The Calamity Of Culvers (Closed)

[Arden]

The Calamity Of Culvers (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vv-ddnBsOr8&feature=related)

1979




Closed To Knave.

The sky broke open. Like a treasure trove of death, fire descended across the brazen sea below and smote the ships of an ancient flotilla with scouring heat and lightning crackle. The Calamity broke the mettle of reality, and through the swirling vortex of light, the angels descended en-mass.

Only one landed, feet touching the deck of the Grand Mastiff Battleship Robust with a delicate, paradoxical thud. Blank smiled, and lowered his blade at the poignant moment to draw his gaze upwards to the fire-storm. He caught his breath, before turning his attention to the swirling waters all around the lumbering hulk, and the ships which burnt and sank before his eyes like fleeting memories. This was truly chaotic, truly madness, truly the calamity of the ancient and mythical fable he had grown up with as a child.

The Calamity of Culvers, born from his dreams and given life by the monks of the Citadel - he could not think of a better environ to wreak havoc on his foes. He spread his feet, grasping a feel of the wet wood beneath his boots and took stock of the deck. It was wide enough to form a fighting arena and it span on its own axis as if it were plugging a great whirlpool. The water spiralled lightly, threatening to erupt and drag everything into the abyss as the vortex overhead continued to flare.

He tucked his auburn hair behind his ears and adjusted his pants, setting them lose to roll and straddle agility as part of his erratic fighting style. Soon, his opponent would plummet from heaven on wings of fire as he had done. To the deck of the captain's main they would descend right into the arms of madness, right into the throng of chaos. He grinned, tasted the salt in the air and waited.

[Knave]

It was an artist’s greatest creation; the product of a mind which had abused its gifts so terribly that those muse-sparked flames could only have consumed their master; likely there would be a bloody end to a great and now emptied mind in the days to come.

The ships were ravaged both inside and out by flames, and the seas swirling about them contained the ships with its current. The ship was to be the arena was a galleon thrice masted two of those sails outstretched to the sky; its body upright where all others lay broken in the sea. The Calamity of Culvers was a vessel only now giving up its ghost. Its deck remained unbroken, but the portholes to either side breathed billowing smoke into the air, and the left breast of the ship’s prow was worn open to illustrate the dark and burning interior that killed it from within. It was a vessel whose great rotundity drifted into the air as ashes.

There would likely be no running from this place, and only two ways out: An ascent to heaven, or in submission submerged into hell.
Descending in a blaze of infernal light from the skies above, the figure of Ace Mandelo was, as usual, utterly unimpressed with the flames that rained down about him. He presented a confidence which spared no blink or quarter for the apocalypse.
Feet firmly planted on nothing, and his only weapons at the moment were a sword and a smile. His semi-short red hair waved in the wind. Blank would be nothing special, and nothing new in this battle.

Fire ignited gunpowder, and the booms of cannonades signaled the previous battle’s victor in his arrival. Taking in the burning sky, and the raging fires, Ace could only wonder if the ocean would boil. “That would be wonderful.” He whispered. A gleam shinned in his eye at the mounting chaos that would soon come an end.

Ace soon stood on the sinking ship’s most elevated deck. Black Mesa, the white short sword lay at rest on Ace‘s shoulder, and the knife Ace had appropriated from Artemis Eburui, Stolen Virtue, hung from his belt. A spray of water flew into the air, turning his black robe even darker, and granting a lustrous sheen to the flames that embroidered his sleeves. With a nod, and a wave of his unarmed hand, Ace leaned over the charred railing and said hello!

“Last we met, you ran before my blade could bite you.” Ace leveled the blade, carelessly pointing and illustrating his words with steel. Still, it’s good to see you again!” Ace threw himself over the railings to land in a crouch, and he sprang up, walking a swift swagger to meet Blank, the flames that danced around him flickering as they dug deep into the wooden arena. Round two was about to begin.

[Arden]

Blank watched the comet fall and watched as vengeance played its part in his life once more. The irony of meeting Ace so soon after his retreat was poignant, but not enough to faze him from his resolute and grim frown. He had departed the arena for a good and just reason - to not allow his thirst for blood to consume him, for his power to wane before it grew too strong to contain in his mortal coil.

"I left because it was honourable," he said meekly, his eyes glistening in the twilight cast down by the blazing sky. "There shall be no such war of morality here, no chance to falter now. It is a pleasure, and may it be mutual to say, I am much looking forward to fighting you on more level...if uneasy ground," he threw foreshadowing into the mix, smiling at the wit play.

The words rolled out naturally and full of meaning, showing no signs of once being muted by prophecy. Blank's accent still dwelt in his memories and his tone was a simple. A monotone Coronian voice of mature and gruff reasoning, one without much character, without much individuality. "This," he spread his arms wide, at the exact moment the vortex pulsated and spurted flame, "is the Calamity of Culvers."

The words likely meant nothing to Ace. The deck of the flagship creaked and groaned under the pressure which assailed it from above and below and Blank waited for the momentary uproar to subside. "It is a fairy tale, told to my people at a young age as a warning of sorts. It is a metaphor of life, which is turbulent and dangerous, and shows how we descend into and out of living in a blaze of glory."

He paused, smiled, and gripped the Rheilhand tightly.

"So show me the fire inside, show me your calamity!" He ran, bursting into the same stupid and reckless advance he had done in their first encounter, but this time, there no menirs or malefic words to rebuff his momentum. His steel blade caught the light and flashed to signal the start of their reunion proper.

[Knave]

Ace, eternally engaging, would never miss the chance for discourse even as he moved to join Blank at the center of the deck. “Honor? Don’t give me that, you ran, I stayed, if honors the prize then I won it alongside the people’s cheers.” While he normally imitated the lows of Corone’s dialect, bits of Fallien pronunciation fashioned itself back into his dialogue as the combatants drew together. It was a harsh language relishing terms such as “I, you, us, and them.”

