IK vs PA 2v2 A

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This Battle will open at Midnight tonight!

I will be announcing who is participating in this before hand if I get both sides match ups in time. If by that time none is given I will assign the fighter. Remember that whoever posts first sets the parameters for the fight as well as the setting!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This Battle is going to be:

Cydnar Yrene & Dalasi Yrene vs Play Back & Rehtul Orlouge

[Cydnar]

The soft sunlight of the early morning encroached on Cydnar’s meditation. It snook over the horizon at first, until it gained enough leverage to burst violently over the mountains. Golden light shot upwards in a violent halo, illuminating the plains of Corone like a blade in the light of a roaring fire. The dew laden grass shone, the road east began to steam, and the two swordsmen stood on the roughshod thoroughfare gazed upwards at the start of a new day.

“What a sight to behold,” Dalasi stated, his cold, lashing, and furtive tongue ever ready to clarify the obvious. He twirled his short sword with relish, and continued his own militaristic preparation ritual. “If only bloodshed were not to follow.”

“I rather thought you would be pleased at the prospect of battle.” Cydnar’s dry tone was a sign he was disgruntled. He let his poised wrists falter, his muscles relax, and his lotus position wane in dedication. He no longer felt pious, divine, and certainly no longer felt like pleading to Yrene for guidance. This time they were on their own, and no gods would come to their salvation.

“Oh, I am,” Dalasi righted him from a low stance. He sheathed his blade with a cold ring of steel into an iron ringed halo. “This all seems a little callous though, do you not think?” Cydnar pushed himself upright and patted himself down. The road leading east from Radasanth, despite the dew, was still a dusty vein through the Corone countryside.

“We pledged allegiance to Elisdrasil. You know I am a creature of habit, duty, and reliability.” Cydnar narrowed his gaze at his brother’s coy smile. “After all he did in the war with Xem’Zund; I think it only right that the Hummel fulfil their end of the bargain in his time of need.” The phrase time of need felt wrong coming from Cydnar’s lips. Even he did not quite understand the parameters of the war. All he grasped from the elf’s instruction were that the Ixian Knights would amass far too much power if they were to succeed in their attempts to cause a cessation of conflict on the mainland.

“You do not need to convince me, brother. I am with you every step of the way.” Dalasi tucked his long, flaxen, and silver hair behind his ears before resting his hands on his hips. “It is a valiant cause to fight for, by all means. I just worry Elisdrasil has become just as misguided as Sei Orlougne.” Dalasi took a deep breath.

Cydnar glanced over his brother’s shoulder to the mountains that rose to the north. The range, aglow in the rising sun sloped downwards until it touched with the distant line of Radasanth on the horizon to the west. At this distance, the grand metropolis appeared to be nothing more than a distant memory, a faraway city, and a far cry to come to their aid if things went wrong. The tree line that sprang up along the left hand side of the trail began a hundred feet back from the road, a dancing wall of spruce, pine, and eucalyptus foliage. Surrounded by such odious nature, the Salthias could not help but feel lost. He supposed Dalasi was correct, and in agreeing with his brother, he already made concessions that weakened his position.

“I have no doubt that Elisdrasil’s intentions are pure. I do believe the council would never have agreed to ally with him if they had any doubt about his direction.” He set his hands onto the hilts of his sword canes and weighed down on them heavily. The tension in his belt pulled his robes tight over his lithe frame. “In any respect, with the Rangers on our side, we have a perfect opportunity to mould Corone to our liking. We can levy our own ideals at the Phoenix Ascendant and fabricate a new world in the confusion.” Dalasi smiled wildly at his brother’s intentions.

[Dalasi]

“Now you are starting to sound like a warrior, general, and a tactician!” he clapped enthusiastically, a declaration which echoed out onto the plains with the clarity of the early morning. When he realised his brother was not rejoicing with him his face turned sour. “Oh come on, surely you can show levity, humour, and grace now?” he seemed defeated, demeaned, and desperate.

“There is no time to make light of the situation, Dalasi.” Cydnar extended a robed hand and pointed over the swordsman’s shoulder. He advanced a few steps to stand by his brother’s side, and rested his hand on his armoured shoulder. The plates were cool beneath his porcelain skin, a soothing reminder that they would be well protected in their trials ahead. “Our guests are arriving.” Without further ado, Cydnar approached the barrier of felled trees that covered the width of the road behind his brother.

Dust rose in a wiry plume on the horizon. It was dwarfed by the encompassing shadow of the city, but it was clearly the caravan Elisdrasil had spoken of. The Ixian Knights had begun their logistical preparations well in advance of whatever opening gesture they had planned to make. Wagons laden with weapons, food, and armour had been sighted criss-crossing the rugged highways between Radasanth, Underwood, and Jadet for weeks now. Cydnar had questioned the Bladesingers motives for having them attack this particular caravan. When the shrewd and calculating veteran had informed them a member of the Ixian Knight upper hierarchy would be escorting the goods this time, he had to admire their allies intellect.

Pressing his hand against the moss laden log, both brothers peered at the smoke one last time, before they dropped out of sight. They both scuffled in the dirt to drop as low as they could and leant against the log pile. The rugged bark dug into Cydnar’s arms, scraped against his hauberk, and made him woefully regret coming to the surface again. From the opposite side of the trees they were unseen. Cydnar had no doubt that if members of the Knights were indeed aboard the caravan, then their pathetic barricade would be seen through with ease. It mattered not; all it had to do was stop the wagon for even a solitary minute.

“Blessings of the Thayne upon you, brother,” Dalasi said softly. There was a reverence in his words that Cydnar recognised with pleasure. Though the swordsman was not the most pious of novitiates in the ranks of the Hummel military, now was an appropriate time to recant the old tales. “Show me how to Judge those unworthy.”

Cydnar looked into Dalasi’s eyes, took a deep breath of the cold, mint tainted air, and smiled. With the weight of Freya and Altheas lifted from his pelvis, the elf took the time to gather his wits, strength, and focus about him once more. He had no idea who was in the wagon, or if they would be able to destroy it at all. The Phoenix Ascendant’s first motion in the war was to disrupt the supply of the enemy, which was an ancient but valued strategy retold through history’s advance. For now, Cydnar ignored the possibility of all-out war on the surface, and focussed on the task at hand.

“Bless Yrene, the fangs, and those who serve in his name.” He replied after several prolonged minutes of silence. They looked at one another, nodded, and then set their eyes on the dusty road ahead. They cocked their elongated ears to the sun lit sky to listen for the approach of the caravan.

