Wascally Wabbits (Closed)

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Rehtul smiled and brushed his hair out of the way of his eyes as he entered the Citadel for the first time in what seemed like years. He shook his head at the sheer size of the building once again as he entered through one of the large doors on the front of the building. He had only fought here a couple of times before, and the only bout that stood out in his memory was his last battle against a woman named Ruby, who he had fought on two separate occasions, once in Underwood and the second time here in the Citadel.

The door closed behind him, creaking ominously.

They really need to oil that thing. It sounds like the hinges are about to pop off, he thought with a bemused smile on his face. He walked up to one of the numerous desks dotting the landscape of the reception area of the Citadel.

As he approached the mahogany desk, he took a moment to survey his surroundings. The polished white marble floor was well-kept as always, reflecting the natural light from the large windows overhead. Rehtul couldn’t even begin to fathom the amount of wax they must have gone through every single day to keep the floors as clean as they did.

He looked over the desk to see a slightly gaunt monk with hair almost as long as his own looking back at him over the cover of a book, a single eyebrow cocked slightly upward. Rehtul had made a similar face at people over the course of his life, and knew exactly what it meant: “Are you going to stand there all day or do you want something?”

“Sorry, I was just admiring the architecture for a moment. By the way, just curious, but how do you all manage to keep the floor so clean when there are hundreds, if not thousands, of dirty feet passing through the halls at one time?”

The monk sighed and snapped his book closed before responding, “We don’t use wax. We use a very low key spell on the floors of the building to eliminate dirt and grime before it even touches the surface of the building proper.”

“That’s interesting. Even if it’s a low key spell, the amount of sheer magical power for the floor of the building must be immense,” Rehtul thought aloud. He then coughed into his hand and grimaced. “But I digress. I’m actually here for a battle. I don’t mean to take up too much of your time.”

The monk forced a smile and put his book down on the table with a practiced ease, fingers lightly pressing the cover before he fully lifted his hand and stood up. He motioned with an outstretched hand for Rehtul to follow him.

“Any particular desires for a starting arena?” the monk asked as they passed through a long, brightly lit hallway full of doors, which Rehtul knew lead to various arena spaces that he could only assume were created through some kind of massive magical system sleeping somewhere in the bowels of the Citadel itself. His father had been tight lipped about the work he had done within the Citadel, including his role in the healing magic that could somehow revive the dead without it coming down to being some form of necromancy.

The intricacies and subtleties of the magics used by the monks of Ai’bron were so clouded and convoluted that Rehtul was unsure he would ever know the truth behind how their greatest monument on the face of Althanas even functioned.

“I don’t really have any preferences. The Ixian Knights are experiencing a little down time due to some… complications,” he said as they continued their walk.

“Ah, so you’re a member of the Knights, eh? We see their type in here more often than we care to say. Here to work off some frustration, then?”

Rehtul’s eyes narrowed slightly as a cloud of mist issued from between his clenched teeth. “You could say that.”

“I see. I won’t probe any deeper. Let’s just… ah, here’s one. If you’ve been here before, you know the drill. Walk through the door and if no one’s there, wait. This room is unoccupied, so you’ll have to stew some before someone finds you,” the monk said as he walked off, chuckling at what Rehtul could only guess was some kind of inside joke. He just shrugged and walked through the door.

As the light from the transportation cleared, he looked around to get his bearings. He was in the middle of some kind of a prairie, dotted on either side by the outskirts of a giant forest. This seemed to be reminiscent of a drawing of the Raiaeran countryside he had seen in a history book he’d bought a few months ago, except for one small detail.

The grass continued to move around Rehtul as he saw hundreds of pairs of ears pop up around him. Long, rather slender ears that could only belong to...

A small rabbit jumped out of the tall grass in front of the young Orlouge. He instantly thought back to what the monk said before he walked in the room.

“You’ll have to stew a bit? As in rabbit stew? That wasn’t even a good joke…” Rehtul rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Now my brain hurts from the level of stupidity some people will sink to for so-called humor.”

He looked around and scratched the back of his head, confused. What the hell was he supposed to do about all these innocent animals while he was fighting another person?

[Philomel]

They say the Citadel was built during the Time of Rebuilding, when the nations pulled upon their resources to build themselves once more after the devasting blow that was the Breaking of the Tap. By that period fauns had already established themselves high in Paradisia - their hidden valley at the end of the Jagged Mountains, biding their time as their goddess kept them safe and the Satyros family got more and more insane. None, at that time, left, apart from one single faun who dared to venture out into the dangerous world that had so tried to cull them before, for fear of their hybrid natures. He had heard of the Citadel, and its legendary magics, and longed to try out his skill for himself!

It was for his bravery and his chellenging spirit that Drys granted him the opportunity to meet with another creature, an earth spirit, the strange beings of whom she had some part to play in their creation - she placed the two together, gave them magic as as experiment, and allowed them into the earth ...

