Huacamon Axayotl vs. Slayer of the Rot: A World Apart

[Huacamon Axayotl]

The Dajas Pagoda.

What a long way it was from Istraloth.

Huacamon Axayotl, Jaguar warrior of the Axetec tribe, was passing the time idly in his cabin, deep in thought. The one-room home was sparsely furnished, equipped with a bed and a cabinet that doubled as a table. The man was used to that, however. His home on Istraloth was almost exactly the same. At the moment, his mind focused on just how he found himself so far from his home. Foreign men, elves and dwarves had come to Istraloth, intent on carrying out what appeared to be a “cultural exchange” – an Axetec warrior would participate in their Scara Brae ‘games,’ and several foreigners would remain in Istraloth in an attempt to learn about the tribe.

Huac, of course, had been chosen to represent his people. The order had come from High Priest Xaluin, the voice of the Gods themselves. To question or disobey his word was to die a heretic’s death.

That having been said, he wasn’t necessarily unhappy with the situation. Speaking a different language from the populace was awkward, to be sure, but there really wasn’t all that much required of him in the way of communication anyway. As he understood it, he was supposed to remain in his room until somebody challenged him to combat, and then he was supposed to defeat them. Easy enough, right? The burly warrior was by no means the strongest or most skilled of his Axetec people, but he had no doubt that his own prowess would still suffice. He was, after all, a fighter by trade. The numerous scars ably told that tale. These people of Scara Brae were city dwellers, soft peasants with as much skill with a weapon as the average hare.

No, it wasn’t all that bad at all. They had even used his home on Istraloth as a model for his room. It was a vast place. Outside his hut, the air was hot and humid, perfect accompaniment for the thick, lush jungle that grew all around. Narrow, meandering paths wandered this way and that through the tangled growth, winding around trees and over roots. There were even many animals. The cackling caws of some unknown birds filled the air. Somewhere frightening close by came the throaty roar of a jaguar, as real as Huacamon himself. The warrior liked to waste the hours of the day by hunting the elusive cat. He had no wish to harm the animal; it was simply a welcome alleviation of boredom.

Today, however, would be different. Today, he had agreed to take a challenge. His adversary was named Demirci Osma Uta. Huacamon had no way of knowing who this man was or how capable he was, but it mattered little to him. He foresaw no great difficulty in facing these weak, soft-bellied “fighters” of Scara Brae.

An arrogant smile playing about his lips, the warrior stood and reached for his spear, a thick, sturdy weapon of oak. He stepped out into the jungle, feeling the heat as the burning sun saw his skin. The arrogant smile tightened into one mixed with anticipation. Weak though his opponent may be, the prospect of combat was always a thrill.

With that last thought, the smile dropped from his face and the thoughts fled his mind. Huacamon stepped away from the beaten path, making nearly no noise at all as he skulked through the dense jungle.

Remember to be active: we have three days to post each turn. Have fun and good luck!

[Slayer of the Rot]

The front of the Dajas Pagoda was fairly busy; a modest crowd had made an appearance for its grand opening. Most of the warriors present this day had fresh faces, however, their eyes brimming with the sparkle of life. They were oblivious to the hardships they'd have to endure upon taking up the sword, still pure souls who believed in righteousness and justice. They were ambitious, and it showed in their chatter. They milled about one another, excitedly asking who was challenging who, how far they expected to go. These young men and women, yet unstained by war and the sight of their family and loved ones felled by the very swords they held so much faith in, were blissfully unaware of the beast that stood amongst them.

He had gone by many names over the years, and today, he'd invented yet a new face for himself. Biting cigarette smoked rolled across his tongue and wafted past thin lips, drifting lazy into the bright summer air. His free hand rose from his side, and brushed through his hair; a bottle blond, of which he'd done such a shockingly good job on, the dark brown roots barely showed. Sighing, he let his head fall; casting his eyes over the breast of the dark gray shirt he wore, as well as the length of the dark blue tie bound snugly about his throat. Silently, he stared at the shadowed cobblestones through lenses of dark gold -- but hissed a moment later, his form jolting as his left hand snapped to the back of his waist, swift as a snake's strike.