[Play Back]

I found myself strangely happy with the assignment given to me by Sei Orlouge. The mute and I never really saw eye-to-eye on a lot of stuff, this war on Corone being one of the largest. However, with so many of Sei’s major captains leaving him in his time of need, it seemed a bit petty for me to take a leave of absence as well. Apparently, my loyalty to our oh so wise leader paid off, and he assigned me to the task of guarding our supply caravan.

Perhaps I should elaborate on a few things. My name is Play Back, and I am the resident psychiatrist for the Ixian Knights. You might be asking why an army would need a psychiatrist at all, but if you had seen how many people went through post-traumatic stress disorder as I had, you would realize why my position was necessary. While I am not an expert warrior like Sei Orlouge or Jensen Ambrose, two of the strongest members of the Ixian Knights, I can handle my own against a soldier or two. Perhaps this is why Sei assigned me a bodyguard on this particular venture.

Rehtul Orlouge was the nephew of Sei, a magician capable of some powerful ice spells, from what I heard of him. This was honestly the first time I had experienced any interaction with the man. He seemed nice enough, at least not as stubborn and narcissistic as his uncle was. His attitude was probably the primary reason Sei chose him as my personal guard, as a lot of the Ixian Knights would have refused such a lowly position.

I looked down towards my hands, my grip being eerily tight on the reins to my horse. Behind me were several barrels and crates worth of supplies. Sei had managed to disguise the wagons well enough with a giant white cloth, protecting any food and medical supplies from the warm sun. Behind me, Rehtul was driving a second wagon of valuables, and several more people trailed slowly behind him. These other people were helpless civilians, refugees from Raiaera’s war and evacuees from the city of Radasanth. As much as I hated to admit it, the people believed in Sei’s cause, believed in him uniting Corone once more, so who was I to question it?

To our east was Concordia forest. We had decided to skirt around the obvious choice of going directly through Underwood with our supplies, and instead decided to lead our convoy to Serenti, then Gisela, and finally Jadet before we made our way into Radasanth. This was the last leg of the trip, and according to the chatter of the townsfolk, Sei had managed to push the imperial forces of Corone all the way back into the city. It seemed that the group of belligerent drunks that decided to oppose the Ixian Knights were no match for professional soldiers. Go figure, right?

As I looked towards the sea of trees, I had begun to get an uneasy feeling. As a native to Lavinya, I had always been told to stay out of the forest if one could avoid it. This was most because the forest was filled with various degrees of zombies and vampires. This foreboding sense had kind of developed in me whenever danger was near because of my background, and for some reason Concordia was currently giving me the heebie-jeebies. Something was not right; there was something or someone among all those trees and plants.

“Rehtul,” Sei had managed to link the minds of all of his soldiers together, so any enemies nearby could not overhear conversations. It was a true testament to the mute’s telepathic abilities. “I’m sorry, Lord Orlouge. There is something not right about Concordia today, don’t you think?”

A cool wind blew past me; through it did nothing for my face, as I was still wearing my mask even in this warm weather. To make direct eye contact with the mask off could lead to disastrous results. The sounds of hooves against the well traveled road seemed louder now, the scent of nearby flowers growing stronger in a sweet medley of pleasant smells. Maybe I was just being paranoid, and my senses were starting to overcompensate for the tricks my mind was playing on me. Regardless, I reached for my hip, where my kunai sat idle.

I had expected an ambush this entire trip, and now that we were so close to Radasanth, there was no way I was going to give up these supplies so easily. Between me and Rehtul Orlouge, we had the advantage of youthful vigor, the ability to keep going despite injuries that would hinder older people. While I’m not much for fighting myself, I could easily have used a reprieve from the casual strolls I had experienced this entire journey. Perhaps now was the time to show what these ‘kids’ of the Ixian Knights could do…

[Cydnar]

The soft and familiar trundle of wheels over arid ground grew into a tumultuous din. The sound was immutable, and its increasing pitch caused the pit of Cydnar’s stomach to churn with anxiety. It had been far too long since he had fought outside the illusory safety of the Citadel of Radasanth, longer still since he had felt any real danger, any real sense of peril. It had been in a similar setting to this that he had fought the Deathlord’s army on the plains of Raiaera, almost thirty years ago. Cydnar balked under the pressure, and looked to his brother for re-assurance.

“Will this work?” he asked expectant to hear an answer he wanted to entertain. His eyes shone in the morning shine. His heart, however, did not. He felt humdrum and withered. “Elisdrasil seemed certain that disrupting the wagon would aid his efforts in the city, and to the east.”

With a wistful roll of his eyes, the youthful vigour eternally part of Dalasi’s expression faded. He returned his brother’s glare with an equally fiery stare. It told Cydnar all he needed to know, and he fell silent once more. Dalasi’s recent tour of the front lines of their expansion into Berevar had clearly left him more experience than Cydnar ever was. His brother’s grizzled expression, perfect posture, and careful placement of hand against the soft, wet, and rotting bark of their blockade suggestion he was ready for what was to come.

The sound of the wagons grew louder still, so that Dalasi had to resort to a complicated series of hand signals to gesture to Cydnar. The Salthias nodded, and clenched the muscles of his torso so that his stomach complied with his wishes for just long enough to count. The whinnying of horses and the clatter of straps, caltrops, and tack accented the sudden stop with a chorus of coughs and splutters. Cydnar knew the sound well; the wagon was guarded.

Without pausing for thought Dalasi rose quickly. He pressed against the soft wood and vaulted clean over the three trunks with a series of deftly placed heels, clawed hands and armour plates. Cydnar saw his brother vanish, and then relaxed when a soft thud of boots onto dirt marked his arrival in view of the wagon.

“For freedom…” he said with renewed vigour. “For the balance, and the judgement,” he continued. He waited for a few moments whilst he conjured a sphere of quartz from the world beyond worlds into his cupped right palm. With his totem firmly in his grip, he concentrated on the rosy quartz and used it as a platform to levitate up over the barricade. He rose into view like a sickly puppet, pallid skin shining, hair flaxen, and left hand pressed onto the orb of his sword cane.

The suspense on the road hit fever-pitch. It crackled with invisible energy, the likes of which might have shattered rock, if the plains of Corone were more than mere barren grasslands. When Cydnar’s polished leather boots touched the dirt, they made little impact by virtue of his levitation. He landed to the right of Dalasi, who had already drawn Syndail into an all too eager hand. He flourished it fluidically about his body, making a show of his dexterity, speed, and readiness to clash blades with those who stood in the way of the Phoenix Ascendant.

