[The Osiris Open] Round 1: Hawl vs Storm Veritas

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Opens 1st June 2016 at 12am EST.

Arena to follow!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The Tower of Babel


Diary of Lufenia – 11th June

Long ago, a united generation of humanity survived an invasion from the underworld. Speaking a single language and migrating from the east of Althanas, the people stumbled upon a realm known as Shiinar. Here they agreed to build a city and a tower to honour their gods. Seeing this, the great demon Isa confounded their speech so that they couldn’t understand each other and scattered them around Althanas to wander lost forever. Isa took residence in the top of the tower and installed a great demon lord, a harbinger of doom, to guard it.

Eons later, I found this tower.

When I stepped through the portal, a sight like no other greeted me. I was stood in the centre of a moss covered chamber. In front of me was a centaur. It had long since been slain and its mutilated, bloodied corpse had been chained to the wall to be displayed like a grotesque trophy. Its entrails hung like ropes from the bottom of the bifurcated torso. Three other identical corpses lay directly behind me and to my left and right. In the centre of the room was a small, chest height stone pillar with some sort of glowing rune. When I pressed my fingers against it, the walls with the four corpses lifted, each revealing a doorway to the exterior of the top of the tower.

As I went through the northern doorway, past the stomach churning scent of rotting flesh, my foot left solid ground and sunk into soft, ash coloured silt. It was humid here and beads of sweat ran down my face as I traversed the area. Above me, a deep, blood red sky stretched endlessly. Crimson lightning ravaged patches of thick cloud. A fifty foot wall of stone and grime enclosed the three hundred foot high tower’s top and stretched around the entire circumference of the building. Every thirty feet, pillars of limestone rose from the ground in blocks, the visages of snarling demonic entities carved in crimson red into the rock faces. There were bloodstains in some of the silt – in one place, I even found a severed hoof and a pool of gore.

I have been to some terrible places in my life, but this place was truly horrific. As I turned to leave, I had this sinking feeling I could well have been on the shores of hell itself.

This place – The Tower of Babel – I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

[Storm Veritas]

Corone was a mystical, wonderful place. The island continent had everything an adventurer could ask for; be it dramatic mountains or sandy beaches, impossible forests or open plains. Corone, unlike some other sprawling landscapes upon Althanas, also had refinements; cold mead and warm beds, bustling bars and whispering brothels. Today, Storm Veritas got to enjoy none of them, as only one particular sensation overwhelmed him.

So… f*cking… hot. Why the hell did I agree to this?

The sun beat down across the back of the wizard; he felt a burn developing across the back of his neck and across his forehead. Frustrated, he angrily pulled his dress shirt free from the clinging sweat under his arms and a growing stain centered on his chest. The incredible Tower of Babel loomed ahead; and it spiraled high from the grassy plain to what seemed like through the all-too-sparse clouds above. The tower was sometimes called “Death’s Needle” for its appearance; a massive stone structure built long before records were kept of such constructions. How stones were laid so high was a question Veritas didn’t bother to linger on for long; he merely sought shade at this point.

I don’t care if the god-damned place has a pool of acid beneath a collapsing floor. As long as that bitch of a sun can’t get through, I’ll take what I can get.

A few more minutes of marching forward, and he stood by the threshold of the tower. Elegantly carved about the orifice was a large face, making a considerable doorway look like some evil, toothless maw. A tall, deep door was cut through clear through what looked at this distance to be marble. The turn of the door through spiral-cut stone prevented any light from escaping, and prevented Storm from seeing precisely what resided within. Standing tall in the merciful shade, the magician readjusted his shirt, tucking it squarely back within his dress pants and gave a quick tug to reposition his vest. Long, thin fingers rifled a tautly wrapped coil of paper, which he unfurled once more to re-inspect.


Mr. Veritas,


Your assistance is needed once more. Word has come that the Order has sent a messenger to retrieve a weapon from the apex of the Tower of Babel. This weapon will upset the balance of power upon Corone and destroy our consortium.

This enemy must NOT succeed. By any means necessary you are to stop her; she is expected to ascend starting tomorrow morning.

Due to the urgency of our request, your compensation shall be double normal fare for the settling of such problems, collectible at Port Radasanthia three suns after the completion of said task.

It goes without saying that the Tower of Babel is a dangerous place; should some fate befall the enemy without signs of our intervention, that would afford our order the sort of plausible deniability that we would value immensely.


