Training Day

[Symbiosis]

Closed to Glass

Baxter Arlington had had enough. He prided himself that he was a tolerable man, capable of sticking through things that lesser men would have easily abandoned or quit from. Yet this, this was just more than even his level of commitment could handle! The Citadel was no place for a man of his caliber, of his intellect to do battle. It was asinine of the demon who shared his soul and body to make him fight. He had been injured severely already and at last he tossed his hands into the air and made to leave.

“You’re going nowhere Binky boy,” Symbiote said in a dark manner like a parent who was thoroughly disappointed with their child. “I have had it up to the heavens with your lack of spine and cry baby nature in a fight. If it wasn’t for the Citadel you’d be dead already!”

“Which is exactly why you should just admit that I am not a warrior and be done with this nonsense! I am no fighter, I am a scholar!”

“You’re a damn pussy, that’s what you are!” Symbiote retorted hotly. “You run from battle even with my help and you can’t seem to go through a fight without soiling yourself. Seriously, we’re toughing you up!”

“I don’t want to be tough, I want to be at home with a cup of tea and a nice fire!”

“You know what you sad sack of shit? This right here is exactly why your whore of an Ex dumped you! Because you run from any challenge presented to you!” Symbiote spat. “Grow a pair and learn to take what is rightfully yours!” Baxter looked to his chest as he headed into the marbled hallway of the Citadel.

The noon hour had passed and the lull of the afternoon had started as the Salvarian native headed for the exit. Yet when Symbiote began to speak about the woman who had left him he paused. There was a silence, a dark silence of contemplation as he rationalized the words he just heard. Was it true, did Baxter really run from fights because he was scared.

The answer was a resounding yes, and he felt comfortable about that. Symbiote on the other hand growled.

“Look, you and I, we are going to be together only as long you stay alive. I sadly don’t have the time to go looking for another putz like you to go for a ride with, so we gotta do what we gotta do. I’ll make you the deal this time, Binky boy,” Symbiote said dryly. Baxter looked to his chest as if waiting to hear his idea with a dark look on his face.

The last time Symbiote and Baxter made a deal he was possessed by the demon so to hear another deal on the table made him rather sour in mood.

“Look, you and I are going to fight again, but how about this time I put us in a training room. That way, the person we fight will not be as skilled as the oppoenent’s we’ve been fighting. Kid gloves, easy sparring match. Not a blood bath.” Baxter raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I won’t promise that, but you get the point.”

Baxter weighed the deal for a moment, and then with a shrug he nodded his head. “If you agree to put us in a training room I’ll agree to this plan. Maybe a foe who is unskilled as I am will be a refreshing change of pace to help us learn.”

“I never said they’d be as shitty in a fight as you are, Binky boy,” Symbiote laughed.

“But you said we’d be equal skill!” Baxter said in bewilderment.

“No, I said they won’t be as skilled as the people we’ve been fighting. Learn to listen to the words, not the idea behind them. Idiot.” Baxter sighed in a pouty way as he approached the monk at the central desk. He rapped his knuckles gently on the Coronian oak and the monk looked to him a smile.

“I’d like to rent a room, preferably a style equal to one of those Akashiman dojo’s I heard so much about. And I request I put a training label on the room’s description! I do not wish to fight another blood thirsty savage.” The monk nodded once as he gestured to the large wall sized parchment that had the names of rooms, descriptions, and who fought in them. In the third row he found his name magically appear in gold script, before lining out in black as the label ’Training’ flashed in a soft orange hue. He looked to the room number and smiled as he turned to head into the portal that would take him to his new training excerise.

“Please don’t be a monster, please don’t be a monster,” Baxter muttered like a mantra.

“Please be a monster, please be a monster,” Symbiote pleaded.

[Glass]

Soft footsteps swelled into being behind Baxter only a split-second after he stepped out from the portal.

“I hope you aren’t this sluggish during our fight,” a low, feminine voice spoke from behind. The speaker stepped past the muttering man, heading rather quickly toward the far side of the chamber. Stopping just shy of twenty feet from Baxter’s current position, the woman turned around, a meek, almost jovial smirk stretching between the delicate, tin fangs which curved down the length of her cheeks.

“Mask,” she said abruptly. “You can call me Mask, Master Arlington.” There was a distinct, brassy ring to her voice, which made it difficult not to notice when she was speaking.

Mask – or Ardaen Razir, as she had been known before her time as a mercenary – hardly appeared to be a monster. Standing at five foot four, she sported a smooth complexion (at least what could be seen of it beneath the tin fangs of her mask) that placed her age at no more than twenty-one, although possibly quite younger. The heavy fabric of her ensemble hugged her lean and muscled body which, while not particularly voluptuous, possessed a certain feminine quality all the same. The only counterpoint to this less than diabolic visage was the pair of narrow rings of bronze light shining through the meshwork of her mask, an impression further magnified by the shadows cast by her emerald hood.

“Well,” Ardaen began, “anything I should know before we begin?” The woman spoke almost too casually. Even the way she moved possessed a certain level of what could easily be misconstrued as carelessness. The way she stood now, her right arm folded over her stomach, its respective gauntlet gripping the left counterpart’s steel-covered forearm, made it difficult to read exactly what was going through her mind. However, a keen observer with even a novice’s knowledge of martial combat could see that Mask was far from unprepared. Her feet rested a comfortable shoulders’ width apart from one another, her entire left side a smidgen further away from her to-be opponent.

Ardaen was ready for this, even if she gave the unjustified façade that she was not.

((I want to apologize for the brevity of this post. It has been a very, very long time since I’ve been in this type of setting and I struggled a great deal over how I should start this. If you have any questions, or even concerns, please let me know. Also, I am sorry for the time it took to get a reply to you. I wasn’t able to actually get a stable enough connection to the internet until I made it to the airport. From this point forward I should be able to post at least once a day.))

[Symbiosis]

Mask, as she wished to be called, had startled both the demon and the human as she approached into the open, speaking so causally, so dismissively of them. The way she held herself aloft was very arrogant and the confidence she had made Baxter turn and head for the door. The demon growled in his ears, but the Salvarian native just ignored him. There was no way he was going to get into a fight with her. Call him a coward, Baxter Arlington cared not.

“I’m not going to do this,” Baxter muttered.

“Oh yes you are!” Symbiote replied angrily, forcing the changes that heralded the man’s grotesque nature. The bones within the man’s chest began to snap as they reformed to allow room for his expanding muscles, the shoulder tearing and ripping as they began to grow before Baxter’s very eyes. He let out a silent scream as his expanding lungs took a shuddering, agonizing breath of pain.

His jaw snapped as it distended similar to that of a snake, his teeth enlarging, their shape like tiny daggers all nicely in a row. Baxter’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, replaced with milky white orbs that narrowed into tiny slits of demonic pleasure. His fingers curled upon themselves before flexing back in the shape of large eagle like talons, his clothing ripped to tattered pieces that draped from him like little curtains.

“Rule number one, Binky Boy!” The demon howled, the voice carrying out as if spoken from two sources. “When you’re up against a smug little bitch, you knock the taste out of her mouth!” The demon waited for the transformation to complete as he roared a challenge to the opponent, the pores of the skin opening to let a clear, liquid like sheen coat his entire skin. He hunched his body like a beast of ancient nightmares, letting his mouth open as the distended tongue licked the air, another primal howl escaping it.

“Let’s knock some heads in!” The demon taunted as he slowly began to move Baxter forwards.

((Transformation complete. Now, as for your apologies, knock them off. First off, sometimes a short post is best, if you don't have need to say anything, then don't bother saying it. And as for posting in a timely manner I already told you not to worry a thing about this fight, as I totally understand. Just take your time and enjoy the fun. J Now, come get some, and if you have questions just let me know, I’ll be happy to answer them.))

[Glass]

Smug, Ardaen mused to herself, eying the man-turned-beast as he, or rather it approached.

To some, twenty feet seemed too short a distance when facing down a monstrosity such as the one stalking toward her. However, Mask hardly seemed bothered, even as the floor quaked with each step her new opponent took in her direction. That did not mean she was not frightened, when in truth fear had saved her life on more than one occasion; she simply knew how to hide its outward appearance, and quell its internal effects enough that she could respond calmly to the given situation.

Ardaen’s knees bent slightly, the muscles in her legs tightening as she prepared to move at a moments notice. Simultaneously, her right hand released its hold on her left arm, reaching instead for the hilt of the closer of two daggers adorning that appendage’s respective hip. A subtle hiss of iron rushing across oiled leather surged into the atmosphere, accentuating the Baxter-demon’s own primordial hissing. She kept her blade low, its tip pointed more toward the floor than its intended prey, while her arm hung at her side relaxed.

