Tome of Destiny, Pages of Destiny...(Open to one)

[Archanex Jotham]

(Yeah I am looking for one dedicated partner. I am looking to finish this one so be ready to finish a thread, thanks)

Archanex's name fell out of the pages of history.

He'd grown comfortable in the libraries of the Underwood Hedge Magi.

He'd worked to hone skill and turn skill into knowledge, knowledge into power.

On that particular day, he found himself standing in front of The Citadel. He'd grown eager to test skill against the skill level of another warrior or magus of equal caliber. His eyes narrowed as he studied the building's various symbols and glyphs etched upon it's surface. After considerable research, Archanex had deciphered the purposes of those symbols. They were wards designed to sustain the neutrality of the edifice. Archanex held his battle-staff in his hands, leaning against the comfortable weight of the oak. His body was curved towards the staff and he was leaning in a somewhat peculiar angle.

The angle was a harsh forty-five degree angle with his weight evenly spread from one side of his body to the other. Archanex continued to study, deep in thought, as he prepared an arena in his mind. His eyes were still narrowed, a sign of concentration, as he pondered what type of trial that the monks would have in store for him. Jotham found himself in Radasanth that day on what was meant to be an errand for the Hedge Magi from Underwood. The task was a secret errand for neophytes from the magi's order, which Archanex had completed already and suddenly found himself with free time.

Free time better spent learning.

Archanex finally felt a cramp in his lower back, shifted his body weight and prepared to return to Underwood. He took a long glance at The Citadel, then turned around. Prepared to leave, Jotham almost bumped into the monk that was staring at him the entire time. Jotham grinned at that for a moment or two, looking at the monk with a common courtesy.

"My apologies, sire." Jotham said. "I was deep in thought."

"Yes your kind always is." The monk said carefully with a grin on his face. Jotham saw that the monk was a ranking member of the ai'bron's ranks. "You are in the grounds of The Citadel and thought you would just walk away?" The monk said, mischief in his voice. "I have a task for you if you would listen."

"You have my interest." Jotham said, carefully choosing his words. He knew that the monks were infamous for playing mind-games with competitors.

"The Citadel League is officially open. How would you like to become a member of it's ranks? That is, unless of course, you have more pressing matters to attend to?" The monk asked.

"Hmmn." Jotham began. "The Citadel League? I've oft heard of it. I am glad to hear it's open once more. Isn't that a place for brawny warriors and sellswords?" Jotham asked.

"Nay." The monk responded. "Magi may also test their skill within the Citadel League. How about you, you up for the challenge of a ranked match?" The monk asked.

Thinking for a moment, Jotham nodded. "I accept."

"Very good, come with me and we'll set up an Arena for you."

(Enter here. Note: I will describe the arena in my next post!!!)

[Allennia]

Time had not been kind to Allennia Isould. Truth be told, not many things had. Her Spartan blessings she could count on one hand, and the times she had made use of them with but a finger.

"Graced as I was," she spoke aloud, her eyes set with smouldering tension on the tall gates before her, leading to a world of the unknown just beyond. "I cannot help but feel as if I have run about in circles..."

Escaping war and conflict and persecution in search of freedom had been her intention when she left the Valley of the Seven Houses, yet already, here she was, at the doorstep to conflict without a care for personal safety or the interests of others. She had found, in her short life, that it was precisely the interests of others that had gotten her brother perhaps killed, and no doubt, the same interests that would lead her to go beyond her station.

She did not fear death as such, but the prospect of passing from this world without discovering the truth behind Abhorrash's dissemination terrified her. She clenched her fists and the cold leather, well-worn already after a long ride through the glades of Underwood, a brief encounter with creatures of the deep forest and a short respite in the city's fine Magical Chancery cracked and rippled.

"So I will fight," she pledged to the seven gods of her faith, and to any others that cared to listen. "For to fight," she nodded to the monk who stood patiently by the door like an eternal sentinel. He did not respond, but she did not care. "Is to live, when loneliness is your motto, to fight is to live..."

With a gentle tug, she pulled the heavy hood of her cloak over her hair, which was tied back out of convention into a tight ponytail and waited. The black wool shimmered in the torch light of the Citadel, and her sword hand rested on the hilt of her father's blade ready and waiting. The only sound that broke the silence was the beating heart in her chest, and the tingling sensation in her wrists that precipitated a rise of anger, a rush of blood to the head, and a burst of flame from her fingertips.

"I am ready..." She said at last, her mind prepared. With a crack, the doors began to open, and a slither of light as bright as a star broke through into the dusty corridor.

[Archanex Jotham]

For a moment he stood in the silence of the chamber. It was vast, empty, but full of magic. Arcane imagery flickered on the walls, burning with the residue of their energy. Then, the metamorphosis occurred. It was always a spine-tingling event when a chamber transformed by the will of the monks into whatever world that one imagined. Today, Jotham imagined a field from his home meta-verse. Another dimension of reality that was one of many possibilities standing adjacent to Althanas's own twisting nether. Jotham watched reality bend and twist, the subtle changes on the surface of the planet he had requested, home, and a flash of energy as the world manifested before him.

It was an exact replica. His home dimension filled his bosom with a certain longing as he had lived on Althanas for most of his life and only knew the home-world through the stories of his elders. The large orange star that served as the solitary sun hung above him slightly to the east. It was in the sky, moving as the planet slowly orbited on it's axis. Jotham could feel the very ebb and flow of life, the elemental manna, as it coursed through the wind sending a chill up and down his spine. The Overmage knew peace. His eyes reflected the power that burned through him as he stood in the large field. The grass all around was a blue-tone native to that world. Trees were large and built to the atmosphere of the home-world, growing thick girths, some several yards wide! The tree canopies were hard to see in the sky. Wind came in from the west, though it was rather warm.

Jotham could feel the crunchy earth beneath him. It was soil, but packed together to reflect the alien world's habitat. Strange sounds vibrated through the air within the vast field he found himself in. Alone, except for locale wild-life. Jotham had heard the stories of the beast of the plains of kaskaarn. Vastly different from the vast fields of the highland plains of Yarborough District. Despite the difference, the two alien worlds seemed to reflect one another at their core. Jotham had proposed the world's description to the monk who only raised an eyebrow. Yet, was able to nearly flawlessly recreate the world of his people's origins. Almost as if they had peered into his very soul. Jotham observed the blue sky for a moment, few clouds to decorate it, and turned towards the entrance of the chamber. At least, where he presumed the entrance once was.

Jotham prepared himself for whatever unusual opponent he would fight. The monks had a funny way of preparing the strangest of encounters. Battles were later retold by the skillful tongues of the bards, and sold as history. Jotham liked that idea. His lip curled into a soft smile as he waited for his opponent to arrive. He held the battle-staff with both hands at a clear angle, one tip placed firmly against the ground. Jotham's eyes were locked onto the area he presumed was the entry way. He would be honourable. Archanex studied for a few moments, and his face seemed to move into an expression of deep concentration. The alien world had a strong ebb and flowing of the elemental manna. Jotham knew how to call upon it's secrets to aide him battle. And call upon it he would.

There was nothing he could do but wait.

[Allennia]

The world beyond the borderline bright brought a look of surprise and wonderment to Allennia's stern grimace. With a great pall of sound, the doors ground to a halt on their hinges and the heavy thud echoed across the grasslands that rested beyond.

"By the Seven..." she mumbled, walking forwards on the monk's command. He bowed as she passed, and then turned his back to tend to the next dome in a series of continual conflicts, day and night, hour after hour, eternally serving the tradition of his people without fault.

As her boots touched the blue grass, she felt a tingle of energy run up her back. It felt different to the manna of Althanas, but it was unmistakably magical in nature, powerful coursing through her waist and up chest with a second pulse. The third finally settled in the recesses of her mind, and she shook her head to rattle away the ringing.

