The Way of the Sword

[Wanderlust]

This battle is open to anyone proficient with a sword

“Day 9,

It has taken me far longer than I had anticipated to reach the famed city of Radasanth. During my travels I happened upon a travelling group who allowed me to accompany them in exchange for teaching them some of my father’s recipes.

I learned rather quickly that I may have been slightly overconfident in my ability to survive the world outside my little bakery. It was on the third day of travel when a band of thieves ransacked the group. I was helpless and was among the injured when I attempted to defend the wagons. If I am to become like those brave, bold heroes that tread through my village, then I must learn what it is they know.

Reaching Radasanth I truly understood just how sheltered I had been. All manner of people, with appearances unlike I had ever seen. Just yesterday I saw a mugger steal an elderly man’s coins and was immediately set upon by a burly creature with green skin and a nose like a pig. He wore armour like the heroes I had come to know. He passed the coins back to the elderly man and the man barely blinked. It was simply amazing!

As I approached the steps of the Citadel I could see the stories I had been told did it no justice. The majesty of this building! Incredible! I felt as if my entire village could be held within its massive walls. And yet, there was a calming about its gargantuan structure. Such architecture I had not known to be so inviting. I knew that if I were to learn, it would be here. Each of the heroes I had met spoke of this place as if its hallowed halls were tread upon by the Gods themselves. Each of them had been here, tested themselves, and bested worthy adversaries. It would be here I could find someone who could teach me what I wanted to know.

~Lucien”

*******************

Lucien entered the Citadel and was barely able to contain his excitement. Finally! He had made it. Surely his brother and sister had both been here, now so was he. Unsure, he approached the first person he saw whom he thought might have knowledge of what to do next.

“Um...pardon me sir, but could you tell me who I am to see if I wish to take part in the battles here?” he asked.

Obviously a seasoned warrior, he looked down at Lucien, almost mockingly, saying with his eyes that the young man had no place in the Citadel.

“Find yourself a monk boy. They will take care of you.” A slight chuckle escaped his lips as he entered a door behind which was a majestic valley. Lucien was astounded. A valley contained within a small room. Truly the majesty of this place was something to behold. His mind continued to race as he approached one of the monks.

“Excuse me, might I inquire as to how I can participate?”

The monk smiled at him. A friendly face, knowing that the young Carrick boy had not seen such sights, or been exposed to the luxuries most Radasanthians had taken for granted.

“You have but to ask young one.”

“Then, may I? I’m afraid I do not have much coin, nor do I have a weapon. In fact, I wish also to ask if I may borrow one, on the condition that I return it. You see, I wish to learn how to use a sword, yet I do not own one.” His visage showed embarrassment.

“My boy, we do not require coin here. Take this sword and enter any door you like. One of the other monks will collect it from you when you have finished.” He smiled again handing a sword and scabbard to Lucien.

Lucien looked astounded. No coin? This was a first. One of many that would no doubt occur during his tenure in Radasanth. He slung the longsword about his back, quite haphazardly, and fastened it as best as he could figure out how. It was far heavier than he had anticipated. He began to wonder if he should have started learning to fight with daggers.

The boy walked the halls for what seemed like an eternity, finally deciding on a door. Upon stepping through he found that he had stepped onto a bamboo mat. Looking about the room, it was wide, and open, walls through which light would shine, yet he could not see. Touching one, his finger pushed through. Parchment? How strange. The entire room was wooden, save the floor which was all crafted of bamboo.

“This should be a good place to learn, I think,” he stated out loud, “at least there is nothing for me to run into.”

[Lionheart]

“It’s a simple question, Sir. Has he been here or not?” James kept his voice even and respectful, despite his obvious frustration with the brown robed Ai’Bron monk. The man had been nothing but courteous and respectful to him, despite his inability to assist James, and honor demanded the same from the Amran Knight.

“I’m really very sorry, Sir Alexander, but it is the policy of the Ai’Bron not to assist in the perpetuation of blood-feuds.” The monk offered James a sympathetic smile, as if to say that he held no animosity towards the golden haired knight and hoped the man understood that he was just doing his job.

