A Most Dangerous Game

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to Otto.

The last of the gray-furred wolves had finally given up the ghost and fell over in a heap at the base of the tree. I watched intently as it slumped over, a thick foam pooling out of its mouth and onto the floor of leaves and twigs below me. The dense forest was quiet once more. There was no howling of other animals, no chirping of birds, no buzzing of insects. Just absolute silence, between myself and the four dead animals at the foot of the tree I found myself perched in, just out of reach of the vicious creatures.

And yet, I found myself absentmindedly thumbing the thin leather strap that kept The Last Resort safe and snug within the leather holster strapped around my waist. I was perched precariously among the thick lower limbs of the conifer, making myself comfortable against the trunk and putting forth a small amount of effort to remain balanced. Truth be told, I had been in this position for the past half an hour. I had lured this small pack of hunters towards me and quickly scaled up the tree to reach a bit of safety. Shortly thereafter, there was two blasts of cordyceps spores from the palms of my briar-knit hands.

And now, there was waiting.

I decided to take a better stock of my surroundings. The forest was very reminiscent of what you would find after a day's trip into the stark pine groves of Berevar. I was surrounded by wooded hills that weren't cleared of old, dead branches and brush. Coupled with the rolling outcroppings of rocks that made for dangerous footing and scary sudden cliffs, it made for a difficult time exploring. In the hours since I had arrived, I counted about three small brooks that I crossed over. There were very few actual landmarks in which one could identify where they had already been.

I gazed upward, through the canopy of branches and leaves at the cloudless skies overhead. If it weren't for the reason that I found myself here, I would've found the scenery quite peaceful and relaxing.

My eyes drifted down to the carnage that had taken place ten feet below. All four wolves were contorted in their final throes of pain and misery, their heartbeats and breathing long ceased. Their heavy bodies, without a single scratch on them, were all still. I found myself getting impatient, wondering how long it would take for the fungus to take control of their brains and revive them, in a sense.

I clicked my tongue; I was wasting too much time up here. He could be anywhere in this stupid forest by now.

Resting on my lap was the travel satchel that I always kept slung over my shoulder when I was on expeditions such as this. Before I left Salvar, I had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked its contents to make sure I had everything with me. With my arrival in Corone, the number of inventory checks had reached twenty or so. Vine-woven fingers undid the metal clasp that kept the thing shut and found themselves taking stock once more.

Notebooks, writing utensils, vials of ink, strips of jerky to stave off hunger, a full canteen to quench my thirst...

And four small glass vials, filled with a special something.

Yep, all here.

A small smile crossed my thin lips as I withdrew one of the rubber-stopped vials from the woven strip of leather that kept them from jostling around and cracking while I went about my business. The satchel had done an admirable job of keeping the vials intact during my hasty, frantic battle with the pack of wolves below me as well. With my thumb and forefinger, I held the vial aloft in the air.

The stuff it was filled with... Gods, was it intoxicating to simply look at. I seemed to have bottled the inky, swirling purple and black of the infinite nighttime sky. Wisps of blues and purples that weren't quite as dark occasionally struggled to be seen, but were quickly snuffed out by the shades of black that were almost too dark--as if they had been infused with a magical sort of energy, which was essentially true. The contents were a special kind of Nemo's Marionette. These spores had been specifically engineered to go after... bigger things, stronger things, tougher things.

I was mesmerized by the beauty within the small glass vial. In my hand, I held the potential to do some truly wonderful things in this world. Between my briar-knit fingers, I grasped the key to a future of unknown potential. The preparations were complete; the batch had been grown and harvested and distilled into a pure form.

All that was left was to find my test subject and begin the experiments.

Rustling sounds came from the forest floor below me. I quickly snapped back to reality and placed the bottled cordyceps back in the satchel and redid the clasp. I looked down to see that the first of the four wolves had begun reanimating, dark blue fungal stalks slowly growing from around its neck and weaving themselves into a makeshift collar. I closed my eyes and reached into the beast's mind with my own, checking to see if it would respond. A light sensation tickled the back of my mind as the animal spoke back to me, eager to please its new master.

I swung my legs over the side of the branch and fell to the ground below. I would wait several minutes for the others to revive, and then the hunt would begin.

[Otto]

When I stepped into the arena I saw... not much, to be honest. My boots crushed the litterfall, but I didn't need to break leaves to pick up on the sharp scent of conifers all around me. Their stretching limbs crosshatched out the sky, so I was lucky to even see a dappled glimpse of blue. Well, I say blue; a bleak grey would be more accurate. I took a step forward, and promptly entangled my face in a spider web.

My vision had begun to adjust by the time I stopped frantically slapping myself. I didn't think I actually got the spider. It was possible I had left it behind in the trees - but knowing my luck, reckoned it much more likely the blighter had found a safe place to nestle in my beard.

"I'll deal with you later," I promised.

The darkness was receding. Thank my heritage; orcs are notorious cave-dwellers and nocturnal predators. Having glowing amber eyes can count against you when growing up amongst humans, but I'll happily take it over stubbing my toes in the dark. I took stock of my surroundings: spreadeagled pines, as suspected, thick and impenetrable a few feet above the forest floor. An even denser blanket of fallen needles and compacted humus, deep enough that I couldn't tell anything about the soil below except that it formed a mild slope. There wasn't any wind. No way for it to squeeze past the dense canopy. The air was still and stale, and smelled mostly of dessicated old plant matter. I've only ever been here once before, but I knew that ever-present chill in the air, knew these stoic, grim pines. My host had apparently chosen to set us in Berevar.

My host - now there was a novelty. In my pocket was a grubby little note I had received a couple of weeks ago, asking for the 'privilege of my attendance'. From what I read, one of the Citadel regulars had thought it inexcusable that we two veterans hadn't matched up before now, and was keen to set that straight. The Citadel's a strange place to seek out friendship, but I'm an accommodating sort. So here I was, with my various tools of death and an amiable disposition.

I grabbed my pilum in both hands. Its two metres of yew haft and steel shank could be relied upon to keep foes at a comfortable distance, and it wasn't so long as to be useless in a claustrophobic forest.

"You don't have to tag along," I mentioned hopefully to my invisible passenger. But if he was there, he was keen to see this through. Such loyalty; I felt unworthy.

