This round begins at 12:00 PM PACIFIC TIME on Friday! Good Luck!!!
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This round begins at 12:00 PM PACIFIC TIME on Friday! Good Luck!!!
Barnabas walked down the gangplank onto the docks of Lyridia. He could smell the salty sea air and could feel the cool breeze on his face. The ship he had just departed was the Stant. It was a giant passenger ship that stopped here weekly. It's main mast was probably five stories tall with two three story tall masts at bow and stern of the 70 foot long mahogany wood ship. The docks itself was nothing special. It was made of white stone and didn't have much in decoration. As he looked out to the sea he didn't notice the young lady who floated up to him.
They arrived early in the morn, before the mists lifted fully from the seas.
A purse full of gold had convinced the clipper’s Cathayan shipmaster to take on two passengers at Turicum in addition to his valuable cargo. Now the Grande Lighthouse guided the sleek vessel safely through treacherous offshore reefs, circling beams of light slicing through the pre-dawn darkness like holy daggers through necrotic flesh. The scent of salt mingled with the fishermen bringing in their nets, the calls of opportunistic gullwings echoing plaintively over the wash of the waves.
As champion and anointed ambassador of the Order of the Golden Eagle, Jehan Leitdorf knew he had sufficient credential to enter the notoriously xenophobic island nation. He had journeyed to Lornius to pay his respects to the High Council on behalf of Olbina and the Five Dukedoms, and to express a wish for firmer trade links between the sovereignties. The orc who accompanied him represented his own tribes in a similar endeavour. But they travelled lightly and alone, and apparently the civic officials of Lornius had trouble recognising emissaries without an entourage. Scrutinised with thorough hostility as soon as they disembarked, only after nearly an hour of inspection and interrogation could they convince the bureaucrats of their mission, and of their right to pass through to the city proper.
By the time they stepped from the austere warehouse that served as border post, visibility had increased to the point that Jehan could at least see his gauntleted hand before his face. Stray rays of wan dawnlight glinted from his full plate armour, the mark of his rank as First Knight, and danced upon the links of the orc’s chain mail. Immediately they halted their steps, the orc sniffing tentatively of the city air.
They had emerged into what appeared to be a courtyard that accessed all three of Lyridia’s ancient stone piers, but even the fountain at its centre lay silent, rank and unmaintained. Cobblestones echoed to the clank of Jehan’s armoured boots as he took a bold step forth, yet closed doors and boarded windows greeted his sea-green gaze wherever it strayed. Tendrils of heavy mist reached like clawed fingers into the hinterland, gouging great wounds in the tilled earth as they slowly retreated from the day’s gaze.
“Where is everybody?” the knight asked aloud to the uncaring spires and domes laid out before him, genial voice rumbling through the empty streets. The orc muttered something in his own tongue, still focused on the unfamiliar architecture ahead, sounding to Jehan’s ears just as confused and disoriented as his own thoughts.
In his homeland the port cities bustled feverishly through the day and drunk rowdily through the night. Travelling through Turicum and along the Salvic coast, he had seen nothing to dispel his preconceptions.
But Lyridia barely stirred, even as sunrise came and went.
Warm ocean air caressed their faces, seeping into Jehan’s peaked barbute helm and lightly ruffling the leather straps on the scabbard of his massive longsword. Puzzled, he returned his attention to the seaward buildings, and to the ships that lay at anchor there. He could sense isolated fisherfolk moving about on the docks, feeding the flocking seabirds with the waste from their catch, but otherwise an eerily silent pall settled over the city like a funeral shroud.
Aside from the clipper that he had just made port on, he could make out through the banks of fog an ironclad from the north and the furled masts of a third vessel of nondescript origin. Jehan wondered who else had made landfall that morn, and whether or not their presence had anything to do with the deserted city that greeted him.
Another ship started to peak out from the mild fog as it's features became more clear, as it headed towards the docks of Lyridia. The first to appear was the bow, as the figure of a beautiful sea maiden with the features of a sea creature began to become into view. The details on the decoration of the half-breed were of great detail as you could see the various tiny gems of emerald stones that made the tail of the woman, as the sapphires and rubys made up her bodily features. She also wielded two battle axes that covered her bare bosoms that signified that the vessel had gone to war in the past.
As it came closer, you could start to see a couple of small holes in the sides of the ship where cannon balls had slipped by piercing the innards of the ship. Even further now, the mast started to appear fully equipped with a crows nest as part of the sails were showing signs of wear from war as you could see tiny rips throughout the silky material of the sails. The mid-section was now visible, as you could see a few of it's many cannons, some of which had been damaged in the past.