“Yes, of course,” James sighed, knowing that he had once again been defeated by bureaucracy. “I have no intention of bringing my feud upon you or anyone else but I understand protocol.” James offered a thin smile of his own to the monk showing that he didn’t hold the man’s duty against him. “I suppose there is nothing left for me here then. Thank you for your time and assistance.”

James bowed his head respectfully and turned to depart the Citadel. The massive building and its magical battle arenas held little interest for him, a man who had lead the armies of his homeland in war by the age of twenty. As a student of tactical practice he could not fault others for their desire to train and better themselves, though he suspected that not every person who entered the Citadel’s ancient halls did so for training purposes.

“Sir Alexander,” the monk’s voice called after James, catching the Amran just before he exited, “please hold for a second. I have an offer you may wish to hear. There is a young man in one of our chambers who has never fought before…”

“Thank you,” James looked back over his shoulder and held up a hand to interrupt, “but I’m really not in the mood for training right now.”

“Pity,” the monk said, genuinely saddened by James’ decline. “It would be tragic if such an inexperienced young man were to be forced to do battle with one of our more, shall we say, savage combatants.”

“Listen,” James fully turned to face the monk, “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m so very close to him now and since you cannot help men, I cannot afford to waste any of my time.”

“In that case you might want to hear the rest of my offer,” a fresh smile broke out on the monk’s face, this one sly and suggestive. “Combat in the Citadel is conducted on an at-will basis. I suppose that if you were to do this for me, even though you don’t want to, you could be considered an agent of the Ai’Bron.”

“An agent of the Ai’Bron?” James quirked an eyebrow at the monk. “And would that alter your inability to assist me?”

“It would, actually,” the monk spread his arms wide as if laying the option before James as a steward lays a meal out for his lord.

James sighed, shaking his head in defeat though a smile still played about his lips. “Very well, I will do this for you in exchange for the knowledge that I seek.”

“Excellent,” the monk laughed happily, “please follow me this way.” James followed the monk’s broad, sweeping gestures through the Citadel’s winding corridors halls.

“Here we are,” the monk beamed as he came to a halt before a plain, unadorned wooden door. James nodded once again to the monk and then, face set in the same determined look that he always wore when conducting a training session, entered the chamber.

[Wanderlust]

After what seemed like an eternity Lucien sat alone in the room, confused. He had assumed that someone else would have been inside. Unsure, he began to pace back and forth anxiously. As his footfalls echoed in the empty room the echo began to dissipate, until eventually they made no sound at all. The room grew darker, and Lucien began to grow fearful.

What was happening?? Is this the work of some dark art? Perhaps he had been imprisoned?! This could not be the magic that the heroes he idolized spoke of! As his thoughts raced he began to hear the songs of birds. A bright flash of light clouded his vision and when he could see clearly again, he found himself standing in the middle of a palace courtyard.

Incredible! Before his very eyes the scenery had changed from an enclosed room to an outdoor arena. Only in his dreams had he ever seen such wonder, but never did he ever envision that he would witness such awe inspiring magic first hand. With a careful eye he took in his new surroundings.

High stone walls surrounded him with no means for exit, save what he assumed to be the door through which he entered. Three men, made entirely of straw but wearing armour for men, hung about a wooden arch. Lucien found himself to be standing in the centre of a large ring of pressed soil; it sat prominently against the grass of the courtyard like the sun in a cloudless sky. As he scanned the area he heard the ominous sound of an opening door.

Through it stepped a young man, who appeared not much older than himself. His sword and shield was indicative of a knight. The steel plate he had about his chest had seen its share of battles and looked not unlike the ones he had seen the travellers wear. The way the man carried himself made him seem far taller than he truly was – a man of honour, a man with a code – this man was indeed someone who knew the way of things, unlike the sheltered Lucien Carrick. He couldn’t help but look upon him with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

“A-are you to be my opponent?” His statement came out much softer than he had intended, his nervousness hidden thinly under the veil of his inquiry. He equated this to the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure this man would not simply defeat him and move on with his day.