She took a moment to compose herself, the hedonistic head from the other worldly sun overhead heating through the heavy material of her cloak and casting a doubt in the battle mage's mind over her once confident expression. Finally relenting as she advanced towards the nearest tree, she pulled her hood from her head and straightened her ponytail.

"A tree from another world," she smiled at the wide girth of the strange flora, "yet so mightily rooted still."

With her hand still returned to the comforting cold touch of her blade's hilt, she strolled dreamily around the tree with careful, delicate steps. The aromas of the battle arena mingled together in a distracting scent as she peered up into the branches and admired the leaves and the gently dancing branches. Her cloak trailed over the blue grass, carving a circle into the surface of her battleground and she moved her lips silently as she mouthed the thoughts in her head in a stream of thought.

Ever the scholar, she remained blissfully unaware of her opponent as he stood waiting.

[Archanex Jotham]

By the time that his opponent had arrived, Archanex's nimbus was glowing brightly about his person. It was a signature native to the race of the Overmage, strange off-world magus. Archanex stared forward with a placid face, his expression relaxed. His body posture was also relaxed as he waited for his opponent to arrive. Archanex entered a zen-like meditative state. From experience, he knew that the monks would of take hours to send someone an opponent and during that time, one had to occupy their mind. During his time, the Overmage thought of many things. At first, he considered the possibilities that his opponent might be significantly more powerful than he.

It's all right. Archanex thought as he meditated. Even if they are far stronger, it will be a learning experience, and that is what counts. I must research my power and apply tactics to strategy. Jotham felt the elemental manna burning in the very air around him, soon, he would have the power to control spells from every sphere of the arkanos. For now though, his arsenal was limited and he had to use everything he had for the battle. The longer he thought about what form his opponent might take, the more excited the Overmage became. Would he be a vile cut-throat? A heroic warrior, or mayhaps, a dastardly villain? Jotham's eyes twinkled with excitement as he thought of the possibilities and allowed his imagination to soar with the native ave in the sky.

Archanex was prepared. There was no doubt, somewhere, the denizens of Althanas observed the battle and made wagers on it. He wondered, vaguely, what type of odds he was getting. After all, my spells pack quite a wallop. Archanex gripped his battle-staff as he stood in place, his chest rising and falling with the intense emotion in his heart. He gripped his battlestaff for a few moments readying himself mentally for the process of enchanting the weapon. Archanex looked upon the wooden weapon, it had served him well in many conflicts in the past. He smiled at his friend, the weapons he wielded were his companions in a long journey to obtain knowledge and understanding of Althanas, and Home-World.

Then, Jotham had the strange feeling he was no longer alone. Blinking twice to focus on the physical world, Archnaex looked at the figure that was coming closer to him. A curvaceous form suggested that his opponent was a woman. Jotham nodded, having respect for competitors of any gender. Or lack, thereof. Jotham readied himself and moved into a wizard's combat position. The battlestaff held directly in front of his person at a crude angle. It was gripped tightly with both hands. The center of gravity was a middle-body one, and his legs were open in a loose horse position. He felt the material of his combat gloves tighten around his hand as he gripped his weapons, and smiled at his opponent. Jotham decided it appropriate to call out to his opponent.

"Hey there. Over here!" Archanex called. Then he waited for her to initiate whatever dance would occur next...

[Allennia]

Allennia caught the cry and turned instinctively to face her opponent. In those first few seconds, she measured up his mettle and felt satisfied that their encounter would be relatively well matched. He was not a thug clad in the skin of a dragon, or a mage who could sunder skies with but a thought, so she felt akin to fairness and turned to level with him.

"Greetings," she said politely, her simple, stoic accent juggling with the bludgeoning nature of the common tongue. She approached slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements in case it started their conflict prematurely.

Her feet brushed over the tips of the blades of grass with a gentle grace, and the serenity of the strange surroundings allowed Allennia to remain calmer than she might have done if the Citadel did not offer immortality to the victor or the fallen. She lingered a hundred feet away, coming to a slow stop as she judged the distance to be appropriate to draw battle lines. She unclasped her cloak and held it at arm’s length.

"It is a pleasure," she let it fall to the ground with a flutter and a whoosh. The wool left an imprint on the grass, and Allennia felt a small fraction of the manna flitter from existence. This place, as she had surmised from her study of the tree, was not merely a magical world.

"How fitting a place," she gestured wide, releasing her hand from her sword for a few foolish moments. "For two mages to fight in...A world," she narrowed her gaze on the man's staff, "made not of stone, and wood, and water and flame..." She clapped her hands together with a start, and two sigils of fire burst into life. They sparked with embers, and the writing that spiralled around her wrists smote the very air with legends of burning and conflagration...

She smiled wearily and let her hands fall to her sides. They left smoke trails in their wake with illusionary potential.

"But a world made from the very essence of manna itself." With the same patience the mage had shown her as she entered, an honesty she was thankful for and a dagger in the back she was eternally grateful to be without, she waited for him to begin the proceedings. She reached out with her mind for any signs of energy manipulation, flexing her gloves and loosening the strain in her shoulders as her own magic worked against her control.

[Archanex Jotham]

"It's Home-World."

Archanex suddenly said, he motioned to his surroundings. "I am not actually of Althanas. But rather, I came in a flaming chariot, with the rest of my people. From the star ocean." Archanex pointed skyward to put emphasis on his words. "I am an Overmage." Archanex and his people used the term "Home-World" because the name of their world was forbidden to be revealed to the mortal-ken of Althanas. "The name is Archanex Jotham. Do call me Jotham, or Archanex, whichever is most comfortable for you." Archanex was a polite individual, heavy on manners. His eyes were narrowed as he spoke, and he prepared for the battle ahead. "I suppose that after these introductions are in due course, we can begin."

~I~

Each page, an aspect of the Arkanos, contained various symbols for me to memorize. We studied these symbols diligently as part of our rudimentary and advanced training. The words and text were vigorous, but each symbol gave us a divine purpose. A purpose to protect those too weak to protect themselves. I can remember the day I first became an Overmage. Though it is true my people are a species, one mast pass the training to become as a man in our society. I remember, I earned my robes, the robes of an Overmage, and my staff that day. I cried for hours, tears of joy and of success thinking about how much my life up until that point lacked any real definition any real meaning. It was at that point that I discovered my gift of the elemental fire.

Thinking back on it then...

His eyes seemed to go away for a moment. Very far away. Not to a distant world, but to a distant life. A life that was not on Althanas, but rather, on the true Home-World. When Jotham's eyes returned to normal, he was looking at his opponent. Then he smiled, an awkward thing. Archanex studied the woman for a moment, picking an aspect of the surroundings around her to explode. She had a cloak on, that could do, but he did not want to disrespect his opponent. So he picked something far less important, the ground around her. As a master of pyromancy, Archanex didn't just burn things, he caused explosions. There was a difference. Jotham began to carefully conjure the symbols required to prepare the dynamic explosion.

There was a crucial key to the power of the Overmage.

The key was that whilst they cast those magicks, the Overmages were absolutely vulnerable to physical attack. Chanting for an Overmage spell, the casting of elemental runes and symbols, was a critical piece of the process. Jotham moved into wizard's stance. His eyes locked on the eyes of the beautiful girl before him. "A wizard's duel then." He uttered to her, and his body began to glow with elemental manna. It was a red nimbus cloud that surrounded the Overmage. His eyes lighting up with power. The conjuration of the symbols took a few moments, about a minute or two to be exact, and Jotham burned off the needed manna for his spell.

He had a tremendous manna pool, but at that point, he could only cast his spells thrice a day. He would have to make each cast count. And so, as he conjured symbols and purpose, with the will of an iron-forge. Tremendously, energy burst out of the Overmage, the super-heat singed the ground beneath him. But that was not the target. Carefully chosen, the target was the very area around the girl before him. The explosion he would create would be a magnificent one. As the Overmage was lit up with the elemental manna, his hands were clasped together in a peculiar gesture. Neither offensive, nor cruel, it was the powerful gesture of a magus.

