Osiris Open 2017 Round 1: Storm Veritas vs SirArtemis

"After all the losses there was no more sentimentality for the dead. It was easier if you didn't think of them as people at all. Indeed, our senses of humour became warped and darkly macabre. We laughed at their silly expressions and gave them rude names. We made up lines for them to say as we tossed them into the murky green, acid filled grave with the others. Before us, we walk the path of sandstone that carves the corrosive pool of green in two. Fumes rise from the surface; an emerald fog rolling on the surface that bites into the stone. We stole from them without guilt. They were grey tinged regardless of race, blue lipped with blank stares. Our approach was irreverent, but it kept us sane. There is only so much horror you can take in and understand, after that your mind will snap. So we joke. Anyone who doesn't like it gets given the shovels and the rest of us walk away. No humour no helping, the curmudgeons soon come round to our way of thinking when there's people parts to dispose of."

Brotherhood report #013

The putrid ground cried out in agony with every step as the dark figure walked out among the marsh of death. Completely covered in black from head to toe, Artemis had committed to visiting this tragic site. Coincidentally his very armor and clothing reflected the color of mourning. He had heard news of a battlefield littered with corpses in the wake of a skirmish. A member of the Brotherhood had left a report on a table at a tavern in Knife’s Edge. It seemed he sought to escape his scars and left the note hoping it would help.

So much of Artemis’ life had been sheltered from such experience. Mostly in youth, but now with every passing year, more hardship enveloped him, much like the thick fog all around. Artemis walked upon a path of sandstone. His quiet steps took him right between two simmering pools of blight. Bodies filled the green pools, skin peeling away along with hair and muscle fibers as the evidence of their sorrow melted away. Their pain and loss vanished as it morphed into a thick miasma of the same hue. The features that distinguished one victim from the next faded with every passing second, where not even scavengers would touch such a place.

’So much loss. So much pain.’

Artemis shook his head with remorse, cringing at the anguish that permeated the air. He could feel the distress of lives lost, forcing himself to be engulfed by the aftermath. He knew war better than most - an unfortunate fact that he could only wish weren't true. And with growing power came an ever-growing sense of responsibility. However much he wanted an ordinary and peaceful life, he knew it to be impossible.

He had grown too powerful in the last decade, becoming a stalwart warrior and precise weapon. The talents he'd honed, abilities he'd acquired, and experience he now possessed made turning away impossible.

So he walked along the sandstone path, flanked by acid pools of war's aftermath, and reflected on his role in the world of Althanas. He could sense the turn of a new age, with the gears of fate turning as his place become more pivotal in the coming events. Soon, he would be a member of the Tarot, serving as Justice and exacting influence upon the annals of history as they were to be writ.

He sighed wearily, letting the smells fill him. The warrior had since lost the need for air to survive, but habits remained. And more than that, he needed the smell of death to fill every space of his lungs. He needed to ensure that the responsibility that weighed on him never ceased, and so that complacency could never find a home in his heart.

Artemis was no hero, but the tragedy was that too many thought a hero was needed to make a difference. Artemis knew better; the world just needed good people to do something rather than nothing.

He walked on, slowly, quietly, as seconds turned to minutes. If it weren't for his sensory magic, he would have never noticed the arrival of someone new.

'Is it too much to hope for that this won't lead to more death?' Artemis thought, drawing his attention to the approaching figure.

"Hello!" Artemis yelled, waving at the figure. "Might you be another passerby, or something more?"

The gurgling song of the acid pool rang out to Storm Veritas; the sizzling, bubbling sound of the pool consuming flesh a familiar tone for the monster. Indeed, it was a satisfying sound; this sound meant exoneration. Bodies that slept in the putrid, smoking olive water were gone for keeps; there was no need to double check here for footprints, fingerprints, or stray hairs. Any evidence that touched the fluid was gone for good; eaten by the hungry earth before him.

Goodbye, Mr. Benjarvis. Thanks for the totems of gratitude.

Reflexively, the electromancer tapped his rubber gloves over the pocket on his overcoat before removing them. The teeth of the fool who had tried to help unseat the Brotherhood were a familiar hardness between his fingers and his hip; molars filled with gold that would extract with only a touch of current. It wouldn’t be much gold compared to the heft of the killer’s coffers, but it would afford a good bottle of something fiery, and the once-redhead disintegrating in a foul stench behind him had no remaining use for the money.

Six down, ten to go. I wonder if Attila could carry three next time?

He tapped the haunch of his great black steed, allowing the beast to walk and graze a bit from the tall, sparse grasses that sprouted sporadically from the earth in a series of angry green eruptions. With the highly acidic pools nearby, the ground bore grass that tasted like citrus; a rare treat for the horse who served Storm so faithfully.

