New Risks (Solo)

[Lord_Byron]

Berick walked in the door of the Zirnden and looked around. Immediately his eyes took in the bar. He was thirsty for something new and potent. Once again the memories of his family assaulted his senses. He had learned only one way to beat such emotions. It came in a bottle and it smelt of bitterness he had only experienced through his pain and sorrow. Many called him a drunk and a worthless brawler, but he knew he was more than that, but he wasn't in the mood to convince anyone otherwise.

As he entered, he received no unusual glances. It was clear that the people here were used to seeing newcomers. He took comfort in that. He had no enemies here, as he did at the taverns back home, but at the same time, he had no friends. There was nobody here who would throw their chips in on his behalf. He was fine with that. Only two things could clear a man's head more than anything else: A strong swig of Rogis' Black Rum or a good trouncing. He had tasted both. One tasted like bog water, the other tasted like copper. Blood and alcohol; he lived to taste both. And he had. But it was an appetite that could never be satiated. He always needed more.

So he made a direct route towards the bar. His mood was somber. So it went when he was sober. Somber and sober, there was nothing more depressing. He hated being able to think clearly. It made him remember all too clearly the rashes that had over come the bodies of his wife and three children. He remembered the coin shaped rashes that protruded in the middle and broke the skin to leak out sticky white puss. The thought of it made him queasier than his worst hangovers.

As he walked, more than one person offered him a tough shoulder-to-shoulder bump as though to test his confidence. This was a fight club, and it seemed everyone was here for that very reason. That thought made him smile for the first time that night. It had been far too long since he had been in a good fight. Twelve hours was a long time to go without tasting blood in his mouth.

He grabbed an empty bar stool and positioned it to suit his sitting posture. He motioned at the bartender who lifted his index finger to ask for a minute to finish up with his current customer. Berick, always lenient with the bar tenders, smiled and waved him off. He had waited this long for a drink, what was a few more minutes.

"What would ye like?" The fat barkeep said. He was cleaning a glass in his right hand with a white rag in his left.

"Something strong," Berick said looking the barkeep in the eye. "To keep the demons at bay."

The barkeep nodded his understanding and went to be on his way. Berick spun halfway around to look out at what was going on. He saw men of all shapes and sizes. He also took a good look at the caged ring in the middle. He had seen such arenas before, but this one was a bit different. It had a profound feeling about it that set his nerves about. That would change in due time.

"We got Fire Rum." The barkeep said, startling Berick out of his thoughts. When Berick gave him a look that told him he didn't understand; the barkeep went on. "It will warm you from the core outward. One shot of this and you'll be seeing double. Two shots and you'll be ready to get trounced in that ring. Three shots..." The barkeep gave him a wink. "And you'll feel ready to take on the entire place."

"Three shots then!" Berick said without thinking. If he could feel ready to take on all of these people, then surely it would make him forget his past... At least for a short while.

"You fixin' for a fight then?" The barkeep asked with a sly grin.

"I never go looking for fights. And they never look for me." He took a shot of the Fire Rum. He coughed once and slapped his chest. The barkeep nodded his approval. "The fights usually no exactly where I am most of the time."

The barkeep looked at Berick suspiciously. "You're gonna pay for them drinks right? I'd hate to have to start a fight on such a poor excuse to start a fight."

"Of course," Berick said with a smile of his own. "You barkeeps are what keep the pain away. You think I'd really stiff someone like that of their deserved money. You must think me a mad man?"

"I don't know you well enough to make that judgment. But I'll let you know after you finish up the other two shots. That's a coin per shot, you know."

Berick slapped down 20 gold coins and motioned off to the display of alcohol. "This is quality stuff you got here. How about 3 for the shots, and the rest for a pint of it?"

"The pint is only 13." He said with a frown, and pushed away four of the gold coins."

Berick pushed them back. "And four is worth your company." With the matter settled, and the barkeep going back to get a pint of the Fire Rum, Berick took the other two shots in the same breath. His eyes watered a bit due to the bitter warmth that spread through his body, but when he let out a throaty cough, he knew he was drinking sweetly.

The barkeep handed over a pint of the rum and Berick readily slipped it into his pack where it clanked with the other bottles of alcohol. The barkeep looked at him curiously, as though wondering why he would be buying alcohol if he had a ready supply on him. Berick had seen that look before and smiled as he patted his pack.

"For special occasions." He said with a wink.

[Lord_Byron]

It only took about three minutes before the flare of the alcohol hit him. And when it him, it tore at him with a vengeance. He rocked in his chair a bit as he rubbed his stomach. He finally understood why they called it Fire Rum. His insides felt like they were ablaze and that the fire was spreading from his stomach outward. He wondered to himself how long it would take to reach the part that mattered; his mind.

The barkeep kept an eye on his moderately wealthy client. A knowing smile was etched on his face as he watched the man sway back and forth on the stool. Berick spun on the chair back to face the barkeep, only to find that when he stopped spinning, the room continued to act as though it were a carousel. He had gotten this feeling before, but not after only three shots. He suddenly wondered what would happen after four.

"Another shot," He said in the steadiest voice he could muster. "What will happen with another shot?"

"Four shots?" The barkeep asked incredulously.

"Yessir. Four shots," he said with a flamboyant smile on his face. "Three shots is four plus two but minus the something like that. So four shots." He smiled and held up five fingers when he said four shots.

The barkeep shook his head. "Four shots? Don't do that."

"Oh, but you see if four is more than three and I am one man, then one plus three equals four, right?" The smile refused to leave Berick's face.

"You take another shot and you won't find the door." The barkeep warned seriously.

"Oh, my rotund friend, but the entrance to this place is as is the entrance to my soul. Mine eyes tell me that in my soul I shall find a door and once that door closes I can walk out my eyes."

The barkeep rolled his eyes and tried to hide his chuckle. "Very well, play with fire then. I already have my part of the bargain sealed. I offered you fair warning, my friend. The world will never stop spinning if you take another shot."

"Ah, but I must. You see, hence the world spins to the rhythm of the drink in my hand which is as still as a night cloud. But like the sun that sets on the ocean I must presently find what I have not yet lost, but what I know must be found at the bottom of an empty glass. It is this reason that your rum burns moistly and the bread dries it up. I shall take another drink and let go what rationale I have left. You will see, my chubby friend, which a lot can come from letting the world spin."

The barkeep let out an audible sigh as he poured one more shot for Berick. He was given four extra coins for his company, and since he knew he wouldn't want to stick around for what would come on the fourth shot, he gave him the shot free of charge. At any rate, the barkeep felt the drink was paid for, if not justifiable.

"Good luck." The barkeep said as he walked away to service the needs of other patrons. More than one of them were regulars and gestured towards the man with his fourth shot of Fire Rum ready to be taken. Enough of the women were too curious about this ambitious, or foolish, young man that their men began getting the wrong idea. Suddenly, Berick was not so free of enemies here.

