Finger of God

[Closed to Ashla]

Cold drops of rain sizzled and popped as they fell onto my burning skin. They were heavy and thick, the tears of giants raining down in a baptismal font which washed the miles of road away and welcomed me back to the Citadel. I tightened my grip on my warscythe and stalked along my entry path. Moss and wet earth cushioned each of my heavy steps, the ground beneath me resisting being churned sodden by my weight. I didn’t question it, didn’t have to. The Ai’Brone monks, the Citadel’s keepers, had access to magic both powerful and mysterious. I’d seen firsthand the incredible realities which they could craft within the Citadel’s ancient walls. To them, a heavy rain and solid ground must be child’s play.

How long has it been since the last time I was here? I wondered. So much had happened. So much time and distance that that this once familiar place almost seemed foreign to me. But the Ai’Brone had not forgotten. They had remembered the truth of this place, and my truth as well. No sooner had I stepped within the Citadel’s hallowed walls than had I found one of the Ai’Brone ushering me quickly to a prepared arena. The Finger of God they had called it. I could see why.

A crooked tower rose from the darkness at the end of my path, stretching so far into the sky that it seemed to scratch at the very clouds themselves. I stopped for a moment as the immensity of the structure came full into view, allowing the sense of the thing to wash over me. And then I grinned, feeling my charred lips twist and crack away from sharpened teeth. This would make a good place to fight.

While injuries sustained in the Citadel weren’t real, just another display of Ai’Brone magic, the feeling of hunting another warrior was just as natural as it was out in the real world. I closed my eyes to the Finger of God and let the memories come back to me. I could feel the delicate resistance of my blade cutting into my prey, the sweet release that the parting flesh made and how the warmth of their life poured out. A shudder of anticipation oozed up my spine and I savored it for one brief moment before choking it back into place. It wouldn’t do to allow my opponent to get the drop on me because I was dallying about in the rain.

Enough time had passed that my opponent had to already be within the arena as well. Knowing that there was little room for error I whipped my warscythe behind me with a snap and ran the rest of the way down the path. In the driving rain my inhuman speed would make me little more than a blur as I ran, which would hopefully be enough to disorient anyone who’d happened to catch sight of me during my moment reverie. Though as I got closer the Finger of God and took stock of its sheer immensity I wondered if it mightn’t be better to just wait out in the open to be found. But I had never been one to take the easy way out.

While the tower’s outer shell was a solid, if a little crooked, the inside was another story. Dim lights glowed from several of the hundreds of windows stamped into the walls. Given its size, the Finger of God must have been cross-crossed with miles of pathways and tunnels. It might take hours, or maybe days, to find a lone opponent within. But I’d never find them if I didn’t start somewhere. Picking a lighted window at random, one that was at least six or seven meters off the ground, I leaped up into it.

I quickly looked around for the light source that had brightened this window only to find myself frowning and issuing a muttered curse. Instead of finding a torch or lamp that I could bring with me into the heart of the tower I found a glowing orb set deep into the room’s cobbled back wall. There was little else of note in the small chamber save for bits of crumbling stone and deep cracks which lined every surface. The Finger of God might be mighty and impressive from the outside, but the inside was rotten and decrepit.

And then, as I was taking stock of the place, the room’s light orb winked out. One moment the room was filled with a soft golden light and the next it was filled with thick shadows and suffocating darkness. At the exact same moment, I noted, a golden light winked into existence in another far down the hallway that lay attached to the chamber’s sole door. It looked like I’d have to leapfrog my way from room to room until I found my opponent, following the trail of lights throughout the Finger.

“Here we go,” I whispered to the dark room, my voice so low that it was drowned in the deluge of the downpour still raging outside the window. Nodding to myself, I tightened my grip on my warscythe and plunged headlong into the waiting darkness.

When one is easily uptight, quick to anger, and just plain in a cranky mood, it was easy for them to resolve to violence. It was one thing, one person who pushed her here. At this point, betrayal was a common occurrence in Ayleth's life. What was it though about this one, however, that had caused tears to fall from her mismatched eyes? It was her apprentice. She left so suddenly, unable to take the changes in Ayleth's personality. Why though? Was she not just doing what seemed for the best? Was she not doing these things for the sake of the world?

Ayleth was doing the right things... right?

None the less, sorrow grew into bitterness. Bitterness transformed into a deep anger. She needed to let it go. Unable to hold it back anymore, she stepped into the one place in Corone where it was legal to kill. It was the Citadel. The arena itself, which's name could mean less to Ayleth, was a tower. She was inside it, and the crumbled ruins seemed nothing new to someone who watched an entire country wither and die. The bland building, lacking of life, was so void and empty. The halfling herself could see it, she had been teleported inside by the monks, but outside the ancient tower was nothing short of magnificent, even in the pouring rain. It was actually a realistic image of how many people could be. Outside, how many people could be fine when inside... it was a storm.

Ayleth's storm was a blizzard. The freezing winds, oh how they swirled so beautifully - only to cause so much damage. The winds would roar loud as a lion, causing all to wrap up inside for cover. As layer upon layer of white formed, those caught inside became trapped. Isolated. Numb. Ayleth was caught inside. What telling was there of when it would let her out. Or did Ayleth have to dig out herself? To become Ashla once more? What did it take for cloudy skies to turn back to blue, and for hills of snow to retreat once again?

Ayleth just shrugged at the question.

In this tower, Ayleth was in a small room amongst the higher floors. It was dusty, had turned over tables, and had massive cobwebs forming in the corners. This scenery, it reminded her of what she wished was not home, but was. A little known land called Eiskalt. It reminded her of the land of the elves, which to that day was overun with the undead. It was the home of her mother, who had died so young giving birth to her.

But for what cause? Ayleth asked silently, Was I worth such a sacrifice?

Then, sounds steadily grew. Random noises increasing as it got closer. A hint of a smile appeared on Ayleth's face - it was her opponent. She reached for the single sword located at her hip. She pulled it about an inch away from her sheath, the blue damascus blade coming into view. Her simple black shirt barely rippled, even with her steel chainmail beneath. Her black shorts were slightly wrinkled. Her boots, which had steel plates on them, reached up to her knees. The black, thin stockings that were beneath though ran to where they almost met her shorts. Ayleth slowly crept up to the walls, where the shadows roamed. She placed her sword in its sheath, reaching for her dagger, Deadpetal, instead. The knife was a beautiful steel, the carving of a rose engraved into the blade with masterwork quality. How many times was this grey blade turned red like roses with blood as well? She lay low, close the door, and went silent. She held her knife in a reversed grip, perfect for sneak attack assassinations, as she waited.