Pressing a few leaves of his favorite plant within his cheek beside own back teeth, the adventurer enjoyed the flavor of juices layering over his tongue as he walked, transfixed in thought. The interweavings of the Council had grown complicated; much work would be needed in short order to regain stability in the Coronian region. This place was secluded, a good dumping grounds, and had become a favored place of Storm’s to sit and think. The white noise of sizzling acids was head-clearing; the tobacco in his mouth a good tempering element for his mind. His sleek, athletic frame was packaged poorly in clothes designed for work, and he rubbed a jaw that had grown uncharacteristic stubble. He wasn’t just frustrated for lack of progress; he was getting old.

We need to expand, and move it quickly. Recruits are moving in, we’ve got influence. Time to push the Hand, stop dicking around with the table scraps and take what’s…

Oh, f*ck me…

A stranger stood before him in the mists, ostensibly friendly but unmistakably the warrior. The dark hair, the crystalline eyes… this man looked familiar even in the low light. His inquiry was simple enough; was this a man Veritas could trust, a man wise enough to stay quiet?

You know you can’t trust a stranger. Not here, not now. Even if he doesn’t chirp the police on your work today, he’ll be back or let people know –something- happened here. One quick pulse to the chest and he’s knee deep in the liquid, screaming for help that can’t get here.

One quick pulse to the chest and he’s not your goddamned problem anymore.

Teeth clenched firmly together, mandibular muscles flexing as the magician considered his options. Killing the stranger was an option, however perhaps he could at least feel out the apparently lost wanderer. Perhaps discretion was the better part of valor; lightning did attract a certain amount of attention upon the plains. Besides, with his horse only fifty yards off, the possibility of his great beast getting spooked and charging headlong into a pool of the vile was not zero. Attila was powerful, and fast, and at times colossally stupid.

“Good evenin’, stranger. I certainly like to think of myself as something more, but at the end of the day, we’re all something more, no?”

Running now bare fingers through his silvering hair, Storm flashed a staggeringly charming smile, rich in dimples and deception.

“And you? What brings you to the path between hell and Am’aleh’s taint?”

Artemis never did trust charm. He considered it a tool of the insincere and manipulative. His intuition roared defiantly with every step the man had taken to approach, and now standing a few yards away it felt like a volcano bubbled in the virtuous ranger's heart.

Artemis' enhanced vision, rooted in his very magical creation, quickly scanned the aging man's body. His focus zoomed in and out, allowing him to notice the finest details. His attention caught on the rubber gloves that the man had taken off. Tiny drops of blood decorated their surface, and even the black of the material couldn't hide the evidence. They stood out as clearly as anything in the world to Artemis' eyes.

His intuition and eyes told a story that the young warrior wished weren't true, and he confirmed his suspicions once and for all. The iris of his eyes shifted to a gold hue as he activated his Gaze of Graxis, looking into the very essence of the man before him. In that moment, he could see where the man fell on the spectrum of good and evil. The usual gray of neutrality appeared, but the distinct red hue of sinister motives bled throughout.

There was no doubt in Artemis' mind at that moment: this man was neither a good man nor to be trusted.

"I came to reflect," Artemis admitted somberly, his eyes returning to their usual icy blue. "After so much death, it's hard to imagine what kind of person could do such a thing." The ranger watched carefully for any reaction from the aging man. The certainty of the charm, the practiced smile, the measured movement of his body - they all spoke of a seasoned fighter, and the discomfort Artemis felt made it imperative not to underestimate the evil man before him.

"I'm Artemis," he introduced himself, beginning to lift his left hand as though to offer it for a handshake. Instead, as his arm raised, the bracer upon his wrist morphed into a bow of raw energy. With his free hand, he drew back on the string of mist and quickly let fire a crimson arrow of explosive energy at the man's feet.

Without hesitation, Artemis hurried back to put some distance between them and quickly donned his black mask, completing his suit of protective armor. He drew back on his bow once more, drawing forth another arrow of crimson mist and looking to take advantage of his element of surprise. His movements were precise, practiced, and quick, but he could only hope that would be enough to give him an advantage. Otherwise, this could have been a terrible mistake.

Still, no matter whether the man before him was responsible for this tragedy or not, there was no mistaking that he was a threat and would do harm to this world. He needed to be eliminated.

'Justice will be done.'

The events that happened quickly to follow seemed to move in slow motion for the wizard. The suspicious stranger, a man who had happened into a very random and obscure locale, held himself with the planned hostility of one planning to strike. The magician had seen these machinations a million times; there were only so many ways to initiate combat and hope for success. The traveler spoke in tropes and generalities, attacking with a straightforward bow blast that seemed to come from nowhere. He was still human; his muscles tensed and face flushed as he prepared to strike, telegraphing his move. The first volley came at Storm’s feet, causing the villain to hop laterally some five feet. It was nimble and smooth, but still left him close enough to a pool of acid to feel the heat warm the right side of his face.

