Round 1: Bloodrose Vs Chosen of the Gods

[Silence Sei]

You have 2 weeks to complete this battle. May the best man win!

[Chosen of the Gods]

There was a sudden gust of wind followed by a pair of feet that sent the seagulls flying in a rush of panic as they cawed angrily into the morning fog. The salty tang in the air mixed with the beads of sweat that fell down the side of the bronzed warrior's face, his chest heaving up and down. The leather collar and battle skirt fluttered up and down, making a soft chime sound as the straps jingled with the trinkets and fetishes around his neck.

His sandal covered feet slid on the wet wooden surface, arm reaching out to wrap around a long thick support pole as he shifted his body quickly to the right, confusing a sailor who stumbled to the side to allow the man passage. He pumped his arms in tandem with his stride, eyes scanning every obstacle in his way. He vaulted over a group of crates, tilting his body so he rolled off his right shoulder feeling pain spike his nerves that dulled quickly as he came back to his feet and continued his trot. He hesitated a moment, slowing his steps as he began to look side to side in a flurry of motion.

Just one hour prior Ahk'Ran Kopec was seated for breakfast at the The Siren's Song. Having finished his morning prayers to his pantheon of gods asking for an opportunity to prove himself he prepared for the day with his usual meal of eggs and toast. Nowadays, as a personal mission, Ahk'Ran had set himself the task to clean the world of demonic filth and restore the world as his gods had intended it. He fought the Demon of Swords Regal Burnswidth, testing his faith against the madman. Upon his own defeat he reaffirmed his faith in his gods and made sure to never stray again.

However, his next engagement against the man known as William Arcus tested his firm belief in his own self character. Fighting in a maelstrom of pure chaos the two fought like savages. Though Ahk'Ran had managed to vanquish the foe, his black sickly talons dug deep into himself and dragged into death with the beast. The miracles of the Citadel in Radansath had saw him alive and well, and it was that contest that led Ahk'Ran to purge the world of such evils.

Yet today was different.

As he ate the Fallien native listened to the talk around him. He was not familiar with common yet, still understanding only basic words common to eight year old children. So he listened to the words and attempted to piece them together like a puzzle. The big excitement was of the rimless Serenti tournament of champions. A dozen warriors, some claiming hundreds, gathered all around the world to fight. Some wondered who would show, others placing bets, but when the talks mentioned a strong warrior by the name "Bloodrose" the young warrior turned his head and listened.

A mighty mercenary who had fought the best and left them beaten in his wake. A win record longer than the imperial lineage of the Empire, and a loss record that some claimed did not exist. Ahk'Ran joined them, learning of Teric the "Bloodrose" and his deeds. He ate every story, caring not if they were fiction worthy of a bard. Then the bar wench dropped a bombshell of news.

Teric was disembarking for sea right now.

Ahk'Ran dropped more gold than his meal was worth as he grabbed his satchel and bronzed Kopesh, rushing forwards to meet the legendary mercenary head on. His blood raced a the idea of meeting him, his soul praising his gods for the fortune of blessing him with this opportunity. He raced like a desert hyena on the hunt.

Now at the edge of the disembarkation decks he looked to spot the man of legend. He grew worried as he frantically searched for the man.

"<Please grant me your sight, Ptra!>" Ahk'Ran pleaded as he spoke in his heavy dialect. He heard the mighty caw of an eagle in flight to his right, an he snapped his head to look. Indeed he saw the bird circling the air before landing upon a sail mast, wings spread far and wide as if in offering. Ahk'Ran looked to base to see one man standing with bags over shoulder, looking to the boat.

"<Praise you, blessed ones! May this offering of challenge please you!>" Bowing low to the ground the bronze warrior stepped forwards as he jumped to the boarding platform. A few sailors gave him a strange look as he marched forwards, lifting his weapon up to his hand from the sash that held it. He fixed all his armor to be repositioned correctly. He made sure he looked presentable as a warrior before standing before the object of his obsession.

He looked at him, in the eyes as he waited, measuring the man up in a respectful manner the way which true warriors do. There was no hostility in his demeanor, but honest joy. Ahk'Ran took his blade and placed it to his side as he bowed to the mercenary.

"Teric the "Bloodrose"," The Fallien native shouted in his bowed state. "I am Ahk'Ran Kopec, son of Jaffar Kopec, warrior of Far Ka-Lad in the desert sands of Fallien. I have heard stories that you are a fierce opponent. I ask you as a simple warrior to, to, to-"

Ahk'Ran stumbled as his nerves got to him. Whenever the man was excited or in battle his understanding of the common tongue slipped. At the moment he had no idea how to say the word gauge his strength, and he did not want to slip on his intentions.