[Lionheart]

The sweeping banners and silent majesty of the room brought a swift pang of homesickness to James’ heart. He had to admire the famed prowess of the Ai’Bron monks’ magical abilities, though the courtyard scene was far more idyllic than any true Amran castle. It was as if the chamber was fashioned from the picture of a tournament field taken out of the mind of one who still believed in children’s tales. But despite the discrepancy, the gentle breeze and packed earth brought long banished memories of his father’s lands and the rolling vineyards and olive groves that filled House Alexander’s land.

How I miss fair Amra, he sighed, letting the tide of nostalgia recede from his memories, but I can return as soon as I find him and fulfill my oath.

A soft, unsure sound fully drew James from the last of his reverie. James turned his stern eyes, those hard brown points that seemed so much older than the rest of his youthful body, and apprised the young man who called to him from the melee arena. There was a softness to the man, and a nervous air which told the Amran Knight that this man knew nothing of the harshness of a soldier’s life. James couldn’t help but smile at that, thinking back to the days of his misspent youth and the harsh lessons of his father’s old man-at-arms, the mercenary Connall. But Connall was dead now, as was the soft innocence of James’ youth, victims of the sorcerer’s war that had been the focus of his life since the completion of his Accolade at the age of sixteen.

“I mean no offense, but there would be little point in this endeavor if I were an opponent,” James replied, keeping a pleasant smile on his face to hide the nightmare echoes of his past which refused to leave his mind. “As I understand it however, you are in need of an instructor which is a role that I am willing to accept.”

“I am James Alexander of the House Alexander,” James said, nodding respectfully to the other man as was custom. “Nobleman and former High General of the distant nation of Amra, though I take no offense if you have never heard of it.”

James drew his broadsword, the Amran Knight’s traditional weapon, and held it up in the proper salute. The weight of the blade pressed against him like an old lover, and James couldn’t help but feel that despite his initial desire to have no part in the Citadel’s games, he would enjoy this.

[Wanderlust]

His words caused Lucien to feel as if the ground had given way beneath him. Unbelievable! A knight! A genuine knight! His honour and his grace was highly intimidating to the young adventurer. He was sure it was unintended, but Sir Alexander’s formal greeting had increased Lucien’s anxiety tenfold, for the young man was simply not capable of matching such a regal presence. Not wanting to seem as poorly skilled as he was, the young Carrick tried his best to emulate the formal greeting.

Reaching behind his shoulder, Lucien attempted to unsheathe the sword that had been given to him earlier by the monk. As he raised his arm, the scabbard shifted and he found his hand grasp nothing but air. The young man lifted his other arm, only to promote the same result. After two further attempts, Lucien grasped the hilt of his sword and lifted it high above his head out of the scabbard and held it in front of him. Carrick was forced to use both hands. The weight of the sword was a stranger to him. He managed to hold it steady in front of him and greeted the knight.

“Greetings Sir Alexander, I am Lucien Carrick. I am no knight, and I belong to no house. I have sought to see the wonders of this world like so many of the heroes I have met as they passed through my tiny village. It was not until I left, and was attacked by bandits was I fully aware that I am not prepared to face this world on my own. I was unable to defend my companions or even myself. I had never been more ashamed of myself for not acknowledging my own naiveté. So I ask you to show me what you know of combat, so that history may not again repeat itself and I can begin to write my own story.”

Lucien surprised even himself with his brief monologue. Whether by pity or potential, Lucien hoped that Sir Alexander would look past his sloppy greeting and stand by his acceptance to educate the young man.

He tipped the point of his sword toward the ground and held it at his feet. Lucien attempted to make it appear like some form of conclusion to his greeting; however, in reality his arms were already growing tired from keeping the blade in its position. Lucien then felt the emotion he bore on his face changing, almost unconsciously. He began to rise from fear and intimidated, to determination and bravery.