Almost got me, stranger. Smart move not getting too cute with the whole deal.

The attack lit a fire under Storm Veritas that generally ended with an array of dead men. This place was born to host combat; solid footing spotted by perilous pits of bubbling death. He would kill the foolhardy archer, and toss his remains effortlessly into the drink. Sneering, he strode away from the pool toward his freshly-masked would-be assassin, his eyes focused on the arrowhead pointed at him.

Some sort of white-blue bullshit. No metal. F*ck me.

There wasn’t much metal for the wizard to use anywhere; some of the earth felt as though it held iron, but it wasn’t likely to be useful. Worse, any metal that fell into the acid pools would have been long-since destroyed; it was almost certain his trump card would have to stay up his sleeve today. No worries; there was more than one way to skin a cat. A toothy grin was still returned to his masked assailant.

“Cute gear, slim. All that stretchy shit must really have you swimming in finishing school pussy, doesn’t it? Tell me; ever been with a woman that has seen the north side of eighteen, or are you just a child-chaser with that creepy shit?”

The taunts would burn like wildfire; Storm remembered distinctly a time when he would be enraged by the same sort of affront. His left hand extended in front of him, fingertips growing blue white with a humming, crackling energy, as his right hand wrapped long, serpentine fingers around the blade of the Rat. With any luck, this would move quickly.

A glowing orb of oscillating white and azure tumbled menacingly before his hand as the wizard waited patiently. The archer was poised to fire; Veritas held his hand forward in the feign of offensive, but did so only to disguise his real armor, the tailored bracer born from Moonwing’s scales that extended from the back of his hand to his elbow on both arms. Beneath his sleeves, they could make him appear marvelously powerful, as blocking magical and projectile attacks had a way of intimidating folks.

Alright kid, take your shot. We both know you’re pissed, no sense waiting around.

The taunt rolled off Artemis as easily as droplets of rain down a pane of glass, but his opponent didn't need to know that. He growled as he rushed forward, doing his best to seem the overzealous and emotional youth that he might appear. The elderly always assumed they knew better; they would find out if this case proved accurate.

The ranger willed the magic of his boots to morph, giving him traction on the worn sandstone path as tiny adhesive spikes erupted from their soles. He let fly the crimson arrow, again at the man's feet, as he rushed forward. He didn't intend harm with the explosions as much as annoyance.

His steps propelled him forward as he quickly loosed another arrow, this one of white mist that morphed into a crystalline projectile as strong as prevalida mid-flight. He still didn't expect the arrow to strike the foe, but there was always the chance.

The confidence of his opponent showed that Artemis' instinct, as usual, was on the mark. A sphere of electrical energy thrummed with hunger as it floated before the older man, eager to feast on the impulsive ranger. He could almost feel the arrogance pouring out of his very being.

'How many people has this man killed? How many have fallen prey to his desires? How many more will succumb to his abuse power?

It doesn't matter. It will end now anyway.'

Artemis let the bow of mist return to its form as a bracer upon his wrist as soon as the crystal arrow flew forth. He drew his blades and continued forward, enacting a sphere of silence as he did. He anticipated a strike would come, hoping his false aggression would bait the man in. If the opening appeared, he would act on the chance, but if an attack came first, then before his mark even knew it, Artemis would already be behind him and striking from silence at his vitals.

'There is no need to drag this out. The sooner this ends, the better.'

(OOC: two-way bunnying approved)

The young traveler took the bait, firing a straightforward arrow directly at Storm’s chest. From short range, it should have been a kill-shot, however Storm was able to turn his wrist just enough to put the bracer of Moonwing in the path of the projectile. Moonwing’s scale discarded the arrow with an effortless disregard, as if insulted by the trivial power of the arrow. A bit taken away by the speed of his counterpart, the mage felt his heart race and lungs become hollow.

Shit, he’s fast. Still coming forward.

Typically Storm would assault an archer from point blank range, trying to exploit the cumbersome nature of a bow. Here, the bow had disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and was instantly replaced with some form of armor. This one had tricks up his sleeve.

Without hesitating, Storm rotated his hand once more, directing the orb at the feet of the incoming assailant. The concussive force of his blast sent the magician sailing backwards through the air, the crack-bang of arcing lightning followed by a faint whiff of ozone above the putrefying scents of acidic death. Rolling backwards through the air, Veritas unsheathed the Rat, landing in a sliding squat as his left hand held the blade out at his flank.

With eyes up and his athletic gesture complete, the wizard was quickly displeased to see his bolt had not ended this little charade. The archer was coming, and coming fast.

