This battle ends in two weeks. Good luck to both competitors.
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This battle ends in two weeks. Good luck to both competitors.
In all truth, Rheawien didn’t give a damn about Sine Nomine.
From what she could gather about the group she was currently representing, they were rebels out for some nonspecific revenge against the world, a motley bunch with delusions of anarchy or new world order or some other bosh like that. Their mission was bound to fail one way or the other, she knew. Leading a group of nihilists was pretty much like trying to take a rabid dog out for a stroll; there could seldom be any real control over them and it was only a matter of time before they bit the hand that led them. And even if they somehow succeeded in preventing that, they were setting themselves up against the governing bodies of the Althanas realms, which was a futile cause. There would always be governments and chances were that they would always have more power than a bunch of anarchists.
Then why was she here, submitting her sword to this ludicrous idea? Rheawien’s head was wrapped around that question as she stood on the roof of the Radasanth Library, letting her eyes wander over the city basked in the dying rays of sunlight. It wasn’t the money. She had plenty of it, and even if that wasn’t the case, there were more profitable missions to undertake then fighting in some ridiculous clan war. No, the reason was even more mundane then currency, even primal in its nature, and it was directly connected to the scrap of paper that was secured between the soft flesh of Rhea’s breast and the crimson Lightbane armor that covered it. On it was a picture of someone the half-elf knew only as the Maiden, and the only thing that Rheawien knew about this woman was that she was supposed to be serving under her. And that was all it took.
Even now, as she stood with her shoulder leant on one of the four corner towers of the Library, Rheawien felt chagrined and belittled. Was she really so cheap? All it took was a picture, a sexual innuendo and a slightest of possibilities of being with this woman, and her walls of frigidity and emotional hardness came tumbling down. Was she truly no more than a bitch in heat, ready to rub against just about anybody just so she could satisfy her perverted lust? Her fingers slipped past the hem of her armor’s padding in search of an answer. The Maiden looked down on her from that picture just like the last time, making her feel inferior just like the last time, making her hate and love herself just like the last time. More and more it became clear to Rhea that the answer to her question was ‘yes’.
Sighing in surrender, the white-haired woman returned the picture back in the confines of her armor before she reset her eyes on her surroundings. Perched on the very edge of the flat roof, Rheawien had a clear view of the Government District of Radasanth. The streets weren’t crowded here, not with meandering folk, not with peddling merchants and certainly not with litter. Here ladies and gents ambled down the smooth cobbles, painted orange by the failing sun. That same sun enflamed the sky in the west, adding colors of purple and red and orange to the regular azure. And that same sun made the spherical dome behind Rhea’s back come to life. The shards of colored glass took in the power of the last rays only for a fraction of a second before they reflected it on the world around them in a myriad of mixing colors. There jagged shards of light fell on each of the four towers differently, forming lucid patterns of a maddened abstract painter. It was a place of calmness as all libraries were supposed to be, spreading an aura of stiffening silence even out in the streets.
It was here that Rheawien awaited her opponent. She didn’t know who it was; she hadn’t even bothered to check which group they represented. All that mattered was that victory led her one step closer to the woman in the picture. And that was a thought inspired the half-elf just as much as it demeaned her.
The last time Monica had been in a library, it had been under very similar circumstances to what was happening now. Mountains of bookshelves organized in the way only librarians seem to understand were the only obstacles between the catgirl and her opponent. There was one problem, though. One problem that the nice lady at the front desk neglected to mention. “In the back near the reference section” was about as helpful to someone who had never been to the reference section as saying “It’s over there, by Acapulco.” So, in violation of every unspoken rule concerning libraries, or perhaps the one where you don’t speak, Monica opened her mouth.
“Heeeeeelp! I’m loooooooooost!”
The silence of study turned into the quiet of a crypt. A few pages rustled off in the distance, the sounds barely caught by large grey ears set atop her head that even now hesitated to swivel for fear of rustling her hair too loud. That, too, rapidly turned to silence broken only by the rhythmic clicking of heels on wood. The librarian’s step was carefully measured to draw out the terror welling up within Monica now until the fossil crept around the corner with skin pulled just too tight to be attractive.
“Young lady, if you absolutely must make such a cacophony, then do it elsewhere.” It was the quietest berating Monica had ever been given, but every whispered syllable was a dagger into her psyche. “The stairway to the roof is this way. Why you would need to go up there, the heavens only know, but the order was verified and I must grudgingly comply. Now, follow me.”