When Jotham finished the chant, his power was ready. The earth directly in front of his opponent suddenly began to grow terrifyingly hot. Symbols manifested in the air before the Overmage, the symbols of his people. These runes packed quite a punch and were configured in a very specific fashion. It was art, the manifestation of the Overmage's psyche. Soon, Jotham would grow powerful. But for now, he would settle for the schools of Arkanos he currently knew. Using the school of destruction to it's fullest capacity, the elemental released his power. The explosion was potent, an extension of the vast mind that had cast it.

"Explode!" Jotham willed. And the ground reacted. Fire burned from the elemental manna, super heating the earth quickly. it was as if a land-mine had gone off in the ground. Super heated debris and tightly-packed earth charged with elemental fire burst upwards and towards his opponent. He did not have to hold back in front of the woman. He would release all the power he could. Focusing his full concentration on that first explosion, the burst would cause moderate to heavy damage if it connected. The explosion was within a small, circular radius of about five or six feet. It was directly in front of the girl. Jotham had prepared the full power of his spell so that she could counter if need be. At least he hoped she would. His face was a mask of concentration, and he waited to see what the bomb-like explosion would do.

[Allennia]

Allennia keened her gaze onto the shimmering and incandescent flames as they approached, tearing the confines of the dome and rupturing reality through sheer potency. Whilst her opponent had talked, and then gathered his slow but verdant wits about himself, she too had worked with the sigil on her wrists to prepare a cantrip of her own.

"Jotham, of another world, far from the madding crowd and removed from all the culture this realm provides," she wrinkled her lips into a wry smile, and shot her hands out so that she formed a cross, a proud, egotistical emblem of concentration and aspiration.

In the last vital moments of her life, Allennia Isould, daughter of Lord Isould and brother to the Grimoire Thief Abhorrash, closed her eyes. The well of energy she had felt gather about the self-proclaimed Over Mage had sent a shiver down her spine, but knowing that death would not be permanent beneath the strange sky and amongst the behemoth trees, she stood defiant.

A daughter of the Seven, however, never gave up so easily on what she believed in. Her resolution to succeed, to grow strong, to believe in herself when the things she had loved and lived for where gone was too strong to bend and buckle before the conflagration of another old man consumed with power. The Grand Magister Jurran had taken everything from her in his search for 'arcane perfection', a quest that had sundered the very ground she had learned to respect and draw power from.

"No," she said plainly, opening her eyes to reveal white pupils, devoid of colour or feature, even if such a fact passed for such.

The fire did not strike her, though it did explode violently as Jotham had intended. The clouds within clouds of super-heated air cracked the earth around the woman's feet, and knocked an inch from where she had been moments ago. The white sphere which had formed from nothing, from the very air itself sissified the explosion into a harmless light show. Allennia smiled, thankful that she had drawn enough power to solidify the space around her quickly enough.

She lowered her hands to her sides slowly, maintaining enough focus to ensure the sphere remained intact for the aftershocks. When it settled, the ground around her boots was still scorched and smoking, and a bowl had formed where manna had crushed rock and azure grass all the same.

"I am of the Isould, and home," she brought her hands up with a start, "for me at least, is not a rock, a blade of grass or a tree trunk..." she tossed sparks at the large flora behind her, which danced in the air like Fae embers. "It is embedded in the heart, where the flame of conviction lies." She cocked her head, levelled both fists at the mage, and drew them together without further description.

The sigil folded into one another in a spiralling mess, and rushed forwards with accuracy and guile towards Jotham's chest. A searing, fist sized retaliation with passion, not pandering to masochist ideals. Allennia felt alive, for just a brief moment, sickened quickly back to composure by the thought of losing herself to the twisted thoughts that crept into her mind. She waited, legs wide and tense to see what the mage could do to temper her own rage.

[Archanex Jotham]

You're doing it all wrong!

The familiar voice chastised him for the millionth time.

The path to becoming an Master Overmage was one that was quite a difficult and treacherous one.

Jotham studied under the tutelage of one such Overmage Master for much of his life.

To this day, his mind always returned to the teachings.

"Remember Jot. The Elemental Manna is always with you. Respect the power, and it will save you from destruction and corruption..."

Destruction and corruption.

Jotham found himself thinking about a lot of things really. He wasn't certain why, but thoughts of the old teachings surfaced from the boundless sea in his mind. Each teaching that surface was a clue to winning the battle at hand, or at least, learning something from it. Somehow, his opponent had the capacity to survive the symbol that he had thrown at her. This troubled the Overmage, but it was not an entirely unexpected event. Jotham knew that she would retaliate in some fashion, but he was not sure what the attack would mean. When she did launch her own type of sorcery at him, the bolt traveled quickly through the air. Jotham had to think quick.

He'd drawn his battle-staff in anticipation. When the white-hot bolt of manna burned through the air towards Jotham, the Overmage was ready. Calling upon the Arkanos school of Enchanting, Archanex focused on the heavy oak staff in his hands. Rotating the weapon quickly, Archanex released the spells at his command placing a symbol upon the staff. Once the symbol had released it's power, the temperature in the air around Archanex began to drop significantly. Jotham had summoned a symbol of elemental Ice to his battle staff and was rotating it quickly enough that it might serve as a buffer against the incoming attack. Aimed at his chest, Jotham moved just so that his body weight was projected evenly. He moved his enchanted battle-staff at a chest center of gravity.

As soon as he had completed that task, Jotham saw the blast coming out of the corner of his eyes. He braced for impact and grimaced at the heat of the foreigner's spell. When it contacted with his staff, it exploded, manna against manna. Jotham felt energy and heat crackle through the air sending about ribbons of the substance in every direction. As that happened, Jotham was pushed back. The elemental Ice had saved his life. It had cooled the air just enough, that it could absorb a considerable amount of the heat that passed through his battle staff. Some of the attack did connect leaving Jotham wounded. He could heal, but he was a man of honour and would not disrespect his opponent by using such a cheap tactic.

With his enchanted battle-staff, the Overmage knew that he had placed a fully powered symbol upon his weapon. Deciding to kick things up a few notches, for his body reeled in pain, Jotham focused on placing a second symbol of explosion near his opponent. This time, he sought to empower the very air around his opponent with the symbol of elemental manna. Jotham was experimenting with his tactics knowing full well that he only had these last two castings of his dynamic fire left. As he focused, he prepared the symbol in his mind and projected it out as far as he could. The symbol was quite potent since there was already elemental energy in the air, both from Jotham and the girl. The symbols manifestation was a dead-give away that something bad was about to happen.

However, Jotham did not release the symbol's power right away. Instead, it manifested in the air, shining brilliantly and menacingly. It's secrets vibrating with heat and energy. Jotham focused on the position of the symbol in relation to his opponent. He held onto the symbol with his mind, willing it to manifest to it's full power. If I can just connect an attack with her, I can end this ordeal quickly. Jotham knew that the longer Magi prolonged a sorcerer's duel, the more taxing the event would be for all parties involved. Jotham smiled as he cast the symbol, waiting to see her reaction through the mist that covered his eyes at that moment. The Overmage held his enchanted weapon with both hands, at the ready for any physical attack she might send his way. The symbol, for the time being, was his top priority. He would release the power when he sought fit...

[Allennia]

Allennia was wise to the throes of fortune and favour, and she remained silent and still as the old man tossed her flames aside with ephemeral winter, and drew on his own power to once more cast lights of threat into the air around her body. She felt the swell of energy with her soul, and lapped her tongue into the air with a flicker to taste the fabric of reality as it was split momentarily asunder and saturated with magic.

"Potent," she said plainly, her accent devoid of emotion or surprise.