Another one of the special folk. They seem to seek me out like flies to shit. Gods, why couldn’t you have sent me some simple tough-guy to toss in the goo?!

There was no time for deep thought; the blade on his side glowed a faint blue color as he began to pull it in. The cursed thing had never granted Storm anything but trouble, and he still had yet to comprehend its capabilities. Undeterred, he certainly thought the mysterious, mystical item made him look at least two shades cooler.

Artemis had managed to react quickly enough to leap over the electrical detonation and continue his run. Traces of the blast lingered in the air and danced like floating strings of hot metal. As his body collided with their raw energy, he could feel tingling as his muscles gently pulsated. The protection of his armor and undersuit were not enough to completely mitigate the effects.

He clenched his teeth and pressed forward. His mind raced as he continued toward the mage. Flashes of the dead toyed with him with every step. The smell of the decay surrounding him as the fallen eroded from existence distracted him. He did not come here to fight. His very presence was an affront to their tragedy. He did not dare to disrespect or dishonor their loss, and yet he felt he was doing just that by fighting amidst them.

This man before him seemed the antithesis of everything that Artemis believed. Every battle that the ranger fought sought to eradicate evil from this world. Every lunge of his blade and every arrow he fired, he did so with the hope that he would never have to do so again.

Deep down, he knew that day would never come.

Balance would always exist, and that included good and evil. Worst of all, the point of equilibrium would always elude the virtuous warrior and his hope in tipping the scales would be impossible to measure.

Still, he knew he had to try.

When his run finally brought him within striking distance of the older man, Artemis cut across from his right. A spin quickly followed along with a backhand of his left blade while his leg swept out in unison to trip his opponent. Rising fast, he stabbed out with his right, carrying the momentum, but vanished from sight as he did.

He used his magic to teleport the short distance to the man's rear, hoping that as he prepared to defend, that fraction of the second would carry Artemis' lunge into the man's exposed flank.

'Evil men bleed and die like the rest of us.'

The attacker was relentless, coming forward at the aging villain with a hard charge. Instinctively, the catalog of potential moves that he had seen in his travels spun through the mage's mind. Guess the correct assault, and a fighter can position themselves for a lethal counterpunch. Storm twisted his right toe into the earth plant and secure a hard push with whatever the archer decided to do.

Overhead slash, side swipe, bullshit slide attack, bullshit jump attack, projectile, hidden magic, spin move, lunging stab, shoulder block, front kick, spinkick…

Deciding the archer seemed precise and efficient, the wizard readied himself for attacks which didn’t overextend the aggressor: projectile, stab, or side swipe. As his assailant planted his right foot, Storm readied for a driving left step towards his hip, allowing a quasi-flank move that would grant access to the older man’s back. On the contrary, the smallish fellow pivoted off the foot, spinning athletically about with a backhanded slashing assault.

Oh shit spin, f*ckf*ckf*ckf*ck…

Like a flail on the end of a heavy chain, the sword swung hard, trailing the body of the smaller man by a great deal. Veritas pushed hard off his right foot, flipping forward and rotating a wide counterclockwise slice with the Rat. The cool blue blade felt as though it purchased nothing but air; it was unclear to Storm if it had dined on the blood of the wicked.

As he slashed, a remnant of age caught up to him. Storm had not leapt quite high enough, and felt the spinning blade slash miserably across the top of his foot. It knocked the airborne mage off his neat somersaulting path. Desperate and angry, the wizard clenched at his abdomen as he fell, knowing that if he didn’t pop up instantly, he’d be all too vulnerable. The forced-round arch of his lower back hit the packed earth first as Storm rolled forward, forcing himself to sit up ready to slash at his enemy.

Where the blue hell is he!?

Panic tore at the experienced fighter as his opponent had vanished. The cold taste of metal bit at his left hip area from behind as a sword seared its way through exposed frame, carving its way through his fine overcoat and dress shirt like a hot knife through butter. It was a deep strike, and the old champion pulled himself away from the menacing metal just as quickly as it had gored him. His right foot had very little drive, the unaddressed bleeding from the first wound screaming at him with an angry reminder.

Desperate, Storm Veritas still had tricks up his sleeve. If his feet wouldn’t drive him, his iron-heeled dress shoes certainly would. A quick burst of electromagnetic energy beneath his feet sent the wounded wizard flying up and away from the source of his agony; a second blast sent a fresh bolt of twisting white hate down at his enemy only a moment later.

Artemis had dropped to a knee after the mage had burst away into the air. The electrical energy he'd blasted down in his wake reached for the ranger hungrily. Artemis had lifted his daggers up, crossing them in the path of the bolt and letting the dehlar coating soak some of its force. Even with that, and his armor, still more made its way through.

'If it wasn't obvious before, this man is no novice. That magic is powerful if it can get through my layers of defense.'

