Iron Woman vs. Magnetisto

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to Erikar. All bunnies throughout this battle are approved.

The first thing I remember was the slight sting of a few hairs being torn from my scalp as the burlap sack was torn off my head. "Malachai sends his regards, by the way," a slightly muffled voice said from somewhere close by.

My head was spinning. It was like there was a herd of packbeasts stampeding around the insides of my skull. My vision was blurry--I could make out only shadows and brief spots of light--where was I? What time of day was it? Oh gods I think I'm going to puke...

Two pairs of very strong hands released their vice grips on my arms and I fell to the cobblestone ground. I took several deep breaths, trying to stead myself and get my bearings. A robed figure stepped around in front of me, crouching down to my level. With a bony gloved hand, he lifted my head up by my chin and raised his torch up close to my face. The bright burning light sent another wave of pain through my head as I squinted and tried to turn away. "Ow, shit, get that light out of my face--"

A harsh rasp escaped from behind a black mask, which covered the lower half of the old man's pale, withered visage. "Silence, Freebird. You don't understand the severity of the situation you currently--"

I involuntarily interrupted the masked man with a stream of hot, steaming, stinking vomit. His hand quickly moved away from my face as he muttered something in surprise and disgust. I dropped back down to my hands and knees, wiping a bit of unsightly dribble off my quivering lips with the black sleeve of my shirt. My head was spinning as much as my insides. A fresh burst of pain ran down my spine. I could feel the hand of the old man on my left shoulder as he wiped off the remains of my puke on my shirt. I was too busy trying to get the world to stop to snatch his wrist and break it in several places.

The man turned to one of his two meaty thugs and addressed him with a bit of annoyance. "Maybe you put a bit too much in her drink, Glenn, don't you think?"

A very sheepish and un-macho "sorry" rung out from behind me.

The old man bent over in front of me and grabbed me by the hair, forcing me to meet his torchlit gaze. His skin was wrinkled like old sheets, and his eyes as black as the night that swallowed us. "Now that you got that out of the way, perhaps we can get back to the matter at hand. I don't suppose you know who we are, where you are, and why we have brought you here?"

I may have babbled something incoherent in response, while trying to get the taste of bile and alcohol out of my mouth.

"You have done the Magnificent Order of the Black-Handed Brothers of Death a very, very grave disservice, Freebird." The man's spidery digits released their grasp of my hair, and I let my head droop as I continued to regain my strength. His footsteps clicked against the cobblestones as he continued his little monologue. "We had contracted you to acquire a certain... tome. A tome filled to the brim of untold secrets--a tome that would've given us the means to access realms and knowledge beyond your wildest dreams. Knowledge that, as we have come to learn, you decided to keep for yourself and use for your own pathetic ends." He nudged my metallic right arm with an old leather boot. "Knowledge that one of our eldest brothers paid the ultimate price for you to receive." His voice began to crackle with rage.

See now, I was still having problems putting two and two together at this point, so I decided to try and skip ahead just a little bit. "Yeah, um, look," I managed to squeak out, "I don't know what you're talking about--I'm the one who paid the price, not your brother or whoever. You might have me mixed up with someone else dabbling in the occult or whatever."

The old man's voice thundered from behind his mask, "Do not trivialize the death of our elder brother--"

"Look, I'm starting to lose my patience," I calmly said, interrupting him. "Let's just get down to business here. You got me here--wherever here is--now what do you plan on doing to me? Whatever it is; hurry the fuck up, because I'm a very busy woman."

My captor looked at me, confused and flustered, then at his two goons behind me, then back at me. He glanced at his two fellows once more, then back at me again. "Freebird," he finally managed to say, "it's all a matter of honor. You have taken something from us that the Magnificent Order held dear; and now we must exact revenge. Blood for blood, as it were. It's one of the most simple transactions known to man, and one of the few with any real value."

By this point, my vision was starting to clear up. I looked up from my spot near the cobblestones, and before me I saw the towering spires of Radasanth's world-famous Citadel; home to countless wars and battles every day where two people face off as enemies, eviscerate the ever-loving shit out of each other, and then leave as friends and go for drinks at one of the many taverns nearby. Why, just a couple weeks ago, I had my skin flayed, ribs torn out, and heart ripped from my chest by a very lovely woman who I wouldn't mind catching up with again sometime, as I suspected we both shared a lot of emotional issues that we could talk about over a couple brews.

I sighed heavily, knowing that I would have to visit its chambers once again, this very night.

"Let me guess. You're planning on pitting me up against your finest champion in your stupid little group of nobodies in order to teach me a lesson through the pain of repeat deaths."

"Not our finest champion, no," the old fart corrected me, "but one of the common rabble. That way, you understand how we felt losing something so dear at the hands of an absolute nobody."

"Yeah, whatever, you're not the first to try and teach me a lesson this way..."

"Also, we burned down your bookstore and secret laboratory while you were passed out from the drugs in your beer earlier tonight."

I suddenly felt a rush of energy fueled by anger burst through my body. I sprang to my feet, my voice a furious roar. "You sons of bitches--!" As I raised a fist to try and separate the old man's head from his neck, he quickly raised a hand. There was a blue flash, a loud bang, and I suddenly felt myself flying through the air and crashing hard against the streets of Radasanth. I curled up into a ball, clutching my left shoulder where the concussive bolt had connected, my shirt still wet from the vomit that old fuck wiped off on it.

"Mind your manners, whore. The next one will hit a vital area. Blood for blood, certainly; but knowledge for knowledge as well. We knew that we couldn't simply kill you--we know through our demonic master, Maladim, that you do not fear your death; but rather, welcome it. Through his infinite knowledge we learned that it was your silly little bookstore and artificing lab that you valued and treasured the most." His scrawny, robed body crouched down next to me in the night. "While it's regrettable that all those tomes you've collected since the last time your bookstore and private library burned down are now nothing more than ashes in the wind, the Magnificent Order has decided that the price was justified in order to see you suffer so." The edges of his eyes creased slightly, an indication that behind his mask, he was smiling.

