You have 2 weeks to complete your battle, may the best man win!
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You have 2 weeks to complete your battle, may the best man win!
Out of Character:
As Dorian's sabatons took another step forward, he felt them sinking into the brownish looking ground and quickly stepped back, holding his leg up and sighing at the content of mud that was now on it. His hand rested on the trunk of a tree; which coiled around itself and after a certain point, grew horizontally instead of vertically. Most of the medium-sized trees, unable to break through the canopy of the massive trees, created nets of branches that spread throughout the swamp. It was dark where Dorian stood, his feet resting on the large roots that provided the only means of standing space for him. Since he entered the swamp, he hopped from rocks to fallen trees, walking along the great roots that belonged to the massive trees. There was very little ground otherwise, as most of it had sunk into the swamp a long time ago. Despite the sun pouring down untold amounts of light onto this world, the light could just barely penetrate the canopy of the net of branches from the horizontally-growing trees.
He considered a torch going in, but such a thing would reveal himself to his opponent, and with all the leaves and vines hanging around his face all the time, it would be a simple act to accidentally light everything on fire. There was another option that he had been considering, however, as he stared up at the canopy, the swaying of the trees causing a show of light rays to alternate as they pass through the net of branches. He was beginning to think that maybe that 'net' was strong enough to support him. If he could get on it, he would have more light to work with, a better vantage point of the swamp below, and finally be rid of the smell of rotten vegetables that infested his senses. Most importantly, he would have some walking room. As it stands, it was so dark that he couldn't tell if he was continuing along a branch or stepping into the swamp. Earlier he had taken a deep step in, and it took all of his strength to pull his leg out. Who knows what would happen if he tripped and fell in entirely?
He wanted to yell as well; yell up into the canopy to alert his little dragonling friend, Fallow. Unfortunately, that would also reveal his location to his opponent. The dragon whelp was flying high above the tops of the trees, looking down into the pure green of the treetops. To him, this was a viridian sea, and with each gust of wind the leaves rippled, creating the illusion of waves. Fallow was currently taken back by the beauty, forgetting his main objective of helping Dorian find his opponent. The young man suspected this, but it was fine. There was little chance of Fallow being able to see through the canopy to their opponent unless he was standing on top of the massive trees.
The stench of the arena smelled like a curious mix of decay, muck, and something better left for the outhouse. Each step echoed a loud obnoxious splutch sound that sucked at the bottom of Baxter Arlington’s boots. He gagged as he lifted a small handkerchief to his face in a vain attempt to mask such a stench. He could not stand such foul odors, and the muddy, murky liquid that spilled into his boots made him squirm in equal measures annoyance and discomfort.
“I do not know why I let you talk me into such things. First you managed to convince me to discuss things with Cornian war council to enter into that idiotic Spartan combat. Then you somehow manage to even make me think it is a good idea to enter into this Serenti tournament. And of all the foulest of locations I am forced to enter combat into, it must be such a disgusting sight.” Baxter hissed to nobody in particular as he fumed his aggression. Of course, when he spoke he had only one person in mind to listen to plight.
Swimming lazily within his bloodstream like a titanic fish of the ocean was Symbiote, a parasitic demon who had made a pact with poor Baxter, Salvarian pen write, when the man was down on his luck. After a devastating break up with the woman he was going to marry, and several bottles of Lavinian ale deep into intoxication, the demon had listened to him whine and moan for a soul to melt with his as one. A few gentle words, a couple sweet nothings in the ear, and Baxter agreed to the deal. In exchange for Baxter Arlington finding a soul mate who would be one with his soul, the pen write would have to book passage for Corone. Such a simple deal.
To bad things with demons were not so simple.
Symbiote had infused his soul with Baxter’s, combining them so they shared one body, and to the letter of the deal the human had indeed found a soul mate. Irony not lost on the old adage be careful what you wish for, the Salvarian had resolutely upheld his end of the bargain despite himself. And even though the demon had forced him into situations that normally Baxter would never engage in, a certain feeling of adventure started to win him over. Besides, it was never a dull moment and as a journalist he had written several articles about his travels that his editor had been flushing all throughout the Salvarian Herald and screaming for more with care packages of money and instructions.
But this particular request had Baxter a little annoyed. Without even being asked permission, Symbiote had asked a passing soldier if he would sign him up for the so called tournament. He had done this deed by speaking through his chest, and passing it off as magic. The idiot soldier, a young rookie no doubt, excitedly ran off. The rest as they say was history. Or, at least in this case, is what Symbiote said when Baxter awoke and found out. There was an ear full for the demon then, despite the odd looks he got from the passing monks as he approached the tournament portal.
Another step forwards and Baxter started to feel a sinking feeling as he quickly retracted his step and pulled backwards. In the process his boot came undone and he stood, awkwardly on one foot as he watched the stinking filth envelope the hole he made quickly with a disgusting grace all its own. Sighing, and whimpering, Baxter retreated a step backwards to lean against a rather long, gnarled tree branch that grew sideways from the stump lodged within the mush of the bog. He broke a twig off the tree he rested against, and in a useless gesture attempted to scrape the muck off his clothing.
“This is such putrid-ness!” Baxter swore. “Ugh, gross!” Baxter shouted again as a swamp bug the size of his thumb crawled out of the sludge and swam back into the sea of taint. He looked down upon his chest with a huff, and then spoke in a haughty manner as he narrowed his brow and glared. “We’ll you are rather quiet for once you insufferable parasite!”
“I already told you, I’m not a parasite,” The demon at last mumbled. “Though for reference, that leech would be one sucking at your exposed ankle.” Baxter quickly took his makeshift weapon in the form of a twig and lifted his pant leg. Sure enough, a seven inch long slimey black creature was attached there. He tapped the stick hard twice and it fell off, pinching the flesh hard making him pipe up in a squeak of pain. “Manly,” Symbiote said in a bored fashion. He swirled around before coming up into Baxter’s head, the feeling like ice slowly eroding over your blood as he traveled. He shivered and his brain felt a temporary freezing effect, like drinking a cold drink to swiftly.
