The Ratings War III: Republic of Heaven (Second Round Finals)

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vid20

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Feb 12, 2008
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Still taking applicants? If so I would like to get in on this sweet sweet literary action
In a room lit only by candle light, the darkness can be consuming. But when you add to the fact that the room itself is just a fable then the darkness becomes everything. It becomes everything because that is exactly what you are told it is; everything.

The light flickers, framing the four faces around it. If you could see the faces you would probably say they seemed familiar, well at least a few of them. But you can?t, no one can see this. You just have to believe that it happened, trust me, I?m telling you a story.

As often happens to set a scene of drama this conversation is already half done. But what you missed isn?t important, only what is to come. What is to come is very, very important indeed. The present talker is a young girl; you may know her well, you may not. But you will defiantly know of her.
?It is not our duress to dabble in the affairs of reality.? She says politely. It?s an amazing credit to her as a queen that she can make even insults sound sincere and divine. As she speaks her hands gently shuffle a deck of playing cards, but this isn?t a habit she exhibits when she is nervous, nor when she is talking. More it is a statement of her as a person, the playing cards never leave her hands. Her name is Alice, she is the Queen of Wonderland. Presently she is wearing a long black petticoat with intricate details about its hem. Her feet are adorned by knee high black boots pulled over spidery black leggings. How ever the most impressive ornament on her body is the crown of hearts that sat atop her head. Golden and majestic with a ruby read heart dominating its centre. It was a site of true beauty if one ever did exists, but this you will have to believe me on, trust me; the story is much better if you do.

?My Queen is right, this you know to be true. The matters of humans bother neither me, nor you.? Agreed the Cheshire cat, wrapping himself around Alice?s neck as he spoke; his bell of servitude gently jingles as he eyes off the other contenders around the room.
?You?re looking out side of the big picture again Alice. Though it is a common problem with you.? If seeing a wolf wearing a purple pinstripe suit, smoking a thick cigar, sitting at a table alarmed you; then you can change it to something that you find aesthetically pleasing. But a wolf sat at the table during this conversation, and not just a wolf, the wolf, The Big Bad Wolf. You?ll have to trust me on this, after all I?m telling you stories. As he spoke the wolf removed his matching purple pinstripe fedora with an immaculate white gloved paw and gently scratched his head. Alice didn?t need to glare back, Cheshire did it for her. ?What, like you don?t think Wonderlands isolationist policies are out dated?? Snarled Big Bad. Cheshire hissed in response.
?But the lights are so bright tonight..? ambled the tables third benefactor. You could call him Winky, hell you could call him whatever you wanted. He wouldn?t really care; Winky didn?t notice much of anything anymore. Not since his mind had been crushed, but that is another story for another time. Winky strained his arms against the straight jacket that confined him over the top of his night gown, but he failed to achieve anything. So the luminescent globe of his mind stayed unreachable, dangling before his face in much the same way his night cap draped before his eyes. Then again, to Winky the night cap and the light may have been interchangeable. No one could really tell, not even Winky.

Ignoring Winky?s remark Big Bad continued his assault. ?You are too far behind in the times Alice. Stories are changing, times are changing. If you don?t get with them then you will fall into a legend, a fable.? He smiled at his own humour and it was a smile only a mother could love.
?Stories change over time, as the world they come from changes. But it doesn?t mean stories have the right to openly try to change the world they come from, your whole standpoint is preposterous.? Big Bad waved of Alice?s retaliation like a human would dismiss an irritating fly.
?Alice, I?m not a nice character. You would be the first to agree with that, but you need to see that our world is entwined with theirs, no matter how hard we try to think differently.? Alice sat back, Cheshire still glaring menacingly for her.

Of course when such plots unravel there is always some one present that had all the answers. It wouldn?t be a story if at least some one didn?t know all the answers. In this story it is much the same, and although until now she had remained silent it seemed that the conversation had reached the juncture where not talking was impossible. ?Big Bad is right Alice. Although not as right as he likes to think.? The Story Teller ? as this is the name all knew her by ? had a voice that sounded like honey might sound if it could be heard pouring from the jar. Thick and sweet. A most pleasant experience in the morning, but not limited in its pleasantness just to morning rituals. You?ll have to take my word on this, I?m telling stories.

As the Story Teller spoke she reached for her long pointed witches? hat; as she was indeed a witch and an old fashioned one at that. She insisted on wearing the dramatic long black robes and pointed shoes. It was even rumoured that a pair of red and white stripped stockings covered her legs, but none had ever seen them as the dress flowed low enough to even cover the tips of her pointed witchey shoes. But she wasn?t reaching for her hat to remove it and scratch her head like the Big Bad Wolf had earlier; rather she was reaching for a book that hung suspended on the end of her hat by a long silver chain. If you asked the Story Teller what this book was for she would merely smile, telling you it was where she recorded her stories. But as you will never have the chance you?ll just have to take my word on it. Trust me, I?m telling stories.