From the way her opponent was moving, Mask gathered he was waiting for her to take action. And she would, when the right moment presented itself.

For now, she stood her ground, waiting herself. The light within the chamber played across the ornate steel of her left gauntlet as she raised it upward, just below chest level, keeping the hand open, its palm facing her bulky adversary.

“C’mon then,” Ardaen murmured, a hint of carefully guarded excitement rattling alongside her brassy voice.

(('ight, sounds good. :) Trust me, I'm never afraid to ask a question if one strikes me. Really look'n forward to this.))

[Symbiosis]

The demon and Baxter looked as Mask slowly drew her weapon, the lethality of the motions subtle and filled with as much intent to do harm as Symbiote’s bestial cries. It was a unique atmosphere in the air, as tension began to grow to a tangible level. The tongue of Baxter licked the air before retreating into his mouth, and the leering smile of the demon grew longer.

The styles of fighting were so polar opposite it could be attributed to the elements of fire and ice. While Symbiote was raging, yearning for the scent of blood to fill the air and ready to explode like a volcano, Mask was cool, calm, calculating and all to ready to wait and see how things panned out first with an icy like patience.

“This is important for you to pay attention,” Symbiote thought to Baxter. “This is the part where both warriors wait for the other to strike. On one hand, whoever strikes first may be at a disadvantage, as the enemy can react to them and thus have an upper hand. But there is merit in striking first, because if the opening play is unexpected then the enemy will have no counter prepared and thus be on the back pedal.” Baxter’s eyes glinted in recognition, his shoulder’s slowly rising and lowering with each labored breath.

“What should we do?” Baxter thought fearfully. The fact that the man was terrified of the prospect of fighting Mask made the demon sigh in frustration, but instead of mocking the Salvarian endlessly he merely decided to use this fight for its intended purpose in toughening him up.

“I have an idea, but I want to see if you can think of something. Don’t worry, I think this one will wait until we make the first move, but don‘t take too long,” Symbiote replied confidently as he let out a wet leopard like growl to keep the woman at bay. Baxter’s eyes began scanning the room side to side, but other than wooden walls and floor there was really not much to the open dojo. Perhaps the maneuverability was something he should take into account. Like where would she go if he charged? One look at the wicked looking blade and Baxter decided against charging. He had been stabbed once, and it was a feeling he did not wish to do again.

“Times up,” Symbiote growled again as the energy of the demon began to swirl. “You don’t have time to think of every single detail. Do you have a plan?” Baxter let out a whimper as he shook his head, the look rather odd coming from the beast like form he was showing. “Then we do this my way!”

Baxter felt his muscles in his legs begin to contract like a spring, his feet moving forwards in hulking steps. He thought for a moment he was going to charge when he suddenly realized what the demon had in mind. With a howl of animal rage Baxter’s demonic form lifted up into the air and leapt forwards in a leap meant to tackle Mask, his talon like hands reaching for her throat and chest as he soared towards her.

((I have activated Epic Leap, I can make an eight foot jump, and I have decided to do this Horizontally in a tackle towards you location. I really, really look forward to this as well. :) ))

[Glass]

Mask stood silent and still, vigilantly waiting for the moment when her adversary would make his move. While she patiently weathered each lumbering stride Baxter took, she studied him, doing her best to harness any useful information from not only the way he moved toward her but every action he took. Doing this provided her with a loose foundation that this monstrosity was more strength than he was speed, although she would not let an unfounded assumption (even one crafted of her own volition) muddle the way she handled the fight. She had been proven wrong too many times in the past to do that. When the man-turned-demon whimpered, Ardaen’s already firm belief that there was something amiss with him solidified even further. Of course, it helped that during the short period of time prior to their fight “starting,” Baxter had been speaking to himself with two noticeably different tenors. However, none of this actually played a valuable enough role to Ardaen that she bothered to linger on it for more than an instant; something she had learned during her time as a mercenary was prioritizing your thoughts to correlate with your actions.

Having been closely watching Baxter’s every move during his steady approach, Ardaen was well enough prepared for his ensuing lunge that, as his feet left the dojo’s wooden floor, she made a leap of her own to her left. Her strong, acrobatic legs made it easy to jump out of harm’s way, while the years of gymnastics training which made that possible also aided in her swift landing. While she was airborne, her right wrist snapped outward, the dagger gripped in that hand being released, turning what had been a close-quarters blade into a keen projectile which, in truth, was Mask’s preferred use for such weapons. Her skill with daggers was hardly astonishing, but eight years of learning how to throw them made it difficult to ignore the ease at which she did so; especially while mid-flight. Additionally, she had done this enough times to know that when tossing something at a moving target, throwing ahead of where you wanted to hit them was ideal. In this particular instance, Ardaen was aiming for her opponent’s exposed side, preferably the upper portion, just below his armpit, although she would hardly complain if it struck him elsewhere.

Dodging a projectile while in the air was something Mask had only witnessed on a couple of occasions, and if by some means Baxter was able to do so, it would give her another element to take into consideration during the length of their battle.

Only a quick breath after she reestablished her footing, standing a rough five feet from where she had been, Ardaen’s left hand gripped the hilt of the furthest of the two daggers lining her belt on that side. Unlike before, she did not draw the blade. Instead, she positioned herself in a more or less defensive stance, keeping her left side back, while presenting her right toward her opponent, narrowing the surface area of which he could strike at directly.

She needed more time to properly assess this adversary, considering that she preferred hand-to-hand combat over a constant game of cat and mouse (only, this mouse knew how to throw knives). She could tell he was strong, that much she was certain of, which quite possibly put her at a severe disadvantage. However, his speed, while no doubt just as impressive, was yet to be tested, and that was information she was certain would come in handy if she planned on besting this beast.

[Symbiosis]

Baxter was not enjoying himself. He had done what the demon was asking but so far it only seemed to be a repeat performance of his last battle where he was thwarted in his attack. The flying shoulder tackle was fast becoming one of Baxter’s least favorite moves, but what could he do to convince the demon he was not capable of doing the things he asked?

The knife Mask had thrown was fast and even on a spectacular day Baxter doubted they could deflect it. So it was that twice in the same day a knife had pierced his flesh, but thanks to his momentum, the opposite momentum of the knife, and the clear coat of demon skin that covered his flesh he was able to make out with only a long superficial wound that had cut him just beneath his ribs. Still, not used to pain in any extent Baxter let out a long wail of pain as he landed in an awkward heap bouncing upon the wooden floor before colliding with the wall, smashing so hard with his bulk it snapped some of the wood.

Baxter breathed heavily as he looked to Mask, seeing the confidence of the woman made him feel even more useless. Even with all these enhancements he still had no clue where to begin. Symbiote on the other hand rested one of his arms on a piece of the wood wall, lifting himself up and creating a small hole as the piece snapped off and fell to the floor with a clatter at his feet. He laughed as he did so, a dark chuckle like one who was relishing the combat with sadistic glee.

“I have a proposal,” Baxter said sheepishly as he looked to his chest. “I learn much quicker if I observe. Could perhaps maybe you do the fighting for me, Symbiote?” The demon paused as it swirled within his chest, before the chuckling got louder.

“Not a half bad idea, Binky boy,” The demon spat. “Just make sure you pay attention to every detail. And also understand this is gonna hurt a lot, because I’m shoving you out of the driver’s seat. Now, do you agree to let me take control of your body for the duration of this battle in exchange for teaching you how to fight?” Symbiote said slyly as he laid the deal out before the Salvarian native. Baxter hesitated a moment, but one look to Mask made him nod. He could not face another beating, and Symbiote was only going to make him keep fighting. Maybe a bit of discomfort now would save him much pain at a later date.

“I agree, do what you must,” Baxter whispered. The demon howled again with glee as Baxter’s mouth opened in a silent scream, his entire essence retreating to the back of his mind. It felt surreal, like he was ripped out of his body and observing from a window. The peripherals of his eyesight blurred, only the central focus had any sharpness to it. Like a hunter’s eye, he reckoned. He could see every detail with clarity, the exact number of knives the opponent carried, how her muscles rested and coiled as if ready for action. She was preparing another attack, he recognized immediately, but her icy nature hid it very well. When he tried to voice this he found he could not muster the words. In a panic he suddenly felt like he was drowning, submerged in his own body. Yet there was nothing he could do but watch.