“You must be loving this. Aren’t you, Symbiote?” Baxter huffed.
“Not really, I’m trying to listen for something,” He replied in a bored fashion. There was silence for a moment as Baxter looked to his dirty hands and sighed wiping them on his jacket. Like the rest of him, it seemed to become a sort of camouflage as the mud and other swamp life clung to him.
“What are you listening for?”
“The enemy,” Symbiote whispered. Baxter felt his heart suddenly pulse as he remembered the whole reason he was here. They were right now in a fight, and he had been acting like such an idiot. Though he was no veteran to combat, thanks to Symbiote he was no longer a rookie either.
“Can you hear anything?” Baxter whispered looking out over the canopy.
“No, I can’t,” Symbiote seemed agitated as he spoke. Baxter looked to his chest.
“Why not?” He asked in such a simple manner that it at last broke the demon’s patience.
“Because I can’t hear over your constant bitching! Shut, up!” The demon roared. The echo of his words moved throughout the swamp, disturbing a few night creatures as they fluttered around making Baxter look wildly left and right up at the tree line. The freckles of light that pushed through only seemed to add to the murky atmosphere. He could see the swift flight of some shadowy beings overhead and he felt his nerves starting to fail him. The demon sniffed the air, before a wet leopard growl escaped outwards into the air.
“I smell…something.” Symbiote said slowly, as if unsure. “It’s that way. Dip your coat in this sludge.”
“I refuse,” Baxter said quickly. “I rather like this coat and it’s-” The demon cut him off by gripping his mind and sending pain signals throughout his body. Baxter nodded slowly and the demon let up.
“It’s to hide us better. The colors will look like the crap around us. Not do it, or you’ll crawl through this shit.” Baxter hesitantly, grumbling the entire time, did as he was told and soon he had a filth encrusted coat. “Remember what I said about crawling?” The demon chuckled.
“There are days I despise you,” Baxter whined as he gave up trying to argue. Weakly, he moved around the edges of the swamp, staying low as his knees sometimes drifted into the mud. After a few moments getting used to everything pulsing around him, the stench and the sticky feeling he nodded his head in determination and entered into the greater swamp water. The putrid sea swallowed him all the way to his shoulders, but he was able to move along the rock bed on the ground at great sacrifice to his agility. Still, all that could be see was his head, which with a moan he dunked and resurfaced, spitting and wheezing. Now fully disguised he waited.
“Just move forward carefully, and slowly to the north. I smell something unusual, and I bet that’s are best bet.”
The bubbling muck of the bog water drew Dorian's attention as he carefully balanced his steps across a giant tree root, which cut two sections of a particularly wet and deep part of the swamp. As if someone dropped a bunch of trees into a reef, the area he found himself in was more murky water than not. The bubbling at the edge of the root bothered him, since last time a two-headed alligator flopped out and tried to sever him from his precious limbs. The thoughts that came to mind when faced with such an uncertainty were the same as ever- why he was here.
A couple weeks ago, nobody would have imagined peaceful, carefree Dorian to be entering one of the bloodiest tournaments this side of Althanas. However, life is not that simple. Dark dragons tend to complicate things.
"Huh?" Dorian said out loud, his ears finally used to the constant buzzing and slushing of the swamp. He heard something very acute, like a voice. He had crossed the root, which only put him on yet another root, but this one was interconnected with many more and formed a large, solid ground. He felt like he was in a coastal fishing town, with wooden platforms built out in the water. They were connected only by thin strips of wood, sometimes only accessible by boat. The way the tree stalks rose out of the water reminded him of a flooded farm field in southern Corone.
He looked around for the source of the sound, and what he saw made his jaw drop. Something rose out of the disgusting, filthy water, and as the mud peeled off he could see very long, gray hair. Whatever it was, its back was against him, not noticing Dorian. It rose up further and grew a pair of shoulders, which made him realize it was humanoid. Crouching low, he wasn't sure what to do. He was on a platform of tree roots with no walls, and no way to quickly get off aside from those narrow pathways. Was this his opponent? It couldn't be... just rising out of the bog like that? Moreover, what should do? He was supposed to do his best here, but did that include attacking someone who didn't know he was there? No, he didn't need to go that far.
"H, hello?" he said sheepishly. "Are... are you okay?"
It turned around, its appearance telling him all sorts of things he never wanted to know. It was an old woman. Fully risen, she stood knee-high in the water, but she couldn't have been more than four feet tall. He couldn't tell what she was wearing- if anything at all, due to the armor of mud. She had a strange grin with her closed eyes, and a face like an old mangrove tree.
"Okay!" she answered jovially, her high-pitched voice laced with a certain naivete.
Dorian stood back up, "I s-see. You... I mean, you, you wouldn't happen to be my opponent?" The way he said it made it sound like a question, but right now he was questioning everything. His reason for existing. The best tasting fish. Whether or not he bumped his head some time ago.
"Okay!" she said again, like a parrot squawking out what it just heard.
"I'm Dorian," he said, reaching for the small dragon figurine on his belt and pulling it out. It transformed into The Hydra Lance, and he lifted it with his right hand. Pulling his arm back, he aimed for the old woman with regret in his eyes. His senses were telling him not to do this, but his mind had convinced him that this was some sort of ruse. His opponent would not be here if she did not possess some sort of fighting ability, and he was not about to discriminate based on her appearance. In fact, it could be part of her strategy. "I'm going to attack now, good luck."
He stepped forward and tossed the weapon, which caused a reaction he did not expect: Abject fear. The old woman shrieked and moved out of the way, letting the lance sink into the mud.
"You fiend!" she screamed. "Monster! Hooligan!" Dorian couldn't reply. He just made a big mistake, and his mouth was incapable of words. "For this, suffering! A curse! Yes, a curse!"