Travel Safely, And With Health
- Bo5

Nodding and smiling, the wizard rapidly rolled the tiny scroll up and secured it in his vest pocket for later. Using his fingers, he cleared his hair of sweat and produced an authentic smile, looking all the part of an aristocrat, save for his sweat stains or only slightly hidden blades. The click of his wood-heeled dress shoes against aged marble echoed considerably as he strode into the Tower of Babel, and he was instantly blasted with scent of old death. He emerged from the darkness into a surprisingly large forum aria, naturally lit with crystal-shielded windows into a bright white floor, marred by a horrible, monstrous, and obvious death.

Gods, shit! I need to start asking more questions before I take jobs.

[Hawl]

The ground had a little give under Hawl’s feet, nearly sending the girl for a spill. Not all of the tower was like this. Some parts had a solid foundation, stone that remained untouched for years, while others were cracked and broken from the relentless assault of tough foliage. It was the rare spot that was darkened with an ancient spill of oil, blood, or water from a dripping leak in the ceiling. From the budding young explorer’s guess, most where some combination of all three.

She honestly had not expected to escape from having to work in her Aunt’s shop for the entire week. It wasn’t totally unknown to he. Hawl’s Aunt was a big, important woman who did a lot of big important things to do. Something meeting with some woman called the Jya, or a Duke from the cold lands of Salvar. Hawl was often left behind, or in the care of another Uncle or Aunt. This time though, she was trusted to take care of herself.

Two day’s easy ride on a pony, and half a day’s walk to the tower of Babel after the animal was spooked would like reveal how shortsighted Hawl’s aunt might have been.

She was on her second day of her little exploration of the Tower. She had brought water and cheese, some dried meats and her entire explorer’s collection in the backpack she carried. Her pony, which she had christened Acorn, had stolen her little bedroll. It was more of a momentary setback for the ever ingenious Hawl Sorie, and past visitors of the tower were more than happy to lend a hand to ensure she got a good night’s rest.

She had paid her respects to the various beings she met as she went up the tower. The heat did not particularly bother her, though her clothes clung to her skin. The girl was almost tempted to take off her traveling poncho, but after the first burst of some liquid splattered ineffectively off of the slick material she wouldn’t dare give it up. The red cloud had already broken once, raining down a coppery water that left a bad taste in the girl’s mouth. She wasn’t quite able to avoid the smell of rotting flesh,but nose plugs helped, and so did burning a torch nearby her. She had made a candle out of some of the centaur’s fat and spices she had brought, keeping the unpleasant experience at bay. She had brought the poor centaur’s bleached skull with her, setting it down so it could watch her work.

“I hope your ghost is having a nice time here too!”

The candle and torch were helpful thing, letting Hawl build a small work area in the famous Tower of Moths. She had giggled when one of her Uncles had described it, likening the way it seemed to draw desperate men and women like moths to a bright light. She was careful though, moving slowly and only exploring the first few floors of the arena. After being there for a day, most of the shock simply wore off. There weren’t even bugs in the poor centaurs that were chained to the wall, or even rats trying to steal her bread. It was almost relaxing after a while!

The stone faces, with their silly forked tongues and sharp horns were even cute to her. Despite some of her best efforts, Hawl hadn’t been able to take any off of the walls. Nor could she seem to influence them at all on command. Occasionally one would gnash teeth, or scream, or even spit on her with burning salvia; but never at Hawl’s command. They didn’t even notice her pout, or hold a conversation beyond weird threats and pathetic promises.

The girl hummed a song as she sat in her little work station, the short pillar with glowing rune nearly towering over her. She had been experimenting with it for nearly an hour now. One press opening doors, another closing them. With more experimentation, and blood donated from another centaur, she could control which of the four doors opened, or even how much! She had managed to get the north passageway stuck somehow, open only halfway. She groans sitting back and the door groaned heavily, protesting whatever has jammed it.

“Maybe I should just start climbing again…” She nods at the skull beside her. It had been an attentive listener for all of the young girl’s quizzical questions. She was the sort that liked hearing her own voice, even at such a young age. Another experimental, and bloodied, hand tried to activate the north door again. This only caused the other three to slam door with an earch shaking show of force. Hawl jumped at the sudden noice, still not used to how final it sounded.

“I don’t thinkI’ll get anywhere like this, and I only have a day or left…”

[Storm Veritas]

The tower was unforgiving, and didn’t give one many options. There was a singular staircase that rose on the west side of the large atrium, twisting out of sight less than thirty feet from the stony, gore-riddled floor. If one were to look straight up, it was dizzying stuff – the open cylinder seemed to shrink down to a smaller gauge as the walls were pocked with walkways and alcoves. Clearly, the higher up one went, the narrower the interior of the tower became. Remembering the less pronounced tube structure, Storm wagered that there may even be entire floors above where his eyes could see, and the Gods only knew what else as he rose further up. Worse yet, the combination of incoming light and errant dust obscured any clear view of the apex; it was as if the clouds came into the tower as well.