Even the older man's clumsy somersault had left Artemis with a slight cut across the top of his left thigh. The wound wasn't deep, but something felt strange about where the weapon had opened his skin; like fog on glass, a sort of lingering presence remained.

As soon as he'd absorbed the blow, his muscles again spasming in reaction to the current that trickled through various parts of his body, he'd sheathed the blades quickly and willed Judicis back into his form as a bow. He stood up and began firing a volley at the general area of the floating mage.

An array of colors flew forth within seconds as Artemis launched dozens of arrows of magical mist. The magic of the bow didn't need to be nocked and drawn, so his fingers strummed in place like a bard on his lute, creating a barrage that most would think could not be from one man. More crimson set to explode flew forth, clear and colorless mist quickly crystallized and shimmered with the green reflection of the acid pools below, royal blue which sought to weaken his foe lit up the sky, and finally, black projectiles meant to knock the stubborn man unconscious.

Artemis never assumed his shots would strike their mark, but experience had taught him never to ease pressure on a dangerous foe. He could not allow the man to regain his footing and comfort.

'If only these arrows were capable of tracking their mark,' the ranger lamented as he continued to fire.

As he fired, Artemis felt his leg pulse with discomfort where the sword had bitten him. He clenched his teeth and pushed through the feeling, but instinct screamed at him once again.

'Artemis, you're running out of time,' he heard in his thoughts. This time, the thoughts were not his own, but rather those of Judicis - the sentience that lived within the artifact he wore. 'I can sense the sinister magic entering your body. Whatever it is, it's hungry and dangerous. You need to finish him off and get out of here, or you will die.'

Artemis gritted his teeth in response and continued his barrage. Judicis would not have spoken at such a time if the warning had not been important.

'C'mon you electric bastard, let's get this over with.'

The explosive blast Storm had fired down upon the archer appeared to be for naught; a pair of crossed daggers seemingly denying his energy. The wizard began to float down in a controlled descent, manipulating the space beneath his feet in a sort of hovering action. This trick wasn’t particularly useful, save perhaps for avoiding long falls, but the magician always relished in the move, as it looked extremely cool.

Oh, holy shit.

After dismissing what appeared to be the entire electric torrent, the ranger retorted with a preposterous flurry of rainbow-tipped projectiles. Without solid ground beneath him to serve as footing for an acrobatic leap, the experienced buffoon Veritas realized his serious gaffe. He had only one option; embrace the fall.

Releasing his channel of magnetic field, the wizard plunged helplessly down, his slisk-skinned dress shoes splashing a tiny wave of acidic awful up to the high calves. The reflexive leap was near instant, tumbling forward and to his left, a waving right hand protecting his face from the onslaught of arrows that sought to obliterate him. Beneath him, the acid had taken hold of his clothes, and it was hungry.

All the awful things seemed to hit him at once. The astringent scent of burning acid screamed loudest at his feet, as a pair of brutal red arrows exploded at his stomach. A single blue bolt took purchase of his flexed right bicep, and a long black arrow bludgeoned his gauntlet. Despite the magnificent armor of Moonwing’s scale, the black arrow completely numbed his hand, the Rat falling from his grasp as the salty wizard hit the ground in a heap, billowing dust forward at his enemy and back into the thirsty acid. None of the pain was so acute or horrific as the acid burn itself; the relentless burn was merciless and savage. Combat was unyielding; there was no time for pity.

Just get up. Don’t look down, your feet are a goddamned shit-show. Just get up. Act tough. Don’t look down or you and your limp spine are half as likely to pass the f*ck out. Act tough.

With a mighty groan, the electromancer gripped his sword in his left hand and drove it into the earth, pivoting the tip of the blade to drive his body upwards, his eyes a hazy white of gathered energy and agony. His pants were tattered and torn, shoes effectively gone, with a series of fast-growing bubbles and open sores festering as his flesh melted in a dizzying parade of pain. The experience was unholy, while the blue barb was spreading a wave of numbness throughout his arm. With an angry, dismissive wave, the Serenti champion knocked the tip of the Rat through the bolt, popping the barb from his arm in a fresh wave of searing horror.

Feet are f*cking dead; nowhere to run. Clock is ticking on consciousness; I need Attila to get me the hell out of here. Call that big brave beautiful idiot, and he’ll march his way direct into the line of fire, making him a hell of a steak but a terrible ride. Shit. Need a diversion.

Storm knew his options were beneath limited, and left him somewhere between “desperate” and “completely f*cked” in his parlance. The ranger’s abilities were seemingly boundless, and it didn’t seem like the wizard had an answer for anything. Perhaps mystic confusion was his best bet.

