View Full Version : A battle of day and night (open)
The mourning have just started over the city. In this time the gates have yet to be open for the day and many merchants and travelers have waited for them to open to start their buissness. One of them was an Otano by the name of Wizo. His exotic brown skin did not seem to impress the crowd as they waited for the gates to open. Wizo pulled out his pipe and began to smoke, waiting for the city to open up. He blew a few rings to relieve some stress but his mind was still ocupied. He reason for being here was not on his own but that of the gods that he serves.
He was ordered to meet up with a merchant called Seizo. The information that he has may help Wizo with the restoration of his homeland. With those thoughts in mind, the gates opended and the visoters began to enter. Wizo simply sighed as he began to walk with the crowd going to the supposed meeting point that he was supposed to meet the merchant.
Wizo kept walking deeper in the city. The confusing, endless streets did not give him any hope finding this inn and he was beging to get frustrated. Wizo did kept looking about and finally found the inn he was looking for, The Silver Dagger.Wizo opend the smoke filled doors and began to enter the inn. Inside was what seemed like a normal inn, women, beer, and what seemed a small brawl on the sid corner with two men. Everything you would expect with such a palce. Wizo was in no shock and he went to the bar tender. The bar tender was not one who seemed friendly or even neutraling welcoming. He pretty much seen it all and to him Wizo was just anthour bastard whose money will be his. "What do you want sir?" He said with a sern voice. "I am looking for a man called Seizo. I beleive he is waiting for me here." The tender looked at him for a second and replied "Yeah his here, right corner table." Wizo nodded and began to walk through the smoke filled bar and found a short beared man on what seemed to be his second round of water down beer.
Wizo was in diguest for the moment. To see his contact already boozing before their meeting really made him wounder if all this was for nothing. Wizo walked up to the man and said to him" Are you Seizo?" The tippsy man looked up at him and said "Yeah, I am. You the guy who sent me that letter?" Wizo just nodded "Well I do have that map. But like I said before I don't give it out for free." Wizo just looked at him and said "So what do you want from me?" Siezo smiled "How bout winning a match for me in the Citadel. Good money if I win a bet on." Wizo thought about it. He heard rumor about the citadel but never fought in it before. He agreed to the terms and they both started to walk to the citadel.
The citadel was huge. It scaled higher then most buildings in the city seemed half the city could fit in there if they could. As they walked inside, many warriors were sitting for opponents and others waiting for results from battles on bets they have placed. Seizo and Wizo walked up the counter. The monk quickly looked up and said "How may I help you sirs?" Seizo responded "I need this man to be to be in a betting match. I also want him to be in on of your new rooms" New rooms? was the thought that entered Wizo's mind. The monk nodded and started to walk to one of hallways. Wizo began to foloow as Seizo just smirked and sat down and wait. Possibly thinking of how much money he was going to make.
The monk lead Wizo through vast amount of corridors. Wizo did not seem to mind the time it took as he just grasped his sword while walking thiniking of the battle ahead. The monk finally stoped in a normal looking door. He opended it and said "Please wait inside untill we get you an opponent to fight." Wizo nodded and went throught the door. Wizo saw a vast field of grass and flowers. Looks like some of the rumours were right, the citadel did contain magic to make the battle field experiance more real. He did not seem to care that much and waited. The field was diffrent and he could tell that for some reason the days here speed up faster then usual. It seemed that night came in what seemd like 10 minutes. Just then as night turned he heard the door turn.
In their two days at the Citadel, Vander had been learning everything he could about it, mostly about the monks. Why he idealized them so was beyond Clown, but he’d even started dressing in brown robes. Somehow the idea of virtuous warrior-monks had possessed him, and while normally his fancies were short-lived and common, this was one was wearing thin.
Today, Vander had been talking to every person that came into the citadel, learning about the most bizarre matches he could. After hearing about it, he decreed that Clown simply must fight in a betting match, because it would be that much more exciting. While he may have enjoyed it some, fighting match after match against commoners was not worth his time, not to Clown anyway.
