LCC - R1: Misery Business VS Caned But Able

This round begins at 12:00 PM PACIFIC TIME on Friday! Good Luck!!!

Duffy Bracken did not like liars, cheaters, and most certainly he did not like thieves. He had spent all his life in their company, by all means, but he tolerated them, and in turn, himself, because they never stole or lied to him. Mere minutes after meeting Aimer, his tale of the loss of his wallet, and not by accident, instantly riled every bone in his body, every fibre of his being.

“You’re going to be a pussy and let her?” he dropped his mouth open, for added expressionism. His voice was already high pitched, and his arms wide in a shrug. He was feeling particularly dramatic; given it was the day of the Lornius.

“What else am I supposed to do, Mr Bracken?” the gentlemen shrugged, though his own motion lacked any buster or conviction. “I’m not a fighter like you, nor have I got,” he hesitated, “your peculiar brand of talents.” The two gentlemen stared one another down for some time before either moved an inch.

“Aimer…Aimer…Aimer…” Duffy sighed. “Sei has been an enigma in my life all these years, so when I say this, I say it to you as a member of the Ixian ‘gang’…” He leant forwards and rested his cane less hand onto Aimer’s shoulder. He squeezed just enough to convey sadness. “I came here because Sei instructed me to teach you a thing or two about defending one’s honour.” In truth, Duffy had expected that to involve a parry or two with a cane and a seminar on concealing knives. He had something else to teach the boy now. “It seems like today’s lesson,” he stepped back, or rather, hobbled back on his broken shin, “will be instead about something much more fun.”

The breeze flicked Duffy’s hair to one side quite by chance. His marl eyes, which shone of their own accord and sadness tore through Aimer’ rising resilience. The bard could see that his team mate was by no means capable, or at the least, no means capable on first glance. He had taught many different people to do a wide array of things over the years, some not entirely moral, and some not entirely legal. He had every faith that this pupil would be a shining feather in his ageing, direction-less cap.

“Do you know what that might be, Aimer?” Duffy waved his free hand down over the balcony, into the bustling cityscape of Lornius’ cloud capital. The wavering, ever present sense of vertigo did not waver his enthusiasm. Neither did the constant roar of the strange machinations that kept the xenophobic citadel aloft.

Aimer shrugged.

Duffy rolled his eyes, “we’re going to teach you about larceny!”

For a brief moment, Aimer might have heard a burst of song. If it wasn't for the several fingers of bourbon both men had consumed over the course of the evening, he might have forgiven himself for going mad, what with all the excitement, imminent fear of death, and the disappointment he would feel if he went back to Sei without at least one tall tale to tell…he just bit his lip.

“I guess…” he mumbled. He said it again with a start when Duffy slapped him on the shoulder boisterously, gave the city one last forlorn glance, and disappeared back into the chambers gifted to them as ‘envoys’ of Scara Brae to the isolated island. Aimer was still not sure quite how Duffy had blagged them both into the grandest of the rooms set aside for visitors, but he was glad, given that tomorrow would be a test of his very soul, for the comfortable bed, the array of liquor, and the amusing company.

“I am so very glad to have met you, caned, but so very able all the same!” he bellowed, trying to be heard over Duffy’s burst of singing. This time, there was no mistaking the croaking warble of a man who thought himself Thayne’s gift to Thespian living.

I had always admired each of the Ixian Knight Captains. They were, after all, the elite in an army of great soldiers. The best of the best aspired to join the legendary Nine Generals who liberated most of Corone with their abilities. I never had such grandeur visions. In fact, my body is best described as ‘weak’ or ‘scrawny’, though those words did not quite apt describe me I was able to lift anything a man my size should, and in no way was I ‘see my ribs’ skinny. I suppose people just see what they wanted to see.

Which made me wonder what exactly what Duffy Bracken (one of the Nine Generals) and Sei Orlouge (The leader of said Generals) saw in me. I was a glorified baby-sitter, and here I was beside one of the most powerful men in Althanas history. This would be a great honor to practically anybody on the planet, yet I was reluctant to accept the man’s help.

The crowd of people we passed through seemed to shift away from us with each passing second. I had heard that Lornius was a continent made completely of xenophobes, but I guess I had not believed it until now. My clothes, the scent of my cologne, and probably even the way my hair was styled were all dead give aways that I was not from this part of the world, who seemed a bit more modest with their dress code and a bit less adventurous with how they wore their hair.

I shifted my shoulders, trying to make the situation less awkward. It felt as though all eyes were on us at all times. Perhaps that was how my wallet had been stolen in the first place; I was so concerned with what others thought of me, that I was ignoring things going on in my very own back pocket.

The smell of the industrialization brought me out of my thoughts. I could taste the smog in the air as I lead Duffy Bracken towards where I had my wallet stolen, a part of the dock covered by a massive canopy, with many tables set up and wares laid out on fine oak. I tapped by cane uncomfortably on the ground, as I had a bad tendency to fidget when I was doing something I did not want to do.

I started to breathe heavily, wincing at the stench of bourbon in my hot breath. I had let Duffy talk me into drinking with him, and while I could handle my liquor, I always found myself in the most precarious situations.

Just like this one.

The people around us started to shuffle back, once assessing that we were no threat, and continue in their day to day (or rather, night to night) routines. I could feel Duffy’s hand upon my shoulder, urging me to pick someone to …. I don’t know, ‘mark’ I guess is the terminology? Maybe he was just leaning on me for support; he had a lot more to drink than I tonight. My eyes shifted through the people as they passed by, my eyes being drawn to a beautiful blonde woman, holding something peculiar.

I furrowed my brow, trying to make out the object she was so callously holding. Even from about fifteen feet away I could make out the rippled and worn edges of my most cherished possession. I froze, my eyes growing wide as I pointed towards the woman. “Her…” I said, barely audible enough for Duffy to hear me.

“You chose her…?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, my legs wobbling a little, “She’s the one that took my wallet….”

Misery Business was huddled at the corner of one of many tables under the canopy, conspiring quietly amongst the crowd of feasting and drinking Lornians. The outside space was an extension of the bar in the first floor of Duffy's and Aimer's lodgings, tented seating mingling with street vendors who called to tourists who came to the capital to ogle the spectacle of the rush of outsiders for the tournament. It sat at the very edge of the floating city itself, these "docks" suspended in midair with glorious aerial views of the island, crowds kept safe by the precautions of railings and trusting human nature... something absent in many of their current guests.

To Ags' chagrin, Zack convinced her of the benefits of blending into this unwelcoming culture, so her inhumanly vibrant features were toned down to a spectrum more friendly to human senses and slightly less conspicuous. Still, it was difficult to rein in the radiance of fey royalty, and no amount of heckling from a business partner would keep them from catching some roaming eyes.

"This, my friend," the fairy chimed over the noise of the crowd, holding up a worn, folded piece of leather in her partner's line of vision, "Is how one sizes up one's competition. In my years, I have developed an art you may think of as pocket divination. You'd be surprised what you can learn about a person by what they carry around with them." With that she winked cheekily at Zack, as if she'd checked his pockets when they first met and found something of particular intrigue.

He likely felt a bit violated in response, but the young man covered it well. "What about the other guy?"

Her response was a simple shrug. "A mystery. To be honest, I'm not sure what to make of a man with nothing in his pockets, save that you better be dealing with him tomorrow and not me." The fey had no delusions about her capabilities in an arena; if she was lucky, this other chap would turn out to be someone she could actually contend with and rise above the flattering label of 'distraction'.

Colorfully embroidered, draping sleeves flounced as Agnie dissected Aimer's wallet with careful deliberation, discovering no small sum of money first –– it must have been at least three hundred. "Oh, dear. I'll feel guilty if I don't give this back now, unless this is how much he usually spends on a night out drinking. I wonder what his goal is here. Fame? Infamy?" With that she took a break, reaching out to raise her glass for a long sip of some ridiculously expensive house cocktail she'd ordered on her colleague's tab. It was deep amber, and the fizzy liquid glowed richly under the warm bar-like lighting that reflected off the polished tabletops and made everyone look a bit better than they did during the day. Or was that delightful fuzziness just a buzz coming on? No matter. "Now, let's see what else."

Next she found the little pocket which housed half a dozen little scraps of paper, all slightly different and all with various penmanship, and they fluttered to the tabletop like precious petals. Each one bore a feminine name, some sort of contact information, and many were punctuated with hearts and impressions of lipstick. "Oooh," Ags tittered, "We have ourselves a ladies man." She always had good luck with those sorts, and thus was positively delighted.

The wallet was disappointingly empty, and when Agnie gave it one last open shake, only a few bits of lint fell out. "Hmm." She checked the spare compartments again, all of them empty, save the last which she'd neglected the first time through. "And what is this?" With utmost care, the tattered edges of the heavy piece of paper testimony to the value of this artifact, she extracted a well-cherished snapshot of an adorable little girl. Ags let her manicured thumb run over the rippled surface of the photograph, absorbing every last detail of that cheery face. "Bingo." She'd found her key.

Pleased with her accomplishment, she looked to Zack with a growing Cheshire grin, then downed the remainder of her drink in preemptive victory.