“This world is a dangerous place Sir Alexander. Far worse than what I had anticipated. The stories I have been told are but a small fraction of what exists and I seek to write the tales that have not been told. To that end, I say to you that I am prepared to face whatever challenges you lay before me, for as long as you are prepared to give them. But I must learn how to defend myself if I am to make my mark on Corone, and on Althanas. I am ready to begin when you are.”

[Lionheart]

The man’s optimism forced James to smile, his lips curling at the edges ever so slightly. Here was a man who cherished his youth, exuding exuberance that had been milled out of James long ago on the grindstones of war and responsibility. Making it appear even more so was the manner with which Lucien addressed the Knight. In his homeland, the peasants were considered little more than property for the noble houses, objects whose entire existence was to provide food for their superiors in times of peace and bodies in times of war.

James, however, was not one to dismiss a peasant merely on his standing. For one thing, House Alexander had been raised from the peasants’ ranks by the King of Amra himself only during James’ grandfather’s time. His House thus maintained a far more casual give and take with their peasants than did the other Amran noble houses. And for another, James’ mentor, the mercenary Connall, had been nothing more than a sell-sword before James’ father took him in as House Alexander’s man-at-arms. Connall had taught James nearly everything that the young nobleman had needed to succeed and prosper in life, and had then given his own life to protect James during the first Battle of the Illium Fields. James had sworn that he would forever honor his mentor’s sacrifice, which included heeding the old salt’s lessons.

Such a thing was next to impossible in Amra, especially once James had been elevated to the rank of High General. But here, in the nation of Corone that was so distant from Amran shores, the lowborn were not commanded to divert their eyes at the mere sight of a noble. He had already faced so many trials on his oath quest that this change was a most refreshing thing for James Alexander. Still, a pleasant smile and a light heart were not conducive to proper training.

“You’re not ready, whelp,” James spat, using the derogatory term that Connall had so endearingly used on him. The soft friendliness was gone from his voice, replaced by the strict, authoritarian who had led men to their deaths in the enemy’s shield wall. “You’re not even close to ready. Just look at yourself, already driven down by the weight of your weapon.”

There was roughness and fire in James’ voice, but it was an inspirational fire and not a vehement one. “Your sword is not a tool for you to use to defend yourself,” he growled, circling Lucien. With a quick, smooth motion, James thrust his sword forward, stopping the point a foot away from his protégé. He held the heavy blade parallel, in a single handed grip, and yet the blade remained firm and unwavering, as if there were a rod of steel flowing from the weapon through the Knight. “Your sword is a killing tool.”

James lowered the blade and paced himself away from Lucien until both men were at the edge of sword’s reach from one another. “That is the distinction that the thief and the brigand know. That is the truth that keeps the sell-sword alive when those around him fall. When you wield a blade you must be ready to kill with it, or you will die as surely as the sun rises.

“Now, whelp,” James commanded, gesturing at Lucien with his free hand, “if you can understand that, if you are ready to kill with that blade of yours, then attack me. Otherwise, go home.”

[Wanderlust]

For Lucien, the inevitability of Sir Alexander’s shift in persona was all but invisible. His naiveté forbid him from such expectations. For a brief second, a cloud of fear washed over him but almost as quickly as it came, it broke making way for a fiery determination. His eyes remained locked on his new mentor as he spoke, his noble and regal mannerisms gave way for stern instruction. The knight was clearly well aware of the trials and tribulations of one who lives by the sword, a fact Lucien could not ignore. If this was the way he was to be taught, so be it.

Lucien remained with his eyes locked to James’ as the knight began to circle him. He altered his stance, ensuring that he was always face to face with him. Before he could speak, before he could even register the thought of a rebuttal, the tip of a blade was now within a foot of Lucien’s chest causing a slight, uncontrolled recoil from the would-be adventurer. He was confident that Sir Alexander would not strike him down, but nonetheless it was unexpected. Lucien could feel the adrenaline rising in his system, sharpening his senses.