Though outwardly there seemed to be no difference in appearance, the demeanor of Baxter’s body shifted violently. The fear vanished almost instantaneously as it was replaced with an air of animosity. The fingers flexed upon themselves in a steady rhythm, his breaths now short and less labored. The tongue of the demon flicked into the air, tasting it before it gave out a cruel chuckle.

“I smell the tang of fear, but it’s very faint,” Symbiote taunted. “You mastered it rather well, little rabbit. I can tell you are smart too,” The demon turned to the broken wall and slammed hit fist into it, shattering off a portion as splinters cascaded downwards. Finding one long wood board to his liking he ripped it out of the wall, kicking it free with a lurch as he twirled it in his hands like it were a club.

“You know all I need is one good hit to really turn this shit around,” Symbiote lifted his hand to his side, dipping his fingers in the blood that ran down it from the knife wound. He brought his elongated tongue out and slowly lapped up the crimson liquid, relishing in the coppery taste. “So why don’t we play a little game of hide and go squish!”

Symbiote advanced slowly forwards, a low growl on his lips as he widened his jaws into a leering smile, his soulless white eyes narrowing with sinister intent. The makeshift club in his hand pounded into the other with menace as he slowly stalked over to the girl.

[Glass]

Although the damage inflicted by her projectile was less than desirable, first blood was still hers. Ardaen felt it necessary to dwell (even if only fleetingly) on these small victories, garnering a strange sense of accomplishment from them – even if it turned out that she was on the losing end and was forced to make a sudden escape or, in a controlled conflict such as this one, admit defeat. However, as she listened to her opponent’s wail of pain and watched his uncomfortable flop to the dojo’s floor, followed by his skid across its wooden surface and impact with the wall, she was beginning to think her chances of losing were far more unlikely than she initially assumed upon his transformation.

As Baxter stood, Mask readied herself, preparing for his next move, which she anticipated being another frontal assault of some kind. However, as the man-turned-demon began to speak to himself once again, she found herself more interested in what was being said, as opposed to what exactly he might do next. When the radical change in his composure occurred and he again spoke, this time toward her, Ardaen was more than a little certain that the beast she had been fighting was no longer the one she faced now.

Just what this room needs, she sighed in irritation, peering momentarily behind her adversary and eying the warm glow seeping through the hole he had made in the wall. More light.

”You know all I need is one good hit to really turn this shit around.”

Ardaen’s gaze lifted to her opponent’s own, milky eyes. “You’re right,” she replied, her right hand raising as she spoke, “which makes my task of winning a lot more interesting than yours.” A coy smile curved her thin lips.

When the monstrosity continued to talk, suggesting a rather crude game of ‘hide and go squish,’ the young mercenary could not help but mock him. “Alright,” Ardaen agreed calmly, her smirk disappearing. “I’ll give you three chances to ‘squish’ me with that makeshift toy of yours, and I wont make any move to strike you until after your third try.”

The seemingly generous offer was not without its reasons. She planned to use this as an opportunity to test his physical capabilities. Just how fast was he? What about his endurance? And, of course, what, if any, were his limitations?

Her left hand maintained his hold on the dagger’s hilt, while her raised right hand drifted almost lazily back and forth just below chest level.

[Symbiosis]

Symbiote let out a riotous laugh as the girl taunted him, and he hunched low as he menacingly moved forwards. Her spunk had to be respected, that was for sure. But he also had to wonder what her level of intelligence was like after such a bold statement. Either way he was particularly happy to be fighting Mask without the crybaby Baxter getting in his way. With a pop of his neck he approached her, weapon held in a deadly grip as he sized her up.

“Your guts are commendable,” The demon mused. “I wonder what they’ll look like when they’re splattered all over the floor.” He stepped forwards to be within four paces, and as she declared, made no indication to try and stop him. Her eyes were watching him, his muscles, his movements, his demeanor. She was studying him with each move he made. There was merit to this, as her observations so far had left him on the receiving end of pain, but he still felt confident that one solid blow to her body would snap something and her attitude would change tune real quick.

And like a boy on winter’s solstice she gave him a perfect gift, the opportunity to wipe the smirk off her face wrapped in a cute little bow of self confidence. God how he loved to wipe those smirks clean off their bone. He approached her, cautiously, making sure each step was not in rhythm. If she tried to understand the chaos of his mind, she would need to do more than observe.

“You should be careful what promises you make to demons, we take our deals very seriously,” Symbiote said with a chuckle. “I get three whole strikes before you’ll attack me? Well what if I never strike you? What if I merely grappled you and choked the life out of your eyes? What if I instead attacked the dojo to bring this whole place down upon you? All you could do is watch, if you’re true to your word. Or maybe I’m just reading into things here,” Symbiote shrugged as he chuckled darkly.

The club swung to his side and he loosened his grip on it, letting it slide until he held it just near the end of the wood. He looked to Mask with an inquisitive eye, looking to her calmness and warrior spirit. She did not seem to back down from his hulking frame, but he did not mind. He knew how to get her to start fighting him, if she was a woman of her word.

“I’m getting a little sick and fucking tired, to be blunt, of my god damn enemies hanging around and making me do all the work. Just sitting back and waiting for me to make a move before jumping. It’s cowardice in the most raw form and I’m really annoyed with that shit.” He leveled the makeshift weapon so it was held just before her face. “So three strikes to make things interesting?” Symbiote scoffed to her. “Fine!”

He suddenly flourished forwards, swinging his makeshift tool diagonally downwards from left to right, preparing to bring the weapon back in a vicious backhand should it connect or not, his bulk charging forwards to stampede the enemy underfoot regardless of how she dealt with his weapon. Win or lose, hit or not hit, Symbiote was done waiting for his opponents to decide when they wanted to shed blood.

((1: Diagonal swing. 2: Counter backhand [hit or miss] 3: bull charge with body [hit or miss] That’s three my dear, have fun. Now, I don’t normally do this, but I’m having such a blast that I’ll let you bunny Symbiote in your next post. Have fun, and hope you‘re enjoying the fight as much as I am!))

[Glass]

So he’s a demon, Ardaen narrowed her eyes, watching each erratic step her adversary took warily. That explains a lot.

Gradually, as Baxter closed the gap between them, Mask’s knees started to bend. She was preparing herself, readying her body for when the time to evade the inevitable attack manifested. Although she gave no visible indication that she was listening to what the man-turned-demon was saying, she was in fact paying close attention, listening for any indication that he was about to strike in his tenor, while watching for the very same thing in how his muscles bulged.

”So three strikes to make things interesting? Fine!”

Here we go. Ardaen dropped into a low crouch, leaning toward her left while doing so as Baxter made his first attack. The dodge was hardly narrow, as the swing was broad enough (being that he had to first lift his makeshift weapon from its position in front of her masked face) that she was able to anticipate its descent ahead of time. Nevertheless, as the strong gust of wind from the wooden beam’s wake rushed over her, she could not help but cringe at the mere thought of what damage might have been done had she not moved out of the way.

One, she counted to herself, swiftly lunging to her left an instant later, using her right foot to propel her into a roll, while her left directed her movement. Unlike her opponent’s initial attack, his forward rush was something Ardaen was only just barely able to get out of the way of. However, the force required to do so caused her to falter ever so slightly, jarring her left shoulder in the fleeting moment when it impacted with the dojo’s floor. Nevertheless, years of gymnastics training quickly carried her to her feet, and a balanced pivot on the toe of her boot had her swinging around to face Baxter as he swiveled toward her new position in pursuit.

Drawing power from the spin, the man-turned-demon followed his preliminary attack with a backhand swing. The drag caused by the immense weight and surface area of the improvised weapon gained Mask the time she needed to backpedal hastily out of reach. While he swung, he advanced, rapidly closing the distance between them once again. Two.

Baxter may have had strength on his side, but Ardaen had agility, an attribute his physical might did not seem to entirely compensate for. With much the same elegance she had been performing with thus far, Mask stepped to the side of her adversary’s charging attack, moving with uncanny fluidity around his left side as he rushed past. Quickly, she took several steps backward, watching her opponent all the while.

“One more, Master Arlington,” she called after him.

((There we are. And, yes, I am very much enjoying myself.))

[Symbiosis]

God damn rabbit! Symbiote thought bitterly, watching himself be made a fool of as his first swing managed to land on the dojo floor with a satisfying smash. His retaliatory backhand blow was met with more wind as Mask still managed to keep herself far away, her agility clearly making a mockery of his stubby movement like patterns. He wished beyond all belief he had his real body instead of Baxter’s, so that he could lithely move about like a tiger on the hunt, but no, instead he felt like a walrus lounging in the sun with the way he moved.