Zack leaned back in his chair, rocking the legs of the furniture back and forth as Ags searched through the man’s wallet. Watching the fae pilfer through the belongings was endearing to him, like watching child play around in their parent’s clothes. Misery Business Incorporated had asked Zack to participate in the Lornius Corporate Championship, an opportunity the street fighter jumped at to accept. As for the matter of his partner, Zack knew when he signed up that he would enlist the aid of the fairy princess Agnie.

After all, her particular skill set up until this point had proven very useful for advancing Zack’s goals.

The sheer number of contact information that fluttered onto the oak table shocked the teen a little bit. “An incubus, maybe,” he spoke, though it came out as more of a question. It was an interesting game, trying to determine what kind of person this mystery man was. He had a decent amount of coin in his wallet, so obviously he was well off. The obviously feminine information strewn about insinuated that he was a playboy as well. The biggest enigma was the photo that Ags currently held. From Zack's seat across from his partner, he could not make out who or what the picture was taken of, so he straightened up his chair and stood up.

Zack walked over to the fairy, looking at the little girl in the photo. She seemed no older than about eight years old. Zack looked for a moment, taking note of the sandy blonde, well groomed curls, the blue and green mixture of color swirling in her eyes, and the very sophisticated white dress she wore. He bit his lower lip as he pointed towards the photo, drawing Ags attention towards where he was aiming. “The right side of the picture is missing.”

“How can you---“ The girl paused for a moment. Zack assumed that she finally noticed the seared part to the right part of the photo, a trim of brown cut away so it was made to look as if the picture was complete. Someone went through a lot of effort to hide the other side of the photo.

Zack looked up towards the crowd, his eyes meeting that same blue green swirl that he had seen in the child. They belonged to a grown man, who was visibly shaken. He didn’t look like he would be a problem.

The other guy however appeared to be a threat. While it looked like he was leaning on his friend for support, Zack could tell by the firmness of his arm around the sandy blonde that ‘The Drunk’ was actually keeping ‘Shaky’ up. “Ags…” Zack spoke slowly, his hand resting on the woman’s shoulder and squeezing, trying to alert her without drawing too much attention. “Ags…get ready. I think your prey just became a predator.”

Circumstances prevail in the strangest of ways. Duffy groaned when Aimer suggested they ‘take a walk’ in a motherly fashion. The man insisted that he was by now quite drunk, when if anything, he was only just getting started. He had, in fairness, prattled on about morals for nearly thirty minutes before he had succumbed to Aimer’s wiles and let himself be whisked outside. Outside transpired to be a bitterly cold and bitterly heaving Lornius proper.

“You let that steal your wallet?” he said, somewhat taken aback at the rambunctious mix of beauty of oddness the woman in question possessed. He cocked his head to the left and then shrugged. It was by no means least an eloquent display of his confusion, but it served its purpose.

“She was quick,” Aimer objected. Duffy had no question about that, if rumour about Mr Rogers were to be believed.

“I’ve no doubt,” he said snidely. The bourbon on his breath was by now just vapour, but he left a trail of its sweet sickness behind him as he waded through the weaving crowd towards the seated individuals marked out as responsible by his team mate. There was no point in double-checking. Duffy was doubtful Aimer knew how to lie at all, even if his life depended on it. “Excuse me?” he said softly, hobbling with a little much meekness until he stopped some twenty feet from table’s edge. “Excuse me?” he repeated.

Indifferent to the medley of brightly attired noblemen, valets, and assorted hangers on that streamed around him, Duffy stood defiant of the duo. His hands, shaking, pallid branches of dexterity embraced the bulbous tip of the Cane of Eraclaire, and used it to support his weight. The burst of speed served as adrenaline, and that in turn served to burn away the drunken haze, or at least the air of he had been using to hide the lancing pain that rendered him constantly miserable. They were unimportant distractions, men and malice alike; at least until his work with Aimer was done.

“Are you perchance a follower of the good customs of the womenfolk of Scara Brae?” Aimer appeared at his side just in time to frown. His dashing good looks, which could have wiped the smirk of a whole gaggle of women’s faces turned swift into a dead pan expression. He mouthed ‘what the?’ silently.

Ags looked up, just momentarily, from her triumphant rifling. Duffy got the sudden sense of déjÃ* vu a thief got when he recognised another thief. He felt lighter in her presence, though, ironically, he never carried anything worthy of a pickpocket’s sticky fingers.

“If you mean the women folk of the slums, I’m game if you are?” she said smarmily. Her intention may well have been to insult, but Duffy, prudish as ever, saw it as a sign that she was well aware what happened to a woman who crossed a man of the courts of Valeena, Scara Brae’s queen.

If keeping your pockets empty was lesson two, and if keeping your employer rich was lesson number three, then it was only right that the first lesson in larceny was in turn the most important of all. Duffy had learnt it many a time, the hard way, and with bruises that still lingered on skin and soul.

“Excellent,” Duffy said, feeding off the reply like a prompt for a carelessly forgotten line. Without hesitation, but with plenty of gentlemanly grace, he leant over to Aimer and whispered into his ear the immortal phrase, “This fellow, is lesson number one. If they play dirty, play dirtier.”

A crack of thunder and a bolt of white light formed about his cane. In its stead, after the cries and whelps, and unladylike fainting died down, was a black sheathed katana.

I was unsure which was more shocking; Duffy’s forwardness with the thief or the casual way she seemed to be talking to him. Her voice carried with it a sweet melodic tone, the kind that would make people want to listen to whatever she had to say. Standing by her side was a blonde man in a fine looking leather jacket. He had some visible muscle to his form. Rather, it looked as though he had more muscle than me. He stood there, his eyes darting all over Duffy’s form as the crippled man conversed with the lady.

The second Duffy transformed his cane into a blade; I quickly began to make my way over to the three. Staying back would have been preferable, but once the weapon was drawn, I also noticed the blonde man slightly bending his knees. I don’t know why it sent alarms through my head, but I had the image of a cheetah pouncing upon a deer in my head by watching this man. I quickly came between them, my arm nudging Duffy backwards while the other was careful not to actually touch the other man.

“That’s enough,” I tried to say with authority, and the two of them seemed to lighten their threatening postures a bit. I walked over to the woman now that the pre-tournament conflict had been avoided. I looked to her with pleading eyes, trying not to be thrown off by her own differing amber and gold orbs (her left and right eyes, respectively). She had a wide, somewhat creepy smile on her face, and her eyes were getting slowly wider by the second.

“Ummm,” I took a step back, slightly put off by the attractive young lady, “I was just wondering if you would be sokind as to hand me my wallet back. It’s got a few things in there I really don’t want to lose. I don’t really care about the money, but the rest of the stuff is kind of important to me.” My eyes trailed off for a minute towards the slivers of paper and makeshift papers I had been given by female friends. “So, if I could just have it back….”

“Of course.” She said, neatly arranging each of the slivers on the table back up and placing them in my wallet, followed by the money, and finally the most important item. The photo of my little sister Amara had been a keepsake of my ever since I had left home. It was the only thing I had left to remember her by, as I had left home years ago. I thought about her age for a few moments now that I had her picture. “Wow….she’s thirteen now…” I whispered to where only I could hear, before drawing my attention back to Duffy.

“Calm down, Mister Bracken,” I slowly approached my fellow cane user at a moderate pace, “We need to get ready for tomorrow. We don’t even know who our opponents are yet…”

At Aimer's last emission, Ags covered her mouth with her hand to hide a coy little smile as she looked to her partner. "I almost forgot that they don't know," she said lowly, just loud enough that the other gentlemen could hear. This was on purpose, of course, and her musical voice carried well in the fresh silence of the crowd as it slowly backed away, thanks to Duffy's stunt. Now the center of attention of a throng of inebriated, xenophobic locals, all four of them were in a precarious situation, to say the least. Zack tossed her a knowing smirk in response, then they both directed their attention to their opponents.

Rising from her chair, the fairy smoothed her dress and offered Aimer her hand for a friendly shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Caned But Able." Her eyes glanced between him and Duffy, then suggestively at the sheathed katana. "You've certainly lived up to your team name, that's for certain."

Whether Aimer accepted her sportsmanlike gesture or not, she backed up to stand next to Zack and placed her hands on her generous hips. For someone so small, she certainly had presence. "I suppose it'd only be fair to inform you that you are conversing with your first match-up, gentlemen. I'm Agnie, this is Zack, and we come to the Lornius Corporate Challenge as representatives of Misery Business. I should clarify, we're much more delightful than our name insinuates." The glimmer in her mismatched eyes and merry blush in the apples of her cheeks betrayed that she was just as liquored up as they were, and enjoying this awkward situation far too much.

It was likely a strange affair for Duffy and Aimer, considering it was presumably against the rules to meet in such a manner; randomized match-ups were allegedly kept secret until the day of the fight. Apparently these Miserable Businessfolk had an in with the tournament organizers, or they'd been busy with some organizing of their own.

Either way, Agnie wasn't ready to shut up yet, fizzy drinks helping her feel even more talkative than usual. "We really lucked out," she said, glancing up to Zack. "I'm fairly confident we can handle a pretty boy and a gimp."