Halfway through opening her mouth to whisper thanks, knives lacerated her from head to toe until she clamped down the partially-formed words. And thus Monica vowed never again to enter a library. If all the librarians across the land were like this and could cause illusions of death without magic just by looking at her, she had better places to be.
It was a rather plain door hidden by fifteen rows of shelves and millions of books, but still it was there. A carving of a figure walking up a flight of stairs hung at her eye level, only slightly off-balance thanks to the last person to traverse the stairwell. An unspoken exchange was made between oppressor and slave before the feline woman carefully took each step one at a time. Who knew what would happen if she made too much noise after that sort of treatment?
It was an easy climb at her rather slow pace until the thick door marked “Roof Access” finally came into view untold stories later. Twisting the handle that grudgingly released the latch, gold-tinged silver hair was the first thing to come into view on the rooftop. Technically her ears were first, but the setting sun painted her more reflective strands brighter than usual. Slowly following suit, a rather new denim jacket and leather shirt crept into the prismatic light. A dark grey tail swished slowly behind her as she finally finished recovering from the mental assault earlier.
There was someone else on the rooftop, as expected. White hair with elven ears and a multitude of weapons that the catgirl didn’t even want to think about trying to name. Just from looking at her opponent, Monica swallowed a big gulp of fear. Her summons from House Sora hadn’t said anything about fighting someone this strong. Consciously adjusting the long gloves that covered the majority of her forearm just shy of her elbow managed to bring some of that fear down to a more tolerable level, but none of the false confidence she built up while climbing the stairs managed to survive the newest onslaught.
Judging from the number and variety of her opponent’s blades, the catgirl was going to need any surprises she could get. The jacket was going to stay on until it hindered her movement. It served to hide the steel plates on the back side of her gloves for the moment, though the first time she blocked with an “unarmored” arm, the trick would be up.
“H… hello? You must be… Rhe-a-wi-en?” Reading her opponent’s name from the summons paper was hardly professional, but the syllables were arranged in such a difficult fashion. If her opponent’s name had been written in Feline (which was near-impossible thanks to the nature of the language) or Akashiman, she would have had no trouble. Tradespeak, however, was a problem at times like this. Names were never her strong point to begin with.
The door that allowed access to the roof opened almost without sound, its hinges obviously well oiled in order not to disturb any scholars down below, but in the stillness of the dusk even that was enough to alert Rheawien of another presence. She turned slowly, almost lazily to behold the entrant, her hands static on the sinful curve of the hips outlined by her leather pants. She wasn’t alarmed by another’s presence; there was a safe distance between her and the tower from which her opponent emerged, and even if that wasn’t the case, the half-elf possessed uncanny speed which allowed her to move out of the way of pretty much anything people threw at her nowadays. Such capability bestowed upon her an air of cocky confidence, the kind that made her look dominating despite the circumstances.
There was a peculiar girl looking back at her. With perky little ears poking through the silver locks of her flowing hair and a jerky tail bringing up her rear, her reluctant foe looked like something that happened when a man copulated with an animal. Of course, that probably wasn’t the case. Rheawien had been around the Althanas’ block a couple of times by now; she knew that these kind of creatures were not creatures at all, but rather just a different kind of species that just happened to carry some of the bestial traits (feline in this case) in their gene pool. But still, the ears, the tail, the cautious placidity of her voice, it all made the lass look genuinely harmless, even cute. On another day, Rhea would even allow a thought of ruffling up the kitty’s hair and planting a wet one on her lips. But today was a bad day, a day of self-awareness that brought despicable thoughts to Rhea, and it put the bitch in a mood appropriate for her nature.
“Indeed. But I have no yarn for you, kitty. So shoo!” she condescended, gesturing the cat-girl away with her hand as if she was no more than a street tom meowing under her window, asking for food and attention. Such abasing was bound to put the tailed lass in a foul mood, but Rheawien didn’t care. In fact, she welcomed such a development, instigated it with words and actions. She wanted a good fight. There was far too much anger and hatred – Towards herself? The Maiden? The world? She couldn’t tell – pent up in her and she needed a release valve. And there was nothing quite as liberating as a good fight.