The rear of the ship was the last to leave the fog as the name Temptress was now visible, a ship that had been around Althanas for some quite some time and saw it's many cases of wars since it had been built. The Temptress was known to sink a few dozen ships, and it was not one to be taken lightly in battle.
The heavy anchor was thrown overboard as it plunged deep into the sea with haste as the ship quickly came to a full stop near the deck. Grinding of the steel gears inside the ship could be heard as the "door" of the ship opened up and fell onto the dock revealing the many workers inside. Two men alongside Alicia got out of the vessel and started heading closer to the shore. "It's this way Alicia" said the men as the guided her further. Getting to the end of the dock, the men headed back to the Temptress as Alicia continued to float further down towards a few others she could barely see in the distance. She headed towards the closest one to her {Barnabas} confused at what exactly is going on.
"Sir ... excuse me sir? Do you know exactly what is going on here by chance? No need to be frightened, but if it helps you feel at ease, my name is Prolicio Prolixi, but my friends call me Alicia ... and you are?"
Barnabas Turned toward the woman who had addressed him. Most of the dock had been deserted at the sight of this young lady Stereotype much?Barnabas thought as the people ran. "My name Prolicio Prolixi, is Barnabas Casimir Tourneymant. However, you may call me Barnabas. I am waiting for my partner for the Lornius Open Island Tournament. If I remember correctly, you are my partner no?"
The woman was white and slightly see-through. She had a beautiful dress on and a sword on her side. Her hair was long and and slightly darker it also had a reddish color to it. Her hazel eyes glowed as she looked at him.
Barnabas on the other hand looked like a 7' tall human shaped shimmer. There was no features visible on his face and the hair was cut to short to tell where it started and where it ended. The ship he had just come from started ringing it's departure bell as the last of it's passengers boarded. The breeze that could threaten to pick Barnabas up blew against their faces as Barnabas held onto the safety chains on the sides of the dock.
Damn the human tongues.
If not for the knowledge of what they called Tradespeak, Thrommesh son of Skogul would not be here in the sun-baked south. The Chief told him this was of the utmost importance – how else could she know who her greatest enemies were and how they lived? – but Throm wasn’t so sure.
The great port cities were overwhelming and chaotic, brimming with the unfamiliar. Not all men spoke Trade, and many that did spoke it strangely, and their tools and lives made so little sense. They lived messy, spreading into every corner without rhyme or reason, eating their strange foods no matter how sick or frail they became as a result. Worst of all was their love of the little metal disks they carried around and traded, and men from one place wouldn’t take disks from another, especially if there were certain faces printed on them. Throm hated them all.
If not for his metal-clad companion, the orc would have been lost early on. Throm had been warned by Jehan and by city-orcs in every port in Salvar that Lyridia would not be a friendly place toward strange human beings, and so even less-so toward an orc of the north. Even so, he had not been prepared. Unfriendly orcs meet one another with blades drawn, but the people of Lyridia instead overwhelmed with questions and silly accusations and then more questions. Throm’s instinct was to start breaking little necks and spines, but Jehan had been calm throughout it all and Throm did not want to be accused of fear.
And now there were no people, which should have been a welcome change. Throm retrieved his shield and slid his forearms through the straps, and then he used his teeth to tighten them. Jehan began to speak, no doubt to caution him against rash action, but the orc snorted. “They know something we don’t. I’m not getting ambushed unprepared. I want to hurt something.”
Jehan might have argued, but Throm suddenly cocked his head to one side and tensed, eyes going unfocused as he listened as only orcs and dogs can, and then he turned to face the fog-concealed silhouette of a ship. “Something’s coming. Get your damn chopper out, coward."
"Calm yourself, grunter."
Being called ‘coward’ by a barely literate savage didn’t rankle as much as it might; after all, one didn’t berate the sheep for bleating obscenities on the way to the slaughterhouse.
What rankled, rather, was that the orc was right.
In the distance a bell tolled: once, twice, and again. Muffled and distorted by the fog, the ominous tidings portended the approach of something sinister. Silently the masts of the unknown vessel unfurled, billowing in a barely-existent wind as they slipped the unknown vessel from its berthing. Its passing parted the veil briefly, and in that brief moment of clarity Jehan identified a single humongous figure braced upon the swaying stone.
What rankled even more, now, was that he would now have to obey the orc’s commands.