Berick smelt the top of the shot and moved it in a circular motion in front of his knows. However, he found himself unable to stop moving his hand and actually drinking the shot became an irritable task. It took him longer to swallow that drink that it did the first three combined.

As he polished it off and licked the last drop from the side of the glass, he felt the effects began to drift to his mind. He became fuzzy and cloudy upstairs. This was what he had been looking for. This was the release he needed from the pain that no man should ever have to deal with. He had to bury his own children. Not just one child, but all three of them. That memory was something he could do without.

He stared at the glass for a moment and tried to count just how many he was holding, and just how many hands he actually had. When he finally decided that someone kept changing the number on him, he flung the shot glass over his shoulder. Had he been less drunk, he would have been able to hear the glass never hit the floor.

Instead, the glass landed directly into a man's pants. The man had been sitting down sharing a decent conversation with a pretty waitress when the glass landed. The waitress giggled and used the diversion to skip away and serve the other customers. This made the man furious, and he tromped over to where Berick was. Stepping beside Berick, held the glass in front of the barkeep and inquired about who had been the slick one to throw the glass at him.

The barkeep lifted his hands in the air to show that he didn't want any trouble. The man nodded and the barkeep took the glass away and smelt the inside. It smelt of his trademark Fire Rum. Only one man had been drinking that this night. The barkeep bobbed his head in the direction of Berick then scurried off to keep himself busy and away from the fight that was bound to ensue.

The man, a large burly man that was nearly twice Berick's weight, tapped him on the shoulder. Berick spun around to see the man's serious expression. He tried to concentrate on a single facial feature, but found that his vision would not stay still long enough to allow such a thing. Berick smiled at last and waved coyly to the stranger.

"Hey barkeep," Berick hollered over the buzz of the tavern talk. The barkeep turned a questioning from to his patron. "Seems as though trouble knew where I was once again."

The barkeep offered a fake smile and a nod. He then proceeded to ask permission from the Gods to keep him safe so that he could bring more money and contribute to his business. He took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable.

[Lord_Byron]

The man folded his arms over his massive, barrel chest and glared at Berick. Berick could only offer a shy smile. He batted his eyelashes at the man for good effect, which only served to anger the man more. Finally the big man spoke in a rough voice that sounded like two pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together.

"Did you throw this?" The man asked.

Berick watched the man's face distort and move in intricate patterns. Finally, he burst into such a fit of laughter that the barkeep almost joined in. Berick had to cough to catch his breath before finally slapping his knee and standing up out of the stool and in front of his large counterpart.

"Well, you should be more polite to strangers." A hiccough escaped his lips and he let out a small burp that caused the larger man to wave his hand in front of his face. "It seems you have a qualm with me, but you don't know me. I am Berick Sanchent."

The man glared at Berick for several seconds. Berick leaned in and whispered to the man.

"This is the part where you introduce yourself. Don't be shy now. People are waiting."

The man growled and slammed a fist on the counter, spilling several nearby drinks and receiving several curses from other more peaceful patrons. The man gave them a hard look and they turned back about their own business.

"Did you throw that glass?" He repeated.

"Now we're having a failure to communicate... My name is..."

A fist slammed the table once again, and this time several of the less patient patrons stood up and matched stares with the larger man.

"I don't care what your name is, or who you are. Did you throw that glass?"

Berick smiled and nodded. "If I tell you, you have to promise to give me your name."

The man rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Very well it was me. I was finished with it, and really had no more use for it. So I thought I would rid myself of it. It just so happened that your lap was there to cushion the fall. This is good news to my ears, as I am running low on coin and could ill afford to have to pay for a broken glass as well. Now your name please?"

"Valient Stark." He said as if the very name was a threat to his health. "Three time champion here. I've crushed better men than you when it counted. And now, it seems I will crush you."

Berick's grin faded, but only for a moment as his fuzzy mind tried to register the words. He was surprised that, although the Fire Rum was potent, it was not long lasting and he was already starting to lose his buzz. However, the grin returned to his face and he glanced down at his own hands, as if deciding which one to pick. Finally he extended his right hand out to the man.

Valient reached out and took the hand, and then squeezed with all of his might. Berick's eyes squinted with the pain of the grip and finally his knees buckled. Before he could fall to his knees, Valient let go and Berick stood up straight again, shaking his hand in the air.

"Quite a grip you got there big guy."

Valient ignored the comment and punched his left fist into his open right hand. "We have a score to settle. You see, my trousers are damp and the waitress that had an eye for me has now wandered off. The way I see it, you owe me."

"Very well," Berick said as he rolled his eyes. He stopped and then looked up into Valient's eyes. "Two-to-one. You win. I lose. See, the score is settled." Berick took a step forward past Valient, but the big man grabbed him by the middle of his jacket and shoved him back into the bar stool.

"You ever see a dead man, little guy?" He said as he brought his face within inches of Berick’s. "They all look the same. They have fear in their eyes. Fear because at the last moment of their lives they realized that they were weak and would die. People do not die without knowing first. They see it coming. And they are afraid."

Suddenly flashbacks of his past came swirling into his mind. Pictures of the pussy tokens on the flesh of his family assaulted his mind. His eyes stared straight ahead and all the noise in the room became a dull hum compared to the screaming that he was hearing in his head. He remembered his own screaming when he found out his family had all lost the fight to the disease. That scream now reverberated throughout his entire soul. And the memories were brought about by one singular man.... Valient.

His senses crashed into him in a rush just in time for him to hear Valient making a joke about the way he was staring. He called it fear, and the others laughed.

Berick, without looking away from Valient, held out his hand. The barkeep offered him an empty shot glass. Berick put it temporarily in between his legs as he reached behind his back to grab the Black Rum out of his pack. He poured himself a shot, and then took it down quickly. Another one came right after, and then another. He returned the bottle to his pack and zipped it up tight. He then waited for the alcohol to kick in and take away the pain once again, if only for one night.

Finally, when the heat of the alcohol reached his stomach, he leapt up out of his seat and smashed the shot glass right in Valient's face. The big man did not even realize the assault was coming. Berick then kneed him in the stomach and then punched him as hard as he could with a right hook to the groin. Valient squealed and fell to his knees in pain. His left hand was over his face, and his right was cradling his groin.

"I've seen plenty of dead men in my time." He whispered intensely. "And if you had seen as many of them as I had, you would not care to see anymore."

Berick spat on the floor in front of the kneeling Valient and started to walk away.

"You are a coward, Berick!" The man roared. Berick stopped and turned to face Valient who was now on his feet. His face was pocked with holes in his face where the glass had shattered and cut him. Blood flowed slowly from the dozens of small cuts, making his appearance seem far worse than it was. "Come and face me where it counts. Let us decide who sees the next dead man."