“You choose to stay, puss? Must I roll some newspapers to chase you away?” the assertive half-elf kept up with the insults in a patronizing tone, walking forward with legs of a vixen and authority of a weathered warrior. The sun, positioned low and directly behind her, cast an almost ominous shadow over her face and the cynical grin it sported. She stopped her gradual advance when half the distance between the pair was covered and she stood next to the glass dome.
“No, I think I have something more effective for that,” Rheawien said. Her voice could’ve been considered as pleasant, almost melodious, had it not heralded something that was meant to bring no pleasure. Not to a sane mind at any rate. Because once her words went out into the world and towards the queer girl, her hand reached out to the back of her belt and brought forth a rolled whip. She let it unwind at her side before she snapped it sharply once, like a lion tamer in a circus tent. The whip was bound to be the crown of her fear tactic, the cherry on top of an already abundant cake. If her adversary wasn’t afraid by now, she goddamn should be.
“Now, down girl!”
With a few swift paces forward, she cracked her whip at the girl, the leather-and-titanium weapon squirming and snatching at her like a cobra. She was going for an easy shot, aiming the tip at just about any place on her foe’s torso. Even if the attack connected, it was bound to be no more than a minor annoyance, but it could also serve as something that just might awake the carnal nature in the bestial lass. And that might just make the battle interesting.
The scary lady’s condescending words were a bit more than irritating, but Monica kept her head cool. Sure she liked yarn as much as any other Nekojin, what kind of cat would she be without loving the simple things in life? If she had been looking for yarn, though, she wouldn’t have come to the rooftop of this labyrinth of books. She wouldn’t have been staring down a woman who could probably crush her under her pinky finger. She wouldn’t have psyched herself up for a serous scrap.
“More effective than a newspaper? I don’t-”
The whip that uncoiled from her opponent’s body quickly shut the catgirl’s mouth and immediately set her on edge; whips weren’t as predictable as a sword or other blade was. She also had little experience with whip-users. Rheawien’s lips moved again when she snapped the tip like a professional, but Monica didn’t hear anything the woman said. All her attention was focused on her opponent’s body, and specifically the hand holding the grip. Even if she wasn’t used to dodging a flexible weapon, the serpentine length could only move with commands from the other woman’s hand, arm, and wrist.
Now the only problem was to figure out how the different things worked together to kill her.
Yeah. Right. I couldn’t even find my way through the library.
Unfortunately for the feline warrioress, she wasn’t exactly the best at multitasking. Splitting her attention between her private thoughts and trying to think of ways to avoid the whip meant that precious little brainpower was left to say “Hey, whip incoming!” When she actually realized that her body was in danger, it was after the tip had cleanly struck just above her right areola. The leather and titanium thing, though Monica could care less what it was made out of, had to first breech her denim jacket and leather top before the force of the strike stroked her skin. A small pucker in her jacket was all that showed outwardly, but beneath the protective layers and the soft lining of the blouse, her small breasts felt the sting.
Even as light as it was, it both hurt and felt incredibly strange at the same time. She didn’t like the feeling of pain, but the other feeling was… unique. Her reaction was delayed to almost comic proportions as she tried to understand the dual nature of what she felt until she finally settled on one conclusion.
“Hey! That was a cheap shot!”
It made sense in her own little world; a world where sexual sensations were never really classified in the right part of her brain and all she knew about the opposite gender was “He makes me feel weird when I’m with him.” Sheltered didn’t even begin to describe it.
Now, after having half a second to recover after hew own outburst, she wanted to claw the tall woman’s face apart for that cowardly strike. To do that she would first have to get close… but that wasn’t going to happen unless she could surprise the other woman with her speed to strike in the small fragment of time between when Rheawien lashed out with her whip and pulled it back. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing ever was.
A cheap shot from a cheap woman. It only seemed appropriate.
It was also a rather lucky shot. Though she did her best to don the mask a combat veteran, that knew what to do at any given time and how to do it, Rheawien hardly mastered the usage of her whip. When she first purchased the weapon, it was as a gift for her Mistress, a token of her total submission to the woman. The thought of Sarah Dahlios standing tall over her with a whip in her hands had been a cause of many a wet dream that the half-elf had. But when that relationship fell through, it took out all the sexual appeal from the whip, turning it into just another weapon in the arsenal. Rheawien carried it along mostly because it seemed to intimidate her adversaries. That was, if she managed not to lash herself in the face.