Zack smirked, standing tall in light of the big revelation to his opponents. He quickly stifled some laughter as Agnie referred to the crippled man as a ‘gimp’. He looked around; the eyes of the xenophobic people of Lyridia seemed to be concentrated on what was going on between them. Apparently, Mister Magician Man‘s little ‘cane to katana’ technique had drawn more than a few passing glances.

“Be careful,” Zack whispered low enough to catch Agnie’s ear, and calm enough to not drawn extra attention to themselves, “We aren’t supposed to fight before the tournament starts. We might get disqualified for starting a brawl with our opponents early. Pretty sure the Lornius Council would from upon a ruckus in one of their most populated cities.

Ags eyes shifted over to Zack, a wry little smirk painted across her features. “Are you saying not to do it? I never thought Zack Blaze, Finalist of the Adventurer Crown and Misery Business lead agent would be cowardly.”

Zack moved his own eyes to his partner, his own grin forming. “Quite the contrary,” a cool breeze blowing through which caused some strands of hair to fall back in front of his face, “We just have to make sure we have a good and convincing cover story that paints them as the bad guys.” Zack formed as fist as he spoke, turning his head and giving a small nod to the fairy.

“Well then,” Ags spoke without whispers now, as if she now wanted people to watch them, “Shall we?”

“Way ahead of you, Ags!” Zack shouted as he made an uppercut motion towards the opposing duo. The actually uppercut was designed to whiff, to completely miss, for it created a moving flame, about the size of a camp fire, hurtling towards the two across the ground. It was the opening move in an act of aggression towards a team that seemed more caned and less able.

Duffy restrained himself through Aimer’s show of weakness. It was not because he believed the man’s decision and course of action was correct. The bard was, to say the least; curious to see how the duo would react to a more civil approach. His eyes, though sullen and devoid of life, remained utterly fixated on their hands, their feet, and their facial expressions. They, to a man well versed in the dramaturgy of life, would be the tell that made or broke their attempts to reunite Aimer with his absent pride.

It did not take long for his doubts to be proven correct. As all down and outs were want to do, they turned to the only thing they would likely find solace in; violence. Duffy was by now quite used to it, receiving, and of course, delivering it. Aimer, on the other hand, had only really been exposed to the rough and tumble of wayward Orlouge children and their pets. With a snap that belied his apparently frail form, he pushed Aimer, hard.

“What the hell are you doing?” was all Duffy heard before the inevitable thud of a man crashing into cobbles. If the bard had remained on this plane for long enough, he might have replied with a pithy ‘saving your life’ or some such other clichéd retort.

By the time both the fire of treachery and Aimer’s gaze crossed path with where Duffy had been, it dawned on flame and futile minds alike that the bard had vanished. The ribbons of light that had always followed in the wake of The Aria’s presence danced for a moment in the darkening evening air. The onlookers gasped, cooed, and continued to slowly and surely edge away. The sight of the Thayne Tantalus’ power was commonplace in Corone and Scara Brae by now, but here on Lornius, it was an enticing, unfamiliar air of the wondrous.

“Oh, great,” Aimer said, cursing under his breath. It still smelt of bourbon, and now the unmistakable taint of failure lingered in every oaken scent. He pushed himself upright, picked up his scattered cane, and levelled his eyes onto the encroaching pair.

Duffy re-appeared, in an equally vibrant display of light, song, and colour. The sound of staccato drums rattling into a crescendo masqueraded the impact of Zack’s fire against the palisade wall behind them that divided boulevard with alleyway. It left a singe mark in the red brick that would have surely made short work of their less rigid flesh.

“You can thank me later,” was all Duffy said, before he leant his weight onto his untarnished leg and unsheathed the Katarhna from its lacquered scabbard. The blade, dull and long hidden from the world sang as it was revealed. The melody behind it was joyous, though in a negative key, and the words mimicked Duffy’s sentiment. Oh he of little faith denied, through chorus thick and love denied. “For now, watch and learn.” He slipped a dagger from the small of his back, which he usually kept neatly in the hook of his belt, and forced it upon Aimer.

Part of playing dirty, in Duffy’s book, was to trick your opponent into making a mistake they would pay dearly for. Though he remained still surprised and shocked at not seeing their twist and turn coming, he was certain he could use it to their advantage. The rules and edicts of the tournament, from what he read in the library of the floating city, were simple; if any team fought outside the tournament before the scheduled engagement, they would be…dropped from the roster. Duffy assumed this also meant dropped from the city, which would be a satisfying way to do away with both the woman and the mage.

“Gloves off, Aimer, you’re a long way from the brothel now!” he chuckled, skittering forwards with an unkindly gait and a strong, unmistakable limp. With a deft grip, Duffy held the Katarhna to one side, blade and tip down to the ground, and made straight for the woman. He longed very much to wipe the smirk off her pudgy face.

Quote:

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One use of Union of Ages, to utilise Arden Janelle's 'Blink' ability.

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I lunged forward, stretching my limbs towards Duffy, my cane being held at its very tip in order to get maximum length. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to change the trajectory of the blow. I landed with a hard thud on the ground, a sudden pain striking through my chest. I pushed myself off of the ground, grabbing my dropped weapon as I did so. I grabbed my chest with my free hand, making sure to check for anything distinguishable bumps or bleeding.

“No, Duffy,” I said, adamant in my only request, “A gentleman never attacks a lady, no matter how unladylike they may act.” My eyes shifted towards Agnie, then towards her partner. He was holding his right shoulder, blood flowing between his fingers as he grimaced in pain. Apparently, my blow had done more than I anticipated. The fighter was hurt, so maybe his female compatriot would give up if her muscle was taken care of.

“Him.” I said with a new determination, pointing my cane towards the one known as Zack, “He’s the one that attacked us, so he should be the one that goes down. There’s no need to bring physical harm to her.” I motioned towards Agnie with my weapon. My eyes shifted around, trying to find something I could use to my advantage. Zack would be able to handle me in one on one combat, so I needed to keep my distance.

I smiled when I found a half-full mug of ale on a long abandoned table. There was also a couple of GP left on the oak as a tip, telling me that the thing had not yet been bused. I ran towards the table, reeling my weapon back and swinging it as hard as I could against the mug. Glass shattered, and both liquid and shards began to fly towards Zack and Agnie. Now, I realize the irony of inadvertently attacking a girl I had just asked not to, but at that exact moment, I was more concerned with taking the big man out rather than my own code of ethics.

Oh, this was absolutely priceless, and Ags fully planned to monopolize on this knight in shining armor. When the blade came down on Zack she screamed, and to her credit, it was a very genuine scream that rang so high and sharp that it was nearly a sound only dogs could hear, and the glassware sighed in relief when it remained intact. Even her partner winced at the shriek, and he was the one who'd been gored.

As Aimer smashed the mug she ducked behind Zack, effectively using him as a meat shield. (They were obviously very close, caring friends.) Then, not wishing to hang around for any future developments that might result in her being stuck by a sword or injured by shrapnel, the regal Princess Agnie Lar hightailed it into the throng of the spectating crowd, apparently a weeping, shaken mess.

Though she was not a professional actor like some in their midst, it was rather convincing, especially considering a competitive fighter usually bluffed to maintain some semblance of pride rather than throw it all out the window and, well, cry like a little girl. But in a place like Tenger Jerhal, honor meant little and playing dirty was a sport all of its own, at which this particular fey excelled in her formative years.

Once Ags was satisfied that she was adequately lost in the crowd, her short stature easily concealed even if she was quickly chased, she could be found no longer to the average eye. It was almost as if the fairy disappeared altogether, having slipped into some vacuum that awaited her, but such was not the case. After all, if there were doors available it'd be one thing, but alas, she was portal-less on the open dock unless she ran for the accompanying building, and she wasn't quite sure if this Duffy fellow would allow it. She recognized with calm resign that he was most dangerous to her, and the fact that he lashed out at her first in spite of Zack's initial offense was enough to keep her wary, indeed.

Donning the mantle of fey glamour was second nature to Agnie, and now there was a new face in the crowd: a stunningly lifelike interpretation of a specific person she'd seen moments earlier, with sandy blonde curls and blue and green mottled eyes that matched Aimer's to a tee. The little girl in the photograph had aged to a young teenager, preciously awkward and lanky, as if her weight hadn't quite caught up to a recent growth spurt that had her quickly approaching her brother's stature. She wore a cream colored dress lined with lace and ribbon, different than the one in the photo, but of a similar class that made her utterly picture-perfect.

And so this clone, made in utterly ill taste, awaited in the crowd either for the victim of her prank to notice or an opportune moment to let the cat out of the bag. And, of course, she kept a close eye on the gimp.

Zack grinned as Ags ducked into the crowd, but his grin became a grimace once he remembered the pain in his shoulder, as well as the few glass shards that were embedded in his body. Even though his jacket took the brunt of the glass, he could feel his blood flowing out of the various cuts. The youth had managed to lean back a little to avoid losing his arm to his opponent’s sword. He had been cut, but it was nothing life threatening, save for perhaps blood loss. He coughed a bit and growled, turning his attention back to his two foes.