“You don’t leave because you feel like it.” For once out of a great many years, Ace felt in his body a strange sort of anger. The Citadel was place to perform, to fight with mounting tension, and to die in a climax. Alive or dead, fleeing the stage was a sin. Ace was the product of an idea; he fought with vanity in the place of valor, and the love of invisible onlookers eternally blind to the difference.

“I don’t know why you came.” He said, granting Blank the opportunity to defend himself with weak excuses. “You had a few ounces of my blood, and you paid for them dearly, but what brings you back to me? Wounded pride, or do I taste good?” He knew little about Blank, and he could not think of a reason why the man would want his blood.

One answer came in an instant as Blank told him the name and the story of this place.

Ace stood shocked, and took his remaining few steps forward. He sucked in the air as he took in just what that could mean. He then gave a sharp "ha-ha." The laughter was neither hot, nor cold, but solid in the way it shook him on his boot clad feet. Soon it was over, and recovering, Ace shared a knowing smile with Blank as the fires raged behind him.

“Is this a lesson?” The growing ridiculousness of the idea made his words heave and laugh themselves, “Are you trying to prove something?” With both Stolen Virtue and Black Mesa in hand, Ace shrugged, and shook his head, "If you think I‘m fire, then I‘m even better than I thought, but still, who are you to teach me anything?” Striking a stance with his body slanted, and Black Mesa put forward, Ace agreed to take Blank’s test. “Careful, you’re arrogance is showing.”

Running, the two came together, Blank’s katana just as eager to meet Black Mesa as the previous day. This time, the short sword struck and did not attempt to stop Rheilhand’s charge, instead forcing the blade outward as Ace pressed Blank for closeness, and stabbed with the eight-inch blade of Stolen Virtue. Brown eyes shined with the light of euphoria... or rapture. Perhaps he could sweep Blank up in the flames of his act.

[Arden]

Is this a lesson?

The clash of blades rang across the stormy sea and filled the silence with the twang of excitement and the threat of death. In a storm of steel, Blank found himself alive, and thought long and hard about his stream of replies to Ace's endless questioning. The dagger cut up, and he brought his blade back to deflect it and leapt backwards. His boots rattled on the deck and as he rolled into a back flip and continued to tumble out of harm's reach, the heavy thuds combined with the rocking of the flagship.

He spat phlegm and shook his hair so that it settled across his eyes, which glared at his opponent and took in the aura of rage from all around. He had contemplated many things since he had retreated from the arena, but all in all, adding Ace's blood to the Phylactery of The Scourge had been a worthwhile endeavour. The strange and enigmatic man spoke through twisting shapes and parables of tests and examination, which alone told Arden he had selected his candidate wisely.

"I have come to show you something, Ace. I have come to give you answers, and fulfil the legacy of my position within my employer's reigns. I took your blood as a selfish move, a stalemate with my own daemons...but it was also to ensure you were worthy, accountable for the coming declaration I wish to impart."

With a stretch and a click of his spine, the swordsmen brought his blade up and drove it's tip down into the deck. He let it go and it stood, it's weight pushed down to keep it upright like a mockery of the shattered mast at the centre of the flagship's once proud oceanic platform. They were the ships of an ancient people, swept away by their own war, swept under history's mantle by their own inability to state their thirst...

"This is a lesson, you have that much down to the tee. It is not something you can guess, it is not something so simple as 'if you play with fire, you get burnt."

A great bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and burnt the retina with the permeability of imminent danger. Blank looked up at the vortex and frowned. In the dream, in the fairy tale, when the lightning struck, the rains came.

Down it poured, sweeping across the flames of the Calamity with a steaming explosion, a thousand rupturing hisses of vapour all across the war zone. It ran cold down Blank's nose and a single drop fell to the hilt of his sword. At the precise moment it connected, he snatched up the Rheilhand and span it furiously between hands.

"You are an impressive, calculable, explosive man, Ace. One whose...talents and discoveries would be greatly beneficial to my...employer." The gruff visage of The Master flashed into his mind, and he dropped his head to the ground to speak with hushed words.

"So this is a job interview of sorts, so show me your curriculum vitae - prove me your worth and give me a reason to enthrone your blood in the Scourge's ranks forever. Join us and carve a new wave of madness into the world, join us in our endeavour to carve the daemon from criminality, and to restore order amidst the heart of chaos itself!" He clenched his fist with a snap before his chest and walked forwards.

"Show me - not flame nor cackle, but heart, soul, love!" He cut the air with his blade, smiled, then ran full speed across the gap created by his momentary retreat.

[Knave]

A swift repartee slipped Rheilhand’s steel length past Black Mesa, and batted the knife away. A defense that shook Ace’s left hand to the bone, and distanced the knife from Blank’s face. Swiftly disengaging, perhaps even disingenuous, Blank leapt away in a display of acrobatics well suited to fleeing from the fight. The man soon had his distance, while Ace flipped the knife into the air to catch it by the tip, and pondered how far it would fly. Virtue reflected him, its words written across his ponderous face.

It was an unfitting weapon, but it did wonders for Ace’s image with each time he claimed it as his own, and each time he examined it, he found himself entranced in the reflection it gave. Setting the blade between his teeth, he ran his right hand through his hair to get it back into place—Stolen Virtue made a good mirror.

The sounds of working lungs, and flying spittle brought Ace back to the man who had leapt away. The shape-shifter’s teeth locked onto the knife, yet Ace looked no more interested than before. There were other places he had heard such wordy and fanciful talk. From teachers, who pontificated as saints do; from priest, who deemed themselves wise in all things worldly; his aunt, who had done both her share of teaching and preaching with branch. There really was no end to people who thought that they had answers, and Ace often played one himself when in different guises. Ace removed the knife from the tip of his tongue, and then pointed it at Blank, “Forgive me if I’m only a little bit impressed.”