She managed to do that and a little more with her opening attack. The tip of the uncoiled weapon snaked past the girl’s defenses almost effortlessly, biting through her jacket and at the flesh below. It not only brought a pinch of pain, but it managed to put the lighthearted girl into a rather foul mood. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes burning with vibrant flames of anger, her fists clutched tightly. The coyness from the introduction seemed to be gone and the battle could finally begin.
“Oh, did I hurt the kitty?” Rheawien asked, her concern as false as a two-headed coin. Even though her opponent had bestial traits, she was the one who was on the prowl, sidestepping as she circled around her foe. Her hand played with the whip at her side, keeping it in motion and spinning it around, making the tip draw a spiral in the dust below. Somewhere in her mind, an inner voice was trying to warn her against complacency, against being too much of a cocky bitch with a big mouth and too less of a warrior her father made her to be. But in the heat of the moment, with thoughts that jumped from the Maiden to Sarah Dahlios to her own low self-esteem and then to the battle at hand, that voice was less than a whisper. Just a notion somewhere at the edge of her thinking process.
“I’m sorry,” again she lied, even faking an apologetic expression. It cracked in half at the same time as she put the whip in motion again.
This time she aimed it at the catgirl’s feet, but it was a different kind of motion compared to her opener. Instead of snapping it viciously, she sent it in a wide horizontal arc, making it scrape along the ground. It was supposed to coil itself around the feet of her opponent, allowing Rheawien to tug at the weapon and bring the girl on her back. But a whip was a treacherous weapon, its trajectory unpredictable for an untrained eye. The half-elf extended it just a bit too long and the damn thing coiled itself around the iron railing that surrounded the flat roof. Rhea tugged at it with one hand first, and when it refused to let go of the metal bar, she used both hands and hastily. And still the damn thing wouldn’t budge.
Rheawien’s smarmy visage was substituted with one of irritation instantly. The battle wasn’t unfolding according to her initial plan. She was supposed to dominate, not make herself look like an incompetent fool.
Scared did not mean off-guard for the catgirl. After taking one strike from the whip, she wasn’t about to allow a second one to land… even if she only had control over her half of the equation. High above the ground below, a chill wind blew across the rooftops, caressing Monica with its frigid embrace. Perhaps it was some sort of sign from a higher power. Probably not. She never believed in those things anyway.
What she did believe was right in front of her, swinging a whip. The oppugnant woman spoke with a voice dreadfully void of any genuine concern for the small girl’s wellbeing, alluring as it was. Rheawien’s words mocked the feline refugee; her true home was many worlds away, a place where the wicked were praised and the lawful persecuted to extinction. It was a place where she would die should she ever find a way to return. The whip sent dust flying as the tip and more rushed across the rooftop in a rhythmic cycle.
"Yes, it hurt. What would expect it to do? Nyaaaaaaaa!"
Her tongue slipped between pursed lips and into the twilight air for her opponent to see. Even entering adulthood, the catgirl's mind was innocent and childish in so many ways.
It was the cycle Monica watched, not the woman holding it. The whip would move when it was ready, and there were only so many ways to accurately lash out. Or so she thought. Coming up from just slapping against the roof, the leather lashed out wide and low. The catgirl was fully prepared to jump over it when she noticed something peculiar happen. Her opponent had made a mistake. Standing too close to the railing that prevented people from accidentally falling to the street below caused the weapon to double-wrap a safety post and stopped the potential assault in an instant.
Of course the silver-haired streak was going to capitalize on the mistake. Powerful leg muscles snapped her into action before she realized she was moving, leaving a plan to be formed in the moment that passed between realization and impact. A kaleidoscope of colors passed by in a blur; the prismatic dome that allowed the final vestiges of daylight into the dust below hardly an afterthought in the reaction-driven mind set to get revenge for the cheap shot. Her left leg straightened, sending the half-pint body flying into the air much higher than she looked capable of reaching. Her right knee bent and pulled itself up. Rheawien was going to have a very sore jaw in a heartbeat’s time.