That was her first trial. The faun's name had been Basil, and his accompanied earth spirit, in the form of a stag, had been Hurrivston. He had later, died, a hero to the people of Corone, and now, more than a millenia and a half later, the newest trial was taking place. A trial for a great and powerful faun, granted powers for their sheer desire to be unlike any of the other race, to learn how to fight and face and adversaries and let fauns be finally recognised as a species which could conquer nations. Drys, in her mysterious realm, in that place between the physical and the spiritual, kept a close eye on this newest experiment, and in her mind this was the greatest one yet.

So far twenty-four fauns had been given the Gift. And the twenty-fifth was currently sitting cross-legged, partially disguised by tall grass, in a field of rabbits.

In the very Citadel that had inspired Basil to be the first to step out from Paradisia.

Beside her sat her earth spirit, Veridian, the fox-formed beauty who could be larger than life. An enlightened breeze played with the tufts of grass upon which the bunnies nibbled, and it caught the loose locks of the faun's violet hair. As she pushed it from her face and tucked it behind her ear, her eyes peeked up at the figure who had just strode in to join them in the field, who was eerily familar.

Glancing down at Veridian, she tried to ignore his strange fear of the hundreds of fluffy beings who looked just like his earth-sister as she asked him a question.

Is that what I think it is, she asked her familiar.

Veridian whimpered a little.

She ignored his moans, and decided to keep talking, mostly to herslf. Looking back up, her eyes once more washed over the curve of his brow, the sweep of his hair, the pose of his stance. She nibbled her lip, not fearful but rather curious.

You know ... I think it may be.

Sometimes there was no denying them. Family resemblances, after all, were something far superior than any human perception. Many a time people had determined the connection between Philomel and her half-brother, Leaf, but not the one between her and the half-Satyr Blodwen (for there was no genetical connection - as far as they knew). And recently, well recently Philomel had spent a great amount of time with a member of the family of whom she dedicated this particular new opponent of hers to. He had the same lack of weaponry, the same determined look in his eye, and the same size and stature. There was some doubt, but only a little.

The faun rolled back her shoulders, and pushed herself to her feet. Like a shadow she popped into existence, catching the man's attention, and she stared him right in the face.

"Hello," she said, "Are you an Orlogue?"

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Appears there was an opponent waiting for me here, Rehtul thought as he came down on one knee and petted the rabbit that had jumped out in front of him. He looked up at the woman as she seemed to appraise his appearance. He brushed a stray strand of his white hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind an ear. Sighing, he stood up and drew himself up to his full height before bowing to the woman across from him.

“Yes, I am indeed an Orlouge,” he said, his eyes wandering over the form of the woman across him. “You must know someone in my family to make such an assumption.”

He cracked his neck slowly to relieve the stiffness in his spine and drew back the sleeves of his tunic. He pulled tightly on a set of buckled leather straps just above his elbow, locking the sleeves in place there, so they wouldn't muddle with his motions. He concentrated upon the air around himself as his aura began to show itself to the naked eye. With a flick of his wrist, water droplets began to form in the air around him, coalescing into his gloved right hand in a long, thin shape.

Rehtul’s eyes dilated slightly as the moisture finally achieved critical mass and froze in his grip, taking on the shape of a long, flat bladed spear. He drove the spear into the ground next to him, allowing his magic to speak for itself for a moment before he began to speak once more.

“I am Rehtul Orlouge, son of Succed. I am an Elemental Mage of Ice and a Mystic of Light. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, smiling his most winning smile. He could feel the eyes of the little fox creature next to the woman upon him. Something seemed different, intelligent about that creature. It seemed not to be a normal animal, like the rabbits themselves were. He knelt once more and held out a hand to the rabbit.

This is going to be a tough battle, whether I like it or not. There’s not much that I can really do to avoid damaging the world around us. Ice by its very nature takes life. I should try to avoid as much collateral damage as possible, though. If these rabbits are real, I don’t want the blood of something I’m not planning to eat on my hands.

He released a small chuckle at his usual over thinking of the situation and stood back up, gripping the spear of ice in his right hand once more before slinging it over his shoulder.

“As a courtesy to you, I’ll let you in on a little secret. This is only my second trip to the Citadel. I won my first match, barely, against an opponent I fought once before in Underwood. I don’t have a lot of experience in one on one fights, and I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

A sly grin appeared on his face as the air around him began to turn into mist.

“Don’t think that I’ll be easy to defeat, however. I’ve been in training as a member of the Ixian Knights for a number of years.”

“By the way, since you seem to know my family… Might I have the honor of your name, and perhaps be bold enough to ask how you know my family?”

When people admitted to knowing Rehtul’s family, he was always curious as to whether they would end up becoming friends and allies, or enemies. After all, the family did have its dysfunctions and problems dealing with people on the outside at times.