“I may have questions, but truth to form; I have quite a few answers that no one will ever know, more than enough.” Where the sunny town of Heathborough had gone for example, or just how many ships existed in that sunken graveyard between Corone and Scara Brae. There was simply so much more knowledge to be had when one was at the center of mystery. “I can’t claim to understand uncertainty,” Ace had told him this, “no daemons inhabit my mind,” but one, “and my shoulders are bare of ill conscience,” all conscience. It looked as though Ace would dismiss the man; however he soon followed with, “I love a good offer though! So tell me more.”

Blank planted his weapon, and issued a challenge of understanding that he believed Ace could not meet. Ace met the challenge by pointing out its most obvious flaw. “A is A until someone does the math, and a game can’t be played after it consumes you, Blank. You’d do better to burn than jump back every time you see danger.” Confident of his unending life, advocating a violent one, Ace was the fuel for the flames, the heat in other people’s veins. He was an evil spirit that enticed human nature into the inferno.

Light seared the heavens, and Ace’s sensitive pupils dilated, shrinking from the sudden burst of light. Thunder broke the skies, and drowned out the wind and sea, leaving a ringing discord in the shape-shifter's ears. Ace for the first time grimaced, and wavered on his feet, annoyed, but quickly brought himself back to matter of life lessons, and eloquent intercourse. Blank seemed to be growing more serious, and finally more dramatic. The rain poured from the burning august skies, and gravity turned a mild shower into a deluge. Scorched wood hissed, the fires that had been so prevalent dying down atop the deck.

Blank addressed Ace, and recited to him all the things that Ace had made plane from the moment he had been created. The reply was just as gracious, “And you, sir, are a poignant and thoughtfully meticulous species of man; whose redeeming sin is to respectably mean when drunk.” A reference to the flask Blank kept on his person, and drank from even in the heat of battle. Blank ignored Ace’s banter, and issued his mission, to induct Ace into Blank’s service.

Ace cocked his head, a boy at his sport, willing to give Blank the time he wished to speak his mind. ’Though the least he could do is talk while trying to kill me.‘ Still, a job could prove useful; a career at the Citadel was fine, but very soon the shape-shifter would have to leave.

“Alright, you want me, and I think you want me badly. “ He stirred the air, indicating Blank and then himself with Black Mesa, tapping his chest lightly. “But what do I get out of working with you?” What could he give a man who desired hearts and souls; life ablaze, and life dying? “How about this, if I beat you, you’ll join me. I’ll then consider whether your master is someone I want to rent our services to? ” He laughed, but was he really joking?

Blank having set forward the entirety of his secrets returned to battle. The charge he took threw him into the same position he had entered into combat previously, a blade first approach to combat. Ace, ever relaxed, made no gesture to retreat, but instead tightened his grip on his weapons, and sent bolts of electricity surging through them. Enough voltage to send muscles into frenzy, and nerves into chaos. “Heart? Love? What else do I have to give you?" Beyond pain?

'The soul may be questionable, but the acts are sound.'

Blank’s Rheilhand was outnumbered the moment its great blade cleaved the air. Black Mesa and Stolen Virtue crossed, and charged with electricity, worked in tandem. The blades barred the katana’s attack, stopping it with a resounding shriek of metal and shaking steel. Ace moved in, twisting the katana aside, and pulling Stolen Virtue free, moving to slam the pommel across Blank’s jaw.

[Arden]

Blank relished the stream of questions, deliberations and contemplations. He twisted his tongue and ran it along the back of his teeth behind his stoic grimace, and moved to speak. With a snap, and with reflexes like greased lightning Ace brought his secondary weapon in reverse up to his side and the cold pommel smashed into Blank's jaw. If Ace motioned to bring pain into the narrative flow of their battle, Fate it seemed moved to portray Arden Janelle as irony.

He stepped back, then stumbled, then groaned. He wanted to roar, but the muscles in his mandibles gave way to the hypertension of malefic ache. A red circle formed on his left side and he clicked his lower jaw left and right several times to return it to life. The nerves in his face snapped, as did his patience.

"If I beat you, and I assure you, after all my troubles to regain my voice, I shall make you swear fealty!" He crossed the Rheilhand in the air and formed a double crucifix, the symbolic sign of death amongst the silent agents of the Scourge. "What I offer is more than silence can uphold, what I offer is something more permanent than life itself...

I offer you an opportunity to put that grandiose delusion you call pomp in your mind to use! Your blood spins in the phylactery, it is already written, so show me Fate has not stitched you a false thread!"

Blank relented his holding back, and paid lip service to the devil to kick start into a dash. Once more, he brought the blade down and Ace crossed his weapons to deflect it, lithely stepping back out of harm's way and deflecting the haphazard follow up strike as Blank rained down a storm of steel. At the apex of the seventh strike, with sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and his muscles with a shimmer, he dissipated halfway through a vortex spin.

He moved so quickly with his blade coming into Ace that it would take truly inhuman reflexes to guess where his weapon would re-appear, as The Aria plucked him from reality only in vision, and kept him moving in the other realm. Ace would have to know Blank better than he knew himself, two seconds were a short time to have an epiphany, after all.

[Knave]

The iron pommel met Blank’s Jaw with the roar of thunder, turning his head, and staggering him backwards. Having delivered the swift rebuttal to Blank’s advances, the victor of their last bout leaned his head back, and let out a sigh of exasperation as the soaked samurai began to speak. Rain blasted him from all sides and the mounting wind began to take hold of his senses. Blank’s endless monologues competed with the ferocity of the wind, and Ace’s attention seemed more intent on the sky above, than the man brandishing his sword.

In all my years, I do not think I have encountered a man or beast, nor heard tales of demons or gods, who so loved their voice quite so much. He parallels me to such a tiring extreme. If in nothing else, the challenge to be is one of words. Lawrence, thought to himself, the flow of the battle at odds with the discussion it seemed.

The battle began again, and Ace’s investment in his own defense seemed minimal at best, crossing blades to guard, half steps back to dodge the katana that swung for his ribs and throat. The strikes that followed were an exchange of average skills that passed without exception or decisive action, finally ending with the sudden vanishing of Blank from existence. Ace’s eyes widened, the memory of this event fresh in memory, and panic froze Ace’s limbs to the notion of retreat.

