace they were far less than perfect. He was cold, his teeth did not chatter, but his body responded in other ways. His heart was pounding, trying to kill the chill by stoking the fires; a cold sheen of sweat beginning to form on his skin.

When he did react, when he did move to shield himself from the cold, he did so by shoving his hands in his pockets, and doing what he could to look utterly unperturbed. He tried and succeeded, in looking unperturbed by stellar weather, and high winds. Image was everything, and he was willing to freeze for it. The iron of his mail shirt glinted with the stars, and his boots left prints in the dirt.

As he walked across the semi-flat, semi-curved planetoid, he pondered what he would say to his enemy upon seeing him. He thrust forward a finger, cocked his head and barred his teeth, mouthing, “You must die, I alone am best!” He shook his head, ’No, no, no.’ Ace then stopped abruptly, thinking, his face pinching as he quite visibly pondered what to do while staring at the moon.

What had his previous fights been like?

The goblin had shot at him on sight, her green eyes filled with resentment as she tried to set him aflame. The old man had played word games, and then suffered a heart attack when Ace had simply touched him. The spider-magi had been unintelligible, but did a lot of screaming. No, Ace did not like the trend of violence so far… Yes, Ace knew what he would do when his opponent appeared.

Finally, he spotted his opponent. The man himself looked quite busy examining the sky, his severe features appropriately astonished. Whether he gained his attention or not, Ace removed his hands from his pockets, and raised them to show he meant to no harm.

“Good evening, if this counts as evening,” The shape-shifter said, the sun and moon whirling as the earth began to spin. “I’ll be the man you’ll be trying to stick with your knives.” He let one hand fall, and extended the other. “This is horrible,” He spoke with ease, like it was the end of the world and he had only a small stake in its ending, "but, let's at least be civil about it." Visibly, he was unarmed. Visibly, he was quite friendly.

Having watched other fights, he knew few ended well, and knew that few contestants ended their battles on good terms. The crowd liked good sportsmanship, and while he could not see them, he knew they were watching.

The nature of the handshake is something of moderate interest, and clear purpose. In the early years of Althanas not a man alive was unarmed, a sword always at his side that was well maintained, keenly sharp, and politely clean. There of course was that a man who tired of dueling was a man interested in being stabbed in the back. Thus it was customary to shake the hand that killed, for what else could show good sportsmanship than holding that which would destroy.

[SirArtemis]

Wandering the rock and gazing up at the incredible sight, Artemis was too distracted to see the approach of his opponent, who greeted him with an outstretched hand.

The opponent was a young man with dark red hair. He was a bit shorter than Artemis, and oddly reminded him of the monk he had just come across. His bright brown eyes and short-cut hair made him appear older, and though he did not seem very imposing, there was something sinister about his opponent. Artemis trusted his intuition, given that it was generally accurate, and right now it was telling him that there was more to this opponent than what he saw before him.

Despite the discomfort settling in Artemis' mind and stomach, he reached out and shook the man's hand while bowing, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent's.

"Well... I definitely didn't expect this. It's interesting, but home sounds nicer, so let's not waste time."

Artemis released the handshake and took a few steps back. Wiggling his fingers, he reached for the blades at his side and unsheathed them. As he observed the twin blades, he smiled in amusement at the degree to which the monk had taken his request. Even the engraving on the cloned dagger was the same, giving him two blades of "VIRTUE," so to speak.

"Assuming you have no stipulations you'd like to point out, you get the first move."

With a grin of confidence to mask his discomfort and fear, both from his opponent and setting, Artemis took on a crouched and defensive stance, ready to counter his opponent when he chose to strike.

[Knave]

When Ace gripped Artemis' hand, it was a show of respect. When Artemis bowed, Ace leaned back, a playful bend to his smile as he looked down on the man for going the extra step and lowering his head. 'Respect and carelessness are two different things,' he thought, before wondering if his opponent was mocking him with this display.

The wind was circulating, a roar beginning to form from all directions that rustled Ace’s short hair.

“Interesting, Sir?” He said knowingly over the droning of winds held back. “Truth to form, not seeing things for what they are can make a bad situation worse — and truth to form, I want to get off this rock as much as you do.” While his mouth worked, his mind kept to itself all its secrets.

Would he call this a challenge? Could he say that with the sky and earth exchanging places with life and death? No, what he could say was ‘This is a nightmare.’

A sharp nervousness boiling in Ace’s stomach made him feel ill, but it failed to rise to the surface as he put on a brave face. Ace let go of Artemis’ hand, and he too retreated the same distance Artemis did. There was a notable bounce to his step as he lost himself in this friendly, unassuming persona completely. He waited, and watched as his enemy brought forth his blades.

In finding his daggers, Artemis had seemingly found a piece of himself that brought meaning. Rather than rush him, Ace was inclined to do the same, and show just what he held closest to his heart.

Twisting his neck at an angle, he forced his hand down the back of his chain mail, and felt for the weapon Darling Dearest had given him. He felt the shoulder blades shift, the bones of his rib cage and spinal vertebrae parting. As it moved, he felt the presence of a hard metal, and a hard heat as the hilt pierced his skin bloodlessly.

From his back, from seemingly nowhere, he had drawn Black Mesa, a heavy white gladius that glowed in the face of the sun. Twenty-five inches of strange metal, enough to make up both of Artemis' blades, more than enough. He looked into the swords light, and wondered if she was watching, or if the warmth and giggle were born of his own mind.

'Darling... are you enjoying the show?' Ace asked thoughtfully, wondering if anyone was listening on the other end. Then Artemis spoke, and the shape-shifter returned to the world.

