Matches begin at 12:01 Central Standard Time tonight. Will the faun finally introduce the Stranger to defeat, or will he be just Random enough to make the girl change her name to Failomel? Have Fun!
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Matches begin at 12:01 Central Standard Time tonight. Will the faun finally introduce the Stranger to defeat, or will he be just Random enough to make the girl change her name to Failomel? Have Fun!
A single hand raised in the air. Thumb lying across the palm, smallest finger tucked down over it. Pressing the tips of the three remaining fingers on the forehead, and closed eyes. A pause and then eyes flutter open to the murmur of a single chant.
"Thou great Tree Mother Drys,
Bless your children who follow your ways,
Give us the life we can see,
The green of spring and the death of winter."
Philomel went through the traditional ritual blessing, firstly apologising for losing the last round in the great battle of strength and endurance. Somehow it made her sick, sick to her gut that she was unable to be at her utmost ability. Why they were all male was beyond her; she had heard the other rounds had demons and ogres and wraith-like presences competing. Her first opponent had been a ghost but her second had been human. Something more normal than spiritual ... And here she was now begging for the love of her goddess. She leaned forth, forehead pressed to the grass. As she repeated the verse to Drys over and over, her lips moving exponentially fast, she felt the blows that had occurred in her previous fight, her over active imagining reliving the pain as the knife had sunken into her shoulder.
"My goddess," she murmured, sitting up once more. "My goddess forgive me for my belief that I was invincible. Let me now be humbling in your mind."
To your eyes, dammit, she cursed herself, Eyes not mind. Do goddesses even have minds?
Either way you lost, Philomel. This is a chance to redeem yourself.
Redeem. Redemption. If only that were truly possible. In the light of all that had past in recent times the assassin-whore had barely any belief in righteousness, let alone redemption. It seemed like no one was truly righteous, no one at all in this world. Philomel barely believed in goodness; nothing in her short life had given any evidence pertaining to this idea. Therefore it was possibly right to say that no good existed and that no good would occur in this tournament itself.
Leanign upwards she gazed around at the altar before her, in this small cellar room. She had come to the citadel early and requested an area to pray before fighting. And this is what she had been provided with - a cell-like stone area with an arched ceiling and a narrow window high upon the south wall. The necessary deep green was thrown carelessly over the altar, and a set of crossed branches, one a firsttwig, the other an oak. Philomel closed her eyes and sighed deeply, filling her lungs.
Forgive me, Lady Drys, Goddess of Trees, Sister of the Earth-Lord. Forgive me.
The random stranger made it to the citadel. The stone walls were tall and strong, the top was cut so that a guard could watch for enemies. The entire thing looked like a fortress. As he entered he noticed the monks that walked around in red robes with their hoods up, their face completely hidden. If the robes were black he would have sworn he was in The Random Stranger Guild. He approached a one of the faceless monks and asked, "Excuse me, can you please tell me where the one known as Philomel is? I'm his opponent for The Magus Cup."
The monk nodded then looked down at a scroll then said, "Philomel is located in room 243. She is currently there praying but apparently she is done. Is there anything you would like us to do with the arena before you go in?"
There was only one thing that the stranger needed to make sure he had. "Can you make sure that the room is a big open space. I might need it. Oh and make sure that the space is tall. It needs to be big enough to fit a giant bird."
The monk nodded again and the stranger left to the room 243. he passed monk after monk and door after door as he made my way to our arena. He finally reached the door that entered room 243. The wooden door had the a golden handle and the number 243 made out of gold in the center. The stranger entered the room, and as soon as he did, the room shifted. Stranger fell as the room twisted and buckled as the room widened. A rumble was heard as pure white pillars appeared and a landing rose where his opponent was standing with an alter behind her. Suddenly a spiraling staircase of 100 step stairs appeared around the giant pillar that held the alter. The cellar had become a majestic hall. The walls pure white and the columns reaching maybe 10,000 feet to the ceiling.
