The Craft of War-Open

[Krausus]

Arron woke up in a soft bed. He had a scar on his shoulder but he got up. Not caring. He grabbed his things from the table ad walked out into the lobby of the Citadel. He stopped at the desk and waited before saying. "An arena. A single beam. The floor will be water. Fill it with poisonous fish. And for good measure make the walls out of flame. The floor. The bottom. Concrete. I need to have it. Dangerous. Also, give me pain with the fire. Methinks enchanted?"

He thought for a moment

"Make the full thing out of concrete with enchanted fire along the walls. A floor of water filled with poisonous fish. The beam. Cedar. It needs to be solid. Mayhaps having chains hanging from the ceiling. Yes, quite the arena. I think it will be rather fun to fight in."

Arron Veilblade, Equnoxian Blade. That was his name. He knew what he was doing. He followed the monk to his arena and looked inside the heavy oak doors.

"Perfect. As usual."

He tipped the monk and bowed to him. He leaped onto the beam and stood tall.

He waits now. He waits for a worthy opponent.

[Cydnar]

Cydnar Yrene was not a prideful elf. He admired his actions, perhaps. He did what he did for the betterment of his people. He lived in the service of the snake Thayne Yrene, and the White Tree Sage Yggdrassil. There was no other reason for him to rise at dawn’s call. There was no other reason for him to rest at day’s end.

Save for war.

“Greetings, ser,” he bellowed atop his lungs. He advanced out through the arena’s doors, and set his leather boots onto the perilous beam. It seemed to serve as the solitary battleground for their encounter.

He had travelled to the Citadel as a distraction, after the period in the Hummel calendar called the Dana Ronda. It was a political election, and he had grown tired of endless rhetoric, debate, and feasting. He peered over the edge of the beam. His ribboned hems, white flaxen hair, and long robes bellowed in the breeze that whisked across the empty space.

“I wager a misplaced foot would spell a fate worse than death for either of us,” he said. His voice was full of weight and sorrow. His intuition told him there were dangers in the water. He looked at his opponent with a stoic glare, refusing to dwell on the perils below, when there deadlier threats above.

He unsheathed Freya, and held it loosely in his right hand. He kept his left hand free, arced out to his side slightly, to aid in his balance. Poised, knees bent slightly, and eyes sparkling, Cydnar smiled.

“Shall we begin?” he enquired. He leant his head to the right in a quizzical manner.

[Krausus]

You may mistake me for a blind fool. But I see what you never shall.

-Arron

He could hear the footfalls. Feel the vibrations. He was in his element. He allowed his legs to relax. To shift slightly.

He drew his swords and leveled his posture. A small head popped out of a pocket on his shoulder. "It's ok, just a quick fight."

"Well i'll be. Look what the cat brought in today. A decent looking challenger."

He smiled grimly and dragged his sword across the beam, making a deep gouge. He started walking forward. His swords were flashing in and out. Making reflections of the firelit room.

"You want to start i see. Well, I guess we shoul get this over with."

He leaped forward his swords flashing, flowing through the air, and he struck, nothingness. He cursed loudly and walked to the edge. Placing his swords to that he had then balancing him evenly he turned around and faced his opponent. "Pay up now and ill go easy on you." The man was stony. Arron shrugged.

He paced back. spinning his swords in a circle, producing a slight breeze. He had his style. It was a flowing. Like the fire dancing around. Mixed with a bit of willpower he could be devastating. His weakness? The lack of sight in him. You could walk behind him silently and kill him. If you could be silent...

He walked away to his end of the beam and settled. It allowed him for some observation. His stance was even. One sword on each side. They willed to fight. He heard the hum of power in their cores. It reminded him of his parents. They had always wanted to fight. They got up. Trained. Ate. Slept. Now he was like them. He would only fight until the world ends. He allowed their power to come into reality. It started as a subtle glow. Only he noticed it as far as he could sense.

"All the better. A decent challenge. Your move."

[Cydnar]

Cydnar did not waste time before utilising the opportunity he had been given. With a flourish of his mental strength, he began to conjure something in front of his body. Wisps of colour; purple, azure, and black formed together into a sphere. He clenched his open palm into a tight fist, and punched forwards with a guttural roar.

“Attar Dtack!” he bellowed.

The Hummel insult echoed through the arena, as bright, fiery, and vibrant as the flames that formed a barring cavalcade around them. The quartz projectile shot towards the swordsman, the size of Cydnar’s fist, and travelled quickly enough to smash skulls and honour alike.

“Check!” he added. He spoke in the common tongue that all fortune seekers spoke.

