-
Misfortunes Aplenty
Green turbid seas stretched out in all directions, for as far as the eye could see. Walkways of pale marble extended beyond Anubis' view, their bone-white color twisted with a tint of bile as they glimmered under his gaze. The magic-generated world, warped in its own oddity, seemed like a twisted mnemonic of Tirel’s conversely energetic harbor.
Under his gold-eyed gaze the world stirred. Lime-green radiated rays spread across the sky like a full moon, acting as the main light source of the deathly plane - a bizarre alternative to the real world’s white-yielding sun.
The essence of witchcraft had often intrigued him, much so that he envied all those who could bid flames to streak out of their palms. Where he had an aversion to dealing with the monks, their supernatural abilities never failed to impress the Salavrian greatly. If they were adept at one thing--it was, he considered, none other than sorcery. Standing as sufficient evidence, the world he fared in authenticated their unrivaled exercise of black magic, and his being in the middle of the Coronian capital only awed him all the more.
A dark, towering figure sprang from the sea beside him, remained upright for a spare moment and -- as he leaped forth -- plunged down to the space he’d just occupied. There was a pause. Steadily it retired to the depths, writhing on its way before it wholly disappeared with a sounding sizzle. The spot which it had hammered gave way to steam, thawing under the blow like ice; it was then a roily gorge of green, threatening to take the entire marble headland with it in the process.
A giant oily tentacle the size of a developing wyvern, yet big enough to pulp him like a fig. What concerned him was not its bone-crushing strike, but its matter-melting powers. The marble dematerialized in three damned seconds, he mused; I ain't guessing how much I'd fare.
Where he never actively looked for a duel, the Salvarian knew where to look when he sought decent competition, one that would meet him in a world punctuated by writhing tentacles and pea green seas of melting liquid. The monks intended to test his mettle, and Anubis would never disappoint.
The Salvarian recoiled once the tentacle resurfaced beside the three arms-wide hole, curiously slithering in the waves. Both knew that it was quicker than he, yet it did not stir. It remained in its spot, observing him through its featureless skin. Anubis - looking round, brow furrowed - shouted, “Bring them on already!”
-
((There are references to items and events in both The Gnarled Roots of Osiris and The Gnarled Roots of Osiris II within my post. The Bazaar thread for the base form of Enpera is here))
The Citadel loomed on the horizon, dominating the skyline. Its size and weight seemed to pull the surrounding city towards itself, and even though Shinsou was rarely intimidated he could understand why people found the journey to the Citadel gates for the first time to be surreal and frightening.
This was not the case for him, though. The tales of the violence of the Citadel, and the rumours of dangerous effects he heard it could have on the mind and the soul, didn’t faze him in the slightest.
It was no secret that Shinsou was desperate to recover the power he had lost at Telgradia’s hands. Even though the powerful magic of Kokushi could not completely erase his soul, the Telgradian had arrived on Althanas with only mere remnants of his true abilities intact. In addition to this, he was also without his Kurai sword, Enpera, without which he had felt naked. Even as he prepared to hunt down Jal Shey targets of interest in Raiaera and ready himself for the inevitable arrival of Telgradia’s elite Council of Five, Shinsou had no choice but to make do with hired hands. It was far from ideal and incredibly frustrating for a man who had always been far from toothless when waging war, but now that he had chosen the blade that would form the basis of a new, rebuilt Enpera, Shinsou was starting to feel like he was making some sort progress in the journey to regain his power.
Periodically glancing up at its rapidly expanding shadow, he felt the nerves in his chest melting away the closer he got. The Citadel was cowing, bearing down on him, but strangely he found himself delighting in its wake. This, after all, was not a time to be fearing what was to come, but a momentous occasion to be celebrated. It was here at the Citadel, where the boundaries of life and death were inconsequential, that Shinsou could be himself again. He knew that to become stronger, to regain what he had lost, he had to fight to a degree of severity not afforded to him outside of war. The Citadel, however, could give him that platform, that stage. A killing field without beginning, and without an end.