[Philomel]

Quickly the ice-crystals formed, one after the other, fusing together as they froze from the water vapour in the air. Subtle and delicate, though as strong as steel, segements flowed seemlessly like they had always meant to be in that form. Light bouncing off from the myriad of facets sparkled like fresh snow on a winter's morning, under the intense shine of a white sun. In his hand the ice was a tool and a weapon, an ability and a wonder.

Philomel could only raise an eyebrow as she watched the spear's creation. It was a wonder of genius, a use of one's supernatural powers quite basic in its concept but limitless in his fashion. She considered her own abilities, the art of summoning rocks, the art of creating massive earthquakes, and she mused about simply throwing stones as weapons, her only weapons.

Intrigued, she popped her neck to either side, rolling her shoulders back to loosen the strain within her muscle, before drawing out her blade.

The young man continued his speech.

He admitted that he was indeed, of the family Orlouge, and that he was the son of Suceed. This in turn, for Philomel, made him a cousin of the surgical Lloyd. Raising a hand to twirl a lock of her fine purple hair, she let him continue his words, leaving Veridian to carefully watch his movements as she thought upon life, the universe, powers and family.

The latter being the most useless and futile in her mind. All her mother did, after all, was abuse the fact her daughter was honoured and with power, using the name of Philomel for her own gain.

Her father, he was dead. Leaf ... he was barely a brother yet. It would still take her a long time to ever fully trust him.

A pause occurred in the young man's voice. It occured in the world, the atmosphere, the emotions surrounding them. Small rabbits hopped in silence, none of them thumped, harking to this world of soundlessness.

Swerving her attention back to reality she looked at ... Rehtul and blinked.

"Huh?"

He asks how you know his family, Veridian quickly relayed to her. Oh, and also basically said he is a force to be reckoned with.

Philomel raised her eyebrows as she looked back at the ice-mystic. In a smooth motion that reflected a symbol of infinity she swung her snow white blade from hand to hand dramatically. Don't they all, she said.

She ceased the swinging, purely an aesthetic decision to give a glimpse of her skill, and allowed herself enough humility to incline her head.

"I am Philomel Serkena van der Aart, Matriarch of the Gilded Lily, close friend to the Crimson Hand." A great smile spread across her face as she spread a hand to where Veridian sat. "And this is my close ally, Veridian Ryuusan. He gives you his greetings also. I know your family through reputation, and have had the good fortune of even fighting with your cousin, Lloyd Orlouge."

Her spare hand went back to the hilt of her sword to greet the other again. Both of them joined in matrimony around the handle of the blade, overlapping just that slightest amount, holding each other close in bondage.

"You may have heard of me ... you may have heard of us."

And in that beautiful moment, Veridian rose to his paws. He yawned, and he shook out his fur like a dog just exiting from water. And indeed, he breathed, and all at once he grew, blossoming out like a viral rumour. Ferocious and demonic, he executed movements to become four times that of his natural size, gargantuan, mouth full of daggers and every part of him covered in crimson flames. Flickering, dancing, from a pup to an alpha - an action which set the entire field of rabbits ... scurrying for their lives.

Thundering over the grass like a storm itself, born from utter fear. Now they were no longer silent.

Time for dramatic flair. Time for action.

Something, perhaps, to be reckoned with.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

The woman drew her sword and swung it in an easy limniscate, a term Rehtul had recently come in contact which equated to the symbol for the infinite, and then introduced herself and her companion. Rehtul could tell easily that the woman knew her way around the blade she was wielding, and that she spoke on the creature’s behalf told him a bit of information he could feel was important.

They’re connected telepathically, he thought. That little fox is more than it seems, perhaps a nature spirit of some kind. I’ve heard my father mention them before.

Rehtul smirked ever so slightly, his face remaining mostly immobile, as the woman mentioned his cousin, Lloyd. The combination of amusement and disgust in his eyes were apparent to one who would look close enough, however.

“So the demon spawn children of Uncle Ciato are wandering the world now? Yes, he’s my cousin, and no, we don’t typically get along,” he said, before shrugging his shoulders in a rather put off fashion. “I didn’t think that I’d be hearing much about anyone on Ciato’s side coming up in day to day conversation. He and his children, well most of them, are rather twisted.”

And to think, I was supposed to train with that maniac! Rehtul thought, shuddering in revulsion. He watched, mildly interested as the small fox creature – Veridian, wasn’t it? – began to stretch onto its hind paws before beginning to grow in size immensely. Spouts of flame erupted from the small creature’s body, scorching the earth around it, before settling into ribbons that seemed to trail behind the creature without any active participation from the rather stagnant wind of the room.

The heat given off by the being, now roughly the size of a large wolf, was overwhelming. Even the almost omnipresent cold mist surrounding Rehtul’s body wasn’t going to be enough to stave it off at close range.

The earth around the creature’s feet had already begun to blacken under the effects of the flame covering parts of the creature’s body, particularly around the paws of the creature and where the tail hung easily, almost lazily, toward the ground.