Shaking his helmed head resignedly, one meaty gauntleted hand reached for the leather-wrapped longsword strapped upon his baggage trunk. He hefted it into a stray beam of dawnlight before bringing it to rest on his shoulder, where it reached up far past his head like some pennant-less banner pole. Only then did he realise that the deserted silence had unnerved him far more than he dared admit, and that the great weight now lying upon his shoulder did much to rein and focus the battlelust flowing through his blood.
“Ho! Who goes there!” Jehan called, clarion and stern, into the slowly fading mist. Alongside him, that thrice-cursed orc brought his shield up defensively and reached for the ballista strapped to his back, growling beneath his breath.
"...If I remember correctly, you are my partner no?"
He doesn't seem threatening, 'nor did he try anything stupid as to ambush me. Was this my ally? I trust him enough to assume that, at least for now. I will keep a steady watch on him for anything suspicious though.
Shrugging towards Barnabas in reply annoyed by his sudden accusation.
I could have been the enemy you fool! You were lucky.
With a deep sigh she could hear bits and pieces of conversation, some from the townsfolk in the distance buying supplies from the black market, her ignorant friend, and a couple of deep voices that she could only interpret as mumbling garbage from that distance.
"Keep your voice down", Alicia said quietly. "We are to far away to hear what people may be saying. I say follow the voices, slowly and silently and then take them by surprise. I can try to flank them from the rear, while you distract them somehow from the front. Hopefully they will focus on you while I make a swipe or two with my sword from the rear, got it?"
Without waiting for a reply, she hovered several inches above the ground so she wouldn't make any sound. Alicias' hand kept a firm grasp on her sword at all times now as she was looking down several allies of countless villagers each keeping a strong gaze upon her. Some of them were making snide comments about Alicia and her companion, while others were intrigued by what they saw, others kept to themselves and ignored them as they continued shopping for their wares.
"No luck yet." she whispered. "Do you see anything? Perhaps they came by ship as well, or at least by the ports like we did. I say we start looking there. Stay prepared and don't make any sudden loud noises or movements, you will give us away do you understand me?"
A shrug! Barnabas has been to many worlds. The first one he visited was one known as Galinar. The people of Galinar consider a shrug to be rude. Since they were the first group of visible being he had seen, he had taken on thier culture the most. Thus, to barnabas a shrug is rude. However he could not argue with the logic of being quiet so he decided to talk about it later.
"Out of everyone in this thing I had to get the one who takes charge and is rude." Barnabas grumbled under his breath as he walked casually without making any sound, A perk to being zero lbs of pure calorite.
As they walked, someone ahead of them called out, "Ho! who goes there!" Barnabas froze, however, remembering the plan he stepped right in front of two men. They hadn't really noticed him yet due to him only being a blure. With this advantage he got up close to one before pulling out and swinging his giant wooden mallet he chose to use for this tournament at the orc.
Something smelled undeniably off in the square, and for once it wasn’t just Jehan stewing in his wearable pot. It took a deep, controlled expenditure of willpower to breathe normally, turning his head very slowly from one side to the next. It would be easier to take a dozen short, sharp inhalations, he knew, but he would also grow quickly accustomed to the alien scent and thus lose it. The concentration required was good, anyway: it prevented him from expressing his annoyance for all of the clunker’s gleaming and shouting.
The scent strengthened though the air went still, and Throm narrowed his eyes but focused on nothing – there was nothing to see here, but for an orc of Berevar that did not preclude a presence. Direlings came from the mists yearly, and a scent of sweat on the breeze is often the only harbinger before a rain of arrows, and goblins and trolls love caves and only emerge in the darkest nights. The orc had known striplings that could fight blind, and Thrommesh out of Skogul was no stripling.
So his big ears twitched when Barnabas hoisted up his mallet, and when the weapon emerged Throm roared, stepped in, and shoved his shield against the swing to deflect it. Wood knocked wood with a tremendous crack, but the shield held and the nearly three hundred pounds of muscle behind did not budge. Throm was not puzzled by the lack of warning before he was attacked, but he was baffled by the force of the blow. It was as if there was no weight behind it, as if his shield were a bell to be rung and not a barrier to break.
The orc was no bell, and the little love-tap he received was actually a little insulting. Feeling slighted, Throm overreacted a bit, roared deafeningly, and shoved his entire body forward toward the handle of the mallet with his shield raised, intent on steamrolling his unseen foe.
