Artifex Felicis vs. Dirge

[Ther]

This match-up will last until 8 P.M. E.S.T. on 2/16/07. Remember, if you finish your battle early, I can score you early - and finishing early is a good, good thing.

Best of luck!

[Dirge]

“What have I become?” Vigo walked slowly through the shifting darkness of Corone. People had already given themselves to the night, drawing away into their homes and bustling taverns. He walked alone. None would tread his path; none would walk with him through broken dreams and forgotten paths. He had left friends and family alike behind, leaving them to their fate while he moved on towards the end of his own. “What have I become?”

Was he lost? Was he broken and without hope? Many would respond quickly with an easy ‘yes’. But what people could assume about the sorcerer was little. What people did assume was much though, as they always seemed to. Vigo was a caster, a sorcerer of sorts (self-taught in the ways of magic and mage-craft), and was looked upon rather disgustedly because of his magic. So, was he lost? The answer was no, he was far from lost.

The half-elf knew what he was, understood what potential he had, and knew what was needed to become stronger. What others thought of him was of little consequence. However, in order to become stronger he would need teachers and mentors, both of which he severally disliked. Vigo was never one to rely on another for means of personal development. Perhaps it was just his abandoned and forlorn childhood, who knew?

“Damned Iunai,” he muttered as he pushed through a dense crowd outside of the world famous Citadel. The monumental structure had stood the test of time, wear, and more importantly wars. It was a pristine and perfect monument to hostilities long since passed and those to come. Unfortunately for the half-elf, he was a ‘weak’ caster with little more than rudimentary battle skills. “Venture through the Citadel, work your way into more power… a load of rubbish.”

But the sorcerer followed the wills of the revolutionaries, the Iunai of Radasanth. They pointed and he moved. Behind them was strength, a strength that would see the broken government and dejected people through to the next year. Vigo knew it would be advantageous to follow those that held power, those that could give him more power. Should they loose, should they fall, Vigo would find himself arms length from the source.

The Citadel was bustling inside as usual, filled to capacity. People from all walks of life were milling about its grand antechamber, choosing their opponents and being escorted to their rooms. Vigo watched the less than grand entrance of many people, mages and hardened warriors alike. Unlike them, he was not here for the promise of a good fight, but for the promise of training and unparalleled power.

~*~

The brilliant white light slowly faded from Vigo’s senses, as it always did after the illusion the Ai’Bron created had settled. The thrill of the light always sent the half-elf’s head abuzz. However, the setting they had given him thrilled him all the more.

Overhead the sun hung low, just rising. A gentle mist was surfacing through the underbrush, the equivalent of morning dew for the forests of Concordia. Trees as thick as the half-elf were close in proximity, filled between by thick brush and barbed vines. Light trickled through the thick canopy, rays of emerald tinted radiance was all that filtered through.

Vigo smirked and tapped the stout tree in front of him. The closest bough was at least twenty feet high, not near enough for any normal warrior to jump to and avoid the sorcerer. Between each tree was no more than three feet, give or take a half foot for each. It would be perfect for a second battle in the glorious Citadel.

“Amazing work, these illusions,” Vigo said as he plucked a piece of bark from the tree. The bark flaked in his hand as he crushed it between his fingers. “This time ranged weapons will be of little use. This time I will be able to pull my opponent close, use my spells and my blade.”

While continuing to scan the serenity of the deep forests, Vigo began to walk. Underfoot the popping and snapping of fallen twigs and dead leaves echoed against the closest trees. In his right hand he held his blackened cane, keeping it above the brush and fallen leaves. The sorcerer tapped the steel head against the next tree, always testing, always learning. He let his smirk grow into a smile.

“Now to wait for my opponent…”

Appologies ahead of time, I have drill this weekend, so I will only be able to post at night for the next two nights. Good luck!

[Artifex Felicis]

Leon began to belive that he was becoming addicted to the Citadel. Fighting outside of its walls was easy enough, and if the assailant was careful he would never be caught by the police of Corone. Going farther still, even a simple bar room brawl was often left alone until a weapon was brandished and someone was about to be seriously hurt. In the citadel however, one could have controlled the very fabric of time itself and nothing would change outside of the room he was in. That, and it also helped it was nearly impossible to permanently kill an opponent. The cat boy knew of only a single instance where it happened, and with hundred of fights going on everyday, they were odds he was willing to take.