They’re both confident, easily more attuned to battle than Ruby was, he thought, knowing that this small fact would more than likely be the key to his downfall.

He stepped forward, picking his spear up out of the dirt and spun it in the air a couple of times with sheer force of will. His gloved hand slipped around the pole once more and gripped tightly as he looked at the woman and fox-being in front of him, unsure of how he should make his first move. Drawing on the minimal training he’d received in the Ixian Knights, he relaxed his grip on his spear and withdrew a single hand from it. The ice creation didn’t so much as slouch even a slight bit more toward the ground.

If I’m going to do this...

As if to finish the thought, he summoned a large needle of ice, about a foot long and half an inch wide, and held up his left hand behind it, firing the small, icy projective directly at the large fox, a test of the creature’s resistance to his own element of choice.

He turned toward the woman, Philomel, and kept his ears directed toward the burning fox creature that he had aimed at with his primary attack. One yelp, one small growl of pain was all he’d need to know that he could physically wound the creature through the shield of heat that surrounded its body. Knowing that, he had chosen to focus his sight on the satyr before him. With a strong stride, he started walking, before breaking out in a full run at the woman, his spear prepared for a strike. At the last second, he released the spear and allowed his sheer force of will to propel it forward.

As he stopped short, he released a subtle magic through the soles of his shoes. While they did interfere somewhat, he found early on that he could still draw on moisture through such things. From under his feet, a puddle of water emerged on the ground, spreading out about three feet in every direction around him before freezing solid into a surface of ice as slick as glass. If the woman was a melee fighter, as he assumed, this would likely give him an edge on mobility, at least for a single surprise attack.

He knew he was facing a battle on two fronts, however, and the telepathic link between the two of them would be something to contend with, more than anything else. A small sigh escaped his lips, misting the air in front of him.

What’d I’d have to go and get myself into? This is exactly the kind of impulsive behavior I hate watching other people indulge in.

[Philomel]

The first thing they both saw was the projectily flying through the air.

After all, it had been there, formed at the time when they had met the Orlouge, for a while stuck in the ground and then in the man's hand. Together they watched it transfer to a single hand, and saw his body take a step towards them. Chest rose and fell, hips rocked as his feet carried him forth. As soon as he did so, they went on high alert, knowing that this being was indeed an Orlouge and that mostly likely meant power beyond simple reasoning.

You watch the spear hand, I will watch the other, Veridian said to her as his great and mighty body began to singe the grasses around them. His careful golden irises, glowing with deep embers, fixated on the spare extremity as it floated to Rehtul's side, And then we will know when it-

Sparkles glistened in an instant, lighting up the field in the same way that the spear had first done so. A dart of icy horror it was launched through the air without warning, straight at the burning fox. Veridian yelped as he threw himself to the side, away from the homemade weapon, and he landed on the ground as it skimmed over his flaming fur. He felt rain droplets fall onto his fine skin, dowsing out the flames, the ice turning to water as quickly as it had been created.

Philomel he yelled, Keep your eyes on-

Already she was darting in her own spasmic dance. It had taken all of her effort, all of her attention to do as Veridian had suggested. Being of two pairs of eyes and two minds they were one, but they were also two unpredictable individuals. As soon as he had spoken, she knew something might occur and it took much of her attention not to run to his aid as soon as the first projectile had been released. And now she was labouring with her own.

The young white-haired man ran swiftly towards her as her beloved suffered under pressure of an oncoming storm. In a second and a swift amount of footsteps he threw the spear at her. Philomel was lucky to have already had her sword in hand. Bounding to the side as fast as her quick faunish speed would allow she managed to batter the thing easily aside - but not as easily as Veridian had apparently coped.

As her ailment was forced off course by her hearty sword-swing, and sent away somewhere to the distance where the rabbits had fled, Veridian suffered from his harshly. The shard of ice passed by the line of his flesh, for he did not have the speed of Philomel and lacked the curvaceous body that she had been gifted. Heavily he breathed as he lay on his side, his entire right belly and flank doused and soaking wet, struggling with the strangeness of being suddenly not alight when the rest of him was. Magic vs magic, this battle certainly was something of a weird conundrum, finding the earthen couple's few weaknesses and exploiting them.

But Philomel could not let this villain win.

Roaring vehemently, she cheered for Rehtul's attention, allowing Veridian the time to gain his bearings and perhaps to his feet. With that done, she rammed her hoof into the ground, throwing up dirt and loose grasses, ripping the ground in two in a single line towards Rehtul, as quickly as his ice spears had been formed. It ignored the subtle hardened frozen ground around, for this was a localised earthquake of building-toppling potential, and it spasmed at the ice mystic in an attempt to distract him from the suffering fox.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Would you look at that, Rehtul thought to himself simply as he watched the small dart of ice he had made wound the large fox creature visibly. Fire beats ice, but also creates water, which dowses flame... most interesting.