Rheilhand flashed between Stolen Virtue and Black Mesa, and threw Ace from his feet as it ground its blade across his chest. Black Mesa, shaking under the shock, fell from Ace’s electrified hand only to follow him in his fall.

The deck shuddered under Ace’s weight, and nails rutted in the holes of their make as the youth was knocked to the rain slicked deck and so sliding hit the rails of the ship with a hard clack. Black Mesa, unaided, saved itself from the perils of the sea by biting into the wooden railing to Ace’s left.

With that blow, Ace burst, and small chuckles drowned in the rain. Lighting flashed, an open opportunity, Blank stood not poised, but enacting the climax to their duel. The man gripped his sword with both hands as he dived for the kill, and all that stopped him was the sudden shift of his enemy, and Rheilhand’s passing over Ace’s shoulder rather than neck. Ace, expressionlessly grinning, grasped the hilt of his sword, and ignoring the wooden rails protests ripped it free to swing for Blank’s abdomen to gut him there. The man retreated before his guts could be spilled, and Ace stood again.

“Y’know, I realize you’re serious.” Droplets of rain collected on Black Mesa’s blade, the sword resting at ease while its master spoke. “Since we’ve started, you've talked about what you’re planning to do. Something like: You’ll beat me, I’ll join you, and perhaps we’ll fall in love, as the best of friends, and I'll be your faithful companion...” Ace swooned, leaning back into the rails his expression one of wild fantasy before he pushed himself back to his feet, and laughed the exaggerated delusion away. “Sadly, none of these things have happened, and one being built on the other, they seem unlikely.” Ace shrugged, and approached the man, his robes pressed against him by the seething elements.

Black Mesa flashed to attention, and steamed as the sword regained its charge. “For all I care, surrendering to something greater than my self is a waste of time.” What lies Ace could tell; lies that burned him even as he sent them blazing out into the rain soaked world. Lies he wished he could follow. Lawrence’s jealousy shook him, but he voiced it as rage. “Why would I want to be less as a part?” No wind could drown out his voice, “Why? When I am all the greater for being whole!” The light in his eyes shined, almost glowing with their intensity.

“Stop talking about the future,” Ace, violently shook of the rain, and ran to the attack, “we're right here, and I'm kicking your ass!” He was a man alive with his passions, his attacks bettered by his emotions, Thayne Gods, what new ferocity!

Black Mesa flashed white against the near darkness of their surroundings, and began to fade. Rheilhand raised itself to guard, and shook under the invisible attack. Unrelenting, unconcerned, the silhouette of the gladius struck Rheilhand again, Ace determination mounting to crush the best of all Blank’s intentions!

Blank retreated, two steps back to draw Ace in, and seamlessly spun giving the full force to his next strike even as he descended to one knee. It was a low blow to undercut Ace’s charge, one that stopped at the hilt where Ace’s boot stamped not down, but into pommel of the katana. Ace raised his hand, and Black Mesa was outlined in the spray of the dark sky’s shattered tears! With no way to go, but back, Blank rolled, and Black Mesa blade parted the air where his skull had been. Blank regained his feet, only to find Ace advancing with the full confidence of man unconcerned with the triviality of death. His form vanished, and within that second he appeared at Blank’s side, Stolen Virtue hungry for flesh. Ace repaid Blank for his surprise.

[Arden]

Blank considered the various intellectual reasoning behind offering Ace employment, but found himself short of the point in his mild distraction as the blade dark and foul found it's mark. Like his own Blink ability, something sinister and bound in malice carried his opponent through nothingness in a flash and he blinked, somewhat ironically, instead of preparing himself for the inevitable. In a brief twist of self-reflection, he finally saw and felt what all the targets of his blade had perceived in the final moment before their death. There were no melodies and blue lights this time however, only sudden shock and pain.

He pushed away from the strike, and clutched his side as the dagger wound began to bleed with heavy volition. Stumbling and straddling the upright position precariously, Blank distanced himself with a half-guarded retreat, so that he could once again draw his gaze to Ace's. He snarled, his teeth born half in threat and half in rage to drink his own blood - to consanguineous his own thirst and throw caution to the proverbs and ill winds of the blood mage.

"I have will, you idiot, more will than sense, most of the time."

Two fingers prodded the wound, and he looked down to face his destiny momentarily. "My offer is due to the comeuppance you shall face through defeating me, because The Scourge is a fickle and tempestuous group, even if the Master at present tries to turn them honourable and right."

First impressions probably weren't furthering Blank's cause, or the Master's attempts at reform, but there was a more complicated politic at work that Blank could not explain and most likely, Ace could not understand regardless. "Soon, as is custom, I shall slay the Master in a ritual duel and claim his place as the leader and grand theologian of the Guild. At that point in time," he rasped as a twinge of pain ran up his side, "- I shall require a new second in command, a new 'Hound' as I am titled and trained now."

"Crushing though the admission is, I have chosen you to defend the Scourge and the new direction, the theatrical after all is a deadly weapon in the right hands - you outstrip Duffy in the pretence, and even me in the skill department. One day, you shall become Master, so the offer comes with a timed reward - fame, infamy, an army at your fingertips, a legacy and a lifestyle and a name in time for you."

He spat blood onto the floor and took a deep breath of sea air. The storm overhead had calmed as the rage in Blank's heart had ceased, and the vast flagship span slowly in on itself amidst a spiralling and somewhat gentle arena. The vortex overhead still crackled, but the echoing sound of the reality breaking roils fell dull and distant. A breeze flicked Blank's hair into a messy array, and he slumped slightly, growing ever closer to the slippery planks underfoot.

"Look at this place, tell me if you see life or death here...chaos or premeditated destruction? These vast hulks are a remnant of something wondrous, but inevitably, the remnants of something dangerous - a fleet arrayed for war with the intent to kill." He waved his arms wide, and at that moment lightning flashed. The light illuminated the vastness of the ship yard, and several broke in two and rise like twin spires in the night, before sinking slowly and noisily into the nothingness of the imaginary depths.

