A Red Letter Day

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I woke up in my chambers like I normally did; that is, very poorly.

My head was pounding with yet another hangover headache. I felt sluggish, exhausted, hungry, and miserable.

Ever since joining the Order of the Crimson Hand, it's been like this.

Perhaps I just need a change of job.

Perhaps I just need a change of life altogether.

I rolled over underneath the covers and slowly took in my surroundings. Same dank, damp, musty bedroom. Same candles who had burned out overnight on my dresser. Same deck of cards, chips, and empty glass tumblers sitting on the table in the middle of the room.

I can't stand it.

I need to get out of here.

I'm tired. Not sleepy tired; no, emotionally tired. Mentally tired. Tired of all this bullshit. Tired of that silver-haired fuck with the impossible to pronounce last name brooding on his stupid little throne deep within the bowels of this frozen hell. Tired of doing his bidding, forced to undertake projects that I have no experience in--especially after the ordeal in Eiskalt, getting my memories scrambled and finding gaping holes and empty shelves in the archives that are my memory. Eiskalt... I'm tired of helping Lichensith Ulroke build towards another fiasco like Eiskalt.

I will get out of here. Today.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Lichensith Ulroke. The name stung like venom on my tongue.

Let me tell you something about this asshole. Motherfucker leads the charge into Eiskalt, bringing everyone within his crummy, sad little circle jerk with him. He tells me that I am to start spreading plague throughout the land. He tells me to poison crops, sicken those who may be valuable hands that may find work aiding the enemy, and sow chaos throughout that frozen, insignificant little island. And I did so.

Some would say very admirably so.

But where was that bastard after the opening strikes? Come to find out, rather than retreating due to personal injury, he flipped the bird to his comrades, his friends, and pranced off after the Ixian Knight Jensen Ambrose, whimpering "Notice me, senpai" as he ran after him like an enamored puppy.

No words from him, no orders delivered by messenger ravens. I had to find this out second-hand, and then take the initiative myself. So I did. I gathered a small strike force of twenty Hands of the Blade, and we cut a swath throughout the southern farmlands. We infected, we slaughtered, we did Lichensith Ulroke's work in his name. We were a force of unbridled nature, damn near unstoppable in our chaotic and senseless rampage. I personally laid my hands on the mayor of Unum, one of the small handful of meaningful bastions of civilization on that blasted rock, and melted his face after poisoning his beloved daughter and half of the refugee camp they had holed up in.

I risked my life for his ideals. I bloodied my hands for his cause. I sentenced half of a fucking country to death to achieve his goals.

And what did I get in return? The slimy, silver-haired bastard threatening to gut me in an alleyway.

You see, as it is with all things, shit fell apart. The Ixian Knights were gaining ground in our little war, and we were forced to try and sneak our way out. I was approached by Catherine Remi--yes, that Catherine Remi--in a port town, and with no other option, I agreed to team up with her and help bash, slash, and kill our way through a fully-alert city and the full force of its guard in order to jump on the dark angel's boat and get the hell out of there. Remi and I had nearly made it to the docks when Lichensith nabbed me from behind, dragged me into an alleyway, and began to interrogate me and accuse me of false loyalties and abandoning the cause.

Me. Motherfucker accused me of abandoning the cause, when he was the one who ran off to have slumber parties with the giggling Ixian lapdog. It took every fiber of my being not to tear him to shreds right then and there in a flurry of vines and acid. But I thought better of myself. It took a lot of explaining, but eventually I had convinced him that the only reason I was consorting with the Cult of Blessed Torture's black-winged avatar was because she had offered me a way out of Eiskalt. It was enough to sate his fury.

But mine has lingered ever since that altercation. Oh boy, has it ever.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

And what thanks did I get for my actions? For my endurance? For staining my hands with the diseased blood of thousands of condemned, innocent souls?

A big ol' pat on the back and a consolation promotion.

Master of the Mind. That's what they call me now.

Master of Fuck-All, more like.

I am utterly convinced that Lichensith Ulroke has no fucking idea what he's doing with the Order of the Crimson Hand. Here I am, taking initiative in his... absence, ready and willing to act upon his whims, champion his cause, and lead him down the path to achieve his goals... And I get the promotional equivalent of a thumbs-up. I should've been promoted to Right Hand of the Order--no; he should've given me his stupid fucking throne and put me in charge of things. I have proven that I can lead a group to victory. I have proven that I'm cold, cunning, and cruel enough to bring glory to the Crimson Hand as someone with a position of real power.

But... Instead...