He was absolutely right--I could care less about my own death. But the idea of all that valuable research lost to me once again; all of the hours that I had put into the acquisition of forbidden knowledge were now for naught, and it was that very thought that killed me deep down inside. I may have made a deal with a demon for what I had learned; but there was so much more for me out there to know, to understand, to experience first-hand. And now it was all for nothing. Again.

Wordlessly, I rose to my feet, and without making eye contact with the three robed men, I made my way inside the Citadel to at least get this battle to the death out of the way so I could regroup and figure out what to do with my life now. I quickly felt myself and to check for weapons--I had my knuckledusters in my pockets, but nothing else. No throwing knives, no twin daggers, no butterfly knife. Looks like tonight was going to be a pugilistic affair.

I exchanged a blank glance with the silent monk who tended the front door to the Citadel, and saw myself through one of the wooden doors that led to a portal that would take me to my arena. There was a wooshing sound and a flash of bright light as I stepped into the magical arena, which didn't help my headache any. I was still in rough shape from not only the concussive blast from the old man that knocked me on my ass, but from whatever they had slipped into my drink in order to bring me here. I was aching all over, my head was still spinning, and I felt like I was going to puke again. But I wasn't much of a Fabulous Freebird if I wasn't able to push through it all to focus on the task at hand.

By some cruel twist of fate, an artificer's workshop spun itself into existence around me. It was a relatively small workspace; perhaps a hundred feet long and a hundred feet wide. Worktables were haphazardly scattered around on the floor, littered with failed machines and scrap parts. There were half-built bronze, steel, wooden, and iron constructs all over the place, sitting, standing, or lying on the floor in pieces. Lighting was provided overhead by giant oil lamps--a very dangerous design in an environment such as this, where practically everything was covered in grease or oil of some sort.

I sighed heavily as I hoisted myself onto one of the work benches, consigning myself to wait for my inevitable opponent.

[Erikar]

Erikar walked through the streets of Radasanth as the daylight waned. He had no particular destination in mind, strolling absently while he reminisced. The sights and smells of his childhood carried distressing memories, inducing a melancholy disposition in him that he hadn't felt in months.

The caravan guard had committed unspeakable atrocities here as a child; too young to care about anything more than survival, he had murdered more than one child of the streets. When his abilities emerged, the flames of wanderlust blazed within him. Erikar had left his pathetic, appalling beginnings behind. He traveled with breaks few and far between and when did he rest, it seemed as though he could only relive the events he tried to forget.

Erikar sighed, too deep in contemplation to hear either the mutters or the footsteps of his attacker. His assailant closed in, remaining unnoticed until far too late. His daydreams were interrupted by a sharp blow to the back of his head. Turning as he fell, the caravan guard was graced with a glimpse of his aggressor. A large man, hooded and robed in black, holding a blackjack in one of his meaty hands.

"Yeah, you'll do nicely." The words, spoken in a voice that indicated the simplicity of its owner, gave no hint to his fate. It mattered little. Erikar could not comprehend them as his mind retreated into the dark void of unconsciousness.

He awoke to find himself laid out on the cobbles of a random alley, surrounded by the large man and his apparent companions. Garbed in the same attire, another large man stood sentry with his original assailant. Together, they guarded the alleyway from prying eyes while their leader briefed their hapless victim.

"Hello there, my newest tool. I suppose you're wondering why I've had you cold-cocked and brought to the Citadel, home to the most brutal battles of Althanas. Correct?" The masked man croaked, obviously too old for this line of work. Erikar babbled incoherently in retort, still not fully recovered from the blow to his head. "Dammit, Glenn, do you not know the meaning of a deft touch?" The old man asked his hired muscle with exasperation.

"Huh? I can hear jus' fine, boss." Glenn replied, oblivious. He had been dropped on his head as a child, rendering him slow and unintelligent. Fortunately, he had not been dropped nearly as many times as his adjacent brother, a deaf and mute idiot.

"I swear, it's impossible to find good hel- Whatever. You, my little puppet, are going to fight Madison Freebird. I do not expect you to win, only to try your hardest to cause the bitch pain. If you can succeed, you will never see me again. Fail, or refuse to fight, and I promise that you will hear from me and my associates here soon after you leave this magnificent construction." The robed cultist threatened. "Take his sword, boys. I want this to last."

-----------------------------------

The group left him at the entrance to the Citadel, under the care of an Ai'Brone monk. The old man left instructions with the monk to guide Erikar into the arena after he regained his lucidity. The monk, accustomed to unusual requests, raised no arguments. The traveler raised himself to his feet in minutes.

'Holy shit, my head feels ready to burst! Damn bandits. I hate cheap shots.. Although, I suppose I have little room to talk..' Erikar thought with disdain, scanning his surroundings. The hammer blows reverberating through his skull did little to improve his mood. He stood outside the entrance to the Citadel, doors blocking his path. Finally noticing the Ai'Brone monk, the caravan guard acknowledged him with a nod and a question. "Would I be correct in thinking that I'm meant to enter this doorway?"

The silent monk nodded his affirmation.

"And then fight whoever is already within, right?"

Another nod answered him.

"Right. Well then, I should probably just get it over with, eh?" Erikar chuckled as he said it, meaning it to be lighthearted.

A third nod, with finality this time.