But it had to do.

She taunted him again, muttering to him that he had struck twice and she was awaiting a third swing. Symbiote smiled to himself, a grin that made his jaws widen just enough for small bits of saliva to string between each dagger like took like a sticky spider web. His tongue darted out again as he bellowed to her, all his frustration released in the bestial cry of battle. When he vented his anger he began to process again how to exactly handle this foe. She was fast, she was nimble, and so far she had done nothing to show she would do anything else. He narrowed his eyes upon her, a glare with his milky white stare that would send chills down a lesser mortal.

Everyone has a weakness, Symbiote thought dully of the old adage. Yet that was a fact of life and he knew he was missing something about the woman. There was a difference within her stance, a minute detail that he was over looking. He searched for her failings and let his mouth hover open in a low predatory growl as he looked to her body, inspecting every inch of her frame.

She was not favoring any leg, nor was she experiencing shortness of breath. There was exertion, and an increase for sure, but nothing to indicate fatigue. She held herself aloft like a gymnast, that snarky false pride of her self confidence. He looked to her hands, watching them, and gazed up her arms slowly to her shoulders.

Bingo… His tongue fell out of his mouth as his smile returned, spittle dripping like a leaky faucet as he curled his fingers around the makeshift weapon. He waited for her chest to rise up again as she drew in a breath, and before she let it out in a controlled fashion he struck like an arrow released from a bow. The club like stick swept to her right side, his body moving to prevent her from rolling onto her right side as he began to swing the club repeatedly. His body never stopped moving in this sudden flurry of motion, continuing to apply pressure as he needed, whatever it required to get Mask to keep rolling on her left shoulder.

((I noticed you wrote that your left shoulder was jarred, so I’m going to utalize that information and have Symbiote strike at your right, moving to keep you rolling to the left and thus impacting your left shoulder over and over again in hopes to try and cripple you. That’s all I’m going for, and obviously, this is attack 3. Again, bunnying approved. ))

[Glass]

Ardaen shifted back a step further as Baxter studied her. In the brief instant it took him to appraise her weaknesses, she too evaluated his behavior thus far to develop her own course of action. His straightforward tactics were less challenging than other methods of martial combat. However, the abundance of strength which he possessed made even the simplest attack staggeringly dangerous.

Three, she counted to herself as he attacked. Crossing one foot behind the other, she sashayed just out of reach, being as mindful of her sprained shoulder as her adversary seemed to be. As the man-turned-demon pushed the assault, Mask found herself in an increasingly precarious situation. He swung. She leapt back. He followed her movements to swing at her right again. She ducked. The dance continued for several turns more, until finally he lunged forward, sweeping his improvised weapon toward her with remarkable ferocity.

No longer able to justifiably keep her footing while she evaded his numerous attacks, Ardaen fell back, dropping with a painful thud onto her spine and shoulder blades. The pain disoriented her enough to disrupt her roll, forcing her to scramble sideways instead as the beam came crashing down. She could feel the additional damage of the fall on her left shoulder, the arm stiffening so much that she could not comfortably curl her fingers. Mask had enough experience to know that one more significant impact would render the arm essentially useless.

Even though she possessed the endurance of both an accomplished gymnast and an experienced blacksmith, she would be a liar not to acknowledge the strain this battle was beginning to take on her body. Ardaen could only wonder how her opponent was fairing, considering that he was no doubt exerting himself far more than she.

I need an opening, Ardaen told herself, scurrying back several paces as her adversary struck at her right side once again. He knows I injured my left shoulder, she observed, releasing a hiss of pain as she was forced to leap back out of the way of another attack. Impressive.

((Alright, so, I know that I did not actually attack here, but I have my reasons. First of all, I try and keep in mind just how much “time” passes in a post, and because I seriously can’t describe how much joy I get out of the fact that you actually paid attention to an injury (even one self-inflicted) your opponent had and used it to your advantage, it would be incredibly unkind of me not to give you your due for that. Usually, I try and perform only six seconds worth of actions, and with what all Ardaen did here, I belief I’ve done everything. Hope you enjoy the post.))

[Symbiosis]

“Now we‘re getting somewhere!” Symbiote shouted with sadistic glee, his eyes alight with joy as spit rained out of his mouth. His arms became a flowing clockwork system, with the left hand striking with the club, and the right arm sweeping to keep Mask from rolling to her right. She maneuvered, she dodged, she collapsed and squirmed. Her confidence had started failing and he tasted the salty tang of sweat in the air, and he reveled in the chase as he continued to slam the weapon down.

Mask moved like water, her body flowing in ways that took years of training to achieve. Her body was never still as he attacked, and he could see in her actions that she caught onto his plan. She avoided using her left shoulder like the plague, resorting to falling prone if need be and scampering away like a rabbit. He roared in challenge with every swing, the adrenaline kicking in and exciting his blood stream as the endorphins of a combat high kicked in. The makeshift blow crashed down with thunderous calamity, his fist flying out with taloned claws trying to rake her back or grasp her limbs.

It had been a long, long time since Symbiote really had such a rush in combat, and he took this opportunity to shed blood with the eagerness of a child exploring the unknown. Baxter was so useless in a fight that he had enjoyed the opportunities to really let loose instead of being pummeled and beaten and humiliated. When he was done severing Mask’s spine he would have to thank her for the time.

“Come on Rabbit, you're almost to the hole!” The demon taunted, a sick whine like cackle as he leapt after her, following her form as she cart wheeled and tumbled around the dojo. It was almost like a flawless dance between two performers; their bodies moved in a rhythm of a fast paced waltz or a passionate tango. They dipped, they rose, they pirouetted with harmony as the makeshift club would beat into the dojo floor or walls. Symbiote continued to harass her with jibes and jeers as she retreated until at last he got his wish. She maneuvered herself into the corner of the dojo and his eyes lit up with fire.

“Time to die, little rabbit!” Symbiote shrieked with profound joy. His elation broke his concentration, the full effects of the killing blow clouded his mind. Baxter, stuck and drowning in his own mind, was screaming to Symbiote words of warning, but the demon cared not. Mask needed to shove her self confidence down her throat and choke on it.

Perhaps if he was not so consumed with the thought of shedding blood, he would have realized his body was too close to the wall. His arm swung heavy, putting everything behind the blow and the wooden club hit the dojo wall and shattered into thousands of splinters, obliterated from the abuse the demon placed upon the board. Baxter had attempted several times to tell him that every time he swung the club and missed, the wood began to crack and grow, and the last few hits on the floor and actually shunted the wood to an awkward angle. The last swing was the final straw that saw his weapon in ruins and he cursed loudly as he stumbled forwards, eyes ablaze with shock as he shrieked in panic.

((Marry me, lol. I’ve never had a battle with a foe that put the action into their words in a clear way that I never had trouble understanding. You have been very good in this battle and though you never struck me, you never denied me my fun without a clear and present reason. I happily bestow you your opening. This is hands down my favorite battle I ever had, and I eagerly await the next post.))

[Glass]

“Timing,” Ardaen’s father began, smiling toward his eight-year-old daughter as she shifted nervously from one small foot to the other. “That’s the key to your first back-walk-over. You must perfectly time the moment each foot leaves the ground. Otherwise, you’ll fall, or at best accomplish a kick-over following a falling bridge.”

Huffing loudly and closing her eyes, the adolescent gymnast did her best to calm her nerves. Ardaen recited each step of the maneuver to herself as she lifted her arms above her head.

Point your right foot forward, balancing your weight on your left leg.

Arch your back and search for the ground, seeing where you’ll plant your hands before they ever touch the floor.

As soon as you feel the dirt beneath your fingers, kick off.

Fallowing her own instructions, she attempted the trick, but lacked the necessary momentum and collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, which chased the air from her lungs.

“Ardaen, you still don’t get it. I can see it in your eyes; you’re still trying to break this apart into steps. It must be one fluid action. Your body flows feet to hands to feet again, as if no movement were more natural. There can be no steps because that would require each stage to stop and finish, rather than blending seamlessly into a single action. Try again.”