That voice from before, that whisper of caution that spoke of complacence and recklessness from somewhere beyond the thoughts at the forefront of her mind, couldn’t suppress a chuckle at the outcome of Rhea’s latest attack. Not only did she fail utterly at striking the diminutive catgirl, but she left herself wide open to a counterattack in the process. It was a classical mistake of the overly bold, a misstep to which she was blind because of all the unrelated hodgepodge that went on through that deranged head of hers. It allowed her adversary to make an acrobatic move towards her, propelling herself through air with haste and agility that would’ve made the animalistic part of her gene pool proud. The attack was bound to connect too, only not in the way her opponent might’ve expected.
Though the speed of the tailed girl was impressive, Rheawien was no slouch in the department herself. The combination of elven heritage and years of training made her swift, swift as a lightning, swift as an aroused cobra out to protect her territory. Such reflexes provided her with options in this particular pickle she got herself into. And in the heartbeat that stood between an oncoming knee and a world of pain, she opted for the one that hanged around her neck.
Releasing the whip and getting her right hand up, the half-elf called upon the powers of the stone that lay comfortably nestled between two bulges of her breasts. With a pulse of soft, white light, the pendant came to life instantly and just in time to put a barrier around Rheawien. Made out of energy channeled directly from the enchanted stone, the invisible shield met the oncoming strike, deflecting it with ease before it ever came in contact with the raucous woman. The successful parry of the strike allowed Rhea to take a couple of steps back, her hands instinctively falling to the hilt of the katana at her hip. She knew that she should counter immediately, that she should listen to that complaining voice in her head, but now that the attack was evaded, the cockiness was soon to return. Her grin was the first sign of it, stretching those luscious lips into a smile of a vile temptress, and soon enough she was relaxed once again and ready to chide the girl some more.
“A spry little pussy you are,” Rheawien said, shaking her finger at the white-haired lass. “Let’s see if you’re spry enough.”
That was all the warning her foe was ever going to get, because moments afterwards Rhea was on the move. Tapping into her inner force, the aggressive woman utilized the power to enhance her already blistering speed. The world her eyes witnessed seemed to be caught in some sort of temporal distortion, where everything moved at quarter of its usual speed, but in truth it was Rheawien that was moving faster than anything around her. Her body was little more than a smear of crimson and beige and white, her footsteps so fast that it could barely be heard when the last one ended and the next one began. At such velocity, she darted at her opponent like a bullet, broke into a half circle that went around the girl and eventually brought herself to a skidding halt behind her opponent. She didn’t go for her weapons yet, though; it would’ve been too easy, too treacherous, too nasty. Instead she launched the heel of her knee-high boot at the back of her adversary. Should the attack connect with enough force, Rhea predicted that it would launch the lass straight at the glass dome and possibly the library proper below.
It was almost ironic in its simplicity. Fast as she was, Monica’s knee was still too slow to do anything. Sure she felt something, but the barrier was far more resilient than her strike was powerful… the solidified air didn’t even budge from her attempt at its master’s wellbeing. The catgirl hung in the air for a few moments as gravity finally caught up to her and dragged her back down to the sturdy library roof.
Was this the chasm of strength that separated the catgirl from the terrifyingly powerful monster before her? Was the missed whip strike a feint? How was she supposed to win against someone who didn’t even have to blink to stop a surprise attack? The scared girl froze in place, arms brought up to mimic a fighter she had once seen fighting in the streets. The chill that ran down her spine anchored her in one spot more firmly than any spell could hope to duplicate.
Rheawien’s lips parted and more condescending rubbish flowed from between the elf’s lips. She was confident, and with good reason. The puny kitten standing before her was completely outmatched, and they both knew it. Monica blinked. She knew she shouldn’t have closed her eyes, even for a moment, but a bit of dust had worked its way into the wind and it was a natural reaction when it reached her face.
When the rosy orbs opened to the twilight again, her opponent was nowhere in sight. A series of sounds, evenly paced yet far too fast to be natural caught the catgirl’s right ear. Her head followed suit, spinning as fast as it could while her right eye searched desperately for her executioner. As quickly as she turned, it wasn’t fast enough. Something decidedly solid and rather painful smashed into her right ribs. It didn’t break the skin, but the pointed heel of a boot was never pleasant to feel in a kick.