Alright, so Max Dirks, I can understand. Dirks is one of the baddest sons of bitches around, let alone under the employ of our starry-eyed glorious leader. The man is a talented gunman and unparalleled thief. I can understand Dirks being promoted to Right Hand. But the Left Hand position?

It went to that magnetic little bitch Erikar... The little brat whose skull I had caved in with a lead pipe in a Citadel battle months ago. Erikar, whose actions in Eiskalt weren't nothing to write home about. Erikar, who is so insignificant and untalented in my mind that I can't even bother to remember his last name.

That's who got the job of being Left Hand. That undeserving little prick. Not me, who proved her worth to this dumpy little organization a thousand times over.

It's enough to make your blood just absolutely boil, isn't it?

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

So then--and this is the best part so far, right--we get back, and Lichensith calls together this little meeting among the surviving members of the Order. Everyone is there; myself, Dirks, Erikar, Diggs and Hedge, Lye on his stupid bone throne, everyone else who had lived through the bloody ordeal in Eiskalt... You can feel the tension in the air. It was unbearably thick. Absolutely nobody was happy with how the war had turned out. One unlucky soul decided to voice as much, and was immediately cut down for her efforts.

It was a fate that I was secretly happy I didn't suffer for screaming those exact same words at the assassin in the alleyway.

So then our glorious leader stands up, and the room goes utterly silent. You can hear the needle drop to the stone floor as the flowing blood from the woman's throat pushes it out. Lichensith goes on this dramatic diatribe, like the predictable, emotional cardboard cutout that he is, about how we weren't supposed to win anything. Merely distract and annoy the Ixian Knights, while goading Jensen Ambrose into killing two or three more people than he normally would in a combat situation. Spoiler alert: The immortal isn't the worst monster who has been in your presence. Hell; Aurelianus Drak'shal was sitting next to me during this meeting!

But regardless, there was admission that I was looking for; the admission that time, resources, and lives were utterly wasted for no particular good reason at all.

I remember seeing red at that very moment. I could've stood up, rushed him at the head of the table, cram a bunch of vines down his throat, and absolutely dissolve his innards with acid.

The lives of your comrades are not pieces of silver that you can simply spend and expect to find a few more of underneath the couch cushions.

When everyone abandons you and your silly little cause, when you are absolutely alone in your dark, drafty, damp little castle... I hope you realize that.

You don't deserve the gifts you've been given, Lichensith Ulroke.

You don't deserve the gifts you've been pissing away like some cheap inheritance. You don't deserve any of this, at all.

You barely even deserve to be alive right now.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

...By the gods, as I lie in bed, mulling over these thoughts and feelings, do I need a drink.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

An hour had passed before I forced myself to climb wearily out of bed.

I grabbed a few pieces of heavily-peppered jerky out of a cupboard to munch on, and opted for a glass of water to drink instead of the good stuff. It would help clear my hangover and prepare me for the events to come.

I hadn't quite decided what I was going to do yet. Dozens upon dozens of ideas sprang to mind. I could, say, sabotage everything here. Just walk down to my lab and start blowing up everything that I had designed. I could gather all my research notes, all those notebooks and folders full of intricately-detailed studies on diseases and artificing, and accidentally drop them in a fire. I could slip a few drops of burning acid into the drinks of the mages and scholars we--I--had worked so hard to recruit, and melt away the majority of Lichensith's little brain trust.

There was so much I could do, and it was becoming harder and harder to hold back as more and more ideas festered in the back of my mind.

I wanted to leave, and I wanted to leave Lichensith Ulroke nothing in the process.

How many of his operations relied on my ragtag group of tinkerers, scholars, and enchanters? Explosives? Vexing wards? Ancient artifacts? Poisons? Pinches of plague?

Oh yes; a hasty, explosive, violent departure would leave him utterly speechless. He could stand to lose so much...

So much could fall apart for that son of a bitch. The more I thought about it, the more I smiled.

I mostly ignored the gruff greetings and nods that were thrown at me by my associates as I made my way through the derelict castle that housed the Order of the Crimson Hand. I was a woman on a mission. I strode with new-found purpose, the heels of my boots clicking on the cold stone floors, my vine-knit hands clenched in fists. I knew exactly what had to be done to teach our dear, fearless leader a lesson in true dissent and dissatisfaction; one he would likely never forget anytime soon, even if it were to eventually cost me my life.

Oh, I knew that it was very likely that I would become a target for his assassination squads for the horrible acts I was about to commit. But that was a price I was willing to pay.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

After a few twists and turns through the castle halls, I found myself heading down the darkened stairwell towards my lab. I stopped in front of the iron-reinforced oaken door, and with a small amount of effort, twisted the handle and pushed it open.