All he had to do was perform.
Rain was starting to come down in sheets now, flattening his white hood against his head. The Citadel soared over his head, its spires towering into the murky skies above. Water cascaded down its cold stone walls and out of the mouths of the granite beasts jutting out from its stone.
He had arrived.
The front doors bore down on the man from atop the wide, shallow steps leading to the entrance, easily overwhelming the pillars flanking them. They were opened, and the Citadel’s bowels were exposed for all to see. As quick as a spooked rabbit, a waiting monk just inside of the door’s alcove turned to face Shinsou, an unimpressed expression etched upon his face,
“You’re late. Come!”
Before Shinsou knew what was happening the monk took off at a brisk pace down one of the Citadels labyrinthine corridors. Taken aback, both by the fact the monk knew who he was and the speed in which he had reacted to his arrival, Shinsou was almost left behind as he tried to follow in the monk's wake. Eventually, after a couple of left turns and a swift right, the monk reached a room that seemed to be in isolation in comparison with the rest of the wing, adorned with a single large door with iron plating.
“Through this door, quickly. Is that clear?”
Shinsou nodded, remaining silent. The monk grasped the large iron handle of the door, yanking it open.
“Good luck.”
-
At first the scenery was no more than a sickly, sludge-green shimmer of fog viewed through the eye of a swirling vortex. As Shinsou drifted through the portal that led to the arena he was to fight in, everything grew slightly out of focus, like a poorly taken photograph, before congealing back into a solid landscape with a thud.
The first thing Shinsou noticed, once he felt his feet press gently upon the bone white walkway, was an oddly arranged array of lime-green streaks across the sky. These strange rays were unobstructed by clouds and free to spread to all corners of the arena. The landscape here seemed ethereal, consisting of stretches of murky green oceans interrupted only by numerous pathways that cut through them, winding away into the horizon.
It was on one of these snaking walkways that Shinsou stood. For a moment, all was silent. Then, suddenly, a ferocious growl erupted from his right. He should have reacted, and even as he froze in place the Telgradian could see every move he should have made in his mind. However, his muscles refused to move as a colossal, slimy tentacle slammed into the pathway just in front of him.
What the fuck?
Caught off guard and surprised, Shinsou quickly took a step backwards, his hand instinctively reaching for Enpera’s hilt inside of his flapping white greatcoat. As Shinsou threw back the unbuttoned right side of his coat and instinctively wrapped his fingers around the cold ivory grip, preparing to unleash a strike, the beast had vanished. It took a few seconds for him to take everything in; the chasm left in the whitewashed pathway ahead of him, the scent of brine and salt from the tentacle that had attacked him, even the flickering silhouette of a figure in the distance.
Shinsou stayed his blade, and focused his gaze towards the person ahead of him.
It was a man, and he was stood not fifty feet away with his back turned to Shinsou. He was tall, slim built and had shoulder length brown hair. He wore a black greatcoat, not dissimilar from his own, and was fair skinned. The man’s hands were tucked into his coat pockets. Shinsou couldn’t help but notice his cold demeanour. Even here, it was particularly striking. Most importantly, Shinsou couldn’t see any sort of weapon in the man’s grasp, but somehow he knew this had to be his opponent. Was he the one controlling the giant beast?
Seek not beauty in battle. Seek not beauty in death. Consider not your own life. If you wish to re-gain that which was lost to you, then strike while your opponent's back is turned.
The words ran through his mind. Shinsou knew that if this man was controlling the behemoth that had tried to crush him moments ago, there was no time to waste. He rose his right palm level with the horizon and outstretched his fingers, closing his eyes whilst he focused his power into his arm. Immediately, a thin streak of dark energy snapped into existence and expanded rapidly, forming a solid conical shape. Tendrils of purple electricity entwined round the Dark Lance and spiralled up Shinsou’s right arm, stinging his bare flesh. Shinsou suddenly jerked forward, pivoting slightly on his right foot as he put the full force of his strength behind the Dark Lance, and watched as the projectile left his grip and tore towards its intended target.