With a steady hand, she dispelled the sigil on her wrists and watched the embers and smoke drift up into the strange and alien sky in silence. It did not take the patterns long to be dragged apart by the gentle breeze, and she returned her gaze to the old man alone once more, her rage tempered against the futility of her situation. She had spent her only providence against his first outburst, and possessed nothing more than bravado, egotistical wit and the firm application of dance to her step in her armoury.

"Let us see you chill a sword from my hand, and attest to the sword dance of my people." It was both a challenge and a request, and the sound of her blade rang out through the glade, scintillating with half formed physical presence as it bounced over the blades of blue grass and riveted itself into tree trunk and half formed bough. She spread her legs further, and brought the blade she had wielded since a young age up with a spiral over her head.

"If you would wish me dead with the presence of the spell lingering in the air around me, Jotham of the other worlds, then do me the honour of a clash of steel before I am to be extinguished?" She did not wait for him to respond, instead, she pattered forwards, a flurry of black cloth behind her, and launched into a delicate footwork and wavering swords that mimicked the heavy, many pronged movements of a sycamore tree's branches in a storm.

She stoked the flames of conflict, and drew on the breeze around them to bolster her blade. Gusts followed in its wake as it span and spiralled around her body, and with a keen gaze set on the man's chest, in the last moments of her advance, still surrounded by the over mage's potent symbols, she struck with the force of a hurricane; her blade coming out of the whirling dervish of movement with a forceful, almost guttural and sudden thrust to the torso.

It's blade caught the strange sun and her eyes flashed with malefic concentration.

[Archanex Jotham]

~II~

When Jotham's memories continued, he found himself thinking back on his training.

Overmages were skilled with elemental combat, and fighting from a distance. A few, like Jotham, had some rudimentary melee training. Archanex found himself thinking back to his training just then, flashes of memory as shards appearing before his eyes. Whenever Jotham cast his spells, he found himself thinking about many things. The zen-like state caused deep memories to be stirred, some that were long forgotten. Mostly though, Jotham seemed to recall his training, always the training. As he recalled this, the Overmage recalled the last few days of his training as a youth. The passage to adulthood was one full of treachery and danger.

Jotham passed his trials with great effort, and as Overmage he did not stand out.

He did not possess any special genetic marker, the only difference between him and the next man was that he was a hard worker. He studied hard, and trained hard, the scarring of his training still evident on his mind. Archanex always thought about his training and considered strategies for duels that he would have otherwise missed. However, he was still an Overmage bound by the laws of the Overmage. So as he concentrated on his spell, the Overmage found his vision fading from the Firmanent and into the sea of his soul. A vast place, the Overmage was bound by the metaphysics of the Arkanos arts.

Being bound to those laws was a double-edged sword.

As he considered his memories, time passed in the physical world. As that time passed, his opponent moved. Used to treachery, Jotham had learned one thing in his studies. Battle is no place for honour. The Overmage's eyes returned to the Firmanent just as his opponent struck with all of her damning skill. Archanex moved in a dazed posture, his body swaying to and fro. He was in his trance-state, his mind completely concentrating on the potent spells he was casting. When his mind returned from the sea of his soul, he saw a brilliant flash on his opponent's blade. His body was groggy, stiff from spell-casting.

He was attempting to move in a panic, when his enemy lashed out. It was only a combination of luck and faith that saved the Overmage from a complete loss. His opponent's blade struck true and impaled his left shoulder causing the Overmage's blood to spill out freely from the fresh wound. Jotham grabbed at his shoulder a moment or two later, pulling his body instinctively away from the sword. Blood spilled into the air in a gush from the skillful strike, dripping down his body and his clothing. It was a serious injury, but one that would have to be attended to later. For a moment, Jotham lost his control of the spell he was casting. The symbol suddenly erupted near to their position, after all, Jotham had not been standing very far from his opponent.

Cursing as he realized what had just happened, the Overmage's memories returned once more. Training burned through his memories, endless training. He thought about the past just then. Remembering another incident in which he had lost control of a spell...but this was The Citadel. This was not Home-World. Not the true Home-World. Jotham gathered his wits as pain shot up and down the area of his body where he'd been struck. There was little time to react. The explosion burned through the air harmlessly away from the two combatants. It etched the air with wild manna, a residue that would taint the wind itself. Jotham was rapidly running out of options. He had one more explosion cast, and then after that two more castings of his enchanting school.

Jotham looked at the girl for a moment, thinking of what everything had meant. He clutched his arm in pain, reacting to the situation as best as the Overmage could. He still managed to lean against his battle-staff, and hang on to it despite the agony he felt. Burning fire pulsed in the form of pain up and down his arm. That arm was now useless. It hung at his side limp. His eyes narrowed as he considered his next course of actions quite carefully. Okay, my spell is useless on her... Jotham thought to himself. He hated the idea of having to fight melee against a superior warrior. This is too dangerous, she's closed the gap between us and my spells leave me vulnerable... Jotham did not like his odds. He was fair with melee combat, but he had a feeling she was quite skilled.

It would be the end of him.

He grabbed his battle-staff tightly and was forced to use it with one hand. Normally, an Overmage wielded his staff with both hands, but this was a bad circumstance, a circumstance chosen by fate. Jotham felt the weight of his gloves, and moved to place his battle staff back in it's scabbard along his back. When he'd done that, he moved towards his opponent. "That was not pleasant." Jotham began, the older man prepared his attack. He had to time it just right. When he was in striking range, he suddenly let loose with his working hand, the combat glove would pack quite a wallop if it connected. He swung for the girl's head, hoping he would be able to catch her off guard. "If it's melee you want, it's melee you will get."

[Allennia]

Allennia managed a whelp of surprise as the mage, against all expectation, tallied a score of equalisation against her blade and delivered a stern counter riposte with his glove. It struck the left side of her temple, and knocked her to her right. She stumbled and her momentum collapsed, erupting into useless just as the mage's spell had done with violent consequences for the atmosphere of the Citadel's illusion.

Her stance had tempered her strength with incredible force, but she had been reckless and allowed her ego to get in the way of her defence. Instincts took over, and she stumbled back, like a drunken fool to remove herself from the threat of a follow-up strike that would have a more permanent effect on her vision.

She felt a new and unfamiliar sensation well in her stomach as she righted herself, ten feet back from where she had been struck.

"Ugh," she grumbled, rubbing her head with her free hand as her sword arm hung loosely by her side. The tip of her blade touched the tips of the blue grass, which blurred into a sea of turquoise and dizzy spells as she eased her sight back to normality.

"I under estimated you old man," she darted a glance at her opponent as her vision returned and the throbbing and soon to bruise forehead dulled to a throb. "A mistake I will not repeat so easily or readily."

She buckled her knees to lower her height, and spread her legs to take the weight of her body. This time, she imaged herself to be a tall and ancient Liviol tree, magical branches shimmering in the deep and hidden glades north of the island of Scara Brae. She had dreamt of those places where the sacred wood grew, and dreamt further still of visiting them one day. The closest she had been was pictures in her brother's library, and being fortunate enough to clasp the Arch Magister's staff, if only for a few brief seconds.

It was all she needed for inspiration, all she longed for to conjure the power that was inherent to the magic oak.

She span slowly, lowering her stance to drag the tip of her blade along the ground to form a circle.

As she rose, she levelled her gaze back onto the over mage, and took in the air of the illusory arena with a heavy draught to keen her senses. Like the stance before her, an unseen wind swirled around her body and gathered into her blade. Immediately she felt her mind waver, as if her skill and knowledge were being shaped by her focus on the sword art and dance she called her heart, her fire, her true calling.

With flicks of her delicately flexed wrist, she conjured a sigil, and scattered three minor flames from one fireball into the air and brought the blade up with a raised right foot. The tip of her boot kept her from falling forwards, and she blinked.