As I said, the smell was mostly old, dead plant material and rot. There was something else: a fresher hint of pine. It took some sniffing around, but I eventually tracked down a weak trail of freshly crushed leaf litter. There were a few recently dropped needles scattered all across the ground, so young that even a human could pick up their distinct coniferous aroma. It made sense, as my opponent had presumably emerged at the same point as me. Rather than wait up, they had wandered off for some reason. They seem to have opted to travel down the incline (in which cardinal direction this was, I could not tell you).

This faint trail was at least a start. With the spear clutched firmly in both my hands and my eyes scanning the stygian underbrush for danger, I followed the tracks downhill.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The one thing that always put me off of the whole cordyceps zombification was the kid-like nature that those I infected regarded me with. It was like those that were put under the effects of the fungus were reborn as my children. In a sense, they really were; but it was still a very weird sensation for me to witness the affection (for a lack of better term) shown to me by things that I've killed.

Case in point, the pack of wolves before me who but fifteen or twenty minutes ago wanted nothing more than to tear my throat out and feast on my flesh. The four of them had come back to life, dark blue fungal stalks entwined with one another around their necks. They now sat in a semi-circle around me, smiles on their faces and tongues hanging out of their open mouths, as docile as domesticated Retrievers.

Today, they would truly be (wo)man's best friend.

I knelt before them, a twig digging into my kneecap annoyingly as I took my satchel from around my shoulders and set it on the leaf-covered ground. With deft movements, I undid the clasp again and produced one of the four glass vials. One of the wolves approached me slowly, its dead eyes fixated on the swirls of inky purple and dark blue contained within. It nuzzled itself against my arm, and I absentmindedly gave it a few scratches behind its gray ears.

"Hold still," I whispered to the animal as I took the stopper off the vial and set it on the ground near my bag. With a flick of a briar-knit finger, I pried apart the wolf's lips to get a good look at its yellowing teeth. They were sharp as razors and looked to be as long as throwing knives this close up. I quietly considered myself very lucky to not have been on the business end of them. I let go of the animal's mouth, which remained bared, and stuck the tip of my finger into the open end of the vial.

What came out was less of a gas, as it appeared to be within the glass. It was more of a slime or a paste than anything. The colors continued to swirl around hypnotically in the dull light of the chilly afternoon. I turned back towards the wolf and began preparing for the battle to come. The paste made out of the special magically-enhanced strain of Nemo's Marionette went on smoothly, covering the wolf's canines from gum to tip

I finished covering the teeth of the first wolf, and set about preparing the rest for the coming task. My guest would be in the area shortly, and I wanted to make sure I was ready for him. When all was said and done, I took stock of how much of this new strain I had left--two vials, for the record. Perfect. I wasn't expecting to use all of it on this first go-around; but it was comforting to know that should these wolves fail to bite the subject and pass on the cordyceps spores, I could still find other ways to infect him.

You're probably wondering why I decided to make The Citadel my laboratory, right? Look at it this way. Hundreds of willing test subjects walk through those giant iron-reinforced oak doors every day. The magic of the Ai'Brone provide me with plenty of consequence-free opportunities to experiment with each new sword that gets unsheathed within its hallowed halls. Should things prove to be successful, then great; but should things fail or otherwise go awry, then the monks can fix things up no problem with a curing spell and a memory charm, and I don't have to deal with any awkward questions about missing people, loud explosions, or horrible odors.

Besides, abducting orphans and luring unsuspecting thieves and muggers into traps got old a while ago.

I looked up into the cold afternoon sky. I could barely make out the bleakness of the sun trying to shine through the clouds through the canopy of stitched pine branches. How long had I actually been here? I lost track of time once the wolves attacked me, but I suspected that I had been waiting for my guest to show up for over an hour now.

It was time to find him.

With a soft whisper, I commanded three of the wolves to fan out in a quarter-mile radius from me. I would keep the fourth nearby, just in case I was discovered by him before I could hunt him down. The wolves were far better trackers than myself, even before taking into account their heightened senses, strength, and speed granted to them by the Marionette.

We spread out, beginning to cover a large swath of the simulated Berevar forest. Now, you're probably asking why Berevar? Well, let's just say that my travels are going to be taking me there very shortly, and their success lies entirely on how effective the new strain of fungus I'm developing is.

I decided to swing east around the downward slope which brought me to the tree that I had been sitting in. With the satchel slung over my shoulder and gun softly banging against my hip with each step, I make my way across the rocky terrain.

One thing I had never expected from even a simulated Berevar was how treacherous the ground could be. From the stories I've heard ever since I was younger, I had always pictured it to be a giant, flat, snowy wasteland. The Berevar I was dumped into was more akin to the wooded tundra in the parts of Salvar I had made my home, just.... colder. There were several instances that I came upon sudden rocky outcroppings that were like cliffs--one wrong step and I would find myself making a sudden stop after a short drop.

I couldn't tell you how long it was before I heard the cry coming across the aether. It was a sensation that tugged at the back of my mind. The wolf by my side perked up as well; he too must've felt the call.

One of the wolves had found its prey.

Two more flickers of energy pulsed through my head. The other wolves were on their way. The pack had begun asking questions, their basic instincts in conflict with the commanding nature of the fungus that had control of them.

I closed my eyes and reached across the forest to them with a simple command. ”Attack him, but do not kill. I will be there shortly.”

[Otto]

I moved to the left; the wolf snarled, so I stopped. I took a step to the right. The growling intensified, this time taking on a nasty edge.

"You're just determined to get upset, aren't you," I snapped back irritably.

I was standing at the top of a risky-looking scree slope, periodically broken by weathered monoliths rising up like a giant's bad dentistry. The forest had thinned out enough to let me know I was traversing very tricky terrain indeed; some of these stone faces composed a hefty drop, and where the trees brushed right up against them, you might not spot the fall before it was too late. Because my eyes were fixed firmly on the trail, I had so far avoided any terminally vertical trips. But because my eyes were fixed firmly on the trail, I hadn't noticed the wolf creeping towards me through the brush before it had had a chance to spot me first.

At least it wasn't attacking. All I could see were two lupine eyes and a hint of grey peering out from between a drooping mat of senescent pine needles. I had always heard the beasts were reticent about attacking people, but this titbit of wisdom wasn't something that I was comfortable testing. I absentmindedly reached to scratch my beard, but thought better of it at the last minute. I did not need an enraged spider dancing across my face at this particular moment.

Outrunning a wolf on its home stretch was a laughable idea. It still would be even if I wasn't weighed down by my own private arsenal and carting around the better part of forty pounds in steel mail. Anyway, I was a grown orc, and I was armed to the teeth. What was there to be scared about?