I was greeted by the sights, sounds, and overwhelming smells of my main laboratory. It was a decently-sized chamber with walls of stone, well-lit by various oil lamps hastily fastened to the walls. About two dozen men and women dressed in lab coats and protective gear milled about, poring over schematics and tomes filled with forbidden information, arguing the minute details regarding a boiling vat of a nasty, caustic, deadly green goop that sat in a cast iron cauldron under a ventilation hood, tinkering around with spare parts that were intended to be assembled into a prototype siege engine filled with all sorts of nasty surprises.

The mixture felt like home to me, but I knew it wouldn't last for much longer.

I'd hate to see this all thrown away, but it will be a sacrifice for some sort of twisted greater good.

...Or, at least, that's what I was telling myself.

Several of my associates noticed me as I descended the steps leading down towards the laboratory, and greeted me with friendly calls of "hello, Madison." I've noted that several of my fellow Masters within the Order, and even those higher up than myself, prefer more formal, hierarchy-driven greetings and enjoy being addressed by their full titles, but that's not how I like to do things. As I've said before, I believe that you should lead with respect, not fear. I've taken the time to get to know most of those under my care, and treat them as equals. I've chatted with them during breaks periods, I've invited them to play cards some nights, I've invited them to share drinks with myself.

It's a process that has made them more loyal to myself than they are to the Crimson Hand cause, and to Lichensith Ulroke.

They fear him; but they respect me. And it has done wonders for my short career here.

I made my way towards my personal workbench, exchanging smiles and greetings with several of the workers along the way. My desk was off in a corner of the lab, and on it sat a messy pile of vials, alchemical equipment, and tools. Except, this morning, there was a spot cleared in the middle of it--one that I knew for certain that wasn't there last night. Had someone needed something off my table? Perhaps there was a sample of a prototype disease that someone in another department required?

As I drew closer, I noticed that there was an envelope in the middle of the table. It was sealed shut with a gob of red wax, pressed with Lichensith's seal.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The envelop sat there like a coiled viper, ready to strike and ruin my day with its venomous contents. I slowly reached out towards it, and after a moment's hesitation, peeled off the seal and unfolded the letter inside.

I slowly read it, feeling the heat rise in my neck. I read it again, slower this time, and read it a third time still.

Attention all members within the Order of theCrimson Hands, it began... (We're off to a great start already!)

It has come to my attention that my recent lack of leadership and the disasters that it has caused to our numbers and goals has sown dissent among our ranks. This has caused some of your friends to rightfully betray you and head to greener pastures and heftier coin purses, and some of your friends to suffer unnecessary deaths. But rather than apologize and take responsibility for my selfish, shitheaded actions as your Glorious Leader, I have deemed it necessary to punish everyone further and offer this mandatory invite to a little tournament I am hosting.

Rest assured, while I really want to send the message that this is going to be a wonderful team-building exercise, that I'm really doing this because I'm a massive, arrogant, paste-eating, emotionally stunted dickhead who gets off on the misery and pain of others. Trust me, there's nothing to make the medicine that is my own failure easier to swallow than taking it out on every single one of you.

And to feed my massive ego and prevent some suave, ruthless, intelligent, driven beings like Madison Freebird or her associates from kicking everyone's asses, I'm going to pull up my big boy trousers and fight as well.

To top it all off, if you hesitate to participate, I'll feed you to Aurelianus Drak'shal.

Cheers,

Lichensith Ulroke, Eternal Lord High Scumbag

(...I may be paraphrasing here.)

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I took a deep breath. Then I took another. My vision had slowly turned red. Small wisps of plague smoke drifted out from between my scowling lips. I was shaking. My briar-knit fists were curled into balls. The scent of burning paper filled my nostrils; my festering anger had caused small droplets of acid to form in the palms of my hands, which had begun working their effects on the letter I held. Behind me, the sounds of science and research were slowly grinding to a halt as my associates took notice of my fragile state.

I turned to face them, a look of desperate, sudden fury etched on my features. Behind their protective masks, their faces had gone pale. Their bodies were wound up like children's toys, ready to spring out of the room in a moment's notice. They had seen me angry once or twice before, and knew what was to come.

I brought the little tournament invitation up in the air, holding it out in front of me at arm's length like a child's toxic diaper. Slowly and silently, I crumpled it up into a little ball, and let my acids dissolve it further. The mass of bubbling, smoking, gooey pulp dropped to the floor with an unceremonious splat.

"Am I correct in assuming that every single one of you received an invitation as well?" I asked in calm, flat tones.