As stated before his opponent at the top of the pillar. A female faun who looked disoriented from the sudden change. The top of her body was human while the bottom was goat. Stranger started the climb of 100 steps as he made his way to the platform that housed the alter that the faun had been using for prayer.
This fight might actually be fun, he thought as he continued to climb the stairs.
The first signifier was the sound. She had been kneeling, pausing in front of the holy altar. Then there had been a clunk, a sudden massive non-identifiable noise of unusual loudness that thundered in her ears. Similar to a lever being heaved, beginning a clockwork process of Alerar that Philomel had heard of only in stories. A process that would begin a series of movements and secondary workings that would bring out a massive change.
And a massive change did occur, a shocking and sudden change to not the altar in front of her but everything else in the room. Where it had been dark before a bright light suddenly broke across the room. Philomel threw an arm across her eyes that had opened with the first sound of the process, blinding herself once more. Crying out she felt desperate fear as everything seemed to shake as if in an earthquake. The ground beneath her paused, then was pushed upwards forth out of the earth as the room and her sixth sense told her that the world suddenly was growing, outwards. Gripping onto the altar cloth the faun-whore was cast off her feet as the area she was on was parted from the ground, becoming its own island separate from everything. The sounds continued; clunk, whirl, stomp, slam, as various walls were pushed to various limits and her own heart was beating faster than she knew was possible.
"Gods in HELL!" she screamed, as the growth of the space she inhabited suddenly halted. She was slammed back to earth with a painful jolt, but the ground was still again.
Continuing to grip the altar cloth in religious longing more than anything, Philomel looked around her, eyes wide with fear at the room.
It was colossal. Vast. Pillars of white, snow white, held up a ceiling now thousands of feet about her. Where she was seemed to be a raised plinth, a platform something like ten feet by ten feet, close to the original size of the room. From what she could see from the centre of this island there were the curving of steps going down to the ground. Still shaking she gulped in breaths of clean air, trying not to see afraid.
Oh gods, she said, This had to be me.
She screwed her eyes slightly but kept them open. Taking a quivering hand from the altar cloth she clenched, then unclenched it a couple of times in attempt to de-stress, then took the hilt of her short kris dagger. Grasping it tightly, almost as if for dear life she paused, then struck the altar firmly, digging the blade into the wood. It only got part way, so dragging it out again she attempted a second time, now with more confidence. It buried itself, deeper, halfway up the knife now.
Holding the hilt in one hand she swallowed, then slowly got to her hooves. Tucking them beneath her she stretched, forwards, leaning to the side of the plinth - and looked down. Straight down. To the ground.
Then she recoiled, gasping, back into the centre of the area.
The drop was about fifty feet, but that was not what bothered her... really. Much. What was shocking was the appearance of a stranger, her opponent - the one who had changed her holy place. He was striding, dressed all in a black robe, up the spiral staircase towards her. Directly towards her. To fight her in this tiny little area on top of the world.
The assassin-whore gritted her teeth, growled.
This is not fair, she muttered, This is definitely not fair.
Stranger made it to the top of the staircase and panted for breath. Should've just teleported, the stranger thought as he huffed and puffed with his hands on his knees. After a little while, he finally looked at the platform they were on. There is no way we could fight on this, he thought then looked back at the staircase. If she made a break for the stairs and I was using my eagle she would be a sitting duck.
The stranger then looked up into the sky, his hood tilted upward with him, and yelled out, "Monks! Since we haven't started the battle yet, is it possible to make this platform at least five hundred feet and the stairs changed to an elven covered stairwell?" The room fell quiet but then suddenly a rumbling was heard as the platform beneath his feet started to shake and the platform widened, the Alter and a fawn moved away from the door as the stairs and the stranger towards the door. The stranger fell flat on his face as the platform moved. Behind the stranger, the staircase gain arcs that enclosed the staircase. Each arc was only a foot apart, too small for his birds talons to reach in and grab someone.