With calculating, uncertain, and cautious eyes settled on the mane of the lead horses, Cydnar took a deep breath. Centuries of experience told him to play this game of shadows diplomatically. He had, after all, departed the city of Ict with little intention of drawing blood. He hoped to simply fulfil the command of Elisdrasil without conflict. A few well-placed cuts of reigns here, and a shattered wheel axel there, and their goal would be accomplished without the loss of life. The inner light of his fuchsia pupils flickered with concentration.

“We wish no harm or harrowing upon you!” he shouted, his delicate lungs managing to convey his statement over the lead caravan and down along the column. It stung like the barb of a scorpion, but there was no poison in its delivery. They, after all, were two meagre soldiers against unknown adversaries. The lead wagon had an exposed front, but the solitary driver appeared to be no more than an elderly man with a dramatic moustache. He looked up from beneath his cowl, and could only stare, frightened, at the barricade and its warden.

[Dalasi]

“Lay down arms, make no attempt to resist and none shall perish!” Dalasi added, not realising the cliché in his words would do them any favours. Was a militarised man, by all means, but his way with oration was woefully lacking. Cydnar dropped the quartz sphere and let it fall naturally into a wild axis about his body. It criss-crossed around his lithe form without making a sound; caught in the swell of the Hummel’s swelling geomantic aura.

Syndail levelled at the head of the wagon, a simple polished steel edge to divide opinion, resistance, and opportunity. Thinking himself to be in control, Dalasi advanced very slowly forwards. Though the sound of the caravan stopping had indicated they were close, there was still forty feet or so between the elves and the skipping hooves of the mares; despite their advances.

“Come out slowly, and step away from the cargo!” Cydnar shouted louder still. Each advance of his brother only gave the elf more confidence. With the caravan silent, he felt as if they had indeed been fortunate. Elisdrasil’s tactical acumen, or so it appeared, had been shrewd, accurate, and exemplary. The Ixian Knights supply would be disrupted, and they could retreat into the shadows without so much as a bead of sweat forming on their grey skin.

Dalasi traced the pattern of the wagon’s bright canopy with stratagems swirling in his mind. He analysed every dent, chip, and tear in the structure, looking for places from which a crossbow bolt could be shot, or a halberd swung like a deadly scythe through foolish napes. He stepped off the road to the left, trundled down the incline, and counted with a lean the wagons. There were six in total, each large enough to store several hundred weapons, scores of men, and many other deadlier things besides.

He returned to the trail and continued his progression. At the half way point between the imprint of his boots in the dirt and the whinnying horses, he halted. He pressed his free hand back towards his brother, a sign universally used to mean stop. He cocked his head, let his moonlight hair fall over his shoulder, and listened to the strange ambient sounds of their environment. Something was awry. A hand was reaching in the shadows, a heart was beating in the mists, and somewhere, magic was afoot.

“Cydnar…can you sense that?” he said softly, careful not to give his caution away to any hidden onlookers. He dropped his blade to his side and stepped into Cydnar’s earshot. He stopped at his side, and made as if he were patting him on the shoulders in celebration, or perhaps a strange ritual of war.

“Sense what, brother?” Cydnar bit his lip.

“I may only be a novitiate in the Salthias temple, but even I can detect an aura of magic coming from somewhere ahead.” His condescension was blatant, but in the spur of the moment, Cydnar let it slide. “Reach out, feel, hear, and see.” He urged, pressing the forefinger and thumb of his hand onto the rustic hauberk that protected his brother from harm. He stepped back out of the path of the sphere of quartz.

Cydnar closed his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opened them, the orbs were utterly white. His pupils faded into mist, leaving a monstrous grimace on his face. His canine teeth elongated into serpentine fangs, and instantly, he smelt the sickness in the air. He heard the rush ether in the winds of chaos, and rocked on his heels.

“Elisdrasil was not as wise as we thought,” Dalasi said sternly. Cydnar’s eyes returned to their natural hue with a rush of telekinetic power. He frowned, turned to the wagon, and took a firm grip of the pommels of Altheas & Freya.

“Whoever you are, come out, and reveal yourself!” all the meekness faded with Cydnar’s command. He wasted no more time and lifted his sword canes from their loops with a sudden snap of his wrists. When they stopped at the zenith of their ascent, he took them firmly, and slammed them downwards.

With two rushes of crystalline ore from slender sheaths, the blades that forged a nation sprang into the world. The blade of Altheas was glowing with a soft blue light, and as he caught them mid-air, span them full-circle up over his shoulders in great arcs, Cydnar made a mental note to thank Dalasi for his caution. The two sheathes fell haphazardly to both side and clattered onto the dusty road.

The rage in Cydnar’s stomach was matched only by the deftness of his stance. He bent his right knee, slid it forwards, and held his blades up like poised wings. The tips of each levelled at the front of the wagon, and he took on the form of a cobra, ready to strike at whatever abomination of magical origins awaited them.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Rehtul had been rather enjoying his journey up until this point. His eyes were closed, as he rested in preparation for delivering the supplies. His trip with Play Back, the resident psychologist, had been rather uneventful thus far, and he was quite happy that it turned out that way. Rehtul had grown in power immensely over the last few months, but he was still no veteran soldier. The small white-blue dagger on his belt was among the only weapons he had to rely on, aside from his ice magic, which he typically kept hidden from the general public.

He was proud of his skills, of course, but he would never allow himself to become an icon of splendor and awe like his father was in the magical community. He was far to introverted and had absolutely no desire to step into the limelight. He fingered the hilt of his blade absently as he allowed himself to sink further into his daydreams. That was, until Play Back addressed him. He opened his eyes and stretched languidly before sitting upright. You really think something's off? he shot back at the other young man. He concentrated on the surroundings and immediately noticed that something was off. The denizens of the forest were oddly quiet. There was barely a single animal making any noise in the distance. There was someone out there, and he doubted they were friendly.

Sighing, the young man jumped off the back of the rear wagon and stood shakily upon his legs. "I hate travelling by wagon. Always leaves me stiff and sore," he said aloud, not really thinking about it. He put his hands on either side of his head and twisted his head swiftly before hearing a series of satisfying cracks and pops. He then followed by putting both hands on his back and leaning back over them, hearing a similar popping before he stood up straight at last and smiled halfheartedly. "Well, at least I'm nice and limber now."