Good balance is one thing Monica was grateful for, but in the heat of the moment, she didn’t even have time to realize what was happening until she was already sailing through the air toward the multi-faceted dome. It was quite beautiful up close. Many of the shards didn’t break on the initial impact, a testament to sturdy engineering, but a three-foot wide hole did open up unexpectedly. The pain from impact was diminished only by the scores of gashes and punctures in what skin wasn’t protected by leather. That, too, passed when the euphoria of flight somehow caught up with the falling catgirl’s mind.
For a precious few moments, there was no pain. There was no fight. All that existed in her idealistic world was light glinting in a haze around her and foreign ideas bouncing around inside her mind.
A bookshelf that stretched from floor to the second story broke the catgirl’s fall, if only for a moment, when the back of her neck decided it wanted a change of scenery. The world spun. Oaken skyscrapers lined up like soldiers invaded her consciousness, untold ribbons and stripes decorating them from top to bottom.
The world stopped spinning and a new sensation entered Monica’s consciousness. Stillness. There was no pain, no euphoria. Lying somewhere in the open reading area, she gazed at the simple carpet and the ever-darkening pattern approaching her eyes. Bits and pieces of multi-hued auras drifted to the floor around her. The floor was getting wet around her cheeks. Was she bleeding? She tried to move her left arm… no good. Her right was unresponsive as well. She blinked. Something wet clung to her eyelashes. Tears.
Darkness engulfed her. The librarian on duty snuffed her nose. It wouldn’t do to have someone die on her watch.
At least half a dozen broken ribs greeted the monk monitoring the fight, and that was beside the two cracked vertebra, light internal bleeding, and shock his patient had experienced. Dark brown robes engulfed the kitten’s form, a haven of warmth and safety separate from the world where she was suffering.
Pale eyelids flickered slightly, separating for a moment to reveal faded crimson. It was too hard to keep them open. One thing ran through the catgirl’s mind before she lost consciousness again.
I’m still alive.
“Well, that certainly went better than expected,” Rheawien thought as her adversary disappeared with a crash of shattered glass and broken ironwork. She was still in mid-crouch, still holding her leg outstretched from the kick, still half expecting the catgirl to leap back out through the crumbling dome. But t seemed that this kitty neither had nine lives nor did she land on all fours, because nothing came back out. Nothing save the sounds of concerned voices and the soft pitter-patter of feet. Could it really be this easy? Was this all she had to do in order to get on the Maiden’s good side? Because if that was the case, she’d be in the mysterious woman’s bed in no time.
The thought put a smile on Rhea’s face, the satisfied, almost embarrassed kind that made her look young and not-so-bitchy again. However, it lasted only until she walked up to the ledge that separated the stone roof and the jagged remnants of a marvelous dome. Down below, past the towers made of wood and arranged tomes, her opponent was lying prostrate on the floor, fighting with the pain of her broken body. There were no visible injuries on the girl’s body (save a few lacerations), but the sobs that she let out with her tears made it clear that she took quite a tumble. Once upon a time, when the people were still good and the world was good and Rheawien lived a normal life, such a scene would’ve saddened her, maybe even made her regret using such an underhanded tactic. But that soft woman was gone. What replaced her went to confirm the kill.
Jumping with precision and effortless lightness, the half-elf plunged through the newly made hole in the glass sphere legs first, landing on top of one of the shelves. She made no attempt to be quiet about it for her opponent was already on the ropes, so eyes of scholars and the grumpy librarian were on her when she moved again, leaping downwards once again. Her limber body made a somersault, her hands outstretched at her flank like wings of a bird. She landed lightly on the lush carpet, its emblazoned lushness and the intricate motifs ruined by the shards of glass. Much to dismay of the penpushers that littered the library, her hand unsheathed the katana as she took a step towards the broken catgirl. It was nasty business, but the spirited, feline lass had to assume it might come to this eventually. She should’ve been prepared for death if she entered the Conquest Trials.
“HALT!” a voice commanded. Deep and rough and empowered by the listless environment of the library, it reverberated with an almost inhuman might. Its origin was a cowled monk, dressed in ugly browns of his order, his arm pushed forward, his fingers splayed. “This battle is over, miss. She poses no threat to you anymore. There is no need for more violence.”
Without waiting for a response, the monk approached the fallen girl and picked up her broken form as easily as if it was made of feathers. He disregarded Rheawien completely, as if he was certain she wouldn’t defy him or retaliate. She hated the monk for that. She hated not having the final say in the matter. Sure, if she had been asked if she would spare the girl’s life, she would’ve done that without thinking twice. But she was being ordered to back down, and by a man no less. And that didn’t sit well with her. She decided to do something to mitigate her usurped mind.