He did no want to fight to defeat Teric the "Bloodrose", but merely see where he stood when compared to such a man. Was his strength on equal levels, and if not how far was the rift between them? This was his intent. Yet he cried in frustration as he dropped to his knees sighing deeply beating the deck in anger as he could not voice this.

"<Crap! I have the man before me and no way to convey my thoughts!>" He spat in heavy Fallien. Ahk'Ran looked to him againan idea forming as began nodding his head. With all the pride he could muster he bowed in supplication to this man, and attempted one last time to communicate.

"Show me why I am just a warrior and you are a legend!"

[Bloodrose]

All bunnying approved by Chosen.

My reputation precedes me... again.

Teric was suddenly made to feel very uncomfortable, standing there on the dockside with another man prostrate before him. The mercenary's blade was halfway out of the sheath at his belt, a knee-jerk reaction to having a stranger approach him in public with a weapon bared. The sudden display of weaponry on two fronts was making the nearby sailors equally uncomfortable. Men loading goods and supplies stopped their labors, and boys in the rigging overhead paused to peer down at the queer situation unfolding at the loading ramp.

"Beshuadi." Teric hissed down at the man. Get up.

The man - this Ahk'Ran Kopec - did not rise, but his head turned sideways questioningly; as one would turn their head if not expecting to hear the pleasant sounds of their native tongue.

"Beshuadi!" Teric said again, a little louder, and with a little more urgency. "You're making a scene."

Slowly, as Teric tried to casually slide his sword back into its sheath, Ahk'Ran rose. Physically, when not kneeling in supplication, the heavily bronzed Fallien was just slightly taller than the older Salvar native, but to look at him, Teric gave up almost fifty or more pounds. Armed with a kopesh, the curved, almost sickle-like sword favored by the desert tribes of his island homeland, and wearing light armor, it was fairly evident that Ahk, at least on the surface, was no stranger to a fight.

"Surprised?" Teric said, fixing his strange new friend with a knowing look as the dockside slowly returned to normal. A strong breeze drifted in off the sea, and the salty wind seem to blow away any interest those standing around once had in them. Now that Teric and Ahk were just two men standing on the pier, the day laborers and rigging boys got bored and returned to their work.

"Yes." Ahk'Ran replied in his deeply accented common. "Pargua heme fardat?"

"Not fluently, but yes, I speak enough of your tongue to get by." Teric answered. "I spent some time in the Jya's hospitality a few decades ago. Just as they are very touchy about foreign people, they are equally touchy about foreign language, so you learn fast if you want to stay..."

The bag slung over Teric's shoulder was getting heavier, and the old mercenary suddenly realized he was warbling on like an old housewife with a complete stranger who'd just pulled a weapon on him in public.

"..Look, I'm sorry, but I have a boat to catch. What exactly was it you wanted?"

"Carbat!" Ahk answered excitedly; A fight!

Of course he does. Teric rubbed the bridge of his nose appreciatively between thumb and index finger, the same way one does when they feel a headache coming on.

"Look," the veteran replied, trying to be as polite as possible, "I don't know who you think I am, but let's make one thing straight. I'm just an old man, a padu elda, trying to catch a boat. I'm not going to fight you."

That said, Teric turned as if to leave, hoping that even if Ahk'Ran really did know him and his reputation, that the Far Ka-Lad warrior would drop the issue. It wasn't the first time a younger fighter had picked Teric out in a crowd and asked for a duel. It was always the same story too, they wanted to test their mettle; weigh themselves against a big name.

Too bad for these youngsters, Teric fought both to win and to survive. If it came down to killing a stranger on the dockside just because the man wanted a fight... well, better Ahk just walked away now.

[Chosen of the Gods]

Teric had turned his back and headed towards the boat that would take him away, possibly forever. There was a coldness of reality in his words, a weight upon them that bound the Fallien Native to the ground as he tried to lift a hand to grab him by the shoulder and whirl him around. Yet even he, who was so fresh to the world, could tell this man was done with challenges and glory hunts. Pains of a thousand battles was evident in his eyes, and when he spoke, even in Fallien, he could hear the edge of his old voice.

Yet Ahk’Ran also could feel his warrior spirit pound against his soul. There was a solution here, a way to satisfy everyone and still make a glorious offering of battle to the gods. “Ab! Ab! Wefa pen! Teric did not stop and wait to listen to Ahk’Ran as he continued to walk. He looked to him, knowing full well he could speak in Falien, but decided as a prideful warrior that he should address Teric in his own tongue. It was only proper he took time to know his language.