Hopefully it doesn’t smell this god-f*cking-awful up above the ground floor.

Without delay, he began the toiling chase, steadily strolling up stairs. Despite his avarice with regard to smoking, his lungs were strong and legs fresh; these stairs offered no resistance. He hopped through a narrow corridor at the top of the stairway, following a torch-lit trail in the perimeter of the building. This alcove led him to another doorway, this one footed by a fresh set of stairs.

Hopefully this bitch isn’t up too high.

The clack of his heels on stone disappeared as he began to move more swiftly on his toes, excellent traction afforded by the rough-hewn stone. Another catwalk after these stairs; a line of parallel holes at hip-height marked by deep brown stains running from them. Storm whipped his satchel rapidly past the holes, and heard the ker-shickt! sound of spikes driving out of the wall blindly with brutal speed. There was no way to avoid them; had the seeker been impaled for him?

Bloodstains are brown, that’s not fresh. Doesn’t smell like anything anymore. She must have slid right by. Shit.

Scooting to his belly, Storm carefully crawled the catwalk on toes and fingertips, catching eyes of a sixty foot fall below that would certainly prove fatal. A few beads of sweat stained the dusty rock below him, as the wizard pretended not to notice the danger he had found himself in. Standing beyond the trap, he whistled upward, trying to gain some idea of distance based off the rebound. It was all of three seconds before the Tower whistled back.

Half a f*cking mile?! Has to be a trick… Why don’t I just wait here for that dumb bitch to get the item, and kill her on the way down?

Sitting to rest for a moment, Veritas took to gazing out the window for a short spell. It was only seconds before he realized that the windows would make for an idyllic escape route, should his unknown enemy have at her disposal any form of airship, flight ability, or magical rope. He’d seen far stranger things in his time upon Althanas.

Well, shit. So much for that brilliant plan.

Once more, the electromancer pressed foot to stone, creatively swearing in his head as he fantasized about killing the evil woman forcing him to haul his ass up to the end of this granite rainbow.

[Hawl]

The small explorer was living up to her name as she settled for a few minutes on one of the upper levels of the tower. Most of the climb was fairly uneventful for the small girl, with her now skinned knees and stained shirt. She had tried to avoid the red gunk from touching her nice clothes, but it was basically impossible. She had gotten the brilliant idea to start marking her way on the second or so, with the massive closed doors and only opening the single doorway. Since then, at every possible cross way or turn, one of the helpful centaurs lent a hand, or femur, or skull, to help Hawl guide her way back down.

“I bet Aunt Jess is going to be so proud of this…” She had set up a second little snack spot, nibbling on a fresh red apple as she spread her makeshift map beneath her. One glowing, rune etched stone held an edge of the waxed parchment, while a big tooth from some poor dog that had died on the third floor got the other. A moment was spared to turn one of the dead elves in the corner’s face away, so she wouldn’t keep staring at her. Her chest and armor were torn open, like a strawberry or plum. Hawl was much more comfortable about the others, since their faces were either torn off, covered by a helmet, or simply not there. Even better, she knew that the reddish stains all along the ground were dry.

The girl was exceedingly proud of the paper, crisscrossing lines and round edges marking out the girl’s progress over the past two days. Several of the previous occupants of the tower carried paper or ink on them, which she took with her as she came across them. She would often give them a small gold piece, or a quick hug apologizing for stealing things from their resting bodies. She wasn’t sure if it fair trade, but at least she knew they wouldn’t need it anyone.

“Let’s see,this is… floor sixteen? Seventeen?” The girl stood, whistling softly as she went back to where she entered the room! She looked down the long long ladder, nearly five or six times as tall as her. She was pretty sure it was one of the elves’ work, replacing the shattered staircase that covered the fifteenth floor in rubble. It also directly connected the floor she was on, and what her notes definitively claimed was the fifteenth. With a nod she returned, marking off the massive ladder as something to be careful on. It joined a long list of other such moments. The panels at the entrance to the main room of fourteen, which could depress and swing a massive log. Weird, squeaky automatons that kept trying to jump at Hawl’s legs and nibble her on the thirteenth floor. Or the super slippery beam that Hawl had to balance across on the eleventh floor. She had felt the massive blade sail nearly a foot above her head there, so that was more of a footnote than anything else.

“Perfect! Now…” The girl picked up the glowing rock and threw it behind her. It fell to the faraway floor with a satisfying clunk. The tooth she placed aside calmly, cleanly rolling up her map and approached the latest series of doors. She had collected several little keycards, giving the girl an almost unlimited run of the Tower. This floor was marginally cleaner than most, the pile of broken elf bodies aside. The architecture was more more smooth along the walls and pillars. A sneering face, like a goat or a weird horse, looked down at her.