“Stipulations…” Ace said, looking over the blade at his opponent. He pondered the word, letting the sword fall and slap flat against his thigh carelessly. “ Nah, don’t think I have any of those.” Then he burst forward. He came with two strides, boots pounding the earth as he dived into danger. In his lunge he twisted the trunk of his body left, and thrust the blade out at Artemis’ chest. A straight forward attack, a hidden feint, the sword seeking to invoke Artemis' guard rather than his gut. All Ace wanted was Artemis’ wrists, hands, and fingers. He’d skirt the defending blades, and sheer them away the moment they came near.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis was glad to see that his opponent wanted to get out of this odd environment as much as he did. Artemis let out a sigh of relief to show this, though his opponent did a good job in hiding his own thoughts. Regardless, he assumed that the other man was as uncomfortable on this absurd floating rock as he was. At the very least, there were not any ridiculous stipulations to add to the scenery.

What made Artemis even more uncomfortable, aside from his location, was the weapon his opponent wielded. Though the man reached over his shoulder, it did not seem like the blade was on the man's back. He hoped that he was wrong, but it seemed the blade was in the man's back. The thought gave Artemis the chills, and his whole body visibly shivered a bit at the site, despite his efforts to hide the response. The reality that this man could possibly be non-human made Artemis feel uneasy, and his thoughts began to drift through possibilities, his heart rate accelerating to accommodate the fact that he was now breathing more quickly and deeply than normal.

Artemis shook his head as if trying to shake off what he had seen, hoping that this was a dream. It was completely plausible. After all, he was in space, on a rock, floating above his home planet, fighting a person who just pulled a sword out of his flesh. What could be more dream-like than that?

Before Artemis could begin to handle all of his doubts of reality, the opponent had lunged forward with his gleaming white sword. The attack had caught the vagabond a bit off guard, but he was still able to react quickly enough. As the lunge moved forward, he used his left dagger, blade down, to parry the incoming attack to the outside. Unexpectedly, the sword changed direction, now moving toward his hand. Barely able to adjust, the sword nicked the top of his hand as he moved the dagger into its new position, slicing through flesh and veins without remorse. He felt the sting of the cut as warm blood started to flow freely from the open wound and he knew that with this one cut, time would be limited before he started to feel dizzy from blood loss.

After adjusting for the parry, he took a quick step forward and attacked with his right dagger. Aiming for the center of the man's chest, he hoped the large target would help in doing some damage.

Regardless of whether the attack hit or not, he planned to push off his right foot and jump out to his opponent's left as soon as the offensive strike was complete and take a few steps back. He needed to put a bit of distance between himself and the opponent, both to organize his thoughts and catch his breath. He hoped a few strides would be sufficient, while his opponent recovered from the attack as well. Though giving the opposition breathing room was not preferred, Artemis was not left with much choice.

The distraction of how the man had reached for his sword lead to a mistake early on in the fight, and the vagabond knew that he could not afford to make such silly mistakes. His bloody hand was a testament to that.

[Knave]

White fury, the blade made one final twist, a curve downward, a straight lunge suddenly taking on a small arc. Rather than meet the defending blade, it struck for the knuckle to cripple the kill. The hand adjusted, deftly correcting a suddenly weak defense. The click and shriek of metal on metal rang as Black Mesa was deflected too quickly for Ace to see any damage done. The sword swung outward, Ace’s guard was open, and Artemis capitalized instantly.

The rush forward was hurried, no long strides, but the man’s right blade flowed sharply after his right foot came forward, and the tip punched into Ace‘s chest. Chain mail saved the monster’s life, as it was intended to do, hard links fighting piercing resolve. Barest tip found purchase, pierced the skin, and was turned aside when it could go no farther, and Ace continued his charge. Even as he went, the skin that had torn began to heal, the skin and blood working their way back into place.

Grinning, unperturbed by the damage done, Ace recovered his sword arm in a violent, flashy streak downwards. He caught nothing, only the air separating himself from his opponent, the blade coming to a stop inches from ground. Artemis had escaped, already moving away, with the speed of forethought he had evaded doom without thinking.

Relentless, Ace looked up, his subconscious master delving into his power to bring out his best. For an instant, his entire form blurred. He stood, his features distorted, frames of motion suddenly invisible to the eye. A semi-static form shot forward. He looked faster by perception alone. That was all he needed as he covered the ground. He held the sword low, his advance more shoulder than white steel.

He came up short, standing straight, his features clearing. His arm, however, was still indistinguishable as he leaned forward flicking his arm out, swaying to add speed, swaying to give Black Mesa the distance it needed. Once, twice, three times, a violent blur that became more visible as the gestures ran into each other. A trick of the light, no, a trick of the eyes, simulated speed, and a weapon that moved faster than its very image to sweep across its opponent's body.

The attack done, Ace broke through his own illusion, this time his blade driving for the center to pierce Artemis through. Right leg out, right sword arm following.

Ace had given up executive thought; the flesh, the instinct, the blood, it all screamed forward. It all called for the kill, and he obeyed, ready to pursue Artemis at the next sign of his retreat.

Beyond his perception, objective truth reigned. The bubble of sorcerous force that had until now been immaculate and unseen began to warp. The air that it held back, the air that failed to circulate through no longer had the time to whip past the meteor. The shield began to distort, a corona of white gases exploding outward beneath its fall.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis' opponent seemed less of a human and more of a beast, a fury in the man's eyes that showed hatred, an emotion that Artemis knew well. Yet this did not mean he felt the same way. The vagabond reserved his hatred for one man, and one man alone: his father.

The one man who could inspire any true rage in Artemis was the very man his opponent reminded him of, and if one thing was going to help him defeat a monster, it was to become a monster himself.

