You As You Were (Closed)

[Ruby]

You As You Were (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hv36iHqJTec)

2953

Set following The Hand That Feeds (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25258-The-Hand-That-Feeds-(Solo)&p=206618#post206618).


“I will not forget it,” Duffy said. His voice quivered with trepidation.

He lingered over the words and the memories they inspired. It had been his final parting to Sei Orlouge. It was his only goodbye to the Hero of Radasanth. Despite all he had done for the mystic, it was all that came to mind. He had saved the man’s castle, and his family. In turn, Sei had given Duffy a new purpose, a new life, and a new reason to carry on.

It was funny how it all came full circle.

“Duffy, are you okay?” Ruby asked. She craned her neck to try to get a glimpse of his expression.

The bard turned away. His loose fitting white shirt flapped in the wind, open three buttons down and offering little against the cool breeze that swept over the moors. He did not want her to see his pain. She had worried enough.

“I was just thinking aloud,” he lied. He clenched his shaking hand about the hilt of his blade. It sang to him, at least in his mind. It was a clarion call to arms. It was a verdant chorus of war. He would answer it with a reprise in good time.

“Good,” she said flatly. She adjusted her bra, undid her hair clip, and let her greying mane loose into the breeze. It roiled as if alive, danced with light, and glimmered with allure. “I was beginning to think you did not have the stomach for it.”

“I always have the stomach for it,” he lied again. He turned. In the motion, he wiped the tear from his cheek and narrowed his gaze. With masterful skill, he appeared to have simply caught the wind at a bad angle. “We must prepare, revitalise, and reinvigorate our bodies.” Death had drained both their strength. It had left them weak, unknowing, and alienated in their own skin.

The spell singer could not argue with that. They stood side by side at the heart of a barren landscape in silence. The heather beneath their boots danced. The clear blue skies, peppered only with streaks of ill-formed clouds shone bright beneath a glaring sun. The distant horizon remained hazy, as if the heat rising from moss and mire were searing. There was a faint aroma of lavender on the wind, and perhaps a hint of burning wood.

“I have not fought by your side in so long I have forgotten what it feels like,” she said kindly. For once, Duffy needed the encouragement. She double-checked the straps of her belt, her bandoleer, and the masterly wrought violin hanging over her shoulder. She was ready for whatever the Citadel threw at them.

Duffy smiled weakly. It was the first time he smiled and meant it in weeks. “Like the good old days, aye?”

Ruby nodded. The slight hint of a Scara Braen accent in his plucky catch phrase brought encouragement full circle. If he was willing to mock himself, and what they had been through, then he was perhaps ready after all. He would have to be, for what lay ahead of the troupe in the years to come would not be easy.

“Hardship may be in our bones, Mr Brandybuck, but so is survival.” She pointed up to the sun. “As long as that shines, so too shall we. Our names and our honour and our deeds will burn for an eternity.” Her sense for the dramatic was ill timed. Duffy returned her grandiose words with a wrinkled smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Ruby…” he sighed. His brown hair flapped against his sweating brow. His heart was beating. His shin, still shattered by a curse, bled thick ichor into the brown cloth of his trousers. “We do not need to survive.” He unsheathed his sword. She dropped her hands to her side.

“Of course we do,” she retorted.

Duffy shook his head. “We do not need to survive.” He gestured to a distant door that had formed on the rise of a hill. Dandelions and marigolds frolicked at its feet. The ancient brickwork, clad in sandstone supports was instantly recognisable. “They need to survive.”

Ruby turned to meet the shifting portcullis. She instantly understood what he meant.

“Well yes,” she said, “I guess we could go for that approach too.” She sounded sheepish. Her admittance seemed foolish. “I did not mean to assume defeat.”

Duffy broke into raucous laughter. “We are more than used to that. It is understandable!” He approached her side, rested his hand on her lithe shoulder, and smiled compassionately. She looked down at him warmly. “Today, though, let us prove the odds wrong.”

The bard and the phoenix stood arm in arm, ready to take on the world. Their ancient namesakes clear in the sunlight. He was demure and ready to sing. She was ready to rise from the ashes.

"I will hold your hand till your opponent arrives, Mrs Winchester." Duffy beamed.

Ruby glared at him, and stepped away. She unsheathed her blade.

"As you were, Bracken, I do not need any help!" Never had a woman said a truer word. “This woman needs no support. Today she wages war alone!”

[Rehtul Orlouge]

The Citadel...

Rehtul looked up at the gargantuan building overlooking Radasanth with something akin to fear. His hands shook as he reached toward the pommel of his dagger and gripped it until his knuckles turned white. He could feel the cold steel on his palm, the cold steel helping to calm his nerves. The large arena had served as a testing ground for men and women across the entirety of the world for as long as anyone could remember.

The young man had read about it, but still didn’t quite understand how such a large structure could have survived during any of the great wars that had ravaged Corone and the surrounding countries.

“Of course,” he said to no one in particular, “with this much magic concentrated in one place, it’s entirely possible the building couldn’t be destroyed without removing the very source of its power.” Speculating upon the magical abilities of a building might have seemed strange to some people, but to the son of Succed Orlouge, it was something that helped him to focus, and more importantly, feel more connected to the world around him. The entirety of Althanas was built on the combination of strength, will, intelligence, and magic. To those who were able to excel at even one of these four things, an entire universe of possibilities opened up.

The world would bend at the beck and call of those who could command it, and Rehtul was one of those rare few who was special enough to command some small portion of the universe’s power. He clenched a fist as a light mist began to surround his body.

“I’ve only ever gone and sought out battle once in my life,” he whispered to himself, thinking back to his time in Underwood and the red-haired woman, Ruby La Roux, that he had fought at the time. She had been intensely strong, perhaps not as strong as his uncles and father, but strong in her own right, in a brand of magic he had not seen in action before or since. Her spellsongs were something entirely out of his league, as the boy had no musical talent to speak of.

He had thought back over his battle with the woman countless times, trying to deduce the source of her power, the "how" behind her ability to use sound to control and alter the world around her. It was something most people could not do, though he had heard tales of Raiaeran elves being able to do something similar. Their methods seemed to be slightly different than the Sorceress of Song, as Rehtul had dubbed her in his own mind.

He wished he had had the opportunity to speak to her after the fall of Ixian Castle, but he had been knocked unconscious by his own over-expenditure of power, something which he was not quite willing to allow to happen again. He looked toward the large, oaken doors of the Citadel, the scratched and peeling stain a reminder of the battles within that were yet to come.

Sighing, the young Elemental Mage pushed the doors open, his eyes closed as he took his first step into the Citadel lobby. As he stepped through the gateway, he opened his eyes and was greeted with... something entirely boring.

There were monks ushering people around, some of them a little beat up, but otherwise fine. Rehtul could only assume the ones with actual scars were the ones too “tough” to ask for medical treatment after the battle, or people who got into fights outside of the Citadel and didn’t have a decent healer on hand.