After a while, the earthquake stopped and the platform stilled. After a few more seconds the stranger stood back up and brushed off his robe. he then looked around the area, The platform was now was now 500 feet, big enough where if his wolf was summoned he'd be able to fight, large enough where the faun could avoid his eagle if that was what was summoned. Fifty fifty chance of either or being summoned, both on a fair playing field for the faun and themselves.
Speak of the Faun, the Faun was at the other end and the stranger decided it was time for introductions. "I am so sorry if the changes caused you any distress," the stranger said with a bow, his hand along his stomach. "However, I had to make the changes so that it would be fair for both of us." the stranger's voice was soft and respectful. It also had a sense of priestliness to it as well. "I hope you enjoy your fight." He said then placed his hand on the ground beneath him. The stranger then rose high into the air as a golden colored eagle with a ten foot wingspan appeared beneath him. "This is your opponent have fun." He then disappeared as the eagle screeched out a battle cry and got ready for battle.
The random stranger teleported behind a pillar on the far side of the room and sat down as he connected to his summon, ready to help direct the giant bird.
Philomel stared right at, and darkly, the man climbing up to the top of the plinth, to join her in this small island in the sky. She twisted back, pulling herself to lean against the altar again, then work fast as she removed the dagger from the wood, not without much brute force of course. It took a number of moments, but moments she had spare as the being cloaked in black made his way up the rest of the spiral staircase onto the top platform - her chapel, she angrily added - to join her with the wheezing breathlessness of an old man.
The assassin-whore narrowed her eyes slightly as she glanced up to see him approach her. The hood of the cloak indeed fell beyond his hairline, obscuring much of his face shrouding it in darkness. It was slightly indecent, not letting her able to see into his eyes, she considered, for how then was she able to try to gleam an understanding of his weaknesses?
It was even more indecent when he paused, then spoke directly to the good monks of the Citadel, and not at all to her.
"Monks! Since we haven't started the battle yet, is it possible to make this platform at least five hundred feet and the stairs changed to an elven-covered stairwell?"
"Excuse me?" Philomel began, standing in front of the altar as the room went silent. She still had a knife in hand but practised movements made her able to tuck the blade against her skin carefully as she folded her arms over her chest. "First you enter into this chapel unannounced and interrupt my prayers, Second you change the room and almost make me die of vertigo, and now, third you-"
But her words were very quickly and sharply and most rudely cut off.
There was a rumble, a heavy clunk; relative, yet louder, to the one before. Philomel let out an angered cry as she threw herself backwards against the altar, knowing the possibilities now. Reaching behind herself she firmly wrapped both hands this time into the cloth. Keeping her eyes locked on the stranger, who was now in her mind called "terribly rude bastard", she focused all her anger and hate upon this gaze, and that kept her steady for the while as the room changed again, the world altering, rocking, startlingly shifting around them.
He just stood there, non-chalant most likely grinning stupidly under that hood in a way that would ire her more ... Simply imagining it made the rage more real; Philomel's eyes narrowed, she sucked in her breath through gritted teeth and wished she did not have to grip on tight to the altar as the platform grew. Otherwise she knew what she would most definitely have done - she would have charged forwards and kicked him hard and true with her right hoof right in the balls.
Because she knew where they lay. She was an expert in where they lay. Always.
The change halted, abruptly, the ground ceased to shake. Now it was purer under foot, Philomel could use that energy in something more condemning than a stare. Leaning away from the altar she gathered her wits, ground her teeth together. Flipping her dagger from left to right hand, then back to the other, she moved, though still shakily, into a crouch, feeling every muscle inside of her longing to get her teeth upon this man's throat and rip it out of his neck.
The terribly-rude-bastard bowed suddenly, seeming to find her defensive mode amusing. He spoke in a voice littered with disgusting politeness.
The thought passed through her mind; A most wonderful actor, he should be on stage.
"Oh, I am so sorry if the changes caused you any distress, however, I had to make the changes so that it would be fair for both of us."
Darling, I will change the way your face looks.
Slowly the man rose out of his bow, paused for just a second, then bent down as his eerie sickly-sweet voice continued.