"Cheery fellow, that one." The caravan guard, now a gladiator in this disgusting spectacle, muttered as he walked through the doorway. Another monk, this one smiling, directed him to another set of doors. They opened to reveal a portal to his battleground. Before he walked through, he checked the back of his belt with a hand. Smiling at his inexperienced captor's blunder, he readjusted his spike and walked through the portal without further hesitation. A flash of light, accompanied by a nauseating sense of disorientation, transported him to the arena. The designated area appeared to be some type of workshop. Worktables and unfinished inventions cluttered the floor. Spaces empty of debris created pathways to traverse the workshop. Gargantuan oil lamps burned overhead in metal casings. Erikar filed that observation to the back of his mind, for possible use later. He continued to assess his battlefield until his gaze finally came to rest on a very irritated looking woman. Black hair framed a face displaying piercing blue eyes, with a stare directed back at him. As he placed her under his scrutiny, he noticed her arm. 'Hmph, she has one arm completely metal-plated. That's odd.' Under continued inspection, it finally occurred to the traveler. 'Oh. The metal.. is her arm..'

Breaking the tense silence, Erikar spoke.

"Hello there. Are you Madison-"

"Freebird, yes."

"Ah. I believe I'm meant to-"

"Fight me, yes."

"Well, I mean, you don't want to get to know your oppon-"

"No, not really. I've been drugged, knocked out, and dragged here against my will. Now I have to fight some rube in the fucking Citadel, again."

She spoke quickly, not mincing words. The woman exuded an air of confidence and danger, impaired though she was. This would not be easy.

"Well, we're not too different in that respect."

'Shit, wrong choice of words.' The woman seethed visibly at Erikar's comment. Her metal fist clenched with enough force to splinter the worktable she held onto for support as she sat.

The caravan guard weaved his way through the scrap metal piled on the floor. He stopped about eight feet away from the woman, who still stared at him intensely. "I suppose I should make the first move, then?" He inquired politely.

"Sure, whatever. I'm going to beat the shit out of you either way, kid."

Erikar smirked, and without further ado, launched himself at this Madison Freebird with a strong push off of a piece of scrap, compressing it onto the floor. Simultaneously, he pulled a large, unfinished invention from another table about ten feet behind her, aiming to hit her from two directions at once. If he could manage to land his flying-punch-and-construct combination attack, Erikar would be off to a good start.

2 out of 5 strong pushes/pulls used, 5 posts until that number recharges.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Who did this punk think he was, calling me a rube in kind? Me--Madison Freebird--former member of a highly successful family of assassins, a Warrior of the defunct Dajas Pagoda, future artificer, alchemist and bioengineer of renown? A rube? According to this scruffy little redheaded plebe? Oh, I was fuming. I was going to tear this little fuck apart and replace his brain with that of a stray dog, then train him to shit his pants on command.

My lips parted in a scowl, baring my pearly whites in anger as I reached for a nearby length of lead half-inch pipe with my mechanical arm. It was that moment that the brat, utilizing some sort of magic that I was unfamiliar with in my many years of battling, launched himself forth with a burst of some sort that managed to somewhat crumple a rounded hunk of iron scrap behind him. With a grin on his pale face, he put his best fist forward.

I wrapped my dehlar digits around the pipe and swiftly brought it up in the air, preparing to club him in his stupid face. I began to slide myself off the workbench, all ready to interrupt him in mid-flight, when I felt something large and heavy collide with me from behind. The object hit me with such force that it knocked the breath out of me. I screamed, more out of surprise than pain, and dropped the metal pipe onto the table. Whatever the object had been, it didn't stop with the impact--it pushed me off the table before rolling off my back to the left just a bit, and crashed into a few other pieces of scrap and pipe that had been leaning up against the workbench with a symphony of metallic clangs.

Before I could collect myself after the surprise attack, I noticed that the boy was moving at such a speed that, even with my expert abilities, I was unable to counter it. My arms were halfway up in the air in a futile attempt to deflect the blow when his gloved fist connected with my jaw and sent me flying backwards. My body twisted from the floor, and my stomach managed to cushion a lot of the impact from the edge of the workbench, while the boy was able to catch himself with his hands on the follow-through and not crash into it as well. The metal legs scraped against the concrete as the table was pushed a good foot back. Several small tools rattled on the bench's surface, and the length of pipe I intended to use rolled onto the floor.

I fell to the laboratory's cold floor on my hands and knees, hoping to regroup and go on the offensive. I could taste blood welling up in my mouth, and a sharp pain from the left side of my jaw. I poked around a bit with my tongue, and discovered that a tooth had been knocked loose--no matter, the Citadel monks can patch that up with a literal snap of their fingers. I shook the pain out of my head, and tried to look around for that piece of pipe that fell from the workbench--damn; it was rolling away, out of reach, taunting me.

Furious at this whelp for drawing first blood, I looked to my right and noticed that the boy was still trying to stop himself after his little propelling trick. His back was exposed, and he was beginning to turn back around. I had to act now.

Scrambling forth, back and jaw hurting like hell, I threw my weight into his exposed knees, hoping to knock him backwards onto the lab floor; where I could then spin around, slide up and mount him, from there raining down a storm of punches before he could defend himself.

[Erikar]

Freebird's tackle took him directly behind his knees, an unfortunate attack for Erikar. His joints collapsed forward instantly, causing him to topple onto Madison. As soon as the young man's head struck the hard floor, the experienced woman quickly maneuvered around him, somehow ending up sitting atop his chest. She pinned the youth's arms to his sides with slightly shaking legs. Stars filled Erikar's vision as he glanced up at Madison's furious visage, a slight smile playing across his lips when he noticed a bruise blossoming on her jaw. Madison fumed silently as she looked down at him, reassessing the man who had surprised her.

'Shit, a smile was probably the wrong reaction.' Erikar thought with chagrin when an evil grin overtook Freebird's features.

" That was a lucky shot, kid--nothing more. But it's a shame that you used up all of your luck on the first hit."

Madison cracked her genuine knuckles with a dehlar hand, preparing herself to rain hell upon Erikar's face. The caravan guard wrenched his gaze from Freebird, searching for anything to save him from the pain to come. Nothing appeared to him as he scanned the room. Madison cocked her metal fist back, preparing to strike, when Erikar realized his only possible method of escape.

'Too bad that metal arm isn't going to do her any good.' He reflected, glee replacing fear in his mind.