It was obviously at that point that I heard the legion of answering howls, off in the distance. I turned and launched myself down the escarpment.

The wolf made a bit of racket breaking out from the bushes, but I was well gone by then. The whole slope rippled ominously as I pounded down it in big, awkward half-leaps. Rock dust coated my tongue, and then my throat. My boots were sinking in up to the shins in sand and pebbles, which at least kept me steady. The good luck kept up until I was about two thirds of the way down; the rocks were much less weathered at the base, so I put my foot down on a treacherously thin layer of small stones atop a larger boulder. They were like ball-bearings. My foot slipped, I landed on my arse, then proceeded to tumble down the rest of the way head over heels until coming to a halt upon a patch of damp, mildewy needles.

I'm lucky nothing broke. As it was I had a few scrapes and bruises, but they would keep. At that moment, I could hear the wolf bounding after me down the landslide.

That was stage one of the plan out the way, at least. With a grunt, I launched myself up and away, while the steel-shanked pilum found its way into my hand. The land continued to slope slightly downwards - but at least I'd found a patch that was horizontal enough to allow more trees to grow here. I ran until their low-hanging limbs rustled tetchily against my armour, then stopped and spun around. I had put about thirty feet behind me and the base of the scree, all of it open space. Good.

Safe in the knowledge that it could still track me while I was well beyond sight, the wolf had exercised more caution in its descent. It made one final leap down to safer, firmer ground, and had just enough time to look up before my javelin found its mark. That last movement had spared it from getting two metres of throwing spear through its skull, which was bad news for the beast. It went in just under the throat instead, pierced the chest cavity, and re-emerged at a downward angle from its belly. The thing wouldn't die quite straight away, but its end was inevitable. I could hear the thud and crunch of bone easily enough from where I was.

It surprised me, though. The thing tried to keep coming.

I took out my shiny new hammer and, holding it in both hands, shuffled on over. The wolf gurgled malevolently at me. Eyes flashed fury, grey fur matted black, paws twisting into the dead earth. I paused; there was a strange ring of blue-black growth around its neck. It tried to lunge, but the spear bobbed inside its guts, so that the haft's base planted into the ground. When the wolf leapt forward, it just impaled itself further on the obstacle. More red ooze dribbled from the growing wounds and out its snapping jaws, flecked this way and that on the dull brown carpet.

"Yedda's tits... what are you?"

With this wolf leaking from every orifice, the scent now rising off it made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The creature in front of me smelt like a dead thing, not long gone, but with a worrying edge of mould that foretold of quick decay. It made another frenzied bite at me, and I jumped back. Not dead yet, then. Well... that was easily fixed. I brought my hammer up and down in a smooth, inevitable motion. The wolf's skull snapped like stale bread under the dehlar's weight. Shimmering yellow eyes went unfocused, and its ruined corpse toppled on its side. I gave it a couple more taps on the noggin to be sure of the job and then, bracing my boot against its shoulder, wrenched my pilum out.

One thing seemed likely enough: this wolf had been more than just an environmental hazard. I didn't bother to check its paws for inkstains, though. Something told me this was not my mysterious letter-writer.

Howls erupted close by once again. Much too close. I had no idea where to look for water to wash my scent off, and that's supposing there was any close enough to use (and which wouldn't put me into hypothermia). I couldn't outrun them. I had a few minutes, maybe, to come up with something.

No problem.

I slid my dagger from its sheath and, removing my left gauntlet, made an incision into the palm. Dark blood welled up and began to pitter-patter lightly on the forest floor. I nodded to myself satisfactorily; the cut was shallow enough not to hinder me, but still supplied a reliable source of fluid.

And with that, I set eagerly on into the forest.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Myself and the three other wolves had been following the calls of the first when they suddenly stopped. The fungus-controlled animals stopped in their tracks and picked up their heads, frantically searching the aether for signs of their fallen brother. I pursed my lips tightly--I could feel the pack's combined sadness and confusion at the loss of their brother. I could definitely sympathize with them, considering that the memories of the Crimson Hands who died in the snowy hell of Eiskalt under my watch still haunt me to this very day. The thought of the many more who might perish during our upcoming conquest...

Come on, I gently urged to the others. We'll find your brother and the orc who killed him. And then you'll be able to feast.

The wolves were spurned along by the promise of a bloody, horrible kill, and set off in a furor in the direction that their fallen friend had called to us from. I raced after them, trying my damnedest to keep up. The terrain was second-nature to them. Their paws were perfectly placed against every stretch of open ground, every rock, every root, every crest and dip of the Berevar hills. I chased after them as they burst forth at full speed, the cordyceps in control pushing them past their natural limits. My breath was beginning to run ragged as I stumbled my way through the thick pine forest.

For a brief moment, the chase nearly made me forget that this was all just a simulation. An experiment. A ruse hosted by the talented Ai'Brone monks, one of the many they performed without breaking a sweat for the countless warriors who stepped foot within their hallowed halls.

We had run for something like a quarter-mile, maybe half of one when we came to the edge of a steep incline that overlooked more of the bleak natural beauty of the woods. The signs of a scuffle were unmistakable--going downhill, it looked as if a large object or a person had taken a nasty spill. Pine needles, leaves, and twigs had been brushed to either side of the track as whatever it was fell down to the bottom. Rocks of all sorts of sizes had tumbled along with it, collecting at the bottom.

My companions wasted no time bounding to the bottom. I slid down the rock trail as well, nearly tripping over my boots as I came to the foot of the incline. Several feet away, oozing a dark, foul-smelling blood from the neck and stomack and its skull shattered like a glass vase, was the wolf who had sounded the call.

The animals had formed a circle around it as I slowly approached. The air was thick with their sorrow as they gazed upon their fallen pack member. One of the beasts drew close and nuzzled it, trying desperately to wake it from its eternal slumber. I briefly considered blasting it with another round of cordyceps, but there were two issues with that--the initial dose of spores forms such a tight bond with the host's brain that it is impossible to infect something again, and my prey had done such a wonderfully thorough job of destroying that most vital lump of grey matter that there was nothing to infect again anyway.

I knelt down at the mourning wolf's side, closely examining the puncture wound near the throat of the dead one. It was from a thick spear by the looks of it, and impeccably aimed. A powerful arm was needed to push it clear out the other end of the beast; an even more powerful one was needed to demolish the poor thing's head. Just as I hoped, my guest was incredibly strong indeed. Good, I mused. I needed to test this enhanced strain of fungus on him to make sure that everything back in Salvar could proceed on time.