The child he drug before him had raggedly cut black hair, with a black eye to match it, only about a day old. Smudges of dirt colored the flesh of his hands; and despite his struggling, the man who had finally caught him held him steadfast. "Please mister, just a few coins! You have plenty!"

"No. I am not as foolishly generous as the rest of these people who may have caught you. You may be a simple little street urchin, but you need to learn one way or another that everything in life will not be given to you. It must be earned." In the clear, brilliant sunlight, the child caught the briefest glimpse of the man's teeth as he spoke; sharp, pointed, predatory. He was the kind of boogey man his parents told him tales of to keep him in line. Yet, despite that cold fist forming in his chest; the fear that gripped his heart and turned his blood cold, he stood, transfixed in the presence of the devil. The blond man's eyebrows arched in surprise; and slowly, he knelt.

"You're very foolish to linger in the shadow I cast. I already told you that I will give you nothing."

"I know it's just that...you...I've never seen a man like you."

A small smile appeared on the blond man's lips. "Is that so? Your father must be pathetic, then, despicable in presence physical and spiritual. Boy, on this day, you will learn a lesson. Do you see these others? In their colorful capes and engraved armor?"

The dirty boy nodded.

"They are nothing but roosters fanning their plumage. It is for show, for they know they are weak. They come from nothing, and in the end, they will die as nothing. Your father, your mother; they are merely stones along the paths of those that are great. Something to stumble upon, pick up and use, if needed...or simply ignore. No one will remember them, after time has passed, but oh, they will remember me."

The child's lip quivered, though he stood his ground stubbornly, refusing to let fearful tears brim up and smear the dirt speckling his cheeks. Slowly, the blond man rose, setting his rough hand on the boy's head. "Tell me your name."

"Muh-my n-name is...is Venn Trogaer."

"I am Demirci Uta. Come with me; I will show you how you earn simple things in life through the executions of the simplest tasks."
_____

The air was thick, heavy, and the sudden change from Scara Brae's cool early evening breeze struck Demirci like an open hand in the face. Instantly; he could feel sweat spring up and dampen the chest and underarms of his shirt. He raised a hand to his neck, emitting a rumble as he cleared his throat, drawing in a breath of the syrupy jungle air, struggling to grow used to it. The boy who had followed him to the warrior, Huacomon Axayotl's chamber immediately slumped his shoulders and groaned. Demirci thrust a finger towards a large rock nearby, and wordlessly, the child trudged over to it, flopping down across its rain shaped face.

No words were spoken as Demirci stepped farther into the oppressive environment, his hand falling to his chest, which was raising and falling with great heaves. Even with his powerful eyes, he could see only a few feet into the surrounding brush. It grew thick and wild without civilized man to control it, choking with vines and queer shaped leaves and rough bark with strange tints to their surfaces. The squalor of tropical birds provided a dischorded, wordless song to the killing that would take place in this jungle within moments, and as Demirci drew closer to the edge of the thick undergrowth, a guttural, rough roar tore through the trees.

"What a god damn mess," he growled, swiping away vines and leaves from the face of a tree trunk with color so dark to its bark that it could have easily matched the delyn of his sword.

"DO NOT MAKE ME WASTE MY TIME HUNTING YOU, WARRIOR, YOU WILL REGRET EACH MINUTE I WASTE IN THE ACT!" The criminal's unnaturally powerful lungs carried his announcement of arrival clearly through most of the forest, muting the screeching of the birds. His face twisted in frustration and anger, and his hand slapped against the tree trunk hard. His fingers dug into the wood, and ripped an enormous, fibrous chunk from it body, which he threw carelessly to the ground. A moment later, his fist collided with the center of the wound he'd created; strength unrestrained, and reduced much of the wide trunk to splinters, causing the tree to come crashing to the ground, crushing anything smaller in it's path with it's bulk. Demirci leapt onto the fallen tree in a single bound, the monstrous echo of its fall reaching through the far reaches of the jungle. He cast his eyes into the heart of the jungle from his new vantage point.

