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DeadManWalking
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 Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2009 4:17 pm Post subject: |
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Actually, I'm thinking that if the tie isn't broken by the end of the round (so three or four more days) I'll just break it myself. Just to keep things as much on schedule as possible.
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Kalanna Rai
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| Posted: Wed Nov 11, 2009 8:09 pm Post subject: |
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Tie broken.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Sat Nov 14, 2009 7:30 pm Post subject: |
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So I've closed the poll, but will not be posting the next fight because I have as of yet not received both fights. So Send it in. You know who you are.
*cough*YOU*cough*
Anyways, Alys and Meryn are the two victors so far. And Fairuza and the Ebon Acolyte have been without a fight so far.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Mon Nov 16, 2009 10:19 am Post subject: |
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And we have our fights!
Vestis
“Tell me, beast, what are you?” Vestis stood ankle deep in the tide pool formed of dark volcanic rock and filled with holes. Besides a few barnacles, the pools were undisturbed, lifeless.
Rations aside, Vestis carried his ten best swords, and his old armor. The armor was made of iron plates secured by leather, battered and bloodstained through the ages by countless monsters. Leather harnesses for all his swords, six at his sides, and four on top, overlapped the plates. His helm did little to hide the massive demonic scarring on his skin. He was driven to this bold confrontation by three things: The desire to win a soul, his first quarry in ten years, and the whiskey in his throat.
“Lacrymos.” Thirty paces away from Vestis stood a monster of nearly nine feet, with the legs of a horse and the torso of a man, covered in fur of a varying blue. The head of a goat and wings broken and punctured like a beggar’s cloak made him a true aberration of nature. The animal was scarred all across his body, just as Vestis was. He looked abused, but most certainly not broken, he instead was strengthened by the scars, and they were the source of his ambition. Fastened around him was a suit of strange suit of armor, or better said armors. Plates from all around the world, of many cultures and sizes, few of which Vestis recognized, were strapped haphazardly on to the beast. Quite a few powerful men must have fallen to this thing. “Who are you, eh?”
“Vestis, the beast slayer.” A corner of his mind wondered if he was still worth of the title. In 10 years of looking for a way to bring back his soul, he had never fought any beasts. Perhaps he no longer had it in him.
“Vestis, eh!?” The beast laughed an insulted chuckle. “Don’t insult me with the guise of a dead man.” He drew a pole arm well the height of two men. It didn’t look that well crafted, just a sturdy wooden rod with a bladed head, though it looked heavy.
“Dead?” Vestis said, immediately thinking of his near soullessness.
“Ten years dead. Perhaps a dragon finally gave him what he deserved. Nothing gives a man the right to kill the strong simply because he so desires. Innocence, despite what he thought is not limited to your kind, you human. What right had he to slay beasts eh?”
“Ambition.” There was a chuckle in the recesses of his mind as Vestis drank from his whiskey canteen. “Is that what became of me and my legend? That I was finally bested?” he put his canteen back. “Not entirely wrong.” Vestis thought, remembering the demon that stole his love, Lenore. “I assure you I am Vestis. In the flesh, swords and all.” He checked that he had them all, heir familiar weight in his back, the only oddity being the unusual dagger, the manokiri.
“Hmmm. Ghost? Reanimation eh? It matters not. You’ll be a dead man soon if you’re not one already.”
“I asked ‘what are you?’ A satyr? Some kind of chimera? A malformed gryphon?”
“This one is unique, and will not become your slave or blood-sport because of it. This one is the master of his own life, as free and mighty as the tides-Lacrymos!” small ebbs formed in the pools, going back and forth from him as he spoke. Vestis noted with a bit of trepidation that his yells weren’t loud enough to do that.
“Is that so? I’ve never killed one of you then. You see, I once was a collector of sorts. Looking at your armor, it appears you are one yourself.”
The plates the animal wore were in countless styles and materials, of varying quality. “This one uses those who try to shackle him by taking what he can. He will be king so he will be free from those shacklers.”
“A worthy cause.” Vestis pointed at his breastplate. “Take it from me. Perhaps you are worthy enough to wear it.” He picked up his bottle of whiskey and drank deep. “How choice for us to fight? Scarred collectors that look downright unnatural. Beast versus slayer. We are so similar standing at opposite ends.”
The behemoth growled. “I am not like you! Slayer of innocents!”
“You will either make me a dead man, or you will make a fine pelt. To the victor a larger collection and to the loser an honorable death.”
Lacrymos spoke contemptuously at such a lie. “Honor in such a man as Vestis! Bah!”
“Enough talk. Come at me!” Vestis unstrapped his top harness, the four blades on his back and his pack, tossing them on a nearby rock. He drew a short sword made of a shimmering unmarred black alloy. In this scene of scarred and marred surfaces, only the sword and the talons of the beast, long, black, counterpoints to his own sword, were unscathed. Everything else, both of their bloodstained armor plates, the sea’s porous rocks, and of course their equally marred skins were all unclean to the black shines of the sharp tools.
They ran at each other filled with ambition, honor, and disgust. Water splashed up as Vestis’ feet came down, his boots smashing hard against the crags, but the beast walked through without a ripple. Vestis was a large man but this beast was huge, and it was strange that the animal’s hooves would not disturb the water at all. It wasn’t easy for Vestis to run in such conditions, yet the beast did so effortlessly.
Lacrymos thrust the head of his weapon towards Vestis’s neck. The slayer swung his black sword, Forge, seeking to knock the other weapon off its path.
The strength of the beast was much greater than Vestis had expected. Forge had only just slightly altered the pole arm’s movement, it moved from his neck to the edge of his helm, knocking it right off, though it was strapped. The force of the pole had made Vestis to take a knee, and now his ugly, bald, ragged face, was open to the attack. His mind raced. With a flick of the beast’s wrist, he would be decapitated.
With his other hand, Vestis quickly drew a katana of a dark blue hue from his side, one named Scox. A cold mist following its presence and odd crackles that glowed just under its surface, the blade was otherworldly. It was a blade of ice, freezing the things around it. He braced the sword against the pole, preventing it from moving. Confused, Lacrymos wondered at Scox for a moment, then, before he could react, Vestis whirled Forge around, bringing it down beside Scox, causing the now-frozen pole to shatter. Icy splinters stung Vestis’s unfeeling face as they hit him. The shards hissed when they landed in the water.
The beast slayer regained his footing in a fighting stance. Vestis looked the annoyed Lacrymos in the eyes, who said “What honor is there in breaking my weapon eh? It seems hypocritical for a man of so many blades.” Angered, he readied his talons, black and powerful, and charged.
Talons they might be, and long ones at that, but Vestis’s swords were longer. Scox snapped through the air, a bitter wind trailing icy tendrils. Lacrymos ignored it, bring an armored arm up to block it, and simply smashed into Vestis, all his weight and momentum behind the blow.
Vestis flew back and landed on a rock. Surely that would’ve hurt if he had enough soul to feel pain. When his mind recovered from the horn’s slam, he looked down at his hands, and saw both Scox and Forge had fallen away in the landing. “Damn.” he thought. He looked up to see the beast charging at him, claws up this time. By instinct he grabbed his rapier, one of the finest crafted swords he owned, and one of his firsts. Then he commanded his wounded legs to move. He threw himself past the beast. Lacrymos crushed the rock, leaving massive crevices in the unfortunate sea rock where Vestis just was.
Vestis dashed up behind the beast, his hand moving fast and instinctively, cutting the strange ragged wings in the back. The beast let out a loud noise, some fell mixture of pain and rage, and the water around his feet erupted, knocking Vestis down again.
For a moment Vestis’s head submerged. “I’m out of practice.” he thought to the watery sound of his own heartbeat, thumping in his ear. His grip on his rapier tightened with anger. At least he hadn’t dropped it to.
He came up out of the water, Lacrymos before him. Water dripped over the wings strangely, moving into the cuts, seeming to reknit the flesh. It made sense now to Vestis , this strange animal had some sort of link to water. And he was ankle deep in the opponent’s advantage.
“You can fight water with fire, and you can’t heal away poison.” Vestis thought, seeing the way the water simply regrew the flesh, and he kinds of branding scars the beast had. “The water doesn’t purge the blood, and cauterization might also negate this.” He withdrew the rapier, and drew a katana and a falchion. The katana, named Phox, was Scox’s fraternal twin, made of what looked like magma, with glowing red cracks through a dark red material. Imbued within it was an eternal fire, tah out off heat whenever it was unsheathed. The falchion was the only weapon Vestis owned made of a beast. Made from the claw of the great jabberwock, It still had the poisonous effect, fast-setting paralysis.
Lacrymos paid no attention to this in his rage and sent a wall of water in Vestis's direction. He cut through it with Phox, evaporating the attack. But, Just behind the wave the beast was already stampeding towards him.
His claws came down on Vestis, because he did not try to dodge at all, allowing his blades to hit instead. The talons slammed together at his torso. Although he couldn’t feel the pain he should have, the claws broke a rib and caused massive bleeding. Vestis’s swords cut Lycramos’s arms though. Finally Vestis had the chance to do this, not being thrown back. The arm cut by the claw-sword fell limp, while Lacrymos drew the other up, screaming in pain, as it was seared by Phox. Noting the sudden hatred and fear in the satyr’s eyes, Vestis put the jabberwocky sword away. “Fire it is then.”
Vestis grabbed Phox with both hands, remembering the strength of his opponent. Vestis ran towards him with the intent to kill, now that he had lost one arm to use in defense. Lycramos seethed with rage and ran at him with his remaining claw.
Ignoring the claw attack again, Vestis rammed Phox into Lacrymos using the full force of both their charges to lodge it just below Lacrymos’s Breastplate. The fiery blade went straight into the flesh of the beast, burning his insides, straight into the heart.
The animal’s mighty innards burned for a moment, the sound of sizzling flesh hitting the beast slayer’s ears. Vestis stepped aside and removed his blade, causing the massive body to fall over, no longer supported. Vestis watched the dead body until he was sure the vigor once contained in it was gone. Vestis kicked him over, to see his face. Lacrymos’s dying expression was of petrified anger. His seething would be eternal.
The victor felt his sides where the claws he struck him. Vestis was wounded, lots of bleeding and a broken rib. He checked his back and head next. He had taken a significant amount of damage. As he removed his bandages from his pack, he wondered if his was really ready to die for this. With a swig of the whiskey he pushed the thought away. He hadn’t truly lived in ten years, and to be able to live was worth dying. He was sure of that more than anything, remembering how he once loved Lenore.
He decided not to take Lacrymos’s pelt, though he had promised to do it. Vestis undressed and carried the corpse out to the deeper water. “As free and as mighty as the tides.” He repeated to himself solemnly, respect in his eyes as he watched the honorable enemy drift away.
Lacrymos
The last of the sunlight gleamed from the dagger on the rocks. The lonely sound of the surf and gulls nearly drowning out the sound of the approaching footsteps. The rhythm of their muted falls unsteady. One blue ear flicked. Eyes contemplated the waves until the breeze brought him the stench of the other. The drunken man. The man with the swords. The man with a face scarred as his own blue visage.
Slowly he turned his back on the waves. Hooves thumped solidly on the rocks as he descended the rocky arm of the cove to the beach. The soul-stealing knife was left on the rocks. He wanted no part of that. No part of that ultimate slavery. Weapon was removed from the loops that held it against his back. Ruined wings shifted as the weight pressing against them was released.
The feathers covering his hooves blurred his tracks in the sand. His tail twitched in agitation as he observed the drunken warrior. Nostrils wrinkled at the smell that wafted off of the other. Head was shaken as the final judgment of the fighter was observed. "You hunt monsters eh? You must be very good, this one supposes, otherwise you would not be being so foolish."
The man came to a wobbling halt in the sands. Hooded head rose as scarred lips spat slurred words. "Foolish? A good swordsman knows how to pick his opponents. I am familiar with the dispatching of the monsters that plague this world. Besides, you're big as a barn. Much easier to hit than some of those nimble little fellows."
A blue ear was flicked in assent. He was much easier to hit than a smaller human. But he still thought the man a fool. If the man had been smart he would have discarded some of the swords he carried. He would have sobered up. He would have waited to face Lacrymos where the footing was not so bad. Lacrymos had been fighting on sand most of his life. But he was not the one come seeking this battle. "This one would ask a boon. If this one should fall in battle, end my life. Give me an honorable death eh? Not an eternity of servitude."
The man didn't answer. Instead he merely reached behind him and loosened several leather buckles. One massive blade fell with a thud to impale itself in the sands. Another was clenched in his hand. A strange squared sword decorated with carvings such as Lacrymos had never seen before. Hooves dug into the sands as stance was shifted. Hands slid along the shaft of his weapon to find the perfect grip.
And then they clashed. A powerful swing from the hooded man aimed at knocking down the heavy head of the halberd. Lacrymos spun his weapon easily to catch blade on blade. Then he stepped forward and continued his motion by bringing the weighted butt of the shaft around and aiming for the hooded man's shoulder. But the hooded man was no fool as his strange sword rose to bat away the attempt.
Lacrymos went on the offensive as he looped the halberd back around yet again and aimed the hooking bill at the gap between pauldron and gorget. He scored a hit as he punched into the battered metal shoulder covering and yanked back with all his force. The hooded man staggered as his drunken state compromised his balance and his strange sword flailed to knock the shaft. Dislodging the hook of the halberd before it could rip the pauldron fully off.
Dropping the strange sword he reached behind his back again with both hands this time. Advancing swiftly while Lacrymos was still recovering. This time in one hand was gripped a small dagger with a slight curve. The other wielding a large flat blade with two prongs.
Lacrymos bared his yellowed teeth. He hated mismatched blades. Large blades were easily blocked but small ones were so much harder to stop before they stung him. A strange whistle issued between his teeth and a flash of light only the hooded man could see burst before him. A simple dazzle that allowed Lacrymos a moment to charge forward, smashing the smaller knife out of his hands. A bellow issued from both of them. The hooded man over his hand. Lacrymos over the line of fire that opened along his ribs, one of the prongs of the scimitar opening a weak seam on his leathers and cutting into his flesh.
With a vicious motion he brought the head of the halberd down in a double-handed swing. A high elliptical that feinted at the torso but whose real goal was the legs. The swordsman negated this effectively by stumbling backwards and losing his balance in the sands, the scimitar spinning from his grasp.
Grip was shifted. Halberd was swung downward with screaming force. And the sound of blade meeting blade was heard as the hooded man interposed a short black blade between his chest and the onrushing edge of the halberd. The reverberation from the thwarted blow echoed up the shaft. Stinging Lacrymos hands into numbness and forcing him to step back or lose his weapon.
He never got a chance to recover the momentum as suddenly heat assailed him. Heat. Hot. Like the flaming brands that had been thrust toward him. The chill that accompanied it no comfort at all. Instead it was merely the lesser of two evils, two enchanted blades that shimmered in the twilight. Ears flattened and halberd was raised to ward them away as he stepped backwards. The hooded man laughed. "Got you now beastie."
He charged across the sands and Lacrymos retreated before him. The halberd danced and spun in his massive hands as he was forced to block both of the vicious weapons with its length. The head would clash against the blade of lava. The butt against the edge of ice. Then it would reverse. Only the nearness of the ocean in all its vast majesty gave him the strength to face the fire. The heat searing at him. Battering at him.
At first only the most daring of waves lapped at the fringes of hair that surrounded his hooves. But as he backed the water rose. Climbing. Until finally the hooded man stopped in wary confusion. Lacrymos stood to his waist in the water. Butt of the halberd was planted in the sands and he rested on it, panting. But his would come no further. "Will you not come and get this one? Are you tired eh?"
Slowly the icy blade was sheathed and replaced by a long razor of what appeared to be bone. When the hooded man charged again, Lacrymos was shocked. The blade moved so fast. He stumbled backwards away from the heat and watched his life flash before his eyes as the pale blade clove a lock of hair from his head.
He let himself fall. Let the water embrace him. And he begged it for its aid. It was he who had been foolish. He'd let himself be lulled by familiar footing. By the man's drunkenness. He'd forgotten the first rule of survival. Never underestimate your foe.
The sea slowly responded. Sluggish and grumbling.