Ahk’Ran jogged after him, not in an overly quick manner, just a few quick steps to stand before him again. “I can see in your eyes something. The eyes are a window to your soul, which is why the desert sepulchral stalkers who guard the tombs can gaze into your eyes and turn you to stone. I too can see into your soul. I misspoke before, but if truly you do intend to just leave, than I will say all I can, and be done with this.”

Ahk’Ran felt his body be forcibly shoved aside as Teric just kept walking, ignoring the man. The desert native turned with him, walking in time as he looked to the boarding ramp and thought about the distance and how much time he had to say his piece. He adjusted the purple sash on his side, opening the loop and placing his weapon there, tightening it with a pat of his hand on his hip.

“You call yourself old, Teric the ‘Bloodrose,’ but you only praise yourself. In my village, elders are not venerated men who sit in a circle and talk the ways the tribe or village should go. Ours are proud, masters of their duties!” Ahk’Ran’s pride was clearly evident as he spoke, his excitement raising to the top. He realized he was having trouble speaking again and he calmed himself down with a few steps. “In Far Ka-Lad, we give birth to five children, the first child at the correct age is given to the priest cult to uphold the rat…ratual…”

“Rituals,” Teric muttered, correcting him.

“Ah, many thanks. Yes, rituals, to our gods and our people. When they grow older, they become Keeper of the Gods, high priests. My sister is such a person.” Ahk’Ran laughed remembering seeing his birth sister for the first time since she was ten and he was eight a few summers back. How she glowed with the desert sun at her back. “The second child is given to the Army. There they train and master war and battle, and grow to become Chosen of the Gods. The third child is given to the village to monitor the well being, and they grow to be our, govor…gavern… govarnors,” Ahk’Ran smiled with a soft sigh. “The people who sit and grow fat.” He joked.

“Close enough I suppose,” Teric cracked a small grin, though Ahk’Ran never saw it.

“A point is coming,” The desert native said softly. “We grow in our profession, in our duties to our gods, and in our hearts as the years continue. I can not safely say how many cycles of life you have gone through, and it would be rude to guess. Teric the ‘Bloodrose,’ I have seen into your eyes and your soul and can see the weight of many cycles, however. Battle for you is no longer something you wish to rush into. Many have beaten themselves to death against your firm resolve, and I admit my palette wets to run that same gauntlet. But for reasons different than the others,”

Now Ahk’Ran stepped forwards, eyes cast determinedly as he stood in front of Teric, barring his path. “Your age to me shows me you are a mighty warrior, and I wish to test myself against it. I am no fool, I know I cannot kill you. As surely as the jackal rests in the shade your little finger will crush me. But I want to see the wisdom you have gained and test it against the wisdom I have earned through my own blood sweat and tears. I do not wish for a fight to the death! Such a thing is foolish and beneath the status of true warriors. True warriors will fight and spar, but never kill the other! That way when they meet again they can test their mettle and see who’s grown! Fight me like a true warrior, and I will forever be in your debt.”

Feeling the conversation turn much more serious, Ahk’Ran looked to Teric with a softer smile as he stepped forwards in a cautious manner. He looked Teric right in the eyes, the mercenaries cold stare piercing him, but that was what he wanted. To make sure he could feel the man looking at him, at his soul.

“Look into my soul, Teric the ‘Bloodrose,’ and see my wish,” Ahk’Ran whispered. “If anything else, see in me the child in you. The same child who had a dream much like yours…”

[Bloodrose]

Teric snorted, his frustration plain on his face. Calmly, almost coldly, the mercenary shrugged the bag off his shoulder and let it drop to the damp, rotting timbers of the wharf. The two men, ivory and bronze, squared off across from each other, staring each other down. Teric stared hard into those brown eyes opposite him, and he knew that look. He'd seen it a thousand times before in the eyes of a dozen different sorts of men. Soldiers in battle, priests and clerics on the streets and in the pulpits, civilians whipped up into the frenzy of a mob; they all shared that hard set to the jaw, that fevered looked on the brow...

Zeal.

Whether it was his loose grasp on the common language, or youthful naivety, Ahk'Ran was only partially right. A man's eyes could tell you a lot, but they were not windows; the eyes were mirrors. People - regardless of creed, sex, or profession - projected their world-view onto the people around them. People see what they want to see, and in Ahk's eyes, Teric was to be admired for surviving so many battles. He was to be admired for being a great 'warrior'. Ahk saw it that way because he needed to. Teric had learned the hard way that there was nothing glamorous about battle - it was dirty, ugly, and cruel. That was a lesson hard learned over decades of killing men trying to kill him, and of burying friends. It was a lesson that would hide for years behind the youthful, misconceived notions of honor and glory. Men like Ahk'Ran who longed for that were statistically likely to be dead before they ever learned that lesson themselves, and if by some miracle he did survive, it would be too late to salvage any sort of meaningful life from the wreckage.