“If I put things on these spots…” She gave a tiny huff of effort as she hops from one panel to the next, a screeching filling the air around her. She winced, and sunlight, or something red and black that acts like sunlight, poured through a now open window. The floor began to glow in an intricate twisting circle.It made Hawl’s eyes water just to look at it for more than a few moments.

“Hello again!” She gave the glowing, mind numbing symbol a little wave. The writing seemed to resent her as she kneeled before it, spreading arms wide. They hovered over the glowing symbol, and pressed down. The magic, or whatever it was, squirmed beneath Hawl’s touch, and the massive goat head began to slowly rise. Too slowly. A groan of annoyance escaped her as she realized it might be nearly a quarter of an hour before it fully opened. Well, she had time. With her trusty map, she could probably get back down in under an hour!

Unknown to Hawl and two levels below her, small doors also began to open. They were as large as most inn doors, and groan escaped from inside. The things that slowly began to shamble out were not fast, with swaying arms and awkward gaits. Most of their heads had large holes through the center of their faces from their nose to to top of their head, like a donut from a bakery. Only their groaning mouths were visible, open and closing like fish. They began to surround the ladder, not quite able to master the rungs, but blocking an easy descent by the explorer above them.

Elsewhere in the tower, more traps slowly whirred and clicked into place.

[Storm Veritas]

The Tower of Babel had come to life over the last few strides, bringing Storm to a screeching halt. Clicks, squeaks, whirrs, and grinding sounds began to emanate from the walls as it appeared that his “easy” route up the first half of the tower was about to pivot. Where the mechanics which drove these little monstrosities came from escaped him, but the danger presented by them was unmistakable.

Looks like that bitch is quite the mastermind; scale the tower and control the traps while I try to chase her. Shit! I need to find a way to stop this sorcery.

He pictured the masterwork puppeteer above him, no doubt guiding the traps towards his downfall with the precision, skill, and intention of a trained assassin. Four stones in succession formed a bridge some fifteen feet long, however they seemed to pop in and out from the wall in some random sequence. The experience wizard was stumped by the lack of pattern, opting to leap over the expanse in a single jump.

This tower was designed to stop the ungifted, thank God. I don’t think that fat furry asshole lying in pieces on the ground below would have made that jump. Score one for the bad guy.

Storm smiled again as a set of saws rolled back and forth on seams with erratic speed before him. The catwalk he escalated upon was narrow, far too tight to step around the blades. Again, he scanned the sophisticated pattern, before laughing at his own expertise. He blasted a singular arc of electric energy across the four heavy sawblades, holding a strong, crackling blue-white pulse as the motors behind the saws screamed in defiance. Within seconds, a heavy billow of smoke poured from the black seams in the wall, accompanied by the heavy hard smell of burned rubber and electrical fire.

Ho hum. Comin’ for ya, bitch!

The sight of the metal was welcome, as Storm scared northwards some forty feet to a stone ceiling where the tower stopped its mighty ascent. On the south edge of the wall, the marble stairs led into a bright white doorway. On the stairs either way leading up to the threshold, the wizard could hear and feel the warm pulses of fire leaping out in random, horrible sprays. Climbing carefully atop a horizontally mounted massive sawblade, Veritas closed his eyes and prayed.

One more shortcut. Come on, baby. One time.

The electromancer generated a mighty pulse of magnetic energy beneath him, rebounding his core from the steel serrated plate he stood upon. The energy catapulted him high in the air, twisting towards the stairs as he spun with a deft athleticism and balance. As he contorted towards his target, a singular blast of fire erupted in his path, causing his eyes to widen wildly.

Shitshitshitshitshit…

His speed through the blaze kept him from being burned too horribly, but it did no favors for his orientation, which was thrown wildly askew. Storm turned and modified his path without intention, and landed hard on the corner of the twisting stairway, missing his mark entirely. His feet hung loose aside the stairway as his hands and forearms reached desperately for purchase on the slick, smooth stone. With singed eyebrows, his widened eyes looked ever more manic and desperate, as he looked down to a fall which would certainly end in some meaty explosion similar to the centaur he mocked moments before.

A second awakening took hold upon the magician as a heat burned at his feet. His dress slacks had allowed the flame to take root, and fire was beginning to propagate around his left calf. The burn was immediate, the pain unmistakable.

F*CK!!!!

