Final Fite I: A Floaty Fite

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

The creature had never experienced such clean, pure air, rushing over his pinkish skin. Were he capable of the feeling, Hailwing would have been elated.

Instead he stood with arms crossed near the rim of a grassy plot of land. Beyond him was an endless drop, for he stood on a flying mound of earth - a floating mass, as it were, suspended among the clouds and surrounded by the bluest of skies. He had only been here for a moment, having been transferred into the Citadel arena by will of the monks therein, but he had taken measure of his surroundings very carefully.

The ground he stood on floated high in the air, a thirty yard wide surface of terrain with no boundaries about its perimeter. Continuously, bits of stone and dirt cracked off of the jagged bottom of the platform and drifted down through the sky, as if the foothold threatened to erode over time.

Beyond the platform Hailwing stood on, dozens upon dozens of similar spaces existed. Some were smaller, a few were bigger, but there always seemed to be at least one platform nearby enough from another that Hailwing could transfer over with a moderate leap. He observed them for a moment and noted, or at least suspected, that they were not degenerating the same way that the one he currently stood upon was.

He hummed at this, considering it and whether or not he was overthinking the significance of the difference.

Then, a sudden gust of wind took him by surprise. If he hadn't responded so quickly, Hailwing would have been pulled from the side of the flying platform before the battle had even started. He planted his feet hard into the soil and knelt down, countering the push.

Then the gust ended, and he stood. With a grimace, he moved away from the edge and closer to the center of the platform. An icy mist wafted out of his mouth as he exhaled, turned, and awaited his opponent.

[redford]

John stepped through a glowing arch into the arena.

He felt grass beneath his armored feet, which was always something he found odd. The sensations he felt through the armor were just as real as any he could sense through his own skin, though it was odd when he felt the point of a blade or the heat of red-hot coals without any pain. His gaze turned upwards from his armored boots to notice that he was on a platform, suspended above the clouds.

John looked back, seeing more platforms like his, perhaps two large steps away. He also noticed that his own platform was crumbling away, albeit slowly.

Though, given the size of the platform, it might be prudent to move to another platform before too long.

A powerful gust threatened to tip him, but he willed small tendrils of the armor at his feet to creep into the earth, like the roots of the tree. They kept him upright through the wind. Though, he did sacrifice a few inches of armor at his boots for that. The gust subsiding, he willed the tendrils to retract into his boots, returning the borrowed material.

John turned his gaze upward to his opponent, seeing a figure at the other end of the platform. He was perhaps six feet tall, and stood ramrod still against the driving wind. At first glance, he seemed mostly human, except for the small wings at his back. There was a glaive strapped to his back, point up.

I'll need to close the distance quickly if I'm going to make any difference, John thought. Ever the tactician, he knew that his improvised weapons only reached so far.

He stepped forward, willing his armor to extend upward to cover the upper half of his chest and form two inch claws at the ends of his fingers. He wasn't sure what his opponent had in store, but he tried to make himself ready for anything.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

John appeared several long strides away, his imposing form illuminated by the magic of the portal before it quickly dissipated into the wind.

Hailwing was already facing him, analyzing. John stood solidly, not a concern visible on his face and appearing nonplussed by the unusual situation in which they found themselves. Hailwing assumed him to be a veteran of the Citadel, used to the unusual arenas concocted and imagined by its many users and the monks who attended to it. He'd come to train, perhaps, to test his mettle against what the Ai'Brone had to offer.

The warrior reached back and removed his glaive from the fastened clasp on his belt which held it in place against his back. With a deft movement, he spun it over his head and rested the bottom of its shaft on the ground before his feet, its blade by his right shoulder.

"Hail," he called, in a resonant voice that pierced through the whirling winds. "Are you prepared?"

His knees bent just slightly, the balls of his feet planted firmly on the ground. Behind him, a brick-sized chunk of the earth broke off and crumbled into the air.

[redford]

The glaive favored a more reaching approach, providing his opponent with an advantage. John took a few steps forward, halting his stride in the center of the circular platform, bending his knees. The platforms were disintegrating, and it wouldn't be long before his opponent had to get close.