She waved her hands around like she was swatting a fly, and then disappeared. The spot where she stood was quickly filled in with mud, and the lance slowly emerged from the water, turning back into a figurine and flying back at Dorian. He was still in shock, unable to process what just happened, and the figurine threw him out of his daze by falling into his hand. He walked toward the root bridge to get off this platform and cross to a more elevated cluster or roots and rocks, still not really sure if that old woman was his opponent or not.
"Dorian!" Fallow's voice entered his head. "I saw him! He's heading right for you!"
It was hard to tell if anything was approaching him from the dark and the distance. He looked across the swamp water, but the colors were the same as everything else around here. His gaze started getting lost in murky bog.
"Careful though! He's trying to trick you! Not me, I'm a dragon. You can't trick a dragon."
The young man snapped out of the trance, deciding that the time for hesitation was over. He took a step forward and his foot slipped on a piece of rotten wood so hard that it sent him tumbling backwards, letting his back hit the edge of the root in such a way as to send his head over the edge and into the swamp water. He quickly pulled it out, wiping his face with his gloves as dozens of little bugs all decided to simultaneously hug him while he was under there, giving him a most unpleasant sensation. He cringed and rubbed down his face with a handkerchief from his pocket, lamenting that unfortunate situation. He couldn't breathe through his nose at all without inducing a gag reflex. It felt odd, because this whole time he was avoiding the serious pitfalls, traps, and bad steps in the swamp. It was like something reversed his luck entirely.
Baxter felt all sorts of []things[/I] crawl around his skin, tiny feelers probing his pale skin as he moved through the bog towards the place Symbiote had mentioned to the warrior. He kept his head above water as best he could, looking for any place to keep himself safe as he crawled towards the large branch that hung over the disgusting water. When he found himself in range he lifted his hands up, digging his fingers into the wet rotted wood and pulling on the gnarled hooks he could find. With a wet splortch he managed to pull himself upwards enough to kick his feet wildly upwards, one boot and all, upwards to give him momentum to teeter forwards. Eventually he had managed to see saw himself upwards, but in the process lost his grip as his weigth shifted and he tumbled end over end, landing on his back into the thick sludge of the swamp water.
Baxter submerged himself whole body this time and in his screams of alarm he swallowed the foul liquid and inhaled it. He managed to pull himself upwards to the surface in total darkness swishing about wildly as the dirt and mud caked off him in a spray. He hacked, violently, into the river adding his lunch and bile to the mixture of the river. A few swamp critters fell out of his mouth as he spit and with a nervous groan he puked up whatever he had left in his body, holding himself weakly as he leaned backwards against the tree.
“This,” He wheezed out as he looked down to his swamp covered chest and coughing some more. “This is unacceptable.” Symbiote’s cold form seemed to happily move around his lungs, applying their icy touch to keep the burning sensation down. He seemed prepped to retort but a noise moved Baxter’s gaze upwards. There was the sound of something hitting water, hard, and a screech from a vile creature like beast. Words exchanged far to fast for Baxter’s muck filled ears to hear with any clarity, and with a shake of his head he cleared his sight long enough to see something run along the tree line.
“The smell! It’s nearby! Get ready Binky Boy.” Baxter nodded his reply as he stepped forwards cautiously, looking to see a narrow bend in the river where the trees created a bridge from one side and the other if one had a slight skill in jumping. He moved forwards, creating a small ripple of brownish waves that heralded his movements. The demon seemed to pulse around his heart, his excitement clear as day. Baxter managed to cross the bend, leaning down to pass under a low trunk that grew sideways where he saw his opponent.
Soon, the two warriors would meet, and the demon would be set loose.
As Dorian searched for the enemy throughout the darkness, Fallow's voice beamed into his head, "He only told us to do our best, okay?"
Dorian knew all too well what the dragonling meant. Both of them have been thinking the same thing since they got here: Were they allowed to lose? It wouldn't be much of an accomplishment to go out the first encounter, and it certainly wouldn't impress a black dragon. Some time ago, they were approached by a man with long dark hair, so long that it reached all the way down his back to his thighs. He had sharp eyes had lizard-like vertical pupils, and he picked Dorian out of a heavy Radasanth marketplace crowd. It's hard to believe anyone who claims to be a dragon in disguise, but this man could see and converse with Fallow, which only others of his kind can do.
The deal was simple: Do his best in this tournament, and he will help free the great elder dragon Malanthar, Fallow's father. He considered Dorian to be Malanthar's avatar in this world, and saw Fallow as proof of that, but his arrangement with Fallow was meant as a way to show a dragon's son the world. Dorian did not know what history the black dragon brood shared with one another, but freeing Malanthar meant freeing Fallow as well, which would be a dream come true for the dragon whelp. Dorian had no trouble accepting, even though the implications... the consequences...
Were this. Dorian stopped moving, his surroundings turning dull to the relevation that was before him: The slightest ripple of water. To anyone else, this movement would be unnoticable; something an insect could create. The young man had been walking through here for hours, and aside from the rare occasions when the water bubbled, it had been convincingly still. He was standing on what was the top of a hill if the rest of the land wasn't submerged, muddy and covered in wet moss. His boots made a squishing sound when he walked on it despite his best efforts to stay quiet. It was connected to more islands of roots and horizontal trees that grew out of the murky water. He looked upon the ripple with wonder, and within moments it disappeared. It was so faint that he couldn't tell where it was coming from, just that somewhere within his field of vision, maybe a hundred or a few feet away, hid his opponent. Dorian gripped the dragon figurine in his hand.
"Whoever is hiding," he called out. "I hope you are my opponent this time."
The dragon figurine turned back into The Hydra Lance in his grip, and he aimed it at one of the horizontal trees, knowing that gravity will send the lance on a downward path beneath the branches of the tree, toward the area shrouded by the brush. Squinting his eyes, he took one last guess at the source of the ripples and threw the lance.