With a briar-knit hand, I reached over and lightly scratched the whimpering beast behind its ears, doing what I could to comfort it before we continued with the hunt. One of the wolves let off a small growl. I turned to see that it was sniffing a small patch of ground nearby. I rose to my feet and slowly made my way over. Leaning down, I saw an unmistakable splotch on the ground.

Blood.

Not that of a beast; but of a man.

We had him. The wolf managed to draw blood before he was killed once again.

But was it by claw? Or was it by bite? The spore paste could not have dried up and been rubbed off during the chase--I made sure of the correct mixture before I left Salvar for Corone.

I called out into the aether, attempting to tug at any extra strings in my psychic web that may have shown up suddenly. I received no response except for the vengeful pulses of the wolves, eager to begin the chase again.

I glanced at the wolf who noticed the droplets in the first place. "Have you picked up a trail?" The wolf responded with a positive mental spike and a glance into the forest.

There was no need for a command. The pack's sense of brotherhood and revenge was all they needed. I took my first step in the direction the beast was looking at, and we broke out into a sprint once more.

[Otto]

I heard them before I saw them. My arms were starting to ache by that point, and the swaying boughs kept brushing irritatingly against my face. Visibility was limited through the branches, but I'd made sure that I could keep watch on the trail I'd left behind. I was upwind (so long as the breeze held its course), shrouded, and more or less patched up by now. I'd used a measure of linen bandage by this point, now wound across my injured palm. The bleeding had stopped and the thick cloth made doubly sure to thwart my scent escaping. I hoped.

I squinted down from my densely-foliaged tree, which leaned drunkenly with the slope on which it sat. The heady scent of resin filled my nostrils; even I couldn't smell me. Pine needles rasped against each other lazily all through the woods, while a lost wind wended impatiently by the trees. It almost sounded like the ocean on a calm day; an incessant whisper which lulled you into a happy torpor. If it weren't for the burning in my limbs which I had wrapped limpet-like about this trunk, I could easily have nodded off... but a new noise emerged from this underlying hum and caused the back of my neck to prickle.

Something crunched its way over the brown carpet below me. Then I heard a wet snuffling noise, puffing away like a frantic bellows. Grey shapes slowly coalesced from the shadows and began to encircle the other tree. I'd have been happier if I was able to keep an eye on them all the time, but my own thick cover was working against me. I sat and anxiously watched them pass. First one wolf, then another. By the time the third came into view, I began to worry. If they moved much further on, they would likely notice my trail doubled back to this tree - but nor could I afford to drop right into their midst. Also, what were those rings around their necks? They each bore one identical to that I had seen on the dead beast back at the slope.

The lead wolf stopped and nuzzled the ground intently. I knew it was puzzling over the blood trail's end, and I was out of time.

The third creature was still passing beneath. I offered a quick prayer that this be the last of the wolves, and threw myself from the tree. They all spun around at the noise, and I had a fleeting glimpse of a slavering maw before I bore down on my target with all my weight. I felt its ribs snap underneath, and my iron-shanked pilum skewered right through its flank into buried soil. The shank bent almost ninety degrees; I left it there to pin the crippled wolf down, slipped my other pilum into my right hand, and leapt away.

The other two wolves bound towards me. I kept on moving away, intent on reaching the scree slope. If I could just find a rock to climb, I might outpace them in their efforts to ascend the fickle debris. If I could just stay ahead of them for long enough...

I turned - and was confronted with a sickly pale face, framed by jet locks. Her clothes were black, too; in the shadow of the pines, she almost looked like a lone disembodied head. She was keeping her distance. Fine by me - I had more pressing concerns behind me, each with rows of vicious teeth in a mouth like a steel vice. I waved my spear half-heartedly in her direction as I circled around and pelted for the edifice.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

As you could imagine, my surprise quickly turned to a morbid joy as my guest dropped on in me and the wolves as we followed the trail of blood he left. In one graceful motion, he somersaulted out of the tree he was in, jammed a small spear through its flank, bent it in a manner that pinned the thrashing zombified beast to the forest floor, and was back on his feet.

It all happened so fast, that it caught me off guard. And then I laughed.

There he is, I thought to myself with an inward laugh. The gray-skinned orc who all of my plans might possibly hinge on. Getting the drop, getting the advantage on me.

Really, I shouldn't have been surprised. I remember meeting him--well, more like passing by him at a tavern in Serenti. It started off innocently enough as a misunderstanding, as bar fights always do. But then there were minotaurs, centaurs, chair shots, gunshots, a spoiled brat princess from a small island nation whose inhabitants I unleashed a devastating plague upon... By that point, things had gotten out of hand, and I found myself on fire; which is bad, being half-plant and all. But this orc, who I later learned through various sources was a blacksmith in Radasanth named Otto Batsum, stuck out in my mind as he continued to hold his ground and weather the hurricane of violence that tore through that little place.

I would recall his face time and time again when Aurelianus and I were discussing our grand plans. My side of things would take me and several other groups into the windy, snowy, frigid depths of Berevar. I'd rather not divulge all of the details right now; but my guest today very much resembled what I will find myself up against down the line. He had the same slate-gray skin and towering stature of the clans in the north, and for the sake of my rushed research that was good enough for me. My sources were unable to trace his arrival in Corone far back enough to secure knowledge of his true lineage.

My mind flashed to the two glass vials with the infused cordyceps in them. Perhaps Batsum's physical condition was probably slightly less than that of the orc clans of Berevar, given the climate and conditions of the city of Radasanth. But, his physiology should be close enough for me to get results one way or another.

The orc whipped around and saw me, his eyes twitched in a manner that told me that he was disappointed to find more than just wolves nipping at his heels. My smile turned malicious as he circled around me, hunched over in a defensive stance as he shuffled his feet across the carpet of dead leaves and sticks. His features were etched in wariness, worried more about the wolves than he was about my presence--which is a fair thing to be concerned with, don't get me wrong. I may be all vines and acid and fungus and hatred, but the beasts are something more. They are instinct, need, and hunger manifest; that the cordyceps that controls them makes them operate at a higher capacity than they could in life only makes them that much more dangerous.

Otto finished circling me, and made a break for the incline which still bore the remnants of the disturbed debris from when we slid down it. I felt the mental tug of the two remaining wolves. They wanted orders. They wanted blood.