"Sink or swim, Ace, because I'm certainly going to sink...you've killed me once, in ten years, you'll do it again - your right to be the leading man is just one yes away!"

[Knave]

Ace looked ahead, his breaths coming and going in harsh heaves. The shape-shifter’s veins burned, a hungry demand for more air in his lungs searing him from the inside out. Virtue had found its mark, and the scent of blood hung in the rain battered air before being swept away by the wind. The end had come abruptly, and the build up to their climax seemed too short. Ace did not bother to twist the blade, instead allowing Blank to retreat, the carved letters of “VIRTUE” exiting his flesh, each letter filled with Blank’s gore.

It seems I will need to contain this character; else all his reckless battles will be painfully short. Lawrence thought, the abrupt delivery of steel into Blank’s body spelling his end as blood spilled from his body. If for nothing less than sport.

Ace received Blank’s snarl with a somewhat softened expression, looking triumphant as Blank labored again into the distance to give voice to his mind one final time. The tension Ace had felt earlier was a memory that intrigued him, and his muscles still felt alive in remembrance, his hands shaking, and his knuckles straining under the force of his own grip. With one great breath, Ace dispelled his tension, growing more aware of just how much control he had over himself and the man he wanted to be.

“Just as good, sir, sense often sets itself up against will; sometimes I think we’re better off without it.” He said, relaxing his stance to that of friendly conversation… with blades. He was already detached from a battle requiring only one more move to finish this bout of competing ideas, sword to sword exchanges, and at times one sided mockery. With the back of his right hand, Ace wiped the water from his eyes and skewed the red hair that clung to his face.

Blank affirmed his position, and his aspirations toward victory, unaware of the raw ambition he bared his secrets to, the greed that could assume him in his entirety, and lift the dreams from his corpse. “So I pay you my precious time, and you return the favor with an army?” Ace asked, ignoring the welcome implication of what his own succession would mean, or how quickly it might come. “Sounds too good, and who says I want more power than I already have?” He asked, raising his voice over the down pour, “When have I ever hinted at wanting more than life itself?”

Look at him, bargaining as he bleeds. I doubt parting him from his vocal cords would render him speechless. What could I do with an army? What great chaos could I sow? What great feasts could I forge for the reaper of souls? What am I if not sapient intent, and incarnate patience? Perhaps I shall drop Ace in body and name, and take up Blank’s offer as Blank himself.

“I enjoy my freedom greatly, but immediate concessions aren’t the kinds of things I do,” Ace shouted, tugging at the sodden fabric of his robe “I participate, I play, I lead; I like to think I’m too young to follow people into the future;” a man who would have been lucky to live to thirty shrugged off the sleeves of his robe and let it fall to hang about his waste, “people who run paths that will take them to their graves before the summits of their success.”

Links of steel wrapped Ace’s muscles, and the scars of blades past were scattered across the mesh of his chest and arms. Ace hefted his weapon, weighing it as he weighed Blank’s life and his proposition. “If you can promise me that my power will be pure when I take the lead, I’ll walk with you; but the last choice is mine.”

Ace walked to the rails, his motions unhindered by the rain or bluster of the storm, and turning he threw an arm out to invoke that entire ocean of defeated cruisers, and dead battle ships. “I see failures. I see the remnants of people whose lives only amounted to warnings. If this is the lesson you’ve come to teach me, then I’ve learned nothing.” Ace said, lifting his sword one final time, but never approaching Blank. For all his eager power, Ace had never relished the end of a fight, not against Artemis, not against the Old Man, not even against Blank in their first encounter. “I’ve made my choice, time to make yours, how will you die?” There was no glamor in killing a man about to die.

[Arden]

"You assume many things, Ace, many things prehensile and spoken with too much haste," the lightning flashed above, as if the words had spited the weather itself, as if they had dared the arena to burst into life.

"By turning out one little lie, I've crafted doubt and grandeur in the world to bring to bear a grand design. My promise, as you put it, is true, and I shall stand up to my end of the bargain when the time comes for me to step aside as Master. It is the way of the Scourge, for Master to be defeated by Hound, and for the Hound to be the next Master." Despite all of the upheaval, the turn from vagabond to brigadier of righteous and honourable death, the Scourge maintained a valuable and solid sense of tradition, of the Old Ways and their paramount importance to the structure and identity of the institution.

"You will not kill me, not physically, for I am already dead." His mind flashed back to his foolish sacrifice in the howling Ziggurat and his mother's turn in kind to bring him back to life.

The words roiled upwards and joined the vortex through which the combatants had fallen, and through which they would leave. Certainty had its own way with Blank's decisions, Destiny controlled his blade, Fate his lies, the Future his emotion...tomorrow, the ships would sink, the flagship would drown and the sea would return to its effervescent calm...tomorrow, there would be nothing of either of them and everything at the same time.

"I died months ago, only dreams, blood and magic keeps me alive."

Blank's death by Ace's hand would thus be metaphorical, his defeat would let slip the tendons which tie him to the world and send him reeling into the hell that awaited him, the hell which had been denied a soul and prize. "When you defeat me in grandeur, in swordsmanship and in charisma, I shall fall and be gone - the army and the Scourge will be yours, as I have chosen you, and that bond is unbreakable."

The lightning rolled through the clouds and broke the water with static rain. The last of the broken ships fell into the dark, and soon the grave yard was nothing more than a dark ocean with a vast, lonely ship standing at the centre as a memento of the ancient flotilla of Arden Janelle's dreams. He wavered on his feet as Ace's sword rose, and the offer of death came full circle. Having the choice to die was a special allowance, one many were denied, and something he certainly felt guilty for denying in turn.

"However you wish; if it will make you happy, kill me now. If it will make you a better man, make you stronger, strike me down...but look around you...some men are strong not in the way they move or swing their blades...but in the way they craft the world."