When Lacrymos rose again the pale blade was waiting. It knocked aside the halberd and cut a line of agony along his thigh. He gasped and lashed out with a fist to catch the pale man under his jaw. Screaming as the sword of fire scorched his forearm. Bone crunched under his knuckles and blood spattered his blue skin. Already it was growing hard to move. Poison catching his muscles and locking them. Dropping him to his knees.
The hood fell to reveal the ruins of the man's face. A snarl on pulped features as he picked up his blades for the killing blow that would never come. Instead his eyes grew wide and traveled upwards. Around them the water drained away to leave them on bare sands. Had Lacrymos been able to smile he would have. And when the great wave of the sea crashed down he would have laughed.
Instead he could only watch as they were sucked out to sea. Watch the grasping hands of the undertow drag the hooded man down and away. Watch as the man struggled and fought. Watched him go limp.
By the time the sea cast him back on the sands Lacrymos was able to move sluggishly. To collect the fallen blades with tender care. His halberd would wash up in the coming days. He was sure of it. The sea would give it back. In the meantime he would gather weeds and wrap his wounds. Slowly he sorted through the blades. The blade of bone he kept. The blade of heat. The big blade was laid aside for him to make a grave marker of. The others were cast into the sea to be carried to where their master lay eternal.
Anyways, I'm leaving this poll up until next Sunday]. Happy Voting!
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jhonscrypt
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| Posted: Mon Nov 16, 2009 5:04 pm Post subject: |
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its kind of funny that both the authors ended up using both the bone sword and the fire sword in the attack of the slayer guy.
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don't you just love things that make you wonder if death is contagious?- Cornelius Huxley;freedom is the freedom to say two plus two equals four;to die hating them that is freedom;"Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen to-morrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind." There was a long silence. "I claim them all," said the Savage at last.;
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Fenris
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 1:39 pm Post subject: |
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Had to go with the Big L on this one  Nice chapter Deady!
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 4:04 pm Post subject: |
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There were a number of typos in the first, a great many incomplete sentences in the second, and both suffered from an overuse of pronouns that often had me wondering who was doing what.
That said, both were charged fight scenes and both seemed to portray the other character well. Hard to decide really. It's a close one. But I think Vestis wins this one, if only due to some of the cleverness of his victory.
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 CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...  
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Sun Nov 22, 2009 6:46 pm Post subject: |
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And closing now!
Who survives?
Lacrymos
42% [ 3 ]
Vestis
57% [ 4 ]
Total Votes : 7
Who Voted: BlackAmaranth, Crunchyfrog, jhonscrypt, Kalanna Rai, Phantomfan, The White Blacksmith, Thunderbird
Congratulations Vestis on going on to the next round!
Our survivors/winners currently are:
Alys- in the Forest
Fairuza- in the Forest
Meryn- In the Forest
The Ebon Acolyte- In the Mountains
Vestis- by the sea
The Fallen:
Alena and Gwydion- Finished off with Meryn's Manokiri
Emrus Filchy- Finished with Alys's Manokiri
Lacrymos- Spitted and Roasted, then sent out to Sea
Fluffers- Currently residing in Alena's Manokiri, currently carried by Meryn
This next week we have our traveling round, in which the contestants again move around the island. Again, the areas are the Forest, the Mountains, the River, the Ocean, and the Towns, though the last is not recommended by the King and most of the subjects (Although it is a choice).
And, for your viewing pleasure, we have an interlude from Rochelenese's point of view.
The girl, at best a young woman, does her best to appear attractive, appealing. Her clothes disheveled, and her hair trailing down between her breasts, an enticing smile on her face, But she trembles as his hand approaches, and there is fear in her eyes.
She has heard too many tales of girls who entered these chambers and never left.
The King looks at her, eyes running along her body, the pale whiteness of the skin along her thigh, the slight shaking of her hand on the bedspread.
She is trying very hard not to appear afraid. But fear is not easily smothered.
“Come closer.” His voice is flat, not the voice of a man filled with desire. The girl complies.
He brings a hand to her face, sliding it down her smooth skin until his hand rests in the hollow of the neck’s union with the body.
Then he stabs her.
As the life flies from her blue eyes, the King shuffles through memories, to find one well-worn. As the soul surges along the steel like a wave of electricity, it replaces the fading one it finds.
Clara stretches luxuriously. She takes a moment to examine herself, stripping off the robe, now stained with the blood of this body’s previous occupant. As she ran her hand through long blonde hair, she smiled at him.
“You chose a healthy one this time, Blue.”
This vessel has blonde hair, not the soft brown he remembers, and its eyes are blue, not the gray of his love. But her face is there, in the way she speaks, in the way she smiles, in the way her eyes dance. His Clara is there. His wife.
She glances at him, curious at his silence. Words tumble playfully from her full lips. “It’s been a long time, Blue, but if you’ve forgotten me, I swear I’ll kick you until you remember again.”
Kennis Rochelnese says nothing for a long time, but a smile cracks his weathered face.
“So you invited anyone who felt the urge to become a king to come onto your island and kill you? That’s not like you, Blue”
They lay on the sheets together, their arms intertwined. The King chuckles. “Why do you have to keep on calling me that?”
She snuggles up closer to him, smiling as well. “You know why.”
“Just tell me again.”
Clara turns her face to him, her dancing eyes now serious. “I remember the night you killed your father. When you came to me, and I just held you that night. I remember the tears in your blue eyes. You were like a little kid. It just… reminded me of that poem. Little Boy Blue? Those last lines… Will you wake him? No, not I. For if I do, he’s sure to cry. Killing him was just so hard for you. And that was the man I married. The man who cried at nights, who cared about how things should be, not how things were. But you had to murder your own father. And I could see how hard it was for you.”
Kennis brings his head down to Clara’s. As their foreheads touch, his tears stain the sheets, leaving wet streaks on the cloth. A sob broke from his throat. “Murdering you was a thousand times harder. I… I just…”
She strokes his face with his hand. “Not murder, Kennis. Never murder. I was dying. We both know that. No one survives the wasting sickness. And I was in pain. Willow bark tea can only do so much. You ended the pain. You rescued me.”
He brings up his hand between their faces, eyes unseeing. “I… I couldn’t get the blood off my hands.”
She grabs his hands in her smaller ones. “You rescued me. I’m still alive, only in the manokiri. And I’ll be there until someone gets you. And then… we’ll be together.”
He smiles, finally. “All eternity together.”
They kiss, just a soft brush of lips.
“Wait for me, Clara. I have things I need to do. I can’t be the boy I was. I have to be harder, stronger. Then I’ll be with you.”
They fall asleep like that, hands clasped together, foreheads touching. But when the sun rises and the king wakes, only a cold corpse shares his bed.
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Last edited by DeadManWalking on Mon Nov 23, 2009 9:55 pm; edited 1 time in total
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| Posted: Mon Nov 23, 2009 9:49 pm Post subject: |
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With an amazing amount of promptness, I've already gotten the locations of all of our contestants. I didn't even have time to write more interludes! T.T
Anyways, the fights are as follows:
Fairuza vs. Meryn in the Forest! Our furry friend has her first bout against our private eye!
The Ebon Acolyte vs. Alys! A dark knight from the depths of hell against a woman who still suffers from the flames of her past.
(Boy, the Forest sure is a popular fighting spot isn't it?)
And Vestis, the man of many swords is in the town, without any contestant willing to face him.
The authors of Fairuza and Meryn have ONE WEEK FROM TODAY until they must turn in their fights.
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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DeadManWalking
Duke of the Mostly Dead
Joined: 24 May 2006
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| Posted: Wed Dec 02, 2009 9:10 am Post subject: |
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Here we go! Sorry for the tardiness. One of the writer's was having time troubles, and RL was hectic enough that I just never really got around to putting up any notice. But here we are!
Meryn's Version
Look, if you’d just sit down for five minutes and meditate like I told you, you could just SENSE THE MINDS of any game that might be out here! Fluffers’ voice spoke in my mind, as I grasped the hilt of the sheathed Manokiri, panting.
“And I told you to STOP DISTRACTING ME. We both know that hasn’t worked any of the times we tried it.” I straightened up and looked around. Damn. No sign of the bunny I could’ve sworn had run this way. Pity too. Rabbit is pretty tasty.
Well maybe if you got your stomach to stop rumbling so loudly, you would’ve been able to catch something! And you did sense that deer the third time, even if you walked into a tree trying to catch it. This was perhaps one perspective of the happenings of that event, though not entirely true. That tree ambushed me. Sneaky bugger.
My stomach rumbled again, protesting its loneliness, but the only things to eat that I could see were mushrooms. And I don’t like mushrooms. I got nothing against the taste, or the texture, or anything like that; just the memory of a corpse shriveled up like a fifty-year old corpse left to dry in a desert. The Takan Wars were fought in an area of pretty high magic concentration, and the various plant life in that particular forest our ragtag group decided to hide in was apparently harvested regularly for its spectacularly horrible poisons. And Gregin, when we ran out of our regular provisions, decided that he would rather eat mushrooms than his horse.
Stupid calvaryman. I survived. He didn’t. Life goes on, mostly. But yeah, not a big fan of the mushrooms in general any more.
And don’t even get me started on bamboo shoots. Don’t bother with shoving it up people’s fingernails; just feed it to them, and in five minutes they’ll be blabbing the names of their Great-Aunt Millie’s second husband.
I spotted movement in a bush. Instantly, automatically, my saliva glands decided it was time to start opening the floodgates. Treacherously, my mind brought forth succulent images of red meat, squirrel, deer, boar. Even cow. They have cows in forests, right?
If only I had a beer to go with it. But too bad. Despite the constant monologue about the evils of alcohol from my no-longer-fluffy friend, despite the fact that I was waking up somewhat earlier, and without headaches (although that could be attributed more to some kind of release of telepathic energy, according to Fluffers (but only when he’s NOT talking about the evils of alcohol. When he is, he seems to conveniently forget that point)) I still longed to wet my tongue with what I now came to think of as “liquid joy”. Absence from one’s love only makes one pine for it more.
I drew one of my longer knives, nearly a little sword, and swept aside the brush, visions of little pigs and rare beef dancing in my head.
What the hell?
A slight figure, cloaked and hooded, lay on the mossy ground. As she shifted in sleep, I saw the reason the bush had moved; as she rolled, she pushed on the one of the branches.
Perhaps I stepped on a branch on my way in, or perhaps rubbing against the bark of the bush finally woke her. But she suddenly tensed, and without a second passing, was suddenly five feet farther away, and on her feet. As she sprang up, her cloak got caught on the bushes, and she unfastened it, letting the hood fall away with the rest of the fabric, and I saw her face.
She had a long scar across her right face. But that was not what was so interesting. Her eyes were like a cat’s, slitted and yellow. She wore a quiver of javelins on her back, but she didn’t reach for them. Instead, she bared many more teeth than should have fit in such a delicate mouth and I swore I could see claws extend from her fingers.
There was a tense moment, as neither of us moved. I held the knife before me, and she kept her claws before her, her muscles tense, both of us ready to explode into movement at a moment’s notice.
The bunny I had been chasing hopped between us. Seriously, it hopped between the two of us, and just sat there. Both of our eyes went down to it.
We both went for it. Sad to say that the girl got it first. Killer claws cut through the little thing’s neck with a savage ferocity, as it died without even a squeal of protest.
As she efficiently strung the corpse of the little woodland creature up, her yellow-green eyes caught my own hungry brown ones. Right then, my stomach rumbled. She gave me the once-over and shrugged. Tearing the rabbit apart with her bare hands, she tossed half at my feet.
I gave her the once-over right back, then gave her a twice and a thrice over. Despite her catlike eyes, her claws, and the fact that that mouth had way too many teeth in it, she looked a lot like a human girl, and one put together pretty well at that. A tunic and leggings may not be the most flattering dress, but they hug the curves that count.
She sat down, still without a word, and started tearing into the corpse ravenously. Blood spurted disconcertingly, as the girl, who could’ve passed for a normal farmer’s daughter if she kept her eyes down and her hands hidden, tore bloody strips away. I sat down and stacked up wood for a cook-fire. Luckily, I always keep flint shards attached to my belt buckle. You never know when you need it. And it makes for a good impromptu weapon. As I hunted for a handy stick to spit my half on, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, that the girl warmed her hand on the flames.
***
“So what’s your name and story?” I was, if not satiated, at the very least less hungry than I was before. And when my other needs are met, curiosity often becomes my main focus. I’m a private detective. It’s what I do.
She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be the first to answer? Being my guest and all.” As she shifted, I caught sight of a misericorde at her waist, and my breath caught momentarily in my throat. An image of Alena flickered through my mind, momentarily, as she lay dying on the ground. I suppressed it.
I berated myself momentarily for not making that connection. Why else would anyone be here in this wilderness? I pretended to collect my thoughts, running my hand through my hair sheepishly. I don’t think she noticed my small pause.
“Well it goes like this…” I gave her the general gist of the reason I was here, running from a mob angry at a friend, and now trying to survive in a land full of men killing everyone in sight. I left out the exact nature of my friend though, or the fact that I was myself now a contestant, though I did tell of the death of the rich girl and her bodyguard. “…Which is how I, Meryn Weir, ended up in this godforsaken forest.”
The girl was quiet for a second. She looked off into the underbrush as the sun hung at high noon. “It’s not really godforsaken though, is it? There’s life everywhere.” Unsure how to respond to that, I simply remained silent, watching her watching the forest.
“My home is like this. Though it has different birds and beasts, there is always something happening. It is a great feeling, never being alone. Always knowing that someone you know is near.”
She stared out into the forest. As she fell silent, I really heard the forest. A thousand beasts scurried through the trees, and creatures roamed the underbrush, as birds sang their lives away. In a way, it reminded me of the constant buzz of the city. I hadn’t been to Minoch since I signed on to the Marines. Maybe I should go back sometime…
But that was a question for another time, if I survived this at all. As she stared into the forest, I attempted to revive the conversation. No offense, but I can only stand so much of chirping birds. “So, not to be cliché, but what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
It may have earned me a raised eyebrow, but she stopped looking out into the wilderness. For a second, I didn’t think she would answer. But her mouth opened, revealing too many teeth. She paused before speaking, but she answered. “I’m looking for some people.”
I sent the raised eyebrow right back at her, and raised her a quizzical glance. “On this island? Then why would you need to be a contestant?”
She looked back out into the wilderness. “It’s a big world out there, and not much of it is like the forest. I need somebody to help me find them. Who better than a kingdom?”
She made sense, in her own way. “You know, I AM a private detective. Finding things is my specialty.” Yes, I am a nice guy. And it seemed like a pretty generous offer too. But she looked at me, sudden suspicion clouding her eyes.
This is why the knights died. Real life beat them down with suspicion and pettiness.
All right, I’ll admit the offer wasn’t entirely altruistic. If she accepted my offer, she wouldn’t have as much reason to be in this whole crazy contest. And if she needed me to help her find whoever she was looking for, I’d have someone else besides myself (and Fluffers, I guess) with an interest in my continued breathing.
But she only stared at me suspiciously, and I could tell already that nothing I said would bring down that wall that my simple offer had built.
So I got up to go. “Well, I’d better be off,” I said lamely, absent of anything else to say. As I got up, something at my waist caught her eye.
The Manokiri.
Well, Crap.
She leapt at me, claws extended, as I scrambled backwards, all her suspicions now confirmed. Her claws came a hairsbreadth away from cutting open my gut, leaving a slashing rip across my clothes. As I stumbled back, my hands instinctively went to a couple of the sheathed knives that hung at my belt.
But I couldn’t do it. Even as she attacked, long hair streaming in the wind of her charge, her claws slashing and her teeth bared. Perhaps it was because a girl had died already in this whole horrible affair, because of me. Alena’s death hit me harder than I liked to let on. Sure, perhaps I didn’t swing the blade myself, but those were just semantics. We fought and she died, and I walked away. And now another girl was in front of me, a woman with a personality and a goal and a future. I’ve never really gotten why I don’t have this problem with men.
Someone should’ve told me that plate tends to be a requirement for someone who aspires to be a knight in shining armor. A claw ripped through the muscles in my left arm as I kept on trying to get out of there.
I TOLD you to get over yourself Meryn.
My right hand rested on the hilt of the Manokiri now, on the verge of drawing, but unable to. This is the second time in this tournament. You’re going to have to fight females. Look at her. She had a wild look in her cat’s eyes, and her teeth were bared in a frenzied snarl. She’s just as willing to kill you as some guy with a sword would be. But you can’t see that. And now there’s no convenient bodyguard to stab her for you.