Before the quartz crossed the halfway mark, he broke into a run. His nimble feet clung to the beam with a dancer’s grace. He held the sword out like a beating wing, at arm’s length, and with a natural rhythmic flow as he moved. With nowhere to go, he hoped the allusion to the tavern board game would give warning to the man who stood opposite, sword drawn, and hoping to gut the elf before the elf gutted him.

As he closed the gap, his black and white robes danced with golden hue. His hair came loose of its tie, and whirled around his pallid features like a dervish’s braids.

The crystal artisan began working his second craft – battle.

[Krausus]

So. The light before you is blinding? Would you rather be in total darkness?

-Arron


"Does anyone know how to fight with a decent sword anymore?" Arron was mumbling this as he noticed the chain on the far side of the room.

He was rather busy avoiding a flurry of strikes from the man opposite him. He lashed out and their swords met. He mumbled a few words an said the names "Varon, Tremer" His blades erupted into golden light which emenated from the discs.

He had a few tricks left. But for now. He needed to know what lurked below. He allowed his arm to twitch and an iron danger fell into the water. The fun swarmed it trying to feast on the bloody blade.

He jumped. Aiming for the chains te suspended the beam. He hoped reaches out and fell. Fell forward, air rushing past him. He saw his death before he felt it. And he crashed.

Onto the cold steel of the chain.

OOC
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Sorry for the short post but my graduation and now graduation parties and a trip to Canada for my birthday are getting in the way. I intend to make a longer ones later

[Cydnar]

The brief exchange of blows fired adrenaline into the elf’s veins. He felt the quicksilver invigorate his lethargic self, and embraced it as only a true warrior could. When his opponent leapt, away from his reach, and from the maelstrom of steel, he felt suddenly bereft, exasperated, and denied his due.

“Coward!” he roared. His teeth protruded from his lips, elongated canines half-serpentine and half-bestial in form and function.

Tensing every muscle in his legs, Cydnar pressed down, ensuring his stance was steady. He rooted himself to the spot, produced his second sword cane, and held them at arm’s lengths. They mimicked the wings of an albatross, resplendent mid-flight, and high above a perilous sea.

“In the shadows of the world below the world, we hunt bats in near darkness!”

Rather, his brother did. Cydnar simply accompanied the warrior on his testosterone forays into his youth. He had picked up a trick or two on their jaunts. He gathered his energy before his brow, formed a small crystal sphere of resplendent rose quartz, and once more fired it at the now magical swordsman.

[Krausus]

Hmm. Insults won't get you anywhere.

-Arron

He saw nothing. Only the fire of his will. The pain, the sorrow, the. Blood. All of it channeled into arcing, flaming, powerful golden light. His coat and flaming crimson hair was being blown back by the wind produced by the fiery walls. His hat had already blown away and been incinerated

He slipped on his grasp of the chain. Only a few more seconds. Just enough time bought to gather his will to impose his mind upon the man's... Well. Soul.

"Cornax, volkhan, cirhan" he incanted. It was three words in the rogue tongue of the Nether. A language he learned from scrolls, it was choppy, choppy, guttural, and naturally almost useless. He looked at the elf. Hoping that he did not know what he said, he flowed forward and started a storm of blows, attacking the air.

"Anger, sorrow, pain" was a loose translation of the arcane words. The power invested in him was released, It lashed out in the form of lightning. He leapt back to the beam and cursed as he almost slipped off. Regaining his balance, he walked forward, throwing up his will to the mercy of any Magyk.

"I will not be beaten by crystal Magyk. Come face me or I impose my will upon you more. I will make you suffer. You will know that Arron Veilblade was the one to end you."

The lightning reached the man. A golden flare that reacted to his willing. It was filled with his memories. Battering the man with the force of all the pain in his life. As he concentrated he felt one thing. A weight lifting. His pains. The things tht he has carried for so many years. Gone. Soon to return in the blast of his unbridled fury. But for now he knew that one minute. He would be free.

He said three new unintelligible words. Three new powers. All of them part of Arron, part of his mind, his soul. And he had loosed them upon the elf.

"No. I will not-"

Arron fell to his knees at his assault ended. He broke into racking sobs.

"No, I won't impose my last vestiges of will. That is cruel. My friend, kill me now. Please, just do not-"

He stood tall for a second. Then he bent his head, looked at the water for a second. And then, with a single cry he leapt off the beam. And he fell

[Cydnar]

Cydnar, for a moment, did nothing. When what happened dawned on his slowing mind, he dropped his jaw agog.

“I…,” he mumbled.

He watched the man fall off the beam, uncertain as to wherever or not the act was intentional, or accidental. The fire that surrounded them continued to blaze. His heart, tense in its cage, rattled and beat with ferocity and life.

“I do not believe it.” He leant forwards cautiously, extending the tip of his boot to arc over the roughshod wood.

As swiftly as the battle commenced, it was over.