And when he did, he'd be fighting to get to the middle. His mind flashed on a lecture given by an old martial arts teacher.

"Your feet are no good to you if you don't know where to put them. Always control the high ground."

John crouched, readying a defensive posture. He focused on his armor, shifting it around until a round plate had formed at the end of his fist. He fashioned it into a shield, focusing on his right hand to fashion a five foot spear extending from his hand. Hopefully he'd be able to keep his strange opponent from getting to the middle, and when he did have to, it would be a close ranged battle.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

The opponent did not give a verbal response, but Hailwing watched him crouch low and fashion a weapon and shield, somehow, out of the armor covering his body. The warrior knew that if he wasn't prepared now, he never would be. There was no sense in delaying the start of the battle further.

Hailwing burst forward, the ball of his right foot propelling him into a run, glaive pointed behind him.

Grass and dirt kicked up behind his feet, and as he approached John, the polearm came to bear and his eyes flashed wickedly.

He suddenly skidded along the ground, stopping around six feet from John and bringing the blade of his glaive down, hard, in a diagonal slash aimed for John's neck. This was the furthest he could be from the man while still being effective with the weapon. The intention was to follow-through after the strike and bring the glaive back in the other direction.

[redford]

As good as his initial strategy was, one of the most important parts of John's self-developed style of fighting was adaptability. He was at a disadvantage much of the time in terms of weapons, but maintaining a fluid combat style had helped him adapt to his surroundings. And this particular surrounding required even more adaptability.

His opponent rushed him, and John readied a spear, until he saw how he was swinging the glaive. John acted on instinct, more reacting than developing a strategy. John took a quick step forward, placing him inside the reach of the glaive's blade, at the same time drawing the metal in his right arm into his fist, making it larger than usual, drawing the spear in as well. The glaive's pole struck the space between neck and shoulder, and shook John's vision, nearly staggering him as he swung his right fist up and forward at the man before him, digging the balls of his feet into the unsteady ground to provide him with more force.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Driven by the heavy iron blade at its end, the glaive's momentum brought it down with great speed and force. John was moving, his armor strangely manipulating itself to form a sheath for his huge fist.

Hailwing knew his strike to be true, and so did not adjust his attack. John had moved, but the glaive's shaft crashed into him, certain to crush the man's collarbone and collapse him, halting his approach. Hailwing grunted with satisfaction as his polearm bent over John's body.

But John was no normal man, not by a long shot. Not expecting the strike to still come after landing his own, the winged warrior only had time to duck his head to meet John's fist, so that the blow crashed into his forehead instead of his jaw or mouth.

Stars and blackness exploded in Hailwing's head as it snapped back, thrown by the powerful punch. It was fortunate that he'd been able to land his own attack, for it surely prevented John from using the full extent of his strength, which would have certainly killed Hailwing outright. Hailwing stumbled and was almost able to get a foot under him, but instead collapsed backward to slam prone on the ground, his glaive tumbling to lay next to him.

It had been foolish not to try and avoid the attack completely, Hailwing would later think, after he had a few moments to recover. Of course there were many in this world who did not display their true strength, did not wear it as a warning badge.

Behind him, a large chunk of their platform broke apart, grass and rock and dirt falling away in the sky like dandelion florets. He tried to get his bearings and rise, but could hardly move his legs to try and plant his feet.

[redford]

John lifted his arm and felt the two halves of his collarbone grind together. He winced a little in pain as he brought his arm down, reducing the shield that covered it into his armor for now. His winged opponent stumbled, attempting to regain his bearings in the aftermath of John's strike. John noticed something odd about his opponent though. As he attempted to right himself, John saw deep scratches on his scalp, like one would see on metal or stone. It was then that he began to notice the other things. The eyes, focused but not quite human, the movements, precise and calculated. He was fighting an automaton, a golem of some kind. John was quite surprised, as he had never seen one before, much less one so convincingly human. An eyebrow raised as he bent down, grabbing the haft of the glaive on the ground with a giant hand. He tossed it off the side of the platform, into nothingness. It grew smaller until it disappeared beneath a blanket of clouds as the wind gusted again, as if to emphasize the peril of the fall.