He was lucky, truth be told. Metals were easier for him to affect than any other substances. Erikar would cause the magnetic polarity of her arm to match the polarity of his skin. Freebird would be unable to hit him with her alloyed arm, instead meeting an ungodly resistance increased by her own force. The slight woman would fly, repulsed by her own attack.

Madison threw her punch, expecting a satisfying thwock and connection. Erikar's strong push at the metal fist rocketing towards his face worked as planned. At the last possible second, the woman's eyes opened with shock as she caused an unstoppable force to toss her. The expert fighter spun through the air, her titanium arm smacking a worktable painfully as she fell. The merchant escort stood and pulled the same length of pipe Madison had planned on braining him with into his hand. Brandishing the makeshift weapon, he charged at the now-recovering woman.

4 out of 5 strong pushes/pulls used, 3 posts until that number recharges.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I'm pretty sure you can imagine how odd it felt to suddenly and inexplicably find yourself airborne. It was such a curious sensation; trying to recount the events that took you from straddling some young man, ready to unleash a ferocious flurry of fists to being pushed or pulled off him and sent through the chilly air of the magically-constructed workshop, and coming up with no answer as your thoughts are interrupted by the impact of wood and steel.

"Fuck--!" I screamed for the millionth time in my life. My mechanical bicep collided with a hefty workbench, thankfully absorbing the brunt of the impact. Several things rattled--on the bench, and inside my arm--no!! While my false arm had sustained no damage, the force of the table hitting it caused several pieces of the titanium plating to loosen up their grooves and hinges that kept everything in one piece. Clang, clang, clang; three pieces of the shiny plating dislodged themselves, and fell to the floor unceremoniously. The intricate system of brasswork that allowed my mechanical arm to fully function were now exposed to whatever assault that the kid had planned.

Gods damn it all, this wasn't going to bode well for me.

I heard the scrape of lead against concrete in time to see that the ginger had picked up the pipe I intended to brain him with, and began charging towards me, wielding it like a madman. I shot up to my feet, and shifted my weight to my left. His boots clicking on the solid, cluttered workshop floor with each step, he rushed me. My adversary brought down the pipe, hoping to smash my skull in, but I was too quick for him--I feinted to the left and snatched his right arm with my own mechanical one. In a flash, I grabbed the back of his head and used his momentum to smash his face into the polished steel of the workbench with a swift and satisfying crunch of cartilage.

The boy screamed and dropped the pipe onto the floor. I let go of him, and took a step back as he recoiled and spun around, his hands covering his bloodied nose, his back to me.

As he tried to reorient himself in the bright lights of the arena, I twisted my body around and leaned back, balling up my left like the head of a mace.

"Hooooooohhhhhhh...."

I focused every last ounce of strength into my arm. I was now at a severe disadvantage without the titanium plating on my right arm--not only did the plates provide protection to the brasswork that made up the limb; but they also absorbed the energy from any impact (like, say, a rage- and desperation-fueled haymaker) that would otherwise damage the weak brass, rendering my arm inoperable.

I chose my moment perfectly, waiting for the boy to spin back around and face me. He was bloody and still sightly disoriented from getting his nose cracked on the workbench, and it provided me with the opening I was looking for.

"SHAAAAH!"

With an piercing cry, I lunged forward and threw a punch at the boy's jaw. With an incredible crunch it connected, and sent him sprawling into a pile of bent scrap and discarded rods that sat against a table a good ten feet away.

Your move, you son of a bitch, I thought to myself as I approached his bent and broken body.

[Erikar]

The ringing in his ears increased a thousand-fold as he laid on the scrap. Blood flowed freely down Erikar's face, streams originating from his damaged nose. He coughed, expelling the sanguine liquid pooling in the back of his throat. He opened his eyelids to see a tooth laying amid a puddle. Probing with his tongue, he found the gap in his top row of teeth. Freebird's attacks had broken his nose and knocked out his canine tooth, an extremely painful combination. Tears filled his eyes as he glanced back at his opponent.

Madison was approaching the caravan guard slowly and deliberately, no doubt forming her next plan of attack. He could wait no longer. Using the last of energy in a desperate attack, Erikar pushed powerfully off the scrap. Eyes luminescent, his entire body flew horizontally from the magnetic repulsion, allowing Erikar to direct a dropkick to Freebird's midsection. The blow forced a loud OOF out of the woman, sending her tumbling along the ground. She failed to strike any tables this time, to his disappointment. The injured man stood up, glaring at his adversary.

"I wasn't going to take this personally, bitch.. But to knock my tooth out? I'm going to make you pay." Erikar snarled before grabbing his nose with trembling fingertips. A cry of pain echoed a loud crack as the youth twisted his hands, setting his nose back into place.

Tears of pain once again blurred his vision. The crimson-haired fighter spat blood once more and shook his head forcefully. His effort to rid himself of the agony of his injuries was successful enough for him to think clearly. Once again able to function, he assessed his situation. Madison was catching her breath, rising slowly from the ground. Anger mixed with pain on her features. Their loud, labored breaths were the only noise piercing the silence as the gladiators adjusted their conceptions of each other. Erikar hoped Freebird would take long enough with her recovery for his energy to regenerate before she attacked.

5 out of 5 pushes/pulls used, 1 post until that number recharges.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

My hand stung just a bit from the force of the impact against the redheaded wretch's face. I slowly approached him as he laid defenseless on his throne of scrap parts, bloodied and uncomfortable, to be sure. I raised my hands in front of me. Quick snaps and pops seemed to echo deafeningly throughout the artificer workshop as I cracked my knuckles. There was no time for scathing wit; all I wanted to do was wrap my metal hand around his throat and snap his neck so I could be on my way and deal with this Magnificent Order of Pud-Pulling Brothers or whatever they called themselves.