I didn’t respond to him at that moment, concentrating on dodging. I wove semi-successfully, gaining only several scratches instead of a ripped-out throat or a torn-open gut. But as a claw came way too close to an eye for comfort, I yelled. “Stop lecturing and help me will you?”
Fine. There is a way to get around your infantile notions of chivalry. Just give up control. A chill went down my spine. I can use your body as a vessel and kill her myself. The blood will not be on your hands. Metaphorically speaking.
But the burden would still be mine. How was that any different from dancing out of the way of Gwydion’s death blow? I didn’t like it. But as I gained more scratches and scrapes, I saw that there was no other way.
I gave up control. As his mind rose up into mine, our consciousnesses touched momentarily, and I saw, truly saw, how alien his mind was. At the flip of a switch, it could go from a childlike humor that turned grown men into cats, to a logical mind capable of killing others in cold blood.
Which is what he was attempting to do now. All I could do was watch, a spectator in my own mind. My hands drew the sword I had taken from Gwydion’s corpse, and swung. The woman leapt back, her claws no match for the length of steel. She darted in, trying to get within my/Fluffer’s range, but I/he kept her at a distance. With a snarl, she went for a tree, hand reaching for a javelin. I/Fluffers pursued her, but was unable to catch her, a brown blur that streaked up the tree. She crouched on a tree branch, and threw a javelin. I/he sidestepped, anticipating her movement, and, with a fluid motion a dagger left my/his fingertips, to bury itself in her shoulder. I cried out in my head, but no sound left my mouth. Overbalancing, she toppled from the branch with a cry of alarm, and fell, landing hard. Despite her pain she struggled to get up. All I could do was watch.
I was beside her in a moment, silent, with the sword drawn back to strike. My foot caught her in the chest, pushing her to the ground. I couldn’t move my sword hand, but it sprang forward, point-first. I yelled at Fluffers, in my own head, to stop. The swordpoint leapt for the woman’s eyes, defiant in the face of death.
I attacked Fluffers. Scrabbling for control, attacking the walls that now separated me from my own body, I somehow broke through. But my hand was already in motion.
I managed to twitch aside at the last moment, the sword burying itself in the earth, leaving a long red slash across the woman’s forehead and cut strands of hair on the ground. I stumbled backwards, falling on my ass, leaving the sword where it stood, the blade rising straight up from the ground until it crossed the guard. It looked like a cross.
I’d planted Alena’s sword in the ground as a grave marker in the same way.
I lay back on the ground, waiting for this woman to finish me. I just couldn’t do it. At least this way I’d be off this dying Island. Hundreds of people all flocking to one place to die. What a joke. The sun shining down from directly above was making my eyes water.
Then its light was blocked as a dark silhouette appeared above me, recognizable mainly through the green-gold eyes that seemed to glow. She held out her hand to me in silence. I took it. She pulled me up, but she continued to grip my hand tightly. As I watched, her claws extended, cutting into my wrist. Her hand came up to her face, and her tongue flickered out to taste my blood. She noticed my lack of claws, and she cut her own wrist with her other hand, and held out the bloody claw to taste.
I gave her my best eyebrow-raise. She gave me a quizzical look. “For the blood contract?” I surprised myself and pushed my eyebrow to new heights. “For your idea earlier. That you help me find my tribe. You give me your blood and I give you mine, and then we are bound.”
I leaned forward and touched my tongue to her claw. It was warm, and hard. And the taste of blood, was, well, the taste of blood. I wiped my mouth with a bloody hand, ignoring the long scratch that sent rivers of blood down the back of my hand.
I didn’t know what she meant by her tribe, or how I planned to find them, or even how I was going to get off this island alive, but damn it if it wasn’t good to have someone on this island who wasn’t trying to kill me.
Fairuza's Version
“I believe I told you, little one, that it does not do to flail blindly like that. Your opponent can and will take advantage of your recklessness.”
“Tell us the story again, Big Sister! About the time you beat the White Wolf all by yourself?”
“I’ll not have you cropping your hair like that. You’re a Caryani, for Myrta’s sake!”
The voices wove together in Fairuza’s mind, twisting and turning into a mass of whispering memories. There were faces too, though they were not as easy to catch…Mother and Father, their place in the village hierarchy second only to the wizened old sages…the wide-eyed, dirty-faced young, chirping for a race to the top of the old oak tree…and strong, beautiful Sen—how she wished she could be his!
But this was not the time for fond memories. For all she knew, they were being carted off to the edges of the earth, their arms and legs in shackles…or worse, butchered for their insubordination, tossed off the path to be devoured by scavengers. The latter seemed more likely…her people would rather die than be condemned to the life of a slave.
Something in the real world disturbed Fairuza, and her eyes creaked open. She’d nestled herself in a tree fork, some thirty feet off the ground. After a few seconds of grogginess, she stretched, her claws flexing in and out of her hands. Her long pink tongue uncurled from her mouth, her teeth longing for something to chew on.
She sat up to observe her surroundings, especially noting the moon that hung full over the trees. Nighttime already? A day had passed, and still no one had come along to challenge her. Perhaps anyone who’d passed by was scared off by the mutilated corpses of woodland creatures that now littered the ground. Corpses which had been her dinner, by the way. Still, it was a little strange that she’d woken up as abruptly as she had. She’d long since learned to shut out the noise of the ever-breathing forest while she slept. Unless something else had—
“For crying out loud, I told you shut the hell up!”
The alien voice rang through the serene woods, shattering Fairuza’s fleeting moment of peace.
As quickly and as quietly as possible, she slid off the cloak she’d been using as a blanket, and kicked off her boots, setting them both aside. She rose cautiously, slinging her quiver of javelins across her back. Still in an instinctive crouch, she strained to detect the source of the noise.
And then she caught it again: quick, shuffling footsteps, and a human scent to match. Fairuza’s teeth clenched together, and she darted forward across the branches towards the sound. She stopped at a reasonable distance away, in case her prey could spot her in the dark. Ah…there you are. Her keen eyes fell on a lone man, trudging in a seemingly aimless way through the fallen leaves. He had a scruffy, disheveled look about him, as if he hadn’t slept in a while. That, or he was completely lost. And what was more, she could clearly see the misericorde that hung from his waist. An opponent? If she had learned anything from her encounters with humans, it was to take them out before they even had the chance to hurt you…or your family. Fairuza extended her claws, and struck a single one once, twice, three times against the bark. If her first attack succeeded, she might not even need them.
She slowly drew a javelin from its quiver, certain that she had a clear shot from here. But still, something made her pause. Fairuza tilted her head, a frown creeping across her face. There was something…odd about that man. She couldn’t quite explain it, but it almost seemed as if there was a second presence there, ghosting alongside him. She shook her head. Well, it won’t matter when you’re dead. Her arm drew back, and she let the spear fly from her hand. It zoomed towards the man with no hesitation, intent on piercing his heart. But a split second before the tip made contact with his chest, the man whirled out of its path, an almost comical look of surprise on his face. The javelin buried itself harmlessly in the mossy soil, having failed its mission.
Fairuza’s brow furrowed. What was that? The man’s movement looked unexpected even to him. Almost as if something else had…no, there couldn’t have been. He looked up in the direction the javelin had come from, slowly edging backwards.
“This doesn’t need to be a fight.” He said in a clear tone. His voice didn’t falter, but Fairuza could hear his heart quickening, could smell the cold sweat forming on his brow. “Whatever reward it is that you’re after, I don’t want it. This is all just a misunderst—“ Another javelin, barely dodged. Damn it, just…hold still! She gritted her teeth and jumped to a different vantage point. Another one thrown, another evaded. Even through her frustration, she couldn’t help admiring his reflexes; he was dodging pretty well for someone who couldn’t see in the dark. Unless someone was helping him.
“Hey!” He finally barked, all of his previous hesitance gone. “Are we gonna do this all night, or are you gonna show yourself? You have to run out of weapons eventually.”
Fairuza reached for another javelin, only to find she had a single one left. He was right about that. Curiosity overwhelming logic, she set the quiver down and slowly crept out the shadows, fully revealing herself. The man’s face betrayed his shock upon seeing her.
“You..you’re not—“
“Who are you?” Fairuza growled from atop the branch. She saw him swallow, hesitant to answer. Finally, he spoke.
“My name is Meryn Weir.” He said, “I know what this must look like, but believe me when I say that I’m here by accident.” Fairuza continued to glare, suspicion clouding her better judgment.
“Who were you talking to?”
“I…what?”
“Just now. You were yelling at someone.”
“I, ah…no one. I was talking to myself.” When his reply was greeted by an even darker stare, he held up his hands in apology. “Look, I didn’t even know anyone was out here. Honestly, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Compassion was failing her. Perhaps it was simply because he was human, but something about this man…she couldn’t bring herself to believe him.
“I’m sorry,” Fairuza said, after what seemed like an eternity of tension, “but I can’t take that chance.” And then, in an outburst of primal instinct, she took a monstrous leap from the branch, claws fully extended and honing in on Meryn’s throat. He jumped backwards, hands darting for the longsword at his belt. But he didn’t draw it, even as she sprang again. Instead, a dagger flew up in his defense, slicing her hand wide open. A hiss of pain escaped her lips, but the pain made her even more certain that he needed to die. Meryn rushed her, in what looked like another lunge. But something made him falter at the last possible second, as he made a broad slash at her face. She jerked her head back, the tip of the dagger zinging across her cheek, dangerously close to her temple. Ducking under his outstretched arm, her hand made a wild swing at his right side. He turned, not quickly enough, and a horrible tearing noise split the air.
Meryn staggered backwards, clutching the three gouges across his chest, wounds which were rapidly beginning to draw blood. His blindly swinging fingers closed around one of Fairuza’s buried javelins. Something in his eyes changed, as he yanked the weapon from the ground. Even she had to stop for a moment.
“What are you doing?” Fairuza barked, “Those are useless at close range.”
“I told you,” Meryn croaked, blood trickling from his mouth, “I don’t want to hurt—“
”Lies!” She screeched, “You humans are all alike! No more games, fight me like a real warrior!” She launched herself through the air, claws outstretched. A split second too late, she realized the cut to her face was deeper than she thought. As she lunged, blood clouded her vision, and her target grew dim. Taking initiative, Meryn blocked her weakened blow, lashing back at her with the blunt end of the spear, the wood cracking against her ribs. A howl of pain tore through her throat, as she lost her footing and toppled backwards.
Meryn walked slowly closer to where she lay collapsed, trailing blood from the wound that was refusing to stop its flow. An agonizing moment passed between the two of them. Fairuza could see the turmoil behind his eyes. He didn’t even need words; she knew he was debating whether or not he should kill her.
The forest seemed to fall away, as Fairuza remembered that day…the clash of metal, the screams of her family, her friends...no, they were war cries, weren’t they? Yes…the Caryani faced battle with no fear in their hearts. So why was she so terrified by this man, looming over her like Death itself?
She never found that answer. She never found out what Meryn had decided to do with her. Because in that single, beautiful, hellish moment, her conscious mind shorted out, and she sprung up to meet him, her razor-like teeth fully bared. With a horrible, wet, squelching noise, her powerful jaws snapped shut around his throat, and she tasted human blood for the first time. They fell to the ground together, she still pinning him down. His struggles grew weaker and weaker underneath her, until she finally lifted her head. He still hung from a thread of life, his windpipe crushed, making no more than a pitiful gurgling sound. Certain that he wouldn’t get back up, Fairuza took the manokiri from his belt, examining it. Through her heightened senses, it seemed to pulse with a strange energy. Perhaps this was what she sensed before?
“Looks like you weren’t as peaceful as you claimed.” Fairuza murmured, her voice dead. “Whoever you’ve already killed with this, you might as well join them.” And in a swift, decisive movement, she plunged the misericorde through his heart, ending whatever life he had left.
~
She sat there, over this man she murdered, for what seemed like forever. Absently wiping off the knife with the hem of her tunic, she thought about what she’d just done. She’d been raised on the idea that humans were not to be trusted, that they would double-cross you in the blink of an eye. So why was she so sickened by the taste of this man’s blood on her lips? Because he might not have killed her? Because this one human may not have been like the slavers who tore her world apart?
Because his blood tasted so much like her own?
With a weary sigh, Fairuza slowly rose with the intention of digging a grave for Meryn Weir. She said a silent prayer for him, even though she knew his soul was now trapped in this dagger that dangled uselessly at her side. And she was to blame for it.
So does Meryn die or not? You choose!
By the way, the next fight will be delayed until Monday the 14th. Time troubles for all involved, etc. Apologies!. (This poll will only be open one week, until the 9th)
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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Thunderbird
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Shady Stoat
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| Posted: Wed Dec 02, 2009 11:56 pm Post subject: |
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What a quandary!
On the one hand, I like to see a firm winner and a firm loser in competitions like these.
On the other, I love to see the underdog getting through, even though it'll just make it harder for them next round.
I like both characters, but I particularly want to see more of Meryn, so I think I'll just go with the selfish option and let them both survive 
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Wed Dec 09, 2009 8:57 pm Post subject: |
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And the poll is closed! Both Meryn AND Fairuza go on to the final rounds.
Apologies, but I do not in fact have any story progress to put up right now. The next fight should be up by the 14th.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Sun Dec 13, 2009 9:02 pm Post subject: |
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Much sadness and dolorosity. The fight will not be happening for another week or so, due to some time problems for one of our writers.
But in order to keep you all entertained, I've been talking with the authors of the three people who are definitely going on to the next round about some interludes! So you may not be as bored as you could be. Or something like that. >.<
But anyways, apologies for the lateness.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Wed Dec 23, 2009 11:42 am Post subject: |
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Sorry guys, but only one of the two combatants have sent in their fight so far. If the person who hasn't sent theirs in still hasn't sent it to me or responded to me in any way by the end of the year, we'll give the win to the person who HAS sent me something.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2010 2:23 am Post subject: |
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The pure tardiness of this fight is inexcusable, and I fervently apologize. I had a deadline for today, but the tardy contestant recently contacted me, so I gave him until tomorrow. In the meantime, an interlude.
NOTE: This is actually AFTER the next fight. The contestant not present is whoever wins of Alys and the Ebon Acolyte.
The contestants gather in the dining hall. Few remain, a meager handful from what had been an entire island full of men and women eager for his blood.
Rochelnese stands before them, dressed in the finery of his throne. A moth-eaten cloak in the blood red of his house graces his shoulders, and additional silks and velvets make up the rest of his garb, a contrast to his usual utilitarian clothing. He looks on the four before him for the first time.
Two sit together, a rather ordinary, battered man, in a long coat with scratches and scars crisscrossing his hands and face, and a woman, or something like one, dressed in tunic and pants with fur and claws. She uses only her clawed fingers to eat the meal before her, unlike the man who uses knife and fork, though they both attack their food with a comparable voracity. A third man sits by himself, multiple swords strapped to his back, nursing only a cup of wine.
The fourth man isn’t eating, but is instead watching. A flicker of surprise shows on Rochelnese’s face.
Montoral. Dressed up in hunting gear and wielding a longbow, and with a month’s worth of beard on his face, but still the seneschal. He wears a manokiri on his belt, not-so-spotless leather standing out against the ornate surroundings. He had not been given a manokiri at the beginning of this tournament.
Rochelnese addresses all four contestants, ignoring the empty seats at the bench.
“There will be one other joining us presently, having just arrived from a struggle, but we can begin. I wish to welcome you all to the hospitality of Starstone. Now that all of the contestants have arrived, I believe it is time for me to explain its name, and the name of the Island. I prepared an explanation, but I believe it will be simpler just to show you.”
He places his palm over a rune on the pulpit before him. Harsh words he spoke, guttural, from an older, harsher time.
A giant rumbling sound is heard, and the room shakes. All in the room hold on to something, guards standing at the doors lean on walls, stumbling. Only Rochelnese stands strong.
Then, unmistakably, the entire castle rises. Through windows on the west wall, the glimmers of sunset that previously had been blocked by the walls around the castle break into the room, sending shadows dancing on the eastern door.
Starstone, an immense castle of stone and wood, flies.