Valient pointed to the giant caged ring and then glared at Berick. It was a clear challenge for a fight, and it was one that was only far too appealing for Berick. He let a smug grin pass on his face as he turned and started walking back towards the ring. Berick looked over his shoulder to see the man pointing at the broken glass and then making hand signs that indicated that he expected payment. Berick chuckled and met Valient face to face.

"Very well then, let us dance the night away."

[Lord_Byron]

The liquor was spreading through his system at a steady pace. He had learned to feel such things over time. He knew how drunk he was, and how much more he could tolerate before he had to make his leave to see to his digestive issues. He felt as though he could walk straight, in fact, he was confident he could walk straight. He stood up on shaky legs and proceeded to follow Valient to the ring.

As he passed, he heard the muttered slang and threats that he was used to when he got himself into these situations. He winked to an attractive waitress who smiled politely and then danced towards her next table where a group of rowdy men whistled to her in order to get their drinks refilled. Berick shook his head. It seemed that no matter where he went, all the taverns or bars were the same: Pretty waitresses, rowdy customers, and always a strong chance of a rumble. It was for the latter that he went out nearly every night.

So here he was again, facing down yet another opponent looking to carve a reputation out of his hide. He didn't understand why people needed to fight so much. He figured that everyone had their own personal reasons. To him, it was just another way to forget the tragedy that took his family. After all, you are not likely to think about things like that when you are unconscious.

One of the handlers of the matches opened the cage for the two of them. He was surprised when Valient showed a hint of decency when he nodded to the handler. Berick, on the other hand, just sort of staggered in past him. Valient went directly to a corner opposite of him and started to stretch out his legs and arms. Berick went down to his corner and slumped, wishing more than anything the ring would stop spinning.

He wasn't quite sure whether there would be a formal announcement of the fight, but at the same time, he cared little either way. He simply stood up when he was tired of sitting and ran towards Valient. Valient, more accustomed to the rules of the ring was taken completely by surprise when the attack came.

Berick held his hands out to either side of himself horizontally and literally dove into the man. Valient's back slammed hard against the cage and knocked the wind out of him. Berick still had his arms wrapped around the man, more to keep his bearings about him than to hold him, when Valient shook himself out of his daze.

"A coward’s trick!" He roared out loud, mostly for the crowds benefit, and surely to make himself look better. He turned to the crowd as best he could with Berick's arms around him and he lifted up his arms. They cheered in response to being recognized by one of the combatants. He then brought his hands together as though he were holding an axe handle and brought them down hard into the small of Berick's back. He yelled in pain as his arms let go and he smacked faced first into the floor of the ring.

"How did that feel, you drunken coward?" The crowd laughed along with Valient as Berick rolled away from him to the middle of the ring. He was slow to return to his feet, but, for being drunk, he got up in short order.

He stood up and stretched his back. He then leaned to the left, and then to the right, as though stretching his sides. He then lifted his arms above his head, and was surprised when a yawn came. He spoke in the middle of the yawn.

"You know," he said before he finished the yawn. "For years I have been searching for the source of my pain. Go figure. All I needed was a good back massage. I thank you for that!"

Berick said it loud enough that most of the front-row spectators could hear, and he was rewarded with a booming laughter from them. That laughter, which was a moment ago supporting his insults, enraged the larger man and he came stalking forward.

"Well..." Berick said, while swaying on his feet and mocking a woman who had seen a dashing fellow. "Perhaps one of these times, where there are not so many people, I might return the favor."

The audience laughed again, but the laughter turned to a united "oh" as Valient connected a strong left hook to Berick's stomach. Berick doubled over and staggered back, barely keeping his footing while he tried to overcome the bout of coughing that usually followed a blow such as the one he had received.

Valient wasted no time in coming back with a right uppercut to Berick's exposed jaw. Berick was knocked into a standing position again and found himself retreating more towards his side of the ring. A small cut on his chin leaked a bit of blood which he quickly wiped away. He could care less if the onlookers saw him bleeding, but blood was so very hard to get out of leather.

As Valient stalked forward again, Berick threw a punch of his own which the big man swatted away as if he knew the punch was coming all along. He countered with a left that Berick dodged with a quick spin, which wasn't the best idea he had, seeing as things were already spinning on their own. But he came out of the spin with his right elbow leading and connected it to the back of his head causing Valient's face to slam into one of the steel bars that made up the cage.

The man came back with a vengeance, throwing a flurry of wild punches, some landing, some missing completely, and some that Berick was even able to dodge. He had seen men in this sort of a temper tantrum before. Real men like this did not like to be bested. Just as he though that last thought, he received a quartette of knuckles in his forehead and knocked him straight on his back. Now he had seen many things while under the drink's influence, but this was the first time he had actually seen stars.

He came to just in time to see the glint of something metal in Valient's hand. He was inebriated by his anger and wasn't thinking. As the man knelt beside him, and put a knee on each of his arms, pinning him where he lay, he saw what the man held in his hand.

"Just one more dead man." Valient said with a voice that burned like acid.

Berick, smiled, knowing that this was finally the end he wanted. He had never tried to take his own life, but many were the times he tried to coax others into taking his for him. It seemed as though someone was finally taking his offer. He would be with his beloved and his children in a matter of seconds.

[Lord_Byron]

He knew the knife was sharp as it drew ever closer to his neck. Berick didn't fight the inevitable. He accepted what was to happen. Still, his heart was beating wildly and he wondered if anyone could see it through his jacket. The drunk had always knew that death would come, but he had never thought of how much he would suffer before the end. He only ever thought about how his family had suffered before they were mercilessly taken from the world of living.

He closed his eyes as he felt the cold metal touch his skin. The blade was sharp enough that even the slight pressure drew a line of blood on his neck. He knew it was just a jerk of Valient's wrist until he was with his family. Berick heard the crowd fall to a hush, with a few loud jeers by people who had obviously had one too many.

Then he heard shouting. The crowd erupted in an outrage. Then the drunkard felt a jerk of the knife. His eyes clinched shut as tight as he possibly could, as if that would take the pain away. But the pain never came. He opened his eyes and found that he was still alive. However, Valient was no longer on top of him. He tried to gather his senses. When he looked to his right he saw the bartender in standing with a wooden 2x4 in his hand. The thing was stained with blood. Berick looked to his left and saw Valient lying on the ground with a deep gash in the side of his face.

"You saved my life. I thank you for that." Berick said purely out of reflex.

The bartender straightened himself and scoffed. "Don't think nothing of it y'hear? I just didn't want to lose a good customer. You tip good. Four gold pieces isn't a small tip you know."

Berick laughed and took the hand as it was extended down to him. The barkeep was surprisingly strong and pulled him right up to his feet. The two of them shared a knowing look before the cage door was flung open and a mob of disappointed onlookers rushed in, obviously not happy with the results of the fight.