Aimer seemed to be concerned about Ags more than the battle, so much so that he had taken off in the direction she went. Perhaps he was trying to convince her to give up. Zack smiled at the thought of what Aimer’s good intentions would buy him. His eyes then shifted towards the unnamed crippled, the seemingly stronger of the two men.

“Looks like it’s just you and me then, pal.” Zack spit to the side, a show of disrespect for his foe. The gesture seemed to leave the man unphased, as he came at Zack now with a horizontal swipe from his katana. Unlike the last time, however, Zack jumped back, prepared for the move. He could hear the blade whistle as it tore through wind. That was more than enough for Zack to know that the power behind the swings were from no normal person.

“He called you Duffy,” Zack began to bounce on the heels of his feet, raising his fists in front of his face to prepare for whatever strike would come at him next. “Can I take that to mean Duffy Bracken? Former famous Tantalum Troupe leader, current Ixian Knight, and most importantly, consistent tournament loser? Ags was right; we have this in the bag!”

His taunts seemed to fall on deaf ears, as Zack could tell by the cripples expression that he was unaffected by the verbal jabs. It seemed as though going after Duffy personally was going to be a useless endeavor. Zack smiled as an idea made its way into his mind. He suddenly stopped his bouncing, spreading his arms wide as if he was trying to draw more attention to himself. His shoulder seared with pain from this motion. He could feel the wound throbbing, but the blood had stopped flowing, the cut dried and sticking to his clothes now.

“Say we do get disqualified Duffy, what then? Your partner is beyond useless. He couldn’t fight his way out of a coin purse if he had an adamantine box cutter. Then there’s the issue of one Miss Ruby Winchester. I hear tell you had a falling out with your troupe. Chance you may run into her in round two. Are you ready for a reunion?” All through his talk, Zack was powering up his hands with electricity. Duffy couldn’t see it, but if the fighter managed to lay a hand on the man, he would receive a very shocking surprise.

“Forgive the pun, but it seems that Caned and Able doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“That’s Mrs Winchester, to you,” Duffy snarled. His eyes shone. His hair, a wavy bob of chestnut hair much akin to a mop wavered as he lurched forwards. In days of yore, the motion would no doubt have overwhelmed his opponent, and his blade would have snuck between a rib and a collar bone without so much as a bat of an eyelid. Today, an upward thrust with the right hand twisting the blade upwards in suit would quite have to suffice.

The crowd wooed and aahed, the division between attention after Aimer and Ags’ departure seemingly short lived. All eyes were transfixed on the exchange of virility and virtue between the two off landers. When Zack emerged unscathed from the supposed swordsman’s strike once again, the sense of anticipation began to take physical form. Women twitched, men stepped from side to side, and the guards and noblemen abandoned their usual uptight morals. They bade for blood, a fervour pushed to greater heights by the racial tensions and political back stabbing the tournament caused on the island.

“Even better,” Zack clucked, “I’ll make her husband a bachelor!” Ducking into the opening Duffy caused in over extending his sword strike, the mage darted his hands, charged with the sky’s zeal itself, directly through the bard’s guard.

In that moment, two things happened. The first was a change of fortune for both men. The second was a surge of lightning into the unarmoured and feeble body of just one. Duffy’s eyes turned white, for just the briefest of moments, as the energy rocketed down Zack’s arms and into every last inch of his body. He felt pain, but it was short lived. The air left him, an exhalation of surprise as much as one of agony. He felt the floor give way. He felt his Katarhna fall from his fingertips. He felt his heart, what little of it remained, stop dead mid-beat.

When he opened his eyes next, he was some hundred or so feet immediately south of where he had been standing just moments before. He looked up at the darkening sky, its crimson aura and golden halo caressing his spinning senses with promises of sleep well before the midnight chime. He clenched both his fists, but found bereft of blade, bottle, and balm.

“What…” he stopped his feeble attempts to speak as he felt his throat tighten and contract. He watched his condemning breath, part smoke, part vapour spiral up into the night. “Lightning…” he continued, the flashback in his mind as clear and bright and shocking as Zack’s spell.

It took him only a brief moment to rise, conjure his cane, and lean reliantly onto its support. He stood, wearing little more than a plain white shirt ad brown pocketed trousers a short distance from his opponent. With chagrin, he turned his frown into a bitter sweet smile. With nausea reeling his body, and with agonising pangs of his injury jolting up his thigh into his back, the bard did all he could to remain focussed.

“I have had quite enough, now.” He said softly. He ran his tongue, dry and cracked, and in much need of a drink much stronger than water over his piercings. They gave him something to focus on that wasn’t a repugnant face or a fattened, hideous visage of the island’s cruel and twisted fashion. “I could toy with you all the night’s long hours. You could swipe at me with petty taunts and,” he coughed, “I dare say they’d get to me…eventually.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I heard you were weak,” Zack snarled. There was contempt in his voice that Duffy had once lived by. He smiled at the man, knowingly, but condescendingly too.

“I so did not want to do this now.” He looked around at the half-formed circle that often materialised about a spectacle. “I certainly did not want to do it here.” He picked up the Cane of Eraclaire, and leant on his left, and only one good leg. “Improvisation is a strong point, despite your many attestations.” He coughed again; a deeper rattle emerged from his lips.

“Does it matter where I beat you senseless?”

“My most radiant ladies,” Duffy proclaimed. His voice was loud and his accent was clear. “Good and erstwhile gentlemen, and lords, ladies, and vagabonds,” he waved a casual and flamboyant left hand across the left half of the circle. Curious eyes and shaking onlookers began to bite lips and tug at coattails. They had seldom seen a speech before. “My name is Duffy Bracken, Lord and Regent of the Brandybuck Troupe.” Zack raised an eyebrow.

“Wait a mi…”

“I am known by many names, and for many good and ill deeds in many countries. I am the Tantalum, in Scara Brae.” He began to turn slowly, “I am the Hero of the Western Weald in Old Corone,” he winced as he twisted his shin a little too far, and the bruised bone and throbbing muscles pulsed with a reminder he was less than defensible. “Here, in Lornius, I am but an outsider.” He set his sights back on Zack. His pupils were fiery, though the flames of passion, and not hatred were all that burnt there.

“Quit’ talking and fight, you waste of space!” Zack raised his hands in a defensive stance once again.

“What you have witnessed here today is a transgression against your traditions, and, might I add, against your honour. This good sir,” he gestured at Zack, lifting his shoulders and puffing out his chest as if to suggest indignation as he did so, “has broken one of the very fundamental tenets of the Lornius Challenge.” The crowd were, by now, slowly beginning to nibble out of Duffy’s hand. His sense of self-important and track record in previous engagements were forgotten. “I will ask you but once, will you let that stand?”

His voice took on a property quite unearthly. It did not seem like it was his own.

“Nay,” someone said with conviction, but without pitch. Duffy snapped about to look in the direction the voice had come from. Several more followed in a mumbled cacophony of half-acceptance and nervous encouragement.

Though Duffy had indeed fallen out with Ruby Winchester over the direction of the playhouse, and of the ways in which the bard had arranged their grand endeavour to Lornius, they were professionals. Professionals do not let personal qualms and misadventures get in the way of a polished, refined, and unrivalled performance. There was too much at stake to allow a petty minded man and a kleptomaniac undo his hard work. Things were happening he did not need to waste time explaining to the pawns in the political game that the tournament had become.

“I expected as such.” He smiled. This time, there was no passion in his eyes, or warmth in his tone, nor was there pretence. The method-acting faded away, and the oration became nothing more than pushing a rabid dog into a baying crowd of angry, bitter, and oppressed sheep. “Let it be said, that the people of Lornius did not allow their ways to be undone by outsiders!”

“Aye!” they agreed, their voice becoming an echo with weight behind it.

“Let it be remembered, for all of history to record, that today was the day justice was enacted for tradition and honour!” He thumped his free hand against his chest, and coughed again. Though he had intended to perform a patriotic display, Duffy inadvertently dislodged the gobbet of blood that had pooled in his oesophagus, and phlegm, unceremoniously. He folded forwards, nearly falling, and clutched at his chest. When he rose, he had a trickle of blood down one side of his mouth, and a red smear thick with disease and acrid black magic down the other. His collar was reddened, from where he wiped it away out of view.

“Show this good sir that the people of Lornius expect him to pay, in blood, for each drop spilled outside of the arena!”

Something strange happened at that moment. Duffy, instead of advancing along with the crowd, which became alive and seething and angry all at once, instead retreated. He limped, he slithered, and he turned. Though the curse which ran through every vein in his battered body had absorbed the lightning, and his acting skills had given him the advantage over both the crowd and Zack, it had given the darkness within a shadow to hide in. He felt it even now rising up from the wound, long black tendrils writhing in the abyss of his soul. He click-clacked his cane as he wavered, uneasy, and then vanished.

The sucking sound of air leaving a space quickly and the ribbons of blue light in his wake were all Zack Blaze would see of Duffy Bracken’s generosity and mercy as he made a dramatic getaway. When they met next, the Bladesinger would pull no punches, and hold no torch to the light of civility. He would almost certainly make the man pay for being a thorn in his side in what may yet prove to be Duffy Bracken's final days.