Frogs croaked in a chorus that was rather annoying. It echoed deep within the bog and made it hard to hear anything. The only other sound Baxter could hear was the low buzz of winged insects moving around in dizzying patterns that made it impossible to discern where they came from when they attacked the poor pen write. It was only when one landed that the Salvarian native could find them, and they were a sight all their own in their hideous nature. Each one had obsidian gem like eyes, a body the size of his fist, and a nose that looked sharp enough to pass for a needle used in sewing.
He did not even dwell on what possible diseases such a plague host could be carrying.
Baxter sighed to himself, looking through the brush as his jacket fanned the water out before him, the ripples moving ever so softly forwards in a mini wake. He peered through the spider webs and twigs, dried mud cracking along his face making him look more like a barbaric tribal rather than a civilized being. He peered outwards and listened for signs of the enemy, Symbiote sniffing the air like a hunting dog as he swam in circles around his rib cage. He felt something off about the world and listened more carefully, closing his eyes to block out all distractions.
The frogs stopped singing.
Quickly his eyes opened in alarm, eyes scanning back and forth as he prepared to speak to the demon, but before he could get a word in edgewise there was the snapping of brush, the snapping of wood, and a very sharp pain in his left shoulder followed by a dull pain. With a yelp of surprise immediately followed up with a girlish squeal of pain the possessed human fell backwards onto his butt. A lance or spear, at the very least a weapon of some sort, had dangled loosely from his shoulder, weighing the limb down. It fell out on its own, sinking into the mud and casting bubbles that made a splashing pops as they surfaced, the red lines of blood adding a unique shade of brown to the murky water. Baxter stood up quickly, looking down to his chest.
“Deal time?” Baxter whined quickly. The demon swam upwards into his mind quickly.
“I think so, Binky Boy, name the terms,” The demon spoke rapidly as he prepared to enforce the grotesque changes upon Baxter’s body.
“Fight for me, and try not to get me killed! When we leave this room I get control back! Make me this promise or I will not deal with you.” There was no hesitation in response as suddenly Baxter felt all of his muscles twitch as one, contracting and relaxing before ripping and letting new muscles grow in. The pen write felt his ribs snap and break as his lungs expanded, heart furiously pounding as adrenaline swarmed through his veins. His chest expanded outwards in a tight body builder’s way, his arms exploding in girth as they resembled a reptilian’s cable like muscle. He grew a few feet, his knee sockets dislocating as a knee cap hardened around the dispersed old sinew. His jaw popped like a snake, dislocating itself as his teeth turned into a gaping maw of a terrible ocean kracken. A snake like tongue slithered outwards, drool dripping of as he screamed in pain. At last the changes became too much for Baxter and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, replaced by milky white orbs that turned into a demonic leer as Symbiote chuckled.
“Deal!” He said in a low predatory growl. Where once the water’s went up to just below his chest, it now hovered just below his waist line. Easily his strides cast him forwards, no longer sending calming ripples but waves of water crashing one into the other as he trotted through the brush. His taloned fingers raked aside the low branches, obliterating them into scraps of splinters as he roared his arrival, eyes cast upon his opponent. The youth before seemed to be deep enough in the muck of the swamp waters for an idea he had forming, and with a wet leopard growl he grinned as he coiled his legs muscles and prepared himself.
A few steps forwards and he lunged out of the water, bugs, brown liquids, and disgusting weeds and plant life fell from his body like trash as he jumped upwards and over to his foe, bringing one hand back for a violent punch. However, his eyes winced and arm lowered as he took a quick second to see the wound from the weapon had not changed during his alteration for the better, but for the worse. The appendage was still usable, but it lacked all the strength he normally would have in such a limb.
Still, with body in the air and incoming fast, he decided upon just slamming into his foe instead and squashing him like a bug by sheer weight.
Of course, that was assuming the boy was planning on standing still for the next few seconds…
'Did I hit him?' Dorian wondered. The scream didn't inspire a lot of confidence, which made him think he made a big mistake again. "Sorry!" he jabbered out in a voice filled with regret and confusion. There was really no way to be nice about this whole tournament thing, was there?
He looked down, and noticed that the ripples were back. They hit the base of his little island, but they quickly grew in frequency and intensity. He swallowed hard as he saw the plant life in the distance being displaced by a large shadow. The next thing he knew, there was a giant swamp monster flying at him. The knife-like object at his side was quickly grabbed by his dirty hands, Dorian trying to fumble the object to expand into his trusty spear. For some reason, it kept slipping almost out of his grip, and by the time he got a good hold on it, the monster was moments away from turning him into a fine milky paste. He jumped away at the last second, his Dragonet Greaves flicking him away from danger like a grasshopper.
However, he did not leave unscathed, as the monster swiped at him with its claws as he was jumping and tore through the clothing on his side, clawing out chunks of skin and ripping off the scarf that was wrapped around his waist. Dorian's jump was not perfect, either, since it was more of a feat of tripping on the wet moss than jumping, sending him in a much more horizontal direction than he would've liked. He plunged into the bog water, which made the recent gashes in his left side sting with a sharp pain. His eyes opened with determination, his body moving back upright in the water and standing up. The water was up to his chest, and he was taking sporadic breaths as his left hand gripped his bleeding side tightly.
It was at that point when he noticed that he dropped his spear. He fished around for it as fast as he could, knowing that he couldn't pierce the muddy veil of the water. Luckily, it was still within arm's reach, so he grabbed it and extended it underwater. Standing so deep in the water wasn't the best place to be, so he tried to jump away again before realizing that he only went up an inch before sinking back down. His sabatons weren't working here! With the spear still underwater, he thought of a last-ditch idea. While slowly backing up to the nearest piece of land, which was a large tree root nearly two meters in diameter that extended as far as the eye could see, he held the spear with both hands underwater, his right hand along the base while the left was on the shaft, in a slightly lower position than normal so as not to give away that he was holding something. If the monster tried to attack him where he stood, that thing was in for a stabbing.
It was much more difficult to maneuver in the murky waters. Each step was like running through sand with a gale force tornado in your face, but wetter. Despite all this however the demon plunged forwards, arms pushing in opposite motions as he swam/walked towards the boy who scampered away from his large bulk like frightened livestock.