With a sharp whistle, the mage fired his right hand into his satchel, clumsily grasping his signet ring, the Might of Moxxilus. He pulled the thing onto the edge of his right middle finger as he extended the rat before him, summoning the extent of his electrical energy. Great sparks flew from his flesh in kinetic blue fragments, the sword returning before him as he struggled to stand tall. Eyes glowing white, Veritas spoke in an ancient tongue as energy pulsed frenetically about him.

“ Latitudo tanta tamque varios vires tuetur maxime vulnerari.”
( And so glows the great facade of strength, which protects the eminently vulnerable.)

His words ringing across the vapid expanse of the wastelands, Storm slipped the ring down upon his upright frame, becoming a stoic, blue-glowing monolith. A wave of rocky protrusions erupted about him, encapsulating the warrior in a chrysalis of motionless thick stone, which rooted itself affixed to the earth. The hum and crackle of electric energy continued to emanate from the periphery of the rock as the lightning master within held tight to his power. Far from the right side, Attila had begun approaching his master, still some ways from sight.

Hopefully this scares this asshole enough to chase him off…

Though the arrows had struck their mark, they did not kill. Unfortunately, Artemis was running out of time to do just that. As the older mage had landed in the acid, a pang of remorse rushed through the ranger as he couldn't help but feel guilty for instigating this fight. Though he knew it to be the right thing, no one deserved to suffer the pains of acid eating their flesh. He wanted to kill the mage, not make him suffer.

Now, his vision had already begun to blur, and shots of pain exploded throughout his body like little firecrackers of agony. He realized that whatever sinister magic lived in that blade that had cut him, it was angry, hungry, and powerful.

His muscles still tingled with uncomfortable spasms alongside the pain of the cut. His vision began to blur, fading in and out of focus. With the man's transformation into an almost solid block of lightning, Artemis had run out of options. He fired an arrow at the man only to see the crystallized projectile ricochet off as though it were a wooden stick thrown at a castle wall. A breeze whistled along, rolling across the green acid pools and dragging their fumes far away.

'I can't do it,' Artemis thought, an eye closing as his body began to tilt like a falling tree after being struck by a storm. The firecrackers of agony in his body had intensified in mere seconds with a burning sensation spreading throughout his frame, as though the acid pools had been poured into him and were eating their way out. 'I'm still not strong enough.'

Slouched over and barely holding himself up, Artemis finally lost his strength and fell to the dusty sandstone of the path.

'Artemis, we have to go. Leave this fight for another time. You cannot defeat him if you are dead, and this magic is spreading quickly. I fear if we do not do something soon, it may do permanent damage.'

Artemis lay there, through labored breath, and sensed the presence of a horse as it galloped down the path and into the range of his magical senses. Just a hundred feet away now.

"I have an idea," he answered Judicis' concerns softly. He awaited the galloping and majestic beast, hoping in desperation to use his vampiric magic on the animal to heal himself. Artemis feared that it wouldn't be enough and uncertainty regarding his choices made home in his mind.

'If I do not sense it helping, I am going to teleport you out of this mess whether you like it or not. I cannot have you die.' Judicis' answer felt stern in Artemis' thoughts, and he knew it to be sincere. This was his last chance. If he could not get to the horse in time, or if the healing did not help, he would need to leave this fight for another day.

(Bunny discussed and approved)

The archer moved with a relentless speed and precision, an apparent disconnect from any sort of pain or debilitation that Storm’s best efforts had laid upon him. With a turn of his head, the cocksure ranger looked towards the great Attila, now charging into battle atop the rocks crests which separated steaming acidic pools.

No, shit, no, stop boy!

Attila was headlong, oblivious to risk or danger that came with entering battle. The great horse was bucking his head as he drove his heavy, dense hooves forward, clapping them into the ground with little plumes of dust erupting at each strike. He snorted to take air, thinking only of rescuing his injured master.

Erstwhile, the ranger was nearly silent as he turned his attention. He hadn’t turned his magical bow towards the stallion, but the wizard that loved Attila thought it inevitable.

Stop, Attila, Stop!

Pulling a dagger from his hip, Veritas fired it at the stranger, a perfectly aimed projectile which ate nothing but air. The frame of the man vanished in a shadow, the blade landing and spinning harmlessly on hard earth. Desperately, Storm turned his eyes to the fiend, who had reappeared at the throat of Attila.

“Motherf*cker! NO!”

Before his words could echo, Attila was braying, kicking front hooves before him as he neighed with anger and high-pitched fear. The archer drove his face into the neck of the beast, wrapping his arms around the mighty neck and contorting his legs up toward the saddle. Helpless, the obsidian steed yielded, falling to the ground and splaying about his left flank. Hungrily the stranger feasted upon the blood of Storm’s fearless mount.