He shook his head as he noticed the two men walk out in front of the caravan. Just the two of them, huh? he asked himself, though he knew Play Back could hear him. This is wrong... Unless one or both of them are extremely powerful, this doesn't seem like the kind of force the enemy would send against a supply convoy. He spoke the words in his mind, so that the two motioning for them to throw down their weapons wouldn't be able to hear him. He closed the distance between himself and the head wagon swiftly, walking at a brisk, yet cautious pace, a strange twinkle in his eyes, almost as though he were laughing internally.

"You attack an Ixian convoy and think you have the right to just demand we throw down our weapons? How interesting. Either you're very sure of yourselves, extremely foolish, or both." Rehtul stepped out from beside the front wagon and unsheathed his dagger with one swift flick of his wrist and held it, back of the blade touching the outside of his arm lightly. "If you two were any battle planners, even with just the two of you, you'd have hit us in a pincer attack, force us to separate and battle on two fronts."

The air around him began to chill as his lips turned blue and his breath turned into mist right before his adversaries' eyes. "Besides," he continued, "You're not dealing with the rank and file of the Ixian Knights. You're dealing with an Orlouge..."

He allowed the power of the cold to fill his body as he stood before the two mean before him. He concentrated his power on the air in front of him, pulling moisture from the air and even from some nearby plants, causing them to wither and die as their source of sustenance was pulled callously from their leaves. The globe of water began to freeze over as the young Orlouge stuck his hand deep within it. He clenched his fist, causing the water to gather halfway up his arm and instantly solidify into a clawed gauntlet made of ice, the claws as sharp as steel.

"And not just any Orlouge, an Elementalist Orlouge." He stepped forward calmly, his legs swiftly making short work of the distance between him and the two that had called them out. "We're not going to let you have this convoy. You'll have to beat us first, and trust me... I'm not going to let that happen very easily."

The young man readied his dagger and brought his left arm up to his chest to defend his vital areas. Prepare yourself, Play Back! the young man said to his companion over their telepathic connection, Regardless of what I've been saying, I doubt this will be as easy as just beating them and having done with it.

[Play Back]

The Corone Empire must have been failing worse than I had originally thought. Out of everybody they could have sent, the viceroys had decided to send two men who look more like horse thieves than soldiers to come…what exactly did they plan to do? Though Rehtul and I were the only true ‘warriors’ (and I use that term loosely when describing myself), from an outsider perspective, the two would have surely known that they would have been outnumbered.

Yet here they were, demanding that we hand the supplies over to them without so much as a fight. What were they going to do if we refused, kill us all? I’m sure that Sei would have loved to hear that his nephew got taken out by a couple of bandits when traveling towards Radasanth.

That’s when I remembered that Rehtul was even with me. I looked around for the Mystic for a moment before I heard his voice calling out the would-be bandits. As he made his little monologue, I noticed the grass around us starting to wither a bit, as well as the air becoming a little drier than it had been. The smell of the flowers had all but disappeared. What was it with the Orlouge’s and using their family name to carry on some long-winded speech while they secretly prepare for something big?

I shook my head in disbelief, jumping off of the wagon and joining myself beside the ‘Raiaera Wind’. Is that a good nicknamed for him? No? I’m sure I’ll think of something better later. Truth is, if Rehtul had not stepped up and spoken on our behalf, I may have very well been laying my arms down with the rest of the civilians. Like I said before, I’m not much of a warrior.

I brought my kunai up to my chest, thankful that Sei had been able to bypass the effects of my ‘mental mask’ to help me silently communicate with my partner. “Lord Orlouge, you should know that I probably won’t make it out of here unscathed. Unless you’re planning on making those two statues of ice, I’m going to have a hard time against them. I can, however, buy you time if you so need it.”

Before I could even get an answer from the young mage, I ran towards the two robbers, an attempt to goad them into focusing their attentions on me. With any luck, I could make it out of a bad situation thanks to Rehtul. In other words, I was hoping Sei wasn’t the only Orlouge who deserved the title of ‘savior’.

[Dalasi]

The emergence of two peculiar looking individuals from the wagon put Dalasi’s teeth on edge. Even before the younger of the two had begun his grandiose speech, the swordsman placed his lips firmly together and puckered them, trying to hold back a reckless charge until he discerned the boy’s intent. He could sense a faint aura, much weaker than the presence his brother was angered by, and that by itself was enough to instil caution in his action. Syndail wavered to and fro between left hand and right, dancing in the dawn, awaiting its chance to shine.

Rattled by the young mage’s fighting words, Dalasi stepped in front of Cydnar the moment the black cowed knife wielded sprinted in their direction. He was a swordsman of talent, speed, and finesse by all means, but he had no blade to levy against the arcane forces. He gestured with his free hand to the Orlougne further along the line, and growled a stubborn command.

“Bare your fangs and Yggrassil’s Branch, brother. I will see to this,” he turned back to his would be attacker, and levelled his sword at his throat, “rabble.” With a rush of air about his armour, and a beating heart coursing adrenaline through his veins, limbs, and soul, Dalasi ran at the man with equal gusto. In his advance, he drew on his military mind to take in every minute detail presented to him. He measured the man’s haunches, tendons, and muscles. He tallied every ripple, roll, and ruffle in his attire. He counted every toss, flick, and shake of the unfamiliar blade. He became at one with the moment.

“You are contesting the providence of the Lord Salthias,” he roared, his voice projected into the Concordia tree tops by the might of his lungs.

“Dalasi!” Cydnar roared, fangs protruding further still as his serpentine rage reached its zenith.

“The Marshal and Grand Templar of the Thayne Yrene.” He doubted any of his claims made sense to the mortal, but it gave him the hope, courage, and focus he required to stave off the knife’s edge whilst Cydnar lived for the very moment there was conceived for.

Cydnar shook his head and made along the edge of the road, giving his brother’s opponent a wide birth. He ran directly at the arrogant boy.

In the last few feet of his advance, Dalasi arrived at the conclusion that speed would be his opponent’s only advantage. He appeared lithe, wiry, and uneasy. He gripped Syndail tightly, cut her back, and then rushed her in from his right side at the man’s blade. His eyes flashed with malice, his skin shone with sun and sweat, and his armour seemed to slither with life as the snakes upon it stood as testament to his pious nature.


Note:

Dalasi is utilising Military Strategist (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?24050-Dalasi-Yrene-the-Swordswane-(Level-0)&highlight=dalasi+yrene) to enact a -0.25 modifer to Playback's natural speed.

[Cydnar]

By the time Cydnar passed the third wagon, his heart was beating so strongly in his chest it began to feel like it was going to shatter his ribcage. His boots, soft leather on dirty ground spurred him on towards the mage, and his hair streamed behind him in torrents of quicksilver. The twin points of his blades remained poised in their angelic position with every step, even as he trundled down the incline onto the dew laden grass. Though the road was only two or so feet higher than the plains, the descent felt like a mighty plummet from the heavens to the astute senses of the elf.