Her mouth opened to berate the monk, her feet taking her a step towards his hooded figure, but even as she did that, a flash of white light engulfed the reading room of the library. And when its power faded away and her eyes beheld the musty interior of the establishment once again, the monk and the lass in her arms were gone, thus robbing her of any chance for retribution. All she was left with was the foul mood from before the beginning of the battle and an annoying librarian that started to talk her ear off about the damages she caused to his beloved library.
“You see what you did, little lady?” he began the barrage of words, waving a dry finger in her face. “Do you know how much that glasswork costs? Are you going to pay for the damage caused? What were you thinking...”
A backhanded slap sent the man’s head sideways, his spectacles finishing somewhere between the ‘F’ and ‘G’ section of the sociology department. It also shut his mouth quite effectively, filling the interior with sound of hurried feet moving away from the librarian and the vicious woman. Sheathing her blade, Rheawien turned away from the clearly shaken librarian, leaving him with but a few words and the alluring sight of her departing from the premises.
“Feel free to revoke my library card. I never liked this place anyways.”
General Notes: I just want to say good job to both of you. Despite this battle’s short (technically too short, but I let it slide) length, it was possibly the most enjoyable battle that I’ve read thus far.
Rhea’s scores are in red and HikariAngel’s are in blue.
Continuity: 8, 5
Rhea, you did quite a great job at the beginning in explaining what your character was doing there and why she was there. Your ending fell a bit flat in the continuity department, even though it was very nicely done in terms of style. Hikari: I got very little from you. Thinking back, I’d barely have known that there was a tournament going on if I were to only go by your posts. Your conclusion was even emptier in this department than Rhea’s was.
Setting: 7. 6
On the whole, the setting just wasn’t very interesting. It was just one roof on a mostly mundane building. Rhea, you did far, far better in terms of actually interacting with the setting than Hikari did. Hikari, the only thing that saved you from a much lower score here was your initial library scene.
Pacing: 9, 8
This was simply great. The action picked up quickly, though not too quickly, and didn’t let up very much at all. The advantage goes to you, Rhea, because your ending was very stylish and expertly done (it was much a trade-off for the lost continuity point that I mentioned earlier). You could have probably gotten a perfect 10 if the battle hadn’t ended quite so quickly. HA: Your ending fell flatter and was a bit too abrupt for my tastes. On the whole, though, it was quite good.
*
Persona: 6.5, 7.5
You both did very well in portraying your characters in writing. The main problem I had, though, is that I spent most of the battle trying to decide which one was more stale and cliché than the other – the hot slut who is essentially a lesbian version of Ivy or the bouncy, bubbly, naïve catgirl. In the end, the advantage went to HA, because his character didn’t scream of “I’m a lonely nerd!” :p
Dialogue: 8, 8
Your characters couldn’t have been more different, and this came through the strongest in terms of their dialogue. Rhea was a crazy bitch and Monica was just a little kid at heart. The contrast was wonderful.
Action: 7, 7.5
Action was solid, if not a bit lackluster. I gave the slight advantage to Hikari, because it’s not often that I read someone who really puts as much or more effort into taking hits as giving them.
*
Technique: 8, 7
Rhea, your style is quite good as expected. That said, you would have scored even higher if it didn’t feel like your efforts at fancy writing didn’t cause parts of your post to drag on a bit more than they should have. Hikari: You’ve got a decent, developing style. Work with it more and try to make it something special.
Mechanics: 8.5, 7
This was mostly solid, save for typos and run-ons. The advantage goes to Rhea because I noticed significantly fewer of these errors. It’s all a proofreading thing, though. Even in a tournament, you should make time to reread your posts.
Clarity: 9, 9
Simply put, I understood what was going on pretty much all of the time.
*
Wild Card: 8, 8
Great thread, you two. Hikari, I’d have liked to have seen another post out of you at the end to make it ten posts, but oh well. Kudos to you for taking on a very tough opponent.
Total: 79, 73
Rheawien wins!
Rheawien receives 2,188 EXP and 160 GP!
HikariAngel receives 525 EXP and 75 GP!
Morituri te Saluant wins this match!