A killing tool. A thought he had never registered. He had submitted himself to the fact that he would one day be called to a battle of his own, that he would be required to use the blade he had learned to use. But the need to kill…it was something he had not prepared himself for. Could he take the life of another? He became lost in his own enigma. Surely, not all battles need end in death. There must be an alternative. The heroes he had spoken with, they spoke of the glory of the battle, but never the glory of the kill.

…then attack me.

The words broke his thought and as soon as the knight-turned-teacher finished speaking Lucien obliged him. He shouted, releasing his left hand from the sword, raising his right in a high arc bringing the blade down toward Sir Alexander. It was slow, uneven, and predictable, but it was what he was commanded. Far from perfect, but that is why he was here.

[Lionheart]

Inexperienced but without hesitation, James thought, and he’s got enthusiasm. That’s good. The former General fought to keep a smile from breaking the stern mask he was forced to wear in his role as instructor, reminding himself that the first swing was always the easiest. Would Lucien maintain his enthusiasm and vigor in the face of the tedious hours of drilling that would be required to make him into a swordsman? Would he continue to lack hesitation when his body ached and cried out in pain at the slightest movement? Those, James knew, were the fires that forged men into warriors.

James’ blade rose to meet Lucien’s before it even crossed half the distance between the two of them, the steel-on-steel sound pinging and rebounding back at them from the surrounding stone walls. His analytical mind had taken in the strike and had told him of several ways to ensure that Lucien’s blade never made contact. He could have easily side-stepped the blow, shuffling quickly out of the path of the awkward swing, or he could have made his own counter-attack to disrupt Lucien. Even a novice could not have failed to notice how unprotected Lucien’s one-handed high arc had left him. His own tutor, Connall, would have done exactly that, whacking James with the blunted edge of his training axe to teach the young nobleman a painful lesson. But James was not Connall, and Lucien wasn’t an Amran noble learning the skills that would be required for him to pass his Accolade to become a Knight.

“Your arm is too stiff, and you hold your weapon as if it were a farm tool.” James’ tone was hard but not aggressive. He wanted to teach Lucien something, not frighten and discourage him. With a shrug, James twisted his wrist and used his own blade to push Lucien’s far out to the side.

“Remember that your blade is a part of you. You don’t move so stiffly when you eat, do you? Or when you relieve yourself? Of course not.” James brought his blade in front of his face, well in Lucien’s view. “Use only your first two fingers and your thumb to hold the blade, and your last two fingers to stabilize it.” James wiggled his fingers in demonstration and then began to rotate his wrist, elbow, and shoulder, working his sword in a smooth, sweeping display.

“It will take you some time to learn, and you’ll feel like your arms are on fire long before you get the feel of it, but that’s what practice is for.” James finished his demonstration by bringing his broadsword back around to his front, guarding his body. “Oh, and don’t leave yourself so open next time.”

[Wanderlust]

Crashing down like a hammer to anvil, Lucien’s sword crashed down atop that of Sir Alexander’s. The experienced knights’ blade rose faster than expected, and he was unprepared for the impact. He was forced to render a slight wince as the blades connected sending a shock down the length of the boy’s arm. The mistake of keeping his arm stiff was made clear by the tingling in his arm, and the immediate instruction from Sir Alexander. A swift response from the tutor came in the form of a twist of the blade that cast Lucien’s off to the side, the force of which sent him stumbling along with it. He quickly turned to face his instructor holding his blade in front of him as if he were fencing.

Remember that your blade is a part of you…the instructions from the knight. He glanced down at the hilt of his borrowed sword and did as he was asked.

“Yes, sir.” he obliged as he loosened his grip on his lower fingers. Almost immediately, he could feel more control over the height and angle with which he was holding his blade, but what he gained in control, he felt a loss in strength.

“Sir Alexander, I understand, but this grip does not feel as strong. If the purpose of battle is to defeat your opponent, and in times be forced to kill, should it not stand to reason that being stronger than the other would be integral to meet that goal?” he questioned, wondering why he was being forced to sacrifice might. Nevertheless, Lucien stepped in to make another attack.