“Thousands of years ago, a castle was built on the mainland, of wood and stone, like any other castle. But incorporated into the structure were traces of skyrock, metal that fell from the sky. A sorcerer wove spells into that magical metal that allowed him to pick up the castle and go. He was a great hermit, that sorcerer, and was tired of building castles in wastes that eventually become populated, as generations scurried by. So he built a castle that he could move.
He landed on this island hundreds upon hundreds of years ago. But here, he met his end, at the hands of a rogue named Rochelnese, with a magical dagger that the sorcerer himself had made and left lying carelessly in the castle. Thus, the Rochelnese line was born, and thus Mercygiver was wedded to the line.”
Rochelnese gestures to his guests, as the motion of the castle slows. “Only by killing me with a Manokiri and taking my memories will you be able to learn how to control my castle. Otherwise, you will spend the rest of your life floating up here, with only the food and drink currently in the castle. Each of you will face another, until there is only one left. Only one person may survive."
At this point the man in the trench coat and the woman exchange glances. Rochelnese makes a note of it, and adds, "Whatever alliances you have made to get here are defunct. Only one person, the strongest of you all, will face me.
"But enough of that. You are here as my guests for now. Eat, drink, rest, and recover. You must be at your best before the final rounds of the tournament.”
Montoral speaks up, the first one besides Rochelnese to utter a sound since the castle had moved. “And how do we know this food and wine you give us isn’t poisoned? How do we know that this feast isn’t simply the most expedient way to kill us?”
The other contestants glance down at their fare. The man in the trenchcoat puts down his fork.
Because, you idiot, the entire point of this tournament is to find my replacement. I am tired, but I need someone strong to replace me. I have an obligation to the people of Sky Island that the strongest rule, and thus, no matter what I wish, if I am the Strongest I must rule. But that doesn’t mean I can’t look for someone stronger than I.
It is on the tip of his tongue. But weakness is not something a Rochelnese shows easily. So he simply says, “I swear on my ancestors that, until the final winner of this contest faces me down, none of you shall be killed by my hand or the hand of any of mine.”
Montoral looks him in the eye.
“Fine.” He whips his bow out, slaps an arrow out of the quiver in the space of a heartbeat. “Then I’m sure this shouldn’t be too difficult.”
The arrow flies, but Rochelnese is already delving his memories. He finds the one he is looking for.
Time seems to slow down as his reaction times increase by a thousand times. The arrow moves towards his belly, no doubt to cripple him so a manokiri can follow, at a snail’s pace. It is an easy matter to brush it aside.
Time speeds up again, and the arrow smacks into the throne behind him. He runs at Montoral with his bare hands.
The fight is entirely one sided. Montoral tries to draw the Manokiri at his belt, but is stopped when his hand is grasped by Rochelnese’s left. The right comes down to shatter the wrist in a dozen places. As he gasps in shock, an elbow drives into his ribs, cracking a couple and driving the wind out of him, followed by a spinning kick to the side of his head, sending him staggering. But even as his body starts to fall, a punch hammers him in the kidneys, sending him upright again and spinning him around for a punch that completes the breaking of his rib and sends it into his lung, puncturing it. He goes down coughing blood.
The arrow clatters to the ground.
Montoral is a broken man, coughing blood and wheezing, but he is alive.
“Bring him to the surgeon. Make sure he lives at least until the fighting is over. I am a man of my word after all.”
Rochelnese leaves the room, leaving the three in the hall to their meal.
Yes, whoever wins is going to have to fight Rochelnese. But first of all, he's the final boss, so it should be pretty difficult as a rule, and secondly, well... I'm sure you'll do fine. 
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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| Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2010 6:05 pm Post subject: |
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And I am sorry to say that the Ebon Acolyte is disqualified. Yes, it took me long enough. My apologies. In order that this fight was not a complete waste of the last three weeks, here is Alys's version.
The clanging of a hammer striking metal. Heat. Clang. The crackling of a fire. Clang. Searing heat. Clang. Shouts. Screams. Clang. Death. Clang. Clang. Clang...
Alys woke with a start, nearly falling off of the branch she had been sleeping on. It took a few seconds for her to realize where she was, and a few more seconds for her tensed muscles to realize that she was not about to fall out of the tree. She sighed and relaxed against the tree trunk, closing her eyes against the slowly rising sun.
It was still early, but better to be up then to be in that dream. She shivered as she remembered it. It was kind of funny… she hadn’t relived that past for years, having blocked it and all emotion from her mind, but there was something about this island that brought it to the forefront of her mind. Her ice-queen exterior had slowly been cracking ever since she got here...
Ah well, best not to dwell on the past. She thought briskly, pushing the memory out of her mind before sitting up and jumping out of the tree to land on the ground. Now was as good as a time as any to find the next opponent. Checking first to make sure her daggers and hammer were still in place, she began walking through the dense forest.
~~~~~
Hours later, she still had yet to find any sign of the next opponent.
The sun was high in the sky when she finally stumbled into a small clearing. Alys pushed her bangs out of her eyes for a brief second, and seeing no enchantments, she let them drop with a sigh and was about to sit --- when a voice like dried sheets of paper being crumpled into dust resounded behind her.
“Face me, mortal.”
She whirled around, a dagger suddenly in each hand ready to be thrown with deadly accuracy at the intruder. There, in the middle of the clearing, was a shadow. No, not a shadow. It was a man dressed in funeral robes. Alys stood frozen for a beat, waiting for an attack. A breeze whistled through the clearing, stirring the man’s robes and blowing Alys’ bangs out of her face. Time froze for a brief second as the wind uncovered her left eye.
A bright flash of color was suddenly visible through her magiked eye. Layer after layer of magic surrounded the man-like figure, encircling him in a dark menacing aura… one the color of dried blood.
Time sped up again as her bangs re-covered her eye, and she staggered backwards slightly before recovering and taking up an even better position. This… thing in front of her was not human. No, it wasn’t even alive. The spells that surrounded it were ones of preservation, of animation, protection. One of the undead? she thought to herself. If that was the case, then using pain to toy with it wasn’t an option. She’d have to go in for the direct kill.
The silk covering over the thing’s mouth fluttered, indicating that it was about to speak.
“I am the Ebon Acolyte,” it said, in that same dry, crackling voice, sending shivers down her spine. “I am here to claim your soul for the undead, along with all the others on this island.”
Alys blinked, then narrowed her eyes, a rare burst of anger surging through her veins. Who was this creature to just waltz right up and claim the thing she could barely call her soul for darkness? “Like hell you are,” she spat, and a dagger flew from her hand and impaled itself directly in the center of the thing’s face, knocking its head back.
Slowly, the Ebon Acolyte lifted its head, dagger hilt protruding from its facial covering. It grasped the handle with a bony hand and pulled the dagger out of its skull with a jerk. Alys frowned uneasily. If a dagger to the head hadn’t done the trick, she may be in more trouble then she thought… She crouched, ready to bolt.
Before she could though, the Ebon Acolyte had dropped the dagger and drawn a sword. Alys barely had time to glimpse the long, black blade before the creature lunged forwards with inhuman speed, running the blade through her stomach all the way to the hilt.
Alys’ eyes widened with shock and pain. She could feel the ice-cold steel inside of her stomach, so frigid that it was leeching the very heat of life from her body. Yet she was frozen, unable to move, unable to do anything but let the death-chilled blade suck her life away.
She screamed.
The sound filled the silent forest air, sending birds squawking towards the heavens. Yet still the sound continued, a hopeless, fear-filled, painful sound. Even though she knew it was coming from her, it was still a strangely familiar sound, one from a distant memory. It was a scream not unlike the ones she had heard that day… the scream of someone about to die.
It was the ankh that did it. She had been gripped with her metal working trance for three days, working tirelessly over this small symbol, not stopping to eat, drink, or rest. She had heated the forge to an unbearable temperature, struggling to make this new resistant metal obey her hammer. She had stoked the flames higher and higher- never feeling the sparks that flew from the flames, burning her skin, and setting the wooden houses around her on fire. Even when the uncontrollable fire started, she hadn’t been able to tear herself away- she could only listen half-heartedly, uncomprehending in her trance, as her village, her family, her friends, burned down to the ground. She had toiled at the anvil, the tiny clinking of the hammer on chisel as she finished the delicate scrollwork drowning out the screams of the villagers burning around her, the whoosh of the bellows drowning out the snapping and crackling of burning thatch. Only when the ankh was finally done had she come back to her senses, realizing what had happened. But by then it was too late… Smoke clouded the skies. Charred bones surrounded her. Everyone was gone. And it was all her fault.
And suddenly, the memory and the feel of the cold metal inside her stomach was gone, leaving the chill of death behind. Without the support of the sword, Alys collapsed, writhing in agony. Pain clouded her mind, blocking her senses. She was unable to think, unable to do anything- and then, a sudden ray of clarity pierced the fog that was now her mind. The ankh at the base of her neck was heating up, sending a burst of strength through her body and a sense of coherence through her head.
It took all this newfound energy to stand, but somehow she managed. Hand clasped to the wound trying to stem the flowing blood, she stood, swaying drunkenly, spots dancing before her eyes. Yet still she stood, glaring at the undead defiantly. She refused to lay down, to accept defeat on the ground. She would stand and fight until there was not a single drop of life left in her body. A peaceful death was not in her blood. If she must die, it would be kicking and screaming, struggling against the chains that pulled her down to the depths. Defiant till the end. After all, what had she to lose?
If she had been able to see the thing’s face, she was sure she would have seen lips curled in disdain. As it was, she could only guess what it was feeling. She stood, one hand gripping her hammer, the other clutching her wound. She waited for the killing blow.
It never came.
Instead, the creature raised an empty hand, and began muttering. Even through her bangs, Alys’ hidden eye could catch a huge glimpse of bright color, indicating an explosion of magic. Two shadows rose next to her, twisting with newfound life. She stepped back, wary of whatever spell the undead was casting.
“I thought,” it said, rasping voice exuding the slightest touch of cruel amusement, “you might enjoy seeing these old friends again.”
Alys frowned, then gasped and backpedaled, accidentally slamming herself into a tree as the two newly summoned spirits made themselves known.
Her mother and Father stood before her, faces she had not seen since the fire that had killed everyone off. They floated there, gazing at her. For the first time in years, Alys felt a feeling other then anger. Guilt pierced her heart, leaving her belly almost as cold as the Ebon Acolyte’s sword had. She looked back at them, unbidden tears welling up into her eyes.
“Mother… Father…” she whispered in a voice filled with pain. The Ebon Acolyte merely watched. Using its opponent’s pasts against them before delivering the final blow was a trick he had learned years ago. After all, saddened souls were always riper.
Alys didn’t even notice the creature still standing there. Her wound was forgotten, the forest surrounding her was forgotten- all that she saw were her parent’s faces gazing impassively at her. Memories of that day surrounded her; the heat, the screams, and her complete inability to care, to want to help.
And then, in a voice choked with emotion, Alys whispered the words she had never thought she would be able to say.
“I’m sorry.” Unwanted tears burned her eyes. It was all she could do not to break down and sob, and after repressing her emotion for so long, something as big as this was completely unbearable.
Through her clouded gaze, she saw her parent’s spirits suddenly smile. Her breath caught in her throat. Still smiling, they glided towards her until they stood right next to her. With one hand, they each reached out towards her neck- and touched the ankh that sat there. Alys froze, and the Ebon Acolyte growled, raising its sword. Apparently this was not supposed to happen.
Before either could move, the ankh and the ruby within glowed with a sudden strange and powerful light. It was much like when it gave her extra power, but much, much stronger. Heat and strength sped through her veins, blocking out the pain and erasing the chill of death.
With this newfound energy, Alys was able to stand straight, ignoring the pain of her tattered stomach. One look at the smiling faces of her parents was all it took to give her the second burst of strength that she needed. With a battle cry, Alys leaped towards the undead, hammer swinging. It must have been too surprised to move, and she was able to get a good blow to the head in. Before it could recover, Alys had grabbed its long, black sword out of its temporarily limp hand and impaled the creature with it.
Even as the chill of death crept up her arm and threatened to snuff the very life out of her, she held on. Then thing rippled, emitted a huge scream- and… imploded with a huge burst of light. The shockwave sent Alys flying backwards into a tree, sword spinning from her grasp and falling to the floor. She crouched there, dazed and temporarily blinded.
As the spots in front of her eyes started to fade, she could see the clearing was empty. A small pile of funeral robes were all that remained of the Ebon Acolyte. Her parents were gone too, along with the burst of vitality that had kept her upright and brought her to victory mere moments before. The pain of a gut wound and the weariness of the day caught up to her, multiplied by tenfold. Her knees buckled under the wave of weariness and she collapsed under a tree, watching as the world slowly became shifting shadows around her.
The last thing Alys felt before blackness overtook her was the ankh around her neck warming gently and glowing with a soft light, and her skin slowly knitting itself back together. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly upwards as she fell into a healing sleep.
And thus it goes. The three groups have advanced to the finals, but due to number problems and story issues, Meryn and Fairuza will be split up into two separate contestants. Also, no further team-ups will be allowed, as we are now in the finals.
The Finals will work thus: Standard elimination tournament, two matches of two, then the victors, and then that last winner will face the King. The matches will take place in a specially arranged room, with all other contestants observing from a higher balcony. The room is circular, with rough stone floors. The walls are too high and too smooth to climb.
The matchups for the semi finals are: Fairuza vs. Alys and Meryn vs. Vestis
Fairuza and Alys will have their fights due on the tenth of this month.
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Mon Jan 04, 2010 6:31 am Post subject: |
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I vote Alys to beat the Ebon Acolyte. That was very well-written.
One question, though. Will Meryn and Fairuza both be written by the same author still?
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Mon Jan 04, 2010 4:44 pm Post subject: |
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Meryn and Fairuza will be written by their original authors. Also, there's no vote, currently, since we only get one side of it, but your admiration of the work will be noted. :-P
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Mon Jan 11, 2010 10:29 am Post subject: |
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Due to many many MANY RL problems for pretty much every contestant left. (>.< Yeah, I'm a little pissy. So sue me.) the deadline will be moved to February 3.
>.<
Yeah.
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| Posted: Wed Feb 03, 2010 10:05 am Post subject: |
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And here we are! Actually on time! We will have one week of voting, followed by the Meryn vs. Vestis fight.
Fairuza's Version
Down…so far down…why would anyone choose to distance themselves from the precious earth like this?
Fairuza stood on the stone balcony overlooking the forests, her form silhouetted against the moon that looked close enough to touch. It was an unusually warm night, an eerie peace draping over the castle like a shroud. The calm before the storm, she thought dubiously. The balcony was certainly a strange place to be, floating so high above the living world. At least within the castle walls one could find some semblance of normalcy. But out here, Fairuza felt almost suspended in time, like at any moment reality could come crashing back down, sending her tumbling to earth along with it.
So close...she was so close to her goal, so close to her family she could hear their voices, a mad rush of laughter and singing and screaming and battle cries and…and perhaps they were just memories, ghosts of a dead life, pleading to be released and forgotten? She shook her head. No…she would not lose faith now, not when she had come so far. She let out a breath of warm air and leaned further over the railing.
“Can’t sleep either?” Meryn said, seeming to appear from nowhere in the doorway. Fairuza barely turned her head as he shuffled over to the railing to stand beside her, his expression somewhere between restlessness and concern.
“I have no use for human beds,” she snorted, her gaze still fixed on the ground below, “they’re just so…soft. Flat. Nothing like the wilds. At least out here I can see the stars.” She turned to look at him fully. “I don’t suppose you’re here for the same reasons?”
“Can’t say I have that problem, no. Just…raging insomnia, I guess.” He gave a half-apologetic shrug, though judging from the shadows under his eyes it seemed a perfectly good excuse.
“He’s acting up again, isn’t he?” Fairuza asked, her mouth forming some trace of a smile.
“Who, Fluffers? Nah, he’s been pretty quiet since we got up here.”
“I can’t say I blame him. I’m not meant to be this far off the ground.”
“Are any of us? I’ll be glad when this is all over, let me tell you.” He laughed weakly, although Fairuza knew what they were both thinking. She closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked up at the sky again, her gaze drinking in every last detail etched into the dark blue night.
“I wouldn’t be here to see it then.” She said quietly. “You know, I just realized that this may be the last time I see the moon.” The words were barely out of her mouth before she felt a shift in the air; if Meryn hadn’t sensed her dread before, he certainly had now.