Hold your horses, I quipped at them in response. A pool of acid filled my right hand, bubbling and hardening into crystal shards as the unique concoction mixed with the brisk air of the simulated Berevar. I threw my briar-knit limb forward, and a blast of air from a fungal pod buried within my palm shattered the amber death and sent it rocketing towards my guest. I aimed lower than I normally would have; I only wanted to impede his movement somewhat, slicing up his calves and ankles just to make the hunt a tiny bit easier for me and my pets.

Now you can have at him, I called out to the wolves with a darkened thought. Do what you will; just don't kill him. I need him alive for the spores to take effect.

On my cue, the two animals burst forth with a savagery only seen in feral animals of their kind. The third wolf tried his damnedest to follow my command as well, his head thrashing and gnawing at the dirt below him as he fought a broken spine and a pinned flank.

[Otto]

Whatever the woman did, she did it with much more conviction than I had mustered for my feeble spear-waving. Something sharp hit me below the calf, hard enough to gouge away at the old wrought-iron greaves. At first it just felt like getting stabbed, and I'm familiar with how that feels better than I altogether like. Over the years I've been cut, bashed, burned, poisoned, choked, and stuck by more pointy sticks than you could shake a ranseur at. But I knew there was something worse about this almost immediately. It reminded me of the time I went into the forge, still-half-asleep, and forgot to put my gloves on. Orlannes had left an arming sword half-finished on the anvil. I grabbed it - without thinking - to move it out the way, and was already halfway to the bench when I realized the sizzling sound was my own hand being gently braised. Then the pain hit. You soon learn that just because it's not glowing, metal lying around a forge isn't necessarily safe to hold. It was like I'd just wrapped my fingers around a freshly-boiled kettle.

I knew I was in for something bad the moment that missile stabbed its way in above my heel. It burned.

It was all over for me then. I had already needed every inch of that head start to keep ahead of the wolves, so the jig was up when my searing leg folded gingerly beneath me. My knee crashed into the dessicated leaf mould and nevertheless found something hard to jar against, compounding the agony. Momentum carried me forward, raising a choking cloud of scree and needles as I ploughed through the topsoil with all the grace of a concussed duck coming in to land.

I groaned. Feet thundered behind me; a multitude thereof. I spun as fast as I could, spear lashing out-

-too slowly, I saw, and too late. The point gashed uselessly along one wolf's flank and then it had my forearm in its jaw, clamping down hard. The tough mail links held, but it was giving me an Akashiman burn that would leave its mark for weeks. No problem: I still had one free arm and a stout steel dagger at my breast. I'd make a stylish fur coat out of this beastie in no time...

And that, of course, is when the other wolf landed bodily on my chest, pinned me down, and wrapped its teeth around my throat.

Or at least, it tried to. The only thing between me and a gaping shortcut to my trachea was a thick iron bevor. I could feel the metal bending under the sheer force on this thing's bite. I swear I heard a tooth or two snap, but still it growled and clamped down, its fetid breath roiling up under my sallet. The other one began to worry my arm, but as someone who could lift a grown human in each hand, I was able to muster some pretty stiff resistance.

And that was it, apparently. The wolves seemed content to keep me there. One denied me access to my dagger by lying on it, the other wrestled enthusiastically with my main hand. Over the beasts' low growls I heard gentle footsteps approaching, and the pale face I had briefly glanced earlier came back into view. She sauntered over, brushed off a mossy, knee-height stone, and sat down down. She looked... familiar. White face, purple bags under the eyes, a distant and cool expression which she turned on my for a few moments before giving a little sigh.

"Hi (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=COAvbDK2S5s)," she said.

I thought she was grimacing, but it could have been a smile. I'm sure I was wincing a little myself. My foot really stung.

"What... did you hit me with?" I managed to wheeze out. "Apart from the wolves, I mean."

The woman cocked her head to the side, a movement which caused a stray black lock to fall over her eyes. She tucked it back, which is when I saw something seriously wrong with her arms. She must have noted my surprised gaze, because she glanced at the twisted, vine-like limbs with a smile. But she said nothing of it.

Damn. I could tell there'd be no villainous exposition while I lay helpless at her mercy; she'd get what she came for as soon as she could. This woman was a pro.

"You currently seem to be a touch too bite-proof," she murmured, her gaze roaming up and down my steel-clad frame. She stood up and, pulling a vial from a pocket, began to approach. "No matter."

It didn't seem like a good idea to hang around. So I curled my bad leg up behind me - wincing at the pain - and yanked out the shard of whatever-it-was that stung like the blazes. An acrid smell of burnt leather struck my nose as I wrapped my gauntlets around it, strong enough for me to notice through the sudden red mist of unadulterated agony. That was fine. I rode that furious torrent and rammed the shard through the neck of the wolf lying on top of me, following up with a punch to make sure it went all the way in. The poor creature gave an unearthly yelp and jerked back, contorting violently and screaming to high heaven. Its pain clearly upset the other wolf, which startled and looked up. I was already drawing my dagger by then, ready to give it a vicious stab between the eyes.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

My boots came to a halt on the debris-laden forest floor as I watched the slate-skinned orc take action. With a violent yank, he reached down and removed the shard of crystallized acid that had managed to cut through his flimsy armaments. Ignoring the pain seeping from his blistering wound, he twisted around on the ground and jammed the amber blade into the neck of the wolf around his throat, slicing through matted fur and muscle right above its dark blue mycelium necklace. No--! I raised my hand into the air, trying through sheer willpower to stop the chain of bloody events unfolding before me. My heart sank as the zombified beast let go, howling in pain as it climbed off Otto's massive chest. It made these unearthly noises as it continued to run around in circles, kicking up a storm of twigs and dead leaves and pine needles as it simultaneously fought off this sudden sensation of incredible pain and futilely tried to remove it with its own jaws.

It's just a flesh wound! Pin him down! Go for his face! I silently screamed numerous commands through the aether at the injured beast, but he ignored every single one of them, too preoccupied with his own little problem to worry about my own much, much bigger problem. Goddammit, get him!

Useless little piece of simulated shit. Frustrated, I tightly squeezed the vial of enhanced cordyceps that I held in my briar-knit hand. No matter, I though to myself angrily, I still had one wolf left in my little party--

I turned just in time to see Otto Batsum free a small dagger from somewhere on his body and jam it in the space between the creature's eyes. The thing jerked backwards, a horrendous yelp escaping from between its snarled lips as a small rivulet of blood escaped the space between the sharpened blade and its skull. I winced as the dying wolf howled again. The orc's desperate act bought him precious few seconds to recover from the injury he sustained to the back of his leg.