With a wild kick, the athlete rocked his foot high to his side and it found a stair, allowing sufficient weight relief for him to pull his body away from certain death below. Turning, he ripped at his pants, which were too skillfully tailored to tear with ease. In desperation, he was forced to rip them off altogether, along with his 200 Crown patent cobbled shoes, which fell in a slow, dramatic, twisting arc to the stones far below.

He was injured, likely a broken rib in his crash landing, pantsless and barefoot. Only scant white shorts covered his manhood, looking positively absurd in contrast to his dress shirt and coverings. Grimacing as he stood again, there was some solace that in ripping away his belt, his daggers and satchel survived the ordeal. Piercing gray eyes narrowed to tiny slits as he swore under his breath, marching through the aperture and into the main floor atop the Tower.

“Close, but no cigar. I’ll skin you alive, you tricky bitch.”

[Hawl]

It was on the thirtieth floor that Hawl’s progres was finally, almost completely stopped.

She had dealt with the increasing, moving monsters that hunted her throughout the arena. The shambling men with holes through their heads were the easiest to avoid. Any of them could have easily picked up the little explorer in a single hand, but their movements were jerky and forced, like puppet’s strings. On several floors Hawl was able to find the small glowing skull that must have animated them, her club more than sufficient to put cracks into it and functionally disable the creatures. They still reached for her, but could barely stand as she zipped by them and up the stairs. Other parts of the tower were clearly designed to stop much larger and more dangerous creatures than Hawl Sorie. Gates with spikes that the slim girl could slip through or traps that would slice a grown man’s head off; but it was here on the thirtieth floor, peppered with columns and a large alter at the back, that she was finally stopped.

A massive skull, nearly as large as Hawl herself floated off of the alter, leaving behind a smaller human sized one behind. She had two strapped to her bag that looked similar to it, loops of leather through their empty eye sockets to keep them bouncing on her pack as she moved through the arena. Flesh begin to grow, bones and sinew pouring out of the ether and coming together with wet snaps. Hawl’s face grew white as two heavy feet pressed into the ground, crumbling stone. It was like looking at the grat elephants at the circus she once saw. A small part of her was not surprised by the horns erupting out of the massive skull’s dome. The ceiling was so high up, so the massive thing could stand comfortable, even as it ripped out a huge device, letting new flesh grow over it in place of an arm.

“AAAAAAA!”

The roar of the massive beast greeted Hawl’s head as it popped out of view, causing ripples in the red puddles throughout the floor. She narrowly avoided the blast of bright blue power, disintegrating the crumbling stone floor. She scampered back up right after, running as fast as her legs could carry her as the big thing narrowed eyes at her. Spots blocked her vision, barely able to make out the outline of the big thing. It looked like a minotaur, its head tall enough to brush against the ceiling of most inns. One arm was much longer than the other, ending in a squarish club, and its unmangled hand scratched at its chest. Hawl had a moment to see how roughly the giant, canon like piece of technology was grafted in place fo the creature’s right arm. Fingers tore into its own flesh, peeling apart muscle and skin and gathering it into a heavy ball. Hawl was running before this new ammo was slammed into its arm and fired, that same blue burst of power destroying the column she was hiding behind just before.

There has to be something, every floor has had a trick!

She swallowed, breath coming too quickly for her to speak. Her eyes were on the skull that was left behind, staring at it with . She watched the giant monster’s flesh begin to regenerate, shoulders slumping as her plan to just wait for it to go away evaporated. The little explorer was moving again as the demonic minotaur roared, taking heavy steps and advancing on her area. Her legs crunched small bones and stained her pants with the red fluid. She didn’t try to hide behind another column, the minotaur’s massive canon more than enough to destroy them all. She could hear the tearing of his flesh behind her, jumping and scraping her knees on the alter’s top. Luck was with her as the brilliant blue projectile flashed over her head, followed by the roar of frustration. Her course of action was set as the small skull on the alter blazed with power.

“C’mon, you better be what I think you are…”

Hawl’s eyes barely crested the alter, but her hands could grip the skull. With a yelp, she dropped it almost immediately. Her hand was blistering from the demonic flame around it. For a moment, she could see the skull non existent jaw. The glow of power around it showing how it was screaming at her. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear, and neither her nor her club particularly cared.

She swung it down with all the force her body could muster, sending a spiderweb of cracks through the skull. An idle part of her head notice the scorch mark on the heavy oak wood of her club. Another noticed how to giant minotaur stumbled, one hand clumsily grabbing onto a column to support himself. She smashed her club down again a second time, the skull slipping from the misaimed blow and rolling away from her reach. A pathetic meep escaped Hawl as she chased after the rolling thing, the minotaur roaring as it refocused on her.