Possessing much less strength than their normal counterpart, the three shards spiralled together with rushes of burning air and flew at Jotham as one. As it advanced, no more than a distraction, Allennia cleared the short gap between them with a speed that she doubted she could match without the power of the dance behind her step.

"Let us see you try that again!" She challenged calmly, her hair flowing up into a cresting wave, her heart pounding, her defence and her speed enticed by magic and her calm and collected application of a distraction falling like a comet towards the Overmage's staff.

Exactly seconds before she spiralled and sliced at his midriff. Even with the Liviol stance draining her knowledge, shifting it from offence to parrying and deft deflections of harm, it was a threat no fool could ignore.

[Archanex Jotham]

She has become desperate.

Now is my chance to strike with a firm response to her arrogance.

She has power, but not discipline.

If only I could...

As Archanex thought about the situation at hand, the girl struck out with all of her fury. Archanex prided himself as a man who never underestimated his opponents in The Citadel League, but his entire strategic planning had fallen completely flat during the length of the battle. Feeling the hot sting as her blade cut through his well chiseled stomach, the Overmage growled out loud and reacted on instinct. She was in striking distance by then, and the Overmage hoped she was not fast enough to evade what was coming. He suddenly raised both of his arms together as a single unit, and clasped his hands together. He raised his fist high as she cut him, using the full height he possessed. Archanex was not frail, he was a strong battle-magus despite his age.

The gentleman did not like having to hurt the girl before him, but in The Citadel Leagues, he had to face and strike down every opponent that came his way. Archanex suddenly swung his hammer-like fists down in the general direction of the girl's upper body. The Overmage did not possess devastating strength, but he was more of a brawler than she was. If it came down to it, he would stab the girl to tiny pieces with his dual wielded daggers as a back up plan. But for now, he swung with all of his might. It was a downward moving attack, coming from a much higher center of gravity. His entire body was used for the attack. Even as the girl's sword cut through his flesh, blood spilled into the air, the Overmage concentrated. He needed to keep the last few seconds of the battle alive.

An Overmage never gave up.

An Overmage never surrendered.

There was too much riding on the battle for him to give up. Archanex was counting seconds off before his fists either connected with her shoulders, or connected with air. He expected at least a partial hit, judging by the way that she lashed out at him with her sword. She was powerful, he knew that now, but there was no more room for regret. Jotham had to grow more powerful. As his fists got closer, Jotham suddenly came up with a desperate plan of his own. Right before his fists struck, he suddenly lashed out with his right knee to the general direction of her gut. It was an act of madness, an act that had left the Overmage completely vulnerable to a riposte or counter-strike.

Jotham's mind was blank as he lashed out of her with all the skill he could. At that point in time, he could only remember thinking that he wanted to hurt, and to cause pain. There was no style or finesse in his technique, he simply wanted to end the battle as the victor. Jotham knew he could win on brute force if he focused on the last few moments of the battle with all of his intellect. His intention was not to kill that girl, but his intention was to disable her so that the monks observing the battle could call it. Jotham's thoughts were focused on the idea of victory against all odds. The girl represented a far superior warrior to he,, and he wanted to best her in a fair single's match. In The Citadel the sexes were equal, Jotham knew that to be truth. Noone would be underestimate...

...There would be only one.

[Allennia]

Equality was in the eye of the beholder, as far as Allennia was concerned. In the Seventh Heaven Valley, women were subservient to their male counterparts in all walks of life, even domesticated duties were glorious as long as a man did them, housekeeping and servitude honourable for the patriarchal elite. There were fewer things worse than being a woman, even one born into nobility in the secret realm on the Western shore of Corone.

Death was one of the more suitable alternatives.

The first strike cut deep, but he rose to the challenge of the dancing riposte and struck downwards with both his palms clasped together. She braced for the impact, a flash of a woodsman’s axe falling towards dry and brittle pine reminded her of home, until she gritted her teeth and reminded her memories that home is where she would be headed if she allowed her thoughts to distract her.

She feebly drew on the increased speed and defensive focus of the Liviol form, which brought her out of the path of devastation, but kept her in the firing line. His blow struck her right shoulder as she moved to the left, and she caved with a thud as her knees dug into the strangely coloured grass.

On your laurels, where you belong…she heard her father’s voice echo in her skull, her head spinning with the brunt force of pain and the lethargy of a drawn out confrontation. She snarled, but more at the thought of her parents being right than at the impending end she was going to suffer.

“Well pl-” she tried to commend the mage for his versatility, but his knee, which had risen for her gut but found a softer target struck her square on the forehead. The blow knocked her enfeebled position off balance. The raised curve of a man’s shin connected with her cleft as her neck rolled back, and she felt the soft grass become a heavy floor as the back of her skull collided with the mage’s distant memories of home.

She could have sworn in her momentary delirium that her father appeared over her, looming ominously clad in the green robes and splendour of the Isould family. He cocked his head, and stroked the long tendrils of his greying beard, before he disappeared with a shaking disappointed expression on his face. I should have had two sons…

“Well played,” she sputtered, kicking up with a flex of her limbs and rolling backwards out of any harm’s way. She stumbled as she stood up and almost tumbled right back into another roll, but she steadied herself with her arms and levelled the Unbending Thorn to the mage’s neck, her high temper dancing along the blade’s tip. “I will be most distraught if I fall to the ignoble deeds of treacherous old men. Where is the honour, ‘mage?’ Where is the tact of a fight fought with dignity and grand gestures,” she spiralled her blade in a flourish that seemed to catch the wind with every minute movement, and set the sword across her waist, it’s tip pointing to the left and her hip cocked to the right.

The Sycamore form returned to her body, igniting the last strength in her muscles with the brutal strength and mighty swing of the tree’s heavy branches. If speed, finesse and grace were beyond the mage and the harsh reality of their surroundings were mirroring his people and their way of life, then she would answer it in kind with the strength and rage of her people.

Not her family, or her peers, but the women of the Seventh, who had laid down their freedom and their lives to protect the darkest truth of them all…

Daemons did not reside in the depths of the world, ready to rise up…the daemons where already on the surface, and their names were men.

She charged at Archanex, and entered one half-dazed spin that caught every swirl of wind in the behemoth trees and every breath of life in the grand surroundings of the Citadel. She would not be subdued by patriarchy any more.

[Archanex Jotham]

~*III*~

The past, oft times, was as complex as the present or even the future.

When one thought of the past, different images burst forward from the subconscious mind. It was often said that a life-time worth of the crap that people had to endure subjectively rose to the surface with almost a mind of it's own. Archanex was no different, as an immortal, he had several centuries on him where age no longer applied to someone like he. Archanex recalled memories in terms of flashes or events, no longer even a personal event, but an event none-the-less. Overmages were an interesting lot because of the immortality shared with the race. Overmages were a band of celestial beings that came from another world. Not the precious, native Althanas. Jotham knew that he could never completely be one of them despite the fact that he was actually bourne on Althanas.

Archanex oft thought of his heritage as an Overmage. He was part of a large legacy of sorcerers that protected that which needed protection. Overmages, however, were not without their share of internal conflict, corruption, or villainy. Archanex knew what could happen when a corrupt heart wielded the power of the Arkanos Arts. For a moment, Archanex pondered that very corruption remembering the ways of his people. The ways of the Gray Wizards. So when the girl spoke, his mind was elsewhere, it was at the past. Distant pasts, alternate pasts, memories long forgotten. It was difficult for Archanex to tell in his old age at times. Maybe, the old man was just growing senile. When the images stopped flashing in his head, that's when the arrogant girl attacked...

***

You're almost there Archanex.

Where?

Just a little bit further Archanex. You have to time the castings just right.

How come?

Just because you are an Overmage does not mean that each spell-casting will be a success. Remember though, the Elemental Manna will always be with you, childe.