I wonder how he'd feel if he knew the truth? The veteran wondered. There was only one way a mercenary survived to his age, and it wasn't pretty. I wonder if he'd still revere me if he knew how many innocents I've killed for a handful of gold. If he knew how many friends I've betrayed or abandoned to save my own skin. How many more friends I've buried on nameless battlefields forgotten by history. Teric was no warrior; warriors stood for something. At best, Teric was a thug - a common sell sword fighter separated from his peers by skill alone.

The ability to swing a sword better than most, however, was a poor substitute for a soul.

"Trust me," Teric said, his gravelly voice low and deadly serious, "if I could talk to the child in me about dreams, I would tell him to hang up the sword while he still had a chance. You're still young; young enough to think that this is what you want. I don't care if it's for religion, or for pride, or for whatever - you don't! Those reasons may all sound different, but the outcome is always the same. People get killed, and those who survive have to live with the killing."

Teric jabbed a meaningful, accusatory finger in Ahk'Ran's face.

"Don't you dare admire me." He hissed.

Teric shook his head, muttering darkly to himself under his breath. The mercenary reached down and snatched up his bag, and then shouldered his way past the bronze Far Ka-Lad. He wasn't gently about it either, dropping his shoulder a little lower than was probably necessary, knocking the Fallien native sideways into a nearby stack of crates.

[Chosen of the Gods]

Ahk'Ran felt the force of the blow and tripped backwards, his arms flailing to the side like a bird learning to fly. His back ached as he felt the snapping of wood behind him, his body tilting to the heavens for a brief second.

Teric had not even bothered to turn or apologize.

So it was that Ahk'Ran looked to him, seeing his back to him as he walked towards the boat. The pure disrespect that Teric showed the Fallien native was baffling, as not moments prior he seemed to be a decent man. Now he was a rude, self centered mule of a jackass. With narrow eyes he stood back up. Part of his warrior pride demanded he satisfy this stain on his honor. The other part of him that was more respectful to those he encountered told him to just drop it. They warred like caged beasts in his turmoil.

In the end his pride got the better of him.

He pulled his curved blade up and walked along the silk like surface of the wet rotting wood, his movements direct and purposeful as he stalked his prey. If Teric wanted to act like a petulant child, than so be it.

He raised the flat edge of his Kopesh upwards and aimed to slap the man between the shoulders with all his force.

[Bloodrose]

The flat of Ahk'Ran's kopesh hit Teric squarely between the shoulders. Chainmail was good against sharp edges and projectiles, but it did little to dull blunt strikes, and the surprise blow elicited a truly instinctive response from the older mercenary.

"You miserable fuck!" Teric exclaimed, his back arching as his shoulder blades moved to try and close over the point of impact. The veteran cringed as pain raced down his spine into his legs, his bag dropping forgotten to the wharf. Dockworkers - the same ones who had turned away from the pair before - now repaid their attention to the armed duo. There were knowing looks and expectant grins amongst some as they ribbed each other - looking forward to the fireworks - while others took a hesitant step away and sought the closest crate to hide behind. Aside from the low din of the activity farther down the wharf, it was suddenly and unusually quiet for a busy commerce center.

Teric reached over his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck as the sudden and unexpected pain receded. Slowly, and very deliberately, the mercenary turned around to stare daggers at the man responsible. Ahk'Ran stood there, weapon in hand, with a look on his face that registered somewhere between hurt pride and a deer caught in a bright light. Teric thought he could see the gears working behind those brown Fallien eyes, as if the younger warrior might be regretting his rash decision.

This is going to attract a lot of trouble. Some reasonable part of the veteran's brain was warning. Just let it go. It's not like he tried to kill you, he was just angry. He could have hit you with something much worse than the flat of his blade. It's not worth picking a fight with the entire city guard. Just get on the boat...

"Big mistake." Teric's voice was almost nonchalant; meaningful. It wasn't the tone of voice one used to deliver a warning or instill fear - it was the tone one used when merely stating a fact.

With his right hand still on the back of his neck, Teric raised and extended his left arm towards Ahk'Ran, his palm opened forward. In the blink of an eye, the dockside was suddenly awash in brilliant orange light. Noise like a thunderclap drowned out the yelps of fear and surprise that emanated from the dockworkers watching the unfolding events. Through the blinding light and the deafening noise came Teric, eyes purpose set on the Far Ka-Lad warrior in front of him. The veteran didn't reach for either of his weapons; instead he bulled forward with his right arm cocked back. As he closed the distance between the two of them, the older warrior loosed a powerful, well-aimed haymaker at Ahk'Ran's jaw.