"You see," Berick said as he unzipped his pack and pulled out a steel pole. "Trouble knows exactly where I am." The barkeep grinned and took a awkward stance as the mob charged into the middle of the ring.

Berick swung his steel pole with wild abandon and heard the snapping of a jaw as it connected to a man's face. However, as he knocked that one down, three of them took his place. He made a jovial cry as he leapt into the three of them, swinging his pole left and right, scoring minor hits to the others, as well as receiving glancing blows as well.

Berick shouldered a man on his right into the cage, and looked past him to see how the barkeep fared. What he saw amazed him. Apparently some of the patrons had thought better of picking a fight with the man that served the drinks, and instead were brawling with the others on his behalf. He smiled at that. He shouted out to the barkeep and the man waved. He looked like a child in a taffy store. It was obvious that he had seen his share of fights in the past, and seemed to enjoy them.

The drunk was punched in the face by a strong arm and landed flat on his back. He heard the barkeep laugh in jest. He was having too much fun with this. Berick shook his head a bit and stayed on the ground for a minute to collect his thoughts. He turned his head to the left and saw his pack within arms reach, so he grabbed it and withdrew the bottle of Black Rum. He took a deep swig of the potent liquid and almost felt rejuvenated as soon as it hit his stomach.

In a flash, he was back on his feet with his pole, knocking drunks into soberness they had not known in a very long while. Some of them would know the best sleep in a long while as well. Berick, deciding he didn't like the feel of being trapped in a cage, held the bar horizontally in front of him and charged towards the door to the cage. The smart ones, or the ones not so drunk that they could still walk straight, jumped out of the way. Everyone else was mowed over.

Berick’s luck changed again when he was just a couple feet from the entrance. Two of the men that had gotten in his way grabbed on to the pole and yanked it away from him. That was alright for Berick, until they took to swinging it at him. He soon found himself backing up into the middle of the right. It was the exact place he didn't want to be.

But then the barkeep and his men were there, plowing into the men that had Berick in their sights. He heard the sound of fists colliding with faces, and the inadvertent grunts of those on the receiving end. He also heard a lot of taunting and cursing. It was just like home. Except that he was in a cage. And he didn't like being in a cage.

"Berick!" Berick turned to the voice. His pole came flying at him and he just barely caught it with one hand. The barkeep gave him a disapproving scowl. "A good customer of mine just got knocked into next week with that. Be more careful with who you let borrow it!" The man let out a roar of laughter as he swung his wood into the stomach of an assailant. The drunk could only smile.

Seeing a clear way, Berick made his escape out of the cage. He took a deep breath and walked to the bar and sat down. He watched the fight ensue within the ring. Those who did not feel like fighting, or were too drunk to find the entrance to the ring, sat back and cheered on those participating. Most of the audience was cheering for the barkeep.

Berick had had enough for one night and slapped a gold piece on the counter and told the waiter to make sure the barkeep got it. He nodded and slipped it into his pocket. Berick took one last look at the fight and staggered towards the exit of the fight club. When he got out he was jolted by the fresh air of the evening. He always liked the cool, crisp night air right after a fight. It made him feel like a new man.

He only got a few yards from the entrance when he heard the shout of a very angry man. The voice sounded very familiar. When the drunk turned around to regard the voice, he was stunned, but not so surprised, to find that it was Valient, a fresh bandage on his face. The blood was soaking through pretty well, but the man looked to have some fight left in him.

"Has our score not been settled?" Berick asked in jest. The man grinned, and stalked forward. Behind him followed four men that seemed just as grim faced as he was. "Four to one is it? You still win."

The five charged at him and Berick, though he was drunk, still knew he was over his head. Fighting in a bar was one thing, but fighting outside a bar was entirely a different thing. There was nobody to stop the fight. So he did what any self-respecting drunk man would do.

He stared dumbly as they came at him...

[Lord_Byron]

"WAIT!" Berick shouted waving his hands out in front of him. Valient stopped sharply, and his men behind him nearly crashed into his back. The group of them stared at the drunk for a minute, mostly out of confusion than anything else.

"What about my last words?" Berick said with a slight slur to his speech.

"What about them?" Valient demanded in an annoyed manner.

"Well, shouldn't I at least get to say something before you fine gentleman decide to pummel me into the ground?" Valient looked over his shoulder and his men just shrugged, not knowing what to think of the situation.

"Fine. Make it quick." Valient spat.

"Ah, good. A reasonable man you are." Berick walked up and put his arm around Valient's shoulder. The big man flinched, but more than that did not move. His eyes glared hotly though. "It seems you feel we have a disagreement to settle. This is fair and true. But really its not. If it were, then left wouldn't be right, if left were in fact right. But they are not, so we do not have a disagreement. So I can be on my merry way, and you gentleman can go have another drink."

"You're talking mad, you miserable drunkard." Valient roared as he pushed Berick away from him. "I'm fixin' to kill you."

"And that is where you think we have a disagreement." Berick's face turned stone serious. The men, other than Valient, looked uneasy about their task. "You think that by killing me, you would be hurting me. I claim to differ. You see, I long for death. Be it by your hand, or a sneak-thief that slits my throat from behind me when I am walking down a dark alley, it matters not to me."

Berick waited for them to say something, but their eyes were wide and none of them could find words to speak. Berick wanted to walk up to them, and get in their faces, but he dared not test his feet too much. A drunk could walk straight and get lucky, but not more than once. He could lose their attention if he were to fall on his face. It was task enough to stay standing.

"You say you want me dead, and that is fine by me. And I am sure your gang is fine with it too. But let me tell you the consequences of failure. If you mean to kill me, and then opt out at the last instant as that little voice in the back of your head tells you not to. And you walk away from me, leaving me broken and beaten; you will have something to fear. Each night when you wake up, you will be forced to look out your windows. Each night you will have to check your wife and your children, wondering if I might be there to take them from you. Do you have any idea what that might feel like?"

The men simply stared.

"I thought so." Berick shook his head and started walk off. His emotions were starting to get the best of him. He knew he should drink more or he would be up lamenting his family once again, but alas, he also knew that too much more drink would result in him passing out. That was not what he wanted in the company of the sort of men that were behind him.

"Your words mean nothing to me!" Valient yelled to him. Berick didn't turn and kept walking. He heard Valient yell something foul at his men. It seemed like they no longer wanted to participate in the beating that just a few moments ago they seemed intent on taking a part of.

Berick took a deep breath as he became lost in thought again. He continued to walk down the empty street. He could still hear the hustle and bustle of the glorified tavern behind him. His thoughts once again swirled into oblivion. The darkness that always led him to those terrible days took hold of him again.