Really? So I will never be alone?

No...

Never alone...

***

Voices often echoed from the past. The Overmage was no different than any other. With their long life-spans, The Overmages were critical for the growth of The Arkanos Arts. Archanex listened to the voices of the past as they gave him counsel and determination. Archanex never forgot the trials of his elders, or the trials his people put him through to get to where he was today. As the girl charged with her arrogant attack, Jotham carefully drew the small daggers in his possession. They were masterwork of course, and of highest quality. When the girl was within striking range, Archanex's riposte was two-fold.

First, he released a swipe with one of his gloved hands, a powerful back-hand strike to her face. Where it would most hurt. Then, a moment later, he threw his dagger from his free hand at her charging form. If either strike connected, Archanex would be ready. The movement put him in such a position that when her attack connected, he was pierced in the obliquus region, that is, his side. Archanex growled once again, but attempted to remain focused after his long years of training. He was already bleeding, he only needed to last a few more moments for the hour to be his. With the strike from his hand, he aimed for the temple region of her skull. If he struck with his dual-pronged attack, the girl would be his for the taking. Such a thought brought chills to his spine.

But, he had other plans for the young wizardess. He would take her under his wing, if only she would accept.

"You speak of honour and lack thereof. This is The Citadel, there is no room for false morale values here!" Archanex said as he countered. His dagger was already spinning through the air in the girl's general direction. He hoped that his attack was carefully, and well placed. "I pity you. You have potential but no drive to use it. All your tribe's courage and strength. Yet you take up arm's for lost causes." Archanex shook his head, he was taunting her. "I don't know about your past, but I know about your present. You are but a lost puppy, suffering in a vicious cycle of self-torment and deceit. Which means that of all the enemies you will face..."

"Your mind will be your own undoing!" Archanex yelled even as he was struck by her fierce blade swipe. Now, he was bleeding terribly from two vicious injuries. Archanex found himself desperate for a solution, and desperate animals, were oft the most dangerous kind.

[Allennia]

“My brother is not a lost cause,” she snarled, vicious rasps and spit flying from her clenched teeth and lips.

Her boots drove her forwards with speed and gusto, but not speed enough to outwit the mage’s surprise development of guile and wit. She watched the dagger leave his hand and his glove raise again to strike her like the insolent child he believed her to be. Time seemed to slow as it span through the air towards its target. Blade, hilt, blade, hilt, rotating like a deadly game of chance.

All the beauty of the strange world they had fought in blurred into a single point. The blue hue of the gently bellowing blades of grass beneath their hectic feet, the behemoth trunks of the gourd like trees, the sky ablaze with unnatural colour and hubris; all into one moment of sudden concern.

“Not to-” she whispered, the air taken from her lungs as the dagger point slipped with ease into the bulging left vein in her neck.

Her body’s movements lost all momentum as her head snapped back and rolled to the right beneath the blunt impact of the projectile. She felt a sickness momentarily in her gullet as the blood vessel split neatly and the weapon piercing the side of her oesophagus. Blood mingled with air and she gurgled instead of cried.

Without life, her body stopped dead in its tracks. For a moment, her knees buckled and snapped, and her arms splayed into hideous contortions of pain and unspoken anguish. Her head lulled to the right, away from the wedge of the cold steel, her eyes glistening over with cold, vacant shine as they stared absently at nothing but failure and regret.

In her final waking moments she heard the mage’s words again and again, turning them over like a strange and alien scroll in her shaking, curious fingertips. She read through them many times, their unfamiliar metaphors dragging her mind into the unknown. Was he right?

She fell forwards, a heavy drop to the knees that jolted the impaled blade and caused blood to gush from the wound with extra gusto. She felt faint, and fell forwards with a plummet and a burden of doubt on her shoulders.

Will I ever conquer the daemons in the Library?

Her face slammed sideways into the soft grass, suddenly hard with the impact and the cushion of compact dirt that lay just beneath the surface. Her neck, twisted under the jolt of the thrown dagger twisted further still, so that the torn muscle ripped and wrenched the last flicker of consciousness from the blade mage’s body. Her cloak, dusty and singed and messily arranged folded over her back and legs like funeral dressage, her hood folded neatly over her head to hide the wound from the crows and the strange creatures sprung from the pages of Archanex Jotham’s mind.

Her first words as she sat upright in her infirmary bed echoed her first words as she had entered the arena.

"I guess I wasn't ready after all..."

[Archanex Jotham]

Retrieving his dagger was top priority.

In an unexpected twist, Archanex felled his opponent without ever really wanting to. Damn, maybe I should have just knocked her out. He picked up his dagger after exerting a lot of effort for the process. Wiping the blood off it was the next step, he performed these tasks quickly. He knew his own time was rapidly running out, and he wanted to spend his last moments doing what Overmages did. He pulled out a blunt of the cannibus herb, lit the tip and put it to his lips. After a deep pull of the smoke, he felt a lot better about the situation. He probably had made an enemy, but that was her choice and not his. In the end, he had tried to help her and she refused his help.

He would have gladly trained her. He managed to remove his staff from his scabbard, after a few moments, and placed one of the tips into the ground. Leaning against it, Archanex thought about many things. Strangely, the weight of death did not feel as bad as he thought it might after previous battles in The Citadel. Archanex felt at peace as he faced his final moments. He closed his eyes, took a deep pull of the blunt, and began to focus. Of course, his final trick was not much, but it was better than not and would assist the monks as they patched him up and reversed the permanent death process. Archanex tapped some Manna to focus on the Lay Hands spell he knew. He placed it on his side, which was the more lethal of his injuries. He knew it was not much, but it would help alleviate the pain since the injury was quite serious.

As he tapped Manna for the spell, his hands began to glow with power. He smoked the entire time to remain calm. His hands stopped shaking as he concentrated on the task, rather than panic at the events of the hour. His opponent vanished in due course, followed by the combat arena that had been adequately chosen for this venture. All in all, Archanex considered the battle a win. Despite what the monks would ultimately judge about the battle, Archanex had faced a superior opponent and defeated her. He limped over towards the gates, when signs of fatigue began to settle in his mind. He had lost far too much blood to his injuries. Monks rushed into the chamber as he collapsed. Embers from his blunts dying on the fortified floor of The Citadel combat arena. Archanex found peace in his death. He was not afraid because he knew he was a good man. And good folk always went to heaven. He collapsed upon the ground a few paces from where he had started. The monks began to work their healing magicks upon his person, and the dark set in....

~IV~

A time later, Archanex found himself waking up in the healing centre. What his lay-on-hands spell had done only assisted the monks in healing him much faster. Sitting up, he felt tremendous pain in his side. Side effects of the monk's healing powers. Archanex turned his attention to a hand that had reached out to him and pushed him back down on his bed. Archanex turned towards a kind looking female monk. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, his eyes sparkling with the after-glow of death. Archanex laid against the bed as the restorative process took place. He would need healing for a while, but he knew that he would recover in time. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the female monk.

"How did I do?" Archanex found himself asking.

"You did well, I know it was not your intent to kill her Overmage." The monk said casually. "Circumstances in The Citadel are such that survival and death go hand in hand. Death could not be avoided, but I hope that you have learned a valuable lesson today." She said.

Archanex nodded. "Many who venture into this edifice do so seeking to cause death, destruction, and mayhem. I do not. I am simply seeking a way to become stronger and more knowledgeable..."

"...To protect that which matters most?" She said, cutting Archanex off. The two chuckled. "Keep dreaming Overmage. Dreams have a funny way of coming true for those who pursue them."

"Thank you Lady Monk. Your words are kind to an old man's heart." Archanex had not noticed it, but his once-black hair had become a fiery red.

"Age does not matter when one is ageless." She said, knowing of the Overmage's secrets. "I have treated your people before." She smiled at him again. "By the way, my name is Lucindra." Lucindra introduced herself. "We will be seeing each other often I gather."