The ground continued to crumble around them, faster now. Fist sized chunks were breaking off constantly and eroding the platform they stood on. The circle holding both of them was no more than ten feet wide now, and before long it would be nothing. The edge was moving closer and closer to his opponent as John took three steps back, then forward again, leaping toward the next platform. His size and strength aided him, and he landed with a foot or so to spare. This new platform had a new challenge though, and John struggled to maintain his balance as the platform began to tip slowly toward him. His eyes widened as he realized his danger, and sprinted to the middle, attempting to level the platform. Just across the bottomless chasm, the automaton looked to be attempting to stand.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Hailwing was conscious enough to be aware of John taking his weapon, but could do nothing about it. He forced himself to stay awake, to watch helplessly as the massive opponent tossed his glaive off into the sky effortlessly. Then, John was gone.

His world began to come back into focus as the clouds above became less of a blur. He could hear rumbling around him, and pieced together that his platform would not last much longer. Why John hadn't finished the job, he wasn't sure, but Hailwing's responsibility was to continue until the fight was over, as long as he was physically able.

He managed to sit up, then tuck his feet in. With great effort, he lurched forward to a standing position and stumbled right toward the edge. He caught himself before he pitched over, and beyond a throbbing ache in his head, he was back.

Only a few feet of earth remained suspended in the air. Hailwing looked to John on the nearest platform where he stood in the center, waiting.

Hailwing burst forward with all of the speed he could muster. He sprinted right to the edge, his toes curling around the lip of the platform, and he leaped with all of his strength. He was in peak condition, as strong and fast as most humans he'd fought, and so he just made the leap.

The platform behind him, dramatically, tore in half just as he left it, splitting in the middle and tumbling away like two halves of a shared cookie.

Hailwing had landed on his left shoulder and rolled through into a charge. The platform dipped in response to his arrival, however its behavior was slightly dimmed by John's presence, as he much outweighed the draconic warrior. So Hailwing charged, determinedly, but with no real plan. John was armed and armored, much bigger and heavier in comparison.

His hands opened at his sides, gathering mist from his flesh and making it solid. A fist-sized ball of ice appeared in each hand, and he threw them desperately at John, aiming for his head, one at a time.

Then he was upon John, and swung his right fist in a horizontal arc to try and clock him hard in the jaw.

[redford]

As the automaton leaped across the chasm, John took two steps back, attempting to level the platform if possible. His opponent landed, tipping the platform in his direction a moment before John took an extra step back. He turned his body at an angle, his injured collarbone away from the winged man. The automaton opened his hands and spheres of blue grew into them. He closed his fists around them and slung them one after another. A plate of metal formed at John's forearm, and the two impacted, shattering against his armor. He was not expecting the next move.

He lowered his arm, just in time to see his opponent closing, much more quickly than he'd anticipated. The fist caught his jaw, snapping his head to the side. John took a step back, not quite staggered, but moved with the punch, taking another two steps back and falling to the ground near the edge of the platform, plunging his fists into the earth. Tendrils of his armor grew down and around the soil, anchoring his body there.

The platform quickly began to tip downward, hopefully tossing the automaton from the platform.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Success!

Hailwing's capable fist found John's jaw, driving his head to the side. The massive human's response, to step back, told the winged warrior that he'd damaged the man. Hailwing skidded to a stop, his feet sliding across the grassy ground as he watched John seemingly fall to his knees in agony; payback had been given.

But John was not hurt at all, in the end, but had cleverly placed himself in an ingenious tactical position. Using his greater weight and the incredible flexibility of his armor, the man was tilting the platform backward - forward, to Hailwing.

The statue-come-to-life hadn't fully grasped what this platform was when first accessing it. John's movement and positioning had kept it as secret as possible, and Hailwing had been too consumed with the fight to consider the movement of the ground. "Well played!" he called.

He knelt and got as low to the ground as possible, digging his heels and trying to grind his fingertips into the soil. This worked, but only briefly. The platform turned more and more vertically, and his hands tore out chunks of dirt, no longer able to hold.

John was still in front of him, anchored to the island. An idea formed in Hailwing's head, and he did not see an alternative.

He pressed forward and dove down, aiming to crash into John and drive both of them off of the platform.