At first downtrodden after several rejections, Vander had asked every person that came through to make a bet with him, he found a man that was willing. Clown hadn’t been paying much attention, but the smell of booze reached him from several feet away and he sincerely hoped the better wasn’t also the fighter. Fortunately he was right, and it was instead a stern man that came with him. Being led down a different hallway by yet another monk, Clown had mixed feelings about this fight. He knew the two went down separate hallways so they would come out on opposite sides of the arena, but they had never led him this far down. He’d kept track of everyone coming in that morning, having slept in the lobby, and knew that they hadn’t used as many doors as they passed. Hopefully it meant they were going somewhere exotic, it surprised him how dull the minds of commoners could be and so far they’d disappointed.
At last the monk stopped before a door and departed, leaving him to his entrance. He took a moment, checked for blood he’d missed from the eyes, and tried to check his clothes. It was dark this far down the hallway and he couldn’t be sure, but there might have been a dust smear on his pant leg. The thought was annoying, but overall the black and white striped suit was clean. It was his daily struggle, but he excelled at repelling dirt and took pride in his strange appearance. Deciding he didn’t need to see the arena first, he slipped his favorite mask on, straight lipped and emotionless without marking of any kind. It fit the best over the base mask anyway.
Prepared, he slipped through the doorway and found himself in the dark, a strong contrast from the bright sunshine beyond the citadel. Looking about, the obviously fertile ground was covered in grass and various plant-life. If one thing stood out, it was that each flower seemed to face a different direction, most flowers he had seen traced the sun’s path, but these didn’t. The sky still looked the same though, lots of stars and a moon, a cloud here or there, no recognizable constellations but Clown didn’t have time to stare at the sky all day, he reprimanded himself for wasting time. It was a rule, to analyze your opponent first so they would not get a jump on you, and he had broken it. Turning his head rapidly, fear clutched him. Had his sloppiness allowed his enemy a sneak attack?
As the door opend for the first time since Wizo had been there he was in excitment for the battle that was to come. But then as quickly as he thought that a battle was coming, his mind went into despair and confusion. His opponent was some sort of masked jester. This has got to be some stupid ritual or something. This can't be my opponent. Why would a clown want to be looking for a fight? He saw not readiness in the jester as well. He seemed to be contiualy looking around at the sceneary and everything except Wizo.
Wizo did not want to do anything. Being this his first time he wanted make sure that he was not some annoucer of some sorts. Wizo just picked out his favorite pipe and began smoking. Once again it calmed him down to where he watch closley at the jester from the mask to the strange outfit he had. He did not want to loose focus if it was his opponent or not. The Gods must surely did this entire thing to get a laugh out me. And I believe it's working. Wizo just shook his head and then responded "Are you going to get ready or are just going to juggle some balls?"
Breathing easier, he had spotted his opponent. The man was in front of him too, not running up from behind as he had feared, and the man was smoking. A slight breeze carried the scent to him, not particularly strong or weak, but it was an indulgence. Clown didn’t allow himself to smoke, it simply didn’t mesh with the outfit, but he didn’t hold it against others who did. It was better than being drunk, at the least.
The man’s comment almost made him chuckle and he smiled toothily behind his mask. To the man there would have been no change, he couldn’t see his smile or read his face, that was the beauty of it. If someone wanted to know what you felt, they had to ask you. Pausing for a moment, he decided he would juggle the balls.
In moments four balls appeared in his hands, seemly from nowhere, and he tossed them in the air and cycled through his hands, at first slow and simple but increasingly complicated and faster. Before long he managed to have six in the air each traveling in different directions and speeds, even being fancy and tossing a few behind the back. It was a common thing to do and proved excellent for coordination, but he hadn’t reached the depth of his talent yet. Normally he did this to keeps eyes in the air while his partner’s juggled purses from the audience, but he took a simple pleasure in it besides the gain. Smoothly he transitioned to his best stunt, palming half the balls and juggling the other three one handed, struck a match against his coat and lit each ball in turn. Once each was aflame he would only be able to grab them once and so he threw them high to stall, grabbing the first and pitching it at the man slowly. As the second came down, he snatched it from the air and hurled it faster, recovering from the throw just in time to snag the final and pitched it as fast and hard as he could, knowing his opponent would have dodged and re-aiming between each throw. His gloves steamed a little from the contact, but it would be a good test. The oily substance on the balls burned cool, visually impressive while provided the least danger to the juggler.