Within those few precious seconds, Rehtul had learned two very important things. One was that the creature was nowhere near as fast as he had anticipated, given its lean, though rather large, form. The other was a theory he’d have to test. A grim look crossed his features as the woman before him began screaming.

No... that’s no scream, that’s a roar. Injuring her partner must have infuriated her, the young Mystic thought. He bemusedly wondered whether the woman considered him, instead of a rival like most in the Citadel, more of an evil being intent on harming those closest to her now. It wasn’t exactly hard to get lost in the settings the Citadel crafted, to believe that these fights were indeed to the death.

A small chuckle began to escape his mouth, until the ground under him began to quiver and shake. Cold eyes narrowed and a scowl crossed over the thin lips of the Elementalist as he looked for the source of this interruption to his reverie. He followed the fault lines to their source, the hoof of the satyr woman opposite him. A low growl escaped the young man’s lips as the earth beneath him gave out, splintering, rising and falling at random.

The earth around him shifted to and fro, beating and bruising his body, until the entire area seemed ready to collapse in on him. He looked around himself and felt a strange sensation for the first time since he had first seen is father practice his own elemental magics in front of the young Mystic.

Rehtul was impressed.

The earth slowly brought itself to a halt, and finally settled. In that motionless silence, he could almost feel the bated breath of the planet itself, until at long last a painful groaning echoed through the shattered ground around him. The earthen floor beneath him throbbed once and then caved in on him, bringing with it a majority of the solid stone that had been torn by the other mage’s magic, burying the Mystic alive.

Around the area that Rehtul had once stood was now a hole filled to the brim with stones of every size along with a sizable amount of dirt and long, uprooted grass. No trace of the Mystic Elementalist could be seen within the rubble. The once peaceful prairie had been ripped to shreds, quite literally, by a woman putting her foot down.

Mist began pouring out through the rocks of the localized disaster of the satyr’s fury. As the mist deepened and began to block the hole in the ground from easy site, frost began to spread across one of the larger boulders in the crater. Cracks began to form across the surface, a giant black spider web amid the white frost.

In mere seconds, the boulder shattered and up stood the young Orlouge, dusting himself off from within a glowing dome of energy made to look like glass. A slight smirk crossed the young man’s lips as he adjusted the small cape on his back and looked at the woman with an interested expression.

“You’ve officially piqued my curiosity,” he said as the shield around him began to fade. The stone had not been quite hard enough to break through his protection, so his usual counter attack caused by the breaking of his shield, the homing shards, would not be used this time.

He cracked his neck and smiled his most winning smile.

“You possess agency with one of the Elemental Magics... show me more,” he said, his voice barely more than a hint of winter’s cold just before blizzard season in north Salvar. He grasped his fingers into a fist and brought his hand up into the air, calling on the might of his own element’s power. The uprooted grass began to brown and rot as the water was ripped from it easily by the magic of the young Orlouge.

Above his head he spread out a sheet of ice as thin as paper and formed it into a giant band of blue, roughly a foot tall and ten feet around. The young Elementalist opened his hand and the ring of ice exploded outward, sharpened spikes of ice flying out in every direction around the young man.

“Fire, Frost, and Earth... the elements are each beautiful... and savage in their own ways,” he whispered.

[Philomel]

"You have piqued my curiosity ... show me more!"

The youngling whined like a lost puppy, begging for her to portray more of her abilities. Weakened and desperate as she was, Philomel certainly had no mind to display them purely for his entertainment. He seemed thoroughly amused by the idea that her, Veridian and he possessed three of the central elements, ones that most considered to be of essential importance - even making up the basic building blocks of creation in some cultures.

For fauns the world was simpler built. There was earth and there was not of the earth. Fire, water and air was some aspects of the 'not earth' category, but they were merely aspects. What was of essential import was the earth, everything that had been gifted to them by Drys and from which her precious trees grew. Many creatures came from the ground, including the main livestock of the faun-kind, as well as the fauns themselves, and so this was all that was needed. It was all that was needed for Philomel, in that case, for her to wield the strength and the properties of her goddess, to be that beacon in the darkness, to bring the dawn to the night. As the Matriarch stood there, struggling even to hold her emotions together, to not let them ride out and tear the worlds with their insanity, she felt the echo of the very bed rocks scream to her, crying out that she could not lose this battle.

For sake of her people, for the sake of the earth.

Indeed, she saw the grass ripped dry of any moisture. As soon as the first inkling of this occurred, the faun screeched out, yelling to Veridian for all she was worth. In his bed of sorched vegetation and earth the fox on fire struggled to one paw, before sucking in his breath and focusing all his energy on her. As the wet rose into the air and froze around the Orlogue Philomel knew what might occur, felt what could occur, and knew it was dangerous beyond imagining. This boy had already shown that he could damage, already shown that he could cause blood to spill from a simple wound. Therefore it was a potential that any power he showed now could mean the death of both her and her fox.