As the man with the white sword moved to attack, the rage and memories, coupled with the training he had received, took on an instinctive form. As the first slash moved in, Artemis stepped back and pulled his body back as far as he could to avoid the attack, arms falling to his sides and away from the incoming blade. The dodge had left him flat footed, and as another slash came in quickly after the first, he tried putting a dagger up to block the attack. However, it was slapped away effortlessly by the force of the incoming sword, leaving the man defenseless. The failed block let the slash through, and the speed of the third slash left little room for recovery, leaving two horizontal lines across his torso where blood began to trickle from the fresh cuts. The armor had mitigated some of the damage, but the sword had cut through.

The lunge that followed the triple-slash combination had enough of a delay for Artemis to regain his balance, and as the sword moved forward in an aggressive thrust, the enraged and bleeding young man made his move.

Artemis now saw this man as an enemy, not just an opponent. Stepping forward onto his left foot with his knees bent, he let the sword go through his right arm past his bent elbow, which made a "V" shape below the blade. Moving close to the man, trying to leave little room for any defense, Artemis thrust his right dagger toward the man's chest while leaning into the attack, hoping to damage the chainmail armor through sheer force. As soon as his attack was complete, he would turn the momentum of his body and lunge his free left dagger into his opponent's right thigh, hoping to diminish his movement while positioning himself more toward the man's back.

The only problem with this was of course the vulnerability of the attack...

[Knave]

The arms did not rise to protect their master, instead they put forward a halfhearted knife before the sword, the sword promptly swept it aside. Black Mesa tasted blood after its second swing, and glowed, resplendent in the glory of battle. It continued to feed with a third dip past leather armor into flesh, and was withdrawn as quickly as it came to strike again, but this time superior skill came to play, and Artemis wove himself into and below the attack

The blade passed over the cusp of Artemis‘ arm, the man entering Ace‘s guard with ease and without caution. They came together close, Artemis‘ Virtue closer now than Black Mesa could hope to be. Virtue struck for perseverance, again aiming for Ace’s armored chest, where his inhuman heart pounded and beat. This time it was a direct hit, the chain mail rippling as the point pounded home. Links shattered, the blade gained its two centimeters of flesh through force and halted when it touched bone, right next to where Virtue’s brother had left a healing scar.

The second blade, in a freer hand, swung low to pierce Ace’s right thigh to the bone, to cut sinews, to break ties, and leave Ace lame. The shape-shifter moved to stop it, coming forward without ideas or plans, but he gave up when he realized it was too late. The blade hooked, came in, and halted abruptly. Blood sprang, nothing dramatic, just a gentle bleeding of tension. A soft continuous dribbling of crimson, and the scent of iron carrying in the air. Of course that is not to say Ace had stopped.

The arm, sword and all, had ascended to the still visible stars in the light blue sky. Then it descended like a falling axe. Driving joint to bone, Ace smashed his elbow down to crack Artemis’ skull with everything he had.

Markings began to activate, glowing red with hues of danger as the runes projected themselves into the protective barriers lining. The time had come, the marks of extreme speed upon the Arena instantly. The wall of white blasting air beneath the Arena began to part. Slowly, it pierced physics wall, and broke the sound barrier to streak across the sky with a roar no beast could make. In Corone, every window exploded from the shock. In Radasanth, Althanas shook, and all eyes looked up in awe. In the Dansdel, Druids looked on with respect.

[SirArtemis]

Though the attack had been risky and spontaneous, they had both found their marks. The strike to the chest had not done much, but the left dagger had found its mark in the back of his opponent's right thigh, digging in nearly halfway up the blade.

However, not long after his attack ended did he feel the brunt of a sharp point jamming itself into the back of his skull. The impact drove Artemis down into the ground, falling face first into the bumpy, cold and metallic surface of their miniature planet. During the fall, the vagabond still maintained his grip on his left dagger, which was still in the other man's thigh, and pulled it out as he fell down, not letting go of his grip. The intention to do any further damage was not the reason; rather, it was simply a reflex to hold onto his weapon.

The attack hurt and left Artemis disoriented. Vision darkened and blurred, a sharp pain ringing in his thoughts, all ideas of his father and rage flowed out freely. He was stunned, face first on the ground, defenseless and vulnerable.

The cold surface to his cheek bit at his flesh, stinging and biting at Artemis' skin, warm from the pace of the fight. The impact to the back of his head coupled with the following impact to the front of his head left the man unable to think, unable to react, and unable to fathom how likely he was to get stabbed and killed within seconds. If he was able to think about anything but the pain, the thought of "hope" might have found its way into his mind.

[Knave]

The blade that was Virtue, driven three inches home in Ace’s thigh, easily shredded flesh, torn away as Artemis fell. Blood spread instantly beneath the torn fabric. The pain of open wounds, muscles exposed, and the ebbing loss of life spread from the open wound. Ace’s smile remained. A strange mask, Ace looked down on the dazed Artemis rather than the source of his own pain. The damage was terrible; Ace had only one good leg to stand on, but remained upon both through force of will. ' It hurt more to crawl into his skin,' Ace told himself, forcing himself to keep his image,forcing his mind to focus.

Hidden beneath the fabric of his trousers, he had already begun to repair himself. Instantly the flow sealed, his skin pulling itself together, and like some gaping mouth it began to close. No one could see, and no one would know. Nerves now reconnecting, were firing furiously to report of their plight. The healing process was a mild agony, the price paid for a body like this.

To scream, to reach, to clutch at what he was already healing, these were things for apes and men. So much more, Ace toned down his look of static glee to one more fitting. He replaced it with a grim face, one fitting enough for a grim execution.