The young mage shrugged and turned to the reception desk. He had never been here before, so he really had no idea what he was doing. A young monk with glasses was looking over some paperwork, but looked up and smiled kindly as he saw the young man approach him.

“Can I help you?” he asked, putting his papers to the side for the moment. He fixed his spectacles with a light flourish of his hand and pulled on the collar of his robe, pulling the troublesome thing away from his neck.

“Yes. I’m... looking to be a Citadel combatant, and I’ve never been here before. Can you tell me what I’m supposed to do?” the young man asked, nervously playing with the cape on his back. His flamboyant way of dressing was one of the few things that actively marked him as a magic user, and his sense of drama bordered on the extreme. The blue mid-backed cape was one of his favorites, though it could get in his way if he were to be caught on something.

The monk smiled and motioned around himself as he said, “Well, let me tell you the basics then. There are several thousand rooms in this building. Each one has a different habitat in which you can fight, and some of the rooms are customizable, and there are even self-created rooms that our combatants have made as their preferred fields of battle. If you’re looking for an opponent who is waiting for a challenge, you can ask which rooms have waiting combatants, and we’ll point out a few that we think would be at your skill level.”

Rehtul nodded sagely, as though he completely understood what the man was saying. In truth, a lot of the explanation went right over his head. He couldn’t help but wonder what the monk meant when he spoke of the rooms being able to generate different habitats.

Adjustable environments? That doesn’t make much sense. There are minimal types of magics that can alter reality in such a way, though I really shouldn’t be surprised. My father was involved in some of the magic being implemented here, Rehtul thought to himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was partially because of Succed that the building was operating much more strongly in recent years than people said it had in the past.

“Very well. Could you point me toward a room with a waiting opponent that would be... a challenge, yet not too far out of my league?” he asked as he turned his attention toward the many hallways leading from the lobby.

“Certainly, just a moment,” the monk said as he motioned for another man to come toward the two of them. As he approached, the monk motioned toward the young man. “Take him to Mrs. Winchester’s room. I think we may have found her a suitable opponent.”

Mrs. Winchester? ran through the young mage’s mind. A married woman was participating in the Citadel?

He was led away and down one of the many hallways. As he looked around, the young man could see the building was rather plain and boring, if immense in size. He wondered idly why so many people came here to fight. It was the right size, but he’d seen many more interesting arenas of battle in some of the books he’d read. There were quite a few he’d thought about fighting in during his spare time, but this white-walled, torch-lit building wasn’t one of them.

“Don’t let appearances deceive you, young man. There’s a reason our Citadel is the best on the planet,” the new monk said, the gleam from the torchlight reflecting off his bald head. They stopped at a door. “Here we are. Just step through and you’ll see what I mean.” He smiled as he turned back toward the lobby and waved a hand over his head. “Be careful... Mrs. Winchester’s a fiery one.”

A light-hearted chuckle echoed down the corridor as the monk retreated.

“Fiery huh?” the young man asked himself as he gripped the door’s handle. His body tensed as he felt the intense magical energies beyond. “Is this what they mean? The magical energy behind this door is immense. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

With a sigh, he pulled the door open with a jerk and stepped through. He looked around himself, but found he could not see. The air in his lungs seemed to escape his body as he was pulled in several different directions at once.

What in the hell is going on?! he screamed out inside his head, but in an instant, he could see and breathe again. He panted, his breath coming in short ragged spurts.

He thought back to what his uncle Steppenwolf had told him a few weeks earlier when he admitted he had been contemplating entering the Citadel.

“The first time’s always the most... intense...”

Sighing, he stood up, hands on his knees, and dusted himself off before taking a look around the room. His jaw dropped as he realized he was no longer in a room, or even a building for that matter. The skies above were interspersed with light clouds, and the bright sun shone down upon him, causing him to sweat under his light robes. He pulled at his collar, seeking to free up what now seemed to be too tight clothing.

Then, he saw her. Gray-haired and imposing, the spoken of Mrs. Winchester. Despite her apparent increase in age, he couldn’t help but spurt out the only thing he knew to be true about the woman.

“Ruby?!”

[Ruby]

Ruby took a few moments to compile her thoughts. It had been so long since she had been to Radasanth for any other reason than brutality. The last time, she had come to the Citadel to fight for her sanity. She came to vent her frustration on anyone who got in her way. On that occasion, it had been Duffy. She broke into a coy smile. The time before that, it had been to fight a man with a cold heart and a colder talent.

“Rehtul Orlouge, it is a strange pleasure to see a familiar face.” She lied through her teeth with just enough conviction to seem genuine.

Duffy stepped away from the spell singer. His eyes too, reflected a mystique and a surprise. Life was being too kind to the troupe these days. He found himself a suitable perch to watch the devastation and wits unfold, and began to rub his shin to ease the pain that ailed him. It would be insignificant compared to the torment the combatants inflicted upon one another. He felt the rock under his buttocks scrape, and he grimaced. He hoped they were not going to take all day.

“That does not mean that I am going to go any easier on you, Master Orlouge.” She took the idyllic pause to compile herself. Though the troupe had left the Ixian Knights behind some months ago, she stood before a member of their noble household. Even if the boy was not Lord Orlouge, he had titles and statutes all the same.

“She’s bustin’ for a good brawl!” Duffy rudely heckled. He cupped his hand over his mouth to project his voice from the sidelines.

Duffy felt Ruby’s fiery glare before he saw it. He fell silent. For the first time in his life, he let the natural competitive spark between them leave him defeated. He continued to rub his shin, averted her gaze, and watched as a silent observer.

“I am here to test my mettle after a long war.” She let her anger fade. She embraced the hilt of her blade with a firm grip as she advanced. With grace, she ran her greying hair behind her ear as it fell free. “Whatever happened between us long ago, my child, is firmly in the past.”

The past had become a place to hide mistakes in for the spell singer. She looked in only one direction now: forwards. Her boots, pleated, masterwork leather pressed down on the foliage. The hardy bloom on the moss blanket sprang back to life as she continued. Dark mahogany starkly contrasted the light blue and vermillion flowers.

“You look so...different.” The ice mage said with blunt observation. “What happened to you?”

Ruby smiled. Despite her tempestuous leer, beauty formed on her wizened visage. She could have cut his expectations short with jibe, sarcasm, and matriarchal revelry. The last time they had crossed paths, she was nothing more than a fire-ensconced harlot was. War had changed her. Peace had shaped her. Kindness had warmed her.

“I gave my life in sacrifice to my husband.” Her simple statement encapsulated the truth, yet revealed nothing more than a barrage of further questions. She did not have the time, or indeed, the patience, to recount the tale of their Berevar expedition (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23980-By-Rook-Wrath-amp-Ruin-(Solo)&highlight=By+Rook%2C+Wrath+%26amp%3B+Ruin). “All the fire inside me died.” She pursed her lips, and came to a standstill twenty feet from the boy. “Perhaps you can reignite it?” she asked with haughty inquisition.