He observed the child as he fumbled around for something, arms moving side to side. His feet made the water splash, a few rare instances a creature that dwelled below would confusingly fly upwards before with a plop it back in its habitat. When the motions suddenly stopped and the opponent looked to him with a grimace of cowardice, the demon knew he could not have found his little toy.
He distended his jaw outwards in a primal cry, shrieking loudly so the birds and other creatures of the night awoke and took flight. Drool dripped from his fangs like tiny spider webs, a thick glob of it slowly inching downwards back into the maw of the terrible beast. His snake like tongue exposed itself to the air, slithering back and forth as he narrowed his eyes, a throaty growl hissing through his cracked lips.
Five steps away, and he could clearly hear the beat of the frightened heart.
Four steps away and he could see the beads of sweat that rolled down his forehead.
Three steps away and he could smell that odorous tang of fear.
Two steps away and he could feel the ripples of water against his flesh.
One step away and the demon lifted his good hand out to touch the boy’s face in a manner more suited to ripping it off.
The final step however never came. With quickness born of desperation he lifted himself upwards and forwards. His hands under water had already been moving upwards as he approached, and a point broke the surface with deadly intentions. In the span of a blink the spear was vaulted upwards in a controlled manner, teeth gritting as he pushed with all his might. Symbiote had not the time to fully dodge the attack and with that dawning realization his eyes widened in terror as a squeal like whine pierced the air. His good hand moved and managed to wrap around the head of the weapon, yet at such an awkward angle he could not have stopped the motion of plunging it deeper as the youth charged forwards.
His skin, even enhanced by the symbiotic armor, was flensed open as it passed through his grip, and more rubbed off as he gripped the shaft hard. Still, the point managed to dig into his belly, and was steadily getting deeper. With a howl of rage the demon lifted his other hand out to swipe the boy, but he was to far away for the attack. They tussled in the river, their movements direct and blocky. Water moved in waves as they wrestled, foam like bubbles sprouting in their wake. They moved back and forth in their deadly dance, the strength of demon waned by the simple fact of his earlier wound. If he could have both hands at full power, he would be able to easily shunt the boy away.
At last they hit a stalemate, the weapon’s head a full inch and a half inside his belly. Blood corkscrewed downwards in a spiral as the demon let out a high pitched whimper. At last he managed to slowly force the blade back half an inch, and with little else to do he came up with a plan. The demon felt all his limbs grow taught as his muscles in his left leg prepare itself for his leap maneuver. He let the blade sink in, screaming in pain as he did so. This tactic would cause him serious harm, but he had to let the boy’s weapon sink in so he could gain ground.
When the boy was close enough he would lift his leg and push him away with all the force of a raging demon and kick him off his own weapon.
Being unable to keep his feet grounded on the sludgey bottom of the swamp had its effects here. Not to mention the feeling of hundreds of bugs rushing at his wounds to give him a constant source of really uncomfortable pain. A good stab to the gut ended up barely going in, although it didn't help that this thing's body was like some sort of armor. He had to confess that his opponent's appearance made this go much easier for him, but the prejudice inherent in such a comfort gave him some guilt.
It was then that he noticed that his spear was stuck. Considering it was the only weapon he had left, this posed a problem. The monster's wailing appeared to give him a chance to get in close so he could wrap both hands along the center of the shaft for maximum pulling power. This was quite a risky maneuver, and the only thing that made him do it was his tenacious ability to circumvent his own fear. Terror doesn't stay very long for a Sesthali, but concentration can last forever.
As he got in position and was about to pull, he noticed the monster stopped thrashing about. This wasn't good. Then, it lifted up his leg and at the next thing Dorian knew, his entire body felt like it was about to snap like a twig as something plunged itself into his ribcage. He was lifted up out of the muddy water and bugs fell off of him like clusters of bees being burned off a picnic table with a torch, and sent flying through the air, weaponless, the wind knocked out of him. His short flight took him beyond the long, gigantic tree root and into a cluster of rocks at the base of one of the horizontal trees.
Right before he hit them, he heard a familiar shriek. Not a good consolation prize for all the bruises he just attained from the rocks. What's more, he was pretty sure some of his ribs were broken.
"You!" he heard a high-pitched squeal. He looked up and, to his dismay, it was the old woman. "Attack me again?! Horrible! Contemptable!" She stood next to the tree, still caked in dirt, her eyes glaring. Before Dorian could open his mouth (not like he would've been able to provide words in this sitaution), she screamed, "A curse! More! Suffer!" She once again did a motion that Dorian could only describe as waving her hands around, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
The young man got himself up, rubbing his closed eyes feeling the pain in his chest every time he breathed. This battle was not going well. Although, this time he noticed she said the same thing. A curse? Did such a thing exist?
He became a believer when his eyes opened again. After all, the world was upside-down.
"Aahhh!" he yelled, closing his eyes.
"Dorian!" Fallow's voice poked through the confusion in his mind. "I found you... Whoa! You look terrible! Did that skinny man do this?"
"S, skinny man?" Dorian wondered, unable to see Fallow because, well, he didn't want to open his eyes again. Apparently the dragonling had found him and was floating somewhere around him. "Y-You mean there's more?"
"No... There was a weird guy who rubbed mud all over himself. I was hiding up in the tree net above, I uh really didn't have to because I'm invisible but just in case, and I thought you could take him easy! At least he looked human, so I knew it would be a nice, normal fight and you wouldn't get eaten or used as a reagant for some spell."
"Slow d-down, Fallow." Dorian considered telling him about the old woman, or rather witch, but he didn't have time. That monster was probably heading towards him right now. "Listen: You mentioned the tree net. You noticed it too. Do you think I can get up there if I jumped?
"Huh? Well... This tree connects to it, but it's about a few dozen feet above your head. Maybe a hundred? I don't know if you can make it there; the tests we did on your shoes only went up to fifteen or so."