"I'll rip this entire place to shreds if he refuses to show himself."

[Huacamon Axayotl]

The voice of the challenger crashed through the jungle, followed shortly by crashes much more physical in nature. The arrogant warrior balked. His eyes looked with uncertainty into the thick jungle around him. His thoughts lost the easy confidence that usually filled them, instead becoming wary and uncertain. It had to be a coincidence. It had sounded like a large tree being felled, but nobody was strong enough to knock a tree down like that. Even with an axe, cutting down a tree was no instantaneous task.

The verbal threat, however, went unanswered. Even had the Axetec understood the shouted words, he would have ignored them. It was an easy thing to talk; it was another thing entirely to do.

Nevertheless, Huacamon proceeded through the rainforest with shaken confidence. It seemed as if the entire jungle hedged at the garish arrival of this newcomer. The ceaseless cacophony of the tropical birds had ceased, and the infrequent growls of the roaming jaguar were nowhere to be heard. The entire arena sank into silence.

Thus, when the jaguar warrior slinked further into the growth, the movements seemed abnormally loud. Leaves brushed one another with long, crashing strokes, and sticks snapped underfoot with loud, crackling reports. Huac had never realized how much he appreciated the sounds of the jungle until that moment. In the absence of the noises around him, the rainforest was a vastly different place. His footsteps seemed to advertise themselves to the farthest corners of the great room, and every little unknown peep jerked his head, along with the point of his spear, in a new direction.

Though he probably didn’t even realize it, the challenger had altered the outlook of the battle with one violent outburst of irritation. In the noisy jungle, thick with life’s many forms and voices, Huacamon was the hunter. Now, in this foreign stillness, he felt an awful, awful lot like the hunted.

[Slayer of the Rot]

For some time, Demirci stood atop the scarred trunk of the felled tree, eyes wide and searching, ears twitching, grinding his teeth as he waited. He was the very picture of impatience and anxiety; every muscle in his body stood out visibly against the fabric of his clothes, drawn tighter than an archer's bow string. Moments later, as the forest settled itself into a frightened silence; the criminal let loose a growling sigh, and turned towards the boy, Venn. The crown of his shaggy black hair and just the slightest slice of white and pale blue eyes poked above the stone he'd been seated on moments before. In the paranoid hush that fell over the jungle, Demirci realized he could hear the sniveling and whimpers of the boy. With a push of one powerful leg, he sailed through the air, landing behind the rock and before the boy, who cried out in shock, trying to shrink in the shadow of the monster.

"What are so afraid of, boy? Have your parents taught you to cower in the face of power?" The little pickpocket didn't answer, and Demirci bent, snatching a handful of the back of the boy's dirty shirt, lifting him into the air.

"The tree was simply in the way, so I destroyed it. And, much like the warrior who calls this place his own, I will destroy him, as well. You see, there's too many people teaching the young that if you follow the laws, follow the rules, respect decency of others and their privacy, you'll get ahead in life. With a good education you can get anywhere...and they are dead fucking wrong. The tool a man should use to get ahead in life has a razor edge, and should be driven into others, again and again, until they can no longer obstruct your path." With a sigh, Demirci leapt back onto the trunk of the destroyed tree, and then hopped down immediately into the thick brush of the jungle floor. Grunting, he swung the boy over his head and dropped him on his back. Skinny fingers clamped tight onto the fabric of his shirt.

"You have a front row seat to this lesson, on this day. If I, at least, do not begin to teach people the real way of the world, it will one day be populated by vacant eyed fools saying 'No, after you!' The thought sickens me..." Venn said nothing return, and Demirci stalked off into the thick green, crushing anything and everything underfoot, be it leaves, young plants, or the scurrying wildlife that populated this warrior's home.