He entered into the ancient building, pausing just briefly enough to wonder just how many other heroes and villains, as well as nobodies, had passed underneath the entry arch. It was a tradition of his, before every battle to give this thought, and to silently thank the founders of the battle arena for their creation. He hurried inside the doors, slipping in behind a somewhat heavily armed man so he didn't need to open the door himself. He darted to the side, cutting ahead with a smirk on his face. The sentimental stuff was over, and it was time for the fun part of the citadel.

He never really knew what to do to actually start a fight at the citadel. It always seemed to change from day to day how it was run. On some days, there were monks one could go to and then be lead to a room. Others where someone was signed up on a list, and was then called up for a fight. Today was different however. There was only a single door, and judging by how the others, in twos and threes, were entering, it was simply the first gateway to many different battles. Leon smiled, hopping through the door and immediately into a fight that happened to be open.

His feet came in contact with softer ground, and without even looking up anymore he knew he was in a forest. The boy snickered, almost wondering whether or not the monks in the citadel had any imagination at all. The last two battles were in forests as well, but at least this one was interesting. The throny vines, as well as the thick brush blocked most of the walkways around the somewhat uniform trees. The boy smiled, a curious thought coming to his mind.

His finger knocked on the wood, a and then stripped some of the outer bark. Some of the trees sounded dead, ready to fall at a moments notice. This was probably just branches higher up, but it also meant the trees were not terribly healthy. His claws extended, and he dug into the reasonably soft wood of the tree. It hurt his fingers somewhat, but he doubted his opponent would pull a crossbow on him. He climbed up, then leaped several trees over to help hide himself better. His ascent had left deep gouges in the wood facing where the door would have been.

The limb he currently sat on obscured his body from the ground, though he let his tail hang below his seat. He felt almost unfair not giving something to his opponent, even if it was a somewhat small ray of hope. He broke off a branch that jutted out above him, snapping the dead limb as easily as he climbed the tree. The same stick was tossed, somewhat awkwardly from his position, out in front of him. The branch landed and crashed ahead and out of his sight, but still accomplishing the basic premise of creating noise. He sat back on the limb, closing his eyes and letting his ears do the work for him. He wasn't in any hurry to finish this fight, and he wanted to enjoy it.

[Dirge]

Patience was far from Vigo’s strongest trait. In his impatience, the half-elf had already taken a seat against one of the larger trees. His arms were wrapped around his chest, his cane lying on the ground at his side. With time to spare he had given over to the random thoughts that toyed with him. “Damn revolutionaries, mere humans believing they can control me as if I am one of their damned pawns. I may be half human, but I am dominantly elven. If they think they will be pushing me around after this…”

The sorcerer sighed as the sunlight shifted and cast a gentle emerald ray across his layered clothing. It was almost too warm beneath the layers of shirts and the coat, but Vigo would never remove clothing before a fight. The layers were for a reason, allowing a little give to whatever blunt attacks an opponent may deliver. Under the circumstances, however, it seemed like he was doomed to brood over the tardiness of his opponent and sweat.

Then a noise caught his attention.

From his right a sound finally came. The sorcerer snapped his head towards it, allowing his heavy green eyes to peer through the dense forest landscape. It had been eerily quiet, not even a bird had offered up as much as a gentle chirp. No beasts seemed to roam the artificial forests. But the noise was definitely motion, and from something far larger than an unseen squirrel. Vigo stood, shaking a barbed thorn from the center of his palm. Silently he muttered a curse to the damned brush, but only gave the offending shrub a rather foul look before moving on.