"I hope you enjoy your fight."
She let out a shrt snort, rolling her eyes a little. "Aye, I will enjoy tearing your eyes from their sockets, you bastard," she hissed.
But too late. Oh far, far too late.
So bloody far too late. For the man ... her opponent she had supposed was rising into the air. Flying, literally hovering a few feet. Something immitating the sun spread out from beneath him, a glorious light that spun and shimmered and spiralled before her very eyes. The faun-whore's mouth fell open slightly, releasing the tension in her jaw as she watched, in awe and astonishment and overall amazement. If he was some form of dark angel nobody had told her. A demi-god perhaps he was, a sorceror of some kind. An alchemist? Some alchemists most certainly had mysterious powers - some of which had been used upon her own flesh.
Yet no, not an alchemist, it transpired.
A massive eagle formed from the splinters of light, wingspan something within the ten-foot range. It raised a mighty head with a copper-coloured beak and screeched high to the sky, each fall and rise of its wings strong enough to cause a breeze. The stranger looked down at the thing he had just created, and Philomel, in horror, could feel the grin spreading across his face.
An eagle. It landed, with a light thud on the marble a fair few feet from her, brass claws scratching at the stone. Ruffled feathers curved down across a handsome body, large at the breast, smaller at the wing and spread wide at the tail. The creature shook itself, cocking its head slightly to glare at Philomel with a strong beady eye as she lost all hope to defeat this man.
Bloody hell. Bloody, hellish, crap-slug hell.
There was a single moment of silence. Then, "I hope you enjoy your fight."
And he promptly disappeared.
The stranger disappeared. Leaving her with the bloody eagle, at least six feet tall and looking most exceedingly aggressive.
Philomel let out a screaming yell of fury, eyes blazing at the massive creature, whose talons could rip a hole through her skin, straight to her heart and gouge it out with one strike.
"Bastard!" she yellwed, loudly, and lifted up her currently held dagger. Switching it quickly into her left she removed her throwing knife from her belt, set it between fingers as she was taught, then drew it back, trying to summon the same rage as she had felt before. Her legs were shaking - that was a fact that she could not deny, but she severly hoped that because this being had so horridly desecrated her chapel then perhaps the Will of the Gods would be on her side.
Perhaps. She hoped.
The eagle, bronze-browed, golden-tipped and light-crested, rose back into the air with a fell beat of its wings. And Philomel took her chance. She threw, hard. Right at the eagle's chest, and prayed.
Prayed that her knife would find its mark and hopefully - goddess, hopefully - today would not be her death-day.
The stranger sent out a warning that the eagle acknowledged through their link. It then flapped its wings to move itself just enough for the dagger to sail right in front of its beak. The eagle then looked down on the faun with a glare before it swooped down to try to catch the half goat, its talons wide open and a screech that reverberated off the walls.Quote:
OOC: Sorry about the delay, I didn't notice you posted.
Behind the pillar, the stranger had to cover his ears as the screech reached him. Note to self, get hood enchanted to be able to muffle anything that would heart ears, he thought as he continued to watch the eagles decent through the birds eyes.
The eagle seemed like it was on fire. Something born of myth and grace, and a secret so deep and royal it seemed dangerous to even pry. Part of Philomel, thankfully a very small part, had the sudden idea that it was rude to look at the glorious raptor, as it bore down upon her. There was an obvious majesty to the thing, it looked as if it should be the symbol of an empire, not some giant monster sent to kill her.
Claws extended like shards of ice were pointed towards her heart, eyes of bottomless darkness bore into hers as shadowing nightmares, and the dagger that whilsted through the air, her dagger, bounced harmlessly of the great eagle's beak as it bent its neck. Positioning its head carefully between the vast ceiling and her own self it cast her projectile to the side and then consquently spinning to the ground.