With the blessing of his brother to pursue his life’s vendetta, all of his focus, composure, and intellect fell by the wayside. His only goal now, was to drive his blades through the boy’s heart, crush his dreams, hopes, and aspirations, and quell the blasphemy that was bound in his feeble form. Magic, wherever it hid, was anathema to the Hummel. Magic used to wage war was even more so.

“I know not your name, stranger,” his rugged Common accent danced forwards with his skeletal frame, “and when we are done, I shall forget it readily!” he added. He crossed level with the fourth wagon, making short work of the ground between the head of the caravan and the dagger point of the self-proclaimed elemental wielder.

In their briefing, Elisdrasil had mentioned the name of Sei Orlougne. Neither Cydnar nor Dalasi had paid attention to the self-proclaimed heroes of the Ixian Knights. In war, only the victors would write history, and names would become nothing more than mantles on which to rest trophies, legends, and talismans of the battles fought in Corone’s name. Perhaps this Orlougne would claim their scalps as trophies here today, or perhaps a quartz shard would cut the boy’s legacy short, it mattered not. He doubted the boy knew who they were, and thus, Cydnar settled only on the conflict to come.

“<Nuhzar, Ict, urn tumbril!>” he rasped. His Common tongue faded into the thick accent of the Hummel tongue. If he had feigned interest in translating it, it would have read as a grandiose condemnation of the magic in the boy’s veins. It would have scorned, belittled, and berated the very existence of the Orlougne. It would have cut, crushed, and cauterised wounds in his ego. “We are no fools, mortal, we are the sons of the World Eater!” he added.

The line of sycamore, pine, and fir trees wavered in the morning breeze to the elf’s left side. The tapestry of green, jade, and olive branches seemed like a strange backdrop for the elf’s spar, after having spent so many months locked in bitter war beneath the crust of the world with his people’s true enemy. Though this boy possessed none of the brutish strength of an Umbra Hulk, or indeed, the destructive power, now that he was closer he could sense the extent of what he was facing. He could detect not just magic, but a swell of verdant force within. He could taste water, a frosty clarity in the air that uplifted his senses.

“We are but two souls, dragged into your war, but do not take that as a sign of weakness,” he ventured. When the distance was but a hundred feet, he loosed the spiralling quartz shard at the boy with a furrow of his brow, a sharp breath, and scream of psionic potency that projected it haphazardly towards Rehtul’s form. Under the duress of his momentum, his flexing muscles and his still enraged sensibilities the projectile was thrown with strength, but little in the way of accuracy.

He began to spin his blades in dual flourishes now that he was able to concentrate fully on his swordplay, and readied to launch into a zeal driven onslaught – a judgement against the unworthy in the name of his god.

[Play Back]

Luckily for me, my taunting worked in luring one of these guys away from his friend. He came rushing to meet me head on, and I felt strangely slower in my movements as I continued forward. My foe moved his blade to the side, swinging it towards me with the grace of a ballerina avoiding a floor of mouse traps. Fortunately, this guy didn’t know that I could teleport.

Now you might be asking what it feels like to just ‘blink’ out of existence for a moment, only to appear somewhere else. The truth is, it doesn’t really feel like anything. Sure, you get a feeling welling up in your gut as you activate the power, but it’s just your body compensating for the sudden ‘tug’ between places. Like throwing a bucket of water to and fro and quickly stopping; the water’s going to want to continue. Your body takes this into account and prepares for it before you can do it with a teleport.

Time wise, nothing changes, it’s just as if you had taken a step to the side, only you managed to bypass the whole process of ‘stepping’ as you did so. I appeared behind my foe as he was in the middle of his swing, my foot rising up to attempt a strike to the back of his knee. I knew that I was no match for a trained warrior, so I would just have to keep him occupied long enough for Rehtul to finish off his friend. I looked to one of the drivers of the carriages, my stomach starting to gurgle as if I were going to throw up.

“Get out of here,” I shouted, waving my arms towards the villagers, “Get the supplies to Sei, and find a spot to hide!” I didn’t need to tell them any more, because the remaining manned carriages took off. The sudden rush of the carriages caused the horse of my own carriage to become startled, and the steed began to run after its friends. Thank goodness; those things secretly terrified me after watching someone I cared about get run over by one, and then I got run over in the same fashion. Well, technically, it’s a long story.

I didn’t check to see if my kick had connected, and my focus on the carriages made it so I didn’t register if my foot had even felt anything. I just knew staying around a guy with a better weapon reach than me was a bad idea. As such, I turned from the bandit, and started to run into the forest. Maybe I could lose the guy in the trees if I was lucky. Hell, maybe I could get back to Ixian Castle and get reinforcements if I was fast enough.

I wasn’t counting on anything, though.

[Dalasi]

The blackened boot of his would be attacker struck Dalasi’s grieve with the force of a hurricane, but found itself tempered by the archaic armour. All the same, as his blade clashes and his heart raced, the Swordswane stumbled back. It was an instinctive retreat from a surprising opponent, to test his mettle, judge his worth, and to formulate a defence against the seldom encountered hand to hand combat. Dalasi’s training had focussed on drawing his beloved Syndail against metal, not flesh, and he was suddenly aware that his stratagem to counter the man’s speed would do him no good when he knew naught of his skill.

He began to formulate a retort for the display of magic, but as soon as it slipped silently from his lips, something unexpected occurred. The reigns of the first three wagons whipped, and they dispersed into a wide, chaotic, dangerous, and furtive array of momentum. Horses whinnied, drivers screamed, and reigns cracked over and over again to spur their mounts to new heights of servitude.

Dalasi darted his gaze between the caravan and his brother, and then back to his opponent.

“What in the…” he mumbled.

In the confusion, Dalasi might have expected the Ixian Knight to have skewered him with his blade, or at the very least, struck him clean around the face with a well-placed onslaught. What he found, however, was contrary to all he might have anticipated. The man was running away, skipping, dancing, and streaming over the low plains towards the imposing tree line of Concordia forest. The elf blinked.

"What a fool..."

“I think not…” he said with a wry satisfaction. He had been taught the ways of the Salthias, the paladin temple of his people. That lexicon of tenets had instructed him never to pursue a fleeing enemy, be it a genuine absconding from battle, or a well-timed feint. He let his blade fall softly to the dirt, its tip chipping into the dust and rubble with unsatisfied defeat. The swordsman took a few moments to stare in surprise at the man, before he whirled on a deft heel and focussed his attention onto the wagons.