“I don’t know who you are,” Vigo said as he inched through the unsettlingly silent forest. The half-elf’s leather boots crushed fallen twigs and dried leaves alike underfoot. Silence was not something that he treasured as much as a full elf. Unlike a pure elf, the half-elf was not as fleet of foot, and attempting to move stealthily would force him to act as cowardly as his opponent. The sorcerer was no coward. “But if you are to be my opponent, show yourself and fight me. I will not stand for this ridiculous hiding. So many seem to assume a battle in the Citadel is about hiding and surprising your opponent. Cowardly, insolent, foolish people; come out!”

The sorcerer continued shuffling towards the way the noise had originated. His short, peeked ears were twitching furiously as he moved. The motion seemed to have stopped, but what little had come to him seemed plenty to convince him that another was within the mock arena. As he moved he shifted the body of the cane to his left hand, leaving his right hand along the concealed blade and its small lock. If his opponent was one of stealth he would not be caught off guard so easily.

“Come out now,” Vigo growled.

[Artifex Felicis]

The crashing seemed to echo throughout the strange forest, reaching the cat boy's ears with little trouble. What soon followed were the softer footfalls of whoever his opponent must be. Leon grinned, leaning forward to almost lie along the branch, looking ahead to see if he could catch a glimpse of whoever it was. He was disappointed however, when the man, of that Leon was certain, called him out with paltry insults of cowardice. Leon's grin widened ever more, and he got to his feet, coiled like a spring on the tree trunk.

He shot off, causing a very deep crack on his old perch. The limb must have been dead, or at least weak enough that so little force could snap part of it like that. He hit another tree with just as much force, rebounding off of it and onto the next one. He got lucky here, landing onto a sturdy branch without much give, nor any hint at breaking. He grinned down, content with himself at his little jump. To be honest, he really decided to just wing it on the jump. If he needed, he could have summoned yarn to help stop his fall, but pulling off a maneuver as cool as that was one he was proud of.

"And a nice to meet you too," Leon replied down to the strange elfin man below him. A content sound escaped him, halfway between a purr and a chuckle. He loved fighting people like the man below him, who took life so seriously that they barely knew the real purpose of a tavern. Despite the ease of getting a job, they were there to have fun, meet other people and get drunk, and not necessary in that order. He pulled a yarn ball from a pocket, sending the string around and securing it to the trunk safely. He leaped off, slowing his fall with the yarn until his feet hit the ground with a deep sound. He kept his grin, drawing his dull knife in a smooth motion.

He didn't say anything else, but kept the same smile as he tossed the dull knife at the elf, spinning it carefully. It was a lucky throw for simply how effective it looked, but it probably wouldn't matter. The cat boy had a story about how he called the small metal blade a weapon of Titans, since it nearly required as much strength to draw blood with the blade. "Come on elfy, let's see what you got," the cat boy said aloud, bouncing backwards on the ball of his feet, leaving the yarn tied to the tree. It would be a nice quick escape if he needed it, though it was far to thin to be comfortable going up.Not that it mattered, the elf didn't look nearly as fast or as strong as the cat boy. He could take a few cuts before he fell too.

[Dirge]

A creak, the rattling of leaves, noises of earnest movement reverberated through the forests and between the trees. The half-elf’s ears were twitching furiously by the time the noise ended. Vigo had nearly pin-pointed the direction and actions performed by the one causing the noise, as his ears worked he scanned overhead. The suns rays were blocking his vision, but it was of little consequence. A small blur and a flash of movement nearly directly overhead was the last thing he saw before the opponent finally appeared and spoke.

Vigo found that he was looking into a pair of pristine blue eyes, on a face that for some reason made the sorcerer want to wince and turn away. A mane of blue hair hung languidly from his lackluster face, just as the half-elf’s own hair did. He looked almost heavenly, an image that forced an almost sadistic smirk to surface on the sorcerers angular face. Instead of watching further, and taking notice of the other feline features, Vigo found himself ducking low and spinning on the balls of both feet.

In a blur of motion a quick blade had barely whispered past the un-expecting sorcerer. Elven heritage had its perks, however. With what little advantage he had with senses had also come a tinge of augmented agility. Vigo finished his motion only to realize that the point of the dull blade had passed his body, caught his coat, and stuck the article of clothing to the ground.