There was little doubt in her mind that he could. She had seen the fire inside the mystic line too many times. Therefore, near to their kind, she ran the risk of being set alight. It was almost a certainty. She let Lucrezia hang loosely by her side, though did not relinquish her grip. She set her feet apart with a solid stance. The blue leather of her bodice cracked as she tightened her ribs. She gestured to him with cupped fingers for him to make the opening move.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Rehtul watched steadily as the woman explained herself, or rather avoided doing so. He smiled slightly at her impressive way of dancing around an issue, though she didn’t seem that much different than when he last met her. She was just as evasive, just as strange as when they’d last fought. He laughed as she talked about him rekindling the fire within.

“Whatever happened to us is firmly in the past, eh?” he asked, his azure eyes catching her own for a mere moment before he dropped them to the ground in front of him. He could feel the conviction of her words, but somehow knew that no matter what happened, the Singer of Fire and the Mage of Ice would forever be trapped in that place, that strange place in Underwood that the two of them had first met.

“I don’t buy that,” he said bitterly as he flicked his own small dagger out of the sheath on his side. He had done the same thing when they had first battled. “Those songs you sang, the power you unleashed at the end of our battle, trapping yourself within my attack only to die. You say that’s all in the past?!” The air around the young mage began to lower in temperature as a white mist formed around the boy’s body, enveloping him like a veil of white smoke.

“I refuse to believe that everything we’ve learned in the past, and more importantly, the blows we traded, is nothing more than a distant memory,” he concentrated on the knife before him, running a finger delicately over the blade, causing the small weapon to be slightly overwrought with ice. His icy stare returned to the woman before him.

“If you think you’ve changed all that much, prove it,” he blurted out before he had a chance to bite his own tongue. There was something about this woman, something about her fiery demeanor that was able to get underneath his skin in a way that no one else on the face of the planet was able to pull of. He’d allowed his mask to crack under severe stress hundreds of times, but only she could get him to willingly cast it aside, and he hoped that fact was not lost on the Spell Singer.

She offered him the first blow, but while normally he would have jumped at the opportunity, he could feel something a bit more sinister in her offer. This woman had nearly killed him two years prior, and now she was offering him to allow him to continue to gain the upper hand. It was not only illogical, but something that screamed trap.

He thought about his move for a moment, and then decided that it was better just to feel the woman out. It had been a long time since the two of them had last seen one another, not since the fall of Ixian Castle, and that was something he was less than willing to think about.

The mage clenched his hand into a fist, his bright blue eyes never leaving his opponent’s. The mist began to coalesce around him, snakelike wisps migrating slowly toward his clenched right hand.

“Thanks to you, I’ve learned so much, I’ve become so much more powerful than I was. To think that it means so little to you, the woman who helped me to see myself for what I really am... Well,” he said, as he brought his fist before his face, a shadow cast over his eyes as they seemed to slide back underneath his brow.

“It’s unthinkable. Face it, your past will always be there, whether you bury it or not!” with that little outburst, he opened his palm and looked at the small sphere of ice he had created. Without a second thought, he tossed it as hard as he could at the woman.

Normally such an attack would freeze whatever it touched on contact, but for her... I’ve got a bit of a different plan in mind, he thought to himself as he watched the tiny globe of ice make its way toward him. He lifted a single hand and pointed it in the woman’s direction.

“Crystal Bomb!” he called out through the air as the sphere came to a screeching halt in midair. It hovered for a moment before glowing brightly with magical energies before exploding outward into hundreds of minuscule razor sharp shards. The ground beneath the orb was pummeled, dirt and debris flying everywhere, leaves and petals violently cut off the beautiful flowers beneath.

With a bright smile, the young mage merely said, “Interesting...”

He brought his blade up to his face and prepared himself for the counter assault. He had used his first move, now it was time to see just how much the woman had grown, and not just in age, since the last time the two of them had met.

“This is only the beginning, Ruby La Roux. Before this is done, I’ll make you remember... everything we put each other through, and the reason it still matters.”

[Ruby]

The boy’s words rattled in between the notes of his opening verse. Ruby, quick-witted, brought her blade up. She crossed her arms across her face, her most important asset, and felt the crystalline shards rake her dress, skin, and beauty. There had been no time for her to react. There had been no time to sing away the pain. There would be plenty of time to sing of counter attack and retribution.

“That is just like you,” she said. She lowered her hands when the storm faded. She looked down at her body, and began to pick out the shards embedded in her cloth. The needles that did not cut skin and pride made easy work of delicate stitch, treated, and tanned leather.

A dancing breeze swept up from the south. It smelt of dung, a strange medley of countryside idyll and rural labour. Ruby found strength in it, and righted her spine to stand straight, strong, and defensive.

“I see anger still resides in your heart, despite the cold and frigid exterior.”

She glared at Rehtul. She traced the dancing fringe, as blue as the ice he commanded, and then dropped down the ridge of his nose to his chest. He was small in stature, compared to other men she knew, and diminutive when compared to his uncle. For that reason alone, she pitied him. She knew something of fighting giants when you were two feet tall.

“I dwell in the present, Rehtul.” She dispensed with the pleasantries. Seeing as he had, she abandoned the charade. “The past would swallow me up, quite whole, and leave nothing but my boots.” She stomped, as if to emphasise the point. The heather quivered.

With relish, Ruby slowly raised her hand to her cheek. With her smile, she felt a twinge of pain. She ran her index finger down her skin, and shuddered when it touched the end of a needle. She had not noticed it up until now, but it was there, right as day, embedded deep in her skull. She wasted no time pulling it free. It was a blue shard glistening with blood, three inches long.

“If this is what you mean by remember, Rehtul, I pity you.” Her disposition towards him grew. “You cannot enforce your opinions on others with blood and glory.” She held the needle out at arm’s length, and focussed her gaze until it eclipsed the mystic. She dropped it. It vanished into the buoyant moss. It would melt in moments, and then give life to the illusory flora.

The spell singer felt her sword tremble. It sang to her silently, a verse of war and a reprise of fervour. She wasted no more time debating rhetoric and paste tense. With determination, a bloodied cheek, and fervour she charged. Her body tingled with pain where the needles had pierced cloth. They melted with her adrenaline, leaving moist wounds that would be the end of her in time.

Her sword hand sang as she cut into the boy’s guard from her high right to low left. It was a simple, cleaving, and riotous arc of declaration. The blood on her cheek ran up and flew away in gobbets, and her eyes danced not with flame, but with the grey luminescence of a hunter’s moon.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

The attack made its mark, that much was for sure, but Rehtul was neither happy nor particularly pleased with his skill. The woman had not so much as attempted to avoid his onslaught, which made him even more certain she was trying to get him worked up. It was unlikely to work, considering he was already well past his limit. The rage at having been discarded so easily, having been dismissed as just a mere figment of the past was seeping into every corner of his mind. His bright eyes locked into those of the woman before him as she continued to speak this nonsense of living in the present.