[redford]

John saw the wheels turning in the automaton's mind, realizing quickly what he had planned. He had hoped to drive his opponent off of the platform, but as he moved to the side, John realized that he intended to knock them both off. John looked around quickly as the automaton's purchase on the grass waned. Behind him lay another platform, perhaps close enough to leap to, perhaps not.

At this point it did not matter. He could not wait until the last second, or the platform would be out of reach, he needed to leap now.

He hoped that it would be too late for his opponent, though he did have a certain measure of respect for him. Most would be quick to lose or surrender after losing a weapon such as the glaive. Its length and range required a unique skill set, and usually obtaining that skill meant losing others. John dug his toes into the earth, finding a bit of purchase as he retracted his tendrils, shifting the armor on his left hand into a set of long hooks, and leapt.

It looked for a moment that the platform was farther away than he initially thought.

But, John's arm yanked taut, pulling the two halves of his collarbone apart, eliciting a grunt of pain from him as he began to lift himself to the surface of the arena. Hopefully his opponent would be unable to follow.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

John reacted quickly, deciphering Hailwing's plan before it could take shape.

The warrior was almost horizontal, his head facing the edge of the slanted platform. He had to adjust quickly, dropping his arms and legs and dragging them against the earth. As John leaped, the platform began to tilt back, evening out a little bit more so that Hailwing could land and regain his balance. He snarled and prepared himself for a second leap, jumping and extending his arms as far as they would go.

He didn't look down. If he had, he would have seen blue waters at least two miles below, dotted with small islands similar to the platforms roaming the skies. Between the ocean and the battleground, fluffy clouds drifted by with the wind.

Hailwing didn't have enough speed and jumping power, and he knew he could not make the platform. John was too far away to latch onto, and the meager wings on Hailwing's back could not give him lift - could not even make him glide.

It hovered above him, jagged rocks forming a cliff-like texture underneath the surface. He reached for it, his hands finding creases in the stone; he held on with all his might as his body swung forward with the momentum of his jump. He dangled precariously, arms taut with muscle and his fingers lodged in. Hailwing prayed this platform would not crumble away like the first.

Gasping, Hailwing reached up with his left to find a higher spot to grab. He pulled up and threw his right hand behind a large rock, but it fell away as he put pressure on it, leaving him swinging from just his left arm. Too determined to succumb, he tried again and again under he was at the lip of the platform. He threw his left arm over and onto to the surface, where it splashed into something liquid.

No time to consider it, Hailwing brought his other arm over and then slid on top of the isle. He looked at John, and then at the surface below - it looked like tar. Thick, black, sticky grime covered the entirety of this plateau.

Hailwing rose to his feet, the majority of his body covered in the clinging liquid. He'd lost one of his cloth shoes, but barely noticed.

[redford]

A spiked pick formed at the end of John's right fist and he jammed it into the earth of the platform, lifting himself and reducing the strain on his broken shoulder. The wind gusted again and, despite attempting to resist the urge, looked down. It was an impossible height, and between patched clouds a mile below he saw an expanse of blue dotted with green islands, rimmed with tawny sands. John felt the fear rise within him, the worry that his grip would fail and the thought of impacting the ground from that height. It would do him no good to fear. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly as he pulled up again, a spike forming at his toe to help him climb. He brought his torso above the edge and felt his fingers sink into what felt like thick mud. The rest of him followed and John righted himself, feeling his feet sink a few inches into the tarlike substance that coated the arena. It smelled of boiling oil, the aroma strengthened by their disturbance of the surface. The automaton was proving quite the nuisance, and had ascended the thing faster than he had, taking a position several paces away.

John thought for a moment, and a plan floated to the surface of his mind. A couple of his teachers had seen his size as an advantage, rather than a quality that just made him a bigger target, and had taught him how to use it.

"You are huge, John, and you need to use that. Be immovable, unchangeable, unstoppable."

John smirked a little, and lifted his right leg up through the sticky mire, slamming it down again, extending a spike several inches down from where the bottom of his foot was already buried in the muck, forcing tendrils into the ground. His left leg followed, setting him down in a wide stance, his back to the edge of the platform. He knocked his forearms together with a clang, muffled a little by the sticky coating. He closed his hands into fists, steadying his breathing. His shoulder hurt and his face ached, but it wasn't something debilitating at this point. He steadied his breathing a little, bending his knees.