[Chosen of the Gods]

Ahk’Ran felt his world suddenly freeze in place, the salty tang of the breeze abruptly halt, the bright sun’s rays no longer shimmering in the corner of his eye. The sea itself seemed to stop moving as the universe took a moment for him to contemplate the meaning of what just occurred. In this moment of reflection, the likes of which would feel like a lifetime, but last no more than second, he was able to glean the gods intentions.

Look what you asked for, and do not shy away from it

Every inch of his fiber wished to avoid the blow, to turn his head in cowardice and brace for what could only be the worst. This attack he could read as well as any book, and it spoke of deadly intent. While it was no killing blow, it was certainly a bone smasher, a jaw quaker. Teric had let loose his fist like an unfed wolf who just smelled prey. Try as he might to dodge this blow, he had not the time, nor the reflexes to do anything but feel fist connect with face.

Ahk’Ran’s body tilted upwards with the impact, his toes bending as his heels lifted upwards off the ground. Pain seethed throughout his jaw line, his eyes flashing white as the world returned to full speed at once. Copper liquid built up as his tongue felt fat in his mouth, bleeding where he bit it awkwardly. Something rattled around his mouth, swimming in the crimson blood that pooled in the well of his jaw. He turned his head, feet contorting to the side as he collapsed in a heap, bouncing upon the wet wooden surface and scraping the top layer of gunk up. When he hit his head on the hard wood the blood in his mouth flew outwards in a rush, staining the floor as it dripped down to the sea below. The tangy salt in the air prickled his wound as Ahk’Ran felt two teeth fall out of his mouth, his facial features aching as he winced.

He had been punched before, but that blow was far more solid, more contained, more experienced than those he had felt before. Teric had known from instinct where to land his fist for maximum effect, and the desert warrior had to give the man credit as he looked to his side. His sash holding all his belongings fell open in his tumble, and four tiny pouches of leather had scattered along with some idols to his gods. With a quick hand he grabbed the sand and rolled to his stomach lifting himself up on all fours. He took the eating knife from his kitchen set and reversed gripped it, running the smooth blade along his flesh. It hurt, mightily so, but the throbbing pain in his head ached far worse than the cut in his arm. When the wound was dealt he opened the pouch and rose to his feet.

“Your strength,” Ahk’Ran said in blood covered lips. “It is indeed mighty. But my strength comes from the gods! Praise be the Sun god, who gives me the strength of a new day!” He spoke the words in a mantra, his speech nearly flawless as turned the pouch over his wound and let the desert sands of his home fall into his wounds. It stung like a thousand wasp stings, but in a second the pain subsided, his once wounded right hand now glowing a soft gold. He pushed forwards on the balls of his feat, coming at Teric in a sprint as he prepped an uppercut just as he saw Teric do to him, mirroring his precision and skill.

[Bloodrose]

Someone in the background of the action was shouting. Teric's little pyrotechnic display had blinded half the dockside and startled just about everyone within earshot. The air was alive with the frenetic energy of a hundred souls that have no idea what's going on. In a fight, it was easy to get tunnel-vision; focus solely on the man you intend to hurt. That sort of vision could be useful when the two individuals fighting are the only two around for miles, but in a crowded public arena that near-sightedness could get you killed. Specifically, it would be foolish to discount the bystanders watching the fight as set pieces to the backdrop of the ongoing scuffle.

"What's going on! Teric could hear them yelling. "Call the guard!"

"Piss on your gods." The mercenary told Ahk'Ran as the Fallien got back up for a second go at it. The little display with the knife, the bag of dirt, the glowing arm - these were things that might have given a less experienced fighter pause. One had to ask: Why would he cut himself? Why is his arm glowing like that? The answers to such questions are almost undoubtedly bad news, and so a weaker man would be wary. Call it cockiness, but Teric was not wary. He was confident; confident in the fact that he'd been in enough tussles and dealt with enough magic users in his time to tell the difference between an imminent threat and a (for lack of a better word) "blessing".

In a lot of ways, all men of various gods are the same. In this particular case, one of those ways was the manner in which a servant begs its master for aid.

Ahk'Ran's shimmering golden uppercut swung upon nothing but air as Teric appeared to blink out of existence. A half-dozen paces away, directly behind where he had been standing, the mercenary settled into a defensive posture, his hand resting meaningfully on the hilt of his sword. Further behind him, from inland towards the town proper, came the tell-tale sounds of booted feet stomping on cobbled streets and the jingle of chainmail. The arrival of the local constabulary on the scene was imminent, and so the veteran's need to end this brawl quickly was growing by the second. He contemplated killing Ahk'Ran outright, but decided against it. If he somehow failed to make a clean getaway, the last thing the mercenary needed was a body on his hands.