It may strike you as hard to believe that a book so small ? and small it was ? could be capable of recording stories. But you would be wrong, for all the Story Teller needed to do was pull on the chain and open the pages to reveal the tomb that lay within the otherwise diminutive book. It may seem improbable that something large can be contained within something small but you?ll just have to believe me on this. It is a story after all.

?Morality takes a plunge when things go from bad to worse. And the subsequent immoral acts take their own toll on our world.? As she spoke the Story Teller flipped through the pages of the book, analysing the different styles of writing that covered its millions of pages; red, green, black, and blue, the styles of hand of a thousand Story Tellers to have come before her. As she read she sighed, analysing each and every moral dilemma and its subsequent action.

The Story Teller looked back at the assembled table to ensure she had all their attention; expect for Winky whom she was sure didn?t even have and attention span anymore, a repercussion of her own moral judgments. ?This is a battle for the world that feeds us directly, and no matter whom wins there will be repercussions to us. I can?t say if they will be good or bad but they will definitely affect us in some way.? She waited tell both Alice and Big Bag had nodded; showing her it was permissible to go on. Winky nodded too but she assumed this was because he was feeling left out of the head rocking game everyone else was playing. ?But if we could some how influence this battle; try and create the outcome that will be most favourable for all of us..? Again the recourse of nods. ?Besides I?m sure we have less agenda then anyone else who would be engaged in such a fight.? Her fingers found the page of the book she was looking for and she mentally marked it so that she would be able to recall it on a whim when the time came; and she knew it would be come soon.

?But how do we influence it?? Mused Alice, the cards shuffled from one hand to the other as if by magic; flipping the deck spades through to hearts, then clubs through to diamonds.
?We go in ourselves? Concluded Big Bad Wolf. This was the resolution he had drawn long ago, but he knew without the Story Teller?s aid he would never have gotten Alice to agree to it.
?But won?t the light burn?? Giggled Winky.
?Yes, we send in a representative.? Concluded the Story Teller
?Then the big question is, who do we use?? Said Winky. His momentary laps into sanity startled the table but they all visually suppressed it.
?I suggest we send White Rabbit. He is noble of heart and a talented knight. Easily one of the safest bets.? Suggested Alice.
?Here, here.? Concurred Cheshire, his tale raising in agreement with Alice?s statement.
?Of course you would want one of your Wonderland cronies to do it.? Snarled Big Bad in response. Alice debated poking her tongue out at him but already Cheshire was doing it for her.
?Then who do you suggest?? enquired Alice.
?Why, Little Red.? Big Bad let the words hang in the air so that they could settle on the ears of every one presently at the table.
?There is now way you are risking that girl.? Alice?s façade of queenly dignity snapped. ?Not after all you have already done to her.? Alice had slammed half of the deck down in each hand, her fingers ready to draw the top two cards.
?She is better then Rabbit and you know it.? Snarled back Big Bad, looming up in his seat as he spoke, his suit now straining to confine the muscles that rippled beneath it.
?Both are wrong. Wrong and wrong again.? Rambled Winky; seemingly oblivious to the tension presently residing at the table. ?Only one can be sent. It must be Jack Nimble.? Alice returned to shuffling the cards, Big Bad returned to sitting on his seat; neither took their eyes off the other.
?No Winky, not Jack Nimble.? Cooed the Story Teller. Jack was the most infeasible suggestion so far, with Jack gone there would be no one to run the law enforcement. You can choose to believe me on whether or not Jack Nimble was the head of law enforcement around here, but you would do well to. After all I am telling stories.

?This is outrageous; we will never come to a decision on who to send as we all already have some one in mind.? Said Alice as diplomatically as she could.
?For once I agree with the girl.? Big Bad Wolf didn?t look at her as he spoke, he wouldn?t give her the satisfaction.
?Well that?s good, as I haven?t suggested anyone yet and I think I have the perfect candidates.? Smiled the Story Teller. Everyone suddenly felt like having breakfast. ?I think we should use my servants.?
?What, Hansel and Gretel?? choked out Alice. She didn?t want to say they were just kids ? although it was true- as that criticism had been levelled at her many times over.
?No. My old servants.?
?But didn?t you send them away; they were disobedient enough even to anger you. How are they our best bet?? Cried Big Bad, who having seen that this diplomatic negotiation wasn?t going to end the way he had anticipated was now quite enraged. The Story Teller just smiled in reply as her fingers flipped back to the page she had sought out earlier.
?Sit back everyone and let me tell you a Story about Jayck and Jyill??