Finding my enemy was turning out to be even more difficult than I had imagined it would. It would have been hard enough if the Finger of God had just been a basic tower with a maze of rooms and corridors winding through it. I cursed the Ai’Brone monks as I leaped twenty feet from one floor to the next, my bone claws digging into the cracked stone railing above as I swung over it. I should have known that the monks wouldn’t give me a straightforward arena.

I thought about calling out to my opponent, who doubtlessly was searching for me just as diligently as I was searching for them. I paused at the last moment, with the words humming right behind my teeth. Then I swallowed them back down. I wasn’t exactly a stealth target in here, what with the sullen glow and pounding footsteps. But if my enemy wasn’t searching for me, if they were lying in wait, then there was no sense in making a sneak attack any easier for them. Why should I have all the frustration here anyways?

I padded along the new level, following the ebb and flow of the lighted rooms around throughout it. I knew that I had to be pretty high in the Finger by now, having ascended too many floors to keep track of. At least I had my restorative abilities to keep me from getting exhausted going up all these tower levels. I’d have hated to be a regular mortal fighting in this area. Something which I’m sure the Ai’Brone had taken into account.

I flexed my claws with anticipation as I crept into this floor’s first room, casting a brief look from around as I did so. Soon, I told myself. I had a feeling that something would finally be happening soon.

Her opponent was in the room.

In the darkness, she only saw what seemed to be a silhouette of her opponent. Even so, the tall and study man was tall and mighty. He had a scythe on him as a weapon. To most, this would be a scary image. To Ayleth though, the scythe's symbol, death, was a common part of life.

Ayleth crept slowly, as to avoid making any noise. Nimble and agile, she did not trip or stumble over the crumbled rocks on the dust coated floor. This bland, broken room was about to come to life. Ayleth felt her blood flowing faster... The edge of Deadpetal was glazed over in crimson ice. The "watermelon effect" sounded fun and all... but this was no child friendly effect. This bacteria infested ice was so intoxicated, it was stained red. Capable of stinging, burning, itchiness, even skin decay, Ayleth's blood ice was certainly something one would not like to make skin contact with. Actually getting cut with it was even worse. Infections of various kinds could wreak havoc on the body. Not to mention headaches and hallucinations that could come up as much as five minutes after the cut. Like all ice too, blood ice of course led to frostbite.

Okay, so maybe this stuff was fun... for Ayleth to watch. As her victims writhed in misery and pain. Yeah, lot's of fun!

The icy warrior made her move. She vigilantly stalked her opponent, waiting for her moment. She usually did not sneak attack like this. An opportunistic fighter though, she accepted the challenge. The mud elf planned on nicking her opponent's neck (or face if the neck didn't work.) She didn't need to even cut him, just tap him with the icy blade and she would be satisfied enough. Ayleth though, shot high. A good cut was worth a shot. Her own silhouette was right behind her opponent's, like two puppets acting out a scene in a show. Ayleth smirked, confidence shining through as she, in an instance of enhanced speed, made the lunge.

Another one, I snarled to myself as I skimmed the broken furniture. Another damned empty room. I was beginning to wonder if the Ai’Brone had even sent another person into the arena with me, or were just letting me run around the tower like some Thayne’s damned fool. The rage was beginning to rise up within me, a red tide welling from the depths of my molten core to fill my veins with liquid fire. Sometimes, I’m ashamed to admit, my frustration gets the best of me. Frowning, I stabbed at a nearby chair with the blade of my warscythe.

And that was when I caught a glimpse of an edgeless shadow creeping up behind me.

I barely had time to register what I was seeing before the shadow moved. And when it moved, it moved fast. Inhumanly so. And on top of that, it was completely silent. If I hadn’t caught a lucky glimpse of the shadows that the light orb cast behind me, I wouldn’t have even noticed that someone else was in the room with me. Apparently the Ai’Brone had given me an opponent after all, and that opponent seemed to be quite proficient.

While my mind floundered in processing the attack my body reacted without hesitation. Experience earned in a thousand battles driving me forward without thought. Muscle memory forged through hours of combat training drilling the proper reaction to any situation into me. It was time I knew had been well spent as the edge of the assassin’s blade slid across the back of my neck instead of thrusting into the flat of my throat.

The blade was chill against my charred flesh, a chill that was deeper than mere cold steel. But cold wasn’t something to worry a creature with liquid fire running through its veins. And my thick charred flesh protected me from the worst of the knife’s edge. The cut it had made wasn’t terribly deep, and William’s restorative abilities were already resealing the wound. But for some reason the cut burned in a way completely different from my own fire.

I lashed out behind me with my warscythe as I stumbled forward, the warped wood of the chair splintering under the trampling weight of my bone carapace. It was a blind, wild swing, but my own inhuman speed and strength meant that even a wild swing could be fatal. And with it, I let loose the full fury of my molten core, sweltering heat rolling off my in a wave. If the assassin kept pressing in close, I trusted my innate toughness and restorative capabilities to keep me alive long enough to make things very uncomfortable for them.

Ayleth didn't even react to her minor victory in her half-won strike. The blindly swung scythe was coming down fast. Agile as well as speedy, the half-elf rolled away from the massive pole arm as wood from smashed furniture flew around. While she dodged the warscythe, dust and splinters managed to find her. Ayleth's eyes watered from the irritation of the dust, and splinters embedded her upper legs and arms. To recover, ice started forming across her body - her icy healing. Her splinters began to heal. Ayleth's eyes were red like a faint, glazy blood moon.

Only several feet away from her opponent, things only got worse. Heat. Severe heat. It was like she was close to erupting lava. No burns were being caused, so far it was only an annoyance. However, it was still enough to cause her to rather harshly back away. Unable to see her opponent clearly, she only saw his burning silhouette.

An amused smile crossed her face, Ice versus fire? Classic.

She had dropped her dagger somewhere within the last several moments all this happened. Still on her feet though, she drew her damascus hand-in-a-half sword, the Hailstorm's Daughter. Her posture was still sturdy, like a warrior. It maintained a level of elegance though, and showed she was intelligent as well as just plain good. Emotion driven and still young though, the tears falling down her face signified more than just how much dust got in her eyes. She took several deep breaths, recovering from the last several seconds. She still could not see clearly, and considered her missile options. Her handheld crosspistol, Parva, would be of little help with her current eyesight. Her abilities could be of use, but... not directly.