“Assuming of course,” he muttered as he pushed through to the opposite side of the advancing wall of bodies, “that he survives the night…” he coughed again, laughing in between every pained inhalation, and sped away with what little haste he had left to find Aimer. At the very least, the boy would learn something about all this commotion, other than how to be an unfalteringly kind man in unkind world.

She was frightened. Something about this battle was very emotional for her, because the second that Zack had taken that damage from the glass shards, I couldn’t help but notice that she fled into the crowd. Without another word to friend or foe alike, I went after her, concerned for her well being. That was, after all, what a true gentleman did.

The audience was now so engrossed with Duffy, who was busy making one of his bleeding heart speeches that they barely moved as I nudged them to the side. Person by person, I tried to make my way through the crowd to find Ags once more. After a few people had finally cleared a small path (they seemed to be getting closer to the actual fight, for some reason), I froze when I saw a person I had not expected to meet. At least, not just yet.

“A-Amara?� I was absolutely taken back at the sight of my sister. She had grown into a fine young woman. I thought for a moment that the young woman standing before me was not my sister, but some sort of illusion. After all, Amara should have been about thirteen, and this girl looked a little older. Did my parents drive her away, to do the stuff she never would have dreamed of doing otherwise? Did my folks wind up treating my baby sister like they treated me?

“A-Aimer?� Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid that raising it would get her in trouble, “Aimer, is that you?�

I dropped my cane, a beaming smile on my face as I ran towards the girl. Tears welled up in my eyes as I threw my arms around her. I could feel her own arms around me, embracing me with just as much love as I was showing her. I had missed her so much that I had forgotten all about Ags and the tournament, at least for a few brief moments. “Amara, it’s ….I mean I…�

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, my arms still around the girl. “We need to get you out of here.�

Duffy's speech was incredibly handy as it was just as drawn-out as it was dramatic, and while everyone concentrated on him, Ags had an opportunity to scout for found weapons. She pocketed a handful of forks and, to her delight, a steak knife that she nicked from some abandoned place settings, the disguised fey weaving through the tables and the distracted crowd to draw her position strategically closer to the building behind them.

Aimer found her a little more quickly than she hoped, but still, she elicited the desired reaction and hence was pleased with herself. "Amara" hugged him back, enjoying his cologne in a very creepy, unsisterly fashion, but thanks to the emotional distraction he didn't seem to notice, as he urgently insisted they split. She wasn't about to argue.

"Was that you fighting? Did you hurt someone?" she asked in a small voice, amping up a legendary guilt trip on her alleged big brother. "U-um… come on." She grabbed his hand, offered him a concerned but goofy little smile that said she wasn't quite sure what to make of this untimely reunion, and pulled him quickly towards the bar entrance. It wasn't far, and if they made it, she had this in the bag. Agnie pulled him insistently, glancing back over her shoulder once to reassure him just how concerned and upset his poor little sister really was.

If nothing stopped them, crossing the threshold of the bar wouldn't bring them onto the first floor of that building, but much higher up. Using her Door to Door ability, Agnie linked the entry to bring them to their space upstairs, and Aimer unwittingly stepped through the portal along with her. Misery Business was given identical quarters to the other teams: large, comfortable chambers with a balcony with a view that was simply to die for. It thrilled her to no end to give truth to this idiom.

As soon as they stepped onto the balcony, brisk wind tugging at their clothing and hair, "Amara" didn't give him time to register the change and immediately drew that steak knife from her pocket, digging it unceremoniously into the chest of the young man before her. If successful, the remainder of the borrowed silver would likely follow, with full intent to commit homicide by cutlery and dump the man off the edge where he could quite possibly bounce off the sloped rooftop and plummet like a fallen angel to the denizens of the ghetto hundreds of feet below. How romantic!

This process, however, was disturbed when a rather drunk fellow stumbled in through the portal on their heels, just close enough behind that he passed through before Ags instinctively closed it. She looked to the intruder, who was just sober enough to experience some level of amazement when he walked into a crime scene instead of the bar, and she punted him in the shin, sending him stumbling back out onto the porch.

Zack grinned as the crowd began to surround his person. Duffy sure knows how to get a crowd riled up, he thought as they inched closer, wielding everything from their fists to random items strewn about the area. The primitive actions of the townspeople caused Zack to formulate a plan rather quickly. About three feet from being decimated by commoners, Zack through his hands outwards in a flashy display. “Stop!� He yelled as loud as he could.

To hi amazement, they did.

“We aren’t here to listen to you,� a voice shouted out from somewhere in the crowd, “We want our city back!�

Zack interlaced his fingers with one another and stretched out his hands, popping the knuckles in each of his digits. “You know, I would expect more from a rather civilized town, “he started, “then to be swayed by a few eloquently placed words from a person who should be considered anything but. You people are aware he was using you, right?�

There were some awkward glances amongst the folks, before their conviction came back and they began to advance towards Zack once more. “You’re a monster!� came a voice that sounded as if it were fading away, like it belonged to someone trying to escape the audience, “You started this fight!�

Nods of agreement and shouts of ‘Aye’ once again surfaced amongst the townsfolk, to which Zack responded by spreading his arms to the heavens themselves. “Then by all means folks. Attack me, and I’ll show you what a true monster is.�

The crowd was reluctant at first, but one single brave soul, wielding a small dirk, came charging through the crowd at the fighter. This barbaric approach was just what Zack needed for his plan, so as his attacker came charging, the injured youth shouted at the top of his lungs. “MAKAI!� he screamed to the clouds, “TO ME!�

Something hit the ground with a hard thud, causing the land around the townsfolk to quake ever so slightly. A cloud of dust had formed around Zack and the single attacking villager, impairing the vision of his fellow man. A scream came from within the dust cloud, and the man who thought he would slay Zack Blaze came running out, stumbling over himself to get away. “A monster! A true monster!� He managed to fumble out of his mouth as the dust began to settle.

The knife had found its mark, slightly below the lung and embedded to the handle in flesh. Only the flesh was blue, and belonged to an eight foot tall, blue ogre. The beast growled as he pulled the blade from his flesh, tossing it harmlessly to the ground. Zack smiled, stepping out from behind his meat shield and in front of the audience.

“I would suggest getting the guards,� Zack said, putting his hands behind his back and trying his best to mask the pain in his shoulder, “See, none of you can stand up to Makai. It took four well trained warriors, myself included, to subdue him. Four well trained warriors, people who have not been pampered by living in a floating city all of their lives. Now he is mine to command. Sure, you guys have your share of crime.� Zack paused for a moment to contemplate his wording, sticking his head up towards the heaven as if he was merely speaking philosophy.

“But how many of your people have fought an actual ogre before?�

“Boo!� Makai shouted, and the crowd was sent running. People trampled over their kinsmen to get away from the horrific beast. Guards were being called for left and right, but Zack had no intention of staying around long enough to see how this turned out.

“Think you can get out of here Makai?�

“I’ll be fine,� he flashed his grin of jagged yellowish teeth, “As long as you don’t mind me cracking a few skulls to escape.�

“That’s fine,� Zack nodded to his large bodyguard, noticing the green liquid oozing out of his abdomen, “I’ll bandage that up later. Just worry about escaping. I will no longer be a priority for…well anybody right now.� Zack began to head back towards the hotel, ashamed he let Duffy escape but sadistically happy he instilled fear into the people of Lornius. Before he walked off, the youth paused for one more moment. “Oh, and Makai?�

“Yeah?�

“ ‘Boo’? Really? Work on some better dialogue.� He could hear the ogre laugh as he started to make his way back to the hotel, a brisk jog set for his pace as he passed several guards rushing towards the scene of the crime. Each step brought with it a small jolting pain in the man’s shoulder, but now he had an advantage. He had seen Duffy Bracken fight, knew the kind of strategies the man used.

And Zack was not impressed.

Duffy Bracken did not hate crowds. He did, however, hate being in them. The teething mass of bodies pressed against him as he swatted uptight seamstresses and scruffy looking bricklayers out of the way. His commotion seemed, from his unfocussed perspective, to have served its purpose, but it left him fighting an altogether more oppressive enemy – himself.

“Excuse me, coming through!” he chirped, stumbling haphazard as an overweight gentleman clad in fine hazelnut silk bumped into him. “Get out of the way, can’t you see I’m injured?” he snapped. When another passer-by keen to draw the blood of an outsider clipped him on his left, he lost his composure. At this rate, by the time he found Aimer, he would be a bloody mess without ever having to draw his blade or sing a song.

The bard stopped dead in his tracks when a distinctly grating voice penetrated the ambient noise of several hundred people converging. It was clearly Zack’s, projected by the echo between the tall buildings that hemmed in the mass of bodies. He did not wait to listen, assuming that if the mage was fighting back with words, then he had overestimated his ability to deal with the situation. He shook his head, knocking away the compassion he had for most living things, and left the happenstance firmly where it belonged – in the past. Misery Business had brought it upon them.