It wasn't really the heat that sent the criminal's temper sky rocketing; it was the thick, sticky humidity that caused his clothes to cling uncomfortably to his flesh, and as he moved farther into the jungle, it seemed to double. Aside from the normal little breathy gasps of child wonderment, the little pickpocket he'd chosen as a student was quiet, perhaps understanding somehow that in the presence of Demirci, there was very little in this world that could harm him. Wide green leaves slapped at his chest and face like obstinate hands, seeking to impede his process as he continue to stomp forward, completely forgoing the element of stealth, though he very rarely used it in the first place.

The green broke away to a small clearing; though it couldn't rightfully be called as such, as still, plants flourished here. More so, it was a recess, a fifty foot area unevenly ringed by trees. The vegetation wasn't quite as thick as it had been through out most of the impromptu path he'd created allowing for at least some range of free movement. Venn's fingers slackened, and the boy dropped heavily to the ground, backing away from the criminal as his big hand shooed him away. In the quiet that he'd created, Demirci straightened his posture, shutting his eyes tight, abandoning himself to two of his sharpest senses.

Within the span of a second, his eyes snapped open and inhuman reflexes flung him to the left, flat throwing knives appearing in his hands. Six of them sliced through the air and ripped into the underbrush, where the slight noise had came from. With a slight smile, he waited for the pleasant smell of spilt blood to reach his nose.

[Huacamon Axayotl]

Things began to happen quickly.

As Huacamon snuck through the jungle, he disturbed a grouse’s nest. Abandoning its home to the warrior, the grouse took flight in a crash of beating wings and impeding foliage. It never made it more than two feet off the ground. A collection of iron blades appeared out of nowhere. One fell short, digging a long furrow into the packed dirt before ending its journey in the root of a nearby tree. Another sailed high, only missing the warrior by a few feet as it was lost in the depths of the rainforest. The other four, however, found their mark. The bloody corpse of the bird fell back to the earth with a lifeless thud, never to take flight again.

What was once apprehension in Huacamon’s mind now became true fear. This challenger was a force to be reckoned with. From ripping a sturdy tree from the ground to impaling a bird with pinpoint accuracy, the unknown fighter had displayed an uncommon talent for killing.

Nonetheless, the jaguar warrior’s tactics remained unchanged: stay hidden, attack when unexpected. Even the tiger can be brought down if he does not see the arrow. With that in mind, Huacamon focused on every step, every movement, perfectly aware that a mishap probably meant death. After a few more silent steps, the trees parted and the warrior looked upon his opponent for the first time.

The blond-haired man was big, much taller than Huac, but his frame belied his strength. He was undoubtedly muscular, but in the toned manner of an endurance runner. He didn’t seem to possess the brute strength required to uproot a fully-grown tree.

Appearances could be deceiving.

The foe was looking away from the warrior at the moment, eyes still trained on the brush that concealed the dead bird. An evil smile tainted his face, lips parted just enough to see pointed teeth.

Gruesome.

Ducking back into the cover of the jungle, Huacamon continued circling him, heavy spear held at the ready all the while. When he saw nothing but his enemy’s back, he would strike. As lethal as this adversary might be, nothing swayed the outcome of a battle like the element of surprise.

Snap!

Heart suddenly pounding in renewed fear, the warrior looked down at the source of the noise. It was a stick, broken in half by the weight of his right foot. Huacamon hadn’t seen it; his eyes were focused on his prey. There was no way that the man could miss the sharp crack of the breaking wood. Knowing that conflict was merely seconds away now, the jaguar warrior shifted his grip on the spear, throwing secrecy away in favor of a better fighting stance..

I took most of the description from your profile. If I got anything wrong, let me know and I'll fix it.

[Slayer of the Rot]

Demirci's fingers snapped shut a split second after he heard the impact of the knives into something soft, calling them back. In the crushed and torn carcass of the grouse, the dull gleam of iron vanished. "No good," he whispered, his smile slightly fading. The smell and the sounds relayed back to him told him that he'd only struck an animal. As the blades left his hands, he'd heard the flap of wing beats into the air, which ceased once the knives had pierced the leaves. The cracking bones had been too small, too light to be the warrior's own. And the scent of the blood wasn't the familiar smell of a man's, but had more the qualities of an avian.