He clapped.

The sudden jolt of his muscles sent a sharp pain up his side, but he unleashed the last remnants of his power and felt a sudden nausea before falling to his knees. He fell dead centre of the ship's deck, and instantly felt it lurch upwards.

The whole ship rose, pushed upwards by eternally shifting hands formed from the blood ocean below. All the while, the dark waters had been a vast sea of death, iron liquor fallen from the bodies of a thousand sailors. In the fable, the ocean had stayed red for days, until the carrion had dredged all decadence from the waves.

"If you chose to live yourself, I would consider a nobler course of action." He smiled, and a moment later, the flag ship broke clean in two with a great crack. Shards of wood and metal scattered wide and the rigging whipped with deadly lashes through the air. The weight of the hull gave in on itself, and as feebly as the magical hands formed from Blank's command over the blood tried, they could not keep it aloft.

"Think, Ace, and Flee!" As Blank began to slide along the forward prow, with no effort spent to prevent the movement, a platform appeared by his opponent's side and Arden pointed to it. "Your time to usurp me will come - but today..." his voice trailed off as he slipped from the edge of the ship, his body crashing into the rail with heavy resistance and tumbling lifeless through the air towards the carnal depths below.

With bones broken, consciousness waned and grace lost, Blank crashed into the blood ocean and found temporary peace in the wallowing blackness.

Consider yourself, and who you could be with this opportunity...

[Knave]

Blank burst into dialogue, and with his every heaving breath blood continued to flow from his sides, and no doubt into places it had no business flowing uncontrolled. With a theatrical flair, Blank refused to collapse in a timely manner. Instead he fueled his every utterance with the last of his energy, he would die as he lived: talking.

The words issued faded into the rain, but rather than grow weaker, they became more intense in their rambling; vocal ejaculate flying into the air, and falling as Blank stood taller. There was a glory in dying on one’s own terms, and Ace appreciated it, the warped syntax of Blank’s speech fitting as the life ebbed from his veins, and his own heart pumped his body dry.

Of course, Ace could not send him off into the afterlife with silence, “Don’t forget our deal, this is my victory, and when you next open your eyes, it’ll be me you’re calling master.” Ace lifted his chin, his expression amiable, yet his posture ultimately that of the adversary, ready to meet Blank even on his dying feet, and even more ready to extinguish his light once again if the iron grasp of death could not hold Blank, and drag his immortal soul to its spiritual defeat. “You’re making that oath to a man who has bested you twice; if I join you, it won’t be as your dog!” Water strained Ace’s vision, but he never blinked, playing witness to Blank’s fall.

The dark man spluttered on, his narrow features twisting into resignation, and spiteful reproach as his words commanded the elements, and wind cracked harder against across the deck, and the hurricane raged about them as ethereal rays descended from the gaping hole above. The skies hail fell, and crushed themselves against the white façade of Ace’s grin.

The shape-shifter licked his lips, and spoke loudly, “You’re death is nothing, but another tally to my score!” Raising his Black Mesa, Ace blocked the rain from his eyes. “You could be a god, or a man without form, and I would count you just the same. I can’t grow stronger without sport, the costs here mean nothing.” Ace took a step forward, and offered a beckoning hand in friendly gesture, “I never wanted your life, just my victory; if you want a third try, it’s yours!”

Barely standing, Blank made his peace with the world, and clasping his hands together, he did what he could to destroy it.

Ace’s legs buckled as acceleration raised him, and the very deck of their ship into the air. Unbalanced, and terrified, for the first time Ace fell, and teeth bared with a fierceness born of terror, looked to the looming figures that rushed up around the ships sides. There was no longer any sound, but that of the hurricanoe, an all-encompassing erasure of sound for the violent shocks that reverberated through the air.

They were the hands of giants. Dozens of fingers gripped the rails, and splintered the wood with the force of their grip as they raised the Calamity of Culvers to the sky. Solid yet seething they were the hands of Hromagh, so steeped in the blood of enemies that limbs and decayed faces surfaces as rust color blood ran freely onto the deck. The ship teetered out of control. Ace was thrown back into the railings, the power of his fall aided by the greater of fiend of gravity from across twenty feet to an agonizing stop that did nothing but hurl Ace over the edge to grasp and clutch at the handrail for love of life.

Water swept all about Ace, every direction a bloody ocean flying through the open air, and violent wind ripped the soaring tides to beat the shape-shifter from every angle. The ship continued to roll, and the great momentum of its bulk ripped the railing from Ace’s desperate hands. The ship shattered, the last of its strength spent as its spine caved, and the ship broke in two. The hand of the ocean subsided, and there was nothing left but the airborne ship, refuse, broken masts, and the fall.

The crash was a hail of solid destruction, charred wood, unmanned cannons, sails, provisions, bones, and souls. The sea twisted with a visible agony as the remains of this last ship reentered it with one cataclysmic wave. The force drove all it caught beneath it into the sea, and ejected all that was on the fringe into the distance.

̕̕
♥♥♥

The rain had stopped, the climax had passed, and all parties lay at rest. The corpse of Blank, kimono stripped open and body decimated even in death. He floated in the distance. In every direction, every last ship had sunk, and all that was left were the floating remains.

“Hahahaha.”

Ace lay on his back, the wood’s rough surface scouring his skin, but the loss of sensation was so complete that he was quite comfortable in the area of his back and posterior. There were other agonies though, wounds so grievous they would have spelled the ultimate end of lesser men. Indeed, Ace could barely contain his screams. The left leg was gone at the socket, tatters of bloody black fabric, interweaved with nerves and sinews was all that was left. The pieces of wooden shrapnel had pierced his chainmail armor through his stomach, side, and lung, punching through steel links by the power of their size alone. The left arm was broken, but the bones had mercifully failed to be exposed. The right eye was destroyed, a wreck of milky fluid barely contained by Ace’s squeezing hand.