And so that, for Philomel, and for Veridian, meant one thing currently in the face of it. And that was to flee.

As soon as the ice began to form a shimmering, glistening dais crown above the white head, the minds of the faun and fox connected. Veridian disappeared from his place, and reappeared directly beside Philomel. No sooner had he done so than she grabbed his fur, digging her hand fully into what remained of his burning back, and focused all her intent on flight. The couple vanished, sucked up by the earth beneath them into a void that is little known of, and were spat back out like a pip from a mouth. Coming up behind the boy now, so sudden and so dramatic, the two of them cowered like children, far enough away as the ice shattered, flying over the field like daggers of death, and cutting close but not close enough to where they had now come up from.

There they were, safe and free, for one moment, choosing to run and hide instead of fight. For desperation was where they were now.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Disappointment; that was the first emotion that Rehtul registered as he watched his attack fly over the area that his opponent had just a moment ago inhabited. He’d gambled that he’d be able to hit the woman, or that he’d at least see some display of a shield, or something formed from the earth to defend her. Instead, she simply disappeared, along with her familiar, into the dirt. A sigh escaped the young man’s lips as he turned around and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear. The crumbled piles of dirt and rock around him were testaments to the power the combatants wielded, but something seemed off to the young man.

It felt as though he was being run from, as though he himself were some kind of fearsome monster, like that flaming fox. A coarse laugh erupted from his mouth at the ridiculous thought. He was still new to the whole idea of fighting for glory. What could there possibly be to fear from someone as green as he was?

“Ridiculous,” he spat as he walked to the edge of the crater he had found himself in after the woman’s latest attack. With a few huffs, he heaved himself over the side and back onto the plains that the fight had originally broken out upon. The wind was picking up. He could smell moisture on the air as the grass around him danced. It was going to rain soon.

I’d consider it an advantage if not for the fact that the woman definitely has the advantage of being able to use the ground in its entirety as a weapon, he considered silently. He patted himself down, dusting off his pants and shirt once more as he considered what he would do next. He didn’t see his opponent anywhere, but that didn’t mean that she’d forfeited the match. He knew that if someone quit fighting that a magical door would appear to drag the “winner” back into the main halls of the Citadel.

He tapped a finger against his chin pensively as he looked around, hoping for some sign that would be left by the two he was up against. He still didn’t know quite what to do with her once she finally showed herself, however. There seemed to be no honor in fighting against an opponent who had already seemingly given up, and while he would admit that honor wasn’t exactly something he put a lot of stock in, it still didn’t seem right to fight against someone who wasn’t prepared to defend themselves anymore, especially if that person seemed intent on escaping.

Without anything else to spur him onward, he called out as loudly as he could without screaming, “Hey! If you want to call this off, just say so! I won’t hold it against you. We can call it a draw!”

With that offer of a truce called out, he sat down and sank into a meditative position. He slowed his breathing and waited for the answer to his call for a ceasefire. He had no intention of chasing the woman down, and if she didn’t decide to show herself to continue, he would merely call upon his own forfeit portal and leave.

“I’m already more than happy with what I’ve seen today. I don’t really need much more than this,” he considered aloud.

[Philomel]

Her breath labouring still, Philomel looked over to the edge of the crater, which was littered with the glimmering shimmers of the cracked ice. Some of it, naturally, had begun to melt away already, creating little rivulets that flowed over the stony land, now devoid of any rabbits. They had all scampered to the four corners, some perhaps dead if they were nearby with all the rage and damage that had occurred.

So much rage and torment and ice and fire, so much anger. Philomel looked around at the cracked earth mixed with the singed grass that marked where Veridian had stood, flaming in vehemence, then glanced back at her beloved, injured companion. Things came into her mind, great sorrowful and regretful thoughts that filled her eyes with wet. A lump formed in her throat, created of irritation to herself. She had been the cause of this, she had wanted this fight. She had caused the suffering of her dearest friend and caused all sorts of damage to the earth, to herself, to everything ...

Slowly she stood up, feeling ache all over. Veridian breathed slowly, but at least he was stable now having had a chance to gain his wits and wisdom. Still lying on his side, he gave a weak smile as he lifted his head, and then slumped again. A soft wind picked up around them, playing with the few pieces of green grass that remained still around them and took away was remained of his enraged state. He faded to a small size, that of normality and a young dog, dirty russet caked in brown and spiked with charcoal black.

Go and finish this, he calmly said.

A tear dripped from her eye as Rehtul Orlouge spoke his words of peace and ending.

Quietly she nodded, before gaining to her hooves. Then, leaving the dying body of the fox she slipped down the crater's curved edge, stepping carefully over the shards. She came up behind the figure of the young white-haired boy, a spark of interest still coming into her mind as she remembered his family - but quickly she bid it away again. And gently, once behind him, she leaned over and touched his shoulder, a whispering gesture of acceptance.