The straw-hatted man wished for juggling, and he had received. What clown wanted would not be so easily done.
The smoke break seemed to be over for Wizo as numerous, flamming juggling balls seem to be coming at him at one time. Wizo quickly put his pipe away as he began to dodge the first one from his body. He missed it but it came apparant that five more were coming. He continued to dodge the attacks but only manage to miss three of the six that was coming to him. The last three hit his torso and forced him to hit the ground. As his body laid there he started to take on small fires from the balls that hit him. He quickly rolled over to put out the flames. In less then a minute he managed to get back up, chared and burnt.
Wizo was angry, not only at himself, but at the jester that seemed surprise attack him. To add it all it had to be fire, that burned him inside. He could not allow such an attack to get away from him without something. Wizo just smirked back at the masked jester for a moment and said "You think that little fire trick is going to impress me jester? If you wanted a fire show I will glady give you a real demonstration!" With those words he began to glow red and orange over his hands. His hand became enflamed and two fire balls apeared before his two hands.
Wizo eyes became engulfed with rage. He could not stand this battle one bit, nothing seemed to be for him at all. He wanted to end this soon and that dancing jester was all that seemed to get in his way. Wizo launched both fireballs at the same time, hoping this would put a stop towards the jesters silly little dance.
It had been impromptu, as most things were, but the quick performance had served well enough. The first fiery orb had missed, the successive two having as much luck, but the man’s quick movements didn’t hold out and the final three struck true, knocking him to the ground. It would have been simple to run up and murder him on the ground just then, but it lacked a flair and excitement Clown strived for.
Instead he opted to wait and allow his enemy a second chance, passing the time with a quick jig to stretch his legs. Once standing, he wasted no time in attacking in a similar manner, each hand igniting and forming a dancing fiery globe in his outstretched palms. Apparently satisfied with the size and intensity, he launched them from his hands rapidly. The two fireballs flew through the air dazzlingly and lighting up his face as they approached, almost aligned in trajectory.
His left deftly slid the iron eye from its sheath without sound, always he drew it first, the long blade showed signs of wear but functional. He often regretted that he used it so, the blade had been beautiful once, dark as night and able to slice the air but now it was dulled and scratched like a cleaver. He twisted his body to angle it thinnest, mustn’t let the man have a target, and pointed the drawn eye directly into the first flame. The ball split along the blade traveling straight to his arm before dissipating. The second pulled up just before contact and flew above his arm’s sleeve, colliding directly with his mask. The balls seemed to explode on contact, the first running along his arm and the second centering about his head and even through the pain he smiled at what he must look like, a striped torch in a dark field. If not for his careful stance, the blows would have surely knocked him over, strong enough his vision faded for a second before he recovered fully.
Examining the damage, it wouldn’t be so bad even without the citadel healers. Charred ash fell off his dagger, still glowing red at the tip, and patches of skin shown through the burnt gloves smoking as the flesh boiled. It hurt, but nothing he couldn’t endure. His face was another matter, his mask had taken the brunt of the damage, but it was still considerable. Why were there so many weak areas in the face? He could smell soot drifting off his mask, probably cracked as well, but his concerns were elsewhere. Behind him on the ground lay his hat, a mere pile of simmering embers, and his vision was blurry. His pupils had been burned, he realized, and if not for the monks he would have gone blind, already he was losing vision. It had always been his way, never blink or you’ll miss the trick, but this time it cost him. The fire had gone through the eye slits, white flame searing his sockets momentarily, and his vision losing focus and consisting of shadows mostly. Liquid was running down his face, blood from the smell and taste of it, his eyes were bleeding. He never cried before, but now he cried blood.