The all-encompassing pain that had enveloped Storm Veritas took a seat to his wrath. His eyes lit white and wild, his body hovering above the ground as his lips snarled and fingers twitched. The wizard was embodied rage, crackling about his perimeter with crackling ozone and tiny eruptions of blue-white electricity. His composure was displaced with animus, his emotion overcoming him.

Attila was off limits. You f*cking coward. Today is your last.

With blood trickling from his fingertips and feet rotting from acidic exposure, the floating near-deity spread arms wide and wild, collecting energy as the aura of white and blue focused between his long fingertips. He walked a few steps, oblivious to near-blinding pain, before he struck his mightiest blast.

Without mercy or reprieve, a massive, twisting, explosion erupted from two outstretched hands. A full scale bolt of pure lightning flashed at the archer, the menace sprawled across the fallen frame of his beloved companion. Hatred, outrage, and blind anger flowed from Storm Veritas in an unchecked barrage, a final assault meant with only one endgame.

Die.

Artemis could feel the red and black mist of magic pulling on the essence of the equine. As the magic moved the lifeforce from beast to man, his wounds and body recovered. However, he still could not know whether the sinister magic from the cut upon his leg had been affected. After seconds he had siphoned all he needed, leaving the animal alive and well enough to recover, while also recuperating from the earlier damage he'd suffered at the hands of the old man's attacks.

Looking up, he saw the mage once again floating in the air, this time illuminated with electrical power the likes of which he'd never seen. The glow and vigor of raw energy before him was awe-inspiring, despite the reality that this man sought to kill him.

Before he had a chance to think on the matter, he realized an enormous blast of energy was on its way. Instinctively, he pulled himself forward and up, placing himself between the horse and the caster. He lifted his hands to fire one last shot at the evil man floating before him, aiming one of his white arrows for the man's heart. Just as the mist flew forth and crystallized, the blast struck Artemis.

The raw energy launched him off his feet, back and over the horse, and to the opposite acid pool behind him. The horse whinnied in discomfort as the magic seemed to disperse as it hit Artemis, with traces of the energy finding their way into the still-living horse.

'I'm still not strong enough.'

Artemis could feel the rush of air resisting his fall as his eyes found their way to the sky. His consciousness faded. The blade's toxic kiss and a tremendous burning coursed through every fiber of muscle. A pain he had not felt in his life made its home in the warrior's body, and he could do nothing about it. He had failed.

As his eyes closed, the ranger accepting that this may be his end. Just before his body struck the hungry green acid, joining the bodies of the fallen, Judicis used the teleportive mark attuned to him for emergency use and sent Artemis across the land. Within an instant, and the fight over, the man lay in front of his friend Daros' house in Knife's Edge. The wizard sensed Artemis' arrival, rushing out the front door of his home urgently with his blue robes flapping in the wind. He pushed his spectacles further onto his nose and tried to fix his messy brown hair as he arrived at Artemis' side. Kneeling down, he reached for Judicis' passive form as a black bracer upon his wrist, allowing the ancient sentient artifact to communicate.

"Oh dear," was all the wizard could say, scooping up the injured man and rushing him inside. He needed to save his friend, and only hoped he could.

Round 1 is over! This thread is now closed for judging.

Judgment: Osiris Open rubric

Combat

Sir Artemis: 17 / 30

I liked how you feigned a handshake to create an opening in the first stages of the combat; it was a small but clever signal of intent for the rest of the fight. You fought the warrior’s game; using your bow, swords and magic at pace and whilst you never really excited in those middle-thread posts, you played to your strengths. I think I was perhaps most impressed by you at the end when you thought about using Atilla as a source of healing; a clever, original play, and one I was not expecting.

That said, I felt a lack of resourcefulness hurt both yourself and Storm in this fight. It could be a symptom of the arena, perhaps, but I felt the setting wasn’t used enough to further the fight or inject a bit of “something special” into the thread.

I felt that you took hits well. Obviously we have a situation where two very powerful characters have squared off, so I give you credit in execution for allowing some of Storm’s attacks to breach (even in part) the layers of your formidable defence. Your tactics seemed to revolve around feigns and pressure attacks and, for the most part, they seemed to be working. The only thing that hurt your score overall was perhaps having too much of a generic approach to the middle-thread posts.

Storm Veritas: 19 / 30

I liked how Storm made use of his repertoire in this fight, and found myself enjoying the introduction of nostalgic items such as the Moonwing bracer, Might of Moxxilus and the Rat (which I honestly thought wouldn’t get much of a look in). For the most part, Storm’s attacks relied on his electricity whilst his magnetism took a back seat, but the variation between this and the other items made your mid-game a lot more interesting than SirArtemis’s. I particularly liked the psychology behind using the bracer; often in threads like these it is easy to forget the mental impact that certain actions could have on their opponent.