Ace should have been dead, he should have been. Yet, the flow of blood was stifled, teeth grinding, his mind piercing the fog of agony, Ace… no, Lawrence constricted his very veins to contain his essence. Broken teeth ground, and the shape-shifter stared up into the sky, to the great portal through which he had entered, and saw the winged forms of those divine monks descending to retrieve him from scenes of battle. The words were broken, and blood welled up in his throat when he spoke them, but a declaration had to be made. He choked on his words.

“I…I win.”

Lifting his hand from the crater of his face, Lawrence reached for the light, and clasped hands with an angel.

Spoil:


The Limits of Control: What does a shape-shifter possess that mortal men do not? A great wealth of choice. With sheer conception, Lawrence can stop the blood flow from open wounds by sealing and decommissioning arteries and blood vessels. Bleeding ultimately becomes a decision in and of itself, though actual damage which would normally precede bleeding cannot be stopped. This of course only extends to those body parts still connected, and does nothing for pain.

I would also like to request all gold be converted into experience.

[Arden]

Upon Blank's revival, he scribbled in a delicate hand a note to his new found companion and ally in his war against the more scrupulous elements of the Scara Brae underworld. He was gone from the Citadel before it arrived at Ace's bedside, and long gone from Radasanth before it's words were imparted in dramatic flair to his opponent. It read, in common and trade-speak slang:


Dear Ace,

I weave no magic over water, but blood shall be mine to command in the days to come. The ship rose through no power of my own, but the reality shorn plane and magic of the monks - I commanded them to change it on my whim, and so it did. You, on the other hand, have all the power in the world now to change reality and shift and control the endless momentum it's people undergo in their lives. You are the Hound only in title for we are more equal than I to the Master at present.

To find the Sanctuary in Scara Brae, find the Numarr slums and the tavern were women do not tread unless they charge you just for looking at them. The barman there will recognise you, and you must answer his question "Where the Owls turn their heads."

I look forward to seeing you, and to showing you your future domain.

Blank.

[Tainted Bushido]

Song: Another Side - Kingdom Hearts 2 OST (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hn8MMetAsfs)

Mood - Festive

General Comments:

Alright, so I'm looking at this thread, and in the back of my mind I'm wondering how Duffy has grown as a writer since I role played him last. At the same time, I'm intrigued to see just how Knave writes, as an introduction to Lawrence, I must say I'm rather impressed. I will however say, Knave was right to peg this as a battle of words, rather than actions. Dialogue bogged down this fight to the point that even the actions taken seemed secondary to the war of words. Expect this to effect things accordingly.

Onto the judging!

We'll start with Duffy since he threw up first post.

Blank

Story

Continuity: 6 - You get a solid six for the fact that you definitely gave me morsels to chew on when showing how the past has affected your character. Most people think continuity is just within a story, but it also with what came before. You mention several times the fact that Arden is to replace Duffy, but your actions, lack any emotion towards the event at all. Is he excited? Is he reserved? Is he even worried about it? Is this something that is going to blow up in his face? You pose interesting points, and don't expand on them. Add in the fact that all I know is that the man was apparently Coronian and his mother died to resurrect him somehow, and I don't get a feeling for where this fits in the character's overall story. To raise this score I need more about how these events are shaping where Arden is going to go, rather than a random drop in the bucket on the fact they occurred.

Setting: 5 - So let's talk about setting. We have the fact that we were on a boat. However, that's where the impact the setting had ended. You were out in the open, so the rain definitely affected what was going on. You continued on with the fact that the calamity that destroyed the armada was going full bore, but the immediate surroundings got lost in the jumble. I felt you were so focused on the apocalyptic event, you forgot to deal with the immediate surroundings. Hence, the average score, you painted me a beautiful backdrop (despite the fact I never examined the picture in depth. I felt that was a rather sneaky way of cheating on the setting. ;)), however, now you need to actually interact with the scenery on stage.

It ends up feeling like you're obsessing over the background when theres a naked woman doing something obscene in the foreground that needs to hold your attention better.

Pacing: 7 - One of the saving graces of the thread was that it moved at a brisk pace. However what killed a higher score is the fact that the dialogue bogged it down so much. It felt like a five minute debate between sword swings. From what I gather, this seems to be the norm for a Duffy fight, so I wish you luck on correcting this flaw. At this point its mixing the right amount of dialogue with the right amount of action. I've been working on it for going on five years, and even I can't say I've mastered it.

Story Subtotal: 18/30!

Character

Dialogue: 6 - Blank...is extremely verbose for a guy who just recently regained his voice. As a man who had to endure an extended amount of time silent, I felt you could have played that up more in character. I felt like he was just having a bad bout of verbal diarrhea with no rational explanation for why this was even happening. Your characters seemingly meld together and I have no sense for what Arden truly is, be it a gruff cold mercenary who is bound to service, or be is a verbose wisecracking thief from Scara Brae.

Differentiation is the most important key to playing different characters on the site. You need to figure out how you're going to play Blank with his voice back. You gave good dialogue and it was somewhat believable, but even I had to take pause when he's pontificating, immediately after being knifed in the ribs.

Action: 5 - Action, felt more an underline to what was shaping up to be a good fight. Atop this the talking while bleeding out, the formal way he seemed to talk. It all added up to a very stale amount of action. I couldn't get a sense for what was correct or wrong for Blank. Again this stems from I saw him talking more than doing anything. Dialogue is a way to give insight into a character I understand that, but the window you gave me had a curtain drawn over it. I basically had nothing to compare one to the other against, hence the 5.

Persona: 4 - I got tidbits of Arden through the thread. I got nothing beyond factoids. I felt that things were added, and they were supposed to have meaning to me as a reader, but I missed the memo somewhere so I'm scratching my head in bewilderment. Persona is and I quote the handbook;


Persona refers to how well a character's emotions are depicted in relation to their personality. Emotions can be one of the trickiest things to talk about -- either one doesn't portray them enough or one does a bit too much. Characters, for the most part, do have emotions. They feel pain, they feel love, hate, anger, confusion.