Still, the tension did not leave his posture. He had been told the warr5ior's name, Huacamon Axayotl, and that he was a native of Istraloth, one of the few continents the criminal was unfamiliar with. When he'd pressed for information, the woman at the registration desk had simply moved along to the next behind him.

'Problematic. I'm fighting a man who is used to moving with the stealth of a hunter, within a place much like his own home. I'm obviously at a disadvantage. I'd begin worrying...if...' He chuckled to himself. It had been so long since he'd been sufficiently wounded. Surely, some loin-clothed native wasn't going to fell him, even if he did catch him by surprise.

The crack of a rifle, the snapping of a dry bone, the blasting of dynamite; none could rival the sound of the twig breaking underfoot in the quiet jungle. The criminal let loose a satisfied cry, his grin returning, spinning to face the origin of the sound. His left hand extended straight out to his side, and his right rose to his chest, snapping his fingers, drawing the attention of Venn, he had been fiddling absently with broken sticks. "The lesson begins! Pay close attention!"

He reached beyond his presence, past the fabric of this world, and grabbed hold of a familiar object; a long cloth bound grip. From nothingness appeared the Bhidyate, its blade shining brightly in the light of the sun. It swept up, settling on his shoulders as he shot forward. Young sprouts and shoots of plant life, vibrantly green in their life, reaching for the sun, were crushed and mashed beneath his trampling feet.

The sword swung down in a great black wave, slicing away the branches and bushes that hid the warrior away from him. There stood the master of this tropical, stifling domain, face set sternly, and posture strong and stoic as he clutched his spear. Powerful muscles rippled beneath sun painted skin, though much of it was hidden under the spotted, gold and white hide of a jaguar. Demirci paused for a moment, his heavy blade resting in the dirt; admiring the sight of the cloak. 'I wasn't aware those beasts even lived on Althanas...I'll have to make a journey to Istraloth at a later time.'

"I pictured you in a tiki mask and a grass skirt, trying to pick me off with blow darts, Huacamon Axayotl. No matter though, I'll leave your corpse to fertilize this green hell!" Demirci stepped forward, stomping his foot down, and twisted hard at the waist, thrusting his enormous blade forward with only a fraction of his strength.

[Huacamon Axayotl]

The words did nothing to faze him. That was one of the advantages of speaking a different language: when a situation got violent, threats and insults from the opposition went unheeded. The warrior recognized his name in the unintelligible jumble of speech, and that was it. Indeed, the enemy would waste time and concentration running his mouth, while Huacamon would still be completely focused. Thus, the verbal attacks went unanswered.

Physical prowess, however, was quite another story. The fighter wielded his gigantic metal blade as if it weighed nothing at all. Such strength was truly a thing to be feared. Nobody could swing a blade like that. It seemed to be beyond the limits of the human body. The sight of this man ripping a towering tree from the earth suddenly seemed a bit more realistic.

The blade punched forward at the jaguar warrior’s chest with amazing force. Huac knew better than to try to block that behemoth of a weapon with his spear. Such a stupid move would have left him trying to wield a shattered weapon with broken arms. Instead, the warrior agilely sidestepped the attack, actually grateful that his adversary had sliced away the impeding brush. It was now that his training as a jaguar warrior of the Axetec kicked in. Still in the same movement, Huacamon thrust his oaken spear at his challenger’s right shoulder. His intention was to sap the man’s strength. All the raw power in the world wouldn’t help him if his arms were crippled.

Even so, Huacamon was painfully aware of one truth: it would only take one shot. He was the kitten attacking the tiger: the great cat’s claws would only have to taste blood once before the battle was over.

A fleeting thought dashed through the tribal man’s head.

Do I really even have a chance?




Alright, you've passed three days twice now. Huacamon is the winner of the Pagoda challenge by default; this thread is now just for experience.