Dorian remembered that Fallow was unconscious when he fate-crafted his regular boots to jump up a quarter of a mile. He could only do this once, but what other choice did he have? He had to lose this monster somehow and retrieve his spear. Looking down, he saw that his greaves had disappeared, and were replaced by his regular boots... although the sight made him dizzy, because it looked like he was standing on the ceiling.
"Argh..." he closed his eyes again.
"What's wrong? Did he hit you in the eyes somehow? Also why did you switch to your normal shoes?"
"I don't have time to explain. Just trust me."
Bending his knees, he looked up with one eye open, which was still horrifying but he was slowly getting used to the nausea that accompanied his sight, and he jumped. He went flying straight upwards, noticing that he was going to crash into rather than reach the net of branches that covered most of the swamp, and braced himself, shielding his head. All of the branches were thin, just woven together in such a way as provide a decent floor, although there were many gaps and little holes. Either way, he plowed through them with the force of his jump, snapping the branches and creating a big hole where light shined down onto the swamp below. Unfortunately for him, he kept flying, narrowly avoiding the gigantic branches of the massive trees that stretched for miles. He kept his eyes closed, but he wouldn't be surprised if there was an entire race of people living on these trees. From what he saw as he was coming into the swamp, the branches near the husk of the trees were so wide that they could be used for roads.
The next thing he knew, he felt pain in his eyes, as the light from the sun was so bright it nearly pierced through his eyelids. He opened his eyes, and saw a clear blue ground, with a viridian sea of trees for a sky. For a moment, he didn't feel queasy or malcontent about his vision. Even upside-down, this was beautiful. From now on, he would keep his eyes open. Looking up (or down) at his legs, he saw his regular boots transform back into the Dragonet Greaves, which would allow him to actually survive the fall. He dropped back down through the canopy, landing softly on the net of branches from the horizontal trees. Below (above) him were the massive branches, which looked like a collection of humongous snakes that winded through the top of the swamp. The sub-sections of leaves looked like wings on the snakes. It was a much better sight than below, and now he was standing on a sturdy part of the net of branches. Fallow floated up and watched Dorian as he removed his shirt and wrapped it around his side. The young man already predicted a serious infection, but he had bigger things to worry about right now.
He looked up (down), trying to spot the beast through the net now that he actually had some light, but it was so dark in the lower swamp by comparison that it all looked black to him.
Symbiote watched the little man fly away like a bird, his body disappearing into the brush with a distinct thud sound of where he landed. A grin of satisfaction crossed his face as he narrowed his eyes, chuckling. He was now able to pull the spear out of his gut with ease, twirling it in his hands as he debated on throwing it at the youth. Instead however a more sinister idea formed in his head. He rotated his wrist and brought the spear to his good hand, and held it at the ready as he moved forwards.
“Come on out little froggy,” The demon taunted as he neared where he dumped the boy. As he was about to close in on the dry land, he saw movement fly upwards and in a dazzling display of athletics Symbiote watched him leap all the way from the ground to the top of the net of vines, branches, and leaves. He looked to the spot and the distance he managed and with a low whistle of impressed feelings he shook his head. “Maybe froggy is aptly used,” he muttered dryly.
He advanced forwards in a full stride now, the last of the water falling off him like rain. To be free from the murky waters actually was a freeing feeling, his feet slapping against the dry rock as the dirt felt nice and crinkly under his toes. He moved towards one of the few tress that actually grew vertically in this blasted swamp and with a snarl he lifted his hands up and slammed his talons into the bark. They dug into the wood solidly enough for the demon to be happy, and with his other hand he slammed the spear a bit higher than his other hand, jumping to do so as his clawed toes raked the rotting tree. Shavings fell off in clumps as he started to crawl/climb up the tree quickly. The higher he got the less wet wood there was. His talons ached to be abused to badly, and at twenty five feet they refused to dig into the tree anymore. Still, he was high enough that he was hitting the taller branches that created enough of a platform for him to get his bearings correctly situated.
The stench of the bog was the first huge change. Being higher elevated the stench now lingered only to what he had brought with him from the brown depths. He could hear birds chatting away as they darted in and out of trees, the central net entanglement like the port hub. It was there he found the boy looking around slowly, his eyes moving in a very methodical manner. He lifted one hand out carefully, then retracted it only to bring out his other hand just to grasp a branch correctly and Symbiote wondered just exactly how much damage the boy took from his mule like kick.
Still, this was a tournament after all and the demon had no intentions of going easy. The fact his opponent was now acting slow and showing signs of mental trauma meant nothing more to him than the casual breeze against his skin. In fact, if nothing else, the boy now had a giant bullseye painted on his body. When Symbitoe reached the top and managed to walk onto the ceiling net, he let out a wet leopard like growl, drool dripping down his maw and falling all the way to the depths below. His eyes zeroed in on the youth and he carefully pulled the spear to the front in one hand like a barbaric tribal.
The young lad had little in terms of movement, and even as the demon neared him he still showed no signs of life. Ensuring the boy had no more secret tricks up his sleeve, the demon at last broke into a trot, bounding from branch to branch as he roared loudly like a tiger on the hunt. He brought the spear back over head and tossed it forwards, sticking the bark that his foe stood on startling him. With one white knuckle punch at the ready he made the last jump, moving to the opponent’s left. He did not dodge in the right direction, moving inwards when he should have moved outwards, and Symbitoe’s fist connected hard with the boy’s stomach. He spat out liquid that sprayed all over the vines and leaves, doubling over as Symbiote snarled twirling to stand right behind the bent over child.
The demon grabbed him by his somewhat curled, matted hair and jerked hard to the right, causing him to turn violently as his other fist came in and walloped him a good one in the jaw with a haymaker. With little fanfare he collapsed out of the monsters grip, dropping to the netting below and rolling near the edge of the longest horizontal branch left before the plunge to the disgusting depths below. Symbiote stalked him carefully from his now elevated, walking with a hunter’s grace as he knelt down and freed the spear from its prison, getting ready to deal the final blow.