“No no nonono!” She caught it, putting a foot onto the angry thing as the minotaur towered over her. She didn’t dare look back as she heard the familiar tearing of flesh and heavy slap as it was converted into ammunition. She brought the club down as the minotaur roared again, this time part of the skull cracking. She spared a look to see to huge beast stumble and fall to a knee, then continued striking it. Her shoes was smoking, leather melting onto the bleached bone of the magic skull as it finally broke under blows. She kept hitting it until her arms burned and the bone was in more pieces than she could count.

“I think… I might need to get out of here…” Her entire body was shaking as she gripped her club with white knuckles. . She climbed up it, the only surface in the entire room that was smooth and not covered in the red liquid. From up there, she could see the giant beasts fallen body, it’s head smashed in and a massive chunk ripped out of its chest. She shuddered again, for the first time really seeing how awful this place was up here. Before it wasn’t much different from anywhere else in Althanas; even the smell was like the smoggy cities in Alerar. But there was still at least three floors above her, and in her heart he knew there had to be even worse things up there.

“Ugh…” she swung her legs around, knocking over candles and bowls and clearing a space for her. She couldn’t hear anything coming but the drips of blood onto the floor. Nothing was moving. Maybe she could just rest her for a few minutes, and figure out what to do next. None of the monsters had managed to follow her past a floor or so, and she doubted any would come up after the cacophony of noise from earlier. The girl leaned back, closing her eyes on the cool stone of the alter. Just a few minutes.

[Storm Veritas]

The mighty roars of combat were unmistakable to any seasoned adventurer. There was the roar of a mighty beast, the stamping of heavy feet and residual vibrations that shook loose mortar, sending stone dust floating down to the tower floor in a twisting, almost delicate path. The roar didn’t match that of Sunwing, Moonwing, or any great dragons, but Storm hadn’t encountered anything outside of the dragon class that sounded that terrifying.

Whatever she triggered, it’s going to kill her; if it breaks the weapon then all is lost. Get up there, save the weapon, and destroy the beast.

The rumbling thunder was close enough; the athletic wizard moved with a newfound motivation manifested with a divine grace and speed. Each foot was now finding sound purchase; he hopped and pivoted off the marble without touching floor on two consecutive leaps. At last, he burst through the doorway to meet the source of the horrifying sounds.

What the hell!?

There was so much blood! The scarlet paint covered walls and floor in a harrowing thin coat of a shining, fast-browning disaster which thickened and became sticky before his eyes. The smell was sent from the bowels of Haide itself; it was steep and sour, bitter and terrible. It filled his nose and burned, all wafting attacking him from a heaping pile of bone fragment, flesh, fur and gore that lay haphazard near the center of the floor. Whatever had killed the minotaur was obviously mighty, and it grounded Veritas that he had underestimated the thief.

Regardless of the considerable power of his adversary, Storm had built up a certain unfair notoriety in his travels. He certainly wasn’t the eminently powerful near-deity that some seemed to believe, but the false rumors did him plenty of favors. The blowfish routine had worked more than once.

“It’s over, sweetheart. You’ve made it high, bested that glorified cow, and created a hell of a gauntlet for me. Unfortunately, I’ve got bad news for you…”

He stood by the doorway, eyes darting about the room as he searched for the considerable invader. What magics could she harness? Teleportation? Invisibility? Flight? It didn’t matter; she didn’t know what she didn’t know about the very mediocre capabilities of the once-dapper assassin. He took a deep breath before speaking in a loud voice, full of false bravado and the carefully planned propagation of silly rumors.

“The bad news is that I’m Storm F*CKING Veritas, and your road ends here. No more games. No more bullshit. You get two choices, sugar; leave the weapon with me and find your way home, or leave here in a box…”

A box? Based on the piles of meat laying about the place, it doesn’t seem like there’s much invested in housekeeping. More like leave in… pieces out the window? A bucket? Eh, screw it; “box” sounds better.

The villain strode back into the room, his bare feet sticking to the tacky blood that grew more festered and horrendous by the second. His ribs hurt to high hell; his hands were scratched and raw, his back as sore as a fifty-year old farmer’s in harvest season. In truth, he was a mess.

Gods, I hope this bitch doesn’t take me up on the offer. I couldn’t fight through a warm beer right now.

Beside the alter near the back of the room, a tiny shadow came into view as Storm made it around the corner. It was a girl, and an odd one at that. She was awkward, immature, and seemed wrong-looking. Despite his mighty diatribe, she was sleeping; was she under some spell? Her footprints were nowhere about the bloody mass; was she a hostage? He stepped to her, swearing under his breath at the terrible feeling of feet sticking to the floor, tethered to it by a glue of coagulating blood. Like an impatient father, he nudged her with a fouled foot.