[Slayer of the Rot]

In the space of time that the axetec took to step aside his thrust, the criminal drew in a breath. It was hot and thick; and stank of sweat and the gunk that oozed through plants. His head felt strangely light, and he knew he was not sick; indeed, it was the euphoria that battle delivered unto him. For quite some time, it had been swing the sword, crack the defense and spill the blood. Soldiers were too set in their training to do anything but foolishly parry; and his blade could shatter most any in the land, easily crush bone and split flesh. Adrenaline had yet to rush through his veins, but excitement indeed brought a smile to his face. The battle was lasting more than ten seconds.

Huacamon set his feet and struck; Demirci had been expecting it. It was foolish not to at least try to deal a counter blow in the midst of a fight. The Bhidyate vanished again from Althanas, and he twisted with a grunt, the spear tip slicing fabric and skin, coloring its silvered surface crimson with blood. That he had been wounded seemed to barely register on the criminal's face; his smile split, becoming a grin, and his eyes, through dark amber lenses, followed down the thick shaft of the pole-arm to meet Huacamon's own.

The man was indeed a savage; it was obvious that he didn't understand Common. Otherwise, between the sight of the enormous blade, and his thread, his performance would be weakened and distracted with fear. Demirci simply kept his mouth shut, instead of crying out in triumph as he lunged forward, summoning a far smaller blade to his hand; a combat knife with a lustrous black surface. His free hand reached out, seeking to grasp the axetec's shoulder in a grip that could fracture iron, and the knife swooped up from his thigh in an underhanded swing, intending to carve open the warrior's stomach and spill his gut's all over his lovely home's floor.

Oh, he hoped the boy was watching. He'd hate to have to repeat this.

[Huacamon Axayotl]

It was a mere second after the warrior’s blow landed that it happened.

Demirci’s weapon simply disappeared.

Huacamon simply stared at his opponent in shock. What manner of sorcery was this? No weapon could just… vanish like that, especially not one as enormous as the one his foe had been wielding. This was no normal man that he was fighting. The only beings that could do such things as this were the Gods.

Could he be fighting a God?

A whole new level of fear erupted in the Axetec. It was not, it could not, be possible. A God? Why would a God want to kill him? Was this a test?

All of his questions went unanswered. Huacamon’s world had stopped, but Demirci’s had not. The absurdly strong man reached out and grasped the warrior’s shoulder, nearly bringing him to his knees with the crushing grip. A lance of pain ran through the man’s arm, causing him to drop his spear. At that point, it was over. The only variable now was how the God chose to end it.

Using his magic once again, a cruel knife appeared in the divine being’s hand. Instead of feeling the blade bite into his flesh, Huac heard it. The knife sang a low, metallic note as it ripped through the jaguar warrior with a wet ripping noise. Blood erupted from the wound, and the warrior’s hands went immediately to the cut, trying in vain to keep his entrails from boiling out between his fingers.

As quickly as it started, however, it ended. Demirci’s grip on his shoulder relaxed, and Huacamon fell to the jungle floor, his world fading fast. The jaguar warrior had time for one last thought.

This is what I get for daring to fight a God…

His vision went dark. Huacamon Axayotl was dead, resting amid a pool of his own blood and gore.

I want one post after this. If you can kick one out tonight, I’ll end it tomorrow before I go on vacation.

[Slayer of the Rot]

The knife cut open the proud Axetec warrior with little effort. An enormous smile spread across the criminal's face as the blood jetted forward, the blade slicing through flesh, muscle, veins, and guts. They came pouring out; everything that made a man a man, in great ropey piles that tumbled over his drenched forearm. His white teeth glimmered through a spattering of red, his chest heaved with quick breaths of excitement, dyed crimson from the kill. Demirci watched in wide eyed, sick anticipation as Huacamon Axayotl drew his last few breaths, shook minutely, and fell still in his grip.

Then disappointment struck.