So I know it doesn?t give much away but I promise the one I do after this will actually have the characters in question in it. Cross my heart and hope to die
If you have any questions feel free to pose them to me and I will answer in the best way I can. Most likely Limerick.
 

Ultrajoe

Omnichairman
Apr 24, 2008
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Act 2: Rise

Chapter 1:
Penance

-To fall in love with life again-


-----

It has been four years.

They kept me isolated, during the trial. Insultingly trying to keep me away from a world I desired to escape. No news, no contact. I was fed a finely weighted trickle of information, all the better to hang myself on in court. They allowed me no visitation, not that anyone who might have visited me would now. The man assigned to defend me, in a stunning display of the system?s brilliance, spoke to me through two inches of glass and a phone cable. They know I?m guilty, because they say so, but the same people who will try to kill me must give me a lawyer, so they can change the words they use when they dispose of me...

The lawyer was cunning, and celebrated for his deviousness in the house of truth. He said my age might help me avoid severe punishment, and I was obviously disturbed. All reasons, apparently, why they should be merciful. It confuses me why these make my crimes lesser and not all the more terrible for context. He might have turned the case favorably, if I hadn?t killed him.

It has been four years without my skin.

They took it, when they hauled me into their cell that night. They tore it off my body, leaving me raw and naked on the cold floor. I see it from time to time, when they paraded it in front of me as I sat in the stand, defiled with tags and an identification number scrawled up the side of my face. I saw it, briefly, on the cover a newspaper while I spoke to a psychologist. The Herald, a respectable paper by all accounts, had plastered my steel gaze on the front of their Sunday edition, with the eye grabbing and legitimate title: ?Evil Incarcerated?. And that?s not the worst part; the bastards caught me while I was blinking, and on my bad side.

I?m sorry I?m in a bad mood. It?s just not like me. While I?d like to say it was just seasonal unpleasantness, the fact of the matter is that I just had my four-times-yearly psyche exam, and for once I couldn?t get a shock out of the big Asian asshole running the show.

-----

Inmate: 17

Ward: 3V

Condition: Docile

Recommendation: Continued isolation, minimal staff contact.

?Evil? continues to resist any attempt to form an emotional connection with any members of staff or inmates, save for his continued conversations with his primary caretaker Samuel Dawson, who is performing admirably under the often distasteful attentions of his charge. His tolerance for isolation has not lessened since my last evaluation, and it is for this reason that I insist he be kept under maximum security despite his recent lapse in hostility. The subject believes he will escape, and as long as he possesses this belief he is a danger.

His laughter, resurging since the end of his nearly 2-year silence, remains displacement activity. He is unwilling to discuss the murders prior to his initial capture, almost universally redirecting my questions away from the subject with everything from racial slurs to offensive witticisms. This displacement, or rather replacement, seems to be his resistance to the restraint exercised upon him. In a professional sense, I would say he uses this laughter to redirect a considerable amount of disturbance into the only avenue available to him. On a personal note, I have not encountered a more singularly angry person in sixteen years of criminal analysis. There is no humour in him. The fact that he is able to retain such a disposition after several years of isolated incarceration brings me to conclude that he is still too volatile to consider for work groups or recreation activities.

He remains guiltless over his actions. A delusional complex, with strong self-centered or egotistic overtones, dominates his rationale. He sees himself as the product of others actions, meting out punishment for the acts involved in his creation. He displays a vague and undefined fury towards any semblance of justice or establishment, but from a genuine perception that it is a greater evil rather than any anarchistic tendencies. In short, I believe he thinks he can eliminate social injustice by eliminating society. A more extreme suggestion, raised by his previous evaluator, is that he has no intention to try and clean what he sees as corrupt... defaulting to a crusade of destruction. As to how his own actions fit with this philosophy, I cannot say. It may be that he is fully aware of the contradiction, yet he seemingly cannot forgive any person or thing for what he is, even while he seems to enjoy the role to an unhealthy degree. It is clear that he sees himself as having a goal; however I am not sure even he is aware of what it is.

It is my further recommendation that Samuel Dawson and I be replaced at some point during the next six month cycle with other facilitators to the subject. Samuel because of the risk that the subject might seek to do him harm, and myself because of a growing personal discomfort in relation to ?Evil?. My repeated interviewing of the subject is unorthodox, unsafe, and this is not the first time I have requested he be transferred to another evaluator?s duty list.