“Aimer Rogers, you good for nothing cad!” he shouted, his voice a clear cut straight-laced Coronian insult in a mumbling chorus of strange, thick, and almost aggressive Lornian dialect. Only the sound of his cane clicking against the stone came from the bard as he continued. He was not entirely sure why he found himself naturally weaving through the crowd to the bar they had started the afternoon in, but it seemed as good a place as any.

After all, when he was a child, Ruby Winchester had always told him to go back to a safe place, and wait. The safe place for a younger Duffy had been the Prima Vista, the troupe’s play house of yesteryear, long before he had to grow up and deal with people as vile as those he was surrounded by. He stepped up onto the canopied veranda to the left of the main entrance, flustered, sweating, and distraught. The sky was by now quite dark, it’s mid-morning resplendence long dead, its evening idyll well and truly spent.

“Oh bollocks,” he snapped.

He had been so busy trying to guide the hands of fate towards his agenda, and of course, teaching Aimer the finer points of acquisitioning one’s goods from thieves, he had forgotten to look after his own personal effects. He felt his waist, and closed his eyes with a long, drawn out sigh when he realised how stupid he had been. He clicked a finger and fore thumb, and hummed a tune that vibrated with the stars.

Silence filled the space, drowning out all the commotion and hubbub of the city.

“I’m sorry…” he said. When he opened his eyes again his Katarhna, a blade worth more to him than any life, was resting on the nearest table. Its blade untarnished by Zack’s slithering dexterity, or his jawbone, for that matter, and its hilt perfectly trimmed with black and gold ribbon. He limped towards it and rested a palm on its edge. “I need to learn to not leave old friends behind when they need me most.” His voice took on a sombre quality that mingled dramatically with the light of the moon as it danced over the canopy. He picked up the blade, and slid it into his belt on his left him. It’s weight, unnaturally heavy for a blade that swung so lightly balanced his crooked stance out somewhat as he made for the main entrance inside.

No sooner than he came to the handle, something felt...odd. He pressed his fingers against the steel, and instantly felt dizzy. He stepped back, set his cane down hard on the decking, and cocked his head to one side. He ran his hand over his chin inquisitively. He recognised the sensation in his stomach, and the sudden cessation of pain in any part of his body. The curse that kept his shin shattered as though the fall that caused it had just happened also afforded him remarkable resilience against his natural foe - magic. Something was almost definitely magical about this door.

"One mage, and a witch," he said abruptly. He was starting to dislike the obtuse, cackling woman more and more. He shook his head, decided against being foolish enough to open the door, and made his way around the side of the building to the veranda's double doored summer entrance.

He slipped into the bar quietly, unassuming and devoid of any particular features that would have otherwise drawn every gaze in the smoky pool quarter. Given the lavish nature of the establishment, it surprised Duffy to see such a murky array of patrons. There were elves, dwarves, and orcs mingling around the green felt plinths to a sport he had never, in five centuries, been quite able to understand. He wove through them, muttering pleases and thank you to avoid conflict, and came to a short, sharp, and sudden stop halfway along the bar.

“I should not leave new friends behind, either,” the bard said flatly. He watched the front door. Though several people entered, which he could see through the window, none ever came inside. This puzzled Duffy greatly, who had to rub his eyes just to check he wasn't hallucinating. Someone quite literally stumbled out backwards onto the porch, tripped and fell down the stairs, and then walked away disgruntled. The inn appeared to be defending itself.

“Would some Thayne or another tell me what the fuck is going on…?” he pleaded, his irritation sneaking through into his words like a narrator's emphasis. All his sense of self importance and his oratory skill were thrown firmly out of the tavern’s window, kicking and screaming like an unwelcome guest. He quickened his pace despite the lash of pain up his side that struck with every step. With the Katarhna in his left hand, and his cane in his right, Duffy stopped acting like a hero, and started being one. With a beading brow of sweat and worry he made his way up the mahogany veneer of the stairway in hot pursuit.

My eyes shifted downward to the piece of metal now sticking out of the center of my chest, ‘Amara’s’ hand still holding the handle. As she pulled the knife out, I reached down towards the hole, feeling at it and then pulling my hand back to see the result. My own blood poured down each of my fingers, dripping softly onto the floor. I stumbled backwards while looking at the person I thought to be my sister. Agnie was apparently a master of deceit, and I had fallen for her ruse hook, line, and sinker.

I stumbled backwards, cursing the fates as well as my own bad luck. Already I had let down my partner in this tournament, and the event had yet to even officially begin. I was so engrossed in my own failings that the balcony overlooking the sky didn’t register with me even when my legs hit the fine redwood railing. My eyes shifted from Ags, to my blood soaked hand and back. I felt my body getting dizzy; the blood was leaving me at an exuberant rate. Still, I tried to put up my fists, an attempt to redeem my earlier carelessness.

It wasn’t until Duffy entered the room that my consciousness and body gave way and fell backwards, straight off the balcony.

The plan worked and as Aimer grasped at his chest, the fey smiled at him, never dropping the guise of his dear sister's face. She was immensely proud of whatever trauma this was causing; the Challenge may have ultimately been nothing but a game, something she would largely forget in a matter of weeks or months, but he would always remember this.

The gimp burst into Misery Business' chambers at last minute and Ags spectated as he saw his partner fall off the balcony, then limped at full speed to follow. This surprised her –– humans were a little stupid, throwing themselves around for each other all the time –– but endeared her, and she decided, as she peeked over the edge of the railing to watch the beginning of their hopefully-lethal plummet, that if they were to ever meet again, she might buy them a drink.

Unfortunately for Zack, she was significantly less invested in him than the other teams seemed to be with each other. The thought to go check on him outside and make sure Duffy hadn't skewered him and he wasn't bleeding out on the pavement didn't even cross her mind. Instead, feeling utterly satisfied and accomplished, her mind quickly turned to reward as she remembered the elegant, spacious bath she'd spied earlier upon arrival.

Agnie walked across the room, shedding the glamour as she did so, and the inhumanly radiant gold returned to her hair and eyes as she became herself again. Along with that went her clothes, left carelessly in a trail to the ice bucket where she grabbed a bottle of champagne, and she disappeared into the spa where she was determined to victory-soak until she was nothing but a mushy, fairy-shaped prune.

Even Duffy Bracken was not quite sure how he crossed the room so quickly. After months of constant remorse, pain, and sorrow, he suddenly felt exonerated. He felt, though he was now plummeting, quite alive.

“Oh,” he said.

Something had driven him to heroism he did not know he still possessed. Something had driven him to sing in his heart, and not his lungs. Something had driven him to cast aside his cane in a maelstrom of pulse light, and draw instead a dagger into his grip. The vernal vault sang malice in the bedroom long after he had stepped up onto the balcony’s solitary chair, and tumbled headfirst into the midnight chill.

“Oh bugger.” His accent abandoned all notion of class, and abruptly turned into a plucky Scara Brae twang that would have been hard for anyone but the street urchins of his homeland isle to comprehend.

His curse accompanied a cry of pain as he lashed his blade over his shoulder. With sickening accuracy, it struck the back of his shirt with little in the way of grace. It cut through cloth, skin, and sinew with ease. It came unceremoniously to a standstill as his leap reached its apex.

Through alms and arias, Duffy felt the power of his companion’s overwhelm him. First, he heard Ruby’s sultry voice rattle in his eardrums. He felt warm, heated, and complete beneath her glare.

“For friends I will burn…” he whispered. Time seemed to slow as his head began to err forwards, and his blade began to drag back in the windfall of his descent.

Secondly he felt the ancient blood magic of Lao Sheng stir in his gullet. It made his oesophagus taste like blood, and his breath smell like abrupt decay. With all the strength he could muster, Duffy tensed so that the power rose up from his stomach into his shoulder. He instantly felt the pain of self-sacrifice, and arched his back in a cry of pain as the spell came to fruition.

“For friends I will fly on wings anew!” he roared, no longer shocked, scared, and alone at the moment of his imminent death. The cackle of Ags left his mind, replaced instead with a choral song that funeral pyres blazed to, and kings and queens were remembered by.

The third and final borrowing of power came in the form of his own survival instinct. Long ago, he had been a lithe little street urchin, a thief by another name, and a true romantic. He had done everything in his power in those formative years to make people like him. He had bent, quite literally backwards, in dark alleyways and royal courts to appease the masses. Though the masses were now called the Orlouge clan, and his royal courtship was now with Aimer and not a prince fancy and free, Duffy leant into his tumble and committed himself to his act.

A bloodied wing sprouted from the wound on his shoulder without ceremony.

“For friends, I will defy death…” he screamed, a choral undertone carrying his voice out across the languishing cityscape. Slate roves rattled, moonlit windows paved, and nosey neighbours twitched behind curtains, uncertain wherever or not looking out into the dark would spell an untimely end for their espionage career.

He curved with a rush of blood to the head that made him dizzy and nauseous, stretched out his arms, disbanded his blade, and took Aimer into his confidence. The smell of blood overwhelmed the bard as he tried to see through flailing, pleated, well-tailored cloth to the street below. He crashed, legs flailing, arms weakening, and ran for several steps before he, and Aimer, both collapsed in a whirlwind of arms, legs, and carnal sprays of thick red blood.