I had it all planned out in my mind. I would casually approach the boy, grab him by the lapel of his tunic, drag his woozy ass to his feet, maybe toss him against a few more solid objects to soften him up a bit more. I would then wrap my wiry digits, both metal and flesh, around his pale throat and squeeze until I heard the satisfying crunch of bone. I would watch as he struggled in vain. I would relish in seeing the fire of life fade from his eyes.

Or, at least, that's how it would've gone, had he not somehow propelled himself off of the scrap pieces into the air with incredible speed, delivering a full-force dropkick to my midsection.

My eyes went wide in surprise, and my mouth had barely enough time to form the first syllable of a nasty word before his boots collided with me. I felt a pair of sharp pains in my stomach. The air was knocked out of my lungs. I was sent flying once again through the air, crashing down on my ass several feet from where I had been standing moments before. My left shoulder hit the concrete hard with a dull smack. I immediately doubled over, clutching myself tightly with both arms as I tried to regain my breath. Traces of oil from the exposed brasswork of my artificial arm seeped into my black dress shirt.

I bit my lip and cursed myself for not leaving for a night at the tavern with my full arsenal of weaponry and armor (you would think by now that a woman with many enemies from several different lifetimes would know to be prepared for spontaneous kidnapping and revenge Citadel battles). The drakescale corset that was currently and uselessly laying in the ashes of my burned-down bookstore would've protected me from the brat's assault somewhat.

I gasped for air as I rose from the cold concrete, to one knee at first, and then to my feet. My stomach was aching horribly, no matter how hard I tried to suppress the pain. Good grief, what were his boots lined with, an inch of solid steel?

Steel...

Metal...

....

Oh, shit.

Something clicked inside my brain. The chunk of scrap that hit me from behind as he punched me in the face. Being thrown off his prone body as I was ready to pound his skull into meat paste.

No.

How he propelled himself from the pile of scrap.

No. No, no, no.

It all made sense now. This son of a bitch can control metal. Specifically, the magnetic fields that surround metal.

Shit. Shitshitshitshit.

I felt the color drain form my face, as I glanced down to my metal arm. With a bloodied hand, the boy snapped his broken nose back into place.

I shook my head slightly in disbelief. The Magnificent Whateverhood didn't just grab some random goon from a dark alleyway; they picked him out specifically to turn my biggest boon into my biggest weakness. They bribed the monks in the Citadel to throw us in a workshop full of metal--dangerous, sharp, rusty metal. Metal that this kid could manipulate. The entire workshop was his armory. Each piece of brass, iron, and steel was his sword, spear, and shield.

I started glancing around the workshop. Everything suddenly looked like a sharpened blade pointed directly at my throat. A single bead of sweat poured down my forehead. The boy chuckled lightly. I was thoroughly fucked. I started shaking just a little bit, feeling fear--actual fear--for the first time in ages.

Shifting my weight slightly into a defensive pose, I awaited whatever assault he would unleash on me next. It was all I could do.

[Erikar]

Madison glanced around, with a face like she'd seen a ghost. "What's wrong, Freebird? Notice your cage?" Erikar taunted, an evil smirk splitting his features. The woman assumed a defensive stance, properly afraid of death by flying metal. From what the femme fatale had shown him so far, she was extremely skilled and intelligent. Freebird had probably grasped the nature of his abilities. If he didn't end this quickly, she would probably figure out a way to counter him. Luckily, her fear bought the crimson-haired gladiator time, allowing his energy to recharge. The youth need to stall for a bit longer, lest he be exhausted when it mattered most. He let his posture relax, his smile taking on a less sinister tone.

"You know what?.. I feel terrible." Erikar stated, truth giving weight to his words. His eyes wandered as he spoke, searching for his next angle of attack. "I was knocked out, like you, and brought here to fight against my will, like you. We barely know each other, and here I am trying to murder you for the sake of my life after this is over. And you are really making that difficult.." He told her, his smile turned grim once again. He had noticed the oil lamps hanging dangerously above. "But I respect you. I refuse to kill someone that I respect unless they know my name. So, Madison Freebird, it's nice to meet you. I'm Erikar Aodhfionn. Sorry it has to be like this." He extended his hand.

The ploy failed. She actually tensed up, even more prepared for the imminent attack. The youth's crimson brows narrowed in anger and frustration. Erikar brought his hand down with a swift chop, pulling the metal casing of a lamp hanging overhead. With a light snap, the chain holding the heavy lamp broke. It came crashing down between them, with a loud clank as it met the hard floor. Burning oil sprayed out in every direction, igniting the greasy constructs surrounding the fighters. Erikar dove backwards as it struck the ground, landing safely out of range. But Madison was not so lucky. Her evasion had left her laying on the ground, patting out fire along her pants with a metal hand. The flames spread around the gladiators, flickering hungrily and casting a red tint upon the workshop. Erikar approached rapidly, taking advantage of Freebird's diverted attention. He drew his iron spike and walked the last five feet to her slowly, unnoticed until it was too late. The flickering shadows from the firelight gave Erikar's face a demonic cast as Freebird looked up to him, her eyes widening in fear.

Erikar drove the spike into the exposed machinery of her arm. Vulnerable brass snapped and squealed as he twisted the point inside her metallic shoulder. She screamed, a high pitched shriek of pure agony. A quick push into the spike slammed Madison's back into the ground, stunning her. The force of the spike's penetration was ripping her arm off at the shoulder. It was now just an expensive paperweight. Erikar stood over his injured adversary, her labored breaths coming with an unusual rhythm. He pondered how to end her, looking around the room studiously.

2 out of 5 pushes/pulls used, I don't care about it recharging.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Through the searing jolts of pain and clenched eyes and teeth, a single thought ran through my mind: Well, that was certainly unexpected.