Forcing himself to take control, his slipped the bone eye from its sheath though not half so carefully, and he tried to stair wide-eyed at his enemy. There were shadows everywhere, cast across the ground and the sky, everywhere his eyes went there were shifting shades, distortions of what cast them, and centered on a single form. The shadows were there and they shifted madly around the figure as he tried to focus, tried to force his eyes to see through the pain. It was a struggle to keep them open. He could hardly tell where the figure was, but he must be prepared, and so he raised his blades in defense.
The fire on his hand disapeared. That always happend when he did that spell, cooling down got rid of his stress. Stress was the last thing he needed in this place of this battle. He let out a deep breath and looked at his work first hand. What he saw was unusual for his work.
Wizo gazed at the jesteer with careful eyes. All around the foe's body was burnt and charred. This did not surprise him, Wizo only assumked that the jester merely asorbed some the shock with his weapons. But the face was a diffrent matter. Wizo looked at the face and saw a good amount of cracks around the mask and blood coming from the behind the mask. The attack went directly to the face thanks to the eye holes of the mask. Unusual for that to happen. But if he is bleeding like that he must be impared threw his vision. But with that mask there is no way to be certain . I must be careful about this. were the thoughts that went threw Wizo's head.
Wizo grasped his sword and pulled it from his sheath. He looked at his sword for a second and was a bit excited to use it. The first time on a real enemy here. Feels exciting! was his only thoughts. Just then, what was night became day. The room changed once more and the sun began to shine where the moon was once place. Thus proving that the magic of the citadel did not end. Wizo looked at the jester and charged him with his sword. He held it back on his right side as he prepared to slice the clown in half.
Standing there waiting, Clown knew this would be tough, already his vision was fading. He didn’t have the will nor pain tolerance to force his eyes open any longer and make them to see, now no more than blackened and bleeding pits on his face. Now it was the other senses he called upon, neglected and undeveloped. In the future he would know not to expose his eyes, perhaps slanted slots or glassware, but there was little he could do about it now.
He could hear the man’s approach, his footsteps crushing the flora underneath and his heavy breathing. The man was running, probably with a weapon. He didn’t know Clown was blind, how could he? He would be brutal and fast, performing combat over execution, and it would most likely mean more pain. He could hear a whistling, the sound of a blade, so the attack was happening. Vaguely he could tell the attack was coming from the side, but instinct told him the man was in front.
He would only have one chance. They must hit or I die alone. As he felt the blade slice into the soft flesh of his ribcage, Clown’s bent arms shot forward rapidly with as much force and speed as he could muster. In his left the iron eye swiped far and high hoping for a face, his right reversing grip and thrusting the dagger forward and down hoping for anything. His arms gave him a sure advantage from reach, far longer than any normal man, and eyes bordered that line between dagger and sword in length. This was it, an all or nothing so that only the best fighter would win, but both would die.
As the sword was being swung, the jester stabed Wizo with two daggers. The first one hit him in his face. The blow left a deep on the right side of his face. The second his in right above the stomach head on, it was so deep that he could not remove it either.. Wizo could not fully deliver his attack and was forced to stop and kneel to the ground. He was on the ground bleeding from the face and the gut. This was not good. What was worse, if he removed the knife more blood would come out. He was at horrible postion.
Getting back to his feet, Wizo tried to hold his sword again. He was in great pain, and was barly able to stand, more than less attack with his weapon. This jester, he is no clown that is for sure. I made that mistake, but I need to hit him with something. I can barely hold my sword. Ugh.... This is not good. With that thought he coughed up some blood and began to go back to the ground. He once again fell and released his sword. He knew he had to get up, but his strengh was escaping him. I can't summon my magic, would take too much out of me. I got only one shot at this. Pray to the gods that this works. Wizo once more tried to move and pulled out his shark dagger. It's white sawed blade made it seem that it was ready to for battle. He then pulled the dagger from his gut and held it along with his own. This must work, or the last thing I will be seeing is red. Wih the last of his strengh he threw both daggers at his opponent, hoping that would finish this fight once and for all.