“At least you remember my name,” he spat as he braced himself, the mist around his body returning as his irritation began to get the better of him. He could feel the woman was trying to rebuke him, but when she merely called him by his name instead of addressing him properly, he smiled slightly. He was getting to her. As easily as she could crawl under his skin, it appeared he could evoke the same reaction from her.

When she stomped after speaking of the past swallowing her up, he laughed. It was a strange sound, like icicles shattering on the ground during the spring thaw. He held a single hand up to his lips trying to regain control of himself as she began to touch at the blood he had drawn with his last attack.

Funny... that was only a small portion of my power. Does she not realize that I’ve grown in the last few years? he asked. She didn’t seem to be much different except for learning how to use a sword. He could almost feel the deathly aura around her, the gray eyes reflecting nothing more than dull light at him. The woman was right about one thing at least. She had lost her inner fire, the spirit for living and love that had caused Rehtul to despise himself for killing her in the Dansdel.

Of course, I felt like an idiot afterward when she reappeared later, completely healed and perfectly fine... not to mention alive and kicking. He had not remembered that places like the Citadel and Dansdel were capable of reviving the dead after they were downed in combat. It is why they were considered two of the leading fighting arenas in the world, because you never had to die, and you could endlessly improve your skills without fear.

He sighed as he watched the woman approach with her blade. He expected something extravagant from Ruby, but his hopes were dashed with she simply came at him with extended blade and attempted to cleave him in half.

Knowing that he didn’t have much in the way of time, he brought his own dagger down and met her slash, allowing the frosted blade to run along the much larger sword as he parried. His arm felt numb from the force of the blow, and as the sword finished its wide arc, he jumped back with a grim smile on his face.

“You said I was angry, didn’t you? Well, you’re right,” he said as he tossed his dagger into his free hand before sheathing it. He rubbed his arm gingerly, trying to get the feeling to go back into it. It wasn't working all that well. The force of the heavier weapon seemed to have knocked his shoulder pretty good, messing with his ability to use it or feel anything with it. Partial paralysis from blunt force, he remembered it being called.

“See, you were an important event in my life, probably the most important event of my life,” he said, his smile slowly turning into a deep frown, the irises of his eyes constricting as he looked at the woman, torn and bloodied, standing in a field of flowers. It would have been hilarious if it weren’t so sad and sickening.

“To think that you don’t see any event in your past worth the time to even give it consideration... it’s a sickening thought. We are made by the events in our past! We can no more forget them and leave them behind than we can cut out our minds and leave them in a ditch! The blade of the present is built upon the forge of the past, and cleaves a wide arc into the future. Without all three, in proper balance, they’re useless!” He brought a hand up to the nape of his neck and unclasped his cape, letting it drop to the ground, freeing up his shoulders for maximum freedom of movement.

He rubbed his right arm again for a moment, not sure it would be a smart idea to use it, but felt it had to be worth a shot. He lifted both of his hands in front of him, placed them about a foot apart facing each other in front of his chest and smiled, the grimmest smile he had ever wrought in his entire life.

“If you’d prefer me to be theatric about it, I will. Diamond Storm!” he screamed as the air around him quivered and the white fog around his body began to expand out around him. He could feel the magical power surrounding him as he began to glow with internal strength. The air around him seemed to stop moving as the moisture was drawn out of it.

He looked down at the plants beneath him, the beautiful flowers turning brown as the water within was forcibly stolen from their bodies, before they were frozen over by the rapidly falling temperature in the air.

Rehtul pointed both of his palms skyward as a hundred needles of ice appeared around his body. He looked at the woman before him, a woman who once had such fire within her, now refusing the allow the past to teach her the lessons she must learn.

There’s nothing more important than learning, Ruby... he thought, to forsake the lessons of the past makes us lesser people. We must strive to learn from the mistakes of the past...

“...so that we may never relive them,” he finished the sentence aloud. “I’ve killed you once already...” He thought again back to the Dansdel, their fateful meeting, a chance acquaintanceship that had solidified his feelings that even a chance occurrence could completely change one's life. He had learned from her the trials and hardships of having to kill someone with your own hand, that each life, no matter who took it, was something that could not be regained except by the most powerful of magics, and that having control over another's life and death was not something he wanted to get used to, even though he knew that in the future he would have to.

With a wave of his hand, the thick needles of ice swiveled in midair, their points all directed at the blue-haired man standing before Ruby. A small, somewhat playful smile crossed his lips as he raised a finger, sending the various needles spinning in midair.

“I refuse to do so again,” he stated with a sense of finality that would shock even his own family. He could feel the cold air around him and shivered slightly. He knew his power was one that allowed him to control elemental forces, and that he shouldn’t have been affected by his own magic. However, he had trained the sights of his magic upon himself, and as the target, he could feel each needle around him freezing the air as he exhaled slowly, misty vapor escaping his lips.

“So... Let me ask you something, Ruby,” he said as he stood there, arms outstretched, as though welcoming the destruction he was preparing to wreak upon his own body. “Shall I show you exactly what you did to me? Show you the feelings that wrecked my mind and body as I watched you die in front of my eyes as a result of your own spell?!”

He stood there, allowing the ice around him to dance in the air as he waited for his answer. Should she remain as stubborn now as she was, he would merely cut the fight short, on his own terms.

[Ruby]

Ruby ran the long, arduous, and gloated soliloquy through her mind once more. She pursed her lips at every thought, until she could purse them no more. She had been quite mistaken about Rehtul.

“I am sorry you feel that way,” she said softly.

She accented her concern with a slow, unthreatening production of her violin. It rattled on its chain. Her sword sheathed in favour of an instrument more suited to peace, and she cocked her neck onto the rest, and set the bow to the strings. The union caused something in the ether to stir, some long lost excitement, emotion, and power to begin to manifest. The violin was intricate, masterwork, and bespeckled with golden flowers. It was the product of a thousand years of artistry. It set a scene, and the scene came to life in its presence.

Once, she might have fallen for haughty tricks and high praise. When she said the fire inside had died, she meant it. She had sacrificed the being called the Phoenix in Berevar (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?23980-By-Rook-Wrath-amp-Ruin-(Solo)&highlight=By+Rook%2C+Wrath+%26amp%3B+Ruin). The last of its flames she spent in Corone, saving his uncle’s castle. All that remained was a mortal wife, in immortal shell, striving to find meaning in the emptiness of infinity.

“In answer to your question, a song comes to mind.” She began to play.