For now, she needed to buy her own time. She would diplomatically use another sharp weapon: words.

"Nice move," she approved her opponent, "Perhaps this would be a good time for introductions? My name is Ayleth."

Her sentences were short, quick to the point. No matter what tactic she used, she did not "play with her food." Maybe even hearing his name would give her eyes enough time to adjust. Stupid dust... I hate this tower already.

My swing missed, as I thought it would, but striking my opponent down hadn’t been my real goal. What the swing had accomplished, and quite well to my estimation, was to drive her back. Her, I could see now. She was a young half-elf woman, dark of hair, and with a form which told of her experience in combat situations. Her skin was shiny, peppered with glittering jewels which caught the light from the glow orb, like shards of ice embedded in her skin. She’s also dropped her dagger and drawn her sword. A smart move when combating a weapon with a longer reach, I knew. Not that it’d do her much good against my warscythe.

Despite my restorative abilities the burning in my neck was getting worse, not better. I reached up and felt the hot wetness of my blood, but the wound itself was nearly shut. So it wasn’t that. I caught a glimpse of some reddish crystal on the dagger at my feet, the one that the half-elf had dropped. The burning had to come from some form of poison then. And it must have been a potent one at that, if it was something strong enough to overcome my healing.

That puts my on a timer, I grimaced. I had no doubt that my restorative abilities would eventually burn up whatever poison the assassin used, but the effects could incapacitate me long before it happened. And even if it didn’t, the growing pain could prove too distracting against an opponent as skilled as the half-elf appeared to be. As much as I enjoyed toying with my opponents when I could, it was in my best interest to end this fight quickly. I focused my mind on the thought as I flicked my pooled blood from my claws.

The elf spoke as the blood splashed into the ruins of the furniture underneath my feet. Fire blazed as the molten liquid quickly ignited the dry, cracked splinters beneath me. I heard her words, but let them flow over me. It didn’t matter what she had to say. All that was left was the slaughter. I left my face split into a feral grin within the rising flames around me. And then I summoned my power and my hand flew towards my enemy, a magma shot hurtling from it with wicked speed.

But I wasn’t going to leave this fight to a simple, if powerful, explosive bolt. As soon as the shot left my hands I was in motion, the full weight of my inhuman abilities propelling me forward with blinding speed. In my hand, echoes of green lightning crackled along the black stone length of my warscythe. I’d willed the lesser form of the blade’s deadly enchantment to life. Already a razor edge as light and strong as mythril, the blade would now effortlessly pass through shielding magic and steel as if they weren’t even there. The magma shot would explode as it approached the target and then I would hurtle through the resulting explosion, my own innate fiery nature protecting me from it, and would cleave through her with a single stroke.

The flicker of bright, burning substance burst forth. As it raced towards her, the teary eyed Icebreaker's sharp reflexes kicked in. Nope, he did not give her vision time to heal; although she did escape the explosion of molton rock - kind of.

As the girl hit the dusty floor, she felt the combined rubble beneath her chest and the sharp pain of burning… splatters of lava had hit her back legs like rain. A hiss escaped her as the more than third degree mini burns scattered across her lower legs. The sound of rapid footsteps behind her caused explosions of adrenaline. As her ice based healing abilities covered her burns in numbing frost, she rolled onto her back and lifted her damascus sword to a war scythe crashing down on her.

As the weapons clashed, an ear piercing scream of metal sounded. Eyes widening, the girl put her second hand on her sword's hilt as she reinforced her weaker blade with mini-layers of plynt strength ice. . . That scythe was made of mithril! It was breaking through. . .

As lightning sparked from the enemy's blade, flashes of unnatural, magical light flashed across the room. As moments passed, the rooms barrier's revealed as a burgundy, moldy crumbling castle wall. Turned over bookshelves and broken tables briefly faded in and out of viewing range as the dust finally cleared from Ayleth's eyes. She saw his face. It was unknown, too twisted for nature. As lava naturally flowed across his charcoal face, his eyes glowed an unearthly yellow. Ayleth's eyes widened, she went pale when she realized she had met this man somewhere. Where, however? At this point he was a familiar stranger attempting to fry her. Not with fire, but with lava and lightning. On the filthy tower of empty ruin, her pounding heart reinforced what she did in fact know. She needed distance.

That blade, that blade that still sunk into the ice that bridged her half broken blade together was sparkling with electricity. Considering that her ice was frozen water, the lightning was naturally attracted to it. The lightning dug into the ice like roots. Small zaps would sting her face with miniature claws for several seconds at a time. Face squinting in pain, she tried to throw her aggressor off from beneath his feet. Literally.

Tapping her plated, sweating foot, which was several inches from his, ice silently slithered beneath his shoes. As the lightning continued to static about, the slippery blue coating of smooth ice was briefly visible to any who looked below. Sweating and burning, Ayleth growled at the heat master, "Ow. . . That stings. . ."

Her face squinted even more than it already was. A mass of ice swiftly reached up from the dirt covered floor. Ayleth hoped it would push him off balance. The ice beneath his feet would cause him to slip as he tried to regain a steady footing. If this worked, which she honestly doubted, it would give her time to retreat; to bolt towards the doorway.

The hammering of my heart in my ears nearly drowned out the tremendous crash of the magma shot’s explosion. Nearly. Blinded by the flash and unable to hear anything I could only hope that my warscythe struck true. I expected to feel either the pressure that signified my striking true or the complete lack of resistance that would signify a missed target. What I didn’t expect was for my blade to slam to a complete stop the moment the electrical enchantment discharged.

Holding back was a good way to get yourself killed and I knew this, so I’d put every ounce of strength that I could muster into my swing. When it stopped dead in the middle of its arc I was floored. All thoughts of the conflagration surging around me and the spreading itch in my back were washed away with the disbelief that had crashed over my awareness. When activated, the enchantment on the warscythe allowed it to cut through steel and spell alike with the same ease its razor edge had parting flesh from bone. True the effect was limited to a single swipe of the blade each time, but even so it had never failed me. Not until now. How had this waifish little sneak managed to overcome my brutal strength and powerful magic? The afterglow of my explosive attack faded from my vision and I would have been less surprised to see a dragon in the assassin’s place than I was to see the truth.