He saw it through his eyes as his children cried at all hours of the night. Their beautiful faces were white and pasty one moment, then full of redness and fever the next. He remembered telling them stories about their souls and how they would live on after they left this world behind. It always seemed to cheer them up. He also remembered what his youngest had asked him. He asked if his mother was going to die.

Berick swallowed past the lump that was forming in his throat, but the tears found their way out of his eyes. Some things were not worth holding back. Tears were one of them. They always seemed to have minds of their own, and came in a rush when you wanted them the least.

His mind drifted back to the answer he gave his little one. He had not the heart to lie to them. He had been an honest man once. True as an arrow shot from an expert marksman. The honest man he once was told his son that his mother was indeed to the point beyond recovery. He wasn't surprised when his little boy started to cry. He remembered wrapping him in a warm embrace and rubbing his little back to comfort him.

However, what he asked him after that nearly broke his heart. And in fact, it slammed home the fact of their deaths more than the deaths themselves.

"Daddy, if mommy dies, and we die, who will take care of you when we're not here anymore."

He said the words aloud, but heard them as his son's voice. He choked back a sob as he looked towards the night sky. It was a fairly clear sky, except for the phantom wisps of clouds that strayed in the sky.

And then he felt a pull on his shoulder. It was a pull that jolted him out of his terrible memories and back into reality. When he turned around and faced the new conflict, he found it to be an old one. Valient stood before him, a fist drawn back. Berick watched the fist come at him in slow motion. Then he saw a flash of light, and when he opened his eyes again, he was on the ground. He felt blood running through his nose. His eyes couldn't focus straight and he tried to shake himself out of the daze.

"No man walks away from me!" Valient yelled, anger seeming to have taken hold of whatever reason might have dwelled inside of the man. Had his nose not been broken, he might have smelt the whiskey on his breath as well.

A foot came down and landed directly onto his ribs. Berick cried out in pain like he never had before. He felt a pop on the inside, and the pain seemed to subside for a mere instant. Another swift kick to his side that rolled him over onto his stomach flared the pain anew. Berick tried to pull himself to a crawling position, but a swift kick to the stomach as he did so ended the attempt. Berick gasped for air that was delayed in its arrival.

Berick hoped that the beating would end soon. But it didn't. Another boot to his ribcage rolled him into a garbage can, knocking the thing over and receiving the contents all over the top of him. He spat away garbage that landed on his face. His eyes beheld a glass bottle. He though that if he could reach it, he might be able to hit Valient with it and crawl away.

Valient got to it first. He chuckled to himself as he raised the bottle and brought it down hard on his head. The thing shattered and sent glass flying in every direction. Berick felt blood start to run down from the top of his head into his hear. His vision became blurry and blackness replaced what used to be his peripheral vision. By some miracle, though, he was still partially conscious to the world.

That fact obviously did not sit well with the big man. He lifted the metal trashcan above his head, and with a roar of anger brought the can down directly onto his forehead. Upon the impact, blackness washed his vision, and the streets, and Valient, were no longer known to him.

[Lord_Byron]

"Berick," the voice was soft and melodic. "Berick wake up. I think Samuel is sick."

Berick's eyes shot open and he frantically threw off the covers of his bed. The source of the voice, Merideth, was in her nightshirt and her face was painted with worry. Berick nodded and wiped the sleep from his face, and then sprang to his feet.

Merideth led the way to the boy's room. She gave Berick a worried look as the stood by the door. Berick put his hand on her face and kissed her lightly on the lips. He thought that she felt a bit hot herself, but he figured she was just worrying herself sick. It wasn't so uncommon a thing. He had seen it before. She would be fine when Samuel was better.

He opened up the door and then a flash happened. He blinked twice and he was in the room. However, instead of seeing just Samuel, Sharron and Max were bed-ridden as well. He took his rounds as he did the previous nights. He dabbed Samuel's head with a damp cloth and then prodded Sharron to eat just a little more soup. He finally came to Max, his youngest son. He smiled at him and touched his cheek with his index finger.

"Daddy is mommy going to die." Max asked. Berick looked over his shoulder. Samuel was asleep and Sharron was not far from it. He took a deep breath before answering.

"Max, your mother is beyond the point of recovery. Do not feel sad. She will be in a better place soon. She will not feel the pain anymore."

Max's eyes welled with tears and he lunged forward, clutching at his father. Berick wrapped him up in a warm embrace, tears of his own coming to his eyes. He didn't try to hold them back. It would be useless. The tears would come on their own accord.

"Daddy, if mommy dies, and we die, who will take care of you when we're not here anymore?"

Before he could answer another flash of light and he was standing before four gravestones. He looked down with solemn eyes as he said his final farewells to the only family he had. Scraps sat beside him, his head held low, as if he knew the significance of what was happening. The poor mongrel would never play with Max again, would never sleep next to Sharron, or follow Samuel off to his morning lessons. And never again would the small dog receive table scraps from Merideth.

He took a deep breath and walked away. A man stood behind him. He looked him straight in the eyes, and then turned his eyes downward to what he held in his hand. It was a bottle, just as ordinary as the next, except it held a very dark liquid in it.

"I knew her." He said quietly to Berick. "She was an enchanting woman." He then handed the bottle to Berick. "For the cold and lonely nights."

He nodded his thanks to the man who he would later find to be the owner of the local tavern, Rogis. He opened the cork and smelt the liquid. It smelt horribly, but he took a drink anyways. And thus was the beginning to his drunken crusade...

Berick opened his eyes and looked around. It hurt to move at all. He didn't recognize the place, but it smelt lovely. The smell was that of a woman's touch. No man could ever create such a scent. He turned his head, which hammered with headache and saw a man looking back at him.

"Good evening, my friend," said the man. "My shift ended shortly after the scuffle and I was on my way home and found you lying there on the ground. I picked you up, threw you over my shoulder and brought you home. My wife was none to pleased, but once I showed her the tip you gave me, she was all to ready to help. And so here you are."

"My name is Berick." He said to the man. It was the only thing he could remember, or wanted to remember, at that time. "You are the barkeep. I recognize you." The barkeep smiled and nodded. A puzzled look fell upon Berick's features. "Where in the world did you get a piece of wood like that?"

The barkeep laughed audibly. "My name is Argis. And that wooden stick I got from the man that gave me the finest beating in my life. You know, after he did that to me, we became the closest friends imaginable."

"That doesn't make sense." Berick protested.

"Aye, it doesn't. But we didn't become friends until I returned the favor. With the very same stick that he tattooed me with." A sly grin came to the barkeep's face. "Do you know what you have to do?"

Berick turned his face away. Bar fights were bar fights. They weren't something to seek revenge for. People got into scuffles all the time, and didn't go hunt the guy down and look for a rematch.

"It was a bar fight..." He started to say, but Argis grunted to interrupt him.