At first, the needles vibrated in response. Slowly but surely, they returned to Rehtul’s control, as if the natural rhythm of her playing had threatened the very magic that held the illusory world in place. Had she wanted to, she could have torn the Citadel down, brick, by brick, by brick. Today, all she wanted to crumble to dust was his stubbornness. Though she had promised never to aid the Orlouge family again, one last life lesson could not hurt.

The song began softly, rolling through rising scales from deep rumble to light trill. Without warning, it erupted into a Scara Braen folk song, rumbustious, lively, and full of joy. The song was Harvest (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OlkhKh0fwQ), known by many people on the island Ruby called home. Thousands danced to it each year in the streets of the capital. It meant rebirth, a gathering, and a new opportunity from the year’s hard toil. She pictured the flowers in the boulevards, and the jam stalls in Market Square.

After several bars, other sounds formed in the air. Born of the Aria, other violinists joined the fray. Ghostly echoes of past performances mingled with Ruby’s premier performance. A harp plucked melody, and heavy drums, on the very distant edge of hearing, added percussion and determination to her auditory retort. The song softened out into a countryside idyll, a quick-paced flurry, and a rolling folk ensemble.

She would have sung the shanty words to go with it, but she lost herself in her display. Her grey hair came loose of its bonds, and danced cloudy trails of colour and frenzy. She closed her eyes halfway through and played purely on instinct, talent, and will. Though a happy song, there was sadness in the latter notes, each one striking a chord on the moment.

When she finished, she let the violin sustain the last verse for several bars before she let it rest by her side. She calmly opened her eyes and turned her attentions back to the ice mage.

“Do you still want to kill yourself?” she asked in earnest. If he answered yes, then she would unleash a whirlwind of power and give him his wish. If he said no, then she guessed she would get to test her mettle here after all.

In the background, Duffy clapped a round of short-lived applause.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

As Ruby responded to his long, rather drawn out speech, he sighed. She had indeed become a very different person than the woman he once knew. As she brought out her violin and began to play, he could feel every fiber in his being revolting against his plan to kill himself in order to make a point. A bleak sigh escaped his lips as he looked upon the woman with a combination of sorry and irritation. She kept rebutting his words with the simplest of possible answers.

I’m seriously beginning to think that she isn’t taking me seriously at all, he thought as he clenched his right first. His right arm dropped limply to his side, the strength he had garnered in order to summon his Diamond Storm finally being sapped away. He waved his left hand dismissively, reabsorbing the magic he had put into the frozen needles around him, and watching with an amused smile as they melted immediately into water before splashing to the ground below.

He breathed deeply, cold mist escaping with every exhale as he beheld the once-crimson haired beauty before him. He could feel that while she assumed there was no fire left within her, some small amount of smoldering ashes had been left behind, and he would do his best to rekindle them, as she had asked him to do.

“Now that I see you still care about others, I think the time has come for the two of us to take this seriously,” he said. Gathering his strength, he did something that most could consider a handicap, but it was all he could think of to do.

He raised his left hand, placing it a few inches away from his right arm and muttered something about how much this was going to sting afterward. With gritted teeth, he encased his entire right arm in a sheath of ice, a sharp intake of breath the only cue that he had even been slightly affected by the magic coming into contact with his body, even through his blue robes. He could feel the biting cold creeping into his flesh. Even though the healing arts of the Monks at the temple were able to bring a person back from the dead, he couldn’t help but wonder how they dealt with something like severe frostbite.

Though, on the other hand, he reasoned, this does make for a good way to train my body to resist the cold that I can create. He held up his frost covered arm and looked through the translucent material as he channeled his magic into his arm to give him full control over the movements of the shell.

Looking at Ruby, he grinned. “Well, I won’t be able to pull off any really big tricks when I’m using a quarter of my magical power to keep my arm working, but I should still be able to provide something of a challenge.” He stuck out his tongue before his mouth became little more than a thin black line on his face.

Alright... now’s the time to focus. She wants a real fight? Let’s give her one. With those words echoing through the ice mage’s head, he took off at a run, directly toward the woman ahead. With a little bit of coercion on his part, the ice encasing his arm remolded itself, flowing down from his shoulders and onto his finger tips before jutting out one foot from each finger.

Without a word, he slashed out wickedly, all five of the makeshift ice blades on his hand creating a chilling arc through the air as he rolled past the woman before standing back up, using shrinking the claws back into the main body of ice on his arm. As his shoulder froze back over, he hissed in pain.

“Won’t be able to keep this up for much longer...” he commented to thin air as he turned toward the woman. “I think I’ll call that one my Claws of the Ice Wolf. What do you think?”

[Ruby]

Not once, in her five centuries, had Ruby Winchester ever not cared. As Rehtul became a paragon of winter, her altruism continued to grow. She fell in love with the troupe’s search for absolution so much; no time spared to give concern to those she had crossed on the way to peace was spare. Looking into the boy’s eyes, she felt sorry. She was sorry for all the people she had burnt on the rise to the top. She felt remorseful for all the souls that had passed on to the other side, wherever that may be, because they had found peace.

Ruby Winchester still burnt in hell. The woman that was also an elf, a spell singer, a mother, a lover, and a sister, remained distinctly trapped in reality.

“Whatever you wish to call it,” Ruby glared lingering souls of fire at his arm, “I am in deep admiration for your self-control.” She had to wonder just how unhinged Rehtul had become in misery and solitude after their previous encounter.

She reflected on the bastion they had built, the walls they had toppled, and the ground they had covered. Date and time became inconsequential to the matter at hand. She had hurt the mystic. Now, all that mattered, despite the outside world, was helping him to move on. She owed him that much. She owed Sei Orlouge that much.

In the final moments of freedom, before the boy closed the gap, Ruby reflected. She saw patterns of obfuscation in his eyes. She saw tomorrow, yesterday, and the here and now in his glistening magic. She felt each crack of his sheath echo in her chest. Her ribs might have cracked, had her empathy been stronger.

“I feel it is too little, too late,” she snarled. Rehtul Orlouge had seemingly made his choice. Though his manner of death had changed, death would come. It was the only certainty the spell singer could count on now. Her sword, which found itself in the open air in a flick of a wrist, would cut him twain. It would sing, of its own natural accord, of her victory over past ghosts.

With keen precision, driven by drive, and not skill or experience, she stepped to one side. Rehtul’s raking attack clawed, and her blade, older than the boy’s uncle himself, clove downwards towards his icicle fist.

What happened next, would burn into memory, be it a wound of cold or hot.

“Ruby!” Duffy cried. The bard rose from his stoop, eyes tearful, worry insurmountable. In the melee, and the charge of fire and ice, the swordsman lost sight of what blade and what claw had struck which thigh and which tendon.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Rehtul smirked as she commented that his attack was too little, too late. Didn’t anyone know a feint when they saw it anymore? He could feel the woman’s gaze locked upon his arm. It was a simple task to draw someone’s attention to the obvious threat, but you had to be careful not to overdo it. If he had covered his entire body in ice, perhaps then it might have caused her to pause and consider her options, but for now the ice mage had exactly what he needed.