Ice mage, were the only words that registered in my addled mind. Glistening spots shone in icy patched on the woman’s skin where the magma shot had actually managed to reach her. But even those spots were few in number, a testament to her defensive capabilities with her chosen element. That alone would have earned her my respect, but what absolutely floored me was the sight of her outstretched sword, which had been cleaved in two only to seemingly have been repaired by ice the instant my scythe had bisected it. That same ice was what had trapped my weapon, holding it fast against her repair job. She’d reacted perfectly, timing her counter to the instant my enchantment discharged. It was an amazing display of skill to a degree that I’d only ever seen one or two individuals possess.

No wonder the Ai’Brone had paired us against each other.

I recovered quickly, pushing my admiration for the woman’s talent aside. I could express my appreciation for her talents should we ever meet outside the Citadel, but in here we were still mortal opponents. Until then I had to think of her as nothing more than incredibly dangerous prey.

The floor lurched under me as a mass of ice thrust up under my feet. I reeled backwards, trying to get away from the simple attack and yet unwilling to lose grip on my warscythe. Dangerously off-balance, I did the only thing I could think of and clamped down on the ice as strongly as I could. Three long seconds passed as I hung backwards supported by the grip of my clawed feet and my death grip on the smooth haft of my weapon. Then my weapon tore free from the ice with a snap at the same moment the ice block beneath me splintered under the stress of anchoring me.

I could only glare as the assassin as I fell backwards into the inferno that was blazing to life where my magma had lit the garbage in the room.

Finally. Distance.

At the door, she was in a poor shape. Her sweat beaded hair was hung over her face as she slightly hunkered over. Breathing heavily, she clenched her sword in a half-sword grip. One hand safely clenched the blade with the other held the hilt. The weakened ice crunched and withered, her sword finally broke in two as the entire room started to go up in smoke. As the rich, orange fire caused light to burst as a backdrop for her opponent, she was once again taken aback by his face. That face. . . Was so familiar. . .

The image of a broken clock tower, burning acres, and a flaming man embracing the fire crossed her mind. The hysterical laughter towards a young girl's stupidity, the way his hellish smile and brimstone words ridiculed the younger teen.

"Run home, girl. If you wish to leave, the chamber will take you out and hopefully give me a worthier challenge.”

Her eyes widened. As sweat coated her body, her blue eye became coated with ice. "You…"

The fire hit the legs of a still standing table, causing the entire piece of furniture to fall and cause a burst of extra flame. Smoke flooded the room, coating her view of him and rotting the air with fumes. With heatwave after heatwave slamming her face, she held the broken blade shard in the historically taught throwing position. Holding it by the flat, she threw the sharp damascus at his general direction. Clenching the hilt of her half broken sword, she turned to run. This room was on fire, undesirably energy draining, and now. . now she had emotions slamming her with as much intensity as the burning sensation of even distant fire.

Ayleth thought she was darned by the monks for all this. She, Ashla, came here to relieve stress, not develop even more!

"Run home, girl. . ."

She needed to clear her head, get back in the game. With her main weapon broken, her puny crossbow pistol being able to do nothing, and her dagger pretty useless as well, she was at a severe disadvantage. She could freeze many liquids, but still could not cool lava. Lightning was attracted to any kind of H2O, he already made her stinging, freezer burnt legs shake in pain. . .

He still outclassed her, Ashla, in every area.

She needed to run. Hide. Figure out her next move in another room.

She hoped he would not follow her.

Raging flames filled the room by the time I rolled back to my feet. The flames lapped hungrily at my charred flesh but it made little difference against the molten heat that pulsed inside me. I was somewhat surprised at how quickly the fire had spread. In less than half a minute the entire storage room had transformed from dusty repository to savage inferno. And given what I’d thus far seen from the other rooms secreted around the Finger of God, the fire would soon be spreading rapidly up the length of the monolithic structure.

This could be a good thing, I thought as I strode out of the fire and into the corridor. It was apparent that the assassin had fled after I’d been knocked back into the fire. She might have thought that the fire would finish me off, but given my appearance and the abilities I’d demonstrated so far, it was more likely that she was just looking to find a new hiding spot that she could use to ambush me.

I glanced back at the fire that was already creeping from the room. Hiding would be a risky gamble at this point, though if the assassin went high enough fast enough she might outrace the flames for a time. The monks had built this arena impossibly tall and there was an almost endless parade of floors above them. But even if there was a top floor, the spreading fire would likely collapse the entire structure before either the assassin or I found it. Even if my demonic physique let me ignore the raging fire, there was nothing I could do to survive being trapped in a collapsing tower. But that wasn’t the only threat looming over my head.

Numbness had spread across half of my back from the point where the assassin’s blade had struck me. I clawed at the dead spot on my shoulder as I jogged up the stairs to the next level. My bone claws cut deep enough to draw steaming blood and the flesh that healed back together felt fresh, but those lines quickly re-succumbed to the growing infection. I supposed that I could always hack my arm off at the shoulder to get rid of the slow-spreading disease, but I wasn’t keen to go down that path. It would be better to simply follow my opponent into the spiraling darkness above me.

I was on guard now and despite my hurriedness I vowed that I wouldn’t let the assassin surprise me again.

"Don't want to die?"

His old words echoed around her troubled mind. In the coolness of an above hallway, the young woman closed her eyes. She had met that man before, in another Citadel battle. . . Her first Citadel battle.

As dust particles floated in the eerie silence, she had her back against the wall, huddled on the floor. She felt like a child again, that child again. How could those horrific monks do this to her? Ayleth was running from the past that was Ashla Icebreaker, and now they tossed her directly into a massive stumbling block.

She shook from both the pain of the lava that scorched her legs and the tremendous stress of all this. She closed her eyes, preventing herself from crying. She whispered so only the monks initiating this cursed battle could hear.

"I'm less than pleased with your performance in this."

How incredibly ironic was it that, she had no way of knowing, this was exactly what he said to them after their first match?

A single tear fell from her eye. As she held her broken sword in her hands, she hung her head low in the silence. How could they do this to her? How. . . ?

She bit her lip. The dust and ash coated clothes and armor meshed well with the dull, dead surroundings of the empty as haides hallway. Of course, the debres that hid her now could not hide her forever. Who knew how long it would be until he turned the rubble filled corner. Now though, she worked desperately to rebuild her will to fight. Despite all her efforts to tell herself that now was her chance for payback, now she could finally beat that monster! - . . .

. . . She only continued to silently shed tears.

. . .