That disturbing grin fell off his face, though not in a manner it could be said that it vanished. Instead, it was like watching a building be demolished; it sagged, and then crumbled, part by part, going from the right to the left until it was a dumb struck frown. His eyes were blank, for just the most fleeting of all seconds, and then became incredulous, staring down at Huacamon's sloppy corpse with disbelief and anger, as though he should be the one disappointed over the death. He mouthed a word, silent and incomprehensible, taking a step back from the body. Its guts squished and squelched under his shoes, muddying up the leather with damp, bloody earth. Drawing in a deep breath, Demirci shut his eyes, and then sighed.

"What a waste of my time. Life has almost become boring, when you can't find an opponent he can last maybe thirty seconds with one's self."

Scowling deeply now, the criminal dropped to his knee in the motions of a child having a tantrum, and thrust his hand into the enormous wound he had dealt, digging about in the dead warrior's chest. His fingers finally met what he was searching for, and removed it with a sharp tug; the heart. He held it before himself, inspecting it as perhaps a farmer would inspect a ripe apple from the branch, and then tore a large mouthful from it, the tough tissue tearing away reluctantly, two stubborn thick veins snapping away when he tugged again with his teeth. Pausing in mid-bite, swallowing the first, Demirci spun on the balls of his feet and thrust an arm forward, the knife appearing there again.

The dirty little urchin was watching him. All the color had drained from his smudged face, and blank, primal horror was all that was reflected in his glassy eyes. The knife vanished, and the criminal rose to his feet, hands falling to his sides.

"Venn.” As he expected, the child turned and dashed into the woods, underbrush scratching at his legs. Demirci sighed, and moved forward.

He had just killed a Dajas Pagoda warrior. Catching a child was...well, child's play for him.

The criminal's great, blood drenched form came crashing down from the tree tops mere moments into the boy's sprint, cutting him off instantly. Venn's mind was racing; he could see it in his panicked, glazed eyes. A scream burst from his lips, and he tripped over his own feet, falling back on his buttocks. Demirci waited as his breathing began to settle. When it finally had, he lifted his hand into the light. "This-"

The child screamed again, but shut up quickly. The looming man was far more terrifying than the bitten heart in his hand. "Now then boy...this is the fruits of my labor. I have progressed further into this world...shown that I am superior to the weaklings at the Dajas Pagoda. I did not do it with diplomacy or words. I did it with blood and a sharp edge. Do you understand?"

If he did, he made no sign of it. Demirci crouched, drawing in close to him. "Do you know how some men become kings? They pierce the heart of the king then and take his crown. You will get nowhere in this world without shedding blood. You may still play your innocent games after this, but now that at the right age, your best friend would stab you if it meant capturing the heart of some woman he is courting. Or if it meant he could get a hundred gold pieces for your death. Remember that, and this day..."

Demirci rose; a great, terrible shadowed beast, standing upon a peak Venn Trogaer may never reach. The heart held within his hand fell to the ground and bounced once, and then was lost in the growth of the jungle. Turning away, he left the boy and the body there.

[Witchblade]

Huacamon Axayotl:


Story

Continuity: - 8 Huacamon, your introduction gave the reader what many people forget to do, information on where your character had come from and just how he got to the present circumstances. It wasn’t long and drawn out, but just the right amount of information to give the reader a bit more of an insight to your character.

Setting: - 7 Good descriptions and a good use of the surroundings during the albeit short battle that was this thread. I think the jungle could have been described in a bit more detail to truly bring it to life, including the animals in it. There was mention of a bird that Huacamon scared that flew out in front of him, but I have no idea what the bird looked like.

Pacing: - 4 Like Dan, you also suffered greatly in the pacing of the battle. There was no real rise in tension, even though your character was supposed to be scared out of his mind, the reader didn’t feel it. Even when he died it was just really sudden and barely had much if any affect. You need to add tension in the right places to build up to the climax, not just have the sudden death of your character.

Character

Dialogue: - 6 Huacamon didn’t have any physical dialogue, but he still had internal dialogue. For the most part it was all right, but I really get the feeling that this is a new character you haven’t developed very much yet.