~*~

Ardaen erupted into a flurry of action, surging through the cloud of splinters as the opening she had been looking for presented itself. The zing of iron slipping free of its sheath was almost entirely muted by Baxter’s shriek of alarm. Before her adversary could begin to recover from the shock of his shattered weapon, which jarred his arm back as it broke apart, she was upon him. Her left hand reached out, preemptively arresting his right wrist by grasping it within her steel-coated fingers. Mask’s grip, loose though it was, nevertheless strained her shoulder enough to cause immense pain. However, she was committed to her course of action, blending each aspect of her attack into a seamless maneuver.

Only a mere fraction of an instant after her left hand graced Baxter’s wrist, her right struck, rising and falling with a swiftness that gave the illusion of being almost snake-like in nature. The dagger held within that arm’s gauntlet was gripped in reverse, with the pommel positioned above her thumb and the weapon’s petite cross-guard pressed against her pinky. Ardaen’s fist lowered with vicious alacrity, driving the bladed tip downward in hopes of plunging it into her attacker’s left shoulder.

”It must be one fluid action”, her father’s voice echoed in her mind. ”As if no movement were more natural”.

This time, I wont have the chance to try again.

((Let me show you my appreciation, by stabbing you! *Stab* …Anyways, I realized I sort of “auto-hit” here by grabbing your right arm’s wrist. I can change this, obviously, if you would like. Only reason I wrote it as I did is because leaving it open (like I did the attack on Symbiote’s shoulder) felt awkward… If that makes sense… Also, you made me blush. Seriously, thank you for the compliment. I really can’t express fully how much I’ve been enjoying this fight, not to mention your character(s). You consistency with how you write Symbiote and Baxter (respectfully) is something I don’t have the pleasure of writing alongside of very often. And I mean that. :) ))

[Symbiosis]

Symbiote watched her move in slow motion, the combat high warping reality in his own mind. She had once again used her superior dexterity, agility, and grace to sweep her body like a dancer before his, a deadly heart warming embrace as she kissed his body with the cold steel of her dagger. He back pedaled, eyes still filled with alarm as he spat curses to her in a high pitch whine, but the motions were mindless defiance of a scared beast.

When dagger met flesh it impacted right through his symbiotic armor, the clear coat of demon skin unable to blunt the attack. Blood dripped down his shoulder as muscles tore, the blade serrating into the clavicle bone as it dug in deeply. The cry of pain widened the jaws to their limit, spittle and minor flecks of blood escaping his extended jaws. He twirled in a vicious manner, all forms of composure lost as his elation turned to outright fear. Mask released his arm and let his body bump her away towards the wall as the demon retreated, screaming as it tried to regain composure.

Heavy, labored breaths began to escape his lungs as Symbiote hunched over, his left arm utterly useless to him now. He could barely lift the arm to swing, let alone bring it in a back hand blow. His eyes narrowed as he let out a cry of frustration, roaring defiantly at the woman like a beast cornered in the wild. The milky pupils narrowed into slits of malice as he prepared for another lunging tackle. At this distance it would be nearly impossible for her to dodge him fully, and all the demon needed was one hit to really make the bitch scream.

Yet Baxter’s body did not obey. Instead the demon continued to draw in exhausting breaths, and slowly his vision began to double and blur. Symbiote felt confused as he looked through the human’s eyes, and angrily he pulled Baxter back from the corners of his mind with a howl of rage. To be ripped so violently back into forward consciousness made the human demon hybrid teeter for a brief moment, and Baxter took the moment to steady his body as he stooped to one knee.

“What’s wrong!” Symbiote shouted in a frenzy.

“I’m…I’m…” Baxter stuttered with each step, his eyes faltering as their look began to soften. He blinked, heavily shaking his head, but still his maladies persisted. “I can’t go on,” Baxter at last managed to breath in one go.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Symbiote screamed.

“You’ve exhausted me,” Baxter wheezed as he finished talking, nearly falling into a coughing fit. “Your temper tantrums and running around, even with this physique my body is still not used to such trials.” He breathed in heavily as he kept his guard up, the demon hissing in irritation as Baxter looked to Mask. “I told you, I am just not good in a fight. I just don‘t have the endurance for this combat.”

The demon let out a leopard like growl as it contemplated something, stirring within Baxter and doing everything it could to give the body new life. Adrenaline dulled the pains in the areas that hurt the most, his symbiotic endurance coating more of the demon skin to prevent the wounds from leaking, but all this was merely bandages on a severe wound. A temporary, if futile, action. Baxter felt his lungs drawing in a labored breath and his chest felt like it was on fire, the pain to much.

“No…” The demon said darkly, it’s tone so low it echoed like rumbling thunder. “No, I will not let that bitch win!” Baxter looked to his chest in confusion. “I refuse to let her win! We can still do this, Baxter! You can’t give in now!”

“I don’t have the spirit like you do to continue this stupidity,” Baxter spat blood on the floor as he prepared to turn and leave, but instead he felt his essence within his own mind being gripped by hawk like talons, shoving him back into the corners of his mind. Baxter wailed in torment as the feeling nearly passed him out, but the demon re-asserted control of the body once more, finished dealing with the weakness that was Baxter Arlington.

Another roar filtered into the air, a fresh store of energy coming to the fore as he lashed his tongue out at Mask. “I will not let you defeat me, rabbit!” Symbiote shrieked as it clumsily began to charge. Though the demon willed the body forwards, the muscles were tired and the exhaustion still was prevalent. Fatigue wrapped every limb in a blanket that attempted to stop the demon, but he pushed through it all, forcing the body forwards.

“Die, rabbit, fucking die!” Symbiote lifted his right hand, pushing the last of his strength to perform one last, desperate flying tackle. He did not care how futile the act was, nor did he care for the safety of Baxter’s body. Mask had attempted to make a fool of him and the demon would not let her leave this dojo with a smug look on her bastard face.

((Dah….you made me feel all special and stuff…and, Ow…you stabbed me! What the hell? How dare you take advantage of an opening! That’s not how fights work at all! Symbiote has pushed Baxter’s body past its limits, this final attack is OOZING desperation as he’s attempting to take you out or at least give you a reminder of the fight for a long time. This is, in effect, my conclusion to the battle portion of this fight, and will respond again with conclusions as is customary. Brilliant battle, and I can not express how much joy I got from fighting in it. So, have at thee! Flying ultra body attack mark 2, GO!))

[Glass]

Ardaen’s impact with the wall rendered her breathless and disorientated, preventing her from screaming in pain as her left shoulder fractured. She slumped pathetically against the corner she had been thrown back to, her ears ringing as her body throbbed in anguish. Too focused on not being able to breathe, Mask was only just able to make out Baxter’s voice, but not what was being said. She watched with blurry vision as the man-turned-demon lurched to and fro, seemingly struggling to stand on his own two feet, and giving her time enough to regain what composure her own wounded and exhausted body could muster.

With carefully measured strides, Ardaen moved away from the corner and her adversary, clenching her teeth until her jaw ached in defiance of the constant tremors of pain wracking her body. She had survived worse injuries, even fought despite them. But never before against an opponent who possessed such astounding strength.

“I don’t have the spirit like you do to continue this stupidity,” Baxter remarked, his words cutting through Mask’s mental haze.

She stopped then, blinking away the moisture brimming over the corners of her eyelids. There it is again, she thought, though the process of formulating words even within her own mind felt sluggish. Who is he talking to? Himself? Just as these questions filled her awareness, Baxter’s tone reverted to that sinister hiss, which rose in volume exponentially to accentuate his sudden charge.

Ardaen had only time enough to just barely duck below the leap, a sharp sting of pain gripping her right knee as it was driven forcefully into the dojo’s floor. There was a sudden tug on her hood, which resulted from Baxter’s outreaching hand snagging just enough of its thick material to pull it free of her head and subsequently send her nearly to the ground, an event prevented by the sliding of her left leg into a supportive brace. Wavy locks of thick brown hair uncoiled around her shoulders, framing what little fair skin could be seen of her otherwise masked face.

Fearing another attack, Mask moved to her feet as hastily as she could, reaching for a new dagger, as the one she had stabbed into her opponent’s shoulder now resided just shy of the corner she had been thrown into. However, she hesitated.

“I don’t have the spirit like you do to continue this stupidity,” Baxter’s words echoed in her mind.

Despite her ruthless reputation, the mercenary was not so proud as to suffer further injuries for a fruitless victory. Additionally…

“I yield,” she breathed, speaking only when the opportunity to do so clearly arrived. “This is only a practice match. You needn’t push yourself beyond your limits. No more than I.”

((There you have it. O.O This was a lot of fun. Hate to see it end. Although, I don't think it is over just yet. :) Feel'n like some words are about to be exchanged 'ere. Yeah?))