Again, as with Artemis, I felt a lack of resourcefulness hurt both of you in this fight. Whilst you got credit for using the arena’s acid to your detriment, I felt that there was something of a missed opportunity when it came to the offensive possibilities. That said, again, it could be a symptom of the arena itself. I appreciate you can’t just pick up and throw acid, but there might have been other ways to try and force the hazards of the arena into play.

Much like Artemis, I felt that you took hits well. I give you credit for allowing Storm to get burned by the acid, although I did ponder whether or not it should have been faster acting and potentially more dangerous than it was. Your strategy seemed to be move and counter, dealing with Artemis’s pressure attacks from the back foot. I felt it worked well and you were perhaps a little stronger in this department.

Character


SirArtemis: 18 / 30

You write Artemis well. He comes across as a person who is very attentive and aware, as highlighted with his sense of Storm’s intent. You followed the “strong moral compass” line and stayed true to the character, which although aligns with Artemis’s values seemed quite abruptly placed in this thread. That Eburi just turned up seemingly out of nowhere to stop Storm seemed odd at best.
With an exception (noted below), most of the actions Artemis took seemed in keeping with his personality. He is a fast, furious fighter and clearly doesn’t suffer fools gladly. You kept dialogue and internal thoughts appropriately timed and paced.

One point of apparent contradiction was that of Judicis. You mention in your profile that the blade aligns deeply with the values that Artemis holds and helps him stay on the righteous path, yet it seemed quite happy to let Atilla be murdered to restore Artemis’s health. Perhaps I am being a little too harsh here, but one would think that those value extended beyond mankind and to all living beings. Perhaps, though, it is his inherent to its nature to keep Eburi alive? I can see the arguments on both sides, and it is just a small point, but one that caught my attention nonetheless.


Storm Veritas: 20 / 30

Storm is a character that, when the mood takes him, can provide the reader with a wealth of dimensions but when it comes down to it he is who he is. In this thread, the lightning mage seems comfortable in his own skin.

This is what I’d call a quintessential, if not slightly standard, performance. Nothing he did deviated from his character, from the characteristic blasts of that vicious lightning to the far more angry response to Artemis’s assault on Atilla. I actually found that to be quite refreshing – we have all seen Storm pissed off (default setting), but I can’t recall a time when I have seen him enraged. As always, the dialogue was colourful and entertaining whilst being proportionate to the thread.

Prose

SirArtemis: 25 / 30

Once again, you gave us a fairly solid performance in mechanics. I say fairly because I know how seriously you take your mechanics in threads, so I also know you’ll be kicking yourself a little when I tell you that one or two things crept through. In post 6, you say “How many more will succumb to his abuse power?” and I’m fairly sure you meant ”abuse of power” or something similar. There were one or two other examples where speed may have prioritised over prose, and I can understand that. For the most part, though, your mechanics were sound. Your writing was never difficult to follow, and although I felt that perhaps your posts could have done with just a little bit of fleshing out, I also understand the need to not go too over the top.

What I liked about your work was that you didn’t try to over-compensate. You weren’t overbearing or clumsy with description at all but to really put that glossy finish on your work I felt you could add a little bit more description to add those missing splashes of colour that bring scenes to life.

Storm Veritas: 27 / 30

For the most part you produced a solid and well written piece. However, bearing in mind the fine margins we are dealing with, I did have to mark you down for some minor grammatical errors. The main offender was sentence fragmentation (where a semi-colon was needed to correctly break up the sentence and give the correct context to what you were portraying) but you weren’t alone here. You were, overall, the strongest competitor in this category and your ability to write so solidly under both time and performance pressure is reflected in your score.

The one thing I liked about your writing was how you brought in an entire spectrum of literary devices to give the reader a complete picture of your story. You marry vivid description with easy to understand terminology that brings a scene to life and makes the piece very easy on the eye, but having said that there were one or two occasions where I thought you might have been a little overkill on the descriptions. That said, as the reader, I was never particularly confused as to what was going on and why or how. Your technique is well executed and well-practised, with only a minor adjustment to the score to reflect my point above.

Wildcard

SirArtemis: 6
Storm Veritas: 7

I'm awarding wildcard based on the story element of the thread. I particularly liked the way Storm adapted the Dead Pool to be a dumping ground for Brotherhood business, whereas Artemis made his tale about stopping the evil intent of the electromancer. Overall it was an entertaining battle.


Final scores and rewards


Storm Veritas: 73/100
SirArtemis: 66/100

Storm Veritas advances!

In accordance with Osiris Open rubric, both contestants receive rewards based on a score of 65. SirArtemis's GP is forfeited to the tournament pot!

Storm Veritas receives 1100 EXP and 70 GP!

SirArtemis receives 1130 EXP and forfeits 80 GP to the tournament pot!

Congratulations!