-
Warlocks controlled magic for sundry purposes: terminating lives was the one often disclosed; and here, it showed. Anubis had sensed it, the tugging at the strings of reality - tearing through the air and traveling towards him with a speed that shamed sound. It boomed over the marble like a missile, an extrinsic force among the monks’ expert output. Anubis’ sword hissed in its sheath and glistened briefly in the stirring light; he spun on his heel, meeting his approaching demise with a rush of raw adrenaline.
It raced over the flooring, biting away at the marble and denting a groove in the process. The beam moved like a launched quarrel, its energy oozing behind it like spilled ink in water--all within a span of three seconds.
Magic met iron in a discordant symphony, his sword shuddering in his hand as he watched the crackling javelin fade overhead. The Salvarian cursed, his shoulders heaving, and caught some needed breath and straightened to his full height. Purple streaks hissed about his blade before they coughed, sputtered, and died. As his shoulders unknotted, his eye curiously darted up the walkway, and once it held a figure thirty paces off--halted.
A bloke stood measuring him with a culprit’s gaze.
“Speak of the devil,” the Salvarian muttered, turning the blade in the man’s direction. It swung down, hovered a hairbreadth from the furrowed marble and pointed to the opponent again--all in rhythm with Anubis’ steps.
The tentacle-caused gorge was not affected by the disturbance, yet the pressure from the lance-like beam had forced the seawater skyward, caressing the marble ground about it with its melting touch. Looks like these things had greeted him too, he noted, eyeing a duplicate of the gorge a few arm spans before the man. If this doesn’t work, he mused, eyes fixed on the bloke, then I don’t know what will.
He leaped over his own, the first one, and landed in a crouching position. After briefly studying the attacker in his expressionless glare, Anubis straightened into a jog. His speed escalated with each pace; Agility raced in his veins like a god’s touch, propelling him with a tempo no more that of a human’s.
His field of view greatly expanded Anubis came before the second gorge and, his inhuman speed allowing him thus, slid above the roily liquid and over the marble leading to his adversary. In three quick steps, he, like a hundred steps before -- sword drawn back in both hands -- finished on his left leg with a strong, firm stamp, a twist of his body and, his gold eyes meeting the man's for the briefest of moments, a sharp sweep as his sword's edge found the man's thigh.
-
Shinsou watched silently as his opening gambit, the Dark Lance, was easily swept aside by the sword of his as-of-yet nameless opponent, shattering into a million black fragments that scattered around the walkway and into the sea.
The failure of the attack was a predictable outcome, no doubt, but it was also one that had served a purpose; it had provided the Telgradian with a little information about his opponent. Firstly, the man was indeed armed, and with what looked like a double-edge sword. Secondly, his opponent had reacted swiftly to the threat, perhaps slightly quicker than most would have done in such a situation.
So, we are dealing with a swordsman after all, Shinsou mused, sweeping a hand through his disturbed brown locks.
It was in times like these that Shinsou was extremely, if not begrudgingly, grateful for the wisdom passed down from his late tutor and former friend Telos Soltair. Shinsou, known as Atlas Revaan in those days, had been but a boy when the Telgradian Captain had taken him under his sturdy wing. He remembered Telos placing his sword Enpera, for the first time, into his shaky grip. Telos had taught him many things, but most importantly the importance of balance in duelling; one could never hope to achieve victory forever based purely on a single style. That lack of fluidity, he said, could easily get a person killed. Instead, the concept of good swordsmanship relied on unpredictability, the casting away of those habits and natural nuances that made someone easy to read.