She mentioned that she admired his self control, and he nodded in return, thanking her silently. He could feel his body aching with the pain from the frozen arm, but he still needed it, at least for now. It was more unbearable knowing that he could call an end to the slow freezing of his flesh and blood anytime he wanted, but he pushed the thought out of his mind violently, focusing intently on the woman before him. She was going to have a response to his attack, and indeed she did. He could feel the blade coming for him, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

He brought his ice-encased hand up in front of his body and whispered the words he’d been waiting to use.

“Ice Shield.”

He braced his right arm, keeping it from falling as the ice migrated down onto his palm and shot out into the shape of a large disc right in front of him, reflecting not only Ruby’s blade, but her entire body back at the woman. Rehtul’s stark blue eyes beheld the woman in front of him and her blade made contact with the shield of ice. He could feel the force she had put behind the blow, and knew there was no way he’d be able to hold it back with just his magic.

As the ice began to crack, and his arm began to give out, a smile crossed his lips. He knew that he had pretty much lost the fight when she hit the disc, but he wouldn’t be going down that easily.

“Shatter,” he said as the shield began to crack in a multitude of places. As the cracks broke the shield into hundreds of smaller parts, he gritted his teeth and extended a small amount of his magical power through his arm and into the shield, causing it to explode outward into a number of razor sharp shards that would go out in all directions.

Ruby’s blade, finally without the resistance of his shield, cleaved downward in an arc and bit viciously into Rehtul’s upper arm. A cry of pain resounded from deep within the young man’s lungs. He could feel the pain as slush-like blood began to ooze from the wound.

He stepped back, holding his arm gingerly as his own ice shards came back upon him, cutting through his robe and biting into his skin before melting, his chest, legs, and arms all open targets. A small amount of blood trickled down his leg as slush-like blood slowly oozed its way out of his right arm, and a newly open wound on his chest began to bleed lightly. His breath came in ragged gasps as he felt the various cuts covering his body seeping his life's blood from his veins. A slow chuckle passed through his lips as he thought about the dangerously stupid move he had just pulled.

“Perhaps detonating my own shield wasn’t the best plan after all,” he said, still cupping one hand to his right arm. In fact, he was certain that he had done more damage to himself than he could have hoped to do to the woman before him. Sighing, he steeled himself for the next onslaught, knowing he was probably going to lose, and soon.

[Ruby]

Raked and lacerated by shards once more, Ruby's temper flared. She cupped her arm over her face, to protect her eyes, and her pride, and grinned and bared it. The shattering sound was all too familiar to the spell singer. It was reminiscent of the mystic's latent magical ability with glass spinning. She had seen it a hundred times in the hands of Sei Orlouge and his family. She had bore the brunt of a fair number of those herself.

She dropped her arm when she was sure she was safe. Once again she found her dress be-speckled with needles and flecks of crystalline sparkle. She half wanted to admire the beauty in his magic, but it would soon melt away, fade, and wither into nothingness. Her arm had caught a large chunk, and tingled. It would bruise come morning. Her thigh felt numb too, and she realised the proximity to such frigid power was beginning to affect her in ways she was not ready to consider. She was running out of time.

So was Rehtul.

Ruby found it very hard to resist simply striking the mystic through the heart there and then. It would have been so easy to strike, without fear, and end this debacle in a flash. It would have been easy, but it would have been weak. It would have been cowardly. It would have been abominable.

“I was under the impression you came here to fight,” she spat. A gobbet of spit landed on the heather, clung fustily to the bloom, and then dripped down below into the miniature world of insects and decay. “All you have done is whine, moan, and remember yesterday.”

Despite her vitriol, Ruby retreated. She gave the ice mage opportunity to rekindle some form of strength. There was much for her to learn in the world, but if she was not going to learn it here, then she was not going to fall for the trap of fame and rage. They were not emotions she welcomed. They were not traits she admired.

“I am disappointed, Rehtul.” Her voice wavered.

As though rejected, the blade in the spell singer’s hand let out a long, trill groan. Ruby dropped it to her side, as though she were not sure what to do with it. She cocked her head and looked the boy over. Her sword was not vicious, bludgeoning, and cruel. Despite its lithe form, it appeared to have struck at just the right angle to pierce his defence, cut his skin, and render a limb limp.

“I am also left confused,” she added. She brought her elven sword up, held it out to her right, grip firm, and pressed her right heel into the mossy rise. She took a deep breath of the spring jack pasture, and partook in the illusory pristine freshness.

“Run him through, cutter!” Duffy heckled. The malapropism from their mutual demonic friend ran down Ruby’s spine.

“Everyone here wants you dead,” she said flatly, “everyone except for me.” She stepped closer. Her retreat had afforded Rehtul breathing space, but his moment’s peace spent. “Whatever Mr Bracken shouts, or the audience cries, it does not matter.” She took another step.

She traced the outline of his icicle form, and the lingering taint of his magic still potent in the air. She rolled her gaze shortly over the moist patches in the moss and grass. They were small mottles on the landscape, remnants of battle, and marks of war. They were all that would remain, save for a blood spatter and an echo of a curse, long after they left this place. Then it would all reset. Then sand and clouds were all that would remain.

“If you cannot fight, Rehtul, then we are done.” She brought her blade into his weakened side. With lack lustre riposte, she timed I so that if he did not respond, and if he did not parry or pirouette or peruse through other opportunities, Lucrezia, the womanly blade, would stop just short of blood-stained flesh.

With a flourish, the sword sang. Ruby's hair shone snow white as a surge of strength filled her battered body.

Butterflies sprang up in droves all around them, red, green, and yellow wings beating a thousand times a second.

“And so to the crux and the crash of a blade, the world sprang to life for the warring maid,” it echoed, much to the bard and the beleaguered crowd’s excitement.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Rehtul said, his voice barely a whisper. Did none of my ice shards hit her?! he couldn’t help but think as he took a step back from her. He could feel his life ebbing away through the seeping wound on his arm, the sloshing frostbite biting him deeper than any of his other wounds. He could feel the woman’s eyes upon him as she spoke of him not actually having come here to fight, which he supposed seemed to be the case. He had been in such shock over her change in demeanor, not to mention her recent change in appearance, that he had been caught off guard trying to open her up once more.

It seemed that the only way to do that would be to do what he had come here for in the first place. With an audible sigh he straightened his back and allowed his weakened right arm to hang limply at his side, willing it to stay still and silent. He still had his left arm after all, and that would have to do. With a chuckle, he watched as the woman threatened his very life should he not have come here to fight.