It held her gaze in an entrapment of direst cruelty, digging its eyes into hers in an attempt to see into her soul. Philomel cursed under her breath, and grasped the hilt of her kastane with her now empty right hand. Swinging it out of its sheath with a glorious silence she crouched low, sharing her weight evenly between her two hooves. As her body raged with pure anger she let her face truly reveal what she was feeling. It rippled into a twisted snarl, and she develed within herself to find the more animalistic nature that perhaps she might need here.
I am a half-goat after all. Half man, half beast.
Bestial, whatever. The eagle was far too sudden and unnecessary to defeat her. As it dove down towards her, claws and beak both poised for attack she let out a growl from her chest quite unlike anything she had released for a while. Bounding back, out of the way of the eagle strike path she moved to be beside, then around behind the altar. Swinging up her blades, both the kastane sword and parrying dagger as one she shielded her body behind the wood of the holy furnishing, and attacked brutally with an effective and sharp-witted attack that she had learnt in the latter days of her weaponry education.
The eagle pulled up out of its dive after it missed its prey by a few inches. However, it's prey didn't miss it. The sword dug deep into the bird's leg which made the bird flap it's wings as it sent another ear shattering screech that echoed in the empty halls. It then flew high in the room as it circled ready for its next command.
The stranger held onto his leg with a curse. This is what I hate about this connection, everything it feels, I feel, he thought before he started to scheme. After a while stranger smiled and sent a command to the bird.
The bird sent a mental confirmation that it understood then dived down and disappeared over the edge of the platform and waited for the faun to come to the edge to look for it.
The scream of the injured eagle was agonising to the ears. There was no possibility but to wince, shudder with an ugly feeling that sunk to the gut. Her blade had found its mark certainly; rather too easily she had parried around the eagle's guard and darted between the claws in time to slice just above the knuckle. Her kastane blade battered past the talons angled towards her, and her dagger slashed. The raptor, for all its size and majesty, was not trained in the arts of fighting, it seemed to have little sense of fighting. All it had was size and strength, there was no strategy in this controntation - it seemed to solely rely on nature.
Or so Philomel assumed. Due to the ease of the cut she struck. Ducking back the faun-whore hid herself behind the altar again, slipping down to hopeful sightlessness from the mighty bird, her heart rather calm and not thudding with fear at all. She kept her dagger and kastane at the ready, in case a beak or other lunged down over the side at her. Since she had gotten the first strike she was confident she could triumph this time, and be the hero, not the one who was felled and left to be under the claw of the enemy, defeated and shamed.
The screech faded to nothing, and then the nothing extended. Gaining back her breath was easy as she had not lost it in the right place. The faun kept tense, battle-ready, trying to excell her sixth sense to keep her awareness heightened. Humming a random tune in her head she tried to be patient, and not burst out of her "hiding" place, despite that it must be obvious where she had gone. Four feet in front of her the floor of the plinth fell away, which meant that a lot more was behind her, where the eagle was hunting. This knowledge inspired her to presume even further that the eagle was in no way intelligent, with no sense of ability but to act on instinct.
She snarled, gritted her teeth. Well then. There I can be glorious, for I am half beast but also half human ... you shall die.
Decision made and determination abounding, the faun-whore gathered herself. Placing one hoof on the altar she took in a long deep breath, one of attitude and longing - then strang up, twisting as she did. She landed, slam boom went her hooves on the marble floor, blades rising into battle positions and a look of savage challange on her face.
"Come at me!" she roared - to absolutely no one in sight.
The eagle had gone, clean disappeared from the air. Looking around, confused, and narrowing her eyes slightly she glared around. Firstly unfair, this fight had seemed, and now it was plainly alien. As if she had been shoved into a separate reality, forced into a world that she didn't understand, where things vanished when they wanted to.
Completely clear. Philomel blinked, and lowered her sword slightly. She considered for a moment, then slipped back into a crouch. Be prepared for anything. she reminded herself, the words of her old warrior-teacher living on in her memory. There may be an attack from the back.
Remaining where she was she followed the line of drops of blood, clearly from the only injured being in this place, and saw they moved towards the edge. She paused, then pricked her ears, listening, considering. She waited
Patiently.