“Hey, I didn’t mean…that’s not…”
“Listen, Meryn. You and I both know that even if one of us survives this, it will be at the cost of the other’s life. That’s why—“
“No.”
“That’s why I want you to promise me something.” She continued, barely pausing at Meryn’s quiet objection. “Meryn, I don’t know how else to say this. If by some chance you are the last one standing, it will mean I have failed, failed my family, my tribe, everything I once stood for. And if that should ever happen—“
“No.” Meryn repeated, more forcefully this time. “That’s not going to happen. You won’t die, Fairuza. I won’t—“
“You won’t what? Let them kill me? Even if it means laying down your own life? I have enough blood on my hands, Meryn, and I will not add your needless sacrifice to that list. No, I will fight on my own, with every ounce of power I possess, and you can be sure I will not stop until I or my opponent lies dead. And should that not be enough—and you know that’s entirely possible,” she snapped when Meryn started to protest again, “then you must succeed where I failed. You must be victorious, and once you are, I want you to find my tribe. If any of them are still alive, please tell them what happened to me. Tell them…tell them that I tried.” Her voice faltered, and she had to close her eyes again.
“You won’t die.” Meryn murmured again, though he looked equally conflicted. A moment of grim silence passed, before he made up his mind. “But…alright. If by some miracle I’m the one to get out of here alive, I’ll find them. And I’ll tell them you died as a hero. That was our original agreement, after all.” A smile flashed across his face, fading just as quickly as something else occurred to him. “But you said you would fight until you or the enemy is dead. Will…will you fight to kill even if that enemy is me?”
His gaze met hers, and for a moment both could fully see the maelstrom of emotion brewing behind the other’s eyes. How much time had passed, neither could say, before Fairuza looked away, breaking the spell.
“You know what’s at stake for me, Meryn.” She said, “The next time we meet may very well be on the battlefield. And regardless of my opponent, I must fight without mercy. Even if we are…” Allies. Partners. Friends. She couldn’t bring herself to say any of these words, not to a human, not when they were so close to the face of death. “…bound by contract.” She finished lamely. “So, do I have you word?”
“I…yes, you have my word.” Meryn said, his mouth settling into a tight line. Fairuza found some comfort in his promise, despite what it meant for both of them. She relaxed a little.
“Thank you.” She said gently, almost a whisper.
For the rest of that night, neither of them spoke, simply looked out onto the sprawling world sleeping below them. At some point before the sun rose, Fairuza stole a quick glance at Meryn. Even in the dim glow of the dying moon, he looked paler than usual, even a little sick. It was then that she was reminded of what made them so different.
She was prepared for death. He wasn’t.
~~~~~
Fairuza shifted from foot to foot restlessly in the darkened room, waiting for the doors to slide open. This was it…one way or another, she would be leaving this accursed island. She just had a few more opponents to face.
Who was this Alys anyway? She didn’t recall seeing a woman in the dining hall last night, at least not one that looked able to handle a weapon. She must have been the late contestant then. Whoever she is, I’ll tear her apart. A smile split Fairuza’s face nearly in half, as she fought to control the unexplainable, animalistic frenzy rising inside her. All of the fear from last night, the thoughts of death, the solemn vow Meryn had made to her, none of it seemed to matter here.
Here, there was only battle.
The heavy stone doors opened soundlessly, and Fairuza darted into the circular room, the bright lights making her vision shimmer at the edges. She thought she heard voices somewhere above her, maybe an audience watching from a safe distance. She didn’t care; all of her attention burned into her enemy.
A woman was kneeled in the center of the room, her head bowed. She was muttering something under her breath…praying? Meditating? Either way, she didn’t seem to acknowledge Fairuza’s presence. Even in her half-crazed state, Fairuza was stopped momentarily by something. She didn’t need heightened senses to know that there was something very, very wrong about this woman. The very air around her seemed…rotten, as if her heart had died a long time ago and the rest of her body hadn’t yet realized it.
And then the woman stopped muttering, and as smoothly as can be, she stood up, her half-opened eyes still trained on the ground.
“Alys.” Fairuza said simply, her voice twisting into a growl on the last syllable. Alys brought her hand to her forehead, as if she meant to sweep away her heavy bangs.
“I am,” She said, her voice piercing the air like a frozen stiletto, “and you’re…” she slowly moved the curtain of raven hair from her face, Fairuza still unable to look away, “…dead.”
Alys’ left eye shot open, revealing a spiral of icy silver with no visible pupil. Fairuza stood rooted to the spot, completely transfixed by the swirling, probing thing that wormed its way into her mind. All of her triumphs, her failures, her heart’s desires, her painful flaws, were surely plain for Alys to see. Still it searched, still it fumbled and clawed, even as Fairuza’a entire being screamed at her to stop. But the very center of Fairuza’s being, the essence that was now being horribly violated, didn’t hold Alys’ interest for long. A second, or perhaps an hour passed before she withdrew, seeming to have found what she was looking for.
“Ah,” Alys said, her frigid voice barely registering surprise, “no magic in you, then?” Fairuza took a step forward, shaking with a cold, silent rage at what Alys had just done.
“You…you bitch…” Fairuza hissed, taking another mindless step towards her. The frenzy from just moments before hadn’t left her. No, far from it. It had turned dark, coiled, preparing to strike.
“Very well,” Alys said, seemingly oblivious to the enraged Caryani creeping towards her, “I suppose we’ll do this the hard way then.” With lightning reflexes, she drew a silver knife from her belt and sprinted towards Fairuza, a strange wave of energy exploding from her throat. Alys lunged for her jugular, the energy spiraling from the tip of her dagger. Fairuza flicked her head to the side, sunk her claws into Alys’ outstretched hand, and twisted her wrist back with a savage glee. Alys hissed in pain, blood flowing freely from the wound, but she refused to drop the knife. She then kicked Fairuza’s foot out from under her, throwing her hard to the ground.
Fairuza only had a split second to react before an enormous hammer came crashing down at her. She rolled out of the way, barely having sprung to her feet before narrowly dodging another hammer swing. She could feel the power radiating from that hammer as it whooshed by her. It was considerably slower than the knife, but one hit and it was over, of that she was certain. But still the rage tugged at her, urging her to attack.
Alys took advantage of her distraction and swung the hammer again. Fairuza dodged it again, seeing it as the bigger threat. Her eyes barely even registered the glint of the dagger, which had immediately followed the hammer, before it sunk itself into her shoulder. She bit down, fighting back a cry of pain, tearing her bottom lip in the process. That power and speed couldn’t have been natural. But where was it coming from?
A strange, scratching sound escaped from Alys’ throat, and it continued even as she dropped the bloodied knife and started to pull a silver chain from her belt. Fairuza darted forward, only to be kept at bay by the hammer. The noise grew steadily louder, and it took Fairuza a moment to realize that she was laughing. Finally, Alys pulled the chain free and swung it like a whip, wrapping it around Fairuza’s arm, now laughing freely.
“Is that it?!” Alys crowed, her laughter reaching a hysterical level, “And here I thought you’d be a challenge!” She yanked Fairuza towards her, binding her arm even tighter. Fairuza couldn’t pull away from the cold metal as it bit into her skin. The energy…it was pulsing from that thing at her throat. The ankh, glowing at its center with a blood-red gem. That had to be the source.
“You are pathetic!” Alys laughed again, giving the chain another yank. Fairuza didn’t struggle, but just let Alys reel her in. She just had to get close enough…
“What’s wrong? You’ve given up already?” Yank. “I must say, I’m disappointed. When I looked into your mind, I thought this fight would at least be—“ She choked mid-sentence as Fairuza lunged forward. With a roar of effort, she broke free of the chain and dug her claws into Alys’ neck, ripping the ankh from its choker and leaping backwards. Alys staggered backwards, chain dropped and hammer dangling at her side, her free hand flying up to clutch her throat.
“You…you…!” Alys breathed in outrage, blood trickling from underneath her hand. She didn’t seem to have torn anything vital, unfortunately. A frozen moment passed before a cry of rage ripped its way out of her throat, and she charged Fairuza, hammer cocked over her head.
Fairuza had half a second to decide. Bracing herself, she moved all but her hand, still clutching the ankh, out of the way of Alys’ blind hammer. The blow smashed against the wall, and her hand, crushing both mercilessly. This time Fairuza really screamed as she felt every bone in her hand shatter under the hammer. Alys stood there for a moment, hunched over her weapon, breathing furiously. Her breathing stopped for a moment as her eye caught a glint of red falling from beneath the hammer, a red that was not blood. And then she gave a wordless cry as she realized her ankh was destroyed. Her hammer slumped to the ground, her strength greatly depleted.
Fairuza was panting raggedly, her hand still aflame with pain. Alys’ guard was down, but all Fairuza could think of was her destroyed hand, her weapon, now a mass of twisted flesh, blood, bone and claw, all in the wrong order. Anger swelled in her chest as she turned her attention on her weakened opponent, who stared back up at her, with that single dark-blue eye. Alys edged away as Fairuza slowly advanced. She’ll pay for this, a voice inside her murmured with quiet fury.
“Don’t…don’t think you’ve beaten me yet.” Alys spat, raising her hammer again, nowhere near as confident as before. Fairuza sank into a crouch, creeping further towards her. Then, without warning, she launched herself forward, right into the path of Alys’ hammer. She ducked under the weapon and slid, knocking the hammer out of Alys’ hand. She was certainly still quick, but without her ankh Alys was no match for Fairuza’s beastly strength. She evaded the claws that were still functional, gaining only a shallow slash across her stomach. She drew another knife and slashed again, but Fairuza leapt back, the blade barely flicking her cheek.
Then, sweeping up the chain that Alys had abandoned, Fairuza charged her, leaping forward and pinning her to the ground with her knees. Using her teeth as a second hand, Fairuza wound the chain twice around Alys’ already bleeding throat, and pulled as tightly as she could. Alys’ breaths grew steadily shallower, as she struggled underneath her own metal, her eyes widening. Finally she stopped, taking in what Fairuza was sure was her last breath. Alys looked up at her, bangs flung aside so both her eyes were visible. Then she smiled, smirking in the face of
death.
“Not…not bad.” She wheezed. She drew a final, shuddering breath, and then her eyes grew dark, her life fading from beneath Fairuza’s hands.
Fairuza loosened her grip on the woman that now lay dead, smiling, eyes staring eerily up at the ceiling as she lay in death’s cold embrace. She wasn’t sorry it had to come to this. The woman was a worthy opponent, nothing more. After all, the
bitch had smashed her hand, her…
Wait…why was there no pain anymore? Fairuza looked at her destroyed hand, and watched in wonder at what was happening: the shards of the crushed ankh had buried themselves in her flesh, and cheerfully knitted everything back into place.
She could only stare for a moment, and then looked back at her dead opponent.
Well, I guess that’s all the help you had left to offer.
Alys' Version
Alys stood in the dark, stone cell, waiting for the heavy wooden door in front of her to open. There was silence as she mechanically checked that her daggers and hammer were all in place, absent-mindedly fingering one of the metal chains hanging from her belt as she pondered the last couple of days.
After her fight with the Ebon Acolyte, she had walked from the forest to the castle, where one of the king’s advisors had come out to meet her and explain the next step of the tournament. He had then taken her up to the castle, where she had waited for the last round to begin.
While waiting, she realized that her previous battle had caused her to remember those things called emotions. Happiness, sadness, love, something other then the guilt and anger that had clung to her for years. Her ice-queen exterior had shattered, and she found herself wanting to experience these passions again.
The first time she did it was merely an accident. The servant bringing food had startled her into revealing her abnormal eye, but the glimpse that she caught of a normal person’s emotion was… addicting. Since then, the temptation for sampling another’s feelings was always there, in the back of her mind.
A creaking sound brought Alys out of her reverie. The door in front of her was slowly opening, a widening shaft of light illuminating her face. She stepped out of the small cell and into a large, circular arena. Towering walls with benches at the top surrounded the dirt floor on which Alys walked. A cluster of people sat in the center- servants, men she recognized as competitors themselves, and the king.
After a brief glance around, Alys focused on the far end of the arena, where another door was opening, revealing a slight woman dressed in a leather tunic and leggings. Alys watched her closely, noticing the fluid way she walked and the yellow gleam from her catlike eyes. The only color visible to her left eye was at the woman’s waist, probably where her manokiri was kept. So the woman was not associated with magic. Good, that made things easier.
There was silence as the two women watched each other warily from across the wide, open space, Alys twirling a dagger in her hand, the woman holding a javelin loosely, ready to throw.
A voice Alys recognized as the king’s own shattered the silence. “Fairuza and Alys…. Begin.”
There was a beat, then sudden flashes of movement as each hurled their respective weapons at each other. Alys leaped out of the way of the javelin, hearing it crack into the wall behind her as she hit the ground and rolled, jumping back to her feet with a fresh dagger in hand. She glanced up to find Fairuza running towards her with incredible speed, teeth bared and a hand poised, ready to strike. Alys just managed to duck, and the clawed hand passed over her head. She stabbed towards Fairuza’s stomach- only to be blocked by another claw.
The two sprang apart, panting slightly, eyeing each other warily. They began circling each other, each waiting for the other to strike. Every few seconds, Fairuza would lunge in for an attack- only to be met with a parrying dagger. A flurry of claws and blade would ensue until they separated again, each with a few more cuts or scratches then before.
It was only after Alys received a particularly bad gash on her arm that she realized that this style of fighting wasn’t getting her anywhere. This cat-like woman was much faster then she had anticipated, and the claws gave her an extra advantage for close-range combat.
They circled again briefly, Alys watching the woman closely, dagger loose in her grip. Finally that flash of fire passed through Fairuza’s eyes again and she lunged- but Alys was ready. In one swift movement, Alys dropped the dagger and grasped one of the metal ropes hanging from her belt, ripping it out from the leather ties. As she dodged the claws, she wrapped the strong, flexible metal around Fairuza’s neck and yanked, causing the startled woman to lose her balance. Before she could regain it, Alys had taken hold of the other end of the chain and pulled it tight, creating a kind of noose in which Fairuza was trapped. Using Fairuza’s small height as an advantage, Alys was able to lift the woman up by the chain around her neck until her feet were off the ground, strangling her slowly.
Alys tightened the chain around Fairuza’s neck, watching as the woman clawed at the chain desperately, eyes bulging as she gasped for breath. A single glance at those wild, cat-like eyes made Alys remember the fire that had burned in them during their battle. For a brief second, Alys was overcome with the desire to experience this passion herself. Without loosening her grip on the chain, Alys tilted her head so her bangs un-covered her hidden eye and looked into the dying woman’s yellow eyes-
And she was inside the free-woman’s mind. It was a mass of fire and bright colors, heats and chills.. Sadness, fear, and joy burned with a passion Alys had never felt. There was hate there as well, desire for something lost, and a burning ache for revenge-
A sharp pain in her normal eye brought Alys back to reality with a jolt. Pain seared across her face, and she dropped the ends of the chain with a cry, clasping her hand to her burning eye. Fairuza, claws red with Alys’ freshly drawn blood, collapsed to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath.
Blood trickled down Alys’ face as she pulled her hand away, revealing four deep scratches reaching from her brow-bone to her chin, tearing down the center of her normal eye. The world was only visible through her silver eye now… and all color was devoid from it. Alys grimaced from the pain. This was not the ideal way to fight, what with her dominant eye completely useless. Best to end it now.
Alys drew a dagger and approached the crouched, wheezing woman. She raised the dagger, ready to plunge it into Fairuza’s back-
And froze as Fairuza whirled around, a feral snarl etched across her face. Before Alys could react, Fairuza had tackled her, forcing Alys to her knees—claws out and flailing, ripping as much of Alys’ body as they could reach. Alys yelled in pain and flailed around wildly with her dagger. A shriek confirmed some sort of deep hit, and the beast-woman retreated, nursing a deep shoulder wound.
Scratches large and small covered Alys’ arms and face. She could feel the blood pouring from her body, leaving her weaker and weaker by the second. Her old wound from the Ebon Acolyte’s sword was throbbing, only adding to the pain that was threatening to overwhelm her completely. She looked down and saw her arms and legs shaking with weariness and a lack of blood flow. Maybe this is it, she thought wryly to herself.