With his new grip upon the blade and a slightly relaxed arm he swung from the side. He almost surprised himself with the slight increase in speed he had gained from such a simple instruction. While his from was still sloppy at best, a slight marked improvement in speed gave him a slight boost in confidence. Yet, as he revelled in his ability to absorb instruction, Lucien failed to heed the mentor’s latest advice…do not leave yourself so open.

As his right arm swung the blade, his left arm unconsciously raised to shoulder level, his hand out in front. In an effort to make up for his presumed lack of power, Lucien also stepped forward almost as if he was attempting to lunge. Even without any stimulus, he could feel his balance was shaky. He hoped that maintaining a stern and focused façade would throw off the knight.

[Lionheart]

James only half-minded Lucien as the youth practiced holding the sword as he had instructed. The rest of his attention wandered around the battle arena’s mock courtyard, relishing the feel of a home long left behind. He nodded absentmindedly when Lucien questioned him, his eyes roaming from the courtyard to the melee arena where the two of them trained. During a tournament, it was not uncommon to have two dozen combatants crammed into a space this size, all of them vying to be the last man standing. James had never been crowned champion of the melee, his status as High General working against him in that particular arena. He had always been deluged in the melee, as everyone wanted to be the one to knock such a prestigious figure from his feet.

Lucien made his second strike while James’ attention was elsewhere. Without thinking, James brought his blade across to engage his opponent’s. “Strength with your blade doesn’t only come from raw power,” he said, shifting his full attention back to Lucien. “For example…”

With Lucien’s stance as awkwardly positioned as it was, James found it easy to use his superior position to rotate both his and Lucien’s blade between the two of them, taking firm control of the clash. From that positio, it only took the slightest flick of James’ wrist to disengage the two swords and bring his own blade close to Lucien’s unprotected throat.

“Remember, you’re not some mindless beast thrashing around blindly. Don’t worry about strength at this point, worry about getting the basics right. Strength in your arms and in your grip will come to you as you handle your sword more, but working with bad form will only lead to worse form.”

James took the blade from Lucien’s throat and used to it slap at the man’s lead foot. “This will be harder to get right, but is far more important in a real fight. If your opponent presses his attack while you’re off balance then you’re as good as dead.”

Beckoning for Lucien to follow, James retreated across the melee field, demonstrating how to move without giving up a strong center of balance. Once the Knight’s back was to the fence he changed direction and moved forward, similarly demonstrating. He kept his blade up and in the ready position the entire time, resolute and unwavering. “Do this with me several times. Get used to moving with a sword at the ready. Once I’ve determined that you’ve got the basics down, we’ll move into attack and defense while on the move.”

[Lionheart]

“Enough,” Lucien panted, holding up a hand in submission. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face until he could barely see straight, but he was too tired to even lift a hand to wipe his brow. The sword he had borrowed from the Ai’bron was buried three inches into the dusty arena soil, acting more as a crutch than a weapon.

A savage, disciplinary bark leapt to James’ lips, urging him to say that the training would be over when the tutor said it was over, not the student, but he held himself back. Lucien was not a knight-in-training, he reminded himself, nor was he a peasant warrior training for his lord’s army. The training was his idea, and he should have the authority to call an end to it when he willed.

Acquiescing to the youth’s desire, James stepped back promptly and sheathed his sword. He had to admit that he wasn’t completely disappointed by the turn of events, as even a seasoned veteran couldn’t go through several hours of movement drills, basic attack stances, and apprentice level defensive maneuvers without feeling the effects. Still, James thought as he ran his hand through his damp hair, he was doing a lot better than his student. There was no doubt that the youth’s fiery spirit had dimmed, as it must under the hours of physical exertion that any trained warrior had to go through.

These were the times that broke men, washing away heroic visions with the dull ache of reality. Watching Lucien’s thin frame shuddering, panting, and sweat-streaked, he also had to admit that he wasn’t sure if Lucien would make it as a swordsman. He liked the youth, as much as any tutor could truly like a first day student, and he sincerely hoped that Lucien would be able to cross the wall. But that would be a subject for a different tutor, on a different day.