“The victor is Cydnar Yrene!” A wisent voice boomed ominously from every direction.

The intrusion jolted the elf’s senses and he span suddenly, as if he feared a surprise attack. He felt his momentum carry him too far, and when he flailed his blades helplessly, he teetered to his right.

He realised his mistake too late, and hung in the air as time slowed.

“Drat.”

In a trail of white robes, grey hair, and clouded wisdom, Cydnar tumbled through the air in the swordsman’s wake. As he rotated feebly, he caught a glimpse of his opponent impact against the perilous water. He spiralled with a gut-wrenching twist, and let his blades fall from his fingertips. He would not need them below the surface. They would prove useless and worthless against the horrors that awaited them.

As the smell of fire, fear, and misfortune clung to his nostrils, Cydnar closed his eyes with acceptance.

A loud splash filled the arena.

A second echoed through the illusory world as Cydnar collided with the water. Through the maelstrom, he saw only red eyes in the deep, deep dark.

Several minutes passed, until two portals appeared, cracked open, and let in two long streams of sombre monks. Clad in robes that obscured their figures, their arms tucked in opposite sleeves, they began chanting. Their magic undid the circle of fire. Their will evaporated the sea. Their providence dimmed the sun and span horrors into myth.

Cydnar’s lifeless body remained, not too far from Arron, limbs sprawled and head bloodied against a dusty, sandy borderline.

“The fight is a draw!” a voice said in amendment.

Displeased, the crowd filed away, to try to find something more glamorous than war to sate their appetite.

[Krausus]

An eternity. The pain of forever. He had wanted to be free from his loving but no. He was saved by those damned gods. Once again back. He woke up in a bed. Livid with rage but unable to move from the irrevocable poison of the fish. Where was he? This citadel? This place where he tried to abandon his life in the shadows. Seeing only darkness? He would have grabbed his swords and hunted and killed the monk who saved him from his lifeless state. His Magyks. They remained somehow. His will. The plague. The disease. The anger. The sorrow. Everything still remained.

He laid there for two days. Being fed. Being watered. He had no movement for most of that time until now. When it seeped back into him. He knew not that he had caused a person he had hoped to save to die. He left that day. His swords on his back. His crimson hair wild under his hat. His ferret standing on his shoulder. His blindfold in place. He walked out of the city with a sack of meat and fruit and is wandering. "Might as well live another life" he mumbled as he snapped his fingers and a door appeared. A man stood on the other side. "Get me the history of the man they call Arron Veilblade-"he said to the man who was in the doorway as he pulled out his flint and steel. The doorman came back with a large scroll and handed it to Sirius. He put it on the ground and the Doorman watched in horror as he lit it on fire and blew away the ashes.

"-and create one for Sirius Willfire."

OOC
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I didnt like Arron so i killed him. The Door is the History of all living things. His name is now Sirius. And im ah make his CD (same as Arron with a few minor edits) tomorrow.

[Christoph]

Storytelling:

Krausus: You get right to the point and rarely waste the reader’s time with unnecessary story elements. On the flip side, your premise was as basic as it gets. A guy shows up a the fight place to fight. Your opening didn’t give the reader a reason to care, or any context or perspective at all. Actions rarely occur in a vacuum. {As the battle progressed, nothing surprised me. The plot followed a standard linear path with no twists or turns – more on that in Pacing.} Score: 4

Northswain: You did a considerably better job of establishing some context for your character and his story. While you used used a simple premise, at least you had something, which gives you an edge as far as introductions go. You were stuck on the same linear path as your opponent, but your conclusion showed some narrative finesse. Score: 5


Setting:

Krausus: You devised a cool battleground. Nothing groundbreaking, but certainly a few steps above plain arenas. You made some token efforts to integrate the arena into the battle, but they felt just so – like token efforts. I rarely felt immersed in the setting while reading your posts. Scenery elements seemed to only come up when directly needed. Score: 5

Northswain: Your posts definitely presented a better awareness of the arena. It felt clearer in your posts, and seemed to affect your character more consistently. Score 6


Pacing:

Krausus: You got into the action quickly, but -fast- pacing is not always the same as -good- pacing. Dumping the reader right into the action can be an effective strategy, but you didn’t do that, either. You used a traditional introductory structure, but rushed through it before getting the reader invested. The second main Pacing issue is your use of little quotes at the start of each post. At least, that’s how they looked, though I’m not entirely clear whether they were supposed to be just his internal thoughts or if he was quoting himself? Either way, they didn’t add much and only served to draw me out of the action each time. More on this later. Finally, you forced an extremely abrupt ending onto the battle, before either of you could build up any excitement. Score: 3

Northswain: You followed the overall narrative structure provided by Krausus, but delivered it with more elegance, structuring your posts better. You even managed to take the abrupt finish that your opponent forced upon the battle and work it into at least a decent resolution. Score: 7


Communication:

Dialogue for both characters felt stilted and unnatural, more like theater students on stage than real people. Like you were both writing your posts and figured there should be dialogue in there, but couldn’t think of anything so went with the ‘standard’. Between the two of you, there were a few decent lines, though. You both crossed into over-dramatic at times, but Northswain felt more natural and believable on the whole.