[Symbiosis]

Symbiote looked to Mask as she yielded, her eyes never faltering as her body hunched in fatigue. Baxter's lungs were on fire, muscles sore and his left shoulder torn to ribbons from the damaging blade that had pierced his flesh. His teeth gnashed at the woman as Symbiote felt her out for any signs of trickery, but it seemed that her body was much like Baxter's; tired, and ready for a long, well deserved rest. Baxter pleaded silently for the fight to end, as he felt his chest ready to explode with fatigue.

There was a moment of calm in the storm of tension, the final choice to continue or end the fight resting upon the shoulders of the demon's ego. There was only a moment of waiting before Symbiote bellowed out another primal call of challenge, eyes widening with sinister intent. The demon cared not about the training status nor the sudden need to end hostilities, and if the woman had consigned herself to death he would happily oblige.

He was having way too much fun to let it all end now.

Yet even as he started to move forward the demon felt a powerful tug on his own soul, and angrily he snarled as he realized Baxter had returned uninvited to the party. The human knew fully well that nothing but shed blood would end this fight, with someone’s corpse left in the others wake. The pen write thought hard before he came out, fighting with Symbiote for control.

"What the hell are you doing you insolent fool?" The demon raged. Baxter replied with strained efforts.

"I want to do it," He said quickly. "I want to end the fight! Let me," Baxter took in a heavy, agonizing breath as his left shoulder screamed to him. Symbiote seemed to pause a moment as he heard the words. The pen write looked to Mask and nodded, speaking louder. "This is training, so if you want me to learn than you have to let me do it!"

"Heh heh, taste for chaos getting to you, Binky boy? I had thought you wanted to sit back and merely watch," Symbiote taunted. Baxter shrugged and winced in pain as he forgot his left shoulder was still not healed.

"Indeed, I did, yet now I realize i need to also need some practical experience. But I want to do this alone, my way. I want you to promise me!" Symbiote swirled within his body, as if contemplating this, and with a howl he retreated to the bottom of Baxter's lungs. The human’s heart raced as the deal was on the table, and we waited. He kept one eye on his chest, the other on Mask as he prayed to the Thaynes.

“I personally like popping their heads like zits, but I’m curious to see what you are gonna do,” Symbiote at last replied, a throaty tone in his voice. “Deal. Show me what you got, Binky boy.”

Mask looked to Baxter, raising her dagger as confusion reigned supreme. Baxter looked to her, and then, in a rather silly fashion smiled. Considering his alterations he looked more like a goofy dog as his right hand lifted to just under his ribs. He steadily looked to Mask’s eyes, searching them, before he spoke.

"I accept your surrender under the terms you accept mine," Baxter said, full of smugness as he hobbled, slowly, over to the woman.

"WHAT?" Symbiote blared, his essence seeping forwards, but Baxter calmly looked to his chest.

"You promised me to let me finish this my way," Baxter said like a knowing parent, arrogance filtering into every word he spoke. "Did you not promise me this deal, Symbiote?"

"You told me you would end her!" Symbiote screeched.

"No, I said I would end it myself, my way. That was the official deal,” Feeling his confidence growing, Baxter allowed himself a sinister smile. “You really should learn to listen to the words, not the idea behind them." He spoke in a mocking fashion.

Symbiote growled, his anger manifesting as Baxter's right hand began to clench, but as soon as he did the demon changed tune, laughing riotously as it swirled within the human's chest. It continued to laugh as its wails slowly dwindled until at last it let out a purring noise.

“Well played, Binky boy. I guess I did teach you something,” The demon thought before Baxter felt it’s presence diminish to the furthest recesses of his mind. Baxter looked to his chest uneasily, knowing full well Symbiote would have his revenge, but for now he had indeed learned something from this training exercise, and that was his partner was easily goaded when faced with what he wanted.

The Salvarian looked back to Mask, and figured she was thinking he was insane or something. He chuckled, a light hearted sigh as he thought about that. Maybe he really was, he mused.

“So…you uh, come here often?” Baxter feebly spoke smiling weakly.

((So there you have it, Baxter has tricked Symbiote into ending the fight, and I’m now ready to move forwards. The fight itself was a blast and I cannot express with words the elation I felt in this battle. I kid you not, I had no other idea how to end this, as I didn’t want to see it fade away. But I’ll leave the next post to you. If you wish to continue one more round of posting, I’m all game for it, but if you’d rather end it with a conclusion, I’m fine with that as well. However your story wants to end is the one I look forward to reading. :) ))

[Glass]

Small talk, Ardaen remarked to herself, raising her right hand to her left shoulder, forcing herself to take deep, controlled breaths.

“No,” she replied in earnest, eying Baxter apprehensively, not bothering to further explain that this was her first time ever to step foot here.

Needless to say, Mask was not sure how to exactly approach this particular man. From what she had witnessed throughout the length of their fight, and even now, the man-turned-demon was more like men-turned-demon.

“What exactly are you,” Ardaen asked somewhat abruptly, not bothering to sweeten her tone any as she spoke. “At first you shy away from combat, then next you relish in the bloodshed. I recall you saying something about being a demon, but what exactly does that have to do with this night and day change in persona?”

[Symbiosis]

“Yes, Baxter, why don’t you tell her?” Symbiote hissed loudly. The Salvarian sighed as he looked to her, an awkward gleam in his eye as he looked to Mask. How did one start the story about a man who was so obsessed to find love he would make a deal with the devil? How would he tell the woman who fought the demon he never wanted to be in this place to begin with. How would the pen write tell his story?

He smiled thinking back to the time he was upon the ferry to Corone, with Symbiote doing the same thing. The words echoed back into his mind as he thought about the memory, and even the demon chuckled with him as it watched the same memory.

“I suppose I should start,” Baxter said lightly. “With the start.” He chuckled again as he looked to Mask, before taking in a long breath. “I am Baxter Arlington, pen write of the Salvarian Herald, and respected about as much as my station would grant me. This,” He said motioning to his own grotesque deformities. “Is Symbiote, a cruel, bloodthirsty and savage demon who bonded with me under the guise of a deal.”

“You see, Binky boy here,” Symbiote spoke next, his words coming from Baxter’s chest. “Is what I call a stupid idiot, or as you call it, a helpless romantic. You see, Baxter here just got dumped by his woman for some high ranking noble, and decided to drown his sorrow in a bottle like a baby.”

“I admit,” Baxter said softly. “I had found myself in a moment of weakness. But I assure you, it is hard to have a ring in hand for the woman you love, watching her wave goodbye as another man takes her away. I was devastated, and I thought in my sorrow I would never, ever, find love again.”

The demon now chuckled cruelly as Baxter averted his gaze from Mask’s piercing eyes. “Binky boy was at the bottom of the barrel, drunk as a Coronian skunk, and muttering about this and that. I happened to be around looking for a soul to help me find someone I’m looking for. A few little sweet nothings here, a little bit of empty promises there, and Baxter agreed to my deal.”

“You see, Symbiote promised me he knew of a soul that would bond with mine, like a soul mate,” Baxter whispered shamefully. “And I, in the depression, took the call to avarice and accepted to pay for a ferry to Corone, in exchange to meet my soul mate. Symbiote then forcefully entered into my body. He swirls around me, crawling through my body like a snake under my skin,” He spoke with anger rising as his fists clenched tightly in pain, but his rage seemed to dull his pains. “And as you can see, he doesn’t every shut up!” He looked to his chest angrily.

“I dragged Binky boy here, and I like to take care of my hosts. So I offer a bit of my power to Baxter, and he gets to fight for me. But as you can tell, Baxter doesn’t know what the hell to do with himself. I bet if he took your daggers he’d stab himself.”

Baxter sighed as he looked to Mask again. He fidgeted with his fingers before awkwardly taking a few steps back. “I am so sorry for the deception,” Baxter looked to his chest with guilt. “I just could not do it anymore. I am no fighter, as you experienced when you first dealt with me. So I, I made another deal with Symbiote to let him take over. This whole thing was to teach me to fight, so I figured he would explain things to me, but instead he just took the deal and shoved me back into the corners of my own mind, and well, he did his own thing. I was certain he would push my body to death, just to kill you, and he proved that several times. You never fought me, Mask, you fought the demon the whole time.”

Baxter took in another breath before he nodded smiling foolishly again. “So that’s the best explanation I think I can come up with. I am possessed by a demon, who took over under my whims to fight you. But when this chaos was getting to much for my body I tried to end it. Symbiote wouldn’t be stayed, so I had to trick him just to protect you. Sorry again. I really am. Perhaps, if you wouldn’t mind, I can hear your story?”