There was his opponent, dazed, beaten, or close enough for anything, but Death, to judge. ’ Face down, and bleeding on the ground.’ Ace summed up the battle as over. Black Mesa, swinging restlessly within the grip of his lowered hand, assured him that the end was here, and it was his to take. Ace approached with a limp to his walk that his almost natural swagger could not hide, his face looking disappointed. He raised the blade to fall, point down to pierce the leather, lung, and perhaps the heart. ’I wanted to win big.’

Ace froze, staring into the sky, his face illuminated by glowing runes of the sorcerous shield, now each marking was a mere ember. Across the barrier, over the sound of shrieking wind, there was a fire in the sky. Across the protective barrier, against forces that would shred Ace and Artemis to pieces, the Impact Arena had burst into flames. Through the red, Ace could see a burning vista of Althanas. The heat was growing, the ward could only hold so much. Illuminated by burning sky, Ace smiled.

Stepping over Artemis where he lay, Ace dropped himself down onto the man's back, feet placed comfortably to restrict the movement of Artemis' arms forward. The white sword pierced the dirt and rock by Artemis' neck as a prominent threat to keep him still. Sitting on Artemis' shoulders, right hand riding atop the sword's pommel, his left hand digging into Artemis' scalp, Ace coveted what little of the man's attention remained.

At this range, there being no distance, he missed nothing. The shape-shifter spoke. “Is this the best you can do?” He turned the locks; it was in his nature to know the keys for every man’s soul. It was in his nature to prey on insecurities, his words biting, as paralyzing as the shape-shifter’s own venom.

“You have lost. I am sure this comes as no surprise you.” The act failed, something inhuman began to crawl and direct Artemis’ mind. The puppet master, Lawrence, spoke to articulate everything Artemis feared, his words wearing truth‘s pelt with impeccable skill and fashion. “If you fall again, if you fail to stand, you will die, and no one will care for one without the skills or conviction to die on his feet.”

The eyes wandered, Lawrence spied the blade, and moved on even as he spoke. “Noble sentiments, you hold dear, noble sentiments can only fail you, as I’m sure you know.” Lawrence cast his mind back, flashing through memories, deconstructing the man. The corroding influence was actively trying to get a rise of Artemis, to make him brittle enough to stand and fall in pools of his own hot and all too human blood. The solid expressions, the stilted speech, and uneasy mannerisms, Lawrence knew him, men of this type were not so special. “You know, I think you know someone else who would readily agree.”

Work done, leg repaired, Lawrence skipped back, leaping away to avoid any flailing blows. ’If I must antagonize the tiger,’ he thought, shifting mindsets back that happy-go-lucky fool, ’Then I’ll do the best job the best I can!’ Changing stances, he shook himself. Grinning, he bared his teeth. Sword raised, he made ready for Artemis, seeking, hoping for his return to the fight. Sanity remained, the natural camouflage returning as Ace's body began flicker and blur.

It had only been months since Lawrence had crawled out of the ocean, months after his smuggling crew had been slaughtered, months since his orders had been delivered by the very thing that haunted his mind. He was a showman, an actor in life, and in this undeath, he would wear all the faces, and play all the roles, to lead as many as he could to their doom. Ace was one facet, in a diamond of evils. Lawrence wore him well, but he needed to know if the character was good enough, or simply scrap in the script of history.

What better show, what better proof, than one bathed in fire? How could he refuse it? It was a chance for the public eye, a chance to preen alongside a chance to die.


All issues worked out via that delightful little messenger girl, which flutters and flies cross-country at the drop of a hat. MSN.

[SirArtemis]

Face down, Artemis was at least relieved to have the ground as guidance for orienting himself. At the very least, he knew that he was lying down, and the support the surface of the massive rock offered helped stabilize the dizziness a bit.

However, the relief was short lived as the other man sat on Artemis' back, and if that pain was not enough, a hand pushed down onto Artemis' skull right where the elbow had found its mark. The young man could not help but let out a small snarl through gritted teeth, annoyed at himself for making countless silly mistakes, enough so that he was now being mocked.

The pain in his back was annoying, but the pressure upon his head was intolerable. The headache that had already manifested was escalating into a nauseating feeling, one that made it very difficult to think about anything other than the pain. Yet as the man on top of him began to speak, the words found their way into his mind. He could not consciously hear what was being said; the headache and pain distracted him enough for something like that. Yet these were not normal words. These were words laced with venom, an enchantment of sorts, which found their way into the recesses of his mind and attacked every cell of his brain, gnawing on memories and emotions to the point of inflammation and irritation.

Without realizing why, Artemis' mind began to drift. Images of the past dancing through the landscape of the blackness before him as his nose pushed up against the metallic rock and his eyes closed to the pain. The timeline of his life rolled past like a cinematic film.

First, he was working at the smithy with his father, still too young to do any of the metalwork. Instead, he helped sales so that his father could continue hammering away, making more goods to vendor. Smiling at the townsfolk, taking advantage of his youth, he was a natural. Next, he faced off with the dark elf Hawk, his mentor in all that was combat, trying to understand the intricacies of dueling. The talented man showing his young apprentice what it meant to wield two weapons, letting each work independently yet harmoniously with the other. Then he was hammering out his own daggers, taking on the family business in his own way and mastering the craft to impress those around him. His father looked upon his son at work, arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face. Finally, he was chiseling the word "VIRTUE" into the base of his dagger, reminding him of the fallout he had had with his father, the rage that had taken control of him just moments ago and where it had left him.

Lessons of control flittered through his mind, Hawk's words reverberating against the inner walls of his skull, a reminder of his failure as a student. Hawk was an assassin, a man who knew how to kill as well as what it meant to kill. Yet despite receiving training from a professional, there Artemis lay, face down in his own pity: a disappointment to his mentor, to his father, and even to himself. There was no one who cared for him, no one who believed in him. Artemis was alone.