The monster laughed uproarioughly as casually strolled towards the many crushes branches he flung the young man through. Whatever fight the guy was putting up was clearly gone, as thottling him felt like kicking small woodland creatures until they fell apart.
"What are you doing?" asked Baxter.
The symbiote replied, "The hell? I'm in the middle of something here, can you talk later?"
"I've been watching what's going on here, and that guy is clearly done for. I think you knocked a few screws loose when you kicked him earlier."
"What's your point, Binky Boy?"
"Don't kill him. Just let him go. You've won."
"You crazy? These guys are like gnats; If you don't squash them, they'll be all up in your sweet potatoes and PICNIC RUINED. I'm going to take his own spear and and jab his meaty flesh bag a few times with it until it's nice and tender."
"Not if I have something to say about it!"
"He-hey! Stop that!" The arm holding the spear started losing its grip, and he couldn't walk forward anymore. "I know what you're thinking, and I'll assure you that this IS part of the deal. It's been part of the deal since the moment you left that room." He jerked his arm back and lifted his leg up, stomping downwards and growling. "There, better. Now be a good boy and sit tight while I clean up. Honestly, the ingrates I put up with!"
As Dorian laid on his side coughing blood, he could still hear Fallow's feverish screams of panic. The dragonling was not enjoying the pummeling of his nearly defenseless friend. There was not much he could do about it, since every time he tried to dodge, he lost track of where he was, where the monster was, and the next thing he knew he took another hit. It all happened so fast. Now he was down here, and what's more he was staring at the mud-caked feet of the old woman.
"Why do I keep running into you?!" she wondered out loud. "I shouldn't have to put up with this- I'm a professional swamp hag!"
"Y-You," Dorian stammered out between breaths. "Get p, paid for this?" He coughed.
She gave him a sour look. He could see her face out of the corner of his one good eye. His opponent's haymaker had made the other too bloody to open. He was expecting it again; The curse. He couldn't believe his bad luck today.
Wait.
He rolled over to his front, his ribs feeling like broken glass as he pressed them into the branches, and lifted up his upper body with an elbow. This time, instead of being speechless and taking the curses, he decided to speak up.
"You k-know, it's pretty unlucky that I keep running into you, eh?" This time she was silent. He smiled as well as he could with his injuries.
She paused for a moment, and then with a grimace waved her hands around and disappeared for presumably the last time. Dorian noticed the change immediately as his sight returned to normal. As he painfully pulled himself back up, he took one last look at his surroundings. The old mangrove trees rose high up into the sky, the width of their trunks so big that they could be seen miles away. Vines hung all around, and the sounds of the frogs, bugs, and birds filled his ears. The smell was not as hideous up here, either. He imagined that the smell was almost gone near the top of the massive trees. He tried to take a deep breath, but the sharp pain in his chest made him double over in pain.
"There you are!" Fallow's voice entered his mind. "I thought I lost you after you were knocked through so many branches... You need to quit right now. You're covered in blood and bruises! Surely this is enough, right? You've proven yourself!"
"Sorry, little buddy," Dorian smiled, patting the dragonling on the head. "I can't honestly say I'm done when a thread of victory still remains. Make sure no two-headed alligators eat me if this doesn't work, okay?"
Fallow couldn't object any longer. The dragonling was at his limit as well. He always trusted Dorian, even in the most uncertain circumstances. He wasn't about to start doubting now, no matter how much it hurt. If the young man was still cursed with bad luck, standing on the edge of a large branch while a muscly monster encroached upon him with his own spear would sound really bad on paper. In practice, it's not so bad.
"Run!" urged Baxter.
Symbiote snapped back, "Shut it, you! Sorry about that, now it's nice for you to stand for this stabbing, it'll make it much more enjoyable."
Dorian didn't understand what was happening, but he went through with his plan regardless. He opened his right palm, and waited. Symbiote made no signs of stopping, drawing ever closer to the cornered young man.
Suddenly, the spear was knocked out of the demon's hand. A small dragon figurine had come flying in from the swamp and hit his hand on the way to Dorian's. In that moment, the young man grabbed the spear just under its blade and pulled it back. Symbiote roared, but Dorian was fast as work collapsing the spear, putting it back into his belt, and turning the dragon figurine back into The Hydra Lance.
"I'm sorry," said Dorian. "I never introduced myself: My name is Dorian. Again, sorry."
He lifted the lance over his head and held it with both hands, charging forward at the monster, who couldn't believe his luck. At Dorian's completely inconsequential speed due to the injuries, Symbiote could easily just grab the shaft of the lance and stop the young man dead in his tracks, but Dorian never gave him the chance.
The Sesthali was holding the lance backwards. He slammed non-bladed end into the ground, launching himself into the air above Symbiote, where he quickly pulled out his spear, extended it, and stabbed straight downwards. The monster, shocked by this event, tried to redirect the spear since there was no room on the branch to dodge, but the blade went right through his muscly hand, ripping through the skin that connected the thumb and index finger. It kept descending and stuck itself between the monster's neck and shoudler blade, causing immense pain. The force of the downward stab was incredible, much more than the stab into his belly from earlier. The branch cracked beneath them and gave away, sending the two fighters spiralling down one hundred feet toward the swamp.
Dorian had let go of his spear and tumbled on his own, no longer having the strength to readjust his body for the fall. He crashed into a wet patch of moss, which still caused a lot of damage to his back. He couldn't find the strength to get back up, instead preferring to roll over and breathe as much as he could. He didn't know if that was enough to do in his opponent, but that was all he had left.
"Hah... hah... is that enough for you? Have... have I p-proven myself?"
All he could think of now was freeing Fallow. To let the dragonling experience the world firsthand was worth all of this, and as his eyes closed he heard the dragon whelp's whimpering in his mind. He felt safe, knowing that Fallow would watch over him. He was a naive, scared little guy, but he was reliable when it counted. He deserved to see and love the world as Dorian did.