"It was an honour to fight you," she said.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Those words were all that the Mystic needed to hear. With a sigh he pushed himself up off the ground, turned, and bowed to the woman he had been fighting up until this point.

“The honor was mine, milady,” he said simply as a magic portal appeared next to him. The green circle in the air next to the mage shimmered slightly as he kept his eye on the woman. “Just something to keep in mind for next time, though... This place won’t let you truly die. The same goes for your partner. When you leave it will be as though everything that happened here were little more than an illusion.” He grinned and rubbed his shoulder with one hand.

“Though there are times when the pain will carry through,” he said, chuckling. His smile dropped from his face very quickly as he motioned back the way she came. “Get your friend and get out of here. I hope next time we face off, it will be without fear and without malice.” With those few words, the young man disappeared into the portal, leaving for now the time-space put to use for these battles in Hromagh’s honor.

As he stepped through the door to the main area of the Citadel once more, Rehtul Orlouge considered the fight that had just passed him. He had learned something much more interesting than some simple battle tactics this time. As he walked, he noticed a bench in the middle of the hallway, pressed against the right wall. He shrugged and took a seat on the old iron. He smiled in satisfaction even as the old thing groaned under his weight.

Slowly, Rehtul slumped over, elbows resting just above his knees and eyes facing toward the immaculate white marble floor of the building. His long white hair hid all besides the tiles of the floor from view. Slowly, a bout of uncontrollable laughter built up in his chest. It started with chuckling, then amped up to true laughter. With a sudden jerk, he was looking at the ceiling, the roiling laughs erupting from his mouth like lava from a volcano.

As it finally started to die down, the young Mystic slumped back down. His chest, arms, and hands were shaking uncontrollably.

“Showing mercy is a funny thing, isn’t it?” the monk from earlier said as he placed a hand on the younger man‘s shoulder.

He sat down next to Rehtul and continued, “This isn’t your first battle, I’m sure, but it’s the first where you’ve actually spared someone’s life, isn’t it?” The monk smiled as the mage nodded and patted his shoulder lightly.

“What you’re experiencing is a combination of fear and elation. By offering the white flag, you opened yourself up to a sucker punch that would have ended your life. That fact that your offer of peace was accepted meant that you survived...”

“You’re telling me I’m laughing at death?”

“In a manner of speaking. I think, though, that you’re more laughing at how strange life can be. Stew over it a little bit more, and see what you think. Come back to see us again, find out for yourself what the Citadel is really about. I promise you it’s not just about battles and death. It’s about an appreciation for life, as well,” the monk said as he stood up and began to walk off.

“You’ll get to hear more puns if you do, too,” he said. He ducked easily as a lone needle of ice flew past his head and dug into the wall behind him. “Now you’ll definitely be hearing more of my puns. See ya around, kid.”

[Philomel]

Philomel slipped in behind the white-haired young mage just before the door closed and the Citadel arena was no more. Wrapped in her arms was the gentle and cooling form of Veridian, slowly turning from life's embrace and following the path to death. Her mind thought about what the boy had said, his words that were almost condescending.

"This place won’t let you truly die. The same goes for your partner."

It was as if he was her superior, as if he knew more than her. Somewhere in the distance she heard him laugh, a high amused one, possibly at her. It came from around a corner, as she disappeared around another short alleyway away from him. Whether it was to that battle, what he assigned as possibly ridiculous, or whether it was centered around the fact she had allowed him to walk away alive, she could not be sure. But her own amusement was shoved to the side for a moment for the care of her dearest heart.

Oh yes, easily she could have won. When he was sitting there, musing in the centre of the destruction, she could easily have portal-jumped her way behind him, and thrust through his neck with her simplest of knives. He was defenceless in that moment, and there was no way such things were beneath her.

Yet ... yet ...

Things had been fast then, things had needed to be done. No time for games and blood and mess, Philomel's full concern had been for Veridian and nothing more, as he waited to be taken into the realms of darkness. For what the Orlogue boy had never realised was that her and the fox's bond was deeper than a Ai'borone illusion. Even if Veridian could have been brought back from the shadow-world by them, Philomel still would have left the burning loss of him. It had happened before in the Citadel; that sudden breaking feeling, that rend from existence when all else had seemed to fail and - and the very feeling of loneliness had threatened to drive her insane. When Veridian died, even in a construct such as the Citadel, she still felt all the pain and horror and isolation - true, unbridled agony and despondancy, the feeling of being all alone with no one else with you but your own punishing self, crying out "why, why, why, why did you let it happen?!"