The lead caravan had already surmounted their barricade, and had begun its hasty advance towards the sanctuary provided by the battlements of Radasanth. Dalasi chalked it up as a loss, and then set his sights on the second in line. Thinking almost instinctively, the elf burst into a run and spiralled Syndail about in three concentric circles. Each forged a new life in the last, until it became almost a blur of steel. He ran up alongside the wagon, and stopped with a slap of his boot against the soft grass. Trundling down the embankment to surmount the fallen tree trunks, the wagon was tilted slightly, and its axel exposed. Dalasi placed himself expertly between the carriage and the tack and trap of the horses, and cleaved his blade down into the most obvious place to prevent its escape.

His roar of might was answered only by the whimpering cry of the solitary driver, who cowered beneath a raggedy fold of his robe on the rocking seat.

“Our declaration,” he breathed heavily through his exertion, “was truthful. We will harm no one.” He glared into the man’s eyes, his fuchsia iris ablaze with adrenaline. He stepped away, satisfied with his work. He watched the frantic mares gallop away down the road, until they turned right, and pranced out onto the plains. He turned swiftly, and made for the third wagon, which had by now foreseen its fate, and was attempting to turn about and flee.

The chaos in the wagon was echoed only by the sparks flying, the rage flowing, and the hatred screaming between Cydnar and his opponent in the distance. Dalasi mouthed a silent prayer for the zeal of his brother, and broke into another run.

[Play Back]

I could see it. I was so close to Concordia that I could almost smell the pine. Just a few more feet and I would have successfully eluded my would-be predator. I turned my head to see the worried look on my foe’s facial features, only to become dumbfounded by his diabolical debauchery of those damn carriages. In other words, he didn’t care about me so long as I was running, for his target was our precious cargo.

I nearly screeched to a halt, planting my heels firmly in the ground to stop my momentum. Small bits of dirt and grass kicked up into the air as I turned around. I growled a bit, slightly pissed that this bandit would have such tunnel vision that he could not see me as a legitimate threat. Granted, I never saw myself as a legitimate threat either, but he was supposed to!

I ran back towards the man as he began talking to one of the drivers. I didn’t really hear anything he had said, only saw that he was heading for the next wagon to perform a similarly skillful and graceful maneuver to manipulate and manhandle the simple machine that was out carriages. Am I going too far with the alliteration? It seemed like a much cooler idea when I thought about it earlier.

Sorry, losing focus again, I have a tendency to do that. Anyways, I ran past the downed carriage, hoping to catch up to my temporary opponent. What the hell was Rehtul doing? He should have more than easily taken care of his adversary by now. I tried not to dwell on this thought much, my mind much more concerned about my own personified trouble attempting to take down yet another supply wagon.

I grabbed my kunai from its sheath at my hip, my scarf flying in the wind while I ran as fast as my legs could carry. I was younger than this fool, so why the hell was I not catching up with him? I grimaced and looked down at my steel blade, aware of the only thing I could do in order to hopefully ensure that the rest of the caravan got into Radasanth in time.

I threw my Kunai with all my might, the small blade aimed towards the back of my foe’s neck. Now, I’m not much for killing things unless it’s the undead, which I guess would technically be considered re-killing things. However, this guy’s dedication towards his goals was starting to drive me mad, and his menacing moves were making me mourn for my master’s military.

Okay, I promise, I’ll stop with trying to sound cool.

[Cydnar]

The quartz sphere narrowly missed the mage’s head by a fraction of a foot. It rocketed on a wild axis of nothingness, and fell into the shadow of the deep grass, flaring sun, and blur of battle. Cydnar gave up following it and rotated each of his swords in a firm, dextrous, and furtive grip. They cut through the air with ease, and sang two concordant whistles of defiance to the Orlouge’s foot. His own soft boots continued to beat the grass of the road’s verge as he closed the gap between the pair, and just as one wagon’s length was all that stood in their way, an all too familiar, terrified, and urgent voice broke the Salthias’ concentration.

He skidded to a firm halt, jumped on one foot for several steps, and slammed down his right foot to stop himself from falling. He crossed his blades against Rehtul’s potential counterstroke, and glanced over his shoulder to see what his brother had broken his stride for. Every one of Cydnar’s darkest fears came true in that singular moment of revelation. He flashed back through his long life of brotherly care, concern, and stubborn refusal to allow Dalasi the room to breathe, to grow, and to develop on his own merit.

“No…” he mouthed, a silent vigil to the sudden cessation of their attempts on the wagon.

By some disgusting twist of fate, the enigmatic fool had delivered a blow to his brother’s nape. Even at such a distance, Cydnar could clearly see the silver handle of the man’s blade extruding from Dalasi’s neck. His Swordswane kin stumbled back and forth, his strength not wavering in the least despite his injuries, and a lump formed in the Hummel’s throat. For now, Cydnar had to swallow his pride, his morals, and his desires. The scent of magic, misused and malign was overwhelming in the air. It smelt sickening, it smelt of almonds, liquorice, and rotting flesh; it would have to remain scented so for now.

“Today my good lord you have bested the Hummel.” Cydnar span about with a whir of purple robe and flaxen hair. He stood to face the still tantalisingly distant mage and pressed his mind against the weight of his blades. With a hum and a radix, they floated free of his fingertips and levitated up to neck level. They remained tip pointed at the mage’s body throughout. “Our declaration was earnest, however. Nobody will die here today,” which was a promise Cydnar intended to keep. Straining his telekinetic providence to its limitation, he connected with the quartz sphere in the pockets of his robe and picked it up with invisible hands.

The Lexicon floated in front of Cydnar and began to glow with a light that was neither visible nor invisible. It defied logic, sight, and reason. The magic that had been placed into the delicate and crystalline structure was amiable to the aura of the world. It sang in unison with the heart of Althanas. It began to spin on its own axis when it came to a rest before its wielder. The light danced over the serpentine weave in Cydnar’s attire.

“Mark my words however. Soon, I shall deem you unworthy in the eyes of the Thayne Yrene. Temper your magic, wayward son, or I shall wrench the muscles from your neck and drive your heart into the shadows…” he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and pictured the sigil within the Lexicon he required to flee. A single high pitched note pierced the treeline, the shattered caravan line, and the eardrums of all those gathered in the flames of war.