His opponent would have to work hard at beating John here, where speed meant a little less.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

He and John squared off within the muck, their feet partially submerged and each fighter at least half-covered with grime. Hailwing's forehead had developed a swollen globe the size of a man's fist, large enough that he could see it when looking up.

Try as he might to resist doing so, the warrior was panting. His lungs burned, his belly rushed in and out regardless of how he tried to control his breathing. He'd been pressed, and the adreneline that'd allowed him to climb onto the platform was wearing off. Without his glaive, he had to contend with armored John using his bare legs and arms, save for his vambrace which was only capable of dealing a small amount of damage.

Not for the first time in the battle, Hailwing knew he was outmatched. But he had died a hundred deaths against opponents, those who either overestimated the mighty-looking statue or did not know their own determination. That was his purpose, after all, to push budding adventurers and warriors into realizing their potential. So many times had a desperate fighter overcome him when he was the better man. Hailwing had learned from those experiences, and he needed to adopt that same desperation if he were to push John, in return.

So he charged once more, exhausted though he was, his feet jumping in and out of the tar as it tried to keep him anchored. He bent down and ran his hand through the oozy substance, taking a handful and lobbing it at John, trying to hit him in the face to blind or distract him. He did this with every second step, throwing four handfuls of it.

But on that fourth and final attempt, Hailwing summoned his final ball of ice from below the surface, creating the heavy projectile but hiding it in a layer of tar as his hand came back up. This he was sure to aim perfectly, trying to catch John by surprise.

If all went according to plan, he would then crash into the human with all the strength he could muster, and attempt to drive John, or both of them, off of the side of the platform.

[redford]

John saw him drag his fingers through the tar, and for a moment wondered what he was doing before a ball of tar flew through the air, sailing just to the side of John as he leaned to the side. The second came, which he dodged easily as well. The third caught him off guard though, and as he ducked a bit under it, the fourth was waiting for him. John tried to shift, but it was too quick and it struck his injured shoulder with much more force than a simple tar ball could. It sent a spike of pain up to his injured collarbone, eliciting a faint grunt and a flinch from John. As he brought himself up though, his opponent was far closer than John anticipated, leaning his shoulder down. John tried to bring an arm down to drive him to the earth, but John was already hit and leaning back.

His midsection leaned back, and John attempted to correct himself, but his feet were rooted in place and there was extra weight on him now. He was going down and over, and there was no stopping that.

But maybe it wouldn't be just him that went over.

John's eyes narrowed as his front foot disengaged from the muck, and grabbed the golem's arm in a viselike grip with his left hand. It was likely that he could break the arm, but that was not his intent. If John was going to lose, he wasn't going to be the only one. His fingers came around and touched at the inside of his grip, and John shifted his armor to create a ring of metal, shackling them together. Now that they were both together, and John was going over anyway, he smiled a little. He pushed mightily off the ledge with his foot, throwing them both off the edge.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Hailwing's success brought grim satisfaction. The deceptive ball of ice crashed into John's shoulder with a satisfying crack, and Hailwing gained a bit of speed at that, refusing to second guess his decision.

He rammed into John with all speed, the humanlike opponent nearly swallowing him up with his grand, powerful form. Still, the momentum seemed to do the trick, and the Citadel's warrior pressed on after their initial impact. He dug his feet into the sludge and tried to gain a foothold, any type of advantage, after the impact.

He was too determined to discern John's next move. Hailwing was gripped with a hand like iron, and a moment later, his arm was encased with the actual metal. Escape was not possible, but the work had been done. He tried in vain to shift his weight and tear away, but John was pitching away and the warrior was dragged after him, nearly flipping over as the duo cleared the side of the platform and flew into the sky to fall like heavy stones.

The suspended islands falling away above them, the two tumbled through a cloud and toward the vast waters below. Hailwing could not get away, tethered to John by armor which he could not hope to break.

But it wasn't over, he knew. He felt.