I had precious fewer seconds to capitalize on this opening.

Doing my best to shut out the pained, dying whimpers of the fungus-infested wolves nearby, I called upon four lengths of vine. The deep green briars emerged from my wrists, absorbing the trickling sunlight as they grew near the backs of my hands. I was sorely tempted to have a pair of them go for the daggers I kept strapped to the belt around my waist; but given my track record with sharp things and restraint, that would be a bad idea. Even if I were to crack the vial I held in my hand and slather the magic-infused spore gel onto the sharpened mythril blades, there was the very real chance I would miss my target, get disarmed, and be down to only one vial of the massively-important mixture.

I grit my teeth, glared at the hefty, gray-skinned orc, and sprang into action.

I was standing close enough that I wouldn't need to take any additional steps forward in order to give my vines extra reach. The lengths of quickly-extending vines snaked through the air, looking to bind Otto as he recovered from his prone position. His neck, his arms, his legs--it didn't matter where I tied him up, just as long as I could get the bastard immobilized long enough to inject him with the enhanced cordyceps.

Vines flew through the air with incredible speed towards the armored guinea pig. I steeled my gaze and turned the thin glass vial around in my fingers as I controlled the knotted lengths, concentrating hard and hoping to anticipate any sudden movements he might make in an effort to escape my grasp.

[Otto]

No one's at their best when they've had a fresh mauling and are lying supine on the musty ground. My arm came in awkwardly and caught the wolf a glancing blow against its skull; rather than crushing through the bone, I merely gouged it down the length of its face. The creature's head jagged back with the force of it, and I could see the eyes lose their focus. The mouth slackened a little as what remained of its cognitive process tried to decide whether it should flee, bite me again, or sit and drool while the next concussed thought stumbled slowly into its head.

I made ready to lodge something else inside its head, first. I scrambled closer and raised my dagger for a second blow-

One of the things my first drill sergeant hammered into us, as wet-behind-the-ears rookies, was never to get between two opponents. No matter which way you turned, there'd be someone at your back who was ready to stick something pointy in it. I didn't need to imagine the red-faced old codger hurling insults at me, because as the thick cords wrapped about my wrists, I was cussing pretty violently at myself.

"Bugger!"

Innocent ears were spared the rest of my tirade, as the snares twisted me around; a dry, choking clod of brown needles rasped against my tongue, while a pine cone made no mean attempt to insert itself up my nostril. Then I was hauled up before I had finished gagging, and treated to a vision of a vaguely familiar, pale woman closing in with a highly unnerving, calculating expression. I tried to stand up. She staggered against my strength, but rallied expertly; with a quick jerk, she took the weight out from one leg and sent me thundering back down into the dirt. It didn't taste any better the second time around.

Then she was on me. Try as I might to rip my bindings, it was like trying to pull apart a hangman's noose. It didn't matter this woman was otherwise built like four matchsticks stuck to a toast rack, the only thing that was going to give was one of my own tendons. Something brushed against my lips, cold and hard.

Mistake number one.

Maybe I couldn't rip the crazy woman's arms out of their sockets, but my limbs didn't have the advantage of 1,500 Newton bite. I jerked my head aside, found something relatively tender, and chowed down with every bit ounce of god-given mastication I could muster.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I was too busy trying to keep the gigantic brute restrained to realize what was going on. I had reached into my satchel, produced one of the small glass vials filled with the enhanced cordyceps, and popped off the stopper. Before I could pry his lips apart with my free hand, he managed to twist around enough to put my briar-knit arm next to his face. The orc, his teeth as long and sharp as railroad spikes, got a mouthful of green as he bit down on the appendage.

Pain electric shot up my arm as his tusks buried themselves in my arm, his canines tearing away at plant flesh. Thick, dark blood began leaking from the wounds.

"FUCK!" I yelled as I grit my teeth, that single word backed by every ounce of venom and anger in my body. Otto merely responded by jerking his head to the side like a dog as he tried to rip my arm clean out of its socket.

(Or, really, tear it from my shoulder by its roots. Because, you know, vines and all.)

My grip on his limbs faltered for the briefest of moments, but it wasn't enough for him to escape. I fought through the pain and doubled down on his bindings, slowly cutting off circulation to his limbs. I had to do something fast to get him to release his death grip on my arm, though. The thought of spraying acid into his mouth occurred to me in an instant; however, I needed him alive and decidedly whole in order to finish my experiment here. I was fully aware that my standard strain of Nemo's Marionette could zombify him in death. The whole purpose of this little scuffle was to see if it could do its work on a living being with the biology of a Berevar orc.

It was then that I saw a dirt-caked stone lying several feet away. Acting on pure instinct, I reached out with a spare vine and snatched it up. Drawing it into my hand, I brought the fist-sized object up into the air, jerked my trapped arm to the side to expose the side of his head, and swiftly brought it down into Batsum's temple.

With a sickening crack, his slate-grey skin split open and began to ooze crimson. The orc's jaw slackened, allowing me to free my briar-knit limb. Dark blood gushed as I removed his tusks--the wounds would heal quick enough, to be sure. Otto's head rolled on the ground, stunned, his eyes glazed over as he tried to recover from having his skull cracked open. The blow wouldn't have been enough to kill him; just enough to buy me some time.

Wasting no time, I went to work. I channeled all of my fury into the bloodied rock and brought it down again, this time on his mouth. A crack like thunder echoed through the forest as I chipped several teeth and cracked his left tusk. I raised the rock into the air again, and swiftly brought it down for another blow.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Strike after strike, I hammered him until I broke the majority of his teeth. My test subject sputtered and spat blood and chips as he struggled to stay conscious. Tossing the rock aside, I mumbled some more curses as I rummaged through my satchel. My left arm tingled as it began working to heal itself. I ignored the pain as I snatched up the last vial filled with the mesmeric blue slime. I ripped the stopper off, held Otto's broken mouth open, and poured the spore solution down his throat.

And now, as ever, we wait.

[Otto]

Now, I don't remember this next part very well.

I've had some rough times in the Citadel. You might well plan to kill your opponent cleanly and quickly, but they generally don't plan on getting killed at all. Makes things difficult, and messy, and draws it out.