With his blades trailing behind him, Cydnar turned and made for Dalasi. The Lexicon retreated into his pocket instinctively, as if it had a mind of its own. Leaving the arrogance of a magic user firmly behind to tend to his brother’s more imminent needs, the Salthias made haste like he had never made before to his side. The wind left his lungs with such a force of pain he had little strength to make an audible protestation against his motion. Adrenaline spurred him on, desperation drove him forwards, and the needs of the many over those of the solitary few let the mage hunter abandon his prey for a more worthy cause.

The cause of saving his family.

[Dalasi]

Dalasi stumble forwards with a wheeze. He reached instinctively for the kunai in his spinal column with his free hand and tested it’s placement in his neck. The rush of pain drove his armoured knees firmly into the dirt, leaving him to regret his curiosity, foolishness, and recklessness. The smell of dust, dew, and desperation clogged his nostrils in the sauntering light.

“Cyd…Cydnar…” he gargled, his throat clogged with blood and his heart faltering with arrhythmia. Each beat of his wavering heart felt like an explosion of verdant power in his chest, a concussive force that marked out his ending life in the skeins of the stars. His vision blurred, melting the crashed wagon together with the second that rattled away. He balked as it veered too steeply to the right and began to topple. The wooden structure of the under carriage creaked, cracked, and collapsed in on itself.

The padding of boots on grass entered his eardrums. The uplifting effect on his shattered hopes was pronounced. With blood stained teeth extruding from his crooked smile, the Swordswane looked up at the welcoming sight of his brother. He was surrounded by blade, glory, and humility.

“Dalasi, do not talk.” Cydnar stooped to embrace his brother in his arms. The soft pleat of his robes afforded him little protection against the rugged, jagged, and uncomfortable plates of armour his brother wore like a ceremonial garb. “We will soon be born away, and we can laugh this off,” he chuckled. It was a nervous bout of laughter slathered with desperation. “Be still, be silent, and be calm.” The line echoed their parent’s bed night chant to the brothers before they fell to sleep. It was instantly calming to Dalasi, though Cydnar had trouble differentiating comfort from unconsciousness.

Dalasi did not talk. Instead, he ventured through the blur of his vision to set his sights on the collapsing wagon. It crashed into the ground without ceremony. The driver, horses, and contents spilled away from the splintering frame in a flurry of arms, legs, and cries. Cydnar looked away fleetingly to see what the noise was. His mouth dropped open as the strange array of scrap metal, mops, and empty barrels rolled out into a heap on the dishevelled grass.

Though the Hummel could not fault the tactical acumen of Elisdrasil, he had to question his own motives for joining the conflict if their so called opponent could so easily and readily outwit him. He cradled Dalasi closer, embracing him in a hug that warmed the feverishly cold swordsman’s bones. For a brief moment, he wanted to cry. Emotion did not come easily to the Hummel or to elves in general, but now it seemed appropriate.

“Brother…” Dalasi croaked. The kunai continued to pierce his throat, so his voice was hampered by the flow of acrid blood down his oesophagus. “Did we stop it?” he poised.

Cydnar nodded. Though the wagon had been disrupted, and two of the wagons had been capsized, he knew in his heart that they had failed miserably in their objective. The arms and armaments they had supposed to prevent from reaching their destination could already have been in feverish, war stricken grips by now. Ixian Knights across Corone would be brandishing bloodied steal for their lack lustre efforts.

With a rush of flame from the grass, a strange figure rose up from the firm earth. The Lexicon throbbed in Cydnar’s pocket as the power it wielded came full circle. The stranger was clad in long white robes which stood out in stark contrast to the drab colours of the Corone wilderness. He turned to face Rehtul’s dumbfounded expression. He turned to glare from beneath his low cowl at the masked men, and then set his sights on the two elves huddled by the rise to the road.

“What does my lord command?” the Watcher asked. His voice permeated the stratosphere, and snook into dreams by wayward roadsides. With the Lexicon’s power, Cydnar had summoned the Eastward, the geomancer that protected the City of Ict from the outside, the surface, and all those who wished the Hummel harm. He would be their chariot to freedom.

Cydnar did not look up as he replied, “on swift wings, make us fly from sight Watcher!” he roared.

The elf clapped his hands together with the force of an earthquake, and the ground beneath his slippered feet trembled in fright. The sky shook, the tree line wavered, and the air reverberated in the moment. Whatever geomantic energy The Watcher possessed, it came to life full force and shook the earth beneath the Yrene’s fatigued forms.

“Mark my words,” he roared, glaring with fuchsia eyes at the black clad man. “Though no man shall die here today, a time shall come when Dalasi drive Syndail into your fetid heart – no-one shall claim stakes on this land with such power behind them – no one.” His words trailed off as the ground gave way.

“Your will is done, milord.” The Watcher said triumphantly, before he too simply fell through the mantle of the world. The dirty turned into a liquid for a glimmer, and then solidified in his wake. No trace was left of the Hummel’s presence on the surface, asides from three circular ripples in the grass. It was almost as if three large spheres had fallen from the heavens and bounced away, leaving faint echoes of weight in their ascent.

Their battle might have come to an end on the plains of Corone, but deep beneath the earth, a war for life and kinship had just begun.

[Play Back]

Wait a second…

Did I just…

And did they …

Does that mean I…

HOW

IN

THE

FUCK?!

I shook my head in disbelief, falling still in my tracks. My kunai had not only hit its mark (a rarity here on Althanas, if there ever was one), but my opponent quickly fell, his brother-in-arms rescuing him. As I prepared myself for round 2, weaponless and growing tired from all of my running, my attackers just up and vanished thanks to some mumbo jumbo magic stuff I didn’t quite understand.

I stood there for a long while, breathing heavily, then finally grabbing the side of my head and laughing. I just beat two people, by my fucking self! Maybe I wasn’t so bad at this whole warrior gig. After all, I had been trained to defend myself a few years back, perhaps in the heat of battle it all just came rushing back to me. However, my maniacal hysteria was cut short when my mind traveled to Rehtul. If his opponent had so hastily appeared before me, did that mean that Sei’s nephew had been defeated.

Oh that damn mute was going to –kill- me.

I ran towards the downed caravans, hoping that we could still salvage some of the cargo between me and the drivers of the wagons. When I arrived at the scene however, I was shocked to find that several of the barrels had been busted. I was further astounded when my eyes caught glimpse of the contents of our packages, the thing that was so important I risked my life over.