Though they cascaded through the blue, Hailwing reeled back and drove his free arm forward, trying to drive the point of his elbow into John's eye.

[redford]

John expected that the battle would end as they both fell, tumbling and turning through the air. The world would melt around them like watercolor and they would return to the real world.

But this was not so.

They fell, still gathering speed. Wind whipped around him in a roar as they plunged downwards, and John glimpsed the ground every once in a while as the earth spun around them. The ground seemed no closer now than a few seconds ago, suggesting an impossibly large height. The fall would kill them both anyway. John's mind raced to a conclusion. There was only one way for him to win in a situation such as this.

He had to kill the automaton before they hit the ground.

As if to punctuate his realization, a solid elbow crashed into his face. John felt and heard a crack at his nose, and brought his right hand up to block a subsequent hit. Blood flowed upwards as they fell, smearing his face with the stuff. His opponent had surprised him, but they were still connected, and John pulled with his right arm, tugging on the ring that secured him to his opponent, and aimed to close his hand around its neck.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Hailwing relished the blow as it landed, his elbow driven forth with maximum force, feeling lighter with the rush of wind behind it. John was impossibly resilient, the Citadel guardian knew, but the duty to fulfill his purpose was built deeply into him. He saw the splatter of blood turn to distant droplets as they fell away, and tried another. The man's hand wrapped around his elbow as if it were a child's ball, halting it easily.

There was no resisting the man's superior strength as he pulled Hailwing close, and the sudden, jerking movement caught him be surprise and left him defenseless. John's hand wrapped around his neck easily, squeezing with force Hailwing had never experienced before.

Hailwing, normally a composed and measured fighter even in the worst of times, flailed like an animal trapped in a corner. He hammered against John's arm and fingers, trying to pry them off, trying to use his vambrace to swat John away, but without a weapon or something besides the air to work with, there was little hope.

The wind buffeted them, repeatedly catching Hailwing's wings at awkward angles and pushing him this way or that, keeping him off balance and doing nothing to help him stay aware. But the desire to survive and win, to drive John to his limit despite their impending doom, burned inside of him.

One of John's arms was holding him close through the armor, the other was tight on Hailwing's throat. With blackness crawling in from the outer limits of his vision and his chest burning for air, Hailwing reached over and ripped the vambrace off of his forearm, his fingers gripping the straps with desperate power to keep it from flying away.

The leather snapped out of place and Hailwing held the defensive plate in his hand. Knowing he had to be quick, he gripped the back end of the sleeve in both hands and drove it, as hard as he could possibly manage, towards John's nose. The iron plate rushed toward the broken nose of Hailwing's opponent in a desperate attempt to separate them before they met their fate.

[redford]

John was too focused on the hand at his opponent's throat to do anything more than tilt his head as the piece of armor struck him. A sharp edge struck the side of his skull to the bone, dragging a vicious gash along the side of his head.

John snapped his head to the side, bringing up a hand to cover the gash, pulling his hand from the automaton's throat. His focus compromised in a cloud of pain, the armor losing coherence as he brought a leg up instinctively, aiming to connect with his opponent's side. It did, his shin connecting with the golem's lower right side, just above the floating ribs. It sent them both flying apart, and John took the moment to mold his armor upwards to cover the side of his head.

John glimpsed the ground again, they were hurtling to one of the larger islands. They were closer now.

[Hailwing Of The Citadel]

Hailwing's desperate move paid off, but John's kick came in a split-second after, his leg cracking the warrior's ribs like rolls of cardboard. The impact pushed him farther from John, and the two were then plummeting too wildly to maintain their struggle.

His skin numb from the wind, Hailwing grimaced and tried to make eye contact with John. He wanted to get one more good look at him. "Seek me again!" he tried to say, his broken ribs stealing his breath, the roaring air silencing any remaining sound he could make.

Then they were at ground level. The violent sound of wind suddenly halted, as did just about every other sound in the world, as Hailwing crashed into the very edge of an island and felt his body explode with heat and pain. His consciousness left him just after that moment, and the limp body slid slowly off of the grassy surface and into the water.