I should've known that my using Aleraran alchemy to bind the machine arm to me in body and mind, that it would stand that whenever harm befalls its intricate brass workings, I feel every little dent, snap and scrape. I wouldn't equate the pain to that one would feel having a metal spike jammed into flesh and muscle; no, this was far worse. It felt like having my very life force unceremoniously ripped from my body. This spike was not only damaging my mechanical arm, but it was fucking with the very alchemical bond that allowed me to operate it as if it were a regular limb.

My back arched. I grit my teeth, trying to stifle a scream but failing miserably. My vision went white and then faded to black as the alchemical ties I had to my brasswork arm began to fray with the force of the spike and Erikar's pushing. And then suddenly, it stopped. Lights, colors, and then shapes slowly faded back into view. My breathing was ragged from the experience. I could feel the heat from the ring of fire that now surrounded us in the artificing laboratory, the brilliant red flames dancing in the pool of oil that the giant lantern spilled when it crashed to the concrete floor; flames that were slowly spreading in a circular pattern around the room, surrounding myself and the redhead.

I propped myself up on my left elbow. The boy had stalled. I looked up to see his eyes flitting between the spike still embedded in my arm, a giant wrench that sat on the workbench behind me, and then back at me. That's where I found my opening.

"You stupid son of a bitch!"

Swiveling around on the concrete, I pulled up my left leg, and with a quick, powerful thrust, firmly planted the heel of my boot in Erikar's own two pieces of brass. The brat's green eyes bulged out, and he instantly doubled over. I heard a whimper escape his lips as he turned, reached for his crotch (presumably to make sure nothing popped), stumbled away, fell to one knee, and then picked himself up to try and put even more distance between us as we both tried to recover.

I was up to one knee. Oil started to ooze and drip from the "wound" that the spike had put into the brasswork. With my left hand, I tightly gripped the spike, and with a twist and a pained gasp, I tore it free and tossed it aside. Oil continued to drip, faster now, as my farm fell to my side. "You have no idea--no idea at all who you are fucking with." Erikar squeaked out an unintelligible response. "Neither you, nor those retard cultists who put you up to this!"

I had risen to both feet. My right arm dangled uselessly at my side, still attached to my shoulder by a few gears and pistons. My entire body throbbed with pain from having the alchemical bond partially severed. I balled up my left fist. My knuckles quickly turned white as I let all my rage and fury pour into it. I took a slow step forward. Then another, quicker this time. And another. And another. Erikar straightened up a bit, and turned to see me advancing. His face went white. His eyes flitted from me, then to my mechanical arm, then back to me. His eyes were wide with fear, and his face bloodied from the one blow I had been able to connect with.

His gaze snapped back to my right arm, but I already knew what he was going to do before he thought of it. I quickly spun my body around to the right, and as I predicted, felt my right arm get pushed away from me. The weight gave me additional momentum as I spun back around to face him. He gasped, and I immediately took to the air. Before he could regain his senses, I leaped into the air and delivered a sledgehammer of a punch to the dead center of his pale face. The redhead flew backwards, crashing to the floor in a heap. I recovered from my leap, and stormed over to his body.

Erikar moaned softly as blood began pooling out of his mouth. His eyes were closed, his body laying on its side. The brat was completely out of it. By the light of the lanterns overhead and the inferno that had encircled us, I noticed the lead pipe that I had tried to brain him with in the beginning was just sitting there on the floor several feet away. I slowly walked over to it, and then picked it up. The metal was cold to the touch. I looked at it for several seconds, admiring how perfectly it was crafted, and then stepped over to the broken redhead.

I stood over the boy, nudging him in the shoulder with a boot so he rolled over onto his back. One of his eyes opened slowly. It was easy to see that he had no idea what was going on--where he was, what he was doing there... It was all lost to him in that very moment.

"I want you to deliver a message for me, Erikar." I slowly raised the lead pipe into the air above my head. The poor kid slowly watched his impending doom rise above him, making no moves to shoot it out of my hand, or push me away, or do anything. "I want you to tell the Magnificent Brotherhood--" I swiftly brought the pipe downwards. "--that they are to leave me alone!!"

The pipe connected with a sickening crack, splitting open the boy's forehead just above his right eye. His eyes went wide, and his mouth opened in the shape of a horrible, silent scream. His body convulsed as I brought the pipe up and down again, hitting him in the exact same spot.

My voice had gone from a calm, controlled fury to a horrible shriek as I lost control of my emotions. "TELL THOSE ASSHOLES THAT THEY ARE TO LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!"

Crack.

"FOREVER, DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Crack.

Bits of blood and skull began to splatter onto the concrete. Erikar's twitching had become more intermittent with each blow.

Crack.

Tears started welling up in my eyes, their salty contents burning as I continued beating my opponent. "I WILL UTTERLY END THEM," I howled.

Crack. Wetter, this time.

"DO YOU HEAR ME, ERIKAR?"

I brought down the pipe again.

"ANSWER ME!"

And again. And again.

"You... Answer me, you son of a bitch..." My voice trailed off as my assault slowed, and then came to a halt. The pipe was covered in blood and gore. I let it fall to the floor at my feet. It made a thunderous clanging noise as it bounced a couple times, leaving a trail of red on the cold concrete floor as it rolled away.

The redhead's skull had long since caved in, his demise horrible and painful in every way possible. His twitching had stopped. A pool of blood had began forming around the remnants of his head, swallowing up bits of skull and hair that I had loosened. All I could hear was a faint ringing in my ears and the roar of the growing fire that surrounded us as I felt my anger drain from me, leaving behind a hollow, ringing emptiness.

My thoughts were only on my the scholar I had killed for my own selfish reasons, and all that I had lost because of it. How the demon Maladim tore apart my memories and stitched in new ones. How all of this led to me losing more than just a few books and trinkets--I had inadvertently lost more invaluable research, more time, and, in a fashion, myself. Maybe I wasn't meant to change my path of darkness. Maybe by being born a Freebird, I was to only know an endless cycle of death and destruction. In my selfish desire to break free from that, had I only condemned myself further to such a fate?