He opened his eyes, tears forming despite attempts to hold them back, and as he glanced up, he saw his two daggers. Clones of his "VIRTUE" lay before him, reminding him that the Norlond brothers had broken the true twin dagger. Suddenly, pleasant memories started to trickle through the negative ones, attacking them like hornets protecting their hive.

Artemis was not alone. He had the Norlond brothers, the wonderful dwarves who had befriended him and taken him as an apprentice in Knife's Edge. He had Axel, the old bowyer who had practically gifted Artemis an incredibly beautiful bow. He had Jay, the gorgeous and graceful dark elf who had saved his life, and he was falling for without yet realizing. He had Harki, the barkeep who had made him feel like he truly had a new home, despite being completely new to Knife's Edge, and welcoming him warmly every visit to The Bearded Gnome, his tavern.

They loved Artemis, even though they were not family. Artemis had found himself a new family and a new home, and the thought reminded him of why he was here: to gain some perspective. Artemis was not just a blacksmith, hammering away to finish his daily work. Artemis was a warrior, a friend, a man with hopes and dreams, a man who wanted others to live good lives. Artemis was a man without enemies, and though he hated his father, he was beginning to let that go as well. He had no shame in who he was, and he knew that those waiting for him back in Knife's Edge believed in him, even if he sometimes lost faith in himself.

The man had stood up and released his hold on the vagabond, and with eyes open and a new resolve burning within him like the sky above, he pushed off the cold meteor and onto his feet. Turning toward his opponent, letting the tears linger in the crevice of his eyes as a reminder, he stared down the other man. The heat was rising, beads of sweat forming on Artemis' face began to glow orange with the reflection of the burning barrier. His knuckles whitened in determination as he gripped his daggers through the pain in his left hand, the cut still open and bleeding. He grinned at his opponent, all doubt of his ability gone and control regained.

"I suppose I should start trying," he said, making sure the other man could hear.

He ran forward, hoping that his opponent would strike so that Artemis could counter mid attack; a new style that he had not tried before.

[Knave]

The world aflame, that which they stood upon now reminiscent of brimstone falling from the sky — a battlefield to remember. Boots changing footing, dancing to a strange agitated pace, moved Ace from left to right, his lips registering confidence, his eyes reflecting the fire, and focusing on the man Ace had just recently provoked to the best of his ability. He watched Artemis rise, he watched the man turn to him, and saw reason where there should have been anger. Ace’s smile lost some of its substance, still imperceptibly false.

Artemis had refused the rage, and beaten back his own sorrows, Ace knew why he had failed, it was his own weakness. Armed with powers to blend in among societies, and convince with words, he was still young in this flesh. Under the heat, Ace’s heart pounded as he questioned his own skills. The man had risen, he had succeeded in reviving him, but that was no victory worth repeating, nothing he could take home to the sea, or place in his mind as a trophy. Artemis even went so far as to imply he had not been trying. The holes in Ace’s shirt and armor, the cuts all across Artemis’ body, they all cried “Liar.”

“Try?” Ace shrugged, his injuries masked, the damage fading beneath the skin. “If you can do nothing else, then try your best.” Ace shouted, a cold chuckle following his words as he began to think. Victory was uncertain, not for vanity, but for his mission did Ace decline an easy win. In this field, for his skill, for his courage and honor, he would be known. No time for failure, he pointed his sword at Artemis, planted his feet, and showed no fear.

The flames that stood behind Ace distorted around him, their colors bleeding into his own, the edges of his visage beginning to burn. Electricity surged in his palms; Black Mesa was soon alive with a voltage that could not be seen. The arm that was left behind him began to grow, its fingers stiffening even as the bones broke, and new material flowed under his skin to make them longer. Running his tongue over his lips, Ace readied himself, his every weapon brought forward. This would be the moment where Lawrence decided if Ace was a face worthy enough to be worn. The time had come, the world blurred as it was overcome with speed and action.

Black Mesa dipped as Ace came forward to meet Artemis. The white of its blade left behind as the substance attacked. This was no lunge, for the shape-shifter no longer cared for anything else beyond complete victory. Instead, he moved to part Artemis’ leading leg, and then from thigh to face divide him, killing him in the way all sacrificial lambs deserved; with skill and style.

[SirArtemis]

As Artemis stepped forward to confront his opponent for a final strike, he saw the white sword reach out in an attempt to stab at his right thigh. Without any time to adjust, the blade sliced through his leg, finding its way out the back end. Artemis roared at the pain, suddenly feeling an electrical current running through his torn muscles. Though the shock was not incredibly powerful the surprise and sting that it caused were difficult to suffer. He tensed through the shock, his resolve and pain tolerance coinciding to allow one final strike that may finish this battle.

The muscles in his thigh tensed, wrapping around the cold metal of the sword as it sent electrical currents throughout, straining to give enough support for the coming attack. With both daggers held in a reverse grip, Artemis launched both them in an overhead stab, parallel blades reaching out with full force toward his opponent's eyes, looking to end this fight with an attack that Artemis had similarly suffered at the hands of a massive elf named Shade.

He could only hope that with the sword occupied, there was no way for the man to avoid both daggers. Artemis was fast, he was determined, and if he failed, he would die. Nevertheless, he pressed on, as his energy waned with every passing millisecond.