A soft light pulsed from the ankh hanging from her neck. A bolt of energy rushed down her shaking arm, and the dagger flew from her hand with a frightening speed- to land hilt-deep in Fairuza’s chest.
Cat-like eyes widened, and the woman collapsed, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Alys stood slowly, last dagger in hand. She stumbled over to the prone figure and raised her bloodied arm for the final blow.
“No.” A weak voice issued from Fairuza’s mouth.
Alys paused.
“Use the… manokiri...” Fairuza was gasping for breath. “I want… help you…”
Confused, Alys stared at the woman for a brief second before her magiked eye focused on the yellow one, glimpsing her mind once again-
And what she saw was a question - whether or not a loss would be searched for. There was a want, a need to live, find and fight - even if through someone else.
There was a beat as Alys returned to reality, then the corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile- a sign of a promise. As she watched, Fairuza’s eyes became less wild when she saw the smile, frantic yellow becoming more calm. Alys replaced the dagger in her belt, and instead drew the manokiri. It was the only colorful object in this new world of blacks and grays; an object filled and surrounded with twisting and merging colors. She gazed at its brilliance for a brief moment, then stabbed Fairuza through the heart.
Fairuza sighed as the blade pierced her, and her brilliant yellow eyes glazed over and became dull. As Alys watched, a blue light escaped from the dead woman’s mouth and sank into the manokiri’s blade, joining the other colors in their slow, whirling dance.
Alys bowed her head, then stood, swaying slightly, bloody manokiri grasped tightly in her hand. She turned her gaze to the crowd, searching until her lone eye found the old king seated on the stone throne. He was staring at her with his head resting on his hands. They gazed at each other, and then her red-tipped bangs fell over her eye once more and she turned away, collecting and resheathing all her daggers.
She glanced back at the prone body of the fierce and strong beast-woman, then strode out of the cold stone arena with a promise in her heart, hand clutching the manokiri at her waist.
And we have our fights! Who wins?
_________________
When the dead walk, the living run.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Sun Feb 07, 2010 8:12 pm Post subject: |
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Hey, so since I have no votes yet and there are three days left, I'm going to go ahead and postpone the deadline for the next fight a week.
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Mon Feb 08, 2010 1:19 am Post subject: |
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| I went for Fairuza - I dunno, I felt closer to the character, with the prelude to the fight.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Mon Feb 22, 2010 5:52 pm Post subject: |
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So with a vote of three to one, we have Fairuza as our finalist!
Let's find out who her opponent will be!
Meryn
I was in a bedroom. It was a nice bedroom, sure, ornate bedspread and a fireplace and a window that looked out into… well. The sky now. But it wasn’t my bedroom, the one I had spent so many hungover mornings sleeping in, and that was the one I really wanted now.
I leaned back against the headboard, Fluffers- or the manokiri, I guess- in hand. For a while, a long while, I just sat there staring at it.
Then I reached out with my mind.
Fluffers?
Meryn. His “voice.” Smoother than mine. Colder. What do you want now? We have another fight tomorrow. So we do. And you will win. What is your need?
I hesitated. Look, I can’t let what happened last time happen again. We got lucky that it was Fairuza. Anybody else… Is the one we fight next a female? Well no, but- Then I fail to see the problem.
Damn it. He’d changed since he was a fluffball. Look, I don’t want you taking over my body. A cold laugh from his end. Do you really believe you can win without me?
A chill went down my spine. This… thing was just so different.
Maybe not. But sometimes you have to just do things the right way.
All this earns me is another laugh. Such a child. Such an aberration. Your species usually wants to survive, no matter the cost. But you…
Damn it. His condescension was starting to make me angry. Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s my body, my rules. If I don’t want to kill someone, then we don’t kill them. Giving control to you doesn’t mean I don’t have to take responsibility for the people you kill with my body. So just stay the hell out, got it?
It… he sighed. I’m sorry, Meryn. Old friend. Things have been… difficult. This new body has changed me. If that is what you wish, then that is what shall come to pass.
His sudden 180 was a surprise, to say the least. How exactly? My people… we are different from you humans. I was what you would call a child. A larval stage. When we grow up, we shed our physical form. I was not due for perhaps another hundred years. But I have transcended earlier than I should have, when I became part of this dagger. It has been difficult on me. I am effectively going through what your kind would call puberty at an accelerated rate. There are… different parts of me arguing. It has been difficult to hold on to me.
A silence descended, for a brief moment, in which I decided to not mention the voices in his head. Another question grabbed my attention. How old are you exactly? Some hesitation on his end. Older than you would like me to be, friend.
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, so I didn’t.
The next day, I was cast into the pit. Lowered to be more specific, but as I was dropped on a harness that was quickly pulled back up, I could not help but shake the feeling that I was some kind of sacrifice, thrown into the den of the beast.
Before me stood my opponent, scarred and armed to the teeth.
All I had was the Manokiri and the rest of my knives. Stupidly, I had left the sword back in that forest.
He drew his weapons. I drew mine. Admittedly, mine lost in comparison.
In his right hand, a wooden sword edged with gleaming obsidian. In the left a wide blade of bone.
And of course, I had the Manokiri and a knife.
Damnit I really wish I had brought some bigger hardware on this little jaunt. Or at least kept the Alena’s sword.
He flourished the swords, strutting back and forth as he did so, limbering up. I did a quick little pregame stretch of my own. I would have enough problems as it was without having to worry about cramping up.
He finished, and not wanting to be left behind, so did I.
“So what’s your name?” His grating voice was surprisingly conversational. With a few fingers on one of his hands, he began to unstrap the harness he wears, weighed down with what can only be labeled a veritable armory.
“I don’t see how it matters, since one of us will be dead in a bit. Whichever one of us that is, your knowing my name won’t matter, since I feel like we won’t be talking much afterward.”
He gave a chuckle. “Still, I’d like to know. I try to remember the names of men I kill.”
Here’s hoping he wouldn’t have to remember mine. Myself, I’d try to forget everything about this nightmare the instant I step off this floating rock.
“My name is Meryn Weir.”
He gave a slight incline of his head. “Vestis.” He finished unbuckling the last strap and dropped the swords with a clatter behind him.
“Just Vestis? Well at least when I kill you I won’t have too much trouble remembering your name.” Of course, he saw right through my bravado. He had swords and I had knives, and we both knew that he had the advantage in this equation.
He outright laughed at that one. Then he lunged at me, swords at the ready.
Well at least he wasn’t a girl. I threw the knife in my left hand, running to the right as I did so that he would have to break his charge to change course.
With a wooden thunk, the knife embeds itself into the wooden blade of his right hand sword, doing absolutely nothing except to knock it a little out of position. However, as he slowed down to change direction, it dropped a little more than it should have.
I seized the opportunity. Grabbing the small knife from my right wrist sheath, I flung it with a smooth movement. He jerked out of the way, but blood flew nevertheless. Only a small line of blood across his right bicep but still… First Blood.
From there it just went downhill. Totally ignoring both knives I had thrown at him, he came at me again, swords swinging in a pattern designed to keep me from getting close enough to touch him.
Driven back and back, I drew another knife, this one from my belt buckle. It was my second to last knife, not counting the manokiri.
A lucky swipe on his part sent it flying from my hand. A looping cut with the bone sword, I barely manage to deflect with a swing of the manokiri.
As I stumble back even more, I nearly trip over his abandoned harness.
Perhaps I was luckier than I suspected. Grabbing the nearest hilt, I drew it from its sheath. The first hint of worry in the entire fight appears on Vestis’s face.
Then the goddamn sword burst into goddamn flames. Not expecting this, I did what any other highly trained man with honed combat reflexes would, and threw the sword, fire and all, at my opponent. Swords, unlike my knives are not meant to be thrown. He sidestepped easily, a smirk on his face.
But some good did come out of things. As he sidestepped, his eyes followed the flaming brand as it went past him. For only the briefest second, but in that time I closed the gap. Having written me off already as an easy kill, his reaction time was slower than it should have been.
The manokiri found his right elbow, leaving a deep wound, knocking the wood-and-obsidian contraption from his hand in the process. I followed this with an elbow to his left wrist, knocking it, and the sword in his hand, away from his body. Then I plunged the manokiri into h-
His right hand grabbed my wrist, which should not have been possible. The elbow wound is one of the most painful in the human body, and should have put his entire right arm out of commission for at least a little while. So then I did something I am not expressly proud of, and kneed him in the family jewels. (Hey, you do what you need to in order to survive. You learn that in war.)
No reaction at all. In my moment of awe at what was either extreme numbness or extreme manliness, his left-hand sword came at my head, pointfirst. I ducked, shouldered him to the ground, trying to get the manokiri into him.
As he hit the ground, he dropped the sword, wind knocked out of him. I took the opportunity to try and free my knife hand, but his grip there was strong as ever. And my other hand was now too occupied to grab a knife from the sheath on my back since it was currently trying to stop his other hand from getting to my throat.
Flipping the manokiri around in my right hand, I cut at his right even as I rolled both of us over, trying to disorient him. But his grip remained iron, and his left hand managed to get a grip on my throat.
I could feel the last knife, in my back sheath, there, but I couldn’t use it because I was too busy lying on it. Rough stone on my back, my enemy above me, locked in hand to hand struggle, the situation didn’t look that good.
Especially after he slammed my head against the ground a couple times. Dazed momentarily, I loosened my grip on the manokiri, allowing him to throw it away from us.
Then both of his hands were at my throat. I tried a thumb in his eye, but he didn’t even scream, and his grip never loosened. Slowly, the breath was getting choked out of me. Then I noticed a flickering off to the side, feel a warmth from that general direction.
Half-conscious thought running through my head, I made a herculean effort and flipped us over, toward it.
He landed on the flaming sword. The smell of sizzling flesh wafted up towards me. But still nothing.
Goddamnit, did this guy feel ANYTHING?
With my right hand, I scrambled frantically, for my last knife, now freed from the stone floor. Finally, grasping it, gasping for breath, I slashed at the tendons in his left hand. Still no reaction, no pain in his eyes. But his grip loosened, and I managed to break free.
AIR.
I rolled away, cutting my leg on a sword as I roll away. Stung like a bitch. Luckily, the manokiri was right there, so I rolled to my feet and grabbed it, in what was a mostly smooth motion. Again armed with two knives, I faced him.
He laughed. With serious burns on his backs, one useless hand, one eye already swelling into a purple orb, he laughed.
Then, like a chill in my veins, I felt the paralytic. It coursed through my limbs, turning them to lead.
It took all my effort but I remained standing. I will not die lying down. If that is the only victory I will achieve, well…. It probably won’t matter when I’m dead. But I am nothing if not illogical.
Vestis picked up the flaming sword in his right hand, left hanging at his side.
“You fought well, Meryn Weir. For that, I will give you a quick death.”
The sword leaped for my throat.
ENOUGH
I felt a surge of power from the manokiri still held loosely from my hand. Vestis froze. Then he spoke. “I know you asked me not to interfere, Meryn, but I could not stand by and let you die. And you did only ask me not to possess your body.”
How?
“This man is… lacking. He has only the last threads of a soul left. Bolstered with your talent, I was able to take it over. Now let us end this.” He spoke more, but it was not to me. “You fought well, Vestis. For that, I will give you a quick death.”
Then that scarred hand plunged the flaming sword into Vestis’s heart.
A moment later, I heard the thump, as if something had fallen from the edge of the pit, and the manokiri was knocked from my hand.
I heard the voice of the King in my ear. “I said that there can only be one competitor. You have violated the rules of this combat, piggybacking on the power of your friend.”
I collapsed, my strength giving out. Above me, hazy as I drifted into unconsciousness, I heard a last few words.
“Take this wretch to the outer cells. Strip him of his weapons, and bring his manokiri to me. Only the true contestant will fight in the final battle.”
And now we have his opponent's version.
Vestis
“Finally a fair duel.” Vestis said to himself in the chamber he had been given. He looked down upon his blades with pride. They were not trophies. No. they were the tools and friends that had guided him so far. They had seen the worst the world had to offer, and survived; saved him countless times. But he would only use one.
“The man I am to fight, Meryn, he is an honest man, I think. So I will fight him with one sword.” He looked down at his swords, and thought. “Which one of the ten should I use?”
Vestis saw the biggest of the swords; the only unnamed, and remembered the giant, Zippen that he had taken it from. He remembered all the great beasts that had fallen to its might. It was plain but it was special, and had punctured the “impenetrable” shells of many terrors. But it had killed only a few men.
He looked back on Sorlin’s blade, a kopis. It was bloodstained and had allowed his old master to survive in the ravages of the Largian desert. He stared at the scratches and the nicks and felt it’s somehow smooth surface. He took a moment to remember Sorlin. He had lived cold life of isolation, but he had been content. Vestis wondered if he should ever have come to this island, instead of living like his former master. He decided that a sword that gave him regret would not give him strength.
Vestis unsheathed Zulfiquar, a twin pronged scimitar. It was fast and sharp, but flimsy compared to many of his other blades. It would need the support of another sword if he was to use it. He glanced again over all his swords and his eyes came to rest on Forced Mortality.
It was an ornate short sword that had been decorated by the Monks of Gurevich monastery. It had been forged to kill the immortal and the undead, by removing the magic that bound them to this world. It had allowed Vestis to save many forsaken and accursed folk. It had allowed him to avenge Lenore, at the cost of his soul.
Vestis picked up this blessed sword and the memories came back to him. He remembered the look on Lenore’s face as the demon sucked her soul away. She was bound by contract to the fiend, and her soul was his, but Vestis fought nonetheless. With this blade he fought the beast using all his might. He looked at the hilt, and at his hand, both scarred and battered. The demon’s breath had taken Vestis’s skin, and his touch had taken most of his soul. In the end, Vestis had the head of the thing that stole his love, but lost his emotion, and his ambition. With his nigh decrepit hand he gripped the sword tight. He would reclaim his ambition and his soul, all he had to do now was to defeat those others in Starstone, and he would do it with this sword.
“I said, what are your motives? What have you to fight for?” Vestis stood in a pit with the marbled stone walls of Starstone. He held Forced Mortality and stood vigil and proud. He wore his armor, but now he had no other swords with him.
The cloaked man that stood before him was wary and did not want to speak, with a knife and his manokiri drawn. They circled the room preparing for the first move. They stared into each other's eyes, blankly trying to read their slightest movements.
“What horrors have you seen? What have you endured of life?”
Perplexed, Meryn responded. “I have seen the horrors of war.”
“So do you fight for?”
Meryn squinted as though trying to see through Vestis’s words. He thought that they were some form of trickery.
“I’ll go first then. I fight to regain my soul.”
Meryn’s eyes widened and seemed to change shape, ever so slightly. “So you have no soul?” He said in a strange voice, in a higher tone than the one he had used before.
“Give me the courtesy of answering my question before I answer any of yours.” Vestis said, wary of this new curiosity.
Meryn’ shook his head, and his eyes returned to normal. “No, no! I can do this; he is just a man, just like the countless others I killed in the war. And look at him! His entire body is scarred, I’m sure he has killed countless innocent people. He isn’t like the others, he is just a man. I don’t need your help to take down a fiend such as him!” Meryn said in the voice he had before.
“What audacity? I’ve been both underestimated and misjudged in one soliloquy. And to think I came here for an honorable fight. Enough come at me!”
Meryn’s appeared to widen and narrow multiple times. It was as though he was caught in a trance. He was off guard.
Vestis dashed at him. Forced Mortality held in his left hand, he was ready to fight.
“Yes, yes, I understand.” Said Meryn, coming out of the trance in time to dodge the first swing. He came up with his knife, to be met by Vestis’s sword. Meryn swung around with the maokiri, but Vestis jumped back out of its reach.
Keeping hid momentum, Meryn spun around to whip out at Vestis with his other knife. Vestis bunted the attack off with Forced Mortality and then went in striking for the chest. Meryn quickly recovered himself, leaning back and drawing his knife back in to defend, along with bringing his manokiri to block.
Vestis forced his weight down upon Meryn’s blades, his hands both clutching the hilt of the holy sword. He pressed harder, waiting for the smaller man to collapse, bringing the weapon down Meryn’s chest.
But that did not happen. The force pushing against Vestis’s sword grew. The ornate patterns on the sword glowed with a yellow intensity. Vestis knew that meant magic, as he looked up to see the eyes of Meryn to be wider and more glazed. This new force over threw Vestis’s blades and Meryn’s knifes slashed his arms as he jumped away.