The first tear rolled down my cheek as the monks pulled me away from the arena.

[Erikar]

Death came painfully at first. Madison's first blow to his head with the pipe distracted him from the agony in his loins. When the metal opened a hole in his face, it felt as though Freebird was pouring molten lava through his forehead, straight into his brain. His back arched, mouth open in a silent scream of torment. The second strike brought only soft warmth, as Erikar fell into the sweet embrace of destruction. His last sight was that of Madison, screaming bloody murder, haloed by flickering flames.

-----------------------------------

Erikar awoke in a bed in the Citadel. He sat up quickly, looking around in confusion. One of the Ai'Brone sat in a chair at the end of the room, next to a tall door. A smile appeared under the shadows of the monk's hood when he saw the boy wake. He spoke gently to the emerald-eyed youth in an attempt to assuage his fears.

"Relax, young one. You are safe."

Erikar focused on the speaker, his breathing coming fast and harsh. His wide eyes lost their haunted expression as he reined in his emotions. "Thank you.. What happened to me?"

The monk chuckled grimly, accustomed to dealing with the aftermath of Citadel battles. "You died. For a time.. But we have brought you back. And it was no easy task, let me assure you. That woman must have really hated you. Took us about ten minutes to find all the pieces."

The youth nodded, checking to make sure his body was in working order. A hole still gaped where his canine tooth had resided on the left side of his mouth. He frowned, nonplussed. "What about my tooth?"

"Ah, yes. Not much we could do about that one. We found the charred shards next to your body. It appears the woman must have crushed that after she opened your skull." The monk shrugged apologetically.

'Bitch..' Erikar thought resentfully of the woman who had murdered him. 'Although, I guess I can't blame her. I did try to kill her..' The crimson-haired man swung his legs out of the blanket covering him and sat on the side of the bed. He was fully dressed, excluding his boots. They sat at the end of the bed, cleaned completely of grease and blood. His sword, sheathed safely next to his spike, sat close to the boots. He spoke to the monk as he reached for them. "Well, I suppose I should thank you. I'm going to be on my way, if that's not a problem."

"Wouldn't want to forget this, now would you?" The old monk put one of his hands into the voluminous sleeve, and when he drew it out it contained a small bag. The sound of clinking metal sounded as he threw the purse at Erikar, who paused in the middle of putting on his second boot to catch it. "The old man who brought you here left this for you."

Erikar tucked the bag away into one of his cloak's many pockets with a grimace. It was blood money, earned by causing some woman he didn't even know unimaginable pain. Still, it was money, and he could never have too much money. Testing all his straps and buckles once again, he stood and walked to the door. Without a further word to any of the monks, he exited the Citadel. A haunted expression darkened his visage as he walked through the streets of Radasanth. This horrible experience would be hard for the boy to forget, but it was one of many.

'I need to take a break.. Maybe Scara Brae will be my vacation.." He thought, forcing lighter subjects to his mind.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

--EPILOGUE--

Early the next morning, after I had time to get another couple of drinks down my throat and a few hours of sleep, I dragged myself to the ashen remains of my bookstore. The charred wood and stonework had been left in a smoldering ruin. A woodwork sign with "The Janus Street Bookstore" painted onto it in extravagant, gold script was propped up against the wall, itself singed from the inferno the night prior. The sunny, cloudless skies overhead stood as a stark contrast to my dark and dreary mood.

Everything had been lost. I was told that very little could be pulled from the timbers.

All that I had owned was gone. All that research that I began accumulating since the last time I had lost everything... Gone.

My chubby yet not unattractive blonde assistant, Nell, stood beside me as we silently surveyed the wreckage. Draped over the shoulder of her standard blue blouse top was a canvas messenger bag. Nell broke the silence. "I managed to get here a little earlier than you this morning, and started picking through this mess before the morning watch came by and scolded me and threatened me with a fine..." She opened up the messenger bag, and rooted through it a bit before she pulled out something heavy.

I looked over to see the girl holding up a leather belt with two masterwork delyn daggers--my daggers--strapped onto the back. I took them from her gingerly. They were covered in soot and dirty from surviving the act of arson that ruined my bookstore for a second time in two years.

"Thanks," I blankly muttered.

"Oh, and this, too." Nell returned to the bag, and produced my fifty foot length of delyn cable, which I had formerly used in combat before my episode with the demon Maladim. I took this off her hands as well, and slung it over my shoulder.

It's funny, I think, that the only things that survived the absolute destruction of my life are the reminders of my previous one.

The two of us stood in silence, our gazes returning to the burned-down bookstore. Several minutes passed before she spoke again. "What will we do now, Madison?"

It was a good question. I wish I had a good answer for her. "I don't know," I offered, shaking my head. "I honestly don't know."

"Do you think we'll rebuild it?"

I took a few seconds to think it over.

"No, probably not."

Nell looked up at me, worried. Mostly about her continued employment by myself, I suspected.

"Nell, I think it's time for me to leave Radasanth--no, Corone altogether. There is very little for me in this country anymore. I'm tired of being chased around, of having my livelihood destroyed time and time again." I felt my fists clenching together as I recalled continued attacks by my family, cultists, and others who gave their lives up to the dark paths they followed.

I turned to face Nell. "I have a few loose ends to take care of here in town, but after that... I'm moving to Salvar. Would you care to join me?"

[Lye]

Thread Title: Iron Woman vs. Magnetisto (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php? 26825)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: BlankandBlueEyes vs Erikar



Plot: 20 --- 19

Story- 7/10---6/10
The basic premise of the fight is directed toward Madison, because she made enemies with her past actions. Erikar takes a back seat role to the encompassing story and has little pull and develop. Durning the fight, Madison makes continued mention of the event and uses it to keep the premise together. She even has a scene near the end that takes the horrible event and sheds it. The aggravation was apparent throughout and the leaving her past behind translated as “the last straw”. For such a short thread, it did well to covey a point. For Erikar, you did a decent job as the supporting role. There were several plot holes for him throughout. In the beginning, he was cut loose in the Citadel and directed by the monks. This would have been an opportunity to leave, or better yet, bash the skulls in of those who knocked him out. Madison was not given such a choice. More thought could have been put into Erikar’s psychological position on the fight.