Though neither particularly intelligent nor well educated, Jehan held firm to two beliefs pertinent to his current situation. First, that although little better than animals rutting and bickering in their caves, orcs had certain primal instincts – their keen senses, their bestial cunning, their ferocity in battle – that a warrior of the north did well to heed. Second, that only those both superstitious and foolish acknowledged and feared the existence of the supernatural.
Like any good soldier, the knight of the Golden Eagle did pay homage to certain personal superstitions, believing that had helped keep him alive thus far in his war-torn life. He tied his britches in a certain fashion for luck, kissed his blade whenever he faced battle, and wiped it clean thrice on each side before sheathing it again. But Jehan Leitdorf, big and oafish as he might seem to another’s eyes, was nobody’s fool.
Thus when the orc at his side bellowed something fierce and deflected a blow on his shield, Jehan withdrew his gleaming longsword from its leather scabbard and brought it to his lips in time-honoured ritual. When the orc roared again and shoved forward with all his might, the knight stepped to flank his as-yet unseen opponent, far more dextrously than anybody wearing so much armour had any right to move. When the orc’s momentum carried him powerfully across the courtyard he kept pace with the ringing echo of metal against stone, waiting for either his ally to overextend or their opponent to reveal himself. The bludgeoning steel in his hands poised overhead amidst curling tendrils of mist, ready to decapitate with a single mighty blow.
Compared to the wars he had fought in the north, to the whispered whistles that heralded a wyrmkin ambush or the mindless savagery of Those Who Came from the Deeps, he enjoyed the certain simplicity of his current fight. Something had attacked him and his companion, without warning or explanation.
He was therefore fully justified in beating it back to the abyss where it belonged.
Barnabas jumped to the side as the orc plowed forward trying to run him over. He then swung the mallet again, this time aiming for the back of the disgusting orc's head. First I have a rude woman for a partner, now I have to fight a stinkin' orc. What's next, a knight who actually fights along side an orc? He thought as his mallet drew closer to the orc's head.
Throm huffed through his nose when his shield met nothing of substance. For the briefest moment he wondered if there was no foe – what if this was some sort of possessed weapon, a wizard-trick? The skraelings were legendary for their love of wizards and their indecorous illusions and games, and the thought that he was being made a fool of by some scrawny geezer in a dress was infuriating.
But no. He watched the weapon move suddenly to the side, jostling and shifting the way it would in the hands of a man, and then it came up and swung around as if to get behind him before falling into its arc. It was an easy thing to raise his shield high, and then bend his arm so that the shield rested against his upper back. Once again the mallet met wood with an echoing crack, with force amplified only by its own weight and nothing more, and then fell away again. This time Throm unsheathed his sword with his free hand and slashed in a wide arc as he twisted. If there were an unseen man holding that mallet, the orc gauged his legs would be within that space, and with the mallet held so high what could interrupt the blade’s path?
And besides, if somehow there were a way to turn his blade aside, Jehan was now on the far side of the floating mallet. Their invisible adversary was trapped between a rock and a hard place, and both had pointy bits.
The mallet danced lazily in the mist, a wondrously spry object that upon first glance had a devious mind of its very own. But Jehan had trained from a young age with sword and axe and mace, and he could tell from its movements that something intelligent wielded the stout length of wood. The orc obviously thought the same, and cornered their unseen adversary well. Jehan had to give it to Throm, he did know how to fight. Especially with those ugly long limbs of his.
So when the orc’s hacking blade slashed low and fierce, Jehan raised his own blade in challenge and swung high from the opposite direction, right across their illusory opponent’s back. Thick arms bulged beneath gleaming vambraces as they hefted his heavy sword, careful not to extend to the point where the orc would be caught in its reach.
“Show yourself, knave,” he bellowed to the thin air, more as distraction than in real hope of getting his opponent to obey. “Or would you rather die an unseen coward too?”
It didn’t really cross his mind that should either his or his companion’s blows leave a mark, their foe wouldn’t be so invisible any more. One way or another, the mallet-wielder would be unveiled.
"Show yourself Knave"
Why did I have to jinx myself? Barnabas thought hearing the man behind him. He dove between the blades, not letting them make contact. As he did so, his mallet rolled with him revieling his movement to his foes.
"Or would you rather die an unseen coward too?" the man finished as Barnabas rolled to keep from hurting himself.
As soon as he was out of harms way he turned back to the men. "I'm afraid that you misunderstand, only the sun can reveal me for I am nothing but a shimmer." Barnabas said as the sun started to rise from the sea, burning away the last of the fog to reveal Barnabas's size to the men.