. . .

. . .


Be strong, Ashla! You can make it! Please do. . .

"I'm not Ashla."

Ayleth opened her eyes. Her clouded vision barely made out the image of the broken sword on her lap. The young woman let out a silent growl as she gripped the weapon's hilt. Pulling her second hand to the hilt, she twisted the hand-in-a-half sword's hilt. Pulling it apart, the hidden spiked bar was made visible.

"Am I?"

This sword was given to Ashla by a dearly loved one. Why did she still carry it when her husband's very death caused her to put Ashla to sleep and silence? Why did she still feel her pain? The images of that burning clock tower still flashed in her mind.

No! Ashla cannot come. . .

- It was too late. There Ashla was, gripping the unique sword like it was all she had. (Probably because it was.) Ashla started this war; now Ashla would finish it. Tears still fell, but her face was cold and bitter. The apprentice who betrayed her, drove her to come to the Citadel, appeared in her mind. What if Ayleth betrayed her?

What monster did Ashla become?

The sound of footsteps crushing and crumbling pebbles sounded from the distant left of her. Very quickly, she lifted her hand and wiped her tears against her grubby shirt. She looked over with clearer eyes. The orange shadows and flickers of her enemy's heat brought life to the cold, desolate granite walls. Ashla stood up as the movements swam closer. Walking towards the center of the hall, the Icebreaker spoke in a voice aged with grief, war, and rage. "I'm over here, revenant."

Ice coated both of her eyes. They were chips of ice, unrefined and capable of killing. Freezing steam rose from her fingers. Did he remember her like she remembered him?

"Run home, girl," She shouted, "If you wish to leave, the chamber will take you out and hopefully give me a worthier challenge!"

She stomped her foot, thick ice coated the floor between the two of them. Completely ready to empty her emotions onto him, or die in his wrath again, she called upon her bloodline abilities. As several shards of red ice floated around her, she was oddly ready for whatever fate awaited her. It did not matter if she won or lost this. Somehow, it did not matter to Ashla. For once in a life of disarray, the reawakened Ashla was okay with whatever was to come next. What was one more instance of her world falling apart anyways? One more mental break down?

It was probably better than this. . .

Though the fire was quickly spreading across the floors below me, I quickly outpaced it. I was initially hesitant to simply run past the rooms on the three floors above the inferno, but I pushed myself forward nonetheless. Rationally I knew that the spreading fire below was still just picking up speed and that it would only be a matter of minutes before it spread up to these floors too. If the woman was hiding there in the hopes that I’d stumble across her a second time, then she was likely already fuel for the flames.

Still, the spreading numbness in my arm was an all too dire reminder of letting an enemy get behind me and I was loathe to repeat the experience. It was only the toughness of my charred hide that saved me from the assassin’s first strike. The assassin had underestimated me once, an easy thing to do when you weren’t expecting to be thrown into combat with a demonic entity masquerading as a human. But if the woman had any measure of skill in her trade then she’d adjust to overcome my defenses. I wasn’t likely to survive a second such encounter. That was why I was so surprised to see the woman simply standing down the corridor, waiting for me out in the open.

I had barely crested the top stair when I was assaulted by a crazed jumble of words and accusations. To be honest, it was more of a shock to me than the slit of her blade had been across my back. It flew in the face of every mental scenario that I’d prepared myself for, and I was left stumbling to a halt, unsure of just how to proceed.

The assassin took advantage of my hesitance by using her magic to cover the distance between us in more of her Haida-blasted ice before launching another tirade in my direction. Her words were familiar, but with no context I was simply left confused. I scanned the corridor cautiously, looking for signs of some form of trap, magical or otherwise, that the woman was trying to bait me into. Seeing nothing blatant I craned my head slightly to get a better look into a nearby doorway in case she had something hidden inside. Unfortunately the room’s magical glow lamps weren’t currently active so there was nothing to see inside.

I shifted my attention back to the assassin and actually paused to take stock of her words. Hysterical fear wasn’t a foreign experience, but there was something else hidden underneath this woman’s raving. There was a hatred beneath the fear and a sense of familiarity that matched. This woman seemed to know me and was holding some sort of grudge. It couldn’t have been for the little exchange we’d had below, could it? Sure I’d broken her blade in our back and forth, but where must have been something more to it than that.

Words tumbled from the woman’s lips and I got the sense that I was somehow a nightmare made real for her. Had she already had the misfortune to die under my claws in the Citadel before this? It was a possibility. I had spent more than my fair share of time in these chambers over the years and the Citadel had enough regulars that it wasn’t exactly unheard of for the same people to clash more than once. If what she wanted was revenge or for me be shamed in some way then she was doomed to failure. Killing the same person more than once had never been a deterrent to me before.

She’s already proven that her ice could be a problem for me if I wasn’t careful. Somehow I doubted that she’d be similarly hindered. So dealing with that would be the first thing that I’d have to do. Without acknowledging her rambling, I focused on the power radiating from my molten core. The heat flowed out of me like an unstopped bottle but there were ways to control and redirect that energy. Mentally I pulled the power back into myself and redirected it. The energy seeped into the bone carapace covering both my arms and legs until they were coated in a sheen of liquid fire. The stone hissed where I stood and wisps of smoke curled up around my now-glowing feet.

I flashed a sinister grin at the woman and stepped forward onto the ice with even measured steps. The magical ice didn’t melt and boil away as normal ice would have when my liquid fire touched it, but it did soften enough that the claws beneath the fire could find purchase. Nimble dodges and agile maneuvers were still out of the question unless I wanted to find myself dumped onto my charred ass, but I could engage in a stand-up fight without too much concern. That is unless the assassin pulled some other magic shenanigans out of her repertoire.

Prudent fighting skill dictated that I not let her do that. That meant not letting her take the opportunity to put those tricks together. Since I couldn’t hit her fast, I had to hit her hard. Fortunately, that was something I was good at. I walked up to the woman as quickly as the icy floor allowed, grinning that same disquieting grin the entire time. It was my intent to use the burning claws on my poison-numbed arm to strike out at her with all the force that my supernatural strength could muster. I kept my weapon loose in the other hand in case I needed to deflect a return strike from this crazed, unpredictable woman.

The darkness of the cave was alit by the magma humanoid. His churned, amber eyes were intent and focused. It was obvious that both opponents wanted to end this fight... who could walk out the victor?

He made quick work of ice crystals beneath them. Cold steam smoldered under red hot talons. In all his might and power, he raised one of his glowing arms. The heat of his boiling being became more intense as he stepped closer. Ashla took a single step back as he came forth.

The Icebreaker's disadvantages were in numbers. Her previous burns, plus broken or otherwise useless weapons, put her in a weak spot. Ashla was used to inferiority, but Ayleth loathed this.

Ayleth simply loathed this.

Sweat trickled down the confused girl's back. In the darkness, this person of two identities prepared for the blow. When he was close enough, she blindly threw what was left of her now melted red ice. While it was unlikely that they hit, the girl was more concerned about the claw. Eyes still flooded with tears, she tried to step back from his strike.

She had minimum luck, thanks to her lack of solid vision. There was that alarming feeling of raw magma ripping through sizzling chainmail. This, and the scorching of her stomach, well, hurt. A shout of pain was emitted as his powerful force threw her back several paces. The chainmail still burned, even the cloth shirt beneath it started to melt. The burning steel was excruciating. The odd feeling undershirt, uncomfortable. Even her ice-based healing factor struggled to coat her burns and three cuts without melting again.

The woman's face was churned with pain. At first she moaned. Gripping her broken sword to ease her agony, her mind swirled.

Clocktower!
Revenant!
Sword!
Burn!
Mocking!
Laughter!
Weakling!
Joke!
Burn!
Clocktower!
Weakling!
Mocking!
Joke!
Joke!
Weakling!
Joke!
Joke!
Joke!
Wea-jo-clocktower!
Tow-e-r-cl-o'€/
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Laughter!
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JθKE
JOKE!

Another scream, bizarrely not caused by physical pain, erupted. Unaware of her surroundings, unaware of even the air she breathed. She was driven to madness. As the scream was emitted again, she grasped and yanked her own hair. Midscream, her anguish was twisted so horrifically so. Disturbed, it churned into an unstable, insane laugh.

"I-i-it's a jo-j-j-joke, see?" On the ground, the mixture of lava burns and ice healing coating her, she was so caught up in her own laughter. "I-i-i - fool! Al-llllll-wa-ys lo-ose! Funny! Funny, s-see?"

Her sword still held tightly, as it was her only connection to real life left. She messily stumbled to her feet. She was still suffering, still laughing.

InSaNiTy.

"Laugh!" She shouted in an odd, indistinct tone, "Laugh with me!"

The glowing orb in front of her tear filled eyes was all she could see. Even if the floor below were to crumble, all she saw was him. As the floor below rose in temperature, the fire they left behind growing closer, she made her next move. Gripping what was left of her blade in the military grip, she twisted the hilt. Pulling it, she revealed the spiked bar.

"I'm literally half swording!" She bellowed, raising her weapon in a poorly performed wrath guard, "Get the punch line?"

Dear Thayne, she was crazy...

No way was she ever going to win in this state of consciousness. She was doomed to fall. Yet here she was, bolting forth with her lost mind.

Any sane person could tell this would do nothing to him.

I’d broken her. Not her body, though I’d definitely punished her on that end. But even without the screaming madness I could tell that I’d broken the assassin’s mind. Her eyes shone with the dull uncomprehending chaos that only accompanied a loss of lucidity.

This fight was over.

I swept her half-hearted lunge aside with an almost gentle swipe of my warscythe’s haft and let the liquid fire dissolve off my carapace. There was no reason to be a savage brute about this, not anymore. I’d come to the Finger of God thinking myself a hunter. But I could see in those maddened eyes that I’d never be more that a nightmare to this woman. There would be no honor in testing ourselves against one another. There was no more cat and mouse games to be had. There was only bloodshed, madness, and hate.

“What a letdown,” I muttered and reached out to grab the woman by the front of her jerkin. There was nothing left for me here and no joy in cutting down a raving lunatic so my intent was to simply pitch her backwards over the rail to spiral her way down into the inferno raging below. Her weight was nothing to me, but as soon as I tried to lift her there was a jolt of pain from my shoulder which cut through the blank numbness that covered my limb down to the elbow. My grip slipped lifelessly from the assassin. I blinked, uncomprehending, and looked down at the arm swaying loosely at my side.

Blurred vision. Physical numbness. A moment of dissociation. For a span of several seconds, a teenage girl watched a hysterical young woman get lifted by the shirt by a revenant.

Who are they? Where...

Then she entered the body again.

Ayleth, what have done?

Her burgundy eye became coated with ice, "Ayleth... what have you-"

She was cut off when the man of magma dropped the body. A gasp escaped their mouth as they fell to their knees. They felt as if they were physically being pulled apart from within. As one fought, the other gripped tighter.

The blue eye became coated again, dark red reamerging. "I protected us..."

Both eyes coated over again, "Lies!"

A brief laugh started then stopped in a flash. A blue orb watched William's arm fall limp. "You made us worse."

Almost involuntarily, she lunged her hand up to her blue eye. "I protected us!"

"You pushed Felicity away!"

"I tried to make her strong, but she left!"

"You abused her!"

"I trained her and we know it!"

"Your- your words! You hurt her!"

"She was too sensitive. Like you!"

Her hand was yanked away, writhing as both eyes became coated with ice.

"Shut up!"

"You created me so we would not hurt! You made me after your precious Julius died!"

The frame violently shook, cold mist rising off her body, "You left our own daughter!"

"We left her in union!"

"Ayleth, what have we done!?!"

Tears fell from the ice covered blue eye alone. The other seemed to burn in some animalistic desire. As her frost enveloped eyes looked up to William, her argument against herself only grew worst.

"We saved the world, Ashl-By killing them? Yes! We killed them! Kill the evildoers! That makes us no better than them- how dare you say that? How dare you? We must kill him! We must-"

A smirk spread across her pale lips, "Ayleth, you can't!"

A mad laugh erupted before her face fell dead serious. "Watch me."

In a flash, the ice melted away from Ayleth's dark eye. A hysterical plea was made as she stood up, "Ayleth, no! Run! What are you doing, we've lost?!?"

"Never!" The young woman's hand, still shaking, swept across the broken blade in her other hand. Where the metal was broken, red ice took its place. It developed into a blade distinctively designed for stabbing. Undivided and cold, Ayleth shoved Ashla aside as she lunged for William's throat. She could not care less about how his aura stung her bare skin. She could not care less about anything aside the satisfaction of ice cutting into charred flesh.

Her other eye's ice melted away as tears fell. Ashla gazed upon the image of her own blood ice melting as it dripped down William's neck and body. Her arm shook for a split second before both hands gripped the split hilt.

Suddenly, the world came back to Ashla.

The dark hall was their only backdrop. The dust was kicked up around by their movements. The scent of burnt skin, bacterial ice, and century old dirt floated around her. She started to feel again. The floor was hot to the touch. Unstable thanks to the growing fire, the ground beneath them started to moan and shake. They were out of time. Meanwhile, her entire body was affected by her opponent's scolding hot aura. Healing ice was trying and failing to keep her skin from burning. The magma claw marks on her stomach glowed in her wretched misery. This physical agony was nothing compared to the images of all those she hurt and murdered flashing before her eyes. The pain of her flesh still did not add up to the distortions that ever so briefly calmed in this moment of clarity. As the noise in her psyche started to rise again, she whispered.... To William, to Ayleth, to both, who knew? Nothing made sense anymore. Absolutely nothing made sense to Ashla anymore.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to prove you wrong... I wanted to win for once..."

Then, the spiked bar between her sword's pommel and hand gaurd was hastily coated in red ice. The small chunk of frozen water cracked and hissed. William's lava was not doing this, however. The crimson ice grew several shades lighter as the sound of crackling and inanimate squealing arose. As the unstable floor beneath them shook, the disturbed woman smiled in her brutal pain.

"Goodbye."