Slowly sinking into the sea, Hailwing's corpse dropped lower and lower into the depths until his shattered body was surrounded by a blue mist, eventually transforming into a bright blue aura. A moment later, and he was gone.

His consciousness didn't come back after the conclusion of the battle, like most living creatures who were killed in a Citadel arena. He reappeared near the entrance of the Citadel building, standing with arms crossed, locked into the same pose as always, to be summoned into battle once more when requested. Built from concrete and the imagination of the powerful monks of the Ai'Brone, the statue was a waiting tool once more.

[redford]

John growled in frustration and pain. He had just thrown away his chance for victory, and though his opponent had put up quite a fight, he knew he had played down to him. The wind whipped his hair, now a matted tangle of blond and red, around his face as he caught a glimpse of an approaching island. A flash of green as he fell through leaves, and he barely had time to see the flat rock his body landed on. John didn't even have time to feel pain as the impact crushed his skull, and the rest of his body, into the stone.

A flash of blue at the corner of his vision, and John stepped through a portal. John was already looking down at his arms and feeling his face, already knowing that they were whole but checking anyway. The uneasiness of his stomach was one part due to the portal, and one part knowing his friend wouldn't let him live this one down. As if on cue, a voice rang out in the crowded room. John looked over, spying Jor, his rugged face cast in the light of a portal nearby.

"Oh, man! What a fight! I knew that old automaton could give you a run for your money!" he exclaimed, clapping his hand on John's armored shoulder.

"It was a tie," John mumbled, more to himself than anything. "I could have beaten him."

Jor put his hands up defensively. "Hey, I'm sure you could have, I'm just saying that he gave you the best bout I've seen you in since a long time," Jor leaned close.

"And we dug him out yesterday."

Jor smiled again, his glee almost contaigous. "So maybe you should get a little more training in, eh?"

John leered at the Ai'Bron monk, turning back to the portal.

"Again," he said.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Judgement

Story

Redford: 13
Hailwind: 14

As can often be the case with Citadel battles, this thread didn’t really have much of a story. The first time the reader sees anything that might link the reason for the fight to a plot is at the end of Redford’s final post in post twenty two. The interactions between John and Jor at least give the reader a feeling that there was a reason for John being there (“"So maybe you should get a little more training in, eh?"), even if it wasn’t a heavily story orientated one, but the posts throughout the thread concentrated almost entirely on the fight alone and the scoring above reflects this.

A suggestion to improve the scoring in the story section would be to think about the reason your character is in the Citadel. If they are there to train, perhaps allude to it during the introduction, or during the fight itself. Perhaps there is a reason for them to train? If they are there to get stronger, why is that? Just to get stronger in general or to get stronger to overcome a specific challenge? Thinking about these types of things can at least give some background to your actions, even if they seem simple.

The pacing of the piece was good, in general, with Redford’s use of short, sharp sentences and Hailwind’s own writing style helping to maintain a consistent speed during the battle.

The setting was an area that felt better attended to by Hailwind in this battle. The arena was original and described well, and there weren’t too many issues following the clash across the platforms and understanding where everybody was. Redford seemed to put a lot of effort into describing his actions, but not enough into the setting itself. To improve this, try to visualise the world around you from your character’s point of view and really try to pull the reader in. This will not only help your score in setting, but will help both the reader and the other player visualise your attacks and movement across the arena and increase clarity too.

Character

Redford: 13
Hailwind: 13

There was very little dialogue, internal or external, to assess in this piece. From the little communication the thread contained, the reader gleaned only a little of both characters personalities and thought processes. Hailwing’s dialogue was restricted mostly to in-fight comments, such as his introduction and even a moment of congratulations afforded to John mid battle (“John's movement and positioning had kept it as secret as possible, and Hailwing had been too consumed with the fight to consider the movement of the ground."Well played!" he called.”), which gives the reader an idea that Hawkwind is modest in battle, at least.

John, however, remains the strong and silent type, barely uttering a word externally until post twenty two. The reader does, however, gain some insight into the workings of John’s mind in post four (“"Your feet are no good to you if you don't know where to put them. Always control the high ground.") and post fourteen (“"You are huge, John, and you need to use that. Be immovable, unchangeable, unstoppable.").