Pain, that was the single sense left. Clown was blind, his eyes burned and useless, and all his other senses seemed to leave him so that he could feel the pain more acutely. His hands felt the recoil of contact, but he pressed them on anyway. The first passed through and his hand hung out limply in front of him still clutching the dagger, the second had pressed deep and stopped and he didn’t have the will to pull it out as his hand released and hung limply at his side.
He could only hope he had hit something vital, because that was all he had. His enemy had stopped his strike part way through, the sword still stuck in his side. The blade could have cut him in half with follow through, but instead it tore through his ribcage enough to hit lung and then fell out. The pain from it wasn’t so intense as his face was, it was duller and seemed to throb, but his breaths hurt the most. Each time he opened his mouth for air it felt as though he was stabbed in the side again and again, and his breaths came often yet provided little air.
Clown coughed, and he could taste blood in his mouth and felt it dribble across his charred lips. It wouldn’t be much longer, either he had won and killed his enemy and the monks would end the illusion and heal him, or his enemy would finish him off and the monks would heal him. He took one last sharp wheezing breath before he felt nothing. It was so fast it was painless, which he was glad for, and the blade entered his chest, squarely piercing his heart. He died so quickly his body froze, his muscles seized and his joints stiffened.
Somehow, he was still self aware. He felt detached from his body, like he wasn’t really part of it, probably an effect of the Citadel. He’d never died there, so how was he supposed to know what it felt like, though this was as close to the real experience as he ever wanted to become. It occurred to him then that he must not look dead. To any onlookers, he was standing over a kneeling opponent with one hand outstretched with a dagger and a hilt protruding from below his shoulder.
The feeling hadn’t lasted very long, fading as he awoke to find several men standing over him. To Clown, it had been only a few seconds between, but the monks had to take his body from the room after discovering he was in fact, dead. The monks standing over him now were different, they had on blue robes instead of brown, they stood over him with their hands pressed against various points on his body, feeling slowly returning to each spot. Although he couldn’t see him, he could hear Vander somewhere in the room. “What are you doing now? How do you do that? What’s that funny smell, that isn’t Clown is it?” After a moment, he sniffed the air and found there was a strange aroma. It was the smell of plants, a few flowers he recognized and what he thought was garlic, but for each smell he recognized there were a dozen he didn’t. Herbs, he guessed, it was well known that plants were used as healing agents as well as tools for magical healing.
Once he was fully recovered, Clown sat on the upraised stone slab he had awoken on, waiting for Vander to begin. They were the only ones in the room, and after each fight he witnessed Vander would give him an analysis of how he did. Sometimes he was helpful at pointing out critical errors, but other times…“I think the best part of that battle was when he set your head on fire. Yep, that was definitely the best. Too bad it was so short…” This was one of those other times.
Wizo was still face down on the floor. He could not move at all, he was loosing a lot of blood. I don't even know what has happend. If I die, I will be the laughing stock of the afterlife by getting killed by a jester. Wizo could feel a warm glow coming nearby. He opened his eyes with great trouble and saw nothing but pure white. The battle field was gone, and somehow he is in some sort of limbo. Whats more is that his wounds are gone and he could move again. He looked around and saw nothing for miles and miles around, except for a table with two chairs.
Wizo began to move to that table and began to see a woman drinking tea. Her hair seemed to be on fire with a orange glow and her body seemd to emit a glow like that of a hot iron. Wizo knew who the woman was and began to sit down with out a single word coming out of his mouth. The woman looked up and smiled for a second and poured Wizo a cup of tea. He nodded and soon began to drink. Silence occured for the next 5 minutes until Wizo said "Pele,Am I dead or am I dreaming?" Pele continued to sip and utter "Your dreaming, your not dead yet ,love.Though I will admit that battle did give a few of us up here a scare." Wizo rolled his eyes and said "Don't remind me. I took him lightly, I will not do that again." Pele just laughed for a second and said "Wizo you must understand that you must never judge opponents by their outer form. Warriors are bred in a varitey of ways, do not let your eyes judge their skill. " Pele put here tea cup down and continued. "You are lucky that the citadel revives you. That's what going on to you in the real world. Remember that outside in real battle you may not come back alive. Your journy is barly starting and you agreed to serve us until the restoration is complete. Now I beleive it is time for you to wake up." With that she disapeared, along with the table and tea set. Wizo stood up for a moment and looked around.