- Matthew Jian, Psychological Consult

-----

Getting into the heads of the shrinks never feels right, although that may be the wrong way to describe it. I don?t give a damn about what?s inside his head, but I like what I can put in there. Nevertheless, even if he had bitten the bait today, that one always leaves me hungry an hour later. Aha, that?s not bad. I wonder if he knows that the warden only gives me him every time because his wife ran off with a Japanese pilot. I doubt it, the ass-wipe doesn't even notice that he's left his god damn fly open half the time. I respect pride, no matter the source, and this man is just like the god damned 'investigator', Gordon, not a shred of self in his body. I wonder what he puts in my evaluations, really.

"Help me settle a bet, Samuel" I call over my shoulder to the man sweeping my cell. It has been four months since I began speaking again, and my best buddy Samuel has been with me the whole way, right Sammy? Look at him, fresh from the training with nary a speck on his uniform or a ball in his trousers. One day, one day I'm going to throttle this kid dead. I'm not supposed to know his name, but the first day he was here the rookie forgot to peel off his name-sticker when he left the introduction. Hi-larious.

"No, Edward, I'm not settling a bet. Please, stay quiet while I make sure you haven't got anything to brutalize me with hidden in here" He's funny, Samuel, but this name thing is really starting to get to me, and I don't let all that much get to me. Sooner or later, we're going to meet when I'm not chained to a wall, and then we'll see who gets to do the lofty mocking. As a hint: it will still be me. In the meantime, I'll watch him finger my toilet in case I managed to somehow sneak a blade in with him, and then he hid it, and forgot where he put it. It puts a lot of confidence in me, concerning the penal system, that they hire people like Samuel here to make sure Samuel doesn't fuck up his own job. "Ok, Emily, we're done here for the day, turns out you still don't have a broadsword in your shitter"

Give it time, fresh-face, and we'll see if we can cram one into yours.

He packs up his tools and leaves the room, pressing a button to retract the large steel pin held in the recess of the wall, letting my handcuffed hands swing free. Like a dog, I grit my teeth in distaste as I offer my hands through the slot in the door to be unlocked. And wait...

What the fuck? Samuel?s the starch-soaked golden boy of this bloody joint, he doesn?t mess with the inmates, the stupid bastard. I press my ear to the heavy steel of the door, trying to hear what?s happening outside. He?s talking, talking to someone... ah. New recruits, I love new recruits, and Sammy gets to show our ickle guard how to use the cuffs. Sure enough, a second set of footsteps and my hands get roughly grabb-

Oh ho ho, no they do not. Pulling my hands back quickly, I duck down to peer out of the slot in the door. Haha! Samuel?s got a filly! She?s cute, young, looks like she?s on transfer from the police for work experience or some shit. She recoils when my hands become staring eyes and a grin, her pretty little face sitting above a sexy little tie, and the key I would kill for in her hands. ?You got a girl, Samuel? I say, as he takes the keys from her and unshackles me. Sam isn?t happy, not happy at all. I think he might have the hots for our unnamed and inept cuff-lass.

I close my eyes, feeling the steady beat of my heart in my chest. Remember how I was never a planner? I'm still not, I'm still me. But on the other side of death I can... improvise in advance... Whaha.

And right now I'm most certainly not planning, because I don't plan, how I'm going to make Samuel say my name and mean it.

-----

Laura cradled her head in her hands. Well, this was a crap first day. She had known it would be tough, female guards always had it tough, but she needed to do hands on work for her training with the PD. She just hadn't expected it to be like this. She was trained to deal with spitting and slurs, but the ire and focus of those men, cell after cell of them. She'd... she'd tell them to move her to observation, running the gates or something, just until she got used to the system. It might piss off the guys back at PD, but how the hell did they expect her to handle this on her first day? Huh, they probably didn't. Ever since she broke the nose of their damn poster boy, they'd been looking for a way to crack her. Fuck them.

Oh bugger, was she lost? She walked down a maze of spartan corridors. The common room was 1C, but she was in 3v, the isolation ward. She knew where she had to go, she just had to take a right, the main systems were located within the central ring of the building, right pas- "I?m sorry" came a voice, warm and apologetic. Room 17, the bastard with the cuffs. She kept walking, not paying him any attention, but the man with the long hair and the fixating grin called out; "I really am, I thought Dawson was joking"

Dawson? Was that Sam's last name? How did he know the name of one of the staff? She knew she shouldn't, but curiosity got the better of her. Besides, she wouldn't be working here for much longer, not where any of them could see her at any rate. She walked over to his cell, composing herself as she had been told. "What do you mean, Mr..." She went to say, glancing at the patient record slotted next to the wall, but where his name should have shown the glass in front of it was scratched beyond recognition. Someone had tried to carve a word into the glass, what wa-

"Another of Samuel's little jokes, he's a fun guy" Said the man, peering out of the slot at waist height, a wide stare meeting hers from the shadows. "He calls me girl?s names, and other thing, so he scratched out the plate. He likes to tell new guys my name is something foreign. It's pretty funny actually."