Archanex smiled back. "I would like that." Then, he noticed a grimoire on the small side table next to his bed. "The book?"

"A gift by the people of my order. It's pages are blank, but they are designed to work with whatever pigments you etch your Runes with."

"Very well." Archanex responded. "I shall use it in my studies."

"One more think, Overmage." Lucindra said. "Feel free to use the library of my Order at will. You have earned that right. With that, we must part. You have food and drink waiting for you as well. Rest well Overmage. Until next we meet."

"Lucindra. Thank you for everything." Archanex said, and went back to sleep.

He slept peacefully until the next job came to pass...

[Knave]

O@O <= Dead fish-eyed stare.

Still Fly by The Devil Wears Prada, Lollipop by Framing Hanley, Boyz In The Hood by Dynamite Hack… These are all great songs, and I can’t help but wonder why their remixes are seem so easy to accept and mindlessly listen to with the inclusion of a guitar…or a banjo. What do they have in common with this thread? Because I feel like them, at heart I am ill, but for the moment I’m gonna try to rock this kosher business, and you are gonna eat this up. Here, candy to suck on.

The Smooth Theme of Compton Ass Terry as Obie Trice illustrates tells us what he wants out of life. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwCWvn60L3w&feature=related)

And the instrumental, where the antics of a real toon roll free. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NdRrDRSgzIs&feature=feedf)

Isould = Red
Archanex = Pink

Plot Construction ~ 14/12

Story ~ 5/4 – A usual part of my filler is to talk about my reasoning, and the extent of filler you guys used versus predictable patterns within a story, because, unlike with crayons, when you make a picture with words, the lines don’t need to be there to be the standard and someone needs to come along and point out jagged spikes which fly from what sort of looks like a duck.

Archanex, you make the first post, and I hesitate to ask this, but what was your intention in doing so? To get a thread up? The first post by either of you carries the nice option of making a real and lasting impression for either the story or the character. While Archanex made an impression, I wasn’t caught up in the story from the beginning, and the quirks of your character were less endearing and more of a curiosity. Questions like who Archanex is beyond a name and a study went unanswered and not particularly appealing when considered in comparison with the question: how does a human being lean at 45 degrees..? You give him some back pain, but this oddity stands out.

One degree from pain. (http://www.analyzemath.com/Geometry/angle_3.gif)

Isould, when you show up, you come out not necessarily with guns blazing, but you’ve got a national flag jumpsuit on and while I might feel a sense of pride and shame, I have to make a small, sketchy salute. You appear to be someone new around here who has bothered to pick up more of Shakespeare than Romeo and Juliet, or at least read enough monologues to know how to play a very angry and emotional woman at war. I may revisit this point, but the combination of these two things are not good without context and the proper establishment of her character. Else we then see a problem when the monologue begins and we wonder, “Who is she talking to?” Personally, I just suspect you like to band(y) epic words, that’s great, but without focus or context she looks crazy.

Archanex, you saved the majority of your personal details—or hefty introduction—for later and inserted it at the head of your last three posts in bulk and bits and pieces in odd places throughout. Please do not do that. There are steps for a reason, like in dancing, or cooking, since I don’t dance (unless it’s for cheap laughs) let’s use cooking as a metaphor. Do you ever get the frozen, prepackaged ingredients together, turn on the oven, set the timer for…fifty minutes, and in the last five minutes put the assorted vegetables and meat into the oven? For homework, do that, and then eat it. And while you both do this to a degree, Archanex, I say it here because I’d like to suggest that when you do flashbacks you include headings or some in-context statement before we embark on a trip through memory land to the sea of definition. I feel this paragraph might be unclear; breaking what should be a flowing series of events hurt you.

Was there a climax? Some moment where everything was at a head? Yes, some of the threads I’ve seen don’t really make the attempt. You made the attempt. What you succeeded at however was actually raising in me an understanding of why previous rubrics have had a brevitywhich would be best described at the moment as the Keeping It Moving Factor. Random thoughts about the past, fixating on things that are not of immediate importance, these are things you do not do when one character is trying to stab another unless you are Patrick Bateman, in which case I grin like an idiot and applaud you. Description is fine, but rising action is the highway and the climax is the AUTOBAN!You want to talk about stances? Cool. You want to write about the specifics of your abilities? That’s okay, with moderation. Do you want a squishy bonus for word length? You ain’t gonna get it or much else with a filibuster. There are no way stations, you are not supposed to get your reader waylaid to the road side while race is still going.

Oh, and brevity has its place among readers with longer attention spans, it helps convey a sense of time. If an event in seconds should occur, I do not want to see three paragraphs. Time slowing down is a retroactive event in memory, or that’s what science told me last I saw the drunken fool; sad to say, this is a failing of the medium, I have yet to see a useful method of cramming a ton of detail into a situation that’s come and gone as an instant. If there were, I’d do it in flash, I’d do it for kicks, and I’d abuse it until people took it away from me.

Isould came out on top for the one of the occasions when writing less earns people more. There was less history to stumble over, and this was aided by a narrative that wasn’t consumed in personal details. The odd part? At the beginning, and I think my notes reflect this, I would have said nothing of the sort.

Strategy ~ 5/5 – Strategy! The place where two people come together to make magic and babies happen! Oh! Oooh… No. This is a baby without magic, send it back! Annnd…serious. Okay, so you two sat down and thought together, “we are going to fight.” How do I know this? I don’t. I could certainly go and check out the recruitment thread I passed on the way over here, but the fact of the matter is, I don’t sense any forethought. You both showed up and started slugging at one another, no relationship at the time or prior, maybe half a round of banter; it was a series of prompts centered on violence, and that is okay. You each made one attempt I could discern to make something more of this story.

Jotham intended to mentor Allenia, though I can see no evidence that he ever conveyed that message even though he blames her for her own death when she could have survived as his understudy of sorts. In the future, when you begin something that might be important, and it never runs its course, feel free to remove it should it not prove integral.

Isould played off Archanex’s minor and unnecessary paragraph and a half on the lack of sexism among his people, a subject not even discussed in-character. It’s something, the way it came together fit right in with the personality, and stroked those drama waves, but again, mid battle is not the time or place to make a statement of the evils of men back home and abroad.

Setting ~ 4/3 – The what now? Hmm, as I read back, I can’t help but notice the mention of trees and other bits of nature early on. Then they disappear. They flicker on and off again, brought back usually by Allenia making some action not whelmed with “self-service.” I would encourage both of you to consider the fact that the setting is almost every bit as good a pc as either of your characters, and in ignoring her you’ve robbed yourselves of the chance to experience her wonderful ways, delightful personifications, and the aid her help would have given to making your battle more than a bladed boxing match.

I think the highest point was granted by “the gift of death”, an instant where a character stops thinking about themselves long enough to notice what it is they are lying on while they cease living. It’s fantastic for delivering both the author and character to a point where they have to consider the present, a present pressed into their face.

Archanex, you’re not losing more points because you established the setting. While the thread may be over, the setting left a message, she wants you to know that she loves you both, but is still very disappointed in you. Should you ever come back, she’ll have cheese and kippers ready for you.

Characterisation ~ 14/13

Continuity ~ 5/4 – You both play original characters, and due to the inordinate, fetishistic amount of time your narrations spend talking about your characters, they effectively establish that they live somewhere and think things. That is a joke. The fact of the matter is, I feel like I’ve gotten to know your characters, though not very well.

The problems? You both don’t really build your characters into the World of Althanas (the full name is kind of funny, isn’t it?)and that’s the ceiling you guys will have to scrape someday. I’ve told Archanex earlier, he’s more suited to the sci-fi scene with this character (all this talk of genetic markers and such). As far as Allenia, she lives in some secret bit of Corone, that establishes something, but events past and present don’t really factor in.