Bricks, branches, stones, even a couple of bags of flour. Everything within the barrels and crates that I had protected so thoroughly was just useless stuff made to weight the objects down. I thought for a minute about why we would fill such things up with these items. Then it hit me like the bricks I thought had been worth defending. Sei never intended to have his main supply route travel above ground. Why would he? Ixian Castle had a series of underground tunnels, one of the tunnels even connecting to a park in the middle of Radasanth aptly named Sei’s Tomb.

We weren’t the supply line. We were the decoy.

I balled my hands into fists, anger causing every one of my limbs to tremble. I had stood still for so long that ants were starting to crawl into my clothes, biting my skin when they could not find an exit. I didn’t care. That damn telepath had manipulated me once again, much like he had done in Lavinya to convince me to even join the Ixian Knights. At the very least, the bastard could have told me, what’s the worst that could have---

Oh…..OH!

It all made sense. My muscles stopped trembling, and my head became much clearer. See, I have this ‘gift’ as some would put it, a ‘curse’ to others. Basically, I wear my mask not just for protection from other people, but to protect other people. If anybody ever makes direct contact with me, with my true eyes, every single event in both of our lifetimes are shared with one another. That means if I look directly at a murderer, I know each and every one of his victims, if I gaze into the orbs of a mage, I learn the hand motions for their spells. However, it’s a double-edged sword, and if Sei had told me that I was leading a decoy, and somehow my mask had been removed…

“They would have known we were just the distraction, and ignored us to get to Sei’s Tomb…” I whispered this part out loud. Maybe Sei was a better strategist than I had given him credit for. He not only took into account that the convoy would be attack, but used misinformation to me as a back-up plan. I’m sure Rehtul knew all along; Orlouge clan members tend to not harbor secrets towards one another. I stood there as the wind tugged at my scarf. The civilians were starting to get up, dust themselves off. They had probably been in on the ruse too.

Maybe that’s why Rehtul never put up a fight. He knew that fighting over petty things was silly, and simply let his opponent go. A smile was formed within my mouth as I looked to the men and nodded. “Get your steeds and head back to Ixian Castle,” I said, cracking all of my knuckles followed by each side of our neck, “And good job gentlemen.”

Rehtul was probably well on his way to the castle by now, laughing it up about how dedicated I seemed to be to the cause. The joke would be on him, however. I began to walk back home, thinking how fun it would be to subject a certain ice mage to a new style of therapy I had aptly named ‘Electro-shock’.

((Final posts from me and the Duff-meisters guys. I guess if Rehtul wants to make a final post he can but we summed it up quite nicely I think. Good game, guys.))

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Closed

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Despite Rethul Orlouge's unfortunate lack of activity this was a good battle. However because of it Rethul is disqualified and his team is now in a 2v1, with the average of the two being determined for Score. Anyways Cydnar is blue, Dalasi is red and Playback is green. Unsurprisingly due to the fact that Cydnar and Dalasi are similar characters written by the same writer (Duffy) most of their scores are going to be about the same.


Plot 13, 13, 12 /30

Story 4, 4, 5 /10 – Neither of you had a lot here however Play Back gets the edge for giving some explanation and why he was chosen for the job of Caravan guard as to how he ended up with the Knights and for his clever twist at the end.

Setting 5, 5, 3 /10 – Duffy, you started off strong in this category and had you stayed strong likely would have scored higher. Unfortunately you seemed to taper off at the end. Play Back I never really got a feel for the setting from any of your posts. You mentioned it was there yeah and you didn't say anything to contradict anybody else's posts but you didn't really interact with or describe the environment in any meaningful way, not even from your character's perspective which is one of the major strengths of the first person style.

Pacing 4,4,4 /10 – This part was good. You guys realized that you had a time limit and after only brief introductions got right into the actions. This was good. Unfortunately Rethul's lack of involvement forced you to improvise and end what could have been a good battle somewhat abruptly.

Character 19, 19, 17 /30

Communication 6, 6, 5/10 – Duffy you did well here. Your characters spoke appropriately for noble elf warriors though the fanciful, flowery dialogue did feel a little forced at times and was generally accompanied by the appropriate descriptions of. You big issue here, and this hurt you on your technique was the use of long dramatic speeches in mid battle when somebody is actively trying to kill you. This is in turn forces them to come up with a good IC reason as to why they didn’t stab you in midsentence and hurts the battle over all. For this reason this becomes more noticeable when fighting PCs. Play Back your score here reflects a lack of bad. You managed to give your character a distinct voice and some of the quips were amusing but for the most part your dialogue was unspectacular. Even when communicating telepathically you should occasionally explain the tone of the message.

Action 7, 7, 5 /10 – You both did equally well here. Your actions were generally well explained and appropriate for all characters involved. Duffy gets the edge here because of the overall better wording and descriptions applied to his actions.

Persona 6, 6, 7/10 – Play Back you did well here. I got a good feel for your character and I dug the explanation of your feelings on the Sei, the Knights and his Nephew. Duffy this wasn’t bad by any means but for the most part you’re portrayal of your two characters in your thread lacked any real oomph to grab my attention. I got that they were brothers, that they served a higher cause and that they believed they were noble and hated magic despite using it (still a bit confused there) but that's about it. For Play Back this was a learning experience in how maybe he’s not entirely useless in a war after all but for both of your characters this was just another of many and many battles. It will be nice to see how the failure affects them and in what way in future threads though.

Prose 20, 20, 19 /30

Mechanics 8, 8, 8 /10 – You all did well here aside from the occasional typo or awkward sentence.

Clarity 5, 5, 6/10 – For the most part you were all fairly clear however Duffman you had one major problem. Your named weapons through me off. The reader shouldn't have to be familiar with your character profiles to understand what's going on. Mind you I was usually able to figure it out what your weapons were within a couple sentences of them being introduced but still, it's something to watch out for. Play Back for you there were only a couple moments, mostly due to some slightly awkward sentences and choppy writing where I had to go back and read what had happened but other than that you were very clear.

Technique 7, 7, 5/10 – Duffy you have excellent command of the written language and your writing was appropriately flowery for both characters however you really need to watch out for those long speeches in the middle of combat. Again I want to reiterate that its hard to believe an enemy would let you speak so much before trying to kill you and doing so breaks the suspension of belief and hurts the feeling of the thread over all. Play Back you have a decent style and I hope to see you improve it but for now you need to work on your flow as at times it comes off as rigid and forced. Be careful with your character's side comments. When done right they can add a lot to the style when done wrong they break up the flow and sound forced and terrible.

Wildcard: 5, 5, 5 /10 – Not a bad thread all things considered.

Total 57, 57, 53 /100

Total Average 57 /100
Total 53 /100

The Phoenix Ascendant Team Advances!