Krausus: 5
Northswain: 6


Action:

Krausus: Your description of actions were very simple and to the point, which worked all right for the most part except when you introduced anything fancy or magically-based. The dry presentation didn’t do them justice or make these elements stand out. Furthermore, your use of lightning (or whatever it was) in post 7 constitutes powergaming, since such abilities are not present in the profile for this character. Score: 2

Northswain: You described your actions with more finesse and clarity, including your character’s spells. You even made your character’s actions feel ‘his own’, if that makes sense. They helped define your character, at least a little bit. Still, it felt a bit rushed. Some more effort could have gotten you a couple additional points. Score: 6


Persona:

Krausus: I didn’t get much from your character. Other than his unnaturally clipped mannerisms that are never explained or justified, you don’t give him much personality. You touch on little tidbits of familial background, but it felt tacked on for its own sake and didn’t have anything significant to do with this story. Especially near the end, your character’s behavior felt unrealistically exaggerated. Maybe this was intentional, but you never established a justification for it. Score: 4.

Northswain: I didn’t quite get Cyndar sometimes. As early as your first post, some things you described about him didn’t quite make sense. For instance, you establish that he visited the Citadel as a distraction, and knows that it’s all basically a game since no injury or death is permanent, yet in the same post he speaks with his voice “full of weight and sorrow”, and generally being overly serious. Maybe that’s just his way, but if so, you didn’t get that point across enough to help such discrepancies make sense. You had some tacked on family history as well, which struck me as at least a little bit more relevant, but not by much. On the whole, your character felt more like a real person, with details of his personality brought to light in ways relevant to the battle. Score: 6


Mechanics:

Krausus: Your writing was mechanically sound for the most part. I can’t complain too much about spelling and grammatical issues in general, save for a few typos and some improper tenses. What holds you back from a higher score is the overall cadence of your prose. Your sentences get choppy and repetitive, and just don’t flow as well as they could. You used an overabundance of weak verbs. You also had little variance in how you form sentences and passages, with the same structures used both in and out of combat. Try reading your writing aloud to gauge its ‘readability’ – I used to suffer from the same problems back in the day, and that trick worked for me. Also, whenever you’re planning out a passage, first decide what its overall tone and purpose is and then figure out how you can gear your prose’s structure toward enhancing those ends. Finally, try avoiding using the same sentence structure over and over. Score: 5

Northswain: Your prose drags on a bit at times, in that you tended to use excessive words to get your thoughts across, but you usually got to the point -just- before I started getting annoyed. In general, your prose had a better cadence than Krausus, though it lacks some of the polish that I know you’re capable of. Basic spelling and grammar were fine as far as I could tell, aside from some little things, such as “bellowed” used instead of “billowed”. Score: 8


Technique:

Krausus: While there’s nothing inherently wrong with a minimalist style, few want to feel like they’re reading a an academic paper or a dry play-by-play account from yesterday’s ball game. The little quotes/thoughts/whatever at the start of all but your first and last posts didn’t work for me. Aside from the aforementioned Pacing issues they caused, they just felt like cheap substitutes for real literary flair. I used to do that all the time when I was younger – sometimes it can work, but only if used to specifically enhance your narrative structure. And when used sparingly, rather than to begin each very short post. All in all, there just wasn’t much here. Score: 3

Northswain: You had your moments. Without spending a lot of time analyzing every little thing (you know where to find me if you want to get in-depth), I can say that your literary flair was pretty decent in this thread, though definitely not your best. Score: 6



Clarity:

Krausus: Your writing style may have been simple and repetitive, but other than some of the issues mentioned in Action, your writing was fairly easy to follow. You did slip from time to time, like when the ferret popped out. You didn’t even tell the reader what it was, other than a ‘small head’. I had to look it up in your character profile. Pulling things like that out of nowhere without explanation definitely pulls a reader from the story. Other than that, I wasn’t scratching my head too much. Score: 6

Northswain: You did well here, showing your experience. Some bits could have used a little more detail to flesh out what you wanted the readers to see, but on the whole you did well. Score: 8


Wildcard: 5/5


Final Scores!

Krausus: 42
Northswain: 63

Northswain wins!

Rewards: Northswain gets 1925 EXP and 50 GP and Krausus gets 350 EXP and 44 GP.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.