As the sword made its arc through the air, he didn’t so much as move a finger, as suddenly the blade was brought to a swift and decisive stop in mid-air, as though it had just struck a stone wall. Glowing around the Mystic was the signature attack of his kind, a translucent bubble made of what appeared to be magic glass. It glowed in the soft light of the setting sun, a multitude of colors being splayed across the field, the very flowers seeming to change colors as the bubble began to crack around the young man’s body, altering the flow of light through it.

“Did you forget that I could use this skill, Ruby? Surely by now you’d realize that even when a Mystic is defenseless that he still has a trick or two up his sleeve?” he asked, the smile on his face growing ever wider by the second. His body still ached from the strain he had already put on it, but he forced himself into awareness and held up his left hand, allowing the glass dome around him to finally shatter.

Even as many of the shards began to disappear, he could feel himself holding on to most of them, his power preventing them from perishing until their usefulness had been extracted. With a mild nod, he sent the shards flying toward his opponent, his blue eyes meeting hers with a steely gaze.

I guess the time for talk is over, the Mystic decided as he watched the vast number of magic shards home in on their mark. Sighing, he bent over and picked one of the flowers on the ground, a small dandelion, which he blew into the air around them.

The seeds we send into the wind do tend to find themselves in places we’d never expect them to be. Perhaps the fruit of our day spent in battle hasn’t quite ripened yet, he thought to himself, allowing the poet in him to come to the fore once more. He turned and faced the woman as he raised his left palm to the sky.

The air around him seemed to coalesce as he was surrounded by an impenetrable white mist that flowed freely from the air around him. He could feel the last of his magical power beginning to feed into this finale that he had decided would be his final farewell to the woman. He stopped just short of completely running out of energy as he forced all of the magical mist into the air above his outstretched palm, a spear of ice about half his height forming from the mist.

“Ice Form... Longinus,” he said simply as he pointed at the woman, the javelin of ice making its way toward the woman, following closely behind his Mystic Protection.

Regardless of this battle’s outcome, I’m glad I saw her again, he thought as his vision began to blur.

Even with the sliver of energy he had left, he was already beginning to feel lightheaded. There was no way he’d be able to take another attack, much less launch one of his own. Even his Mystic Protection spell would be useless. The shock of summoning that much energy at once again would be enough to knock him unconscious then and there.

As the final attack approached the woman, Rehtul couldn’t help but think, Please... whichever way this battle goes... rekindle what was lost to her.

[Ruby]

Suddenly, Ruby began to pay attention. Driven to lethargy by Rehtul’s seemingly lacklustre spirit, she had allowed the boy the opportunity to do exactly what she did not want to do. She felt foolish. She was falling into a false sense of security. The sunlight danced a reflecting and mesmerising pattern over the dome of his kind’s namesake. Her eyes widened, dark red spheres set in snow-white rings that told of fear and recognition.

She was certain she would not remain standing for long. Ice shards were palatable, weak, and brittle things. Glass, on the other hand, was a different matter.

“Well done…,” she said a soft trill and remorseful tone to her voice.

Even in the face of a painful riposte, she did not forget her manners. Behind her, with a scorned look on his face, Duffy watched in horror. He had been the victim of the very same attack just as many times, if not more. He knew she had no time to sing a shield or wave of flame. He knew there would be no escape, and no recovery from this.

“Well done indeed.”

Uncharacteristically, or perhaps perfectly in character, Ruby dropped her sword. She let her hands fall down to her sides, and held her head high. There was acceptance in her eyes, along with the shimmering light of certain death and the potential of a final realisation. This was not what she expected. This was not the development of her sword arm. This was not the unveiling of a new song in front of a mass audience.

“Goodbye…” she whispered. The power of the Aria projected her voice directly into Rehtul’s mind, and it echoed with the ghostly vibrato of a funeral choir.

The glass shards struck in two waves. The outer limits of the dome near Ruby lacerated her thighs. They cut through her leather and cloth as though she were naked. A large piece protruded from just above the right knee, and buckled her to the ground. Another wedged into her pelvis, grating against bone and severing tendons without resistance.

“Ruby!” Duffy roared. The latent power of the troupe did not need to project his cry. Everybody in the Citadel heard it, purely on the strength of the emotion behind it. Even though he knew it was a short, falsehood death, he cried as though it were real. His sweaty brow beat, his leg tensed, and he half-rose, as if to run to her rescue. By the time he stood, she was already unconscious.

The upper part of the dome had arced in its flight. As the spell singer crashed to her knees, it descended like crystal rain. A shard cut into the opposite side of her cheek to where the ice shard had pierced. Another cut open her forehead, and a third landed in the small of her collar bone, slipping in through the hollow and soft skin like a nail into soft, treated wood.

Her blood ran crimson and ablaze, more than her hair had once been. Fire, though dead in her hearth, metaphorically poured out of her multitude of wounds. She would have fell forwards in a dignified flop, left to linger in the moss and mire until the monks carried her way.

When the ice javelin pierced her clavicle, all hope of dignity faded. Its tip cracked bone, and split the ribcage apart. By the time it crushed her windpipe, tore through her throat, and shattered her spine, she was quite dead.

She thudded backwards, head bouncing like a rag doll as it hit the ground.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

I won again... the young man thought as he looked at the large protrusion of ice jutting from the woman’s torso. Sighing, he walked toward her slowly, his feet dragging the ground as he realized what this meant. He had killed this woman, not once, but twice now, and though this too was just a false death, he could feel the weight of her life bearing down upon him. He creased his brow, eyes falling into deep shadow, as he continued slowly trudging toward the woman’s prone form.

“Well played, once again, Ruby...” A sad smile crossed his lips as he whispered, not even bothering to raise his voice so the man known as Bracken could hear him. He could feel the man’s pain, the emotion he felt as his comrade fell once more to the Mage of Ice. He looked toward the man and shook his head with a smile, knowing that it was a temporary thing. Her soul would once again taste the sweet breath of life in just a few short hours, but for now, she lay resting.

“Rest well, Ruby...” Rehtul said as he turned her sword hand palm up on the ground and touched it lightly with his own fingertips. He looked toward Bracken as tears began pouring freely down his cheeks. He knew that this wouldn’t make him look any better in the older man’s eyes, but it was something he felt was necessary to be seen.

He could feel his power beginning to dim deep within his soul. He didn’t have much time until he too joined her, fading out of consciousness as the Citadel continued to operate as it always had, the perfect deterrent and creator of war. For if there was no death to fear, even if it was possible to die outside the building, a man could learn to become fearless, without any fear of death, so long as he stayed in this building long enough to build a resistance to the feeling.

Rehtul looked around himself as he considered the meaning for the older woman choosing this place above all the others this building had to offer as her place of battle. The flowers were beautiful, save for the few frostbitten and decaying ones that Rehtul had affected with his magic. He knew that there were no words left to say between himself and the woman lying before him. They had both chosen their own paths, and the one he had chosen was one he would prove to her, perhaps through a single gesture that required no words.