"Tell them I said that."

The white blade of Teric's sword shined as it flashed from its sheath. Quick as the flicker of a candle-flame the blade moved from hip to opposite shoulder, and twin blades of air carved an "X" shaped swath of destruction through the dockside. From a distance it might have looked as though the swath was aimed as Ahk'Ran, but it was actually aimed to his left. Splinters of seawater soaked timber from the deck of the wharf clouded the air before the cross-slash even hit the stack of crates waiting to be loaded onto a nearby ship, but afterwards it was utter bedlam. Those crates, loaded with apples, exploded in a mess of broken wood and fruit pulp, sending a lightning bolt of panic through the onlookers. Dockworkers, sailors, and regular citizens alike scattered in a frenzied mob of confusion, their shouts and screams drowning out any other noise.

[Chosen of the Gods]

For what could have simply been called a brawl, Ahk’Ran surely felt like he was in the middle of a war. The screams of alarm and confusion were akin to the sounds of battle, and the only noise missing was the constant ringing of beaten bronze against steel. Even the earth eating attack that Teric did was much like the incantations of destruction his desert village used, though in this regard they were far drastically different. The Fallien venerated his gods and elders, but Teric seemed to only hold contempt.

The explosion of wood shattered the crates in a manner that was like a firework exploding in the skies, the shrapnel flying in several directions as the sea seemed to wane and then suddenly wax strongly showering the deck port. The desert native was soaked by the events, wet remnants of the crates sticking to him like wet sand. He was tossed off his feet a second time, and the warrior rolled with the concussion of the blast a few times. There was a loud ringing in his ear as he took a shuddering breath to regain himself, all the noise of the dock muffled and distant to him. He could still hear his heart beat, which meant he was not dying, though he smirked thinking its rapid pace may change that at any time.

Slowly he looked up to see the idol of Djalf, the god of mischief looking at him, the only one of his idols that had not been overturned and discarded. It stood sentinel in the middle of all this chaos, and the omen made the Fallien warrior laugh. You organized all this to teach me a lesson, trickster god. He let bloodied fingers curl around the ebony marble, bringing it forwards as he once again stood back up.

Ahk’Ran never stood a chance of winning, that was for sure, but Djalf had taught him that he should not go begging for fights he could not win. His customs and training were valid only in his world, not in the real world of Althanas. No matter how innocent or peaceful his intentions were, not everyone would take it as such. He also learned not to give into his warrior spirit’s demands to fight stronger foes. All of this was a lesson in self control. Praise be the Trickster god, who gives me clarity of my faults.

He gathered all his fallen idols, before his ears started to return to normal. Several warriors of the royal court of Corone were moving in a block forwards, deadly weapons that glinted in the sunlight heralded their approach. Sailors coughed as the smoke cleared, being pushed aside as they ran towards Ahk’Ran and Teric. Quickly the desert denizen looked to see where the mercenary had gone.

Not surprisingly, the man left.

This calamity was because of Ahk’Ran’s childish ineptitude, and a sudden warrior’s guilt took over him. By no means did he owe Teric anything, but his pride as a warrior and the lesson he just learned made him feel indebted to the man who could use self control. At any moment he could have snapped the bronze warrior’s neck, or worse if this little magic show was any indication. Yet he never did. He merely played his part in Djalf’s scheming to better the youthful man.

With a debt such as this, Ahk’Ran knew what must be done. He sprinted after Teric, leaning down as he gripped the familiar weight of his kopesh. The heavy bronze weapon was like a child’s toy in his glowing hand as he moved towards the location of the ship that Teric would depart with. Several more shouts from the guard made the sailors turn to their duties to avoid the coming commotion and the more he thought about their numbers the more he prepared himself for what he was about to do.

He spotted the mercenary on the bottom level of the wharf, feet moving in a steady running rhythm. He moved to the boat clearly marked for the Serenti tournament, the livery of banners and colors enough to cause a seizure in the unprepared. A dockhand greeted the man with a friendly hello, but Teric just brushed past him. If he could reach the boat, perhaps he could claim sanctuary, but a caw of a hawk turned Ahk’Ran’s focus to the north where a detachment of footmen were heading inwards to bar his passage. Teric would never make it in time and he’d be removed from the tournament all because of Ahk’Ran’s faults as a man.

That would never do.