Vestis was perplexed by the happenings of the fight thus far. Meryn was strange to him; his eyes changed and so did he. Vestis decided hesitation would get him killed, and went for Meryn again.
Their blades clashed, with a strike lower than Vestis had swung. It was as though a ghost were moving it. Again he was thrown off balance by this ghost force. This time it left him wide open for attack.
Meryn stabbed downward with the manokiri, but, he tripped and it did not plunge into Vestis’s heart, but missed. Instead cutting through his pant it landed firmly between Vestis’s shin plate and his leg, without cutting him at all. Blatantly flabbergasted at his poor attempt, Meryn drew another manokiri to replace the one he just lost and darted away. Vestis Felt the enchanted metal against his shin, and thought himself lucky. The runes of Vestis’s sword glowed brighter now, as though there were some magic around him.
Meryn was now circling again, and Vestis followed, now that both knew a little bit more about their opponents. Vestis looked into his opponent’s eyes again. They were the way they were last night at the dinner hall. Vestis wondered what had moved his sword when he had swung before, and if it had something to do with Meryn’s eyes.
Meryn held his second manokiri for a moment, looking at it. With a deep breath he slowly moved his eyes from the blade to Vestis’s. He squinted a bit, focusing. He said aloud, “I can do it!” as Forced Mortality began to glow. His body lurched forward, as did the holy sword, knocking Vestis in the helmet. While he was stunned from the change of tide, Meryn ran up to him, knife in hand, aiming for the face. Vestis moved his sword up to block it, but it was struck down seemingly by Meryn’s gaze alone.
Vestis was hit, but he could not tell how bad, it was not in the eye, or the mouth, but the knife had made contact. Meryn was too overextended to prevent a light slash from the righteous sword.
This time Vestis retreated, and he put a hand on his head to feel the wound. It was deep, and into the side of his face, deep enough that it might scar his talking. He looked down to his blade to see it glow red, meaning that it had struck a magical being. If he was as lucky as the manokiri trip had been, than this meant Meryn’s ‘ghost’ would be gone, for at least the duration of the fight.
His eyes hadn’t changed that whole combat, Vestis realized. Hopefully, Forced Mortality wouldn’t let him do it again. The metal against his leg felt, for some reason warmer now. Vestis glanced down, nothing had changed visually.
Meryn stared intently at Vestis, as though a blind man trying to see, or someone facing death in pure denial. “Whatever you had done before, my sword has taken care of that. You will go down easily.” The soulless one said to the man in denial.
He dashed up to Meryn, with all the force of his entire being behind the consecrated weapon.
He had been here before. Vestis remembered his duels and his ambitions. Adrenalin driving him to near insanity and giving him complete control the sword, as another limb. It made him whole. He was whole: one in mind, one in body, and one in purpose. No, he had not been here before. Before he knew what he was doing, he knew why he fought, and he loved it. He had loved every moment of against everything He fought for life, fame, and all the spoils in-between. Here was none of that, here he had lost everything he had gained in all his great gambles. Here he did not love the adrenalin, or the stakes, or the pain. Here he was without Lenore, without his soul, without ambition.
His sword flew through the air, almost as fast as it once could have gone; almost as fast as it did beheading the demon. He hesitated for a split second as his eyes met Meyrn’s. they were scarred, and hardened, but not ready for death. They turned from the look of sheer denial to one of pure victory. “NOW” he yelled to no one.
The warm metal on Vestis leg, Meryn’s manokiri, feel as though it pumped something into Vestis’s leg, something he could not trace. His foot stopped dead and his arm swung around, to a miss. It was not a bad feeling, this feeling, it was somehow familiar to Vestis. It wasn’t painful but felt as though everything came into focus. It spread this strange feeling throughout his body, paralyzing him and giving him this feeling. It moved up into his arms and he felt the slashes he had received earlier. He felt them with pain. He cried out, feeling pain for the first time in ten years. His mouth drooled blood from the face’s earlier wound as he screamed. The feeling crept into his head, and he felt another mind.
He felt as though he lost all control of his body, it was being controlled by another soul. His mind felt tiny in comparison, he had so little control, but he felt his senses again. He felt everything, if they had been a light in his mind, he would go blind from the overload of sensory and emotion. He felt as though he was looking out of eyes that weren’t his own. And, for the time being, they weren’t.
Vestis saw Meryn’s eyes again, this time hesitant, holding up his dagger to Vestis’s chest. Through the scarred and worn out ears, Vestis heard himself say “What are you waiting for, Kill him now!” Fear, an emotion Vestis had not felt in a long while. He watched in agony as Meryn lined up the best strike, one that would go straight through a weak spot in his armor. The other consciousness inside him was in complete control, and he was powerless.
The knife pierced his flesh, and Meryn pushed it all the way in. Vestis could feel this other presence squirm as he did in the pain of wound. It was much worse than the other injuries, this could prove lethal, as was its intent. He felt control of his hand, the one holding his sword, and it tightened. He felt his other hand to. He could not move them that far but he could move them. He shifted his free hand to touch the blade, then slit his palm.
The focus, the pain, the reality of what had happened went away, he was removed from it all. He was not dying, he was not fearful, and he had control back.
The possession had ended.
The new memory of the feeling of pain consumed him. That this man had made him feel in such a way angered him. Vestis had dreamed of returning to his full senses with nice feelings, most certainly not pain. That this man would make him feel his death, in the fullest torture of adrenalin’s focus, was horrible. And the worst of all, Vestis would have died lying down, not even fighting. What had they all fought for, the people and beasts he had killed? To be slain by an honorable opponent. To lose his honor in death, was the worst offense this man, Meryn, could possibly have committed.
He grabbed the manoriki inside his armor, with that demon consciousness, ripped it out, and flung it across the room. With his right hand his gripped Forced Mortality. With a cold stare, he rose, meeting Meryn’s gaze, as Meryn still held the imbedded knife.
“ You, insignificant little man, would dare, try to rob me of my will to fight. I am Vestis. Owner of countless trophies, slayer of great beasts, and champion amongst the greatest of swordsmen.” Vestis grabbed Meryns hand, which still clutched the knife. “ You would have me lay down and die, to a simple, poorly crafted weapon as this.” He gripped Meryns hand tighter and forcefully removed the knife. “ and it is for this insult, you will die.”
Vestis moved with lighting speed, and stabbed his own manokiri into Meryn’s chest, again and again and again.after the third hit, his eyes seemed lifeless, and Vestis knew his soul was gone, but he kept going for a few more hits. He let go of the man’s arm, and let the limp body fall to the floor. It was over.
So who fights Fairuza in the final round? Vote now!
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Mon Mar 01, 2010 8:53 pm Post subject: |
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And the winner is decided! Meryn/Fluffers goes on to face Fairuza!
Our divided team-up has now been reunited! But one of them MUST die!
Find out who in two weeks! (Giving the authors some time for this one; it IS the final round, excluding the boss battle.)
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Phantomfan
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| Posted: Sat Aug 07, 2010 9:01 pm Post subject: |
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Not to be mean or anything, but this has been a looooooong two weeks.
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I've been pulled back from oblivion to lurk about the City once more. Though the music of the night always beckons...
Here's some stuff I started writing a long time ago. Orb. Nexus.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Wed Aug 11, 2010 3:16 pm Post subject: |
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T_T I'm sorry. I'll see if the authors still remember anything about this.
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Mon Aug 16, 2010 4:55 pm Post subject: |
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| Just caught up and am regretting not getting in sooner. You really should plan a sequel or something...
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Tue Aug 17, 2010 12:33 pm Post subject: |
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I AM actually planning a sequel.
Also, here we go! Final round fight! Winner of this goes up against the King.
EDIT:On a side note, looking back, the stories make more sense if you remember this: http://www.cityofif.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=135943&highlight=#135943
It was a while back, so i thought i'd post a link to it, in case you wanted to refresh your memories.
Meryn
Yesterday I was complaining about a bedroom which, while not completely perfect, was gladly lacking in the departments of hard stone floors and of nonexistent walls. Now I missed it. But even more, I missed my nice normal home, a normal house with four walls and no thousand-foot drops.
The deep cells of Starstone defied the norms of deep cells. Most deep cells are deep in the bowels of the castles, dank and dirty and dark, where captives slowly wither away.
In Starstone, the cells were airy and spacious in the worst way possible. One wall of the cell was open to…
I shuddered and tried to scoot closer towards my inner wall. The outer wall was the sky. An endless expanse of it, with clouds spotted randomly across. Last night, the wind had blown against the castle, tendrils of vapory cloud filling the room with wet. It had been hell. But now, it wasn’t too bad. If I just closed my eyes, I could pretend I wasn’t squatting in an uncomfortable stony corner six feet away from a thousand feet of screaming death, but rather just squatting in an uncomfortable stony corner.
Unfortunately, with my eyes closed, there wasn’t much to do but think or sleep, and I’d fallen off my own bed at home too many times to feel comfortable sleeping so close to such a precipitous drop. So that left thinking, but naturally my current predicament weighed rather heavily on my mind.
I was stuck in this cell. It could be worse, I guess. I could be dead. I was at least still a contestant in the competition. Which meant that I’d have to face basically the only other sane person on the island in a fight to the death.
I knew I promised her that, if she died, I would find her tribe. It was a pretty easy promise, considering that I hadn’t expected to live past the next couple days. And that I didn’t expect to survive if we fought again. Surviving the last fight had been a surprise. But compared to this next fight, the last one would be a cakewalk. And without Fluffers.
Just like the last time Fairuza and I fought, I’d have trouble fighting a woman. But now the problem was deeper than that. We’d traveled through most of Sky Island together to get to this place. She was nice enough, if quiet, but with an intensity I couldn’t help but be jealous of. And she actually had a goal. She actually had a purpose. I couldn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill her dream, even if I had pledged to continue her journey. Her ghost would be in my head.
This is why I was never a good soldier. In a lot of other wars, country against country, I think I would have been fine. Killing a man I’ve never met. No problem. I hadn’t heard his hopes, his dreams. I didn’t know about his wife, or his two kids, or his niece who wanted to grow up to be a princess.
The Takan Wars were different. Men marching out to fight, boys really. Never having left their little villages in their entire lives, now marching out to fight in a war against lords they’d never heard of for lords they’d never meet. It was a bloody civil war, and a fluid one. One lord might throw his lot in with one duke for a single battle, but then fight against him for the next three. And some guys just got lost and some died and some ran, until you found yourself on a bloody battlefield a hundred miles from home fighting with strangers against strangers, and you learned to not talk with the men under another lord’s command or even under your lord’s command, because you never knew who would die or who you would have to kill. Unless you were an idiot. Their ghosts lived on in your head, long after you want them to end.
I’m a goddamn idiot. I had to kill men I had shared food with. I’d complained with them about the soldier’s lot. I’d gambled a bit, won some money, lost some back. Then I had to kill them. The first time, the other guy stopped himself from stabbing me, and I stopped myself from spitting him, and then the guy next to me stabbed him in the neck and moved on. I still remember his little niece, but I don’t remember his name.
I tried to forget that war, later. Got off the ship at the first town a hundred miles from anyone I know and anywhere I’d been. Made a new life.
And now it was happening again. Not war, but bloody murder. I’d heard her hopes and her dreams and her fears, as we talked in the dying light of the campfires, as we traveled to this goddamned rock. Only one of us would live, to search for Fairuza’s tribe.
For the life of me, I didn’t know who I wanted to win. The knight in rusted armor still raised his squeaky chivalrous voice, but shit, I didn’t want to die.
I finally fell asleep. I think falling from the ledge in my sleep would’ve been a better alternative than what would happen if I kept on through my darkness.
I was shaken awake roughly. Even before I was fully awake, I was pushed and shoved down the halls and up the stairs of Starstone. I didn’t realize until we were mostly there that we were going back to the pit. And the last fight.
What was I going to say to Fairuza? What could I say? Good luck? Oh yes, good luck trying to kill me. Goodbye? That was… too final.
Too final. Right. This was a fight to the death.
We reached the edge of the pit in time for me to see Fairuza being lowered down. There was only one harness now, probably to show that only one of us was getting out. Our eyes met and she nodded to me. And I nodded back. And that was it, I knew. When we went down there, there would be no farewell speeches. It was time to kill or be killed.
Her feet hit the bottom of the pit and the harness was pulled back up. Before it could be passed to me though, the King approached the pit. Beside me, he turned to those watching.
“And here, now, we come to the penultimate struggle. Only one of the two remaining contestants will survive the final battle. And that survivor will then try their mettle against mine, so we can determine, once and for all, who the Strongest truly is.”
It didn’t make sense to me to be giving this speech now. Shouldn’t he wait until I wasn’t standing right there, at the edge of the pit? It seemed to me that it would be easier to give this speech after I was lowered in, so that after his dramatic speech he could merely wave an arm and shout begin instead of having to wait for me to be lowered.
He turned to me, and I saw the Manokiri sheathed at his waist. Only then did I think to wonder where Fluffers was.
And then King Rochelnese unsheathed the Manokiri and stabbed me in the heart with one smooth motion, leaving the blade in my corpse as it tumbled backwards into the pit.
Kami’nelcrath si’Verimya felt himself forced from the Manokiri. Bonds of psionic power pushed him into a new vessel, even as the last soul was sucked into the spelled dagger. It was a familiar… No!
Don’t panic, don’t think, don’t mourn, just do. Grab the last unraveling tendrils of Meryn’s dying soul before they’re trapped completely and try and reweave them into some semblance of the true him. Ignore the fact that this container is falling into a twenty-foot pit. Ignore the fact that your only friend in the entire world just got stabbed in the chest. And the dagger is still there. Just concentrate on trying to save what’s left of everything that made him Meryn.
It wasn’t working. It wasn’t enough, not yet. It wasn’t as much weaving threads into a tapestry as wrestling snakes into a knot that you’d only seen from the outside. And half the threads were lost, and the others were biting to get free. But it was getting there.
Concentrate on the weaving. The floor smacked into the body. For the first time, Kami actually felt it with his own senses. Not through Meryn’s filter. It was his body now.
No, don’t think that. It was Meryn’s body. Kami was just borrowing it until he managed to fix Meryn. He could do this.
Lying on the floor now. Ignore the hard stone floor against your back. Just work on saving his soul.
Shaking. His hold on the strands loosened, the snakes bit and the tapestry unraveled. Kami grasped for them, but they slipped away, pulled into the dagger. The Manokiri!
He probed the strictures of the spell, but then the shaking intensified.
Fairuza had the body by the shoulders. She was… was she tearing up?
Kami slipped deeper into the body and brushed her hands away from his shoulder. She darted away, fangs bared. Kami felt, from her mind a mixture of shock and hope.
“Meryn?”
Close, but no. The shock and despair radiated in expanding waves.
He spoke with the unfamiliar flapping of meat. “This is Fluffers.” He winced internally at how natural that name sounded. So he’d gotten used to the name in his long stretch among humans. He was still Kami’nelcrath si’Verimya in his soul.
Even without the sudden maroon shadow across her emotions, he could see her reaction visibly, her back stiffening, the hair around her neck puffing out, teeth baring.
“Meryn told me about you. You were his friend, before you died. Then you changed into an emotionless murderer.”
“That’s not how it is-“
“I saw what you did to Vestis” she barged on, “and I saw what you tried to do to me. I won’t give you a chance to finish what you started now that Meryn isn’t there to stop you.”
At Meryn’s name a veritable wave of blue-dark keening washed through Kami. Not all of it was from Fairuza. When it cleared, though, she was solid grey-black, despair and anger and sadness fused into an unbreakable wall of determination.
One of them would have to die. Or maybe not. Not if he brought back someone she could trust. In the brief seconds before the fight truly started Kami hurled himself against the spellseals on the blade still in his chest, all that stood between him and Meryn reborn. His full strength, immature though it was, was still formidable.
Against the ancient spellweaves, it was like trying to kill an elephant with a toothpick. Possible, technically, but only with technique and a lot of time. He found a gate, a weak spot, but that only downsized the elephant to a largish water buffalo. And he didn’t have the time. He found the lock. Inscribed magically were three words.