Then it hit him, a flash of inspiration that could perhaps thaw this woman’s now ice-like heart in a way that no mere words spoken could possibly do. Drawing upon the last of his magical strength, Rehtul placed a single, open palm over the woman’s own and concentrated.

“With the last of my strength, I leave you with this small token,” he whispered, closing his eyes and imagining a form for the ice he was creating to take. White fog swirled around his hand and solidified atop the dead woman’s palm.

Rehtul brought his hand up to his face and steadied his vision just long enough to see what he had left behind, a bright blue rose of ice, infused with light magic that made it shine like a star in the night.

“Ice... infused with brilliant, shining light. It is yours...” he managed to croak out as his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed onto his back, staring at the red sky above as the sun finally began its final descent upon the horizon.

Bright and burning... just... like... his eyes closed of their own accord as his body began to demand rest to recharge his magical reserves.

Fire.

[Otto]

Ruby Winchester

Plot: 18/30

While the premise had potential, by and large, the thread failed to follow through with it. What, exactly, has Ruby learned from this encounter? And did she succeed, fail, or change her plans?
A strong point for you, the setting was well described through a number of senses, and by referring to it regularly you kept it nice and vibrant – except for the final few posts.
For the most part, this moved at a decent pace for a battle. However, please watch your monologues! Apart from any considerations under ‘character’, this can make sections of a battle slow and plodding - like a Dragon Ball Z episode, where each character spends twenty minutes shouting for every ten seconds of action.


Character: 18/30

Your forte, even if I didn’t quite understand everything at first. You have the feel for Ruby’s burnt-out, weary spirit, and Duffy’s boisterousness. The dialogue between them was full of character, and Ruby seemed genuinely responsive to what Rehtul had to say, while maintaining the same quality.
The action was functional, and at times, expressive. Just a point regarding consistency: in post 9, Ruby seems to be defending herself from the attack which has already occurred, given that she just responded to a question he posed after performing the slash. When Ruby pulls out her violin and plays an entire song in a single post, that a) falls a bit flat, I’m afraid, and b) seems kind of unlikely, at least, without including some sort of response from Rehtul.
I am left a little confused by Ruby’s actions. When Rehtul threatens to kill himself, Ruby does her best to persaude him to continue on – but later, when she thinks he has given up the fight once again, she threatens to take him out! I also don’t quite know what she wants to get out of the battle. She remains quite serene during their exchange, and it seems she is trying to dampen Rehtul’s fiery demeanour after she has stated that she wants him to reignite hers.


Prose: 17/30

There were few errors and awkwardly structured sentences (but still some – compare ‘bare’ to ‘bear’, post 11; “The last time they had crossed paths, she was nothing more than a fire-ensconced harlot was”, post 3). Mostly, it worked quite well, and had a good flow to it.
As I’ve said, I don’t know what Ruby is after, or what she wanted from Rehtul. I also don’t know why there’s this animosity between her and Rehtul – I know that he killed her, but I don’t know why.
It was good to see your writing remains dotted with descriptive metaphor and simile. It wasn’t laid on too thick; in fact, you would have room for more if you wanted to consider that in the future. While I didn’t see any lows in this thread, your highs weren’t quite up to the standard you’ve set in previous threads of yours I’ve judged.


Wildcard: 7/10

I didn’t really know what you were trying to do for the most part, but I have a feeling you did it fairly well.


Total: 60/100





Rehtul Orlouge

Plot: 15/30

Rehtul’s story arc was serviceable, but not exceptional. That he meets with Ruby by accident seems unlikely – why not have the monks provide him a list of combatants, he recognises her first name, and decides to confront her? I’ve said the same to thing in Ruby’s section as well, but it’s not clear if Rehtul got what he wanted from this fight or not.
Rehtul’s surroundings, and his perception of them, were quite limited in terms of description and scope. But don’t just describe it – use it. Rehtul doesn’t even need to interact with it that much; you could set the scene with a bitter, relentless wind, or allude to his perception of Ruby’s dampened spirits (and the outcome of the battle) through fields of wilted flowers, killed by a recent frost.
Your over-verbosity was worse than Ruby’s. Try and collaborate with the other writer, so you can include their responses in your own posts rather than deliver plodding monologues – failing that, keep it short and sweet (but not too short, either). This also goes for those internal monologues – when you want to move fast, try and let your character’s actions speak for themselves to minimise your wordcount. Also, as much as you may want to cover events of the previous thread from your own character’s point of view, doubling back really interrupts flow.


Character: 17/30

I think you played on Rehtul's adversarial/standoffish nature quite well. He was sufficiently brash and passionate, the antithesis to Ruby’s cool demeanour. I would suggest that you try and diversify his emotional responses, however; it seems that he was unshakeably stuck in the one mode for much of the thread. Get a bit more dialogue going to help the plot, too – when Rehtul asks to be matched with a challenging opponent, have him and the monk discuss his aptitude (how could the monk know, if Rehtul’s never been there before?).
The action was, again, serviceable, with few outstanding examples. Two good points were probably when Rehtul first threatened to cut the fight short – a genuine and innovative attempt to rouse Ruby’s passion – and maybe his gifting of the ice rose (nice and symbolic). Bad points were over-verbosity and overuse of the disappointed sigh. He sighed wearily in almost every post, sometimes more than once, to the point that it became rather grating and he came off as quite one-dimensional. Mix it up!
Rehtul seemed to stay true to the persona given in his profile, mostly. As mentioned above, it was a bit flat at times. Also, regarding post 8, I should expect a well-read ice mage to know that severe frostbite can result in increased susceptibility to further tissue damage, rather than becoming tougher to it.


Prose: 18/30

Your writing was structurally sound, with only a few errors (e.g., compare ‘exhale’ to ‘exhalation’, post 8). The writing could have come off a bit more naturally – consider where to place commas to break up and slow down your writing as required, and avoid awkward sentences such as “As the sword made its arc through the air, he didn’t so much as move a finger, as suddenly the blade was brought to a swift and decisive stop in mid-air, as though it had just struck a stone wall” (an overabundance of ‘as’ in there).
Everything was written fairly clearly, but again – jamming too much into the action can fuddle things up, and make it a chore to juggle everything at once. Also, I needed to know why Rehtul is so anguished at having killed Ruby. Was he acting in self defence? Was he under orders? Was he mistaken in his reasoning? This is something the both of you failed to address.
I saw an abundance of simile, and the symbolism of the ice rose was a nice touch. Nothing in particular resonated with me, but keep at it – it certainly added to your writing.


Wildcard: 6/10

I don’t think you reached same level of depth with Rehtul’s part in this battle as Ruby, but it was still an interesting and informative read.


Total: 56/100



Ruby Winchester wins, and receives 1575 experience and 130 gold.

Rehtul Orlouge receives 450 experience and 120 gold.

[Mordelain]

Exp and gold added.