The sword met nothing, and when Jehan recovered from his swing the blade of his greatsword was equally clean. Throm’s mind puzzled at it for an instant while he tracked the fall of the mallet, and part of him wondered again if there wasn’t anything to strike. What if this man were formed from air, and not simply invisible?
Their opponent answered that question immediately, announcing his presence with voice, and then revealing himself – at least to a degree. The orc growled, eyeing the mist surrounding them with a single cautious glance. It seemed a natural blanket to him, a common enough phenomena beside the sea as this queer city was, but now it seemed this hidden wizard had some level of control over it. It made sense: a solid being could scarce be seen through the cloud, what a boon for a being that’s already nearly incapable of being seen.
Nearly incapable, for now Jehan and Throm could make out the silhouette of an exceptionally tall skraeling. The pair hardly needed to share a glance to express their shared thought: what a large target.
Throm stepped cautiously away, fully aware of how spry this strange being was, and once he was safely behind Jehan he sheathed his sword and retrieved his crossbow. He continued walking toward the flank as he released the safety – the bow was already primed after their run-in with the authorities. Once he was safely off to the side, Throm aimed at the center of that towering shape and said, “Dodge this.”
Then he pulled the trigger.
Oh for a lance and a steed, to run down that overly large and boastful mark! Somehow it had slipped through their flank, incurring not a single scratch in the process. Jehan decided he would think about the how later, and instead furrowed his brow at the riddle-like taunt.
Neither the knight nor his companion could hide themselves in a crowd of their peoples, but the shimmering blur towered over them both. For perhaps the first time in his life Jehan realised how it felt for other men to have to look up at him. And yet somehow the silhouette bore neither focused killing instinct nor honed sense of honour. For lack of a better explanation, although it loomed like a miniature titan and still hefted that oaken mallet… it didn’t scare him.
Almost as if he’s toying with us.
Fury coalesced as frost, deep within eyes of flecked sea-green. He had not come this far overseas, as envoy of his beloved country and as warrior in a fabled tournament, to be made fun of. With one disdainful flick of his arm he plunged his longsword into the dirty courtyard flagstones, sundering them with an almighty crack and burying the blade nearly halfway into the tight-packed earth beneath. It stood there quivering, mirroring his rage.
The orc stepped out from behind him with that primed ballista of his. At precisely that same moment Jehan stepped forth, some rational part of his mind keeping him from straying into Throm’s line of fire. He heard the orc’s growled dare and the keening whisper of the quarrel as it sliced through the air, straight and true, but paid little further heed to either. His attention homed instead upon the blur that had made itself his foe, never letting it slip from his sight, the glare of a hunting eagle locked upon its prey.
Further rays of sunlight broke through around him, haloing his armoured form as boots thundered over the cowering stone. A chill wind stirred at the wrathful expression nestled in his craggy features deep beneath his helm, further peeling away the mist from their surroundings. He stood his ground approximately halfway between the orc and his blurry foe, planting his legs like sturdy trunks and spreading his gauntleted hands in invitation.
“Either fight true or be gone, worm,” Jehan snarled, the challenge rolling like a tidal wave across the silently shuttered warehouses adjoining the square. “I have little patience for fools.”
Barnabas moved slightly to the left getting hit in the right shoulder. As soon as the arrow hit the he was thrown back hitting the building behind him. He stood there for a second before answering the man. "Who's the fool?" Barnabas asked through clutched teeth, while pulling the arrow from his arm. A clear substance dripping from it as well as from the wound. "I'm one of your opponents for this Open Street Tournament. Didn't you notice that there are two officials watching from the sides?" Indeed two officials were standing in the door of the church that stood proudly over them, watching the fight, waiting for the winner of this round. "I was just testing you. Trying to get you off guard. Now that you can see me however, I can't use the element of surprise, or can I." He said as he and his mallet disappeared.
AN: My next post will be his actions while truly invisible.
With a cryptic shout – a threat? – all suggestions of the shade and his mallet vanished just as abruptly as they appeared. Throm raised his shield and listened hard, straining his hearing and letting his ears twitch and swivel. He breathed the air steadily, hoping for the barest coppery whisper on the wind to suggest flowing blood.
But all was quiet.
Throm risked a glance around, wondering at this talk of open street tournaments, but he saw no man. Were they like the shade, invisible? Had he and his partner stumbled into some sort of island event administered by magicians?