"It was a bar fight when it was in the bar. It was a bar fight when you fought in the cage. It became angry bitterness once it left the bar. He did you wrong, Berick. It's time you stopped playing by honorable rules. That sort of thing will get you killed."

"I can see that." He said as he nodded towards the bandages on his ribs.

Argis nodded. "I have something for you. I want you to use it when you find Valient again. It's a weapon that was passed to me by my old man. I am too old to bear children anymore. Me and my wife tried for many years, but alas, I don't think it possible."

"I had children." Berick said in a quiet tone.

"Had?" Argis inquired.

"The demons." Argis nodded his recognition of the phrase he used when he first asked for the strongest liquor. "A disease killed my family a little while back. I drink to forget that pain."

"Does it work?" Argis asked.

Tears fell freely as he shook his head. He had to look away from the older man's eyes. It was so obvious, the drink had never worked, but he used it as an excuse to hate the world right back. And the pain he received from his beatings was what caused him to forget the true pain that was burrowed deep inside.

"That means you loved them very much. Now prove yourself to them. Prove to them that you have not given up on everything you taught them. Seek revenge after you have healed. Then set your path to lead you other places. Do not limit your fights to bars and the drunken cohorts that inhabit them. There are fights all over the world. You are a man that looks for fighting. Fine, that is reasonable for what you've been through. But use that determination to fight for something other than the sake of fighting. Have a purpose. Be it ill or good. Just live your life with a purpose.”

Berick nodded his understanding and laid his head back. Argis stood up and walked over to a display and took down a sword. It looked as though it was brand new, but had the feeling that it was a priceless piece of work and had the age to prove it.

"A sword is not much different from that pole you use. When you decide to seek your revenge, use this sword. It savors the taste of blood. It is unbiased as to where it comes from. When you do this, return to me and I shall teach you to use it properly."

Berick nodded and reached out for it. Just as he held it in his hands, the pain of the wounds returned to him and caused him to shake violently. Argis simply watched. He could do nothing more for this man. It was up to his body to do the healing. And the only for the body to heal, was if the mind could heal as well.

Argis suddenly feared for his favorite customer.

[Lord_Byron]

Berick yawned as he awoke. He got out of the bed that had been his for the past week. In that time, he had talked Argis into teaching him how to use the sword. He was confident in his ability, but he knew that he had much more to learn. Still, he was ready to do what he had to do.

As requested, Berick gave Argis no goodbye or thank you as he left. He didn't even bother to wake the man as he left. This was something that he had to do on his own. He felt the nerves on the insides tearing him up on the outside. He had remembered that beating that he got from Valient, and he wasn't enthusiastic about fighting that particular person again. But Argis was right. He would never get over such a thing if he did not return the favor.

He walked away from the house in which he had stayed at for seven days and followed the road that Argis described. As he went, he stopped at a vaguely familiar point. He looked to his right and saw an interesting garbage can. The thing had an abnormally large dent in it. He walked over to it and pushed it aside. There in whole for him to view was a dried up stain of blood. This was the spot in which it had happened. He shuddered at the memory as a tingle crawled up his spine.

A quick bout of anger passed him and he kicked the trash can over. He spat down on the stain of blood and walked quickly away. This was one memory he would be able to resolve. He walked at a quicker pace, letting his anger protect him from his nerves. He thought to drink a bit before he met Valient so he stopped within sight of the Zirnden. He dropped his pack lightly on the ground and reached in. He withdrew his pair of brass knuckles and slipped them into his jacket pockets. If all else fails, his fists would have to save him.

He popped the cork of the Black Rum and took a couple quick swigs. He smiled at the taste. It was slightly sweet with a twang of spice to it that set his body on fire. Of course, it had the common bitter aftertaste that most alcohol had, but it was different. Today, it tasted sweet. He closed his eyes as the liquid ran down to his stomach. He hadn't eaten that day, so it burned a bit more than usual. He smiled all the more.

He walked on steady legs for the first few yards, and then his legs began to lose their confidence. However, he was a master at maintaining himself well when he was drunk, so the steps were measured and careful. One looking at him from a distance would not know the difference. However, if they watched him closely, they might see his careful attention to his steps.

Before long he was at the door to the tavern. He opened it and entered. He took one more look at the dark night and knew that he would see it again soon, only he wouldn't have the chance to behold its beauty. The next time he would be outside, he would be fighting. Just like he always did. That fact didn't bother him in the least.

When he made it into the fight club, a fight was already ensuing. He looked closely, hoping that one of them was not Valient. Neither of them were him. He glanced around the bar and found the man at the same table he had been at when he had received the shot glass in his lap. He walked confidently over to his table. He recognized the faces of his buddies at the table, but his eyes were only for Valient.

"We have a score to settle." Berick said flatly. Valient regarded him coolly and then stood up, accepting the challenge. Berick turned his back on Valient, a clear sign that he was not afraid of him. The big man chuckled at the sight of this, shrugged to his friends, and followed Berick through the throng of people. Berick looked over to the bar and saw a bartender he didn't know. It was not Argis' shift tonight. He would be at home sleeping.

They exited the building separated until they were about ten feet apart. Valient took a long look at the sword strapped to Berick's waist. The weapon made him clearly nervous. This was not the sort of fight the man was used to. Berick noticed this and unfastened the buckle that held the scabbard to his waist. He tossed it to the side.

"You draw a weapon on me, and I will draw a weapon on you." He looked Valient square in the face. "Fair?"

The big man glanced down at the weapon and finally nodded. He swallowed hard and dropped into a fighting crouch. Berick smirked and stalked forward. He slipped his hands into his jacket's side pockets and slipped the brass knuckles on around his fingers.

When Berick was close enough, Valient took a gallant swing at the drunk that was too predictable and was easily dodged by Berick. He sidestepped the hard punch to the left and then brought his right fist out of his pocket and delivered a glancing uppercut into the man's gut. The brass knuckles dug into his stomach even further and knocked the breath and spittle out of Valient's mouth.

Valient recovered quicker than Berick expected and brought his left foot around and swept his feet out from under him. The drunk fell flat on his back, and then quickly rolled away as Valient tried to stomp on his stomach. He had felt that pain before and he wasn’t about to again. As he rolled he put a knee under himself to propel himself into a standing position.

Valient wasted no time coming at him again. Berick met the charge throwing a knuckled punch directly at the big man’s face, but Valient was too smart for such antics. He ducked low under the punch and delivered a hard punch to the rib cage with a force that made his side arch with the blow. He threw a follow-up blow, but Berick was able to deflect the blow with his forearm, wincing with the pain it brought. He wondered what the bruise that punch would look like in the morning.

Berick tried to step away from Valient and get some time to gather what thoughts he could, but the bigger man grabbed his jacket at the middle, pulled him close, and then drove his forehead into his own. A deep cut formed on Berick’s head and blood flowed freely from it. The drunk looked even more so as he staggered backward from the shot. He tried to focus on Valient, and was suddenly confused as to where the other one had come from.