“Are you shitting me?! Get up!”

[Hawl]

“Mrr…” Hawl must have completely nodded off, not even noticing the latest monster’s entrance onto the floor. Her body was twitching fitfully after giving into exhaustion, not quite able to reach deep enough for dreams. As the man’s foot nudged her gently, she started again, eyes springing awake and her entire body jolting as if electricity had coursed through it.

“Wh-wha?” Her body moved quickly, but awkwardly. Her hands and knees slipped on the sticky floor as she tried to get away from him. Her hands already hurt, the white knuckles from clutching her small club tightly in her sleep. She managed to get around the alter, the big ritual equipment more than enough to block any view of her small body.

Or it would be if the man didn’t take a simple step, that same scowling look on his face. Hawl knew that look intimately from her various Aunts and Uncles. However, their own love for the girl would prevent the murderous intent from spilling out. This man wouldn’t be bound by the Tower’s internal logic. There would be no door to slip past, or single point of power for Hawl to break.

“I-I don’t have anything you want.” The girl swallowed her breath, trying to gather courage as she stood before the man. He towered over her, in a way the giant minotaur never could. Her bag with its two skull on it clinked awkwardly, nearly tipping the tired girl over.

“I don’t wanna fight…” She raised the club before her, trying to ward off the man, who had yet to advance on her yet. It never occurred to her that she might be viewed as anything other than a small girl. The tip of the club waved before the man, her shaking hands fighting to remain steady. She was all to aware of the man’s blades; all of that work with her family in shop training her eyes enough to see their high quality. The level of quality only a professional would use. Even if this same professional had a more difficult time than she did climbing the giant Tower.

When the man didn’t answer, Hawl nodded her head. She inched forward, blinking away something wet in her eyes. She couldn’t quite articulate why the sticky squelch from her feet n the floor was bothering her so much now, or why the smell made the tears on her face run a little faster. She raised her little club, arms tensing and freezing before she brought it down with all the force she could muster against the man’s chest.

It made a soft little bonk.

“I just wanna go home now.” She let the club drop, letting it clatter on the disgusting ground. She looked up at the man before her, vision blurry with ugly tears on her face. She wiped at her face, leaving a trail along the line of her poncho. It was only a momentary reprieve, but enough for her to shrink down just a little more under the assassin’s withering gaze. “I-I’m sorry you had to come find me…”

[Storm Veritas]

(Bunny approved)

Storm had been duped by the false modesty of capable little girls before, and he wasn’t about to take this one lightly. He remained spry, weight on the balls of his feet, and ready to move despite the pathetic display this young lady offered. This girl was a bit taller, a bit more foreboding than some he’d dealt with before. Bigger than Karuka’s kid, smaller than Talen’s false form. She didn’t seem to have the ferocity of Taische O’Sheean; perhaps she was just too tired and worn to offer much resistance.

Still, this little walking mousetrap coated these walls with so much goddamned blood that would take me two hours and a power hose to recreate it. Not buying the damsel in distress routine, sweetie.

“Get up, dry your eyes. You can still get your way out of here, so long as you’re not bullshitting me.”

His eyes were quick and alert, scanning her for sudden movements while rapidly darting back to her large sack. The parcel clinked and clanged as if calling to him, a teasing reminder that she was capable of far more than she let on. Perhaps another had forced him to play marionette and this girl was some other form of projection? The wizened mage stood back some seven feet from her as he waited for her to transform into something awful. So long as she remained this teary-eyed mess, he was leery.

“The bag…” his eyes made for the little satchel with skulls on it, but he didn’t wait for her to move to it. A simple electromagnetic field effortlessly lifted the parcel, which couldn’t have weighed more than 20 pounds. Storm tried to hide his effusive pride as the girl’s eyes widened, watching her belongings float through the air toward the outstretched hand of her newfound enemy. Clasping the sack by its neck, Storm rifled glances from sack to pubescent girl and back.

“Now, let’s see what we have in here.” Her muted cry of defiance fell on deaf ears as he returned only a steely blue glare, a sharp contrast to the foolish appearance his bare feet and sweat-mottled clothing offered. The bag didn’t have much which grabbed his attention; there were lots of tattered books and an old stick.

If I came up here for a bag of apples, books, and lady rags I’m throwing this bitch out the goddamned window.

With an exasperated sigh, Veritas produced a smooth glass and steel device, which looked like some unholy bomb. He lifted it to the sun, watching needles within it bounce on suspended levels of liquid.

“A glorified f*cking compass. Fan-f*cking-tastic. Here.” Storm softly tossed the device he would later learn to be an Astrolabe towards the girl, who had ceased crying and smartly kept a safe distance. He gave the bag another few shakes when his eyes widened.