And the gentle upwind, quiet sound of beating wings whispered to her ears. Like the muttering of flies it could be heard only if one concentrated with immense effort and even ignored the beating of their heart. Wings, fluttering, hovering, beyond the level of the plinth.
Hiding.
Philomel felt a small spark of amusement rise into her chest as she remained where she was. Remained and stayed, daring the raptor to make the first move to her.
The eagle hopped the along the base of the platform to keep itself quite before it went to the staircase and started to climb it's way up the arches as was advised by his summoner if the faun didn't look over the edge. As it made it's way to the top, the stranger went over the next part of the plan. Once the bird reached the top it gently touched down with a slight flap of it's wings to keep it a soft landing. It then stalked towards its prey as it was planned. It was to strike from behind and if the stranger aloud, make the faun it's next meal.
Stranger just shook his head at the last thought of the bird. That was the one thing he didn't like about the eagles, they always wanted to eat their opponents. Then again, so did the wolves. I really need to find a vegetarian who can fight, he thought as he watched the bird start to move towards the faun.
She had not been expecting it, not in the slightest.
As she turned and kept her poise she had been expecting to hear, or at the very least smell via the blood scent of, the injured eagle. She had kept her gaze steady, watchful, turning her body in a slow circle, chanting to herself in base faunish a guttural series of bleats and snorts that made a lullaby for babies. One her own mother had sung to her when in the crib.
Roughly translated into the common tongue of Althanas it sung; "I am your protector, I am the sun, watching over you forever, until you grow old. Trust in me, little baby, hold onto my finger with your tight clenched hand."
She kept it going and going, repeating the verse in her head. It was a method of relaxation, a meditation, one that she had used a fair few times over the years of fighting - but one that did not seem to help in any way here. For as she turned she did not expect to be shrouded suddenly in darkness.
There was a clear view one moment, then there was not. A lunge and a strike and suddenly Philomel was engulfed, her eyesight shut off. Later she concluded that it must have been because the eagle was a master of silence, preying on the mouse and vole with the mind and eyes of a dignified hunter. Though he was not the most subtle with his massive size, he was a master of stalking, and this provided him with the suddenness to come up behind her, stay behind her as she turned - without her even sensing it - and peck at her to swallow her whole.
The tip of its beak snapped shut at her ankle, fast, like a vice. Crying out, Philomel flourished around with both blades, almost completely inside the raptor's beak. Flailing them around she cut deep into the tongue, and kicked out sharply at the top half of the beak with a hoof, hoping that anger and such damage would tell it not to play such a dirty trick again.
"Ahhh!" Stranger screamed as he felt the pain in his mouth through the connection with the bird. With a thought he commanded the bird, Quickly! Drop the faun! The bird complied as it opened it's mouth to drop the creature that had cut it's tongue. However, the bird was on the edge and had it's beak over it. If the faun didn't find a way to catch herself she would most likely fall to her doom.
The eagle's beak retreated, as might any ordinary creature might.
Thick droplets of red blood splattered over Philomel as it squaked, almost terrified, its eyes screwing up for a moment in anguish. The pain, she imagined, would be agonising - having your tongue and other fleshy mouthparts suddenly stabbed in various places. Lacerated veins, exposed nerve-endings, the shrill chill of a metal blade as it struck across your warm interior flesh; it was hell to even imagine.
As the faun-whore suspected the action caused her to be dropped. The darkness went, the vice around her ankle disappeared. Sudden pain arose there, similar to a thorn being pulled from a wound and a hot liquid she very much hoped was blood ran down the fur towards her hoof. Gasping out in a moment of relief she tucked down, ducking under as the beak tip was removed, and rolling out of the way. This exposed her back briefly, but it released the pressure from her ankle for the moment. Her swords were tucked in a precise way close to her chest but in a practised way held from her body as she manouvered herself out from under the eagle and back into a safer area.