He placed one foot on the railing of the second level and jumped forwards, his body coming up in a tight roll as he hit the bottom level. His bones ached as they slid on the wet timber, but there was no more discomfort as he came back to his feet. He sprinted like he was being chased by a mountain cat, his strides longer than three steps. He panted in his run, sweat falling from his bald head like beads as he moved. He took his kopesh and quickly cut his other arm, grabbing the grains of sand from his satchel, fumbling with the pull strings to open it. With a quick incantation to his earth god barely passing his winded chapped lips, his torso and shoulders glowed with a feint green aura, the golden aura still shining brighter on his one hand.

“You there, hold!” A guard shouted behind Teric. The guards all began to get into position as the front line made it through. Teric slowed his steps, anger clear on his face. He was not happy with this situation in the least, and Ahk’Ran could tell he did not wish for this kind of attention. A memory flashed before his eyes of not long ago.

"Beshuadi!" Teric said again, a little louder, and with a little more urgency. "You're making a scene."

Now more than ever the guilt of what he had done was clear. Teric never wanted this attention, and he forced it upon him. He was ten steps behind the guard that started to form up around the man. He had to make this right. He had to uphold his honor as a warrior, even if the man did insult his gods. With weapon held high Ahk’Ran did what he knew best, and cried out a Fallien battle chant as he moved closer.

“Oh good! The other idiot is here too, Higgins, dispatch-” The man who spoke wore heavy platemail, and sported a smug look that spoke of his excitement in what could otherwise be considered a boring job. Perhaps to him, he wanted to see this fight, just so he had a reason to join it. Perhaps, the Captain of this guard watch wanted a reason to brawl.

It just so happened one Fallien native was looking for a fight as well.

The flat edge of his weapon, enhanced with power of both hands swinging and the strength of the sun god behind his muscles easily knocked the man known only has Higgins through a loop, his body corkscrewing in a fancy display of blood and physics. He fell to the ground with a clatter of metal as he slid on the deck to his jaw dropped captian’s feet. In the wake of his attack Ahk’Ran turned and slid on his sandals to stop just before Teric, the mercenary looking to his only avenue of escape.

“Teric the ‘Bloodrose’, it is because of my own failings as a man and warrior that I have made you late for your destiny. Please forgive a boy who dreams too large.” Ahk’Ran said as best he could in common. Then, with a slight grin he deepened his voice and spoke loudly enough so anybody could hear, lashing out at the confused guard.

“<You get on that boat, I’ll take care of the guard..>“

[Bloodrose]

Of all the luck I haven't got today...

Four guardsmen arrayed themselves between Teric and the gangplank to his escape. How the armed detachment had focused on him so quickly in the chaos was impossible to say, but the mercenary wasn't exactly eager to ask them. Nor was he eager to collect the souls of four or more innocent footmen simply because some desert-brained warrior wanted to test his strength. All in all, the simple act of getting on a boat was turning out to be the most dangerous, impossible task the veteran had gotten up to all week.

"Look-" Teric started to say...

As if to emphasize the old fighter's poor luck, Ahk'Ran burst onto the scene with all the subtlety of an orcish pick-pocket - braining one guard and situating himself directly in the middle of the issue. There were some words about 'fault' and 'destiny' bandied about, but the mercenary was paying no mind to the cursed Fallien's halting Common. Teric was far more interested in the meaningful way the three remaining guard's fists tightened around the hilts of swords and the shaft of one halberd. He was more interested in the way their eyes narrowed and the hard set to the jaw that was evident on their faces as they glanced from wounded comrade to responsible assailant.

If you want to forgive me, you could stop following me around. Teric wanted to say.

The guards didn't give him time.

"Get those two!"

The guard with the halberd stepped to thrust his weapon at Teric's thigh, but the mercenary's rucksack came around in a whirl like the world's largest, softest flail. The bag hit the man in the chest, tipped him sideways, and with a little shove, Teric sent the poor fellow tumbling into the water between the wharf and the ship he'd been trying to board. Another of the trio tried to jump in, but Ahk'Ran was on him like a shot. That left the one guard on the left-most flank, a heavy-set man in his early thirties hefting a broadsword. Heavy-Set raised the weapon up to take a hack at Ahk's back as he and the 2nd guard scuffled, but a well placed kick in the side of the knee from Teric set him down hard on the ground. Before the unfortunate footman even knew what to do, the old fighter's strong fist closed on the back collar of his plate mail and sent him half-flying, half-sliding into the water alongside his cohort.

"Do me a favor," Teric told Ahk'Ran plainly, looking around for other guards, "keep your apologies to yourself, and stop following me."