They knew exactly what I was referring to, for they all began slowly nodding their heads. Save for the purring of machinery and soft bubbling of alchemic concoctions, the room had grown eerily quiet. It was perfectly clear that none of my people were prepared to be thrown to the dogs under Aurelianus Drak'shal's or Ciato Orlouge's command.

I did my best to hide it, but my anger and frustrations knotted my stomach and boiled my blood as I pictured my assembled associates getting unnecessarily injured for pitiful reasons. These tinkerers, scientists, and scholars had no business in the middle of a combat pit, facing off against highly-capable mercenaries and assassins. I could not allow these men and women to suffer in a way that would stunt their progress any more than the lack of resources and funds within the Order already has.

This was no longer about me and my dissatisfaction with Lichensith and his methods.

"Try not to worry about it, everyone," I said with a veil of friendliness and concern that attempted to hide the fury that was moment away from being unleashed. "I'll speak with Ulroke and argue that our work within the Hands of the Mind is far more important than his stupid little fight club. Be patient, and I'll get back to you shortly."

Work resumed in the lab, and I slowly made my way back up the stairs. My feet felt heavy, as if my boots were made out of lead. I tried hard to sort out everything that had transpired in the past week or so since I returned to Salvar from Eiskalt--being accused of being a traitor to the cause, watching an associate of mine die at the hands of a delusional madman, and then being forced to shed unnecessary blood in a fighting tournament set up to feed the go of a desperate man who feels that fear is the only way to proper way to rule over others.

I was inches away from the door leading back into the castle stairwell when it swung inward, revealing the forms of the two Hands of the Blade who survived the ordeal in Eiskalt alongside me, Diggs and Hedge. Hedge, always the brash loudmouth, began to say something, but I cut him off. "You two, please, follow me." I motioned them with two vine-wrapped fingers to come with me back into the castle depths and shut the heavy wooden door behind me.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The very second we had gotten back to my quarters, I let all my feelings go. In a flash I had gone to the table at which the three of us had sat the night prior, and in a flash of green an unearthly scream, flipped it over. Cards and clay betting chips flew everywhere, and three dirty glasses stained with drops of whisky slid off and flew through the air before shattering against the stone floor. I screamed every expletive I could muster in several different languages as I violently stormed through my room, looking for more things to break. I threw pillows clear across the room. I punched my bedposts. I punched the wall. I nearly punched out the window, but stopped myself at the last second, seeing that it was still the dead of winter in this part of Salvar and the cold air seeping through would be most inconvenient.

Meanwhile, Diggs and Hedge stood there, silent and unmoving as I continued to vent my frustrations. They too knew what I was capable when overcome with pure, unadulterated anger.

It wasn't long before I wore myself out, and resigned myself to sitting on the edge of my bed. Breathing heavily, I silently surveyed the damage in my room. It wasn't nearly as wrecked as Lichensith was going to be the moment I got my grubby, acidic, plague-ridden mitts on him.

Hedge saw fit to break the silence first. "So I take it you got an invitation too?"

I slowly nodded, my breathing heavy. "Yeah, I fucking got one. Everyone fucking got one."

"I will c-concede that this isn't the optimal way to raise morale," Diggs chimed in, with that fat man stutter of his.

"No shit," I replied with more ire than I meant to. Diggs jumped a little, and I waved my hand as a form of apology. "Look, sorry. It's just that..." I thought about the contents of the invitation once more. "This isn't right, you know? He screws up hard, we say that we're unhappy with the way he handled things, and we're the ones who have to suffer."

I stood up and made my way towards the cabinet, grabbing a half-emptied bottle and a clean glass. I poured myself something to chase away the bitter taste in the back of my throat. "And now I'm expected, Aurelianus is expected, Erikar is expected, all of us in any position of false power in this idiotic place are expected to crush everyone in combat to 'prove'... something, I'm not entirely sure. The whole situation's just going down the drain fast." I looked at my two friends from above the rim of my glass as I took a deep sip. "This has to stop. Lichensith must be stopped. I know I'm not the only one who thinks he's unfit to lead the Crimson Hands."

Diggs fidgeted with the hem of his untucked shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Hedge, his attitude more in line with my own, nodded slightly in agreement. "So," the scrawnier of the two asked, "what do we do about it?"

I had been thinking about this for several minutes by now. As much as I would've loved to have burned my lab down and destroyed everything that I had worked so hard to achieve for Ulroke and the Order, I no longer wished this to be about me and my own dislike of his rule. No... This was about--and for--everyone else, now.