For the Strongest
Then Fairuza attacked and there wasn’t time to do anything else but dodge. If he concentrated, bolstered as he was by what was left of Meryn’s own power, he could see where she wanted to attack before she actually did, but she was faster than he was, unused to the cumbersome weight of Meryn’s corpse. Long bloody lines collected on his chest and arms as she slashed. Slowly scarlet frustration built up, until she gave in to red thoughtless animal rage.
And then he couldn’t read her any more. There was no planning, no strategy, no real separation between thought and action. In the first four seconds her claws had found his neck, her teeth his wrist, then she whirled around him in a blitzkrieg of fur and claws and his left leg gave way, bloody and useless.
It hurt like hell. It was the worst pain he’d ever experienced, really the only pain he’d ever experienced.
Forget the pain. Ignore it. It’s not yours. It’s this body’s, this heavy weighty thing that isn’t yours, that you’re only borrowing. He focused himself, retreated into the core of himself, forcing his concentration into a razor core of determination, and unleashed the power of his mind on this creature.
Nothing.
For a briefest moment, he was shocked, then a claw whipping past his eye drew him back to reality. For all his power now, Kami was still limited. He couldn’t affect much beyond the blade, and now, by extension, the body.
Ignore the pain. It’s not yours.
But it hurt. It hurt so much.
Out of desperation, he reached out. As she slashed at him savagely, he changed a signal from her brain. A small change. Her right foot landed six inches and ten degrees off from what she expected.
She stumbled, claw whistling through the air, and in that second of weakness, he slammed into her. Off-balance, she fell under his kneeling assault and in the mess of flailing thrashing madness, his hands found her throat.
They hit the ground hard, the breath whooshing out of her. Then she exploded into flailing fur and claws. All he could do was hold on.
They thrashed across the floor, claws shredding at his flesh. Now, on her back, all four claws could be brought into play. Claws slashed at his legs. Her hands raked bloody furrows across his face and neck.
Kami closed his eyes and endured. Ignore everything. Concentrate on just squeezing.
He could feel fur on her neck. He could feel her pulse, beating gently against his fingers.
He was… was he tearing up?
Her pulse stopped. The clawing stopped. The pain didn’t.
Kami stood up. Bleeding from dozens of wounds, he drew the manokiri from Fairuza’s sheath and pointed it up at the King.
I’m going to kill you.
Fairuza
So it’s finally come to this.
Fairuza sat alone, precariously perched on the frigid tip of the highest spire of the castle she could find. The biting air of the clouds whispered and scratched around her, a thousand voices beckoning her to follow the stones she’d been throwing off the edge of the roof for the last hour, as they ripped through the air and plunged to the land below. She’d never seen stones like those that gathered here; they were smooth, cerulean, and made a strange whistling sound when thrown. At any other time, she might have taken a moment to marvel at them. But here, as the dark voice of battle pulled and clawed at the edges of her consciousness, they meant no more to her than the icy wind that swirled enticingly under her dangling feet.
Here Fairuza stood, at the end of a long road, one that would either spiral into a myriad of new paths, or be forever washed away with her blood. And here, she felt none of the warmth that had once encircled her and all that she loved. Nor did she feel the primal bloodlust that had taken her over in her battle with Alys. All that remained now, all that mattered, was survival. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since her night with Meryn. She hadn’t even watched his fight with the swordsman. It didn’t matter to her. Or perhaps she just couldn’t bear to see who had survived, who now had to die by her hand if she had any chance of living on.
She couldn’t say where this numbness was coming from, only that it was there, and that it would not leave her until her fate was decided. Until she knew whether she would live to again see the shores of Sky Island, she would remain a killer, intent on only one thing: victory.
Fairuza threw another stone from the spire, a growl slithering beneath her breath.
~
Here she was again, trapped like a rat in this dark accursed room, waiting to be thrown into the pit and to fight for her freedom. The two faces of Meryn and the swordsman Vestis spun around her mind’s eye. One of them had survived. One of them stood between her and her clan. One of them had to die. This was all she thought of. The image of Meryn’s tired yet hopeful face tugged feebly at her heart, but nothing more. She was past that; she was prepared to let whoever her enemy was fight for their life.
The doors opened, and the tiny room was flooded with light. The pit was brighter than she remembered. Fairuza winced and shut her eyes, but not before catching sight of a man’s shadow stepping into the light outside. She kept her eyes shut, a feeling she couldn’t name rising in her chest. Was it Meryn? No, it…
She stepped out of the shadows and slowly opened her eyes. There he stood in the center of the pit, bathed in light, regarding her with lifeless eyes.
Meryn. Her friend.
The strange feeling in her chest burned like wildfire, and refused to relent. Something was wrong. She took a cautious step to the side, eyes narrowed into slits, and the two began to circle each other. Meryn looked exactly as he had that night. Nothing seemed amiss. But everything about the way he looked at her was wrong. His eyes were dead, cold as the steel that hung from his waist. Ready to run her through. Her eyes narrowed further. This was not the warm, hesitant gaze of her friend. This man was not Meryn.
And this infuriated her.
“Strange,” Fairuza growled, “I was told I would be facing either Meryn or the swordsman.” Her face twisted into a snarl. “But you’re neither.”
“It is true.” The man said, still circling her warily. There was something disturbing about hearing Meryn’s voice tinged with such steel. “But I am an opponent nonetheless.”
Something clicked in Fairuza’s brain. “It’s you, isn’t it?” She said, “Fluffers.” She had heard of Meryn’s strange guardian, but had never spoken to him. And now she was preparing to face him.
He glared. “That is not my name,” he muttered with venom, “but yes.”
“I don’t care what your name is,” she hissed dangerously, “if you’re here, then where’s Meryn?” Fluffers broke their locked eye contact to look at the ground.
“It is complicated.” He said shortly. “But suffice it to say that he will not die by your hand today.”
“And what does that mean?” Fairuza barked, lowering herself into a crouch. She never got her answer. Her answer was the point of Meryn’s blade, leaping for her throat. She jerked away from the sword, her claws grazing Fluffers’ flank as he darted back. They broke apart for a split second, eyes locked, before Fairuza lunged, snarling, teeth fully bared. Fluffers drove the blade forward, just barely missing her as she spun out of its path and darted behind him, leaping heavily onto his back. His knees buckled but refused to give as Fairuza dug her claws into his shoulder. Her wrists locked and she held on for dear life as Fluffers thrashed to get her off, desperately trying to hold off the gnashing teeth that were attempting to rip his spinal cord from his neck. He swiftly drew his dagger and plunged it blindly behind him. Lightning shot up Fairuza’s arm as the knife buried itself in her flesh, blood erupting from the wound. She yelped in pain and dislodged her claws, stumbling onto her feet. She jumped back to gain distance as Fluffers whirled and lunged again, both blades in hand. This time she met him head-on, one hand closing around the wrist that held the sword, the other grabbing the dagger by the blade. She ignored the steel that began to slice her hand and held fast to both of Fluffers’ hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. One moment of his attention was all she wanted.
“You’re nothing but a cheap imposter,” she hissed furiously, “and this isn’t your body to use. So why do you insist on fighting me?” Fluffers gave a ragged laugh.
“You aren’t the only one to lose a friend today.” He spat bitterly. “I don’t care how Meryn once felt about you. If slaying you means having a chance to save him, then so be it.”
“So he is alive?” she said, her voice betraying surprise. “Where is he?” She tightened her grip angrily. “Tell me.”
Fluffers said nothing, only roared in effort as he wrenched away from her, taking several quick steps back. His eyes were two black voids, betraying not a single trace of the warmth that they once held.
“It doesn’t matter,” he spat, “this isn’t your fight.” In a movement barely visible to even Fairuza’s eyes, he whipped up his dagger and flung it at her. The weapon flashed through the air, giving her less than a second to jerk her head aside. As it whizzed past her head, Fairuza could swear she heard it slice through something. And yet, there was no pain. Regaining her stance, she rose to again meet his gaze.
“Ridiculous.” She snarled. “Why have you stolen Meryn’s body if you plan to save him?”
“This was not my choice,” Fluffers said, his voice dangerously low. As he spoke, Fairuza slowly crept backwards and picked up the knife he’d thrown. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “The king decided only the true champion was to continue—“
“So it’s your fault then!” Fairuza screeched, sprinting to close the distance between them. “Meryn would still be here if it weren’t for you!” Her guard completely down, Fairuza lunged wildly for him, knife in hand, only to be met with the hilt of the sword, buried in her stomach and knocking the wind out of her. Fairuza’s snarl was cut short by a gasp, and she began to crumple. Fluffers grabbed the back of her hair and wrenched her face upwards, their gazes colliding.
“Foolish girl.” He growled. “Lashing out like an animal, screaming about things you can’t even begin to understand.” He drew his face closer to hers. “You’re nothing but a child.”
“I am not—“
“Look!” Fluffers barked, turning aside his heavy coat. Fairuza’s eyes fell to his side, and she froze. There, protruding from the ribs beneath his arm, was the familiar hilt of a dagger. The manokiri. She looked back up at him in horror.
“What…?” she murmured. Before she could force out the rest, Fluffers shoved her away.
“Do you still want to kill me now?” he yelled. “I have only so much time left before I’m exactly where Meryn is. Inside this.” He motioned to the knife, which was buried far too deep into him not to be fatal. How had she not noticed it before?
“He’s…in there?” she breathed, the other dagger still hanging uselessly by her side. “Why?”
“Ask the king. He’s the one who did this to me. To us.” Fluffers shook his head in frustration. “But I won’t be stuck like this, and neither will Meryn. Rochelnese will answer for this.” His eyes pierced Fairuza. “And you aren’t going to stand in my way.”
Blade in hand, he made one final lunge at her, the intention to kill clear in his eyes. Without thinking, without even realizing what was about to happen, Fairuza drew her arm back and plunged the knife deep into Fluffers’ heart, as he fell onto his own blade. He stopped dead, a choked gasp escaping his throat. His breath ragged, he lifted his head to look her in the eye, his face somewhere between surprise and rage.
“You…you—“
“I’m sorry,” Fairuza murmured, her eyes blazing, “but you aren’t the only one with something to lose.” Slowly, almost carefully, she lowered him to the ground as his life began to fade, “Lucky for you, I want to save Meryn too. Now tell me…how can it be done?” Fluffers stared at her for several painful seconds, trying to judge her intention. Fairuza’s eyes burned with determination, refusing to look away. Finally, he gave a wheezing sigh.
“You…you must defeat the king and become master of the manokiri.” He spluttered, blood dribbling from his mouth with every word he spoke. “Only then can you restore both of our souls. But know this,” he grabbed her wrist with his last shred of strength, “the manokiri must not be removed from this body before then, or we are both lost forever.” He gazed up at Fairuza one final time, his expression unreadable. “You’ve taken my chance at redemption, Caryani. And now,” his grip on her wrist loosened, “now you must finish what’s been set into motion.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Fluffers drew a final, ragged breath, and his hand slid to the ground, eyes still trained on Fairuza as the life faded from them.
She stared at the body for what felt like forever. It wasn’t until she became aware of the shocked whispering above her that she remembered she wasn’t alone. The whole castle had seen what happened, and so, she assumed, had the king. She could almost feel his gaze, burning into her and the dead man that lay in her arms. She didn’t care what he was thinking at that very moment. All that was in her mind was Fluffers’ words, echoing in her ears like ungodly thunder. Now you must finish what’s been set into motion.
Regaining her senses, Fairuza began to stand up when something caught her eye: something dark red, lying near the edge of the pit. She stared dumbly at the thing. It took her a second to realize it was hair. Her hair. She felt for the back of her head and realized that her braid was gone. Fluffers had sliced it clean off when he’d thrown the knife at her.
At the moment, she was too numb to care.
~
Fairuza stood in front of her bedroom mirror, gazing at her reflection. She’d stolen a kitchen knife from one of the cooks, and had spent the last hour trying to even out her severed hair. At some point she gave up and set the knife down, just staring at her head. It still looked a mess; the hair was uneven and jagged, and the longest of it barely reached her jaw, where it did at all. Fairuza had never had reason to cut her hair; it was how her tribe differed themselves from the wretched Kiryona, with their war tattoos and shaved heads. Nearly the last twenty years of her life, gone in a second.
The aftermath of the fight had passed in a blur. King Rochelnese had announced her the winner, and politely asked her to rest for the final battle. But she’d seen the cold gleam in his eye, she saw the true meaning behind his cordial words.Rest up before I kill you.
Rochelnese. The very name sent a shiver of fury down her spine. Fluffers was right; he was to blame for all of this. And now Fairuza had more innocent blood on her hands, more to atone for. The king had to answer for his crimes, and she would be the one to make him. She owed it to Fluffers, to Meryn—
“Meryn.” She breathed the name with a shudder, almost a sob. A wave of dread crashed over her as it finally hit her. Meryn, her friend Meryn, was gone. Really gone. Never again would he smile at her, speak with her in the dying embers of daylight, listen as she recounted her life as a Caryani. It didn’t matter if his soul could still be saved. His human life was over.
Fairuza bowed her head, her face collapsing into her hand. She let the fat tears flow freely, rolling down her face like the warm rain she’d once felt in her village.
Rain that felt farther and farther away with each passing second.
And there we go. Who faces the King?
(I'm going to leave the poll up for a while since it's been a long break. Also, IF appears to be dead.)
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When the dead walk, the living run.
Last edited by DeadManWalking on Thu Aug 19, 2010 9:42 am; edited 1 time in total
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Masterweaver
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| Posted: Tue Aug 17, 2010 3:49 pm Post subject: |
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| Call me soft, but I'm choosing the option where they both might survive. Even if one dies. Plus, the cat has a more compelling story.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Thu Sep 02, 2010 11:27 pm Post subject: |
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| Added my vote to the pot....
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Thu Oct 21, 2010 6:10 pm Post subject: |
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I am a horrible horrible person who is constantly tardy.
Anyways, poll is Closed. Fairuza is the victor!
Because of some scheduling issues, I'm not going to have a boss fight (though one may turn up somewhere eventually.) Instead, I'm just going to end this tournament now.
And our noble writers were:
Alena and Gwydion: The White Blacksmith
Filchus Emry: Thunderbird
Lacrymose: Kalanna Rai
Vestis: jhonscrypt (Congrats to the newbie for getting that far too!)
Alys: Phantomfan
Meryn and Fluffers: Me
And the winner, Faruiza, was written by... BlackAmaranth! Congrats, your reward money is on its way! I forget how much, so lets just call it an even 500 fables?
Anyways, hope you all had fun!
Join in the next battle narrative, soon to be announced!
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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Thunderbird
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| Posted: Thu Oct 21, 2010 8:10 pm Post subject: |
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That was you Phan? Heh... I should have known from the commentary... lol! Well done! I'da sworn it was Whitey!
Oh, and I apologize for not ever getting back to finishing reading this Deady... the whole thing was quite fun.
_________________
CHAPTER 25: Near-Light Speed (NEW CHAPTER! (12/4/2011))
Zephyrrr! And...
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Thu Oct 21, 2010 10:17 pm Post subject: |
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Aww, shame we don't get the last fight, but well done for co-ordinating Sky Island, especially through some very thin times.
200 fables are winging their way from the City of IF Treasury for completing!
Cheers
CF
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BlackAmaranth
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| Posted: Fri Oct 22, 2010 3:46 pm Post subject: |
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Tee-hee why thank you very much Deady~
I have to admit, this was pretty dang fun  So fun that I might just have to write an ending myself...just somehow doesn't seem right ending it there, after all that buildup y'know? 
Soo, not promising anything, cause Lord knows I am such a lazy writer, but little Fairuza just might live to bite another day XD And of course I'll take a look at your next competition, should you decide to get it started
_________________
"Well, here I am...in the towers of an insane asylum...wearing a straitjacket...talking to myself..."
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Exmortis
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| Posted: Tue Feb 01, 2011 1:17 am Post subject: |
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I suppose that it is a bit to late to place an entry wouldn't it? Yeah... it probably is to late.
I must admit though, I am a bit disheartened, as I had the perfect character for this situation.
I don't suppose that you will be planning on doing something like this again anytime soon DeadManWalking?
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Innocence is ignorence.
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DeadManWalking
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| Posted: Tue Feb 01, 2011 5:37 pm Post subject: |
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Sorry Exmortis. A little bit late. But I am planning on starting another, though I may switch genres if I can figure out how to make it work. Keep an eye out!
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When the dead walk, the living run.
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