Within one instance of his life he opened his eyes. It was normal bed in a simple decorated room. A monk sat there looking at him. Wizo got up, he did not say a word to the monk as he left, he only nodded. The monk returned the nod and continue to sit. Wizo walked out toward the main waiting area. Seizo came out and looked at Wizo. He did not saw anything, he simply pulled out a piece of paper rolled up. Seizo smiled and said"Your lucky kid. Those monks are still debating who won that one. Pretty close I must say. All bets were only doubled by half, so I made some money out of it. Well you didn't loose so I guess win anyway. This is the map that will lead you to that temple you asked for. There are monsters and such, but I think that should be easy for you." Wizo took the paper and left. He put up his left hand and contiued to the exit of the citadel. The entire day was not one he will forget anytime soon. The last thing that came to his head before he left was Clowns, why did it have to be clowns?
Ashiakin
09-20-06, 07:07 PM
I'm using the old rubric because I'm uncertain on the status of the new one.
Wizo
( Introduction - 4 ) While the idea of fighting in the Citadel in order to obtain information was somewhat original, it just led into a stereotypical battle introduction. It was just the monks, the arena... All the standard stuff.
( Setting - 3 ) Your only real use of setting was in your first post, both instances of which revolved around overused clichés on Althanas--a tavern and the typical Citadel introduction that I mentioned above.
( Strategy - 4 )
( Rising Action - 4 )
( Writing Style - 5 ) I noticed a lot of grammatical mistakes, misspellings, and wrongly-placed punctuation marks. These things can be easily avoided if you run all of your posts through a word processing program. If you don't have one, there are plenty of spell-check programs available for free on the internet.
( Dialogue - 5 ) Your dialogue often doesn't portray a sense of character. Rather than just writing what comes to mind, try looking at the situation from your character's viewpoint, and consider how they would respond.
( Climax - 4 )
( Character - 5 )
( Conclusion - 4 ) Your conclusion felt particularly rushed and almost disconnected from the rest of your thread. It took me a little while to figure out who the new person you introduced was, as I hadn't caught earlier references to her.
( Wild Card - 3 )
( Total - 41 )
Clown
( Introduction - 5 )
( Setting - 4 ) Your use of setting suffered from one of the main problems as Wizo's. After your initial posts, I didn't really get a direct sense of where you were fighting. The setting in this thread was pretty skipped over.
( Strategy - 6 ) I particularly liked your use of the flaming juggling balls. You were able to take a snide remark by your opponent and use the concept as a weapon. That was pretty creative, but also believable.
( Rising Action - 6 )
( Writing Style - 7 ) This was impressive. While there was certainly nothing extraordinary about this thread, you have a clean and direct writing style that flows well and conveys a lot of information. I like it.
( Dialogue - 5 ) Your character doesn't speak a lot, which is perfectly okay, but I didn't get much internal dialogue from you. Usually it's a good idea to throw in some of your character's thoughts if your character does not often speak.
( Climax - 5 )
( Character - 6 )
( Conclusion - 5 ) While it did feel rushed and inconclusive, there was a certain crispness to it that was admirable.
( Wild Card - 6 )
( Total - 55 )
( Winner )
Clown defeats Wizo.
( EXP )
Wizo gains 200 EXP.
Clown gains 500 EXP.
( Reputation )
Wizo gains 1 reputation in Corone.
Clown gains 1 reputation in Corone.
( Rewards )
Wizo gains 100 GP.
Clown gains 100 GP.
Powered by vBulletin® Version 4.2.5 Copyright © 2024 vBulletin Solutions Inc. All rights reserved.