Berick wiped the blood away that started to run into his eye and took a deep breath. Valient was staying back, a coy smile on his face. The drunk looked around, confused as to why he was smiling. This fight wasn’t over yet. He wasn’t ready to give in, but it seemed as though the bigger man thought it was all over. Berick would show him.

But then he saw Valient look down. Berick’s eyes went wide as he saw his sword behind the hulking form. He had no idea as to how he would get it back. When his eyes reverted back up to his opponent, he saw him reach into his coat and bring out two steel daggers, the hilts studded with diamonds. They were the weapons of a champion of fighting. At first he thought them prizes, but on second thought, he figured he peeled them off the corpse of one of his previous adversaries.

Before he had much time to think, Valient charged forward. His mind reeled as to what he should do. But then he remembered a chancy technique that Argis had used against him when they were sparring with their own weapons. The attack had been enough to cripple him and end the match. He quietly hoped it would do the same wonders for him.

As the big man closed in and was within a few feet of him and ready to strike, Berick slide down onto his back. As predicted, Valient stepped over him and stopped, thinking he had Berick caught. Berick then lifted his knee straight up into the big man’s groin. Valient glared down at him. Berick swallowed hard. Then he used his arms to push his knee further up into his groin. Then he heard the squeal. Berick let out a roar to give him strength and drove Valient over the top of himself and causing the big man to land hard on his face.

Berick wasted no time crawling away from the threat. But his frantic effort was punished as Valient managed to take a quick slice with his knife, causing a deep gash in Berick’s leg. He grimaced with the coming of the sharp pain, but propelled himself forward. Within a few minutes he was at his sword. Valient and Berick were back on their feet at the same time and rushing towards each other in one swift movement.

Both men were armed and coming at each other. Berick knew that a direct confrontation at this point would spell disaster. His run was more like a hobble with the gash in his calf. However, the slower paced run made it easier to react when they met in the middle. Valient jabbed forward with his daggers, but Berick had seen such a move coming, and easily sidestepped it. He then came around to Valient’s exposed back and delivered a glancing elbow to the back of his head. The blow stunned the big man and caused him to drop his weapons, but Berick knew that he would have to do more to defeat him.

So as Valient was stumbling forward, trying to get his bearings, he brought the sword up and then down in a quick slash to the man’s back. The sword bit through both clothing and flesh and in seconds Valient’s shirt was soaked with blood. The man fell face first on the ground, and showed little signs of fight left.

Berick strode confidently over to him and kicked him over with his foot. The man had an unusual grin on his face. Berick lowered the sword to the big man’s throat to make his sly smile evaporate. He poked the skin and drew a small bead of blood on his neck. Valient froze and held his breath.

“You do not deserve death.” Berick said as he pulled the sword away. “You deserve to live with your failure.” With that, Berick lifted his sword up again and slammed the broad side of the sword into the big man’s forehead, knocking him unconscious.

Berick walked away, sheathing the sword in its scabbard. He smiled at his success.

~Several hours later~

A man stood over Valient and shook his head. Valient opened his eyes and regarded the strange old man. He had seen him before, but at the moment couldn’t place the face with the location, not to mention a name. The man knelt beside him and put a hand on his forehead.

“Lay still, my friend. All will be well again.” The man smiled a small smile to himself. “You realize what you have to do?”

Valient shook his head, unable to find the words to speak.

“You have to seek revenge. I have a sword, which was passed from my father’s father, to my father, to me. You must use this to seek revenge against your adversary. Only then will you be able to move on with your life.”

Valient nodded. Sudden recognition struck him. “You’re…”


As far as rewards go... I would like Argis' sword (Steel Longsword) and a sword usage skill.

[AdventWings]

Well, hello! Raven be my name and Judging is my...

...Eh, that gets old after a while. Hehehe. I never quite liked that rhyme to begin with anyways.

Alright, sir. Welcome to Althanas. I'll be looking over your solo quest for this one and I will show you your strengths and weaknesses. On a literary level, that is.

Story

This aspect covers the way you write out your story and the overall feel of it from beginning to end. The fields covered here are as follows:

Continuity - 5

Continuity deals with how this quest plays out in relation to your overall storyline as well as how this story would affect your character in the long run.

Truth be told, the very first sentences and paragraphs can spell out the fate of the entire story by how well it can capture the readers. Your introduction of Berick Sanchent was rather abrupt and I had no idea where he came from. All I could glean from the story was that Berick was there simply because he wanted a drink. I believe you could add a bit more as to where Berick arrived from and how he came to know about the Zirnden in Scara Brae. I can see how the follow-up may play out, so this is still keeping my interest for the time being.

Setting - 3

Setting specifically asks about what the surrounding and the environment around the characters are. It is also a very critical aspect with respect to many attention-grabbing stories that you seem to never want to stop reading. Asides from being merely a backdrop, it should also serve to immerse the reader into the events portrayed in the story.

A low-key, sinister scene would require a befitting Setting that calls for candle lights and the smell of incense or herbs, coupled with the odd little creaking sounds and chilling gusts of wind in an otherwise airtight room. A more lively scene would have bright sunshine, chirping little blue birds and the occasional pretty flowers on the side of the road to pick and smell. Therefore, it is more than just a canvas. It is a stage that the characters can interact with and bring it to life.

As for the details in this category for "New Risks," I am left rather empty with regards to what things even looked like around Berick, both in the Zirnden and outside. To put it bluntly (and I apologize if this was not what you wanted to hear), the Setting was practically non-existent for a good majority of the story.

There was the Zirnden. Berick walked in. Bumped into a few people on the way to the bar. You had a drink. A fight got started and got out of hand....

It could help to take some time to at least describe how the Zirnden, and especially the interior, looked like through Berick's own eyes. How the pungent smell crept up his nostril (which was actually one aspect you hit on, therefore a rather moderate score was left) and how the solid floor of the arena felt as it slammed hard against Berick's back. Heck, you could even hint at the thin layer of dust that shot up from the floor and slowly drifted around him as his senses came to.

Of course, you did a good job at describing how the night sky outside looked like, but after that the whole story felt like it was happening in a void. With a metal garbage can. I think that is a little out of place considering Althansa is a very pre-Industrialized civilization as a whole (barring the Aleran Drows, of course) so a garbage can would be rather... anachronistic. Beware of those because it can be confusing. Most places would not have the need for trash cans or dumpsters, anyways, considering how little kinds of waste would not be readily degraded by nature itself.

If you feel a bit daunted or pressured about mentioning the Stage Berick is acting on in your role-playing, browse around a few of our judged quests and battles that scored a 7 or 8 in the Setting category. Mind you, you don't have to copy their style or anything. Just study how they incorporated the area around them and interacted with it to make the story more dynamic and alive. Here, I'll give you a few examples with Good Use of Setting for you to look through. There are more in the different Region Archives so take your time browsing through them.