I remember gagging on all fours, trying not to choke to death on my own blood and chunks of enamel. Every ragged gasp rasped cold air over my naked gums. It was like... well, imagine if someone peeled off all your fingernails and buffed the raw skin down with hessian soaked in mint vodka. Only worse, of course.

I don't remember if I blacked out, or how long I was there. But I remember that.

I'm sure she could have killed me then and there. I wasn't in a state to realize it just then, but that wasn't her game. The jollop she'd poured into my sorry mouth was - from what I could tell through the taste of iron - musty and dank, like wet mushrooms. I spat and sputtered furiously, but that weirdly penetrating flavour just lingered.

I finally staggered upright. Swung my hammer blindly a few times in a panic, but there was no need. She was gone.

The next couple of minutes were spent stumbling around the forest, being struck by vertigo and falling over. My head was spinning like a weathercock in a hurricane. Something was definitely, horribly wrong. And no, it wasn't just the recent bout of ham-fisted lithodentistry. There was something I could do about that, though. I raised a hand to my breast and brushed the floret residing there.

"Lurr-"

The words turned into a piercing hacking fit. Everything felt wrong. I steadied myself against a fragrant bole and tried again.

"Lu... lurrla... lurl. Lurl. Lul." I took a breath. "Lul-an!"

Something happened. My mouth no longer felt like it was full of razor blades, although the damage was still significant. But the sick feeling remained. I was still well enough to notice a familiar scent hanging on the air, though. I whipped around, and saw her. She stood maybe two score metres away, watching... and waiting.

Well, I didn't scream, because my mouth still wasn't up for it. But I broadcast my intentions my best withering glare, hefted my hammer, and loped towards her.

The bitch turned and ran.

And I followed.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I lurked in the woods for several minutes, holding my breath as I waited for the enhanced cordyceps to take control of his body.

With each passing moment, I reached out through the aether towards him. Can you hear me? Each call becoming more and more desperate as the seconds ticked away. As the gray-skinned orc stumbled through the forest, fighting for control of his body, a cold sweat formed on my head and a lump grew in the back of my throat.

I didn't understand.

What was going on?

Why was the process taking so long?

Where did I go wrong?

Where did I go wrong?

Otto, can you hear me? Speak to me! The blacksmith responded with a wild swing of his hammer, the momentum of which nearly taking him off his feet. I was a good twenty feet out of range, and simply stood there with utter disbelief etched across my face.

I could've swore I did everything right. The collection of the strongest creatures to feed the spores. The ritual at the mansion in Salvar. Tapping into that wellspring of powerful magic to help enhance the strain, to grant me the power to assume control of the hardier orcs deep within Berevar... All of our plans depended on this being a success. I had gone through such incredible measures to guarantee that I would be successful here today. Otto Batsum had to succumb to the cordyceps I forced down his throat.

I had to know that I could corrupt and control his brethren in the north. It was key to everything I had been working towards these past few months.

Where did I go wrong?!

My mind was a maelstrom of disappointment and anger. I could not act either way. I simply watched as he fought for control of his thoughts and actions, struggling against the fungus that worked to destroy him from the inside and grant me power over him. Otto kept circling through the forest, grunting in extreme pain, trying to string syllables into words as he stumbled over rocks and into trees, swinging his hammer wildly in hopes of bashing my skull in.

After a few more seconds, he stood still, his hammer coming to a stop at his side. Was this it? The moment when I would be victorious? I took a deep breath, cleared my mind of doubt, and called out to him again.

Otto Batsum, answer my call!

There was no response.

The pale orc slowly turned towards me, a malicious, bloody scowl etched on his face. He had overcome the influence of the spores. He was whole. Untouched. Unaffected. Uncorrupted.

An incredible weight placed itself on my chest. I had failed this day. Everything I had done in the past few months had been for naught--all that wasted time and effort researching the power of that lingering ritual magic I infused the spores with. It was all for nothing!

I did the only thing I could do: I ran. An enraged Otto gave chase, keeping pace with me as I bounded through the pine forest. Even in his damaged state, he was able to swerve between the towering trunks and over fallen branches and moss-covered rocks. His thundering footsteps rattled around the inside of my skull. I knew that deep down, if the bastard were to catch up to me, he would tear me limb from limb in seconds; and no amount of acid or plague I could throw at him would stop him now.

There was no way I could avoid that fate if I allowed the chase to continue any longer. It was time for a last act of desperation.

I planted my feet on the carpet of dried needles and leaves, and pivoted around to face my failed experiment. With practiced speed and precision, my right hand shot down to my hip and flicked off the leather strap that kept The Last Resort nestled snugly in its holster.

Gritting my teeth, I wrapped my hand around the wooden hilt and brought the revolver up to bear. Otto was about twenty feet away, and rapidly closing the gap between us. I raised the gun into the air, and quickly sighted the barrel between his eyes. The orc raised his hammer to strike, a primal bellow building in his chest, a burning rage in his eyes.

I simply pulled the trigger.

[Logan]

BlackandBlueEyes

Plot: 18/30

Story - 6/10

There is a good, consistent flow to the story on the whole. It didn’t seem to drag in any particular place, but the ending felt a bit short. The firing of the gun being the ending is a good use of poetic license, but it certainly leaves the reader wanting much more. By the end, the reader is expecting something more climactic, and the firing of the gun just feels too anticlimactic for an ending. The climax is mostly Otto fending off the mind control, but considering the build up it just wasn’t enough.

Setting - 6/10

The setting was initially very bland, equivalent to a landscape painting hanging on a wall. Were it not for later uses of the setting to further effect, such as the explanation of why Berevar and why Otto, this might be even lower. Look to how Otto utilized setting for ways to improve.

Pacing - 6/10

As alluded to in story, the ending just didn’t have enough oomph, and the score here suffers tremendously for it. Otherwise, the pacing of the entire story was reasonable. There were no moments where a reader’s attention span wanes too much, and there is enough dynamic action to keep everything moving comfortably.


Character: 21/30

Communication - 7/10

There is a fine line between too little communication and too much communication, both body language, internal thoughts, and actual dialogue between characters. Both of you did a solid job of keeping communication to mostly non-verbal, with a few necessary moments of speech or thought thrown in for good effect. The main problem here is there just isn’t much actual dialogue between the two of you, and there were places to include some more, especially when Otto is struggling to fend off the cordyceps infection. It needs more something, and maybe dialogue would have been enough.