[Knave]

Black Mesa found bloody purchase in Artemis’ thigh, its hard heat overcome by warm blood and hot pain. Ace let the blade slide in farther than intended, the moment where he could muscle the blade up gone. Ace looked at the man, his teeth bared, his eyes wide, and his ears pricked; he attuned himself to the sight and sound of Artemis Eburi giving voice to his torture. Ace twisted the blade, his wrist turning of its own accord with instructions from a higher mind.

The man recovering from his lapse into agony ceased his animalistic cries, and there, there it was, that anger Ace had been looking for all along. Both the man’s arm were raised, knives down, and with all his strength Artemis went in for the kill. Both fists, both blades descending to hammer the attack home brought with them the determination to kill... Yet they stopped.

Both of Ace’s hands had come up to defend him, and both of them had wrapped around Artemis’ wrist. Each palm was still alive with electric power, and the grip of Ace's fingers squeezed hard enough to force the bones to grate.

Looking up into Artemis’ eyes, Ace let slip his friendly disguise. “You lose; no surprise.” Power flowed in Ace’s hands even as he used his greater strength in an attempt to force Artemis’ arms apart, and draw him nearer. Leaning back suddenly, Ace struck with a powerful knee aimed at Artemis' ribs. He struck again, and again, and again; strikes to drive broken bones, strikes to make organs leak, strikes to dominate before the kill.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis' plan had failed. He had yet again made a silly mistake, and though it was true that Black Mesa was occupied and embedded in his thigh, was it so hard to imagine that the man would let go of the blade?

His opponent's hands came up, grabbing Artemis by the wrists and stopping his attack mid-motion. Though his daggers had almost hit their mark, being close did not matter in duels to the death. The man was stronger than Artemis, and as he tugged the vagabond's wrists apart, he felt the shock of electricity shoot through his upper arms and into his torso. He wanted to scream, but a knee drove itself into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him and destroying any possibility for him to comment.

The pain was unbearable. The sword was still pierced through his thigh, electricity rushed through his upper body, finding its way into his brain as well. Finally there were the blows that continuously found their way into his stomach. He could not think, he could only feel the pain, and even that was disappearing as the electric current interfered with his neural network. He was weak, nauseous, and in incredible pain. Thankfully, he was also losing consciousness, and as the world faded around him, the last thing he remembered were the last words his opponent had said: "you lose; no surprise."

[Knave]

Ace poured on the blows, his knees finding their mark, bones breaking. Ace never stopped when Artemis’ knives fell from his limp hands, he never stopped when he saw the fight leave his opponent, he only stopped when Artemis’ was reduced to hanging from Ace’s hands, his eyes barely open.

True to form, Ace had done as he intended. Artemis’ abdomen hung distorted, jagged lumps rising as the shards of displaced ribs tried to break through the leather after the skin. Yet Artemis was still alive, and Ace knew he was not done.

With confidence that the fight was over, and a respectful tightlipped expression, Ace released Artemis, allowing him to drop to his knees before his better. There was nothing left to do, but make an end of things.

The shape-shifter took a knee to his opponent, regarding him as he stared in semi-conscious defeat. This was— Acceptable, he thought, and reaching for the sword and pulling it from the wound. Artemis’ eyes flickered, the pain reaching him even where his mind fled to escape. Standing, with an upward swing, Ace sent droplets of blood flying into the air, a deft cut that allowed Artemis the honor of never falling.

Turning away, no longer interested in the corpse, Ace looked up. He regarded the ocean, the sky, and the land; all other details lost in the fires that raged just feet above him. The bracer upon his arm began to glow blue, and shook, a strange noise emanating from it. Lifting it to his ear, he listened, anxious to be free.

Az-ram spoke, his voice barely audible over the sound of raging winds, the transmission crackling with the strange cacophonous static of the ether. “Ace, this is Mission Control. You have done it, boy. Are you ready?”

Ace turned his head to regard Artemis. The man’s head hung bowed, his eyes openly reflecting both death and defeat in their far away gaze. A gaping wound divided them.

“Yes, I'm done here. Mission Control, bring me home!” Ace said above the wind. The light of his glowing bracer soon encompassed his entire body. Ace stared at his bracer, and then looked to the sky. The archaic runes traced against the barrier were fading. The light grew bright, overwhelmed him in its radiance, and when it faded he was gone. All that remained was the show.

The runes failing, began to grow dim, the paint used to create them turning gray and then black against the ironstone. With dead eyes, Artemis would see the barrier shatter, as if that magical force had been but glass all along, and the heat that he had felt would instantly sear him. The golden shin guard prevented his corpse from falling, and unseeing, his body would experience what it meant to be a fallen star.

Over the waters and international lines, beneath the sun and moon at dusk, the Impact Arena detonated, the forces it could no longer resist tearing it to bits of atomic grain. Radiating heat swept for miles in all directions, and the waters boiled. Bomb force winds banished the clouds from the sky, and the sea’s waves were pushed outward, a hurricane of force and light seen in every direction. A sun at dawn shined for the world to see. The wading tyrants of the ocean were forced to place their massive hands over their eyes, and wonder what these creatures collectively called humanity had done now?

In Corone, no one was undisturbed by the mysterious light that emanated from the horizon; in Radasanth, those who had been watching rejoiced with screaming cheers; in Dansdel, no druid was untouched by jealousy., their faces sneering with that glow of competition.

Within the Citadel, within the darkened amphitheatre, the sights of blazing metal and earth were projected across a screen with the height of scrying sorcery. Crowds had been gathered, tickets paid for, and for ten minutes, they had been treated to a battle of fantastic proportions. As the sorcerous light faded, a blue appeared, and they hailed their champion as he arrived.

This would be the event to remember, the first time anything like this had ever been done.

[SirArtemis]

All bunnying approved.