The beast’s chest rose softly as the whimper of a dying dog escaped his maw. Talons raked the ground, digging shallow trenches as his soulless milky eyes looked to the body of the boy. This was not fair. He had won, he had earned his victory. He should be standing over his corpse and debating on how to continue his fun, not shivering at the cold chill of death’s embrace. He focused his hate, used it to pump adrenaline, yet the muscles did not drink the energy. He had no ability to move at all.
His hate soon focused inwards.
“This is all your fault, Binky Boy!” The demon spat, blood and drool mixing in the dirt where he had bit the tip of his snake-like tongue clean off. “I could have finished him off and moved us forward in this tournament!”
“There is your way, and mine. I will never allow myself to degenerate to your levels, Symbiote. Even if the deal would never permit it.” Baxter replied coldly within his own subconscious. The demon growled attempting to retort, but instead he wheezed and coughed up more blood. “Besides, I don’t think you have anything left to argue with me.”
“What do you think to accomplish standing in my way?”
There was a long silence, save the panting of the dying demon as the swamp bog let a few air bubbles pop on the surface. The demon closed his eyes for a moment, letting all his energy slip away. At last Baxter gave an answer.
“I think each time I do I grow into a stronger human being. It takes a strong sense of will to be able to push you aside, Symbiote. Knowing that I’m going to try and defy you at every turn and grow stronger until one day I can rid you from me forever.” The two sat in silence, the demon never expecting that answer. It was the most profound thing he ever heard out of the man’s mouth and the demon had to admit that his spine was behind those words.
“You’re getting to be more of a hassle than it’s worth,” The demon grumbled. “What will I ever do with you, Binky Boy? And what do you think you’ll do without me? You are getting stronger, but you’re forgetting something…”
“Oh?”
There once again was silence before the demon’s body began to shriek in agony. The jaws of the beast widened as the teeth shrunk in size, his huge cable like muscles retracting to normal human size. His lungs, filled with blood, began to choke as they were no longer expanded to full size. His heart beat incredibly fast as he reverted back to his normal form, and the subconscious mind of Baxter Arlington forged back to the surface. The agonizing pain of the injuries forced the human to silence as the pen write silently screamed.
The demon merely floated to around Baxter’s heart like a fish in the sea, lazily dwelling at the base of his ribs. He laughed at the man’s plight, before he settled down and spoke in a commanding, final tone.
“I make the deals, Binky Boy, not you. You only gain strength when I give it to you. Without me you’re as weak as you were before. Let this pain settle deep within your mind, let it pickle, Binky Boy. I want you to know what awaits you when you think you can be rid of me.”
Baxter Arlington wanted to retort. He wanted to get in one last tooth grinding comeback no matter how much it hurt. He wished to show defiance to the demon, that his will was not so easily crushed. He prayed for the strength to teach his companion a lesson, for all he wanted was to be rid of the thing. But try as he might he had not the strength to do these things. Instead, all he managed to let out was a warped cry of pain, tears streaming down his face as the demon at last released all his healing precautions, letting Baxter feel all the wounds from the battle.
And to accompany his screams, the demon howled with him, always to remind him that he could never be anything without him there.
Symbiosis/Paragon
Story 6/5: Both of your stories were a bit shaky, from Paragon’s intro (which should have established a bit more to make the reader feel for Dorian’s plight) to Sym’s rising action (Hidehidehide GONNA GETCHA!). Symbiosis gets an extra point here because as far as the conclusions go, he did a better job of wrapping things up.
Continuity 6/7: I believed each of your motivations, though I honestly expected more from Symbiosis other than the equivilant to a college prank (Why did Baxter just go ahead with the tourney anyways?)
Setting 5/7: Paragon did a better job in his descriptions of the layout, whereas with Symbiosis, I just had murky, nasty water to work with. Paragon gave us enough of an ecosystem to have a pretty vivid image.
Creativity 6/7: The voodoo lady beats out “SPEAR IN ME NOITSNOT!”, though I’m still rather confused about how Dorian managed to turn his bad luck around with just one phrase to the old lady. Maybe it went over my head.
Character 7/6: Symbiosis did better in making us relate to Baxter’s plight. While I could not really sympathize for Dorian’s want to make his invisible dragon friend ‘whole again’ as it were. A good tip is to make sure that you’re conveying your emotions more thoroughly, try to describe how you yourself feel about the character as you type.
Interaction 5/5: Interactions were there, but there was nothing that should have warranted extra points. There were several missed opportunities to use the environment as weapons, or even decoys, that I never saw really. Dorians escape to the ‘net’, and Sym’s makeshift tree climbing were the closest I came to seeing anything like that,
Strategy 5/6: I liked Dorian’s strategist mentality, as it were, to try and step back and think his situation through. Symbiosis was mainly all about pressing the attack head on, which is fine, that’s the character, but even vicious barbarians can use cunning from time to time (Hint hint, Gehngis Khan)
Mechanics 4/4: Both of you had several spelling errors all throughout your match. Examples include Sym missing the I in his italics coding, Dorian missing a whole word (I believe around the end of post 2) and a couple of words that seemed to be missing/adding a letter.
Clarity 6/5: Sym was clearer than Dorian, mostly due to his minimalist environments, but I still needed to read a paragraph here or there, the same with Dorian. Another good tip could be to type out each individual paragraph, and then reading them out loud before continuing on to the next one. Worth a shot, right?
Wildcard 4/4: Para suffers here because his descriptions tended to reuse the same words over and over again, which was quite jarring and made me have to read again to make sure I wasn’t constantly reading the same line over and over. Sym, you could have gotten a 5 (as nothing impressed me, but nothing deterred me from the thread either) but you missed one of your posting deadlines.
Total:
Symbiosis: 54
Paragon: 56
Symbiosis gains 250 exp, 200 GP
Paragon gains 800 Exp, 100 GP
Paragon Goes to Round 3!
GP-Exp added.
Eddie Brock ---errrm, Symbiosis leveled up!