Persona: - 6 His personality also suffered a little bit at your lack of writing with him. The warrior aspects of him came across fine and I especially liked his confidence in his fighting skills, even his observations of the people around him and gauging that into his fighting. The one thing I didn’t like was when he started feeling fear for the impeding battle. It reminded me way too much of Atzar and a certain battle where all he did was panic and run away scared.

Action: - 8 The actions seemed true enough to the character and his personality. He used the surroundings to his advantage, or at least tried to, which a true jungle warrior would do.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8 The word ‘ably’ is just plain awkward to read. I would avoid using it from now on if I were you. Other than that, I noticed very, very few mistakes in your work.

Technique: - 6 You have a good writing style, but since this character is so new you haven’t yet developed a style with him.

Clarity: - 9 It was clear, potato.

Wild Card: - 5 Well, it was a battle thread, not a particularly interesting one but still a battle. I’m sure you’ll get better with this character the more you use him.

Total: 67


Slayer of the rot:


Story

Continuity: - 7 There wasn’t really much talk about Dan and his background in your introduction post, only that he was looking for a battle at the Dajas Pagoda. I know because I read your character that he does enjoy finding new opponents that just might give him a lasting battle, but the reader doesn’t always know this. It is mentioned, especially at the end with hid disappointment. Bringing the child into the battle was the part that threw me off a bit. I wasn’t too sure of the point with it, other than to scar him for life, yet it seemed like Dan was trying to teach him something.

Setting: - 9 I can’t remember the last time you were this descriptive with your surroundings. Everything was vibrant and coming to life right before the reader’s very eyes. Whatever inspiration you were on when you wrote this, I want you to get back on it right now and do some more writing. Dan’s—or shall I call him Demirci—interaction with the jungle around him could have been greater, but then again a character as strong as him doesn’t need to interact so much as just crush everything in his way.

Pacing: - 4 The pacing of the battle fell a little flat. It started midway through the thread and ended within a few posts, mainly because of the huge level difference between the characters. However, that doesn’t mean you couldn’t have made the tension rise a little more and the conflict more interesting to the reader. As it was, the quest just flowed at a steady rate and it didn’t have much if any kind of climax, even when Huacamon died.

Character

Dialogue: - 8 The dialogue with Veen was great. The child really came out very well as a curious, young and innocent boy whom Dan just traumatized for the rest of his life. He’ll now be having nightmares about him, congratulations. There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with Dan’s dialogue, because it suites him and fits him perfectly, however it still comes off a something slightly clichéd or just a little over the top. I really enjoy his inner dialogue though.

Persona: - 9 ‘Me Dan! Dan smash!’

Ahh, I’m just joking. His personality doesn’t come across quite like that. I like Dan’s personality, cold and ruthless, plus just plain psychotic at times. You definitely have no problems displaying the personality of a character you’ve been using for many years now. And it even seems like you’re beginning to add a bit more depth to him, which is something I’d like to see more often.

Action: - 8 The only action that didn’t seem true to Dan’s character was when he brought the boy into the battle with him instead of just leaving him alone or even killing him. And I wouldn’t even say it wasn’t true to his character because he did traumatize the child, it just seemed a little strange. Out of the ordinary is perhaps the best way to put it.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8 Watch out for run-on sentences and spelling mistakes. Other than that, you’re good to go.

Technique: - 7 I’d say your technique has been improving as of late. I think you’re getting the hang of playing Dan as more of a demon and really stretching out with his personality. But don’t stop evolving him now, I can see him getting much better, as well as your writing.

Clarity: - 9 Well, what can I say? It was clear and I never had to read anything twice.

Wild Card: - 8 This is some of the best stuff I’ve seen you write in a while. It did tend to drop odd a bit at the end, but other than that, it was great.

Total: 77

The winner is.....


Slayer of the rot! Congratulations

*hands him a bouquet of wilted and dying black roses*

Rewards:

Dan receives 1,750 experience and 100 GP!

Huacamon receives 450 experience and 100 GP!

[Letho]

EXP/GP added.