A Solo by MadGoblin. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?p=42947)
Letho and Ira in Irrakam - Judged by me! (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=2313)
A Battle Between Slayer of the Rot and Lavinian Pride (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=3177)

Pacing - 8

Pacing, a measure of how the story builds on itself and moves from one time frame to another. How the entire world shifts from a place in space to another point in time. Does it flow smoothly into each other? Do they add to the mounting tension or seek to reveal something else? That is what this category is about.

You did a good job in keeping the overall speed of the story moving through from one scene to the next - a slow, dreary rhythm in the beginning with Berick happily drunk and carefree to the fast-paced cage brawl a few more posts afterwards. The little rise and fall in between the Zirnden and Argis's house was a nice addition and played well with the rhythm of the story, though sometimes a bit flat in certain areas as well. Still, nothing overly detrimental in the long run.

Character

This category is all about your character - Is it believable? Can the readers relate to him? How does his words and action reflect who he is in the face of others and when he is alone? All of these questions are treated to answers here.

Dialogue - 7

Dialogue is basically based on how well the character's words reflected the internal thoughts and struggles going on at the time of event. This could be dialogues, as the category's namesake, or even mere monologues whether they be internal or publicly declared.

Berick came off to me as a well-educated man (though not all that much) and a down-to-earth person, someone who is light-hearted as well as harboring a deep sorrow that is almost too inhuman to bear. His words exchanged with Valient in post #3 and #7 really summed up what kind of person he is. At times, though, he really did speak a bit more than he would, but that's not my place to say.

Action - 8

Action is similar to Dialogue, though this deals with how the character acts and how it reflects his personality to the readers. The actions done may not be the smartest moves or the most ingenious, but rather the most believable for the character in question.

Berick impressed me with all the lively rambling and his approach to different circumstances, whether he was sober or not. Post # 7 sealed the deal with his emotional breakdown and I can immediately see that he is indeed an interesting person to follow and has depth that many of us are searching for. Good job.

Persona - 9

Persona is another aspect of how well the character acts upon his emotions with regards to the personality and his internal thoughts. This is one of the harder aspects to really tack down, especially for new writers who are getting into the system of Active Role-Playing, as opposed to Passive Role-Playing where the character itself responds to events and decisions regardless of actions taken beforehand.

This is where you did exceptionally well. There were a few places that should have at least some emotional response, yet they were mildly touched on or just ignored in the flurry of it all. You appear to know clearly how Berick should feel, as if you were indeed that very character stuck in the middle of it all. That is what we, as writers, strive to reach - Be one with the writing and pour our hearts into our creations.

Writing Style

This category is fairly self-explanatory - the way it was written, the literary devices used and how clearly the message came across.

Mechanics - 6

The very basics you need to know when writing in English - The English Grammar! Are the punctuations in place? Are sentences neat and complete? Run-on sentences? Spelling? Those all fall under this category.

You don't seem to have much problem with the Standard English Grammar, which is quite nice for me who can even barely find a good read that's not crudely translated from my own native language. All your sentences are in order and there are virtually no detectable run-on sentences I came across. However... There were quite a good number of misspelled words and some that, though they be homophones with the word you wanted to use, have entirely different meaning.

Example (Post #2, Paragraph 14, Line 1) "Berick smelt the top of the shot and moved it in a circular motion in front of his knows."

I do believe the word you were looking for was "nose" and the darn thing just snuck by you under the radar. That happens to even the best of us sometimes, but don't let these things trip up an otherwise very enjoyable read.

Also... you sentence structure in the first few posts were rather... disjointed. Each sentences felt choppy and felt as if they jabbed right into one another - something that most people would avoid unless trying to create some kind of literary shock. I also a couple of run-ons here and there, but nothing much to worry about.



Technique - 7

Techniques refer to the use of literary devices whether they be Personification, Alliteration, Metaphors, Similes and all the other whatnots you sometimes learn in your highschool English classes. Well, at least that where I learned them when I was living in America. :p

For this story, there were a nice range of literary devices used throughout the entire story and they added quite a nice touch to both the story development and the pacing as well. There were not much that really left a mark, but at least they did not derail the original intent of the story. There was also that timely flashback that told us of Berick's past and how it came to affect him at the present. Nice job.

Clarity - 7

Writing a lot of letters and words is one thing - Getting the message across is another. Clarity tells you just how much the reader can understand what is going on and how it is justified, both on a literary level as well as on a realistic approach.

Good use of proper English and well-timed literary devices gave me a really happy feel for the quality of writing. You also kept the readers well-informed and updated, letting each sentence flow easily into one another the readers can understand the way things played out in your mind's eyes. Still, the odd little glitches in Mechanics had me puzzled for a moment but that was quickly cleared up.

Miscellaneous

Anything that does not fall under the previous nine categories mentioned above are noted here. This also serves as the "boost" for things that were beyond expectations of the Judges and well deserving of it.

Wild Card - 7

It's a Wild Card score. The description is exactly as it is described under Miscellaneous.

You show a lot of insight into a man who had lost his entire family and how he came to accept liquor as his companion. That says a lot about the writer himself and how much he knows about the subject. Your portrayal of Berick as a person rather than a character is applauded and I feel that a nice little boost here should help you reach a little farther towards your goal. Whatever it is for Berick, that is. :)

What you could improve on is the variety of words you used to call Berick, Valient and even Argis the Bartender. You should try tossing around more than merely proper nouns and pronouns to indicate who is who - using epithets or monikers can also help to add more spice to the reading when used correctly. Like "The drunken brawler" for Berick when he is in a fight or "the Fatherly barkeep" for Argis in place of just the simple "he" and "he."

Also... I am still curious where did Berick pulled his three-foot steel pole from when he was in the middle of the Zirnden arena? That jumped out at me as a very odd incidence that you may need to watch out for a bit in your future role-playing. Remember that anything appearing on you should have a clear (or at least a hint) of where it came from.

Final Score - 65!

Berick receives 600 EXP and also the pint of "Fire Rum" mentioned in the first post. He loses 21 starting gold pieces - 20 for the shots, the pint and the tip. However, the cute waitress Valient had been trying to impress slipped a bag of coins into your jacket when you were not paying attention. Inside, you found a good 60 gold pieces jingling against each other. What you do about them is up to you.

As for the requested rewards...

Berick receives a Simple Steel Longsword and has gained a rather Basic knowledge of how to use it. Remember that you should run this through with the RoG moderators for your skill to be permanent. This can be done at your Level 1 Update (which may take a while for a lot of us) or done immediately so you can use the skill right away.

I hope my comments helped you to discover your style! Good luck! :D

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!