His piece said, the veteran mounted the loading the ramp and stalked purposefully onto the ship he'd been trying to board all morning. Some of the crew, the captain included were standing slack-jawed at the rail, their stares alternating between Teric, Ahk'Ran, and the two soldiers floundering in the water under the wharf. There were more guards milling around the dockside, but they were too preoccupied with trying to settle the still fleeing crowd to notice their four comrades getting the crap beat out of them. Teric didn't turn to see where Ahk'Ran went, or how he finally fared against the last soldier. He merely stopped alongside the ship's captain and asked a simple question.

"Please," his tone pleading, "tell me we can cast off immediately."

[Silence Sei]

Well, this battle did not exactly have a conclusion, but here we go none the less!

Bloodrose/Chosen


Story 4/4: This seemed to be a collaborative, agreed upon effort that I enjoyed. The intros were okay, rising action was great, but there did not seem to be any real conclusion. Because of lack of conclusion, you both were docked.

Continuity 7/7: Another tie. Huh. I would have liked Chosen to have elaborated better on why he was in this nameless port to begin with, and I would have liked the same for Teric. Furthermore, while a city did not specifically have to be named, I would have very much appreciated a continent from which you were shipping off from. That would have helped me gained a better understanding of the residents.

Setting 8/6: BR dominates this category, for almost using the setting of the pier to his fullest advantage. Chosen, you could have stood to use any potential distractions at the dock as well, say by shoving one of the onlookers, grabbing a nearby docking rope (or whatever they’re called), hell, spitting water at Teric, but you did not seem to give me much of anything other than Ahk being knocked into whatever Teric knocked him into.

Creativity 8/8: Very unique that you guys decided to do a pre-Serenti Serenti match, explaining how Teric (Or Ahk) got to the tournament. Furthermore, each of your special abilities were pretty nifty to see used for other purposes than to just kill (Bloodrose) or to hear the admiration like a kid meeting his childhood hero (Chosen).

Character 8/5: BR, Amber Eyes said it best last night; ‘No matter what the situation, I can actually –feel- whatever Teric’s feeling.’ And it’s true, I was right there with you, frustrated that this young buck had something to prove while you were just trying to get to bloody Corone. Chosen, you have quite the unique character, as far as his background and story goes, and you did a decent job giving us some insight into whom Ahk was. You could have improved by trying to tap deeper into your characters emotions, when he was shoved, how does that dishonor feel, physically? What were the thoughts running through his head? Was he embarrassed that so many saw him essentially get bullied around?

Interaction 7/6 BR managed to interact with more than his foe, he interacted with the very setting around him. Destroying the crates, telling how his x slash ripped through the wood below. Chosen also interacted somewhat well with his foe as well as the scenery (describing his footsteps on the wood, noticing the idols within the cart, etc etc), but it was Bloodrose’s use of a crowd, and how they would have reacted given the scenario that eeked out a point ahead.

Strategy 6/5: I really hated giving this score, I really did. Bloodrose wins in this category because rather than put up a fight, he was just trying to get away, something completely odd or Teric Barton to do, that oddness benefitted him. Chosen, your character (like most of your characters) is made for battle, so it came of no surprise that you went from wanting a fight, to trying to start a fight, to fighting someone else. While this transition worked, it was nothing if not predictable for a character such as yours. I do have to admit, though, smacking Teric Barton upside the head and living to tell about was kinda cool.

Mechanics 8/4: Teric had very few errors in this thread, one of the biggest being capitalizing both parts of Heavy-Set, when I believe the correct wording would have been Heavy-set. Chosen, your first post was littered with several errors, including writing ‘feat’ when you meant ‘feet’, as well as losing the common tongue way of saying the ‘word’ gauge his strength. I would suggest writing your post, reading it out loud, throwing it up in word, reading out loud again when the spellchecker is taken to it, and then post, maybe reading a third time for good measure.

Clarity 5/5: This thread warranted a couple of re-reads, particularly because neither of you named a city (Which I didn’t actually dock you for here, just saying), but also because Teric’s flash bang and teleport, as well as Ahk’s sand-power move needed double-takes. Furthermore, I had to also re-read the taking care of the guards from both of you.

Wildcard 4/5: This was not your best effort, BR, and while it was still good, I was really hoping you would blow me and my expectations of you out of the water. Chosen gets the 5 because he had done everything I expected of him, but also because I rather enjoyed the sword-backhand of Teric ‘The Bloodrose’. :P

Total:
Bloodrose -65
Chosen – 55

Chosen of the Gods gets 900 exp, 200 GP

Bloodrose gains 3300 exp, 100 GP

Bloodrose Advances to Round 2

[Silence Sei]

Exp/Gp Added