NOT LONG AFTER
_____________________________________________

Artemis awoke in the infirmary, sitting up from a comfortable bed and looking around. The room was plain; stone-like walls lined with a few portraits of famous duels that had occurred within The Citadel's walls enclosed the room. A dozen beds were neatly set and lined around the large room, and almost all were empty. All except for the one next to Artemis, in which sat the monk he had met upon his arrival. He sat quietly, grinning again at Artemis, his hazelnut eyes comforting the young man after his loss. Artemis rubbed his face with his hands and swung his legs off the bed, sitting and facing the monk.

"Thanks for the recommendation. Riding a meteor above the world; never would have imagined that one." Artemis spoke in a sarcastic tone. It was not to insult the monk, but was more a side effect of the vagabond's morale.

The monk continued to smile and nodded warmly, accustomed to losers and their attitudes. He reached out and gave Artemis a ring, a string run through it as well as through a small piece of paper. Taking the ring from the monk, he opened the note and read:


"Hopefully Menard has helped you out, and with the assumption that he has, I want you to have this ring. It's nothing too special, but I think it will help when you are standing over an anvil and hammering away. This ring has an enchantment on it, but I won't tell you specifically what it does. I'm sure you will figure it out on your own. Enjoy, and know that we are all awaiting your return.

-Bazzak (And the gang)"

Artemis smiled, pocketing the note. The monk then stood up and gave Artemis a polite bow and warming smile before walking off, content that he had completed his favor for the dwarf.

"Thanks again!" Artemis shouted after the monk, this time with a bit more sincerity. He was a bit stiff after the duel, but fine nonetheless. He stood up and began to make his way out. Stepping into the hallway he had passed through earlier, Artemis sat down on the bench that the monk had initially found him on. Smiling, he sat down and began to examine the ring.

The ring was simple: no large gemstones or complexities. It was a simple band, shimmering gold with an anvil delicately engraved on an outer facet. It closely resembled the mark of Bazzak Norlond's artisanship, but it was not exact. There were slight differences, but they were hard to examine without any magnification. He slipped the ring onto his right ring finger and it fit perfectly, and Artemis found it appropriate that he appeared married to his craft.

He began thinking of why he had come, remembering the bit of realization he had experienced in the fight. He was more than a smith, and he knew it, he just never thought of it in such a way. It was strange really, how something so simple eluded him for so long. When he was with his father, he was a son. When he was with Hawk, he was a trainee. When he was with Bazzak, he was an apprentice. Yet despite all of the countless situations where Artemis filled a particular role, it did not strike him that he was always all of these things. Even when standing over an anvil, he was more than a smith hammering away at metal. That was what Bazzak wanted him to realize, and he smiled at the thought of how well the dwarf had planned this all out.

As he was admiring the ring on his hand and thinking of home, he heard a familiar voice, and turning to his right he saw Ace walking down the hall, telling an old man with a long beard about his recent victory. Artemis rested his elbows on the tops of his thighs, fiddling with the ring on his hand and looking down at his feet. Though he hoped the man would just walk by, he stopped right in front of Artemis, and when the young man saw another pair of feet pointed right at him, he looked up at Ace. The man had a hand on his hip and the other reaching out, a satisfied smile painted across his face.

"Good fight," the man said, standing there as if expecting a handshake. Artemis felt a bit of the nausea returning as he remembered the repeated knees to his stomach not long ago. However, for the sake of sportsmanship, he looked up and gave an awkward smile while reaching up and shaking the man's hand.

The man then turned, laughed, and began walking again, continuing his story where he had just left off. Artemis did not like the man, and it was not because he had lost the duel. There was something about him that made Artemis feel uneasy, his intuition telling him that something was not right.

"I suppose it's time to go home," Artemis mumbled to himself.

Standing up, he stretched his sore limbs and let his hand fall to his dagger.

"What the..."

He looked down, and noticed his dagger was not there. Had he forgotten it in the infirmary? He ran off to check, going to the bed he was recently in and looking around, and could not find it. He ruffled the sheets, dropped to his knees to check under the bed, even shook the pillow, hoping it would fall out. Nothing.

He ran around, looking for help, and as he cut a corner, he saw Ace and the old man walking still, Ace laughing hysterically. He turned, and just as he passed through a doorway, Artemis caught a glimpse of his dagger hanging at the man's side. Anger building inside him, Artemis sprinted down the hall and turned into the doorway that the pair had just passed through, but they were gone. He took a few steps in, glancing around for any doorways or signs of where they might have went, but there was nothing, just a hallway. The man had stolen Artemis' dagger.

"That mother fu..."

[SirArtemis]

SPOILS:

Artemis receives a titanium and gold ring. It cannot be sold, and the enchantment is for blacksmithing purposes. It takes Artemis' skill with any particular metal and takes it one rank higher. For example, if he can work steel at above-average, the ring will allow him to work it at excellent quality. However, it does not change anything if his skill is already masterwork.

(I am willing to sacrifice gold for the ring, both gold from the reward as well as my own coffers. If any problems, please contact me to discuss.)




Lawrence receives Artemis' dagger.
Stolen Virtue: This is a dirk acquired in a rather one-sided transaction between Artemis Eburi and our hero, Lawrence, after a quick duel. A work of excellent quality it is chiefly made of steel, an eight-inch blade tapering in all sides to leave it both trustworthy and keen. Forged with a cross-guard that extends over the fingers, it provides minimal protection for the dear hand that holds its leather grip. Utterly devoid of any patterns or designs, it has only the chiseled scar of “VIRTUE” engraved upon it. Seeing fit to acquire a full package, Lawrence also appropriated from his opponent the sheath, a black lacquered wood with a chain to for ease of convenience… of course, that is if chains and weapons are the fashion of the time.