An area for improvement here in future Citadel threads is to treat the reader to a little more of your character’s personalities by introducing more external or internal dialogue, depending on what suits the nature of your character. Whilst nobody expects someone to be reciting monologues during a fight, each character can be afforded various thought processes or bits of colourful dialogue they can use to add life to their posts and really bring the reader into the battle.

Despite the lack of dialogue, the reader can gain an idea of each character’s personalities by the time the thread ends. Hailwing is well portrayed as having a straightforward attitude, seems to enjoy battle and is confident and modest enough to congratulate an opponent when they excel. John is a quiet, intelligent but seemingly gruff man who doesn’t speak unless required to do so. That said, bringing through and developing the personalities in such threads does seem to be an area where improvement can be made for both contestants. Again, I would place emphasis on the need to use descriptive writing specifically to convey more emotions, or lack thereof, if suited. Show, don’t tell, the reader.

On a final note on this section, there was some good action here from both parties throughout the thread. In particular, the way John took Hailwing’s punch and recovered his momentum in post ten was nice (“The fist caught his jaw, snapping his head to the side. John took a step back, not quite staggered, but moved with the punch, taking another two steps back and falling to the ground near the edge of the platform, plunging his fists into the earth. Tendrils of his armor grew down and around the soil, anchoring his body there.”). There was also a good counterattack by Hailwing in post fifteen that showed forward thinking and a tactical awareness, having been disarmed prior to this post. (“But on that fourth and final attempt, Hailwing summoned his final ball of ice from below the surface, creating the heavy projectile but hiding it in a layer of tar as his hand came back up. This he was sure to aim perfectly, trying to catch John by surprise.”).

Prose:

Redford: 15
Hailwind: 16

For the most part, spelling and grammar were both solid. Between your posts, I found only a small number of spelling and grammatical errors and these consisted mostly of incorrect sentence fragmentation and a couple of typing errors. For example, in post seven, paragraph five, the sentence “Of course there were many in this world who did not display their true strength, did not wear it as a warning badge” should really read “Of course there were many in this world who did not display their true strength and did not wear it as a warning badge.” Another examples of this type of error can be found in post fourteen when John is thinking “"You are huge, John, and you need to use that. Be immovable, unchangeable, unstoppable”. Again, it should really be "You are huge, John, and you need to use that. Be immovable, unchangeable, and unstoppable. The word ‘and’ makes all the difference in both of these examples.

To improve upon your scores in this area, I would recommend a simple glance over your posts with a spell-checker to eliminate any obvious spelling errors and a quick “sense-check” read through to ensure all of your sentences are structured correctly.

Clarity was not much of an issue here in standard terms. Most of the battle was actually pretty clear, and the reader was able to follow most things through. The only negative point on this particular area (and this was alluded to above under “story”) was that Redford spent a lot of time giving clarity to his actions and neglected the setting, whilst Hawkwind’s approach was balanced and this allows the reader a clearer picture of what is actually happening in the arena.

Overall you both write descriptively. There are some really strong moments of description in Hailwing’s writing (“He wanted to get one more good look at him. Seek me again!" he tried to say, his broken ribs stealing his breath, the roaring air silencing any remaining sound he could make.”) and Redford produced a nice bit of writing when he took a hit in post eighteen (“As if to punctuate his realization, a solid elbow crashed into his face. John felt and heard a crack at his nose, and brought his right hand up to block a subsequent hit. Blood flowed upwards as they fell, smearing his face with the stuff.”). Whilst nothing jumped out as wondrous or captivating, most of the enthrallment was in the battle itself. There is room to grow here and an area for improvement would be to drive future threads and battles forward by using more similes and metaphors to really add colour to your writing.

Wildcard

Redford: 6
Hailwing: 6

The wildcard here reflects my enjoyment of the use of tactics within the fight, and the way both of you took your respective shots at each other. It was an enjoyable battle that could be made even better by improving on the areas mentioned above. Well done!

Final scores:

Hailwing: 49
Redford: 47

Hailwing wins! Congratulations!

Hailwing receives 1500 EXP and 110 GP!
Redford receives 450 EXP and 105 GP!

[Rayleigh]

All EXP and GP have been added!