As he swapped hands, tightly wrapping the fingers of his right hand around the smooth, ivory hilt of his Damascus-forged Enpera, Shinsou looked up and noticed his opponent had begun his counterattack. This warrior was painfully quick. The residual heat left over from the cloud of Dark Lance particles distorted the man’s image as if it were being viewed through a prism as he darted towards the Telgradian. His blade, straight and true at his side, never wavered from within his grip as he leapt over the first gorge and sped over the walkway towards his intended target.
What?!
To his amazement, his opponent had closed the gap between them far quicker than anticipated. The simple difference in speed alone made the Telgradian feel stoic, and although Shinsou could still feel the hilt of Enpera locked between the bars of his fingers tightly, he could not command his right arm to move in time. The single fine edge of his blade barely met the crushing force of the opposing broadsword in time, a horrible metal clang drowning out his cry of astonishment, but it was not enough to prevent the attack from landing. Silvery beads of perspiration trickled in firm torrents down Shinsou’s face as an itchy, burning sensation drove up his inner left thigh.
The steel edge of the broadsword was cutting a jagged gash into his leg, through his clothing, and now puckered folds of bleeding flesh were sprouting through the tear. Shinsou winced in pain, and as he did, the Telgradian did the only thing he could think to do at that time. With the broadsword about to exit his inner thigh, Shinsou immediately shot out his left hand, trapping the blade between his hand and his leg. A trickle of crimson dripped from a new wound in his left palm and ran in rivulets down the smooth, polished edge of the offending iron sword.
“It is clear that your agility far outweighs mine,” Shinsou said, his expression twisted into a pained grimace. “But, if your speed was your advantage in this fight, then you have already wasted your opportunity to kill me. Having such agility only holds meaning in a mismatch between two combatants. With this battle between you and I, your speed will shortly hold no meaning at all.”
The man tried to wriggle the blade free with both hands, but it was already too late. From this distance, the Telgradian knew that defensive options for his opponent were extremely limited. Even then, as his window of opportunity opened before him, he could hear the words of Telos Soltair echoing through his memory.
If one abandons his habits and focuses his strength entirely on a single strike, then he can overcome even the greatest of powers.
Shinsou clamped the opposing blade between them by using his cut left hand to drive it further into his own leg, forcing down hard into more of his flesh. He seethed from the pain, bearing his pearl white teeth as his expression morphed into one of agony, but managed to pull back his sword arm to arc the sharp blade of Enpera up with a vicious momentum towards the man’s left leg.
-
His brand found its mark over the man’s thigh. The attack had almost been disrupted when the iron blade was met by the opponent’s own piece of arsenal, a katana that outclassed Anubis’ subpar sword to every degree possible.
The seas roiled to whispering winds, lightning streaks angrily dancing in a sky that seemed to have been cleft asunder. Deep green flashes blinked in the distance, spreading their color against his bloodied broadsword. The blade partly anchored in his opponent’s thigh, Anubis raised his head as the man spoke, his words sounding with a lilt of an accent unbeknown to the Salvarian.
As he listened, Anubis seized the chance to study his opponent closely: The man’s face seemed to reflect his own, both locked gazes gold-eyed and bearing an expression that stilled children's hearts. While Anubis’ hair reached down to his shoulders, the anonymous wizard had it swept back, brown locks drooping over his pale forehead. When he glanced at his bloodied sword, he’d noticed a red cummerbund that, Anubis presumed, was valuable to its wearer’s eyes.
When the man was finally done voicing his judgement, Anubis pulled back on his sword, but was stopped short when he felt a firm resistance against the withdrawal.
His opponent’s fingers had clutched onto the free edge, wounding himself in the process--and leaving the Salvarian wide in the open. The latter raised his brows as the man pulled the blade further in his own leg, sounding a gurgling tear of flesh and aggravating the wound to draw blood anew. Anubis found himself a breath’s distance from his opponent’s face.
As he’d figured, the wizard put his ultimate piece of weaponry into use - one that easily mortified his deflected javelin. It stretched back, a fine, single-edged saber, and arrived before Anubis could recall its intent to lacerate his own leg.
The Salvarian, in an agonized grimace, stifled a shriek as his left thigh seemed to have went ablaze. He moved his leg too late, yet still evaded what would have been otherwise a nearly limb-severing strike: the blade had came in too soon, cut a wound that gave way to his own blood, and stopped within his very leg. Anubis watched red liquid damp his leather leggings and stain the man’s katana through his narrowed, gold-eyed gaze.
A thigh for a thigh, he told himself.
Yet time cannot be spent enduring pain, for time had always been an invaluable commodity to the Salvarian. Through clenched teeth, he sneered, “Talk all you want, but remember this name: Anubis--” he paused, wheezing furiously, "of Skavia!”
Thus, he had to act: his grimace contorting into a scowl, the man of Skavia jerked back his head, shut both eyes, grimaced again, and thrust himself forth - his head storming to meet the man’s own and free himself from the katana's flaming grasp.
-
A sickly feeling rushed back through Shinsou’s body as Anubis’s forehead smashed into his face, shattering his nose and drawing a steady trickle of blood from the nostrils. Cold waves of pain coursed all over his skin, making the Telgradian’s flesh creep, and as Shinsou panted heavily from the shock and the throbbing of the injury he felt another sudden jolt of agony shoot up his left leg. Anubis had wrenched the blade embedded in his leg free, dragging the steel edge back across the already puckered flesh, and stepped back as Shinsou crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap.
There was a moment of silence, and the seconds that followed passed like hours. Shinsou could only see the floor, a white stone walkway that was stained with spatters of his own blood. He could only feel the cold, cruel touch of the marble floor on his cheek and the pulsating pain in his face and leg. He could only hear his own heart pounding against his chest, and the sloshing of water that lapped up against the edges of the path he lay prostrate and helpless on.
I will not take your life, Shinsou. With the measure of power that you possess you are unlikely even to lose consciousness from those wounds. Stay there, helpless and defeated and observe carefully as this battle reaches its conclusion.
The words he heard echo in his skull were again those of his tutor, Telos. This time, though, the context of the vision was different. This was the Telos who had not come to advise him, but had instead come to kill him as Telgradia’s guardian. As the world faded to black around him, defeated at the hands of the Council of Five three years ago, these were the final, burning words that had confirmed his downfall as proclaimed Emperor of Telgradia. This was the damning indictment of his failure.
The Telgradian had not felt this way for a long time.
Shinsou groggily looked to his right and saw Enpera was still tightly locked within his grasp. His hand had almost turned white because he was gripping the hilt so hard, and his knuckles protruded up like horrid sores as he attempted to hold on to his blade with all of his might. With what felt like a gargantuan effort, Shinsou pushed himself up to his feet, establishing a vertical base once more despite the seething pain eating at his leg, and defiantly pointed the tip of his sword at his opponent.
“I admit, there is nothing but fear reflected in my sword.” The Telgradian said, spitting aside part of the river of blood that was forking from his nostrils to his lips. “When I dodge, I’m afraid of getting killed. When I attack, I’m afraid of making a mistake. Yes, my sword speaks to me only of absurd fear, but fear is needed for evolution, the fear of being destroyed. Only resolve can be born of that.”
Shinsou looked into Anubis’s eyes. Already today, the Telgradian had been made to remember the difference between the Shinsou of the past and the Shinsou of the present. Despite the injuries, and despite the pain, he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, knowing that this feeling of relative powerlessness would only fuel his utter, uncontrollable desire to become the best once again. Suddenly, as if forced, there was a hiss as the crystalline form of his Dakuatsu number one snapped into existence on his left arm. Steam from the heat of the magic billowed from the polished, circular crystal shield now attached to his forearm.
“Now,” Shinsou said, raising his sword and shield into a ready stance, blood still seeping from his wounds, “As you try to pierce my heart, I will show you my resolve to kill you, Anubis of Skavia.”
-
Heart pounding thick at his chest Anubis reeled back, his sword drooping from a gauntlet that fumed with sweat. The head-ache did not appear until he poised on his heels. Shoulders heaving, he eyed the recumbent wizard with his piercing gaze and glanced at his wound. It still bled, singeing in a deep red fashion among dark tattered leather.
Anubis found his strength, gathering his grip on his sword and straightening to his full height. The wind had just started to grow sharp, whispering in his ears like the moaning of souls long lost to the eternal beyond. Thunderous booms rumbled overhead, in a register marked and twisted by the monks' foul sorcery.
The Salvarian pulled his gaze from the rising wizard in time to see something lurking at the sea surface.
Tentacles shuddered in untold amounts, a legion of flexible beings that writhed every where he looked. Where there had been roiling green there was now writhing black, for as far he could see, their figures shuddering like fidgeting spectators in their seats. A testament to the grandeur of the battle that had just been commenced.
Lightning flashed green as he, once again, looked over to his adversary. The man had straightened, standing on his bleeding limb and its untouched twin. He had leveled his sword, its grand blade glaring at the Salvarian like a bared tooth. The nameless wizard spoke, and when he was finished, Anubis observed--both brows raised.
Shining crystal hissed about the man's arm and formed itself as it gave way to steam. His interest piqued, the young Salvarian watched as a shield--within a span of few seconds--had materialized out of thin air. Anubis stared. The wizard uttered his name, Anubis' name, and after threatening to eliminate the Salvarian, fell silent. I won’t pierce your heart. For now.
“You talk too much,” Anubis sneered, eyeing his glittering-red blade as it lay stock-still in his hand. “I've something to tell you, regardless--but only after we end this,” he paused, seizing his sword with both hands, “as you expire.”
Standing six paces back he firmed his two-handed grip on the sword, his only weapon--and moved.
The effect of Agility still influencing his feet, Anubis shot forth. Covering the six paces in three, he feinted left, towards the man’s shield, reassured his grip and, stamping his left foot, sent a one-handed thrust, his blade whizzing past to meet the wizard's right eye.
-
What?!
Bewilderment was a word that could only begin to explain the look that crossed the Telgradian's face as he watched Anubis break, once again, into his offensive sprint. It was utterly ridiculous that the wound that Shinsou had inflicted on his leg hadn't been the slightest bit effective in impairing Anubis's agility, and the Telgradian was left hoping that this absurdity was some sort of illusion.
However, it was now all too late for hope.
Shinsou tried to raise his shield on his left side and spin anti-clockwise to meet the incoming blow, but his muscles were fatigued from blood loss and his reactions were clearly severely affected. A stream of blood trickled from his thigh as Shinsou pivoted, staining the white walkway beneath him, before Anubis's sword tore through his right shoulder blade. The force of the attack was brutal - the metal cutting edge sheared muscle fibres away from tissue, fracturing the shoulder blade underneath into two seperate pieces that ruptured many of the surrounding blood vessels.
As a wave of agony consumed Shinsou whole, he had time only to gaze upon the face of his vanquisher. The man’s face was entirely unfamiliar, and yet something about it tugged at the deepest recesses of Shinsou's memory. It felt like there was something he wanted to remember, but he just couldn't remember what. Despite this, his breath hung on the air, the anticipation of being so close to the end of his life in this battle making his body numb.
Don't use such strong words, Shinsou. It only makes your weakness all the more apparant.
Shinsou was now barely conscious and even as more of Telos's words poured into his mind the world around him seemed to be blurring into a sickly haze, like an oil painting ruined by a water spillage. Through the indiscriminate burning pain engulfing his body, his joints ached where he had impacted the cold, hard floor. Blood flowed in crimson torrents from his open wounds, dripping down the front of his body and forking down the front of his clothes. The salty taste upon his lips from the liquid was an unfamiliar one that stunned him momentarily – there weren’t many people who had caused the mighty Shinsou Vaan Osiris to bleed like this. His features were now gaunt and frail, almost as if something had leeched the life from his body, and his chest rose and fell harshly as the man’s lungs tried to work through the pain of his injuries.
For me...to be defeated like this...?
Shinsou’s eyes in those final moments were no different to those of any other that had accepted their fate in the Citadel, that death had finally come to collect. He knew he should be doing something, anything, to protect himself but now there was just acceptance of the inevitable. It felt like he was trapped in quicksand and no matter how much he struggled he couldn’t seem to move. The sword carved through the rest of his muscle and bones like a knife through butter, and before long the only remaining evidence of Shinsou's physical form was a bloodied, mutilated carcass on the path.
-
His gold-eyed gaze followed his opponent’s, which then had descended to the marble floor and suddenly seemed bereft of its luster. The wizard had spun too late. Anubis’ sword thus found his thorax, piercing fabric and flesh, and fracturing bone like glass. He could not quite tell if the look on the wizard's face was one of agony, or of his wounded pride.
Nevertheless, the battle was over. The nameless bloke dropped over the marble with a thud, and a clank, brief as the fray that had preceded it. The great saber was like its owner: suddenly powerless and hanging by a thread over the death abyss. The thunderstorm boomed once more, before fading and dying out--all in a span of two seconds.
Lifeblood emerged from the wizard’s wounds, and how. He was... still, his eye unwavering from Anubis’ as he expired. The young Salvarian was stood, bone-tired, and his opponent--dead.
Leaning to retrieve his sword the Salvarian winced, reminded of his wound that seemed as fresh as a neonate. He heaved a sigh, that was none other than of relief, and turned. The beryl-green seas sat unmoving, a reservoir of mortal liquid that outclassed any ocean the real world could offer.
The heavens, after having unclosed, had returned to some normality; the seas were calmed whence they had been stirred.
Once a life is lost in battle, so too does the battlefield die underneath it, thought he, and called, “Get us out of here,” pulling his blade out of the cadaver with a sounded ripping of flesh. The man had turned pale like a full moon. “Shame I didn't get to ask him for his name,” Anubis murmured.
His only wound still bled, but wounds then were the least of his worries.
“Wonder if the monks could create a replica of his sword,” wondered Anubis of Skavia.
-
Topic: Misfortunes Aplenty
Judgment Type: Condensed
Participants: Fez_The_Kid & Shinsou Vaan Osiris
Plot: 13/15
Fez, I was really impressed by the setting that you selected for this battle. It was unique, and I liked the way that you essentially shed a green light on the entire space. I actually would have liked to have seen a bit more description in your first post, but I appreciated how your character reacted within the world you constructed. Often, writers spend so much time crafting the setting in the first post that they forget to actually interact with it. The way that Anubis saw the crumbling marble as an omen was an excellent touch!
As for the story itself, something felt lacking. From what I could understand from his musings in the first post, Anubis was eager to fight a magic wielder because of his own fascination. I only gained that after a few read-throughs, and I was looking closely for his motivation for visiting the Citadel. After the first post, that theme seemed to disappear all together. You could have really breathed more life into your character by returning to this motivation throughout the story. In parts, your writing felt a bit one-dimentional, more a list of actions than the thoughts, emotions, and eventual reactions of a realistic character. This is an easy trap to fall into when it comes to the Citadel! In the future, try really focusing on your character’s motivations in the battle. Why did he want to win? What did victory look like, or mean to him?
Shin, you wove a very interesting mentor/mentee theme throughout the entire piece. Though the process seemed a bit underdeveloped, that could have come from the thread’s odd pacing and overall short length. I thought it was an excellent concept. It helped me understand what it was that drove Shin, and I was given a slight look into who he is as a person. That’s so valuable in a Citadel thread, and I found myself rooting for him as I read on. You also did an excellent job of weaving the setting into all of your posts. Well done.
My biggest complaint, and this goes for both of you, was pacing. You started off strong, but both characters sustained heavy injuries in the next round of posts. Especially in Shin’s case, the wounds were so crippling that there was little else that could be done. I am not sure if this was pre-planned, or you both simply grew tired of the piece and were eager to wrap things up, but the whole thing felt incredibly rushed. I think a bit more communication between you two might help ease this. Even in a Citadel battle, discussion between writers is by no means “cheating.” And while you do not necessarily have to outline post by post, being more open about what was meant to happen when might keep you from coming up short like this!
Character: 15/17
Fez, I thought that you made some excellent choices with dialogue here. What was said was short and sweet, consistent with a character who feels confident in himself and his abilities. I also appreciated the actions that you chose. For example, when both men were in such an awkward position in post five, the head-butt was actually very practical. Nice job thinking that through.
Many of the issues that I raised in regards to story apply here too. I am confident that Anubis is a very dynamic character, but very little of that shined through here. The phrase “get inside your character’s head” may be cliched, but that’s what I’ll encourage you to do here. Consider the questions I asked above. How can you really work to bring your character to life? On a different note, Shin was not the only one who was confused by Anubis’ ability to run on his wound. I see that the Agility ability was activated, but the skill does not speak to running after being injured. This would not have been such a big deal had you not a) drawn a parallel between Shin’s wound and Anubis’, giving the reader the sense that they were the same severity, and b) described Anubis’ wound in the same post. Shin could hardly stand, and the “deep red” gives me a vision of a very nasty injury. I re-read a few times, looking for some mention of healing, or a deep-rooted sense of inner determination to get him through, but I found neither. It was as if you shelved the wound altogether, and it made the fight seem lopsided and less believable. Keep that in mind for next time!
Shin, your character’s reason for being at the Citadel was abundantly clear, and remained consistent throughout, really bringing him to life. Many of the strengths that I outlined under Plot apply here as well, as they helped me understand who Shin really is. I also want to commend you on your willingness to put Shin through the wringer. Few writers are willing to write such pain and misfortunate, so nice job!
For you, my biggest critique was dialogue. Shin says a lot here, which is unusual for a man in so much pain. In post four, I think that he was a bit too chatty. Furthermore, in post six, his declaration seemed incredibly out of place. What compelled him to share all of that? Explaining that to the reader would have cleared up some of my confusion. In the future, try either altering the words spoken, or adding a bit more detail as to why you made the choice that you did.
Once again, I would encourage both of you to communicate a bit more. A wound that ultimately led to Shin’s demise was hardly noticed by Anubis. Whether that was intentional, or something was left out of the actual writing, I cannot say for sure. But two evenly-matched characters fought a terribly one-sided battle, and I’m not sure why.
Prose: 17/17
This advice applies to both of you, as I noticed many of the same strengths and weaknesses. First, this was a well-written thread. There were very few typos, demonstrating at least a basic level of proof-reading. I can also tell that you two have a firm grasp on the English language. Many of my clarity issues (which drove down your score here) stemmed from problems noted above, rather than mechanics errors. Great job.
The one key suggestion that I have is in regards to word choice. There were quite a few times when repetitive words and phrases bogged me down. Repetition can be an excellent tool, but I do not think what happened here was intentional. Shin, for you it was the phrase "the Telgradian.” I would encourage you to think of other was to describe him. Consider physical appearance, personality traits, or identities gained through other experiences. Though this was less of an issue for you, Fez, I felt that you overused the word “grimace.” It is such a good word, when used sparingly, as it loses some of its “oomph” when it is used too often.
Wildcard: 6/6
I’m awarding this wildcard because I think this fight has loads of potential. You’re both excellent writers, and you had some really good stuff here. I hope that you two face off again!
Final Score: 51/55
Shinsou Vaan Osiris receives 500 EXP and 90 GP
Fez_The_Kid receives 350 EXP and 30 GP
Congratulations!
-
All EXP and GP have been added.