“Damn,” he muttered as he shrugged off the outermost layer of clothing. The coat fell to the ground, the edge pierced through by the random blade. The sorcerer shifted uneasily as he turned towards his opponent. The man, as he seemed to be, had fallen from the trees. Remaining behind was the slightest cord of thread as evidence of his nearly silent descent. It was so thin that the half-elf could barely understand how it would be of any use for support.

“This is what I’ve been degraded to by those petty humans?” Vigo thought as he shuffled away from his feline foe. The man’s small ears were fuzzy, his hands were soft pads, and his feet were missing boots. He watched the things motions, listened to his words and accent, and could get nothing from any of it all. “I have come to fight some cat-man-thing?”

“Vigo, if you would,” the sorcerer responded as he once again assumed an almost swordsman-like stance. He gently clicked the small lock along the outside of the handle, allowing for quick use of the rapier if necessary. “Not ‘elfy’. And you, Cat thing, it is good to see that you are not as cowardly, yet, as my former opponents have been.”

Mental pushes and shoves were what the half-elf had always treasured. He was weak at combat, he knew that, but there was only one way to grow stronger. However, while waiting for the odd training that the Citadel offered to kick in, he was subjugated to playing the passive-aggressive agitator. In a fight he rarely charged in, rarely initiated combat, and would always wait for the other. Counterstrikes were much easier to time and easier to allow for an opponent to make a mistake. Vigo slunk a little lower, bending his knees and keeping from going flat-footed as he watched his opponent.

[Artifex Felicis]

"I've been called a coward so many times for killing a guy in a sneaky way it doesn't faze me anymore Vig, come up with something clever next time," Leon said aloud with a smirk. Though parts of the statement were bluff, enough of it was true that it didn't matter. It was a curious observation he had made before. People tend to rationalize their losses by insulting the direct cause of failure. If this was for real, Leon probably would have simply snuck some yarn around the elf's throut silently and jerked upward quickly.

He stayed tense, waiting for the man's first movement. When it became obvious he wouldn't, the same smirk as before returned. He didn't have much weaponry on him, or any beyond the claws permenetly attached to him and the yarn. He needed some at some point. If anything than to wave around and frighten the average mook who wanted the cat boy's gold pouch. It didn't happen terribly often, especially in Corone, but whenever he went to one of the smaller villages there was the off-chance of a guy with more balls than brains.

He hopped forward slightly, staying on the balls of his feet as he did so. Therewas too much distance for a quick jab from one of the two combatents, but a knife thrown quickly could end his life at anything. If his was sharp it might have done just that to the elf. Not that it mattered anymore, the action was done already and the knife too far away for a second toss. He inched forward again, keeping the considerable distance between the two. He kept his claws hidden, preparing to spring the naturel weponry when the time came.

"For a guy who spouts stuff about being couragous, you're kind of a pnasy for not making a move," Leon said, he licked his lip, moving slightly closer. He sprung forward, swinging an arm forwad in a roundhouse, but sprung back before he was close to danger, still out of both of their ranges in terms of attacking. Howeevr, the grin stayed on his face, as a thing strand of yarn shot out from his arm. It didn't come from anywhere in particular, just a somewhat obscure magical trick Leon had picked up. His grin stayed with him as he sprung to the side as well, tail warning him in any trees were too close.

((Gonna edit for spellcheck soon. Also, The yarn would wrap around something, you can choose what/if it does))

[Ther]

Dirge

Story
Continuity - 3
Setting - 2
Pacing - 3
Writing Style
Mechanics - 4
Technique - 3
Clarity - 5
Character
Dialogue - 3
Action - 2
Persona - 3
Misc.
Wild Card - 0

Total – 28

Artifex Felicis

Story
Continuity - 2
Setting - 3
Pacing - 3
Writing Style
Mechanics - 4
Technique - 2
Clarity - 5
Character
Dialogue - 3
Action - 3
Persona - 3
Misc.
Wild Card - 1

Total – 29

Artifex wins 29 to 28 and advances to Round 2 and earns 1/2 EXP/GP for the battle.

[Ther]

Artifex receives 500 EXP and 50 GP.
Dirge receives 125 EXP and 25 GP.