“Jackpot, baby! What have we here?!” Without a word, a small revolver leapt up from the bag into the wizard’s hand. “What’s this? Clean the slate, start again? The f*ck is that?!”

”Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Whirrr…..”

“Well, ain’t that some shit? Auto reloading…

“This doesn’t exactly look like the ender of worlds, but you’ve got some serious explaining to do there, sugar.”

He spun the gun once about his index finger, the trigger guard smoothly rotating the barrel backwards and the handle firmly popping into his palm. A small field thumb roll was enough to pull the hammer back towards him, allowing him to look down the short barrel at the exasperated girl.

“This had better be good.”

[Gnarl & Root]

Judgment: Osiris Open Rubric

Hawl v Storm Veritas


Combat

Hawl: 14 / 30
Storm Veritas: 15 / 30
I'm going to put both your commentary together for this category, because you never escalated into a duel, the tactics and ideas were not based against one another.

Anyway, I appreciated how both of you chose to work your way through the Tower of Babel. It made for an excellent read and I powered through it quickly. The traps within the tower and how you negotiated them were well thought out and were not repetitive(which I feared would happen). Storm particularly stood out here with his intriguing methods to progress past the blades and moving floor.

When finally meeting one another, it made this reader really wish to know what was going to happen next. Was Hawl pretending to be innocent? Most certainly. Would she continue to do so, or would she show her true colours? It's a shame I can't get those answers, but you both showed some good ideas within this thread.


Character

Hawl: 24/ 30
Wow. Hawl is most certainly an interesting character. The way you turned such a powerful horror fest of a tower into a light-hearted everyday stroll, was excellent. This was all done through her own perception, and how the reality of the situation was lost on her. The term "cute" came to mind, and this reader found himself falling for the soft exterior in which she perceived the world.

This attitude to such a horrific place actually made Hawl rather terrifying. What kind of monster must she be to be unfazed by such a place, and hold little to no fear of her actions? Her lack of empathy and desensitised nature falls no shorter than that of a serial killer.

Storm Veritas: 23 / 30
Storm, stuck chasing Hawl made for some exciting results through the traps. You added the near fall and loss of pants at a good point, and this broke up the more serious tone that was leading you forward. I laughed at the "white shorts" moment, and felt glued to your post when reading his thought process and general overconfident attitude.

Storm is well established in his character and this showed in all aspects of your writing. This reader felt encouraged to read on and wanted Storm to catch her greatly. It was only a shame that the ending was not there to see it conclude. Otherwise, you were great.


Prose

Hawl: 21 / 30
You wrote horrifically beautiful. It was very clever writing in respect to your character and the techniques you used to compliment it. Your use of similes and metaphor was used to great effect, and you stood out from Storm in that respect.

What went against you here were rather simple things really. Missing letters, when making something plural happened fairly often. It was easy to read over, but at times, these were missing throughout all of your posts. The consistency of capitalisation also reared its head, for example: you use both; Aunt & aunt in post four. This occurred with various words, including "Tower of Babel".

I also spotted in your later posts, posts. "Alter" should be "Altar". Just a minor misspelling. Check post ten for that one. These, unfortunately, brought down you score.

Storm Veritas: 23 / 30
You are generally very strong in this area. Everything felt more thoroughly proofread, and that is to your benefit here. I didn't feel like you used as many techniques as I've witnessed from you before. However, your use of detailed adjectives and wide vocabulary are used strongly and powerfully to create your scene, mood and atmosphere.
There were a couple of times where I wasn't sure if you left a word in, or just wrote a sentence that could have been better worded. For example, post three:


A tall, deep door was cut through clear through what looked at this distance to be marble.

I re-read this a couple of times thinking something was wrong. Maybe just: "was cut clear through" would have read better here. Though, overall your writing was excellent.

Wildcard


Hawl: 8 / 10
I've not read a character like yours on Althanas before. It was an excellent read and you made this story special.

Storm Veritas: 8 / 10
Solid and powerful. Storm shines again.

Both of you -
What a great read! While unfinished, I enjoyed this story and it's DOOM style setting. I wish I could have finished it.

Final Scores and Rewards

Hawl: 67 / 100
Storm Veritas: 69 / 100

Storm Veritas advances!

In accordance with Osiris Open rubric, both contestants receive rewards based on a score of 65. Hawl's GP is forfeited to the tournament pot!

Storm Veritas receives 997 EXP and 65 GP!

Hawl receives 381 EXP and forfeits 55 GP to the tournament pot!

Congratulations!

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards added!