Symbiote let out a horse wet growl as he grumbled loudly. “Look, you two want to play happy friendship circle jerk, go ahead but count me out. I’m not really into playing touchy feely and getting to be one with my emotions. In the meantime, I got a bang up job to do fixing you up, Binky boy.” Symbiote swirled inside Baxter’s body, slowly depleting the power he gave to Baxter, the first sign being the clear coat of demon skin that collapsed to the ground like a bucket of water. “Have fun, kids,” The demon taunted.

There was a silent moment as Baxter felt his muscles slowly twitch, their size decreasing steadily, and sure that the demon was done with him for the meantime he looked back to Mask. “Look, I’d really like to hear your story. That’s what I enjoy doing. Learning and hearing other’s tales. If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps I can take you out for a hot meal and challenge you in an arena I actually excel in. Polite dinner conversation.” Baxter laughed at his own joke, which made the demon groan.

“What say you? What’s the story behind Mask?” Baxter joked. “I’m terribly curious, and I’m willing to pay for everything as my apology.”

((And that was a lot of back story. :p he has indeed invited you to dinner, your choice how you wish to proceed. But most of those ending thoughts echo my own. I am interested to learn about Mask, and if you think that this is the end of these two, well…get a new idea and fast, cause I relish the idea of another go.))

[Glass]

Silence was all Ardaen could muster in response as she digested what was said to her. She mulled it over, contemplating everything. When Baxter asked her to join him for a hot meal, her demeanor stiffened noticeably. There was a hint of uncertainty for all of an instant in the air around her, dispersing almost immediately when the pen write inquired about the story behind Mask.

“Thank you, but no,” Ardaen answered, pivoting on the toe of her left boot as she spoke. “See to your injuries, Master Arlington, as will I.”

The area around her began to bend and ripple like water as the Citadel sensed her desire to depart. In what could barely be considered a blink of the eye, Mask was gone, consumed by an oval of embracing light that blinked out of existence just as quickly as it had arrived.


~*~

Several Hours Later

Ardaen adjusted the brace supporting her left arm with a soft grunt, frowning at the stinging sensation which still plagued the limb. Most of the damage to the shoulder had been undone, although the healing process was far from painless. Closing her eyes and sinking into the chair of her temporary living quarters, the young mercenary let her thoughts wonder.

”What’s the story behind Mask?” Baxter’s voice echoed from the depths of her subconscious.

Idiot, she sighed to herself, opening her eyes and glaring toward the wall with enough intensity to burn a hole through the stone. Baxter Arlington and Symbiote, Ardaen shook her head, A pen write and a demon.

“How long?” Ardaen spoke into the emptiness of her lightless bedchamber. How long has it been since someone has asked me that? She closed her eyes again, drawing in a slow, calming breath. Not since…

“I’m too tired for this,” she muttered, standing and shuffling over to the bed lining the far wall.

Sorry, Kylm… Not going to be making any new friends today.

((‘ight, so this is my final post. I fought with a number of different ways to end this, but I think this is the most fitting. Not to mention, I’m almost 100% certain this is not the last time these two characters will cross paths. I really enjoyed myself here. Couldn’t have asked for a better first sparring partner. :) ))

[Symbiosis]

“And there she goes…” Symbiote sassed watching as the ripples of magic slowly faded into the destroyed dojo wall. Baxter looked to where Mask went, her words cold, but not cruel like he expected to hear when she declined his offer. Part of him was sad to see her go, his heart softly slumping as he missed an opportunity to enjoy dinner with someone who had a fascinating story. But Mask lived up to her enigma of the namesake; her past and histories veiled to the world so only she could witness it. Maybe pain was her companion, or even sorrow, but whatever it was that created Mask, she would not tell.

Baxter sighed as he looked to his body, draped in the bloodied torn clothing. His left shoulder had still felt incredibly dull, and when the adrenaline wore off he could feel each and every pain in his muscles. His feet protested the awkward movement of rolling forwards, but he forced himself to walk. In the same manner Mask had left Baxter did likewise, the energy coming forth as the dojo slowly began to grow hazy and glow in a warm light. The next thing he knew he was on the marbled floor, a monk standing before him as his vision blurred.

“Nighty night Binky boy,” Symbiote taunted as he cut Baxter’s power and forced him to pass out.



Later that evening.

Baxter sighed hopelessly into the bottom of his tanker, the ale long gone warm. His food was half eaten, the juice of the steak ruining his appetite as it reminded him of the pools of his own blood he left behind in the Citadel. The waitress, Candy, was a fair looking woman who seemed to favor him with long passing smiles, and extra attention despite his desire to sit alone. Symbiote, uncharacteristically remained quiet while he ate, pushing his fork into his mashed potatoes and watching the blood of his meat cover the newly revealed spot on his plate. His mouth made a motion to disgorge itself, but he looked away lowering the utensil as he sighed again pushing the plate away.

“I cannot see how you can stomach such things,” Baxter mumbled to his chest. Symbiote only replied with a soft swirl. Unused to the silence Baxter actually tapped his chest with the back of his fist, just to see if the demon was alive and well. He was careful not to injure his left shoulder in the process, as his hand ran limply in a white sling. The demon made no comments as his fist touched his chest, and Baxter assumed he was merely busy with whatever the hell it was demons did.

“She really was quite fascinating,” Baxter whispered as he looked to his reflection in the pool of blood on his plate. “A mystery shrouded in the guise of a mask, a history just waiting to be told! I so would have loved to hear it.”

“She really was, wasn’t she?” Symbiote at last spoke, his voice solemn. “I assure, you Binky boy, you will never find one like that again. She was deadly, graceful,” Baxter let his eyes softly haze over as he looked to his drink and spoke just as softly.

“Intelligent, quick witted,”

“Cunning, yet savage,” Symbiote swirled around Baxter’s chest.

“Beautiful…” They both murmured softly. There was a silence as Baxter looked to the contents of his drink, before he closed his eyes and down the remaining amber liquid. With a satisfied smack he lowered his tankard and slapped the table, standing up.

“Well, such is life,” Baxter said dreamily. “You finally find someone who stirs your passion, and then you watch them leave as quickly as they entered.” Symbiote chuckled as Baxter smiled like a dolt.

“You falling for her Binky boy?” Symbiote laughed. “I just wanted another shot at ripping her eyes out, and shoving her smug lips down her rabbit throat.”

“I would be lying,” Baxter admitted. “If I didn’t say the woman had piqued my curiosity. I can already tell she is a rare breed, hiding in the crowd. She may outwardly wear the mask, but I have seen many who hide their mask in plain sight. I can only wonder who she really is, and if I ever met her again would I even recognize her?”

“Oh,” Symbiote sighed whim fully. “I am sure our paths will cross again.”

“How can you be so sure?” Baxter asked, looking to his chest as he carefully opened the door out of the bar and walked in the cold streets towards his inn. “I do think she is rather done with us. Turning into a horrid grotesque creature and then attempting to shatter her arm would probably do that to someone.”

“Demons have this all knowing feeling,” Symbiote sounded like he was licking his chops. “I tasted her blood, and I want seconds! Besides Binky, if you think she‘s the one then wouldn‘t you dream upon a wishing star to meet her again?”

“You mean…” Baxter whispered suddenly. “You mean she’s the one? She’s my soul mate!” Symbiote swirled around Baxter, his laughter echoing into the howling winds so it swirled around the Salvarian native.

“Fuck no,” Symbiote said dryly. “You really think she’d go for a pansy like you anyway? Heh heh, no, I just wanted to see your face. It looked really stupid by the way. Your eyes lit up like two copper coins! I swear your mouth looked like a gaping fish! Could you be more pathetic, Baxter?”

Baxter merely sighed as he shuffled forwards in a slight depression. Symbiote gently caressed Baxter’s heart.

“Do not worry,” Symbiote whispered like a lover. “I’ll be with you, forever,” He moved from one ear to the other. “And ever….heh heh, he he, ha ha, ha ha ha, AH HA HA HA!” Symbiote roared as the demon howled into the night, his words echoing throughout Baxter’s ears as the pen write softly whimpered.

((Well, that, as they say is that! I have never had a more amazing experience with a fight, and I so look forward to seeing these two get together again. Whenever your ready for another go at anything, please let me know!))

[Amen]

Training Day

By Symbiosis and Glass

As per your request, this will be a judgment with full commentary using the full rubric, and as per Glass’ request, I’ll elucidate on each category to let you know what I’m looking for as I judge a thread.