Samuel? No, he was the cleanest officer on the books! Why would he pester this guy? He's in here for a reason, but not in any of the sexual abuse or... what was he here for?

"Protective Custody" said the man, reading her mind. "Several complaints, but nothing could ever be proved, so they moved me in here by request." he continued with another flash of that grin. "Dawson, is that his last name? They had to read it to me at the summary investigation, procedures and all." What!? Has Samuel done something to this man? How was he still his attending correction officer? He had said nothing was proved, but why else would he ask them to move him into protective... and that would explain why Sam was always clearing his cell...

"Look" said the man, pushing a rolled up piece of paper of the slot. It bounced behind her, and Laura turned to grab it from the floor. Standing quickly, she unfolded the paper, it was a receipt of some kind, one of the ones they gave at summary hearings. It was wet, warped beyond recognition, where has he kept this?

?He sweeps my room for any evidence I have, but he gets sloppy around the toilets. The tosser didn?t even uncuff me properly last time; I?ve still got the damn things on.? said the man, showing her his shackled wrists through the door, sill pinned to the steel draw-bolt under the door slot. Oh god, how could this happen!? Laura grabbed her keys from her belt and reached through the hole in the door to unlock th-

*Thwack* and she was slammed into the door, her nose crunching under the impact and blinding her eyes with involuntary moisture. His wrists, they weren?t cuffed, they were... how?

Fuck, she couldn?t feel them, the reassuring rhythm of her own cuffs against her leg. The bastard must have grabbed them... grabbed them when she bent to pick up his fucking bit of paper. She tried to angle her head to press the panic button on her shoulder, but she couldn?t move while her arms were pulled forcefully through the hole. A hand reached through the slot to tear the radio and earpiece from her uniform, as one of her own wrists was cuffed to the heavy bed.

Two eyes stared out of the shadows her face was jammed against. And from this close, they didn?t look nearly as human.

?And now, sweetness,? said the grin. ?You?re going to help me settle a bet?
 

Labyrinth

Escapist Points: 9001
Oct 14, 2007
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Janet Pike Biography: Pt 2
[sup]Pt. 1 available here. [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.107952.1838633][/sup]​

Saturday dawned bright and cheerful as Janet rolled over in her bed to be met by a flying pillow. She helped and sat bolt upright to meet Tash's false grin, which soon drained away.

"My mother called," the red-head murmured as she toppled forward into a welcome cuddle. Janet felt a frown crease her brow as she thought back to the only encounter she'd ever had with the tiny, conservative Catholic Irishwoman to whom Tash referred. This was years before when Tash had finally decided to come out to her family as well and truly in love with another woman. It hadn't gone down so well.

"More emotional abuse?" Janet murmured into her hair.
"Something like that. She still thinks that I'm going to come around and crawl back to the monastery to pick up my habit and wimple. Ugh. I maintain that your parents are so much more awesome."
"It's true. I suspect the copious amounts of ganja helped. Back in the day. You know what you need? Coffee. Fresh coffee."

That got a reaction. Tash was out of the bed and pulling clothes over her freckled curves before Janet could continue the temptation. Jeans were eventually located, but she had barely pulled them up when she was being rushed to the door so that they could grab shoes and be off to the local park to locate their favoured vendor of the Bitter Bean.

Mist rose in the morning light as the women walked hand-in-hand along the wet pavement surrounded by the smell of damp streets after rain. Determined late-morning walkers pushed their way through gathering crowds of people out to enjoy the weekend markets. Tash split off for a minute to dive between two vendors and examine something which had caught her eye. No doubt it was shiny, Janet mused to herself. Her wife could be so very distracted. In true form she returned a few minutes later, a small cardboard bag in hand and a smirk about her face. Rather than explain what was in it Tash just smiled and passed it off as "for later".

They strolled out into the park to find some relief from the oppressive crowds. The target cafe was just the other side. Despite the mob they had encountered there were almost no people in this slightly greener area. It was probably the way that the soil squelched underfoot which was so off putting to all those housewives in their skinny heels. Janet took advantage of their solitude to steal a kiss before they hit the main path. Autumn leaves scattered in the wind around them. Tash was already growing fidgety, no doubt because her keen sense of smell had caught a whiff of coffee. A swift increase in pace saw them on the path up to the attic cafe. Footