Round 2 will begin 4/8 at midnight Eastern. Please note additions to the rules and regulations, and good luck.
Due to my forgetful ass, you get an extra 12 hours to post. You will have until 4/22 at noon EST to complete your thread!
Round 2 will begin 4/8 at midnight Eastern. Please note additions to the rules and regulations, and good luck.
Due to my forgetful ass, you get an extra 12 hours to post. You will have until 4/22 at noon EST to complete your thread!
Heavy waves rolled past the entrance to the bay, each longer and more ferocious than the last. Conditions were getting so bad that the Cudlitz Pride had been forced to emergency anchorage only two hours from Lyridia. William glared at the sea, watching as yet another wave smashed into the breakwater. Ripples from the broken wave caught the Pride and tossed the ship beneath his feet. It angered him. But then, everything seemed to anger him nowadays.
A pop beneath his hand told William that his fingers had tightened enough to crack the railing, but he didn’t release it. Instead, he turned and eyed the cliffs of Southern Lornius which stood only a few hundred yards away. He could easily swim the distance, even in these turbulent waters, though the smashing tidal surge could prove problematic. But leaving the ship meant leaving Talen. William held no love for the boy shadowmancer, but Talen was the only one with any lead toward finding their puppet masters.
The duo at the fair, as William expected, had had nothing to offer. There was only one thing that he had Talen had been able to glean.
A single name.
Lornius.
Booking passage from Scarae Brae to Radasanth had been easy. It’d been more difficult to get passage from there to Lornius however, given the xenophobic, isolated nature of the island. But a week of rattling the docks and a ridiculous amount of money had found passage aboard the Cudlitz Pride for the two of them. And now, after two months of travel, William found himself idly anchored a few scant hours from his destination.
“Shit luck, eh mate?” said a man, one of the Pride’s deckhands. William glanced at the man, annoyed at the intrusion. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that hadn’t heard the man approach. “Storm whipping up like this with port being so close you can almost see it.”
William frowned at the man, not bothering to keep the hatred out of his burning eyes.
“I, uh, sorry,” the sailor muttered, visibly paling. He stumbled backwards several steps before turning and retreating across the bobbing desk at full speed. William watched him flee with obvious hatred. He had come to hate humans. He hated their endless need to fill their lives with trivialities. He hated the forced social chattering. Most of all, he hated the tedious monotony that they brought to his life.
He’d been a human once. But years of living as a monster had burned the humanity from him. Countless hours had been spent to hone him into a living weapon, which had left him as nothing more than a hollow shell filled with burning rage. And now that he was what they had made him into, William was done being a tool to be used and discarded, as these puppeteers would soon find out.
He turned back to look out over the ocean, his burning eyes hard and utterly without mercy. There was a storm coming alright, and everything that got in his way would feel it.
“You're hurting me.” she whimpered. Skie's voice came out like a choke, muffled by her own heavy breath and the warm shoulder pressed against her mouth. Almost immediately, Seth shifted above her. His hand moved from where it had been gripped too tightly on her hip, the fingers digging into the joint, and slid down her thigh. He might have relieved the pain but he continued just as roughly, shoving her legs further apart and nearly spilling her off the pallid pillow of straw-stuffed cotton.
They'd waited all day at the jail along the frontier of Alerar. As the morning pressed further into afternoon, they didn't see so much of a shadow of the Lornius Corporation. Skie moved from the roof to the shade of the cells, while Seth paced the yard. He'd run a track in the tall grass, leaving a wake as broken and angry as his mood. The fight they had bet would come to them left them alone together.
Seth decided then that they wouldn't wait for Lornius or thieves, which ever Skie's training would have been pointed towards. Instead, they would take their training to the Corporation's home island. It was an unnecessary tangent, Skie had argued but Seth in his foul mood would hear nothing of it. So they had traveled to the Raiaeran coast and found a boat that was too afraid to bar passage to the Lavinian Demon.
A rough bite on her shoulder rolled upward to her neck, becoming more careful. Skie wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling her face into the lee of his jaw. He was like a tide in the bedroom, pulling back only to throw himself back in, and any gentle kiss brought her to dig in her nails to the sinewy muscle of his back in preparation of the waves.
Instead of the crash of the hex mage, the boat rocked, pitching them towards the wall and she could feel him tense and stop. The swordswoman frowned; had she endured the strong taste of ginger on his kisses for nothing? A pale demon pulled back and stood, raking his fingers through his hair as he swore and clutched at the side of the bunk.
“Fresh air,” he growled and stalked from the room. On the straw mattress, Skie frowned but started to slowly fish for her clothes and mend her disheveled raven hair. The open door and the sudden feeling of being alone made the room suddenly cold where before they'd put more than enough heat in the small space.
Dressed, she laid back down and covered her face in her hands. Alerar was far behind, Lornius just in reach and electricity stirred in the air. A storm was coming, she could feel it. Only she wasn't so sure if it was in the grey and rain-burdened clouds swirling ahead, in the crashing waves that rocked them to and fro, or in Seth Dahlios. All Skie knew was it was up to her to weather it, and get them both through alive.
“I’ve got you this time runt!” spat harsh words edged with plenty of drink.
The air was filled with the roar of excitement as the first mate sat down opposite Talen. The man had a barrel chest and thick log-like arms. A native of Salavar at some point, he had soaked in so much salt over the years that his skin was a leathery tan more akin to Fallien. The only hint of his icy-cold heritage was the hair that had navigated from the top of his head to his chest and proud tufts poked out of his shirt.
Talen was nearly completely overshadowed by the giant of the man opposite him. This was the fourth time the first mate had challenged the diminutive warrior. The first time was meant as a joke, but had quickly turned sour after being easily defeated. The initial roars of excitement died to a tense hush as sailor and child lifted arms. In a normal competition both men would clasp hands, but with the child’s so much smaller it was simply swallowed by the hamfisted firstmate.
“Another 20 gold?” Asked Talen.
The youth’s face was etched with a wiry smile and framed by the mess of long dark hair. His skin was a sickly pale and drastically different to that of the sailor. Only his blue eyes carried a hint of colour.
“I have to ask of course, because at this rate I might be able to pay off the debt for this trip through winnings alone,” said Talen. In truth the cost for the voyage was far in excess of the small gambling sum. The spectacle was enough to keep the crew engaged while they ancored. In their current state only a small number needed to remain on deck, the rest burned through their rum allowance and waited for the seas to calm.
Another sailor grabbed their hands and pressed tight. It was at his release that the two surged with strength. The first mate was strong, stronger than nearly everyone on the ship. Talen however, he was much stronger. The youth slowly moved the firstmate’s arm back amid the torrent of curses and howls.
“Out!” Cried the sailor acting as referee as the firstmate’s hand touched the table.
“Arrrgh! Dammit boy not again!”
The firstmate dropped the coins on the table and slapped Talen on the shoulder. The youth spread the grin on his face and laughed in return.
“You’ve got some talent there boy!” roared the firstmate, “heck of a job well done!”
“You were much stronger that time,” lied Talen, “I had to really push to get you down.”
The off-duty crew resumed their drinking. Some played cards, others flipped coins or read. Despite the roll of the ship amid the waves, all seemed comfortable and at ease.
I can’t wait to kill these bastards.
Hands trailed on the walls of the hallways, ever pushing forward through the tangled mess of cloth, hair, and nausea the Demon pitched forward. Finally, it breached out into the open air, pushing past men without any regard. More than one gave him a sympathetic look, having seen this scene play out more than once on the trip. The stop in Radasanth had seen the Demon invest quite a bit into a local ginger farmer, but much like every attempt to stem it, the Sea Sickness had gripped the Demon the moment the boat had hit the open seas. Where he usually used the window, occasionally he had to use a railing in his wait for the coasts of Lornius to show their ugly edifice.
He almost reached the railing, he could have saved it, giving the contents of his stomach to the gods of the seas, but in the end he failed. He saw a pair of boots, and he was quite sure the scent of half digested ginger on them was not an attractive quality. The boots were a worn and beaten leather, mistreated through years of abuse. A world traveler of sorts it seemed, these boots too held the dust of a dozen countries. Another retch saw more stomach contents cover the aged leather, as he resorted to dry heaves. A hand gripped the railing, his stomach finally settling to a rest. The back of his hand drawn across lips even as he spit over the side of the ship, trying to erase the taste of his vomit.
He looked about him, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. This wasn't the disorientation of a drunkard, but of a man well accustomed to the curse of Sea Sickness. Nothing he ever did seemed to change the fact he would get sick, and much like his life had become, he fought through it. Taking in his surroundings, his hand twitched almost reflexively when he spied the first signs of a man he had longed to gut. His eyes narrowed, as hate filled his frame, burning nausea and the ensuing weakness from his system.
Deep within his chest he felt the first gears of the wrath engine begin their rotation. The machine that was chained by his patience slowly gaining momentum, given birth by the rage at seeing the man who betrayed him wholly before him. He instinctively reached for knives he knew weren't there, and realized he was woefully unprepared for the engagement he had just committed himself to. His eyes growing dead and colder with each moment he drank in the details of a name that burned its way from his lips, “William Arcus...”
Fire kindled in his chest, burning away at his patience, logic, and sanity. The man that had underhandedly disoriented the Ixian Knights enough to see his daughter kidnapped from their Castle, stood before him. The man many had faithfully called General, and followed with absolute loyalty stood without a care. Seth Dahlios blamed few people for that night, himself included, for failing to ensure his family, for trusting Sei Orlouge, for letting Cassandra Remi live when he had the chance to gut her without repercussion. How many times he had wanted to bleed the bitch, he couldn't keep straight anymore. He had grown tired of counting.
William Arcus however, was perhaps the largest player in that night.
The former General had sown chaos by giving conflicting orders, and in doing so allowed Cassandra Remi to re-enter Castle Ixia, the results of which caused him to lose Samantha to that vile woman. If blame could be laid at the feet of any one man for the dreaded Night of Debauchery, it could be William Arcus. That night would never have gone so badly, had he not seen it so. And with the rage shaking his frame he hissed, “I wondered if you would ever crawl out of whatever rock you hid under. Glad to see you finally did. Now I can make you pay for that night, and cross one more person off my list of souls I'm going to drag to hell with me...”
He hand no equipment, he had no way of making this fight even. He wasn't being cunning, nor was he being clever. The heat of his chest has infused him with a raw energy that saw the punch he threw at William Arcus held no elegance, or efficiency. In a world where Seth Dahlios was considered a deadly opponent, any who saw that punch would surely have laughed.
It certainly made Seth feel better.
Approaching footsteps intruded on William’s meditation. This was the third time that he’d been approached since taking up his watch at the bow of Cudlitz Pride and he was quickly growing frustrated with all the intrusions. It would have been less irritating if the others wanted to watch the coming storm in silence as William was doing, but all of them tried to engage him in conversation about petty things. Two months of travel left him itching to lash out at these creatures, but he’d held himself in check. There was nothing to be gained from violence, after all.
“Nothing but peace and quiet,” he grumbled to himself at this latest intruder’s approach. He’d planned on simply glaring at the man until he left, as he had with all the others. But instead of greeting William with some useless platitude, the intruder vomited on him. Twice.
A moment of angry shock paralyzed William. The man was saying something to him, likely an apology, but William wasn’t paying attention. He’d done his best to keep his violence in check through the months he and Talen had spent at sea, but this was too much. This man had just killed himself. William looked at him with murder in his eyes, but to his surprise found himself face-to-face with an old acquaintance.
A murderous old acquaintance.
A murderous old acquaintance who was throwing a punch at him.
Surprised, William took Seth’s punch squarely on the jaw. Seth was a deadly fighter but skill wasn’t as important in a fist fight as raw strength, and Seth was not nearly as strong as William. The blow rocked William’s head to one side, but little more than that. A trickle of blood fell from William’s lip where Seth’s fist had connected with a sharp tooth, but the split lip was already healing.
Anger burned through William like a wildfire. When he’d though it was just another passenger that’d vomited on him, William had intended to draw out the violence in as painful a manner as possible. But this was Seth Dahlios, and even though he hit like a pillow he was still dangerous. It wouldn’t do to underestimate him.
“Dahlios,” William growled in acknowledgment. Human features burned away in the blink of an eye as William assumed his war form. Heat billowed off his charred skin, and blackened lips pulled back to in a vicious grin. Bone claws shot forward in a flash, fingers splayed to grab Seth’s throat and tear it out.
The pain twisted through her gut, worse than any of the aches her monthly visitor paid upon her. With each slow, rusted crank of the Wrath Engine, Skie felt it deep inside. It hurt. It killed. There’d been more than a few times she’d regretted linking her soul with the Lavinian’s, and once again the ‘never should haves’ were flooding her as she scrambled off the mattress where she’d thought she’d take a nap.
Her boots slid on the damp floor in her panic and she all but crash landed into their things. Their bags were thick burlap and she clawed at the olive cloth to pull at the laces. Seth Dahlios was in trouble, and while she didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into the churning in her stomach gave her a good idea that the fact that he’d walked out in just his pants and boots wasn’t going to be his best idea.
Somewhere in this godsforsaken bag, his gauntlets were packed away. Another turn of the Engine hit and she doubled over, her face pressed into the thick, rough bag. The faint reek of must and bilgewater mostly masked the scent of Seth’s clothes within. For a moment she was dizzy from pain, remembering the way she felt when she’d peeked into his soul in Alerar. A ghostly shred of a man chained down, the march of a machine forever drawing closer. Skie had seen that the Engine would eventually rip him apart, use him as cogs and leave him for dead. Seth knew it too, and he had accepted it, a means that justified the end.
Not today
Cursing their pick-pocket-proof packing job, Skie left the idea of the gauntlets. His belt and daggers had been cast off in their foolish fumbling and was right at hand. Grabbing her father’s sword and her lover’s blades, she turned and flew through the door of their tiny cabin. The hallways were mostly bare and she hardly ran into anyone as she raced along the wet corridors. Not sure where to turn she blindly followed intuition.
A left turn, a right, and another right and she spilled through a swinging door. It wasn’t the deck, as she’d expected. Instead, she was greeted with lamps and laughter. Men were clutching mugs and talking animatedly. A few quietly looked her way when she burst into the room in a panic, but most paid her no mind.
“Where’ya off’n so?” The first mate asked, laughing. She was face to tuft with his leathery skin and the peer of body hair over the unbuttoned vee of his shirt, trying to look around him for the way to the deck.
“Looking for someone,” she said, noticing how the first mate had already looked at the plethora of steel and edges that she was carrying. His body language had changed, the relaxation and jest melting away. The crew had sailed with him long enough to catch up on it and like a ripple along the surface of a still pond, the tension stretched out among them. Most were smart enough not to let on.
“Who abouts?” he asked, still barring her way. The smaller woman stared him down, wondering if she should just push past and search herself but something stilled her.
“Scary guy, brown hair, no shirt, probably green at the gills.” It was the best description of Seth Dahlios she could muster. “Seen him?”
Talen’s eyes flicked up to the face of the woman, then to the crew. Tension was thick in the air, sticking to the crew and making their movements hard and jerky. A ball of white light flickered besides Talen’s head and cast its glow upon him for just a moment. Then it twisted into the shape of a cat, long white tail and pure white eyes. Snacks shot across the room and out the door before anyone could react.
“Oh?” Said Talen to no one in particular as he rose from his seat and stepped up onto the table. “It seems as though our trip may be coming to an end.”
Talen’s eyes flashed a malevolent blue as the shreds of a cheery facade drained away. His smile broadened just as his eyes widened. Above the room Snacks had taken the exit the woman had missed and emerged onto the deck. It perched on the rail not far from William and Seth, close enough that it could know what was happening. It was an odd sight; the white cat sitting on the edge of the rail above the wave ridden sea. Snacks didn’t move, it’s eyes were stuck fast on the pair.
The burgeoning fight meant that something was going to happen to finally break the uneasy trip for the dark youth. Talen didn’t bother waiting for it, he was going to ride it. The youth lifted his hands to the roof as he let energy flow through him. It had been too long in the child’s mind since he had been able to release even a fraction of his power. This time he was going to enjoy himself. Three dark pools spread out from near Talen’s feet. Dark, skeletal limbs lifted from within the shadowy portals and pulled and yanked themselves out. Cracked and open ribcages, black dead eye sockets and toothless grins, the three skeletons lurched forwards. Talen lowed his hands and pointed towards them.
“Bang.”
The skeletons ignited. The first fell upon the shocked firstmate. His flesh singed and burned as the boney hands clawed through the flesh on his arms. The other two skeletons fell upon the closest crew and chaos erupted. Sailors grabbed chairs and knives and tried to free their fellows as smoke and the smell of burnt flesh filled the cabin. Talen stepped off the table and around the struggling firstmate. In his hand where none had been before, was his sword. He lifted towards Skie as he stepped towards her.
“Wanna play?”
First, there was heat.
Brilliant heat clawed at the Lavinian Demon, even as the splayed hand came for him. Seth knew he was out of his depth, when he had gone through every mental exercise based on the thorough ravaging that Jensen had gone through fighting the man, none of them involved letting Arcus get close to him. Already he had broken rule one of the plan to beat the Revenant. He should have been mentally kicking himself for even letting things get this bad to begin with, had the wrath that burned in his chest not overwritten his more logical half.
The heat did wonders for keeping him from freezing his ass off, being sans shirt, weapons, and gear. The only thing that even remotely resembling his old equipment on him was the necklace about his neck, though for some reason, it seemed to be pressing into Seth's chest. Had Seth been more rational, he would have seen this as a sign of troubling times ahead. Already his mouth was running, a hiss escaping his lips, “I see you don't change, always get hot and bothered so quickly.”
The words committed him to action, his arm going up to deflect the incoming hand, even as he could see his skin beginning to redden. Sunburns were forming on his skin, which told him all he needed to know, even as a rancid stench began to emanate from his opponent. He knew that scent, if only because his boat ride in had been suffused with it. The scent of vomit, now cooked and caked to William's boots was wafting from the demon, causing Seth to fight back a gag. His skin began to blister from the close contact with the Revenant's claws, and that was all Seth needed to press back, putting room between him and the half demon.
His eyes quickly scanned the area. There was plenty of rope, rope fast drying out from the intense heat that radiated from his opponent. Seth was in a rough way for options. If the briefest of contacts with William Arcus caused his skin to blister, he could only imagine how useless rope would be in the field of battle. He needed to get Arcus unbalanced, and then devise a way. None of the Sailors seemed keen on coming to the bow, as cries erupted from behind him, possibly from some raucous carousing that was going on below decks. He couldn't even ask for a knife to face death armed.
The Revenant was going to kill him here like this, so he figured he'd get in what he figured was the best pot shot he had, “Bet your wife is real proud of you now. William Arcus, Kidnapper Extraordinaire, Traitor of the Ixian Knights, kicker of puppies, and slayer of babies...oh yeah, that's the shit that makes anyone proud to watch from the afterlife...”
If he was going to die, he was going to earn it.
Thunder crashed, and the storm broke around Cudlitz Pride. William watched Seth’s retreat with a certain amount of disappointment. This was far from the fight with the so-called “Lavinian Demon” that he’d yearned for all those years ago. Seth Dahlios was supposed to be a creature of fear and wrath, much like William himself was. He wasn’t supposed to be a man of desperation. Yet that was exactly what stood opposite William. Weaponless and without aid, Seth had maneuvered himself in a deadly situation. They both knew it. The rising wind pulled on William’s ragged cloak and he allowed one low, snarling laugh to come out as it did so.
And then Seth started taunting him.
“How many times do I have to listen to this?” William thought as Seth spat his desperate words. People seemed to think that, at any given time, William was only ever one moment away from losing control. As if he was nothing more than a frothing beast constantly tearing at his own muzzle. But while that might have been the case when Seth had first met him, years of being Sei Orlouge’s weapon had forged the weakness from William’s resolve. He’d been baptized in blood and fire, and had come to terms with his violent urges. He no longer fought himself. He no longer dreaded the guilt that had once torn him apart. William wasn’t a lump of raw iron anymore, he was a thing of razor sharp steel.
But Seth didn’t know that.
“I’ll kill you!” William boomed, his voice thundering across the decks. Cudlitz Pride jerked as another wave made it past the breaker and slammed the ship, but William didn’t break his focus. Instead, the Revenant tore the clasp off his cloak and let the ragged thing fly into the rising wind. There was a madness in William’s eyes and an unbridled, single-minded violence in the way he moved. It was apparent that he would not rest this time, would not stop, until Seth was dead at his feet.
But William had one more thing to do before he attacked. Concentrating, the Revenant drew the heat from his molten core and focused it on his bone carapace. The awesome heat which surrounded him died off instantly, only to be replaced by a sheath liquid flame. Flame which now covered William’s arms and legs. He was ready.
A bolt of lightning rent the air, momentarily freezing William and Seth in contrast. Then William charged, flashing forward with all the speed his inhuman body could muster. Vomit covered boots exploded into cinders under the extreme force of the motion, and each of the Revenant’s steps left a glowing charcoal pock mark wherever his burning claws hammered into the deck. The distance between the two of them closed frightfully fast, but the instant before William got within reach he dropped the berserker façade and instead lashed out with a calculated, precise arcing kick intended to tear Seth in half and burn his guts to ash at the same time.
She didn’t even scream. If she had a moment to spare through the chaos and confusion, Skie would have been proud of herself. Instead, the blood drained from her face as the echoes of the Engine continued to churn within her and the very plains of Haidia were summoned forth from the gnarled wood plank floors.
Wanna play? Her ears were ringing with the question. It reminded her vaguely of her brother. She’d never met Talen, never seen magic like this, so close to the realm of Xem’Zund and the dead that rose in Raiaera, but she knew its flavor. There was something about people who called violence a game, birds of a feather that were more raptor than songbird.
Swallowing the spit that had flooded her mouth as her body fought against the wafting scent of crackling flesh, she sucked in a breath through gritted teeth but it did little to calm the nausea. It hurt to rebel against the need to vomit, and tears threatened to flood her vision as she backed away from the advancing child and his glowing eyes. It wasn’t the worst pain she’d ever felt. It hadn’t been too long ago that Skie had laid face first in Concordia, dismembered and left for dead but the discomfort now was just great enough to feel like agony.
Her own sword came to her hand, pulled from its oiled sheath. The reflection of the coiling smoke and glowing emblazoned flesh danced down the blade. There’d been more grease than there had any right to be in the mess of this ship, and death and fear from the crew added their own charms until the room smelled like bacon and shit.
The storm outside was closing in and the ship pitched, muffled thunder cracking through the screams. Skie’s feet widened as the rocking of the floor beneath them grew stronger. There was no reason to ask why the boy had pulled forth abominations from the ether. In Skie’s experience, evil was as evil did. She’d been rushing to Lornius for a fight, though she’d expected Seth to be by her side. She continued to move back and around. Surely if she could get to the wall, she could get to a door, and make it up to the thief.
“Stay back,” she said, and felt her words as lame and weak as a newborn calf. Stay back? Something told her that someone so young who casually pulled three horrors from the floor and exploded them with fire wasn’t going to be phased by her sword, even if it was the blade that had slain a Forgotten One once.
Through a plume of smoke, she dodged to the side as a mass came rolling out of the haze. She wasn’t sure if it had been a burnt body or one of the bone minions, but she wasn’t about to take her eyes off the too pale teenager. This was not the elegant death she’d imagined. To be fair, death rarely cared much for finesse and beauty.
Swallowing hard once more, she started to silently call upon the magic that had been so hesitant to come to her command. The once-demon girl could only hope it wouldn’t remain silent today.
Talen paused. Is sky blue eyes looked the woman up and down as his face betrayed a look of disappointment. Above deck fought a legend, carried upon the same ship as Talen and William in seemingly obvious nature. Perhaps it was the plateau of their trip that pushed the encounter, or just another spider thread of Lornious reaching out from the cliffs to even affect them upon the seas. It didn’t matter to Talen. Nothing mattered, nothing more than the thrill of this instant, this single moment of life caught within the greater story.
The youth lifted a hand towards the woman. She looked to the youth as though she would fall apart any minute. Perhaps, just perhaps she might come back as something more than the frail blubbering wreck that she was now. Of course, perhaps the opposite was true and this would be the final hurrah.
The wave that struck the ship was eerily timed after the thunder as if one led easily into the other. Talen didn’t bother with his footing, he would hold fast or be knocked to the side. It didn’t matter in the slightest when his prey was so close.
“Cry out. Beg. Pray to whatever impotent god you want,” snarled Talen, “Pray to the stars above or that love of yours slowly dying on the deck. Can you hear it? Hear him die?”
A flash of darkness emanated from Talen’s hand. A warning, if only a moment, of the impending attack. Dark shards burst from the youth’s palm outwards in a cone. At the centre of that was his target, the sword wielding Skie. There was no grand scheme at play from Talen’s attack, no subterfuge or secret ploys. Talen wanted to flay the flesh off this woman. Her pain would be added to his, and when it did he would be granted a moment of respite. A moment without history and without a future; a lifetime within the moment.
The Revenant didn't flinch under the assault. Seth looked at him process the information, before he boomed out his anger. The Demon stared down the raging possessed monstrosity before him. It spoke of anger, of rage, of wrath. It sought his demise, and threatened his livelyhood. The heat he had become accustomed to vanished, leaving him longing its embrace once more. The thin sheen of sweat on his body quickly cooling his body, even as fire seemed to erupt from his fists and feet.
William Arcus charged after flinging away his cloak unclasping it. The Demon watched impassively as the rampaging demon went after him, trying to close the gap quickly, and how quicky it was. The distance would be gone in the blink of an eye, and already the demon saw through the charade. The sudden stutter step told him what was coming and he dropped to the deck. The kick going widely over him, even as he pushed up and brought his legs about in a sweep aiming for the single leg that the Revenant posted on. He knew better than to go for the ankle that he would have, instead aiming for the knee.
He let his mouth run even as he took stock of the situation. William Arcus had owned his demons, and silenced them with that act. He hadn't flinched, he hadn't shied away from the words. Instead he had boomed out a voice, before ripping the clasp from his burlap cloak leaving it to the elements. That meant the logic blinding rage had not fully encompassed him. The stuttering step for the kick told Seth that he wanted to draw the demon into a trading of blows, only to use the superior range of his feet to close the gap. That belied cunning. He had been fluid, but a true berserker would have already been winding for a blow of some sort.
He wasn't even sure what he had said, only that no trigger words were used in it. His mouth often had a mind of its own, he had probably insulted the Mother of the Revenant. Called him Remi's lapdog, or some such shit. The point was he was not invested in what spewed forth from his mouth. Instead he developed a new idea and finally spoke, cutting off his tirade to spit out, “Life is passing you by!”
Grey light exploded from the demon as he didn't wait for the result of his attack. Instead he pointed a finger at the Revenant and unleashed the orb of grey light into William. Attack unleashed he waited to see if he had bought himself time, eyes spying a couple of ship pins. Already wheels were turning in the demon's head. He needed to get the man off balance physically to stand a chance at what he planned to do.
Seth knew wrath, he knew wrath well. Arcus wasn't venting wrath, not yet. The engine that was rumbling to life in his chest engaged into first gear, even as he felt the heat of his anger replace the heat of the Revenant. He was not going to let this asshole leave the ship without understanding just how much trouble he was in. It would be a maiming, or a grave for one of them.
Seth was willing to bet there might even be two graves.
As inhumanly fast as William was, Seth’s instincts were faster. Instead of tearing the thief in half, William’s titanic kick struck the forward bulkhead of Cudlitz Pride. It tore through the wall as if the bulkhead was made of paper and not reinforced hardwood, leaving a hole large enough to fit a small child through. Burning splinters shot from the hole, driven by the rising storm winds to pepper the people on the other side, effectively adding to the chaos within. But before it could register with William that he wasn’t the only one on the ship in the midst of a desperate fight, Seth’s counterstrike hit and his leg buckled.
Thunder ripped through the air as William crashed into the burning deck. The attack meant that he’d stood in one place too long and his liquid fire had ignited the deck beneath him. The fire didn't bother him, but it would definitely be a concern for the other passengers on Cudlitz Pride. Fire was particularly deadly on a ship, where there was nowhere to escape from it. And it would be even worse, with the storm tossing the ship around and making firefighting efforts that much more difficult. At least the light rain was keeping it in check for now, but that wouldn’t last if the fire got below decks.
Another wave struck the ship and bucked William across the deck and away from Seth. He growled a curse as he quickly rolled back to his feet to reengage with his opponent. In close quarters he knew that he was as good a fighter as Seth, but twice now the Lavinian had managed to outmaneuver him. William realized that his reliance on superior strength and speed was getting him nowhere, but holding back just wasn’t his style. His fighting style was function over form to the core and he wasn’t about to change it. At the very least, he hoped that Seth had burned his foot while kicking him.
He’d thought Seth foolish for not pressing his advantage while he was down, but then a gray blob of magical energy struck him. William was fast enough to dodge Seth’s magic had he seen it coming, which is doubtless why the Lavinian had waited to use it until now. William struggled against the spell as it spread over him, attempting to unravel the magic with the inky tendrils of his cursed soul before it could permeate his charred flesh. But the magic was on him too quick to put it apart and William could feel the gray weight pulling at his every movement. It was like wading through a rising tide.
This whole stupid affair was starting to really piss him off. He desperately wished he had his warscythe with him, the one which was secured safely back in his quarters at the moment. He hadn’t thought he’d need it simply to come out to watch the storm. “What in Haide is Seth even doing on a ship to Lornius?” William’s mind raged.
The realization hit him like one of the waves rolling in off the storm. Seth was as much a puppet of the corporate shadows as he was. Just as the duo in Scara Brae had been. The tumult inside the main room was likely Talen engaging with the other half of Seth’s pairing. Their meeting was a setup. They were being toyed with by higher powers.
William really hated that.
Even slowed by Seth’s hex, William was still faster than a normal person. He saw Seth’s look at the pins but he didn’t try to stop whatever the Lavinian had planned. As much as he wanted to have this fight with Seth Dahlios, as much as he wanted to settle the old score, doing so at someone else’s insistence was something he refused to do. So he wouldn’t. He was done with this fight. Let Seth fend for himself, just like the rest of them.
It only took a heartbeat for William to draw the power out of his molten core and unleash it, disintegrating a ten foot area around him in a massive magma explosion. What wasn’t simply destroyed in the blast was hurled from him with tremendous force, which included the entirety of the anchoring bow of Cudlitz Pride. Having already been weakened by the ember scars etched across the deck planks, the first sixteen feet of ship simply came off, the weight of the anchor chain dragging the wreck and any survivors swiftly under the black waters of the bay. William converted the power of his liquid fire into the hot winds which allowed him flight as the deck fell away beneath him and watched with thunderous fury as the rest of Cudlitz Pride lurched in its death throes, rocketed by the explosion back into the approach of merciless storm waves.
The words to her spell sprang to her mind, as garbled and broken in panic as her heartbeat. Skie pushed her will into the ball of power that she felt pressing back from the atmosphere. She imagined a barrier, a swath of holy light that would surround her and bubble her in safety. The teenager was approaching, menacing, preparing. The darkness started to rush from him, and all she imagined on her side was light.
In the end, only darkness came. No silver light spilled from her fingertips, and as the first shards hit she pulled Seth’s daggers closer to her chest, fingers digging into the leather until her nails hurt. She lifted her sword, and the sound of shards plinking against the metal and showering away couldn’t distract her from the pain. Tiny cuts raced along her skin. Her eyes closed tightly and face turned away, she shrieked.
Around her was chaos. The ship was being rent apart. Flames were catching on the walls and the thick smoke would have choked them out if it hadn’t been for the timber of the deck blasting inward and opening the mess to the outside world. The spray of water was beginning to flood inward. The black shards caught the reflection of the dim light behind storm clouds, of flashes of lightning ahead. The floor was pitching and between the pain and the movement, Skie had been thrown to the floor. She held tight to her blades, ignoring a charred form as it rolled by her.
The heat from the fires behind Talen felt odd with the freezing water that was starting to wash around her wrists and ankles, soaking into her pants. There were twenty ways to die around her, but she kept going back to what the child had said. Seth was dying just up the stairs that had turned into a small waterfall. He’d called the thief her love, and for some reason that was funny to her. He may be a lover, but a love? What a childish thing to say.
Though, he wasn’t a child. Not really.
Realization came like the thunder outside. The ship groaned and screamed. A beam fell in the background, blistered and broiling with fire and smoke. The ship was going down. How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? It was time to act before she died useless and afraid.
Hefting the longsword with her arm, Skie stumbled to her feet. The boat tried its best to keep her down but somehow she found herself upright. What she faced was no child, but a monster. What hope did a mere mortal have? She’d lost her demon abilities, her damnation, and gained nothing in their stead. She only had an obligation now to be human. And as humanity did, she would fight against the depths of shadow peering at her through her fear.
With as much finesse as she could muster on the rocking floor, Skie struck with the Starslayer’s steel sword.
Talen sneered as his attack struck metal and flesh. It was to be expected, but the youth was annoyed none the less. The meek opponent cowered behind her blade, but denied Talen the shrieks he longed for. Even the trickle of red from the cuts across her skin didn’t bring him joy when she steeled herself from reacting. Behind the youth the shadowy abominations that he had set upon the sailors turned to dust. Their time had run out, and Talen felt his was not much longer either. They had done their job, as crew fell or fled and left Talen and Skie alone.
The sudden rending of the ship came as a shock to the normally impassive youth. The child staggered and slipped to the side, catching himself hard against the wooden wall and jerking back to a standing position. The floor was becoming uncomfortably wet, and soon the broken ship promised to mark a watery grave. The unpredictability of the hull was a concern, even to the immortal child. It threatened to take away his moment too early, before he had a chance to taste it. Upon the deck Snacks floated around the edge of the ship observing the fight. That word seemed to carry too little weight for the iron wills that clashed, Snacks observed a battle. The creature was called by Talen and obediently bound onto the deck and ducked through the gaping hole courtesy of William. She ducked and weaved, using both intentional and unintentional entrances to reach her master. Her white form shot above the watery floor and leapt up on to Talen’s shoulder. The child raised a hand to her without thinking.
Another crack of lightning and the combination of two unlikely events. The deck above Talen and Skie cracked and the support beam snapped. In the same moment the woman threw her life to fate and attacked. Darkness burst up from behind Talen as the steel sword bit deep into flesh. Talen’s arm came down from Snacks and locked the blade in place deep within his side. Both cat and child turned their eyes towards Skie with abstract interest.
This was the fate of the two Ixian Knights aboard the Cudlitz Pride. Sharpened into blades from chunks of iron, tempered with battle and cooled with victories. They had been part of something bigger than their combine numbers. They had been heroes once. Now the pair, Talen and William sought to slaughter any that stood in their way. This was the tainted legacy of Sei Orlouge. The cold blue eyes that stared at Skie dan Sabriel had watched cities burn, families turn on each other in the cannibalistic urge to survive. There was nothing of the child left anymore, just the shadow, sharpened to a knife.
Behind Talen a huge dark figure was pressed it’s back against the collapsing deck. It’s large dark muscles strained against the weight and it’s form filled the entire space behind Talen. Dark, dead eyes stared at the ground as it propped up the roof and stopped it from crushing both Talen and Skie. The youth smiled as a trickle of blood ran down his chin. The sword had cut into one of his lungs and every breath brought the crimson liquid gurgling up. Talen opened his mouth wide and more blood spilled out over his lips. He was so close to Skie he could almost taste her. The fire, the smoke and the pain, they all coursed through his senses like a delicious dessert. Smoke rose in thin tendrils out of Talen’s mouth as a spark of light flickered deep within. Flames rolled out of his mouth, cascading over each other towards Skie. At the centre of the blast was the woman’s face. The first thing Talen wanted to take from her was her sight.
The explosion caught Seth off guard. While it was true, he had slowed the Revenant down, what he did not account for was the possessed to have magic. Seth had heard William Arcus had some fire play. The fight had shown it, but the instant ignition of the ten foot radius about the Lavinian Demon was unheard of. The ensuing shock wave of power flung his charred body towards the lower deck. He slammed into the wall as his life exploded into pain, even as he reached a hand out towards the Revenant. A desperate claw that saw his opponent fly away, sinking the front of the ship before his eyes.
If he could have heard, he swore the Revenant was laughing.
Much like the Night of Debauchery he had done everything right. He had fought a tougher opponent, and he was supposed to win. William Arcus was strong, but Seth had his number! He knew how to beat the Revenant! Seth Dahlios didn't lose to the demonic or the berserker! This wasn't right! His hand slowly fell to the deck, bringing a fresh wave of Agony, even as he saw the front of the ship begin to go down, heading into the ocean. Seth Dahlios was going to die, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
To think, a single punch had doomed an entire ship.
Revenant may have had control of his emotions, but this was still the temper tantrum of a child. It had all the hallmarks of one who thought violence was the ultimate determination of what was right. Seth often said that there was always better. While he knew Arcus was close, The Revenant was not his better. He would wipe the smile off the Revenant's face, and he would use the man's head as a puppet for the indignity he was suffering.
His eyes had lost focus, slipping slowly into the black, even as water washed across his face. The cool mist was a welcomed feeling against his burnt flesh even as he forced the world back into focus. The ship had not capitulated forward, the break was relatively cleaner, but the anchor was dragging the nose downward. He could see the deck before him slowly head towards the ocean, to be devoured in the sea. The heat of anger seemed to be lost for only a moment, and then he remembered what he was fighting for.
To anyone with even an inkling of magic, they could often feel the pulse of magic, especially when it came to their works. It was said it would take a great use of mana in order to be felt by another wizard outside of sight of the spell being cast. It was a simple process to draw in mana, then form it into the spell and use it. Seth himself had no concept on how Hex Magic fit into that formula, but he knew one thing. When it came to Hex Magic, all the normal rules of magic ceased to apply.
The Wrath Engine wasn't normal magic by any sense of the word. It was a pooling of Mana that would overcharge his magic to the point it became true magic. It was the equivalent of adding fuel to a campfire to watch it grow into a bonfire. Most Mages would merely light a torch and go into the darkness, Seth was making a beacon to light the path. What path he was on, none could say only that it was destructive. The Wrath Engine required potent fuel and he was using his very Soul. When he was in time with the mana generator, it was said he reaped all the mana in the area.
To say this was one of those time, was an understatement.
Hunched on the deck a hand clenched into a fist,t he pain fueling his rage as he let out an inhumane cry.
The Wrath Engine roared into motion, fully fueled as he hissed at the Revenant, a charred and battered body that hardly resembled the visage of the Lavinian Demon, “Is that the best you have Willy? Is that all you got?!” The storm seemed to quiet with the reaping of mana, even as it coalesced inside the human before William Arcus. “I'm going to gut you and have your intestines for garters you pile of shit. You think you can betray me, sell my daughter to that bitch and get away with it? I'll be ripping your head off through your ass and using it for a puppet! I'll be pushing your shit in so hard, you'll be spitting it for a week.”
Wrath had come to Lornius.
Chaos reigned within the bay. Several survivors had managed to kick themselves out of the ship’s sunken bow and were now frantically fighting the storm-tossed seas. Another group of crewmen had launched several of Cudlitz Pride’s lifeboats, though one of them had already flipped and foundered with half a dozen people onboard. But even though those few were likely to drown in the rising storm-surge, they were the lucky ones. Nearly two-hundred people had been aboard Cudlitz Pride when the ship had left Radasanth weeks before. William’s attack had crippled the ship so quickly that most of them would never make it off. William was no stranger to death. He ignored them all.
The only thing that held William’s attention right now was the thrashing corpse of the Cudlitz Pride itself. Water and fire speared the vessel in equal measures, but the rage churning in William’s breast was as hot and drowning as either of them. Had the puppet-masters foreseen this outcome when they’d hooked William on their line? Would they pause at all as the snuffing out of so many innocents? Was there some greater meaning behind all of this or was this just a game to them? There were so many questions that William still had; there was so little that he knew. But whoever they were, William would find them, and then the fate of Cudlitz Pride would seem tame.
A tremendous crack snatched William from his angry ruminations and forced his eyes to their source. One of the ship’s primary support beams had snapped, the uneven flooding putting too much strain for the stout timber to handle. It was the final rattle in the Cudlitz Pride’s death throes and William knew it wouldn’t be long now before the entire vessel joined the bow in the clinging depths. But something was holding the ship together, despite the weakness that William’s cursed vision could see spread throughout the keel. Something large and dark was bracing the main line. Talen, it had to be. There was no doubt in William’s mind that Talen would survive whatever conflict he was in. But if he couldn’t, William wouldn’t mourn his loss. He’d simply chalk up one more score on their foe’s tab.
The storm was getting worse, moment to moment. Icy gusts tore at the hot winds surrounding him, and though William’s power was enough to keep him aloft for the time being, it wouldn’t last much longer. Besides, he figured that he’d watched Cudlitz Pride demise for long enough. Not too long ago William would have stayed as long as possible, reveling in the wanton destruction merely for its own sake. But to his this was just an intro to the true violence to come. Enjoying his urges would have to wait until he caught his prey.
Hot currents pulled in tightly around William and he turned to fly away. The movement of his body was still frustratingly sluggish, much to his annoyance. It seemed that Seth’s hex would linger on for a while yet. Thinking on this tickled a moment of curiosity from William’s brain and he looked down to see a lone figure screaming defiantly at him from the blasted hull just above the churning waters of the bay.
Seth had survived.
“Not surprising,” William thought. “Roaches like him are always the hardest to stamp out.” Despite the derisive thoughts, William found that he was glad the thief had survived the magma explosion. Though he had made the decision not to play the puppeteer’s game, there was still a reckoning to be had between him and Seth. On another day, at another time, he and the so-called “Lavinian Demon” would meet again and would finally see which of them was better. Or Seth would perish in the dark waters off the southern coast of Lornius and the question would be answered. Either way, William was done with Seth for now. William turned and left Cudlitz Prize and all aboard her to their fates, making his way to the cliffs several hundred yards away.
The monstrous was all around. From the hulking darkness that kept the ship from crushing in on them, to the face of the child in front of her, Skie stood in a nightmare. The waves were swirling around her calves now, a splash of chilling water lurching up her thighs to her back now and again as they were tossed. Yet Talen was remarkably steady on his feet, and because his hold on her blade biting into his flesh kept her with him, so was she.
In the pit of her stomach, the Wrath Engine had truly come to life. She could feel the motion, and her mouth was flooded with the taste of saltwater taffy. The bad things she’d seen chaining Seth Dahlios down were at work, and for the first time since she’d seen what Seth had become she truly despaired. How had this all gone so wrong?
She thought Lornius would be an inconsequential trip away from Alerar, something she forgot about within the month. Skie hadn’t expected them to die here.
She was too busy staring into Talen’s cold gaze to notice something wasn’t right. Blood on his lips was too much of a sight so she allowed herself to peek into the endless blue. It wasn’t until the flame flashed a forewarning mere moments before it struck that she tore her eyes downward. Pain erupted, burning at her face. A lip was split instantly, but most of the agony was just beneath her brow.
Seth’s belt fell to the floor in a splash of water that did little to buffer the heavy thunk of metal against the floorboards. She released her sword as well, her hands flying to her face to shield her eyes as she stumbled back. Tripping over an arm that lay lifeless, she fell back into the bilge. A surge of water came crashing over her, and when the spray of cold wash misted her face she felt some relief from the heat.
Some strangled curse, a jumble of Drow and Common erupted from her lips when she tried to open her eyes and realized that she couldn’t see a thing. The pain was too great, though the effort caused tears to come flooding down her cheeks. For a split second, there had been a blurred image and then darkness. The only thing she could be sure of was that the fire-breathing brat may be wounded, but he certainly wasn’t about to start playing fair now.
“Coward,” she spit, hissing as she scrambled through the tide. She stumbled and tripped as she moved, but by the Thayne she’d keep moving. If she could just hold out long enough… but for what? For Seth? From the twisting, sinking feeling inside she knew that he was too far gone in his rage to be thinking of anything but blood right now, certainly not her. She’d always been the one aiming to save him, in any event.
That was a failure that would hurt, she knew, far worse than the physical pain she felt now or the fact that she was going to have to die without looking her killer in the eye.
A small white hand gripped the steel blade. The child’s face was impassive as he wrenched the weapon free of his side with a sickening squelch as bone and flesh relinquished their hold. The action sent a spray of blood across the ship's wall where it dripped down into the rising water and faded into the depths below and became just another drop of blood in the ocean. Talen flicked the sword behind him and it plunged into the water near the dark giant.
“You shouldn’t be running,” said Talen.
The youth lifted out of the water as if gripped by invisible strings. Talen wasn’t a slave to gravity like the mortals around him. His will, his very form defied the pull of the ground beneath him. He floated above the water towards his prey as the wound in his side slowly knitted closed. The child’s talents were many, even his name hinted as his dark assortment of skills; Talen. The youth’s pale blue eyes watched with a hint of glee as he followed behind her.
Talen lifted his hand into the air, and darkness burst forth to form his sword. The weapon’s black metal edge pointed towards Skie’s neck as Talen moved flew faster to keep up with her shambling attempted escape.
“I envy you in a way. Right now, that pain, that pure force to live. Most people would have give up by now. But you? You struggle on!” Talen lifted both arms out, gesturing to his delusional magnificence, “I’ve given you the perfect moment! Right now, those senses must be tingling! Can you hear it? The water rushing into the ship? The crack of wood as this ship breaks apart? There is one more, one more moment I can gift to you, the ecstasy of release. You’re more alive now than you have been before, and it will continue until I end it!”
Talen disappeared from sight forcing Snacks to float on it’s own. Talen appeared in front of Skie, not for some sneak attack, but rather a clean strike. He lifted the sword above his head and brought it down towards the woman’s neck without offering another word. The same strike had killed hundred, rended knights in two and silenced a dozen screams. He could see the burnt and scarred mess of her face, eyes that he thought would never see again. This was his gift to her, a moment more intense than most would ever experience. The gift of feeling from someone that had lost the ability to feel. Not since Eiskalt had Talen truly felt anything. Even the blade that had dug into his side had been numb.
The Revenant left, feeding the rage that simmered in his form. Part of him wanted to give chase, but he knew William Arcus was lost to him today. It was time to go back in the ship for Skie and go. The Wrath Engine demanded he spend this mana, lest it burn out from inside him, his anger at seeing the traitorous snake leave demanded he express that anger, and so he turned inside ready to find some way to channel the mana in him into spells that would surely scorch an already destroyed ship. It would be petty, an abuse of his power, but certainly it would take the edge off his anger.
Moving below decks he moved with a surety, and found more burning. Had William Arcus' farewell attack burned this low? It made no sense, as he was too high up and the floors were showing scorch marks. Suddenly adrenaline flushed his system, even as the scorched burns continued to blister his body and cause small spikes in the pain he felt. It was discomforting, and surely he'd heal it later with his magic, but the priority was finding out what happened.
Seth moved towards the galley and found the source of the scorching, Talen Shadowalker. Eyes narrowed as he saw him raise his sword in an executioner's attack, speaking of how his victim was lucky. Already he was in motion, his eyes burning with a cold fury. His body made it in time to grab Skie's hair and tug her back even as the sword came down. He could feel the cold bite of the steel, even as he gripped the Gift of the Magi, the sword splitting his flesh easily and gutting the Lavinian. Pain coursed through him at the execution meant to take his pupil.
His grey eyes closed as he flinched in pain, feeling the blade easily cut into him, before they shot open. He made eye contact with his opponent and hissed, “Penance for your sins.” Purple energy coursed through him, arcing around the thief, through his hair even as he reached his hand forward, shoving it towards the shadowling. He then spoke, “That's my pupil you're fucking with. You want her life, its through me bed wetter.”
Two spells down. He could feel the engine starting to give, the fuel running out. His anger was beginning to sate, he didn't have much longer with the boosted magic. Talen of course didn't know this, but he had words for the general if he insisted on pursuing this course. Still, first the Lavinian Demon had to survive throwing a Sin Harvest in the kid's face and taunting him.
Talen’s blade struck flesh, the undeniable resistance that holds for a moment then relents against the blade with a sickening squelch. It was however not the neck of Skie dan Sabriel but the body of Seth Dahlios. The sudden moments of Seth were powered by pure adrenaline and Talen’s eyes opened wide with surprise at the sudden change of fate as the literal sword of Damocles missed its intended target. It was in that moment that Talen forgot what he knew of Dahlios, and the iron truth that he should have realised. In that moment Talen made eye contact with the Lavinian demon.
“Shit….” muttered Talen as the first cut scraped across his cheek. The youth floated backwards from the pair and held his sword in front of him warily. There wasn’t much use fighting what was about to happen, Talen knew enough of Seth to know that. Another gash travelled up Talen’s bare arm and the now often exposed blood of the youth spilled forth. Another and another appeared, his cloths were quickly soaked red.
“I doubt you beat Arcus with this trick. Which means he probably either dropped into the ocean and headed to the cliffs. Am I right?” asked Talen, his voice thick with his own blood, but calm none the less. Until that moment he had managed to hold himself in the air, but that changed as the first chunk of flesh splashed into the water beneath him. The cuts were too many to find fresh purchase on his skin, and where they doubled up the skin simply slid off.
Talen flicked his sword into the wooden roof above the trio. The blade pierced the ceiling as Talen fell into the water. His body couldn’t move anymore. Ligaments were cut, flesh fell from him like a carved leg of lamb. Despite it all he didn’t scream, didn’t even grimace as he literally fell apart. The blood of the child spread out in a large pool beneath him as the mess of carved flesh lost all resemblance to a person.
“But you know, sometimes things don’t go quite as you planned,” came a disembodied voice.
Above the matted corpse a blink of light, not dissimilar to the flashes of lightning that echoed around the ship, appeared. One moment space, save for the sword and the small white cat that remained floating in the air, the next was Talen. The youth was older, his body filled with long lean limbs and bare chest. He had at least put in effort to maintain his dignity with loose pants that sat around his waist, even if his feet were bare. His skin a blistering ivory white, no longer covered by the smear of blood that his child form had taken. Every time Talen died he came back a bit different and just a bit at that. It was enough to chase away the demons of his last life and move guilt free into the next. This time though his sins had been truly exonerated. The whole spectacle of Talen’s death and rebirth had taken less than a minute and now he floated in front of Seth as if he had never been anything else.
“I believe this is where I exit stage left, unfortunately I need to keep an eye over that fiery fool Arcus. A warning though, to you and that chit of yours. There are bigger shadows coming out of Lornius than mine. Don’t go stumbling around like a pair of drunken fools.”
With that said Talen pulled his sword from the roof and placed it on his shoulder. A large crack echoed through the ship as his shadowy summon faded away and the deck lost its support. Talen gave a condescending bow and then disappeared.
Above the rapidly sinking Cudlitz Pride Talen appeared. The rain pelted his bare skin as he arched through the air towards the coastline with Snacks in tow. His hair became quickly slicked back and his eyes were narrows as he approached land. Death always had a way of settling his mind and ordering his thoughts. Right now he wondered of the isolated island, and of the strings that pulled and played him and countless others. This was further into the mystery than he had gotten last time, but there was no promise that he would get any further.
First, I'd like to personally apologize for the delay in judging your thread. After a series of unfortunate events, the responsibility for judging fell to me. I actually had the thread judged before I left for vacation last week, but I wanted to go back and normalize scoring to make it as consistent as I could with Logan's prior LCC judgments. So, without further ado, here is your long awaited judgment.
Overall, this was an average thread. It was clear from the opening posts this was the middle entry of two planned three part stories, so while I was disappointed I didn't learn more about the Lornius corporate overloads I did not discount your scores for it either. As a standalone battle, there were some interesting parts, particularly the reunion between Seth and William, but ultimately I was underwhelmed due to your abrupt conclusions.
Below are your individual scores in no particular order:
Revenant
Story - 6/10
Setting - 5/10 (This thread had a major setting continuity problem. From your opening post, particularly the part about swimming to shore with some difficulty given your character's prowess, I suspected the storm was further along than the others acknowledged. As this is a community issue, you all lost points here. Individually, Revenant, I felt your descriptions of the setting were concise and helped paint a significant picture of the boat).
Pacing - 8/10
Character - 7/10 (You had the strongest character development of the bunch. William's disdain for the other passengers, his hatred for Seth, the increased control over his furnace and decision to leave everything - while underwhelming - was well written).
Action - 6/10 (It was incredibly unrealistic that William's fire would not immediately begin burning through the hull of the ship once activated. Even if William can direct his powers, you should include that in your writing).
Dialogue- 5/10
Mechanics - 8/10 (Except for some misspelling of canon locations, your mechanics were sound).
Technique - 8/10 (You showed a good variety of literary techniques in your writing, but you significantly overused the sentence fragment. While undoubtedly this helped your pacing (sentence fragments tend to give the reader the impression time is passing more quickly), it ultimately prevented you from getting 10s in the writing categories).
Clarity - 8/10 (Some of your actions were unclear, but otherwise your writing was concise and written in a good active manner).
Wildcard - 9/10 (All of your posts were timely, but I did not appreciate the meta jab you took at Dissinger after he had Seth metagame your attack strategy).
Total: 70/100
Hysteria
Story - 6/10
Setting - 5/10 (Again, in your opening post you noted the sailors barely cared about the swell, but any time a boat is anchored for a storm, I would suspect the storm would be severe enough to put them on alert).
Pacing - 7/10 (The price of being omnipresent was poor pacing. The times you broke from Talen's interactions to focus on Snacks significantly detracted from otherwise solid pacing. Talen could clearly see the ship was falling apart. A reference to Snacks was unnecessary.
Character - 6/10 (Though the ending line of your opening post foreshadowed megalomania from Talon, I was disappointed that he required visual proof of a conflict between Seth and William VIA Snacks to let loose on Skie. I was also curious as to how Talon knew Skie.
Action - 6/10
Dialogue- 5/10
Mechanics - 6/10 (Your writing was littered with spelling and grammar mistakes. At time, it didn't seem like you were reviewing your writing. This included misspelled canon mistakes and even an its/it's error in your 4/21 post).
Technique - 7/10
Clarity - 6/10 (All of the spelling/grammar/usage errors significantly detracted from the clarity of your writing. I can provide specific examples if you'd like, but after a quick review they should be readily apparent.
Wildcard - 10/10 (All of your posts were timely)
Total: 64/100
Team Average: 67/100
Skie and Avery
Story - 5/10 (The fact you were unable to write a conclusion hurt your score here. We discussed this previously in chat, so I will not go into much detail here).
Setting - 5/10
Pacing - 8/10
Character - 6/10 (Your opening few posts were your best for character. The intimacy with Seth really drew me in as a reader. However, after the two separated, Skie became relatively one dimensional. She sought to save Seth and did very little development on her own. I suspect this might be because you relied heavily on the physical connection between Seth and Skie to advance your plot.
Action - 6/10
Dialogue- 5/10
Mechanics - 8/10 (You had a couple of misspelled words, but most were usage errors and not outright spelling errors like Hysteria and Dissinger. Nice work).
Technique - 8/10 (I enjoyed your variety of literary techniques. However, like Revenant went overboard with sentence fragments, you over used metaphor. It truly felt like darkness overwhelmed Skie in nearly every post).
Clarity - 8/10
Wildcard - 10/10 (All of your posts were timely).
Total: 69/100
Dissinger
Story - 6/10
Setting - 5/10
Pacing - 8/10
Character - 6/10 (In general, I think Seth had the biggest opportunity for character growth in this thread. However, whereas Skie focused almost exclusively on the chase to get to Seth, Seth did not even consider Skie while battling William. If it was your intent to either play Seth off as overcome with emotion while seeing his old adversary or just not into Skie, you could have at least made veiled references to her. You put in a line, Seth "remembered what he was fighting for..." I was hoping it was Skie, but alas it was not).
Action - 5/10 (I was disappointed that Seth was so easily able to read through William's feigned rage attack so easily. I took off a point here because even if you didn't intend it as such, it was essentially metagaming)
Dialogue- 5/10
Mechanics - 7/10 (I wasn't able to glean any spelling errors, but you had a number of usage and grammar errors in the post. There was also some odd spacing of letters. I didn't take off for those, but you should still read over your writing before posting it in a tournament).
Technique - 7/10
Clarity - 6/10 (Several of your actions in the thread were confusing. This was particularly common when you were re-writing an action from Seth's perspective. For example, in your 4/17 post, you wrote "William Arcus charged after flinging away his cloak unclasping it." There are several different ways you could write this to make it more clear).
Wildcard - 9/10 (You posts were timely, but I took a point off for the metagaming).
Total: 64/100
Team Average: 66.5
Congratulations to Super Awesome Fun Time, Best Pals Go! for their narrow defeat of Team Devil's Outcasts.
Logan has been doing EXP and GP, so I will defer to him for calculations.
Revenant receives 4900 EXP and 100 GP
Hysteria receives 4900 EXP and 125 GP
Skie and Avery receives 1300 EXP and 75 GP
Dissinger receives 1300 EXP and 75 GP
Congratulations to the winners!