Why is there a point difference? Because Isould explains Allenia and does so with human factors like the problems of her family and culture. Archanex explains a race, a world, but not a life. What has Archanex been doing with his immortality aside from monkish study? Weed?


And another thing! You, the both of you, have at least once forgotten the actions of the other PC.

Continuity wit the world. Covered.
Continuity with your own stories. Catheterized and mounted on the wall.
Continuity in this thread. Needs work.

Interaction ~ 3/4 – No. I won’t be coy here, Archanex talked to two NPCs, short brief conversations. Outside of that, neither of you were an active force on the world around you. There was no communication; there were words, I think only one or two sentences were even replied to. Allenia dug a magic circle, Jotham made an explosion which singed the earth. Here, protips:

1. Be somewhat social, a two second hello followed by a stabbing does not make for a good story, else that’s how we would all meet.

2. There are more things in the world than the ground beneath your character’s feet, have them interact with some of that stuff. It’s good stuff.

3. Be somewhat realistic in regard the thought a reality exists within fiction; we all want to be cartoon characters, but just keep in mind that when Daffy Duck is cold, he shivers, when he gets shot, he flinches, when he thinks of money, he wrings his hands, when he loses his mind, he becomes my hero.

4. Carry pro-tips 1-3 through to their logical conclusions within the situation.

Character ~ 6/5 – And this is the hard part. This is probably the best section for both of your characters; I am tired of citing why. =_= Allenia comes out on top for the simple point that she starts more agitated, and becomes more dramatic as time passes. The speeches however were of little help later in the story as they were far too stilted and composed with their fine language. For future reference, in situations where one person is on their knees after the equivalent of a good kicking and another stands over them ready do give another, only one of them gets to sound composed and calm barring some trick of constitution where a character is immune to pain, fear, and having recently been brained. The times when Allenia was at her best? When she was short with words and the time it took to deal out a beating. Times changes, and it bothers me, King Lear contains some damn sappy stuff, excellent expressions of grief and anger…and in this day and age these things are most popularly expressed with silence. If I could suggest anything, it’s either you get in line or you work on your speech to the point where rather than corn words spoken glint with gold.

I’d like to make a suggestion on the side and even a guess. When a character is speaking without a focus or crowd, I then assume that the character is talking to their self and that’s the action of two different kinds of people in my mind: 1. The lunatic, whose mind is the home of apparitions worthy of replies, or 2. A person who in their mind is alone and makes things easier by talking their way through them. In either case, I’d appreciate if you considered those two things if want to continue making passionate speeches. Currently she doesn’t seem crazy, some I’ll go with number two and hope you have some subtle bone in your fingers.

Archanex, you are consistent, sir, very consistent with your character up until the idea of apprenticing Allenia, which you write later like you had offered. The main problem beyond that? You are not consistent from the start, I feel a distinct disconnect from your first two posts. They talk about things like study, and revel in a world revisited, and are then proceeded by visible planning and numerous mentions of Archanex’s prowess, which seems to waver at times.

I have to wonder about the style with which you write your posts, Archanex. Do you imagine yourself as the character? Or do you imagine yourself, the you behind the screen, as this character? It grants an interesting explanation for the descriptions used, fan wanking. We all do it, just in different ways; I do it while walking in circles in very empty, very private rooms. I make this question, because sometime I feel like the narrator is like an announcer at a wrestling match, a really emphatic one singing praise to the stars. If I could ask anything if that is the case, it is that you give this a shot: be the guy, not the guy watching the guy and reading his mind. Get into his clothes, feel the knife’s edge, convey the sensation of briefs riding high or the sense of freedom that comes with commando. When you write, you don’t write much of Jotham reacting with emotion, but states that he has one and is working his way through it at the moment.


Writing Style ~ 17/17

Creativity ~ 6/4 – Allenia changed stances, and often attempted to make some kind of visual appearance in the story. The way it was done seemed a clear intent to make Allenia’s attacks part of nature, and the way it appeared In my mind was largely different than it would be in plain English. That motif ran its course well, and I think it will continue to do so later.

It was a short fight, not much in the way of a wow factor possible. To be honest, I think you guys could have done much better if you had taken the time to think out the events together, done a bit of permissible bunnying to remove the odd feel you both had when you worked out your story. It was like a RPG, the old fashioned ones where one side doesn’t do anything while the other plans and executes their moves. That was the kind of exchange we had here at times.

Mechanics ~ 6/7 -

Archanex, you make a small number of grammar errors, no heavy example of a failure to communicate anywhere.

Allenia, you lost out for what I suspect is part of the reason below, in the rush to make an art of words some of them didn’t fit properly. For example, “momentum erupted into useless.” First of all, erupt is a word with a lot of force, and useless comes off as pretty flat, to see one acting on another wasn’t pleasant. Between the two of you, Allenia, I think a bit more proof reading would help you, proof reading aloud.

Clarity ~ 5/6 – This ties in above, Archanex pulls a lot of lines, but he rarely appears to be pulling a word he doesn’t know.

It’s a rare thing for me to make a call for plain language, Isould, I appreciate the thesaurus like vocabulary you layer your posts with, but at the same time I feel that you may be missing vital connotations which may change the reception of the messages you are trying to convey. The fact that Allenia lives in a world is great, but when you use overly flowery language for the more mundane of things, you are wasting the effect.

“Ruminating my thigh pouch, I drew forth my audio transmitter, and punching numerical codes to a screeching, mechanistic rhythm gave light to yon loyal ally in the solar revolutionary grind as to the whereabouts of a novel residence sublime in its permanence. Nocturnal squabbles had frightened him from his roost to sojourn despairing from tabernacle to tabernacle. Little did he know this house would be his final, and the iridescent fog a funeral palor.!”

This is an exaggeration, but just imagine if it were strung into a short story. Would you read it? Probably not when every few sentences seem to need translation. Though I can certainly respect how much fun writing like that can be.

The descriptions of Allenia’s stances were, honestly, ambitious, and I liked them some of them, even though I think they could have used a bit of work.

Wildcard: 5/5
It’s in some way impressive that two people with different writing styles can be so similar.

The total?
Isould managed 50. In experience, Isould gains 515. In gold she gets, 220.
Archanex managed 47. In experience, Archanex garners 330. In gold, he shall be paid 185.


There weren’t any spoils requested, but out heroes will find when next they check their haversacks something new.

To Jotham Archanex:

The Face Hugger Doll ~ Resembling the hideous bastard child of a spider’s corpse and a fat tick, the head crab was a nightmarish creature from Alararian myth with a chitinous carapace. Several years ago, however, a massive spawning of these creatures made of the myth a nightmarish reality. Thank the “Alpha Thayne” that this is only a doll. And what is more, it’s a real looking one, guaranteed to send minor NPCs screaming for their lives and dignity when it is thrown at them. Soft and plush, it makes a great pillow too, its legs softly stroking the head it holds. Just keep telling yourself it’s a plush doll. Just a plush doll.

To Allenia:
The Vow of Silence ~ A soft, red rubber ball with two segments of leather that buckle together. Not good for bouncing, it’s the size of a red plum, and the black lettering that runs across reads “This Too Shall Pass.” When squeezed it makes no sound and has been found to have a calming effect on those who want to “bite down” on life. Being a rare item in its make, one would certainly think it of some value, but alas, no one knows what it’s for, or maybe they just won’t tell you.

If you are still feeling disappointed, I’d like to offer this as means of perspective: you are not this guy. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nt9fCoAn7uQ&feature=player_embedded)


If you are in need of assistance, I will sleeping until the return of the once and future king. If you leave a message in my PM box I will reply at the time of reckoning instantly. The same shall be said of my AIM account. If either of you are interested in further information, I can only offer my notes, which are post by post and uncensored with the hate of sleepless, and infernal nights. I can assure no feelings, but there is likely more in them than what I have here.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.