Though no-one saw them land, the immensity of the air felt as if a thousand spying eyes were pressing down from the heavens. Still begrudgingly alive, and as yet, undefeated, Duffy Bracken lay prone on his back, with a flamboyant, and heart warmed man strewn across him unceremoniously. He glared, vision blurred, body wrecked, directly up at the balcony.

For just a brief moment, he could have sworn he saw a moose staring down at him, wink, and then vanish inside.

“I fucking hate heights…” he spat, blood thick on his tongue, sweat lathered over every inch of his skin, and his heart pounding. The bloodied wing was no more than a red tattoo on the cobblestones and discarded refuse, a remnant of the providence of Akashima, and a testament to the lengths that Caned But Able would go to show people the heart of the matter.

Slowly but surely, the sounds of clapping came closer and closer to the forms of Duffy and Aimer. A familiar shadow was casted over the two warriors around the time the former actor spit up some of his blood.

“That was pretty impressive,” came the voice of Zack Blaze, his words dripping with sarcasm, “You managed to not only survive, but save your team mate from breaking his neck. The only thing is…” He brought his foot into the ribs of Duffy, a blow delivered with such force that it sent the man rolling a good three feet. Zack approached the Ixian Knight, cracking his knuckles as he approached his target, throwing the tip of his shoe back into the side of the man. “You’re pretty easy pickings now.”

Zack turned around, facing the still body of Aimer. He was fully aware that he could deliver a more painful shot to Duffy emotionally than he ever could physically. After all, Duffy Bracken was a man who had put his body through torture time and time again to accomplish his goals. It wasn’t until people started going after the actor’s friends and family that the cripple would show his true strength, and by then it was typically too late.

Another vicious kick was delivered, this time to Aimer rather than his partner. Several more times Zack planted his feet into the side of the young man, his grin growing wider and wider. He could hear the ribs crack as he used all of his force to make one final hit upon the man’s body. Aimer stood lifeless through it all, until the final blow caused the ladies man’s body to roll over from the power of the blow. Zack stopped his assault, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Aimer’s bloodied hair.

“Oh, what a wasted effort,” Zack shrugged his shoulders and sighed, making sure his voice was loud enough for Duffy to hear, “looks like he cracked his skull on the roof, or something. Your friend was dead before I even got here Bracken. Ah well.” Zack stomped on the back of the corpse, making sure the impact was loud enough for his partner to hear.

“Don’t worry though,” Zack turned around and kneeled down, knowing full well to keep his distance from the warrior, just in case, “You’ll be joining him sure enough. After all, we can’t get disqualified if you guys don’t even make it to the match…”

Duffy’s still lingering soul remained bridling and effervescent, given life by the torment endured by his companion. Though he had known Aimer for mere days, instead of the lifetime he had come to know offers given the same respect, he hated Zack Blaze now for each and every kick. His own ribs felt pain, but he endured it. His shoulder was still bleeding, but he endured it. His heart was still pounding, each thud of the muscle in his chest cavity resounding in the dim light of the alleyway. If it had been a tom drum, it would have been deafening.

Craning his neck just enough to straighten his windpipe, Duffy did what came natural to most bards. He began to lament, and to record, the passage of time before his teary eyes. With the same inhalation, he let the pain in his shin, his thighs, and his spine become inconsequential. They were, after all, simply a muse to inspire a lacklustre melody to become something so much more…vibrant.

Flames formed about the bard’s fingertips, which swiftly discarded blade and care alike. He heaved Aimer’s corpse from his own, uncaring now if the boy truly was dead, or merely unconscious and drifting into and out of whatever ‘beyond’ mortals truly experienced. He felt guilty for doing so, as bones and sinew were no doubt broken further still by his act.

“Sacrament of friendship true, gift me light and love anew,” his knee hit the cobbles, bloodied by his own injuries and the contact with Aimer’s life-force, and pushed him upright into a stoop, “form new bonds twixt friend and foe.” The end stops signified a break between song and instrumental, which exploded into the alleyway from nowhere. It was a sonata of drums and sitar, Fallien-tubular bells, and a notion, just on the cusp of being prominent, of true craftsmanship in every note.

“Is this a funeral song?” Zack smirked.

Duffy shook his head as he straightened his back. It clicked unceremoniously, and he dropped his weight onto his uninjured leg. Through the dark fabric of his trousers, blood was flowing much more freely than he might have liked. The use of such heavy power was feeding his curse, gifting it a new lease of malefic that would take days to subside. He doubted he would make it to the arena regardless of the outcome of their encounter.

“I am lost in the moment,” he clapped.

“I am found in the beat,” he clapped.

“I am torn down by anger, and left in defeat. I am trying to love and to hate you alike, but I’m only able to numb my sense,” he held out both hands, palms facing his enemy, and let the fire gathered there increase. The dancing tongues were orange and amber and they quickly began to cover his forearms and shoulders. The sonata bounced back and forth from wall to wall, and went up with an echo into the chill night sky. Ravens and rooks scattered from bat riddled belfry, and the crowd, still searching for Zack in the streets beyond, began to hear just a glimpse of the legacy Zack so cruelly spoke of.

“How does it feel, to treat me like you do, when you've laid, laid your hands upon me, and told me who you are?” he clapped a final time, which caused the fire to ignite into a maelstrom of heat and healing that engulfed every inch of his battered body. The clothes, mere fabric beneath the gaze of the gods were stripped from his flesh. Embers and ash drifted up on magical thermals.

“I thought I was mistaken, I thought I heard your words, tell me how do I feel, tell me now how do I feel?” as the song began to reach its zenith, the firefly lights of Duffy’s attire began to descend down over the alleyway, a strange yet gentle sight alongside such a potent display of anger. The fire formed a sphere around the bard, and although his hair flickered as if stricken by a hurricane, and his piercings and rings remained intact, there was nothing left of injury or fashion alike.

“Those who came before me, lived through their vocations, from the past until completion, they will turn away no more.” The song died, suddenly, dramatically, and potently. Though the fire lingered, and the dagger wound was seared shut by the heat, no temperature change registered on anyone else bar Duffy. It was an illusion he would use to his advantage, as he slowly stepped over Aimer, who was half naked on his left side and perhaps a little less dead than he had been, and advanced towards Zack Blaze with a true blaze devouring suns in his eyes.

He conjured the Katarhna into his left hand with a flash of white ribbons and light that were drowned out by the lingering flame, levelled its bladed edge at his opponent, and limped with a glare that could have shattered rock.

“The only thing I will be joining Aimer in is a victory hookah, a stiff drink, and an elaborate recount of Misery Business became so irrevocably the first casualty in the Rebellion…” his glare faded, and then he charged, sword raised, and fully naked form borne to the world.

Quote:

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Lyrics courtesy of New Order.

Second use of Union of Ages in the form of Ruby Winchester's Song of Phoenix Fire.

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For once in his life, Zack Blaze was at a loss for words. The fact that he was now staring down a naked Duffy Bracken, as well as a half-naked, maybe-unconscious Aimer, left the fighter stunned to say the least. The flames had caused him to move backwards, both in awe and fear of Duffy’s wrath. The pause while the warrior went through his transformation made Zack realize just how much his shoulder and arms were hurting again. The kicking had reopened the wound on his shoulder, previously clotted up by blood, and now he could feel the jolting pain with each motion of his arm.

“Huh,” Zack finally spoke as Duffy finished speaking, advancing on the youth with his sword, “Guess you also like to fight evil by moon light, and win love by day light. You’re a man who never runs from a real fight, I applaud you Duffy Bracken!” Zack’s tone carried with it a jovial tune, almost as if he was mocking his opponent and his naked transformation that Zack was fairly certain was not quite complete. Why else would he be naked?

Duffy charged, speaking of Misery Business’ defeat. Zack responded by stepping to the side, raising his arms out wide. Someone as noble as Duffy Bracken would probably feel horrible attacking a man who just stood there not defending himself. Zack winced as he felt the blade pierce through his same injured shoulder, waves of blood pouring out of the exit wound. Zack screamed, using his good arm to reach down, grabbing Duffy by his most sensitive organ.

“Game over…” Zack spoke, his grin allowing blood spittle to trail out of the corner of his mouth. He gripped Duffy’s member hard, trying to also touch the testicles as well; the more area his hand could cover the better. Zack took in a deep breath and pulled himself off of the sword that was impaling him, instantly igniting his electric attack the second his body was off of the blade. Zack knew full well that this attack had only the slimmest margin of killing the bard; the street fighter figured the singer would be in too much pain to continue on.

Zack fell to his knees, his teeth gritted in silent protest at his opponent. He may have not been the physically stronger of the two, but in his mind, he had won the war against Duffy’s fragile emotional state.

Duffy’s eyes sparked with hope for only a brief moment before the light was snuffed out. He had become all too consumed by his enemy’s bitter enmity, and let that man’s poison inflict him with a virile sense of self-importance. As he retreated, his blade hewn from the rock of ignorance of Zack’s flesh, he saw an all too familiar sign erupt from the mage’s fingertips.

“Not again,” he roared, stepping to one side with a spiral that belied his injuries. Something primal, deep down and survivalist turned him through a rotation of a Coronian waltz. Duffy Bracken was tired of parlour tricks.