I got nothing like that from Arden. I got no rage at having been silenced for so long. I got no feeling of joy at having his voice back. I got the feeling of anger, but nothing to connect it to. He was angry, was he angry at Lawrence's dismissal of the notion, at what happened to his mother? Is he angry because the sky is blue, the grass green, and some girl kissed her boyfriend wrong for the first time? Rage is a powerful emotion that stirs up the heat in your chest, but it is a logical emotion, it requires someone to light the fuse to trigger the explosion. What about the events that occurred, pissed off Arden?

Character Subtotal: 15/30!

Writing Style

Mechanics: 7 - Solid writing style and use of a varied vocabulary help you in the pure mechanical sense. Your writing flows well and is at a higher grade than even I put myself at. You still have a few niggling flaws, such as the fact in your first post you put "Span" instead of "Spun".

Technique: 6 - Your use of metaphor and foreshadowing were pretty good. (Though I'm rather tongue and cheek over your breaking the fourth wall) Technique is very subjective in my opinion. I felt that you were literally stretching dialogue like it was going out of style. This hurts the overall technique of what you were going for on several fronts. As a fight, I expected a battle. Instead I got a debate that was punctuated by battle, but the dialogue was so overwhelming, any technique used to integrate the two fell apart. Plus points for making it write and read well, minus points for falling short of the goal.

Clarity: 8 - A category you shone in, you did an excellent job of not making me dig out the thesaurus or dictionary to understand what was being said. Atop this I could understand what was going on relatively well. Minus points however for the confusing scuffles at the beginning, parrying the dagger thrust still isn't clicking in my mind, and towards the end with what the hell happened to the ship. Even the explanation given after the fact seemed to not cover exactly occurred.

Writing Style Subtotal 21/30!

Wildcard 7 - You really make this fight feel like the ocean itself, and I felt that if you were to rewrite it, you could have played that up more. You know what you're doing, it's about integrating what you know, with what I see. I'm sure if I have a conversation with you, I could finally understand the few questions I had. Don't be discouraged, just keep on trucking, it's what I did when I first started up Seth.

Total: 61/100!

Alright Knave, your turn.

Knave

Story

Continuity: 7 - Lawrence reads solidly. You have so much you draw from and bring to a thread with you. I felt like I was witnessing the acts of the Joker ala dark knight, and it gives me a good vibe with your character. What kept you from higher scores is I kept feeling that while you alluded to these events, I needed to understand more of your character. In a quick little short story like this, I'm probably not going to see alot of character, but then aagin given the uniqueness of the situation, you had plenty of opportunity.

Setting 6 - Duffy made the stage you did more with it, be it you fondling that naked woman or something, you at least nodded to the fact you were somewhat on a ship. There were still elements that occur on a ship that were missed (if it was truly that stormy, the ship would be violently rocking, the thread felt like stable ground). Remember that the foreground is supposed to be paramount, backdrops merely are there so the reader can visualize whats going on around the immediate.

Pacing: 7 - Once again good pacing kept this going at a brisk pace. I could feel somehow you were the driving force. I don't know how many times you felt like capitulating and falling to the temptation to become a game of words, but I felt you took the higher road on this one, in trying to take it back to a fight.

Story Subtotal: 20/30!

Character

Dialogue: 7 - The words you spat out were rather nice, and totally felt like they were in character. While I had no sense of who Arden was, Lawrence oozed out the screen at me. I felt it was a rather good view to see that the dialogue mirrored the internal dialogue you gave me as well. It was almost as if you were the calamity at times, pouring down your vengeance upon Arden for daring to take you on.

Action: 6 - Action were in keeping with the character at times, though I kept feeling like you were playing too much to Duffy's type. What was keeping Lawrence from just throwing a knife at the pontificating warrior with a katana? That seemed more in character for me, than to believe Lawrence was really going to argue back and forth on the ship. At least a nod to the fact he could have would have been nice and netted you a higher score. Instead it seemed more like a meta-game in trying to play Duffy's game. That's what hurt you here.

Persona: 7 - Other than the niggling flaw I saw in Lawrence discussed in action, I could literally feel what Lawrence was. I couldn't describe it perfectly, which is good, if he's truly as chaotic as you paint, I shouldn't be able to. While not staying true to character helped the threads longevity, it did hurt character across the board.

Character Subtotal: 20/30!

Writing Style

Mechanics: 7 Solid Mechanics however a few things kept cropping up, especially in later posts. You might want to go over your words once or twice visually, because they weren't spelling errors but rather homophones.


Blank addressed Ace, and recited to him all the things that Ace had made plane...

That one jumped out immediately.

Technique 7 - Technique was firm and friendly to my eyes. I understood what was going on. Stylistically your style is very plain compared to the flourish that Duffy presents. This is not a bad thing, but some experiments in how things could work with minor tweaks would have been appreciated. You seem to have found a stride, now you merely need to take it forward and figure out where you can go with it.

Clarity: 8 - You were just as clear, but those flaws in mechanics did crop up. When I go through most of a post and have to stop to circle a misspelled word, things jar. Clean up your mechanics and avoid those dangerous homophones and you should do fine.

Writing Style Subtotal 22/30!

Wildcard: 7 - I'm expecting good things out of you. You're already taking Storm Veritas' place in my heart for the chaotic bad guy. Keep up the good work Knave.

Total: 69/100!

From a matched off total of 61-69 Knave wins!

Knave gets 1200Xp and 50 GP! (I won't give you all the GP as EXP so I split the difference) Your ability is approved pending RoG approval.

Blank gets 345 EXP and 111 GP for his efforts. He also receives a small toy wagon that has printed in red on the side "Keep on trucking!" it has no monetary value and cannot be sold.

Any questions, comments, objections, and insults can be directed to my PM box. You may also try contacting me on AIM at SethDahlios, though know I am infrequent if at all on there.

[Silence Sei]

Exp-GP added.

Knave leveled, imagine that.