Plot Construction Totals

Glass: 18.5/30
Symbiosis: 17.5/30

Story

Glass: 6.5
Symbiosis: 6.5

Story is obviously where the judge tries to decide how solid the thread’s storyline is. We look for a beginning/middle/end, rising action, a climax, a conclusion, and so on. You both have some experience with competitive writing so I’m sure you’re aware that it’s difficult to craft a decent story when two people are pointedly trying to trick or trap one another using writing. This turned into a more cooperative writing exercise, which served it well – I felt myself growing much more invested in the characters toward the second half, when you guys began working together to craft something slightly more than your characters beating the hell out of one another.

I’m not saying all fights need to be written cooperatively, but in this case it worked to improve the story in a big way. Well done.

Strategy

Glass: 7
Symbiosis: 7

Strategy is generally where I try to decide how well you crafted the thread’s events around your individual character and his or her skills, personality, traits, background, and abilities. In this case, you both did an above-average job of not only using your characters to craft believable and consistent events, but you painted your characters and their traits well enough that I did not feel the need to reference your character sheets. You both know your characters, and write them so consistently that I feel I know them fairly well, too.

In addition to that, since this is a battle, you both gave a lot of attention to tactics. Again, good job, I can’t complain about what you’ve done here.

Setting

Glass: 5
Symbiosis: 4

Setting is the category in which I concern myself with how well you described your surroundings. Ideally when I read a thread, an area pertinent to the thread should be presented so well that I could imagine being there. There were flashes of genius here: Glass describes a bit of light filtering through where Baxter collided with the wall, Symbiosis describes the splintering wood beam, and so on. Glass did well to show me how far apart your characters were. However, the actual mental picture I had of the dojo was almost cookie-cutter, mostly because I think the only real description of it was literally “give me an Akashiman dojo.” That doesn’t mean the dojo I’m thinking of is the dojo you’re thinking of, though. Is it exactly the space where Neo shows Morpheus that he knows kung fu, or is it straight out of the end of any given chapter of Lone Wolf and Cub, or is it from Kill Bill? I’m not really sure. They all have similar features, but they also have features that make them distinct, and your dojo should too. What material is the floor? How old is the wood? Is it treated? Are the walls solid, or rice paper? What kind of light is coming in, sunlight? Is it sunset or sunrise or high noon? Or is the light just a glaring white, since this is a Citadel illusion? What does it smell like, fresh wood and blossoms or old sweat? Is it cold?

I’m not looking for you to lay out every raw detail (“an ant wandered from the 78th centimeter on the fourth beam, it was red with large mandibles, alone in his hunt for termites and loose grains of sugar. It was seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit….”), but I was left wanting more, especially with how well I was able to envision your characters.

Characterization Totals

Glass: 21/30
Symbiosis: 20/30

Continuity

Glass: 7
Symbiosis: 7

Continuity is pretty straightforward: this basically asks, were the descriptions and actions consistent, did any character growth make sense, and did everything flow in the context of the story? And more than that, does this fit in Althanas? Does it interact with and build upon the extended lore we’re collectively crafting on the site?

You both did very well here. When something changed, you both caught it and acknowledged it. I am especially pleased that you both took fatigue into account, which is one of the big things I look for as a judge, especially in battles. I like that you both took damage, but didn’t just forget about your wounds as the fight went on. And I like that Baxter’s interaction with Symbiote evolved as the battle went on. Awesome job.


Interaction

Glass: 6
Symbiosis: 6

Here, I gauge how well you portrayed your character’s interactions with the world around them both socially and physically. You both did well. I laughed frequently at the way Baxter and Symbiote bickered despite who could overhear (though I was unclear at first if this was meant to be going on vocally or if it was supposed to be in Baxter’s head). The way Glass rolled with it and acknowledged it was well done as well. Believable and consistent.

Character

Glass: 8
Symbiosis: 7

Basically, the idea here is how well you portrayed your character to me, both within and without. You both did an awesome job here giving me a strong mental impression of who these people are. I was given a concise and graceful description of Ardaen and despite her low-key demeanor I feel like I saw enough into her head to know what to expect, if not why she is the way she is. Baxter and Symbiote are distinct and you portray them consistently, and you gave me plenty of truly awesome descriptors to show me what this thing looks like in action (the tongue, the eyes, the way he moves, the way he sounds). I have a good mental image of his head and face, but from the neck down the image is much hazier. By the end I was sort of envisioning Marvel’s Venom, but I’m not sure how accurate that is. And I don’t really have a mental picture of Baxter-sans-Symbiote at all.

Still, you both did very well here. Again, I laughed when Symbiosis had the reins, and I was intrigued by Mask when it was Glass’ turn.

Writing Style Totals

Glass: 24/30
Symbiosis: 20/30

Creativity

Glass: 6
Symbiosis: 7

This is both straightforward and elusive to try and explain concisely. Basically, here is where I gauge your use of advanced literary techniques and general creativity. You’re both good writers. Glass paints a vivid picture with excellent and spot-on word-choice. Symbiosis really shined here. There were a few awesome similes and metaphors here (once you likened the way he felt like he was moving to a lounging walrus), but the real star is the way you revisited Symbiote’s lesson to Baxter, and his use of that lesson to trick his dark passenger later.

Mechanics

Glass: 8
Symbiosis: 5

Mechanics is the easy one. This is where I pick out basic mechanical errors. I saw a few places where you guys edited to correct errors, so I figure you were probably rereading your posts, but I still managed to spot a handful of issues here and there. Glass, mechanically your writing is almost flawless. The errors I tended to catch in your case were easy to miss. For example, in post #6 you use further instead of farther. In #14 you had “fallowing” where you wanted “following.” Mistakes, not out-and-out errors.

Symbiosis, I know this character is an alt, and I’m 85% sure I know who you are based on your writing style, and if I’m right you improve mechanically every time I read your work. There are errors here similar to Glass’ (in #11 you write “took” instead of “tooth,” in #21 you write “tanker” where I think you wanted “tankard”), but most of what I saw involved apostrophes. You use them properly for the most part, so I’m inclined to think these are simple mistakes and not confusion about the rules of possession (no pun intended), but for completeness sake: make sure you’re watching for what is plural and what is possessive. Only possessives should have an apostrophe (except for like, its/it’s…again, I have a feeling this is redundant, but I don’t want to be a slacker-judge). Also, watch your comma usage. In some places your comma usage seems strange; in others you need more commas than you have. I tend to suggest reading your posts out loud, and anywhere it feels natural to pause, consider putting a comma there. Lastly, consider hyphenating certain things, especially when describing something as being like something else (example, in #11 you say “club like.” For clarity’s sake, “club-like” would be better. I spent a year living in California, so when I see the word “like” hanging by itself, my mind INSTANTLY goes to a valley-girl accent).

Clarity

Glass: 10
Symbiosis: 8

Clarity is how clear your writing is (duh). I don’t really need to say this, but you guys are both great in this regard. Seriously, thank you for that. Battles can be especially bad for clarity, but not here. I had to reread very rarely, and when I did it was more because of mechanical errors than anything having to do with nonsensical writing or confusion between the two of you. Symbiosis, smooth out those commas and you’re golden. Glass, I only had to reread one part of one of your posts (#8), where you described Baxter’s “own, milky eyes.” There’s technically nothing wrong with it, and I’m not sure what hangs me up there, but the “own” snagged my eye the first few times I read over it. Maybe it’s the comma, maybe the word seems unnecessary. I don’t know. I waffled on whether or not I should penalize you for it and ultimately decided not to because, you know, it’s not wrong. I just thought I’d point it out for completeness’ sake and because I am a jerk.

Wild Card

Glass: 9.5/10
Symbiosis: 9.5/10

Wild Card is where I can put any number I want in based on how much of a jerk I feel like being, up to 9 billion, if by 9 billion I actually mean 10. In this case, I really enjoyed reading this thread so I gave you guys 9.5 billion minus the billion. I didn’t give you ten because I want your score to come out even and not something something point five, but I promise I like you both and I look forward to reading whatever you work on together in the future. Thanks!

As always, please feel free to PM me if you have any questions about my judgment or the rubric, or just to tell me that you love me.

Scores

Glass: 73
Symbiosis: 67

GLASS gains 800 EXP and 950 GP.
SYMBIOSIS gains 250 EXP and 1000 GP.

[Breaker]

EXP / GP Updated, thread archived.