As she ceased to roll she glanced quickly around her. She had rolled directly away from the raptor, heading straight away, not to the side of. However, this caused a series of problems. The eagle had already been chatoically close to the very vertical edge of the plinth, and by moving hence she remained within dangerous distance to said edge. It also gave her less ground to stand upon - there was little room to move to escape to the centre of the platform once more. The altar also was now some way away, and her injured ankle did not necessarily allow her to be able to leap the space as she might be able to do usually. It was not worth the risk trying, in this case.
Therefore Philomel thought, fast and serious. Her mind worked overtime as the eagle came to understanding that the inside of its mouth was bleeding. She took into account her wound, and natural ability to leap over thirty metres in one smooth arc. Calculating that the plinth was not more than a hundred feet altogether, and that the staircase began its spiral not too far from where she currently stood, the idea came to her as a very feasible option.
She blinked, and a slow smile came to her face. Glancing up at the eagle she saw its virile eyes burning with hunger and locked upon her, despite the dripping of blood from its beak and leg. Her smile grew to a grin and after tucking her kris dagger firmly in her belt she raised her left hand and waved - before flipping straight over the edge and landing without much duress upon the steps ten feet below. Her injury caused her to slip a little, but she threw herself against the pillar upon which the platform was raised, and used her kastane sword as much as a crutch as she had used it as a weapon.
Then, as lithely as she could, considering the circumstances, she began the downwards epic race to the bottom, hoping that this might now give her a better chance of literal suvival.
I don't have much to say on the whole except don't be discouraged by the scores. This was an average battle that got bogged down by some unintentional, but certainly notable, bunnying.
As newcomers, I'll be providing you with full commentary. In the interest of brevity (foreshadowing here), I'm not using tables this time around. PH is Philomel and RS is Random Stranger.
Philomel | Random Stranger
Story - 4 | 4
Setting - 4 | 3 (RS: Your modification of the setting was bunnying. While dynamic settings can certainly make the battle more interesting, in this case you essentially used prose to give your character an ability that he didn't have)
Pacing - 4 | 4 (Both of you were hurt by your poor mechanics)
Communication - 4 | 3 (RS: One disadvantage of fighting VIA summon is that you don't have the opportunity to communicate with the other players as often. You mention your character has a pain link between him and his summons. You should use this connection to interact with the story)
Action - 3 | 4 (PH: Given the special nature of Random Stranger's summons, I do not feel it was appropriate to bunny the eagle without permission. It might have been a different story if he was present and the Eagle performed a swoop attack before disappearing, but here the eagle was essentially a familar inherently connected to the player character)
Persona - 5 | 4 (PH: You gave good insight to your character. RS: As a reader, I know nothing about Random Stranger. Who is he? Why is he there? Right now, he seems like a Kingdom Hearts clone: literally a nobody without a heart. Use next round to add depth to your character)
Mechanics - 4 | 4 (PH: You use a lot of run-ons. Remember, if the subject changes, you need to use a period or a semi-colon to continue the prose. BS: You have a lot of spelling, capitalization and grammar errors. These are easily combated by either a) using a word processor or b) using vBulletin's built in special check (simply write a post in advanced mode and you'll see button) to avoid the majority of these errors).
Technique - 4 | 3 (BS: You need to add more variety to your sentence structure. Currently, it reads very mechanical and is boring. PH: You are the opposite. You tend to interject tangental commentary which detracts from the writing. Technically, this is a mechanic switch from 3rd person person to 3rd person omnipresent writing, which is bad form. Try to avoid doing this in the future and your writing will flow much better)
Clarity - 4 | 4 (Both of you should consider brevity when writing. Multiple times throughout this fight, both of you would unintentionally repeat an action).
Wildcard - 2 | 4 (PH: In addition to the bunnying, I docked you for delayed posting because this battle was incomplete)
Total - 38 | 37
Philomel advances to the round 3 of the Redeption Bracket!
Random Stranger is eliminated.
Philomel receives 450 and 56 GP!
Random Stranger receives 150 EXP and 55 GP!