"I need you two to fetch me a couple things. Two more bottles of Three-Headed Hydra from the storeroom, and Aurelianus Drak'shal."

[Quentin Boone]

Thread Title: A Red Letter Day (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?28116)
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: BlackAndBlueEyes



Plot: 21/30

Story- 9/10
This thread gave a solid link to both past and future events, and as such is well-placed. Though it is a simple plot, it draws the reader in and keeps them wanting more. For what is essentially a very small snippet in the life of Madison, it works very well as a single chapter in her ongoing story. A perfect score was missed on due to its very nature, as there is no real climax or conclusion. If the technical structure of a plot had been incorporated, a perfect score could have been achieved.

Setting- 5/10
The first half of the thread was almost void of any real setting, and while this is understandable given that Maddy was simply laid in bed, it really hurt the score here. Even little details like sunlight through a window, a draft of wind, footsteps outside her room, would have added depth to the setting. The latter half of the thread did a much better job but lacked the multi-sensory depth that could have netted a higher score. Try to remember that everywhere has a smell, a feel, an ambience. Focusing a little more on this will improve your score in this category.

Pacing- 7/10
Pacing is one of your strong points. The thread moved forward at a steady, sustainable pace that overall didn't feel rushed, yet was fast enough to maintain the reader's interest. There were two points that prevented a perfect score here: Firstly, the transition from bedroom to lab. This would have benefited from a little more of Madison travelling, as it would have shown her minor change in mood better. Secondly, the final rage in her room felt far too rushed. As a final explosion of boiling anger that had been building throughout the thread, it flew by with little real focus and felt wasted.



Character: 24/30

Communication- 9/10
Your writing style intrinsically lends itself to a high score in this category, but you manage to take it to the next level. By writing in a journal-like manner, the reader is completely drawn into Madison's psyche via her internalisations. Not only can the reader understand her motivations, frustrations and desires easily, they can also hear Madison's very unique voice. NPCs are used well, too, and the nervousness of the lab workers was well shown without forcing it into the reader's face. Diggs and Hedge's communication also felt natural, but a perfect score was missed as you missed out on really making them shine. If you included even a little more internalisation for them, a perfect score could have been achieved.

Action-7/10
The nature and setting of the thread didn't call for much in terms of action. What actions there were, however, fitted perfectly with Madison's mood and general demeanour. A higher score could have been achieved by more physical manifestations of her mood throughout the thread. A stomping gait, or clenching of fists would have helped here. Little details are just as important as big when it comes to action.

Persona- 8/10
Although you have completely nailed the Persona section of the rubric, you missed out on the highest scores. This is due mostly to the final scene in which Madison finally explodes from all the pent-up anger and frustration. It simply did not feel like the explosion I'm sure you intended it to be. A perfect score could have been achieved if you spent a bit more time on this final scene, as mentioned in Pacing. A focus on writing her emotions clouding her over, driving her to destruction and filling her with uncontrolled rage would have really helped, maybe even an acidic tear or two! Instead, it felt rushed over in her accounting of it, as though it wasn't really of any importance.



Prose: 21.5/30

Mechanics- 6/10
For the most part, your spelling and grammar were devoid of obvious errors, but could benefit from a proofread before submission. At times the writing changes tenses, and while this is almost forgivable given the journal-like style of your writing, it occasionally detracts from the rest of the thread, so needs to be considered in future threads.

Clarity- 9/10
Your writing is perfectly clear and understandable and clarity is another of your strengths. A perfect score was missed out on here due to the points raised in setting that made it difficult to really see the lab in detail and the fact that Diggs and Hedge weren't really described: Rather than being people, they were empty entities that the reader didn't really ever see.

Technique- 6.5/10
Yet again, your writing style lends itself to a good score here by its very nature. The constant use of internalisation is refreshing and shows a definite comfort with your own style. It also helped build tension through Madison's seething emotions throughout the thread. The final line was a great way of adding real foreboding through so simple a sentence, though this could be due to familiarity with the Aurelianus character rather than the device itself. A higher score could have been achieved by adding more metaphor to colour your writing - something that can be incorporated while improving areas such as setting. Overall, though, a solid job.



Wildcard: 10/10
Yet again another Madison Freebird thread that was a genuine pleasure to read! The clear highlight of the thread was Madison's interpretation of Lye's 'invitation' letter, which was a comedy classic that also really captured Lye's persona. Well done on another great thread!



Final Score: 76.5/100

Member Link (http://www.althanas.com/) receives:


1840 EXP!
154 GP!

Congratulations!

[Lye]

Exp & gp added.