The ice exploded, ending it all in a flash.

~~~

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?????

Who is that girl?

There she stood, a young teen. Her long, white shirt was covered by a robin blue blouse. Her brown pants were covered in desert sand. She was in a dark, zaffre blue room. Her gaze fell across the room, she eyed another person. She seemed identical at first, except that her eyes were a different color than her's. Her black clothes, elegantly lined with red ribbons, were symbolic of her darker personality.

"Ashla." The girl with dark oak eyes spoke. Her voice was cold, direct, stubbornly determined...

The blue eyed girl just stared, her face twisted in silent rage. Her fists tightened. A bitter frown crossed her features as she unevenly breathed. She blinked, her eyes changed. They became crystallized into solid orbs of ice. In this exact moment, the other woman's eyes did the same.

"Ayleth..." Ashla whispered.

Ayleth placed her hands on her hips. Sly, confident, and uncaring, she smirked. "Yes?"

Ashla's eyes widened. Infuriated, she barked, "You know what!" She stomped her foot.

Ayleth closed her eyes. She sighed, pulling some of her hair behind her ear, "Can you really blame me? Who made me in the first place? Lye? Freebird? Julius? Or you?"

Ashla briefly shook in place.

"The question is not 'What have you done?'." Ayleth pulled her hand behind her neck. She lifted her other hand off her hip, cooly clenching her hand together as she cruelly smiled. "The question is..."

"No..."

"''What have you done, Ashla?'"

Quote:

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OOC: All bunnies in this thread approved.

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Apologies for the delay in judging this thread. I am dealing with this personally over the next few days and will update this thread with the writeup in due course.

My sincerest apologies for this having not been attended to. Since my last post, it had been earmarked for Garron’s training, and we are both now in a position to get this dealt with.

As an apology, I will issue additional rewards to make up for lost time. Thank you for providing an excellent thread and we’ll have your judgment done soon.

Thread Title: Thread Link
Judgment Type: Full Rubric
Participants: Revenant and Ashla

Participant: Revenant

Plot: 24/30

Story- 9/10

In post one you begin well with the light "winking out" - adding suspense for plot. The light winking back in, adds build up. It is a good first opening post. Overall you have good descriptions of what could happen with weapons, and there is no clear god-moding, allowing the other writer to respond to help build the story. You have a good use of reactions and so on. The story continues into the end, with good tension rises and plot points to demonstrate character, good story telling technique and skill.

Setting- 8/10

In post one you open the setting brilliantly with such lines as, "the tears of giants raining down in a baptismal font". Here there is also a good explanation for how the citadel works, and the setting of the arena is interesting and is written well. The title of the piece is, "Finger of God" which is a tower that is fought in and fits in with the general themes of the piece itself. Further into the piece the empty rooms build on your character's frustration - adding to greater sense of story and person-hood and the rapid change of scenery and rooms too add a journey element to the piece. Overall very excellent and consistent. The only area I would suggest some development is perhaps more interaction with the setting itself.

Pacing- 7/10

Pacing is overall good with a decent structure. One powerful part is the rise of fire alongside the rise of tension in poat 11. There is good, believable development that work well, but could do with some more attention-grabbing moments. Towards the end the pacing is steady and each detail written short or long depending on the need of the piece. Variation though in paragraph size would also help to develop some skill.

Character: 22/30

Communication- 7/10

In this thread for your character there is not much communication or spoken word at all, and so there was little to comment on here. (Perhaps speaking to one-self can help this?) However, there is a clear voice though of the character through first person. It is strong when you explain why Rev is not speaking much: "I heard her words, but let them flow over me. It didn’t matter what she had to say." This adds to character and builds up some personality for your writing and narrative voice. Else, what he says through the narration helps to understand who he is and what he wants.

Action-8/10

In post three you both show your character's skills and abilities via jumping "twenty feet" and also show individual traits with "flexed my claws" through the medium of action. There is clear frustration through actions as he continues through empty rooms. Later, the notion of a "blind ... swing" with a clear desperation to hit something, shows personality. Further in the piece, Rev's reactions to Ayleth/Ashla show the character within, and add a more-rounded understanding for the reader of Rev. The fact that he pulls back from fighting as well when it is clear Ayleth/Ashla is suffering ("I'd broken her..." post 16) shows a different side of him inclusive of honour. Overall you could further develop these skills to push them into your piece, but definitely a powerful skill.

Persona- 7/10

Persona is clearly shown through first person and asking questions of the world around him. It might be a thought though to use italics or vocabulary to define when using personal thought. There are good reactions to some of Ayleth's actions that show the deeper person of Rev, and the consequences of what he is doing with each hit. More is shown as Rev realises what he may have done to Ayleth/Ashla in fighting her, in asking if he has broken her. I would say some development can be done here, but overall strong.

Prose: 25/30

Mechanics- 7/10

Mostly, mechanics is fine for this piece, but some grammar is broken when using punctuation. There is over-use of some question marks when it just needs to be a comma, which causes an interruption of flow of text. Paragraphing could do with some experimenting into long/short. There is minor spelling mistakes such as in post 7 with "That puts my on a timer, I grimaced." where should be "me" not "my". Overall, however, strong but more development could be worked to use paragraphing and punctuation to your benefit and match your skill here in other areas of writing.

Clarity- 8/10

In terms of clarity there is nothing much to comment on. It is very clear what sort of powers Red has with constant reference to charred and seared flesh. Clear in each strike and actions made, and reasons why. It is perhaps only a bit unclear as to what is going on in his mind, see Persona.

Technique- 9/10

There is some lovely description that reflects the tone of the piece: "edgeless shadow" post 5 and "a chill that was deeper than mere cold steel," also post 5. Your writing is heavily descriptive throughout, with few faults and is strong and consistent. The way you describe also how Ayleth/Ashla's actions is also great, as you use what she has written yet put it into your own voice, which is a skill worth noting. It is also hard to do without falling into the trap of direct plagiarism or god-moding. More expansion into using other senses (smell, touch etc) could be one area to develop.

Wildcard: 8/10

You have good ability to let the other writer respond to each action and give an idea of what could happen, not what is 'going' to happen.


Final Score: 79/100

Participant: Ashla

Plot: 22/30

Story- 8/10

You create story through your character's questions. It is also built as the words and communication become more involved and heads into the second half of the piece itself. What is good is the mixture of the personal struggles that makes this piece more of a character development story as well as a fight. It climaxes well with the tension and action. With it finishing on post 14 and 16, there is a clean and smooth development of language as well as plot itself, which though could be foreshadowed more, has a powerful effect in giving depth to your character (this is a point I will come back to later in the commentary).

Setting- 6/10

You make good use of sound and senses to build the sense of the tower and what is going on inside and there is consistency as the weather also matches that of Rev's posts. However, you perhaps could do with a little more setting in first scene? Setting is also used carefully in response to what is laid out by Rev, but not as strongly described. Later on the concentration becomes more upon Ayleth/Ashla's development as a character, and it would have been good to include some more of the setting and the rooms here, even though the story itself is more about character for you.

Pacing- 8/10

What you do very well is have a change in paragraphing that works alongside tension brilliantly, and connects to the rise and fall. You are able to focus and then un-focus the reader's attention - a skill here worth noting. Post 14 is definitely where this can be highlighted, where you show a variety of pacing techniques including uses of varying sentence length. Overall use this skill more and spread it throughout your posts.

Character: 25/30

Communication- 8/10

The voice of Ayleth is clearly defined, and spoken well and also the spoken personal thoughts about Ayleth add to story. You have good use of communication in post 6 as she introduces herself as a sort of rebuttal into the story and the reader can see how she is using it to assess the situation. Verbal reactions also assist in building the story, and Ayleth/Ashla asking questions of herself in post 12 help to identify her thought patterns, although could be developed more. The main brunt of the communication in post 16 works well, flows well and fits the scenario. What was mostly interesting was the idea of who is Ayleth and who is Ashla.

Action-8/10

Communication and action are used well at points together with post 1 holding: "Ayleth just shrugged at the question." Other points where you do well are in parts where you use action to detail your character's skills: "she held her knife in a reversed grip" (also post 1). Simple breathing and movements such like add to making up her personality. Clearly defined traits and written actions. You get the idea of a warrior easily. The actions in the later part of the piece are powerful but a little subjective for the situation.

Persona- 9/10

Italics for internal thought are used well and good. This flows well, with the personal commentary, however when reading I was not sure if the sarcastic bits work (post 4) "Yeah, lot's of fun!" One thing to consider is your use of the brackets and when they are used. It is interesting in post 10 to see how your character reacts to Rev's suggestions and his actions, and what her two personhoods (Ashla and Ayleth) are wanting from this fight. Clear desperation here can be felt and seen. In post 11 you use language well with "How could they do this to her?" and not "he" as if reflecting on all of her lives, and the people who have impacted her. The important question over identity is asked and looked on. The question rises: is she is a monster? It is almost asking the reader of their opinion. Post 14 holds some hidden gems of writing skill here with the long list of individual words that work particularly well for what you want - confusion and understanding. Overall absolutely excellent in this section.

Prose: 23/30

Mechanics- 9/10

There is a good build up of sentence structure in places. Post 6 hosts the lines, "Heat. Severe heat. It was like she was close to erupting lava." These short and long sentences give variation and show your skill/technique. Paragraphing in general used well with shorter and longer ones. Interruptions also work really well, with the use of hyphens to add tension (post 8). There is very good use later on in post 12 to build up the almost mental breakdown of Ayleth. Overall no noticeable faults and keep going here!

Clarity- 6/10

At first reading, there is some confusion for the unknowing reader, who reads, Ayleth, however, your character is Ashla. Perhaps your opening posts could do with some defining. Only hint that is given is the following: " To become Ashla once more?" What could be suggested is some quick summary of what has happened recently to bring your character to this point. This may be deliberate, as your character is lacking in some sanity, but background context can hugely help a reader's understanding. Writing in itself is pretty clear, with nothing obvious that is confusing. This is clearer later, but could do with some more foreshadowing at the start. This is cleared up to an extent at the end, with the post 14, but you could refine the development somewhat.

Technique- 8/10

References to symbolism work exceptionally well (reference to the scythe). There is good use of simile post 4: "two puppets". You have general good use of technique that builds the fight and the tension well, with elements of what Ayleth is going through personally, and a really good way of describing what she is feeling with strong vocabulary and sensual language when she copes character-wise. The main thing I would say is the techniques and skills shown in post 14, inclusive of the paragraphing, single words, variation of large and small letters, would have been good to show in previous posts to more foreshadow the insanity. Post 16 does clear things up well, and summarises the disparity perhaps lacking at the start.

Wildcard: 8/10

You detail the descent (or the realisation) of insanity, through paragraphing and word choice and general action. Your development of the piece adds to this, going from steady paragraphs and words some alternative non-standard words.

Final Score: 78/100

Final comments:

Fire vs Ice. Love it.

Winner: Revenant!

Revenant receives:

7035 EXP!
300 GP!


Ashla receives:

1690 EXP!
300 GP!

Congratulations!

Quote:

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admin note: Apologies for the appalling lateness of this judgement. It was supposed to be done as a training judgement and then was delayed for some time before being asked to be done by someone else. Because of this EXP has been calculated as 1.5 times the normal rate and gold at 2x. I am also giving each participant 200 gold of my money.

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All rewards have been added.