Setting- 7/10---7/10
Now the setting did not have too much canonical influence or progression itself. The two characters were rushed to the Citadel by a chance meeting. On the other hand, both the characters used the entirety of the environment of the Citadel chamber. There was a point during the fight where the fire took a back scene. The falling oil lamp and flames ablaze gave both writers a great opportunity to pull more menace into the ending of the fight. However, this was not nearly capitalized on as it could have been. Overall, the setting was well used.

Pacing- 6/10---6/10
The story’s quick pace seemed to match the battle. For Erikar, the introduction was the weakest part. It tried to keep to the story, but lacked a good foundation due to the plot holes Erikar could have used to escape. It almost seemed like he was all too willing to participate in the blood sport. For Madison, although the delivery was much like a diary or journal entry, the run on sentences put several kinks in the flow. This created a very refreshing technique, but did require some additional effort to read. Overall, the collaboration and shorter posts helped the story flow smoothly and maintain interest in the fight.



Character: 22 --- 19

Communication- 8/10---6/10
Madison’s dialogue and monologue is believable and certainly fits the situation. Erikar’s speech is also close, but certain points are a little out of the element. The scene where he drops his guard does not seem to make much sense given he was the first to strike. Madison’s writing style itself plays stronger to the reader since it has a more personal feel. In third person, the effectiveness of identifying with the reader is much more difficult. In order to get the reader to care about a character in third person is to create a strong history to or put them in a situation people can relate. Unfortunately, Erikar did not have the same pull as Madison developed.

Action-6/10---7/10
Strategically, Erikar used the surrounding environment to a greater advantage. His abilities shone very strong in this thread. Madison was fighting to keep up for the entire fight. Only her previous knowledge with scrapping saved her from complete obliteration. Some additional damage from the flames would have been nice to see. The mentioning of the pipe’s craftsmanship seemed very out of place. The desire to enforce how Madison could appreciate fine work was there, but lost credibility at such a crucial point and over such a simple object. Overall, both players did well, but do to the stronger use of strategy and setting, Erikar gets the upper hand.

Persona- 8/10---6/10
Madison shines strong in her personality. Using the first person style is phenomenal for conveying the character’s thoughts and emotions. It must be handled with care, because an over abundance of the pronoun “I” can weaken strong content. This was not the case, for Madison truly shone in the writing and also created a full environment to which she existed. The fact that the details were told from her perspective also added to the flair of the character. For Erikar, his personality has yet to truly evolve. In the beginning, he seemed more of the carefree and determined personality. During the fight, there was intense ferocity, then a sort of dark musing, and it ended with a touch of chivalry. Erikar seems to have a lot of complexity that this short battle could not really expose. If only one emotion or reaction was focused on, a better understanding of whom Erikar is may have been more apparent. Currently, he did not exemplify any one particular persona.



Prose: 19 --- 20

Mechanics- 5/10---7/10
Through Madison’s unique and effective style, there was one weakness – grammar. Though the story flowed similar to a conversation, misuse of semi colons and extremely long run on sentences were abundant. Misspellings were not frequent, but Erikar had less than Madison. One such example was in the seventh post where “form” was used instead of “from”. Two posts later, “farm” was used instead of “arm”. In the epilogue, “timbers” was used in place of “embers”. The word “ashen” before timbers would have sufficed as well. All in all, Madison had much weaker mechanics than Erikar. Some weaknesses that Erikar had, were an occasional change in tense, or related to an error in story and setting.

Clarity- 6/10---7/10
Because if issues in mechanics the clarity of the intended actions did suffer slightly for Madison. A little more consideration should be taken in the sentence structure to really strengthen the overall presentation of the solid content. Having to re-read certain sentences to get the emphasis correct occurred mostly during Madison’s posts. As for Erikar, the writing was clear and concise. Some of the actions taken in the pushing and pulling scenes could use more strength. Although the pushing and pulling is part of his skillset, other words and descriptors can still be used. It is up to the player to keep track of their skills and not abuse them. Their doing so should not impact the writing. Aside from that one area, and the questions mentioned in previous areas, Erikar’s posts required little revision.

Technique- 8/10---6/10
As mentioned in prior areas, Madison has a truly unique style and uses the first person well. The extra personification truly makes the character easy to identify with and get into. Erikar certainly has the potential, but lacks the same wow factor seen in Madison’s posts. To rectify this, putting more emphasis on the emotional state of the situation could have given the reader an opportunity to relate. There were a few times this came up, but the emotions changed throughout and did not maintain a norm. Keeping the direction of his interactions consistent or at least believable to his persona would have helped greatly. The one scene between Erikar and Madison in the beginning was brilliant. Cut off sentences instantly add a factor of suspense and drama to a read. If that drama were maintained in the writing, the scores would have been closer.



Wildcard: 8 --- 8

Madison really shines in this battle. Erikar, on the other hand, shows that his character has potential. There is a degree of refinement that would truly make Erikar shine. The beginning could have been a great opportunity in this to where his emotions could have carried over into the fight. There was an attempt to do so, but the emotions did not come across as intense as one would expect. If someone were knocked out and forced to fight, there would be confusion, anger, determination, some fear, or in Madison’s case, bitterness. Overall, I would really like to see Erikar grow to a point his personality is more identifiable. As for Madison, work on the grammar, and the one major road bump is out of the way. Good fight you two. I look forward to more.



Final Score: 69---66

BlackandBlueEyes (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?3431) Wins!:


2,013 EXP!
90 GP!

Congratulations!


Erikar (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?17194) Receives:


578 EXP!
50 GP!

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!

Erikar jumps to Level 2!