Action - 6/10

Madison’s actions on the whole feel proper to her character, but there is one nagging moment that really sticks out where the action feels disconnected from her character -- if only for a moment. In the ninth post as Madison is injured, she feels the pain, and she mildly reacts to it. Sure, she can shrug off most any pain, but she’s just had an entire chunk of her arm shredded and she might as well have been pricked with a tiny needle. It kills the effect of the action and makes Madison feel otherworldly, and the lack of proper action from Madison here was a real killer.

Persona- 8/10

As mentioned above, the lack of more reaction from Madison to Otto successfully biting down on her arm is disconcerting. That is several hundred pounds of bite force, and she shrugs it off without really even blinking. A wince is one thing, when getting a glancing blow perhaps, but a successful bite even described as tearing deep into the plant-like material of her flesh would necessitate more of a response, and even a lingering sort of reminder of the pain. The disconnect here dearly cost you, but otherwise everything about Madison is top notch.


Prose: 18/30

Mechanics - 5/10

There were a number of mechanics issues, early on in the third post there is a use of ‘off of’, which is bad form. Further exacerbating the bad form is repeated sentences ending in prepositions. Also, be very careful when using combinations of past perfect tense (I had been) as measures of time. They can quickly get confusing for a reader and throw off the immersion. Another re-read of posts, and I suspect this score could improve pretty dramatically.

Clarity - 7/10

There were only a few spots where clarity suffered, mostly due to mechanics like the choice of wrong tense in the third post where Madison’s gun bangs against her hip, ‘I make’ should be ‘I made’, and it throws off the immersion factor of the post. Also, later on in the seventh post, first line, ‘...turned to morbid joy as my guest dropped on in me…’ should be ‘...turned to morbid joy as my guest dropped in on me…’ The prepositions were reversed and it creates an awkward and incorrect flow. Lastly, in the thirteenth post, after Madison telepathically yells at Otto, he swings his hammer and then ‘...the momentum of which nearly taking him off his feet.’ This line would be far better served to either remove use of ‘of which’ or change the tense of ‘taking’ to ‘took’. Other than the mechanics causing some clarity issues, most everything about Madison and your posts is straightforward.

Technique - 6/10

Multiple times run-on sentences were avoided by adding a semicolon followed by a conjunction. The problem here is a semicolon is intended to combine two incomplete thoughts, but adding a conjunction with a comma would accomplish the exact same while using much better form. In the first one, ‘He could be anywhere by now’ is a good example of good form use of ‘now’ in that there is no passage of time being dictated to the reader. ‘Now’ becomes a description of time instead of the actual time being noted. It felt important to point this out. There was an earlier use of ‘now’ that was the opposite of this, and it was a bit jarring as a reader.


Wildcard: 8/10

This thread was a joy to read, and it is reflected in your wild card score. Also, there was never a moment where it felt like you lost sight of your audience, as nothing was too sciency or too over the top, and that can be very hard to pull off.


Final Score: 65/100


Otto

Plot: 21/30

Story - 6/10

See above as the same comments for BaBE’s story score apply to Otto’s.

Setting - 9/10

The use of the forest floor, the ripple of the dirt as Otto runs away, climbing the tree, and the notes of tasting the dirt not just once, but the same unpleasant sensation the second time are masterful examples of utilizing a setting to its fullest without going overboard. When Otto walks, the reader hears, feels, tastes, and that is the best way to immerse a reader in the environment. This very well may become a thread I point to for how to properly utilize a setting for not just dynamic effect, but even dramatic effect.

Pacing - 6/10

Just as BaBE’s score suffered for the ending, so too did yours. There isn’t more to say than what was said for BaBE’s score, so please look there for comments.


Character: 22/30

Communication - 7/10

Look to the comments for BaBE for the reason for this score.

Action - 8/10

Otto’s actions felt right for the character, and they helped the story move along at the right times. Also, the way he reacted to the wolves pouncing on him was very well done, and his swiftness and motions just felt right. See BaBE’s comments for a bit more about the thread’s action in general.

Persona - 7/10

At times, it can be hard to distinguish Otto from an ordinary run of the mill human, and having read a very early Otto thread which gave a glimpse into his history I know this is entirely intentional. Still, at times he can be a tad ho-hum. It can be difficult to give him unique personality within a thread, and this is one of those cases. There was nothing, other than the early air sniffing, that screamed orc. Again, it is mostly intentional, and as a writer you walk a very fine line to make him robust and dynamic. Still, it hurts this score.


Prose: 23/30

Mechanics - 7/10

For the majority of the thread, very few mechanics issues presented themselves. In the fourth post, the line beginning ‘It was obviously at that point that I heard…’ would be better served to remove the second ‘that’. It is rather chunky with both of them there, and removal of the second allows for proper form and improved flow of the post. In the sixth post, final line of the third paragraph, ‘They each bore one identical to that I had seen’ might be better form to use ‘They each bore one identical to what I had seen’ or ‘They each bore one identical to that which I had seen’. Finally, in the eighth post, first paragraph. ‘...forgot to put my gloves on.’ while not incorrect is bad form. Better form would be to reword, ‘forgot to put on my gloves.’ Prepositions should rarely, if ever, end a statement, with the exception of dialogue.

Clarity - 8/10

Due to the lesser number of mechanics issues, the clarity of your posts is much better, and the score reflects it. The only real thing worth mentioning here is to be careful with the jump from one line to another with a hyphen, such as in the eighth post, ‘...spear lashing out-’ which is followed with a whitespace line and then, ‘-too slowly…’ While it can be good technique, it can also be a bit confusing for the reader, and can break the precious immersion.'

Technique - 8/10

The use of various dramatic effects with setting above, non-verbal communication, proper use of semicolons, solid use of poetic license which didn’t detract from the flow of the writing, all combined to offer an opportunity to share what great technique looks like without the technique itself being overbearing as a reader. Usually, when a score is high in technique, the thread tends to be flashy or cumbersome by the technique uses, but the use in this one is of a pretty high quality, and it shows.


Wildcard: 6/10

See comments for BaBE, but I will also add here you lost a couple of points because the ending needed just something more from Otto. The thread lost just a bit there at the end, and maybe another post from you might have been enough to tie it off a little neater. Thus the difference in points here.



Final Score: 72/100




Otto wins! Congratulations!


BlackandBlueEyes receives 900 EXP and 75 GP
Otto receives 3600 EXP and 100 GP

[Logan]

EXP and GP added!