The short end of the corridor led to a door that led straight outside. And near this place, Philomel knew, was a grove of trees, which she needed more than anything. As Veridian moaned, and managed out a few struggled words about how stupidly stubborn she was being, over letting him just be healed by the ordinary monks, the faun soldiered on. Darting straight for the ash tree she knew was there, adorned with many and plenty crossed branches and offerings to her goddess that she had placed there over time. Calmly, ignoring all sense of reason, Philomel laid Veridian at the foot of the tree, and stepped back. Striking a prayer, she invited Drys to come down and heal him then, there, to prove herself vastly more powerful than any monk.

[Mordelain]

Thread Title: Wascally Wabbits (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?29249-Wascally-Wabbits-(Closed))
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Rehtul Orloge, Philomel

Rehtul’s scores in blue.
Philomel’s scores in red.

Plot: 18/21

Story- 6/7

You portray the weight of expectation on Rehtul’s shoulders well, but all too easily bring NPC’s into the exposition. Is Rehtul really worthy of such fame, when all he has (yet), is his family’s name? Would the monks, given all they’ve seen in their long lives, treat him any differently to the myriad other warriors and vagabonds that enter the Citadel each day? You both set the story in stone, but Philomel’s exposition put her one step ahead. In particular, the detailing on the relationship between faun and fox in post 10 and 12.

Setting- 6/6

Expert use of verbs kept the scenery throbbing, pulsating, and growling. To excel, don’t dwell too much on the elements just because you’re an ice and earth mage alike. Consider how these elements not only interact, or react to one another, but the wider implications using these talents might have on your surroundings. Does an ice lance kill the flora and fauna nearby, or does the air freeze and crystals of ice form in the farrowed ground cracked by faun’s fury?

Pacing- 6/8

Rehtul, be wary of explaining too much. Dialogue in adrenaline fuelled situations is seldom concise, clear, and evocative at the best of times. Philomel captures the balance between things said, and things done beautifully. Phrases like ‘the honour is mine’ are best left for truly formal situations, not just after you’ve been garrotted. I expect Rehtul wants to sound like a gentlemen, but he doesn’t act like it. Yet. Philomel, keep up the frenetic excitement that surrounds your character, it works wonders.

Character: 17/20

Communication - 5/6

Your respective dialogue was appropriate. There is no dispute about misunderstanding what was said by either character. The difficult here was how it was said. It was either out of tone (too formal, or too informal, in Rehtul’s case), or out of character. It’s clear you were okay with bunnying dialogue, but try to discuss, even in competitive writing, how your character speaks. Don’t be afraid to ask your opponent to edit for style (less so content). There’s an element of team work in any war. Re-examine post 7 and 8 and look at how what is said might affect the rubric as a whole.

Action- 6/8

Appropriate, believable, and systemic movements and responses throughout. To develop your writing, Rehtul, look beyond what is seen. Look at the senses as a pantheon of godly writing tools, and always take the approach that, until you’re certain of yourself, less is more. Philomel writes action in a dynamic, and simple manner that doesn’t lose the reader in the moment. That said, to excel with such strong foundations I’d consider working on embedding action into the dialogue.

Persona- 6/6

I didn’t get a sense of who your characters are now. There is plenty of reference to who they were before they entered the arena. You set out the justifications well enough, but the final posts, your conclusions, did not seem to grow any wiser. The journey to the grove, in Philomel’s case, felt more like a metaphorical coming of age than wise cracks post formal debauchery and throat stabbing. Whilst not every thread has to be life-affirming for your characters, everything we do does add to who we are.

Prose: 20/23

Mechanics- 7/7

On the whole, you both grasp the basics of grammar. Your posts are functional, set out correctly, and don’t break any major conventions for reasons foolish. Philomel, careful when you’re formatting internal dialogue, repetition of previous dialogue, and inner thought. You run the risk of confusing the reader without clearer distinctions. Rehtul, be careful how you punctuate dialogue. Formal language suffers greatly when the comma becomes your crux. Strong, clear, and simple diction wins the day. Great work both.

Clarity- 6/8

Rehtul’s clarity suffered because there was some confusion in the dialogue as to whom was speaking and when. This is often a by-product of bunnying. Philomel, despite the repetition of dialogue at the start of posts (which is good for some readers, but more often than not jarring), your writing is clear, concise, and dynamic. On the whole, the action was easy to follow and you both wrote excellently.

Technique- 6/8

Strong core techniques from both writers. Philomel pushed ahead with a good mix of internal, external, and formatting techniques. I’d warn against using italics, and try and devise a way of separating each style/type of technique in a more definable manner in the future. Rehtul, keep up the good work. Look at poetic techniques; tripling, alliteration, and so on.

Wildcard: 5/6

I sorely wanted there to be more Looney Tunes references…but I guess a solid, guttural back and forth was a good way to start the New Year’s reading. I think Faun’s just win, though, right?

Final Score: 60/70


Rehtul Orloge receives:

400 EXP!
50 GP!

Philomel receives:

2300 EXP!
200 GP!

Congratulations!

[Rayleigh]

All EXP and GP have been added.