“We are done here,” James said, extending a friendly hand towards Lucien in the traditional Amran way of greeting. He clasped Lucien’s forearm, doing more than his share to support the wavering youth. “You have done well today whelp. Remember what you have learned and practice.” He turned to leave the courtyard, and thus the magic chamber, but stopped before he could shift back into the Citadel proper. He looked back one last time, though his eyes moved past Lucien to take in the fluttering banners and majestic castle. The same wind that had rolled the dust of the field when he entered the chamber still blew just as strong, and the same light overhead illuminated everything James could see. It was beautiful, he knew, but it wasn’t and could never compare to the real thing. In that moment he renewed his oath to find his prey and end his miserable existence so that he could return to Amra in triumph.

“Allow me to offer my thanks, Sir Alexander,” said the Ai’bron monk with whom James had started this encounter. James blinked and in the space between instants the castle courtyard changed back to a plain, featureless Citadel room. Lucien was nowhere to be seen. “Seeing as your young apprentice was a bit too tired to thank you.”

James turned to find the monk standing away from him at the same distance he had been using to drill combat awareness into Lucien. “I welcome your appreciativeness, monk,” he said, “but what I really want is to know where I can find him. I believe I have lived up to my end of the bargain and have done my best to act as an agent of the Ai’bron.”

“Of course,” the monk said, though his face darkened at the words. “But I warn you, Sir Alexander, that what I have to tell you will bring you nothing good.”

“I understand,” James nodded solemnly. He knew well how powerful and dangerous the creature he sought was. “But my honor and the lives of my people demand that I do what must be done. I release you from any evil that what you have to tell me may bring down upon me.”

The monk acquiesced with a sigh, knowing that he had done his best to direct the young knight from his course. “The man you seek, William Arcus, is a general of the Ixian Knights.”

“The Ixian Knights,” James spat, as if the words were foulness upon his tongue, “Frauds and pretenders, the lot of them. They dare call themselves knights but ally themselves with demons and murderers. Thank you, friend, but I must go. There is much work to be done if I have to ally myself against an entire army.”

[Paladin]

Since Wanderlust did not finish the thread and has not been active in over a year all comments will pertain to Lionheart. I will say however that its a damn shame this didn't get finished properly. Up until the abrupt end it was a very enjoyable read.

Plot 14, 15 /30 – Over all a good simple story. It kind of feels like this was a somewhat ordinary event for you and everything went back the status quo at the end but not every tale has to be some monumental, life changing epic. The one thing you need to watch out for are those cutaways where you start reminiscing about how the scenery reminds you of the past. Yes they gave a bit of insight into your character but they also detracted from the flow of the thread at times.

Character 19, 18/30 – While nothing surprised me I got a good feel for your character and learned a little bit about his up bringing. This was an excellent thread for me to get introduced to him. Your actions were clear and you gave me some good insight into the way your character thinks. I would have liked to have learned a little bit more about the blood feud you mentioned in the beginning and the end of the thread though.

Prose 21,21/30 – I like your writing style. Its clear, concise and to the point. You didn't fall into the trap of making things needlessly flowery or verbose that I've seen other writers here fall into.You had one major typo that I noticed on my first read through but other than that it was mechanically solid. If I were to offer a critique it would be that even though you have the technical aspects such as clarity and mechanics down to a tee with your style you should work on on incorporating some more literary techniques into your stories.

Wildcard: 4,7 /10 - Kudos for at least finishing the thread and giving it some closure. Like I said I really enjoyed reading this thread and I wish it had been finished properly. It was basic but it gave me a good grasp of both characters and provided a nice of pace from the battles to the (temporary) death that usually take place in the Citadel.

Total 58, 61/100 – Lionheart wins!

Lionheart receives 550 exp and 58 gold

Wanderlust receives 150 exp and 42 gold

If you have any questions or concerns feel free to contact me.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.