The orc growled and muttered to himself, cautiously returning his crossbow to its place on his back. “I don’t hear him,” Throm said quietly. “I guess he chose to be gone.”
The moment stretched, and still there was no violence, no sudden or sharp whiff of blood or body odor, no extra thudding heart or scuffing feet. Slowly, so slowly, his big shoulders relaxed.
“You skraelings,” Throm told Jehan. “There’s something wrong with all of you. Every one.”
The Osynligs VS Chivalry & Savagery
Plot:
Storytelling 3/6 – The only people who told a story here was Chiv and Sava, who were litteraly left floundering to keep any semblance of a story at all. Ghost, your sudden choice to stop writing in the LCC really shot your partner in the foot, and Tourny, your rather blunt style of writing is sometimes great to set a tone, but here it fell short of the mark. Add in the fact you guys didn’t finish, and well…
Setting 4/6 – There really isn’t much setting in this story. Sure, it was on a dock, with the sea and everything else mandatory of such a place, but I was never there, I couldn’t really smell the sea air or get a feel that this location was any different from a blank canvas. This mostly falls onto Osynligs. Tourny, your first post should have been the hook and juice of the setting, something that could have pulled your team ahead but instead was so basic and cut out that Chiv and Sava had to pick up your slack. Ghost, you didn’t even attempt to create a scene. To improve guys, you need to be aware of all the senses the human body can use to dictate a scene.
Pacing 3/5 – My biggest issues with this one is that while Chiv and Sava tried their best to push the story along to keep it moving, Tourny and Ghost you guys did nothing but hold it back. A lot of your writing is quick and flat, which breaks the flow of the story as well, and it hurt you guys a lot in this category. Flesh out the tone of your writing, and keep the story moving along.
Character:
Communication 2/6 – I can see the interaction attempts between Sava and Chiv, but Tourny and Ghost…well you guys just plain didn’t talk. At all. Your characters interactions were so poor it hurt the overall thread and the attempts to make things work just never panned out.
Action 2/5 – I can’t fault Chiv and Sava for their lack of action due to Osyn not giving anything to work with. Tourny, your quick, short posts hurt everything in a thread. There is no meat, no substance, nothing to actually draw a reader to actually want to read what you post. It hurts everyone involved with choppy writing like that, and when you enter into Tournaments it’s the time to bring your A game. You need to go back to your previous judgments and look at what was said and apply them. You’re missing so many easy points to boost these scores.
Persona 2/5 – I cannot fully understand any of the reason for your characters actions, especially you Tourny and Ghost. This thread had a lot of thumb twiddling and it reaked of people shuffling their toes in the dirt and waiting for someone else to do something. None of your characters had much life, but at least I saw Chiv and Sava fight and claw their posts together when given absolutely nothing to go off of.
Prose:
Mechanics 5/5 – Proof reading will help you all earn more points. As for Osynligs, your score is only this high due to not really posting anything.
Clarity 5/5 – I had no issues reading your posts.
Technique 2/5 – Chiv and Sava, your posts showed great basics, now it’s time to really shine and push those comfort zones away and try some advance writing techniques. Tourny, your posts are choppy and short and lack any substance. You need to incorporate more into them to make them come alive. Work hard at the setting, your character’s motivations, and make those emotions come to life! Don’t just blatantly tell us how your character feels. As the Robot Devil in Futurama says, “You can’t just make everyone in your play say how they feel! That makes me angry!”
Wildcard: 0/3
Osynligs – Wildcard penalties for partner not posting. Also, you need to learn to apply the things taught to you by your judges. This is a tournament, and here is where you need to perform at your best to compete. But don’t worry too much; your partner was the one who left you to dry.
Only Ghost: You are just as much to blame for this low score. Quitting half way through a tournament shows a lack of respect or care for your partner and the people who take the time to post. For you to flippantly disregard not only your team mate, but also your opponents because you suddenly felt like you didn’t think you’d win is a POOR, POOR attitude of a sore loser. Do not enter tournaments and waste people’s time if you think so lowly of your skills in the future.
Savagery and Chivalry – You guys gave it a great go considering what you had to work with, but the fact it was left unfinished, and that I felt you guys stopped writing at your full potential because of your opponents is a shame. Pick it up next round guys.
Team Total: 27 / 51
Chivalry and Savagery Wins!
Glories of Myrmidion receives 500 EXP and 50 GP
Tusk receives 500 EXP and 50 GP
Tourneymant receives 100 EXP and 35 GP
TheOnlyGhost receives 0 EXP and 0 GP
Experience and gold added.