The lightning blast struck thin air, but its tendrils, cracking edifices of a power the bard would never understand, lashed out and struck him dead centre of his left-hand side. He felt them clash against the abyssal remnants of his nemesis’ curse and fight a war beneath his skin. The dark sky overhead, for just a moment, seemed as clear as day. There would have been a scream, had he not trundled backwards eschew, and fallen clean through the wall.

In the limelight of his purposed victory, Zack Blaze would have seen only ribbons of light. The lightning did its work, by all means, but it also gave Duffy the zeal to draw on the union he shared with his troupe one last and very crucial time. The cracked stone, crumbling under the weight of the amply bosomed occupants and Lornian whores that frequented the inn kicked up dust with undignified breaks. When the lights stopped dancing, they faded from few, returning to their mundane state without a notion of what had just happened.

When Duffy opened his eyes a few precious moments later, he was looking up at the beams in the roof of the tavern’s cellar. Prone flat on his back, and still somehow alive, the sensation in his bones took a good minute or two to fade away into the back of his mind. He tried to move, but instantly regretted it.

“I’m getting too fuckin’ old for this,” he chirped, a crackle in his voice that signified damage to his lungs, as well as his already tarnished pride. The drop through the floorboards in the flash of power that was Arden Janelle’s Akashiman magic had been uncaring about his already bruised limbs, and alongside his indignity, there was a pool of blood forming about his shoulder, and a river of sorrow welling in his stomach.

It was then that he noticed the piles of barrels, oak pallets laden with liquor all round him. His eyes, for the first time that evening, widened to the size of dinner plates. He made to move, suddenly inspired, and stands upright. Even though Misery Business had conducted its affairs well enough, Duffy’s plan had been set in motion.

“All across Lornius, Mr Blaze, people are not talking about what you did here tonight…” he hobbled to the small verger’s table at the centre of the room. He scanned the ledger, picked up a half full glass, and drained it with a smack of his parched, bloodied lips that could have woken a sleeping giant. “They are, however, talking about me…” He smiled.

Though Duffy Bracken would not remember much of tomorrow, the people of Lornius would remember it for an age…

Revolution, after all, always began with a stiff drunk, balls to the wind, and a fall from grace.

Quote:

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Third use of Union of Ages.

Concluding post.

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Zack’s eyes followed Duffy as he made his way over to the barrels of liquor. The bard spouted some nonsense about who the people would remember this day. This caused Zack to laugh, making the boy cough out more blood in the process. “Give me a damn break.”

“Excuse me?” Duffy paused for a minute and looked at the youth, a little stunned by the vulgarity of his opponent.

“You heard me Bracken,” Zack got onto his feet, his knees wobbling as he began to walk off. “You know why Max Dirks is so well known no matter where you go in Althanas? It wasn’t because the people remembered him,” Zack coughed violently again, more splatters of blood hitting the ground. “It isn’t because he made some flowery speech, or because he took the moral high ground against his opponent. It’s because he won his fights.”

“Sei Orlouge became a household name when he defeated Dirks. The only reason people know the name Edmund Lorisac is because he and Kylin Rouge won the Lornius Corporate Championship. See Bracken, history isn’t written by the guys who make the biggest scene. It’s written by the winners.” One of Zack knees gave out, forcing him to kneel as if he was bowing to a king. “Only the strong survive, and the losers resign themselves to song and drink. Way I see it; you might as well be giving up right now, which is fine by me. We’ve seen which of us is stronger.”

Zack didn’t even give the actor the courtesy of looking at him as he spoke, instead rising back to his feet and stumbling into the hotel. The guards would arrive soon, but they had no authority to go into tournament competitors rooms without a warrant. Aimer was for all intents and purposes dead, Duffy was drinking his loss away, and Zack's partner, as well as Zack himself, were still alive. The guards would probably assume Bracken was the one who brutally beat the man lying outside, while Zack would be getting stitched back up in his room.

Each step upwards sent another jolt of pain through the boy’s body. He was unsure if he would be able to continue on, but each step made him a little more confident. He had, after all, just taken the great Duffy Bracken off of his high horse. Zack grinned as he made it into his room, the smell of lavender filling the room as he stumbled into the bathroom.

Ags was in the tub already, her naked body hidden from view by bubbles. Zack grinned a little as his partner casually looked up at him. “Took you long enough,” she said before moving her eyes back into the tub water.

“You have two choices right now, Ags,” Zack coughed once more, covering his mouth this time in the presence of his royal partner. “You can either contact Misery Business and get somebody in here to heal me up…”

“Or?” Ags lifted one of her legs, watching as the bubbles trailed down her shin and back into the water.

Zack grinned, a trail of blood dripping from his chin and into his open palm. “Or you can move over and share that bath…”

Misery Business vs. Caned But Able

Misery Business

Story – 6/10

Misery Business worked harder to make the concept work, and used it to their advantage. Further the attempts at using other characters stories was particularly inspired, in trying to bring out the character a bit more and make this battle seem more involved than most tournament battles get. They however fail in the front of Ags disappearing, I understand with Aimer’s “death” she had little to do and from a character perspective she had no reason to stick her neck out for Zack. The problem is that as a team tournament the trope of “not my friend not my problem” is an easy trap to fall into.

Pacing - 5/10

This is where the “not my problem” syndrome hurt you. Pacing took a huge hit as I had to go back repeatedly to look at what was going on, especially with the door trick. A judge should not have to look at a character sheet to understand your actions. This hurt the pacing as I had to reread sections and it slowed down the story.

Setting – 4/10

Setting took a hit for you guys as the reactions of the people around you suffered greatly. I had no sense you were fighting in anything but an empty barroom. A setting is a living breathing thing, and other than the occasional use of setting for actions, I didn’t get the feeling the room was full. This hurt both teams but yours took the harder hit.

Communication – 5/10

The dialogue was rather, cliché. The biggest problem being Zack’s dialogue was very heavily dictated as a stereotypical disdain that comes from fighters. Agnes didn’t have enough time for me to get a feeling one way or another about her. I got a sense of fae mischief, and while that is her character in a sense, I couldn’t tell how in character it really is.

Action – 5/10

The confusing actions hurt you again in this category. Practicing the descriptions for your actions will help with this situation and prevent repeat offenses. Zacks actions were fluid and smooth, giving you a higher score.

Persona – 4/10

Personality was lacking, I didn’t get any feeling for the characters beyond the obvious.

Mechanics – 5/10

A few mistakes from Zack hurt the modest efforts by Agnes to bring this score up. Big offenders were wrong words that were still words and therefore Word wouldn’t correct them that cropped up in Zack’s posts.

Technique – 5/10

Other than the usual literary devices I saw nothing that gripped me and made me get sucked into the reading. This is a problem as you guys will need to step it up. Your job is to use technique to grip the reader and failure to do so will result in lowered scores in this area.

Clarity – 4/10

Again the confusing actions hurt you. See Action and Story to see ways to clear this problem up.

Wildcard – 5/10

1 point deduction for a one day penalty, Aimer posted 1/21/13 at 4:45 pm followed by Ags at 1/23/13 at 9:53 am.

Total – 48/100


Caned but Able

Story – 6/10

Stronger story, with the hunting of a wallet and all the woes that come with it, but with no unity in the thread it hurt your overall score.

Pacing – 4/10

Aimer’s inability to get a cohesive post longer than a paragraph or two hurt you, chopping up the pacing.

Setting – 5/10

Good effort by Duffy to remind us all we’re fighting in a crowded tavern, but unfortunately Aimer’s lack of use or definition fo the setting surrounding him hurt the most.

Communication – 6/10

Caned but Able gave me more realistic and antural dialogue, the problem was that Aimer again brings you guys down. It was obvious the writer’s focus wasn’t able to help this character as much as it had the other.

Action – 3/10

Aimer’s lack of activity in the later part of the thread, followed by filler posts to keep busy hurt you guys, a lot.

Persona – 4/10

Aimer’s first person perspective should have given me a better insight into his character than it did the unfortunate side effect of not being able to mesh the character into the story well enough.

Mechanics – 6/10

Better quality all around. It seems that Since the writing on Aimer wasn’t as prolific it didn’t have as many flaws.

Technique – 4/10

Technique suffers for the simple fact that the weird use of “Katarhna” threw me off majorly. This seems the only word that could feasibly be accented in your words Duffy. This isn’t even British vs. American language it literally jarred me out of the thread to read it. If this is supposed to be a unique weapon, then that fact went right over my head as you didn’t show me it was a unique weapon type. Much like I told Misery Business, I should not have to read your character sheet to understand what’s going on in a thread. Add in Aimer’s bare bones writing and your score was significantly lowered.

Clarity – 5/10

Thread was clear, just the occasional hiccup from use of odd phrasing or words hurt it.

Wild Card – 4

Total: 47/100

Misery Business Wins!

Zack Blaze receives 3000 EXP and 67 GP
Ags receives 3000 EXP and 48 GP
Duffy Brandybuck receives 900 EXP and 75 GP
Aimer receives 900 EXP and 47 GP

Experience and gold added.