[Silence Sei]

Knave
STORY ~

Continuity (4/10) ~ While a few of the references were there to past adventures, I never really gathered what was going on for the most part. I knew Az-ram was Ace’s master, but if you’re going to mention that Darling Dearest gave you the weapon, elaborate a bit more on who the heck Darling Dearest is.

Setting (5/10) ~ The arena was good, but Artemis gained more points here because he actually dumbed it down for me in post number 6. IT wasn’t until after that that I totally understood what was going on with the arena. Remember that sometimes you have to be simplistic in your descriptions. Otherwise your readers may not gather what the eff you’re talking about. I may not be your demographic, but I like to think that I am around the same level of most people who read here.

Pacing (6/10) ~ You and Artie paced your posts pretty well for most of the thread. The reason this score was not higher for you was due to the fact that Ace could have (and from what I have gathered from his character, would have) finished Artemis earlier when he had the chance. While this is explained by your wanton to be a showboat, I don’t think that such actions would have been the case if not for Ace’s rapid healing (we’ll touch base on that in a minute)

Total Score knave ~ 15/30

Artie

Continuity (5/10) ~ You did a good job here explaining this and that about why Artemis had went to the citadel. It was not anything outstanding, but enough to award you the average score here. Nothing really of note to change.

Setting (7/10) ~ You did a much better job of describing the arena to someone of my reading level. Like I said, post 6 helped out immensely in getting me a mental image of what was going on. Nothing else really of note here.

Pacing (5/10) ~ You suffered here due to your post length, really. While I know that sometimes you can’t help short posts, you hit three of them in this thread when I know you could have written so much more. When you were being electrocuted, you could have smelt your own flesh burning. While being kneed consistently, Artie should have spewed out blood with each blow from his mouth. It seemed as though you were trying to speed post some of your replies, and it just didn’t work out well for you.

Total Score Artie ~ 17/30

knave
• CHARACTER ~


Dialogue (7/10) ~ Ace definitely did more talking here than his foe, and it really showed. Almost every post had some sort of communication in it, bei it internal messing your opponent. By far one of your better areas. Maybe if there had been more opportunities for talk between you two I would have scored higher.

Action (4/10) ~ This is where your rapid healing hurt you. I went over your profile, and couldn’t find any ability approved involving the healing process. The way you wrote the flesh being repaired made it sound like a minor inconvience to Ace, like some sort of bug bite. You wrote yourself that the battle was about ten minutes long, and there should be no way a level 0 should be able to heal that fast, even if the ability had been approved. Make sure in your next level update to list minor regeneration as part of your character, and make sure it’s not epic enough to heal a hole in the chest in a minute or two.



Persona (8/10) ~ Ace is a delicious play on the wolf in sheeps clothing bit. I feel really connected with the character as somebody Sei could engage in a fight, learn the gist of what he really is, and try to purge the evil from him. I love how Lawrence is playing games not only with his foe, but with the husk of skin he’s using. In other words, great job reeling me in with such a captivating personality.

Total knave score ~ 19/30

Artemis

Dialogue (4/10) ~ Artemis did not say anything for five posts out of 9. I even went back to see if Artie even thought to himself in those five posts, but nothing. If you would open up the thoughts of Artemis a bit more, we could gain more depth to him as a character. While it isn’t required for your character to speak with his opponent, he can at least have thoughts running through his head during the duel.

Action (6/10) ~ You did a good job keeping the action up here. While it was nothing spectacular, I really admire Artie’s ability to take a punch.

Persona (5/10) ~ The blank slate I’m writing this judgement on had slightly more personality than Artemis did in the majority of this fight. You pulled through with an average score due to your opening and finishing posts. Try to remember that if you were getting physically beaten to death, you would have thoughts running through your head. You would be scared, you would not want to die, or if you’re angry, show it in physical traits. Shaking fists, sudden sweat breakouts, gurgling noises that are unable to be controlled. These are all great things to help convey anger in your character.

Total Artie Score ~ 15/30

knave
• WRITING STYLE ~

Mechanics (9/10) ~ The two of you wildly impressed me with your mechanics. The only thing stopping this battle from a perfect score was an awkward sounding sentence or two from the both of you. Great job and keep up the good work here you guys.

Technique (4/10) ~ You used the term ‘earth’ twice in this battle. Knave is on Althanas, and as such Earth doesn’t exist, not even as a piece of gravel. Try to watch the references to modern day stuff when making your descriptions. Looking up synonyms is a great way to be able to convey what you want to say while still sounding cool.

Clarity (3/10) ~ As I said in setting, it was EXTREMELY difficult to understand what was going on in your part of the world. I counted myself reading three of your posts at least four times each before I continued on with a decent enough understanding to be comfortable to do so. Once again, I may not be your target demographic, but I believe I share the same demographic with most of Althanas. IF you’re writing for yourself, more power to you, but try to write to where the rest of us understand what you’re saying if you want us to enjoy it.

Knave total ~ 16/30

Artie

Mechanics (9/10) ~ See knave comment

Technique (5/10) ~ I liked the kind of foreshadowing you gave about Artie not understanding what his master was saying about smithying. It just wasn’t enough o get you an above average score here.

Clarity (5/10) ~ Definitely understood you better than knave, but a few of your posts were still confusing.

Artie Total 19/30

Artie and knave
Wild Card (7/10) ~ It was a good battle once I had an understanding on what was happening. Good jobs guys

Final Score

Artie 58
Knave 57

SirArtemis wins and gets his spoil approved (ability approved pending RoG update), 800 exp and 50 GP

Knaveofspades gets 225 exp and 100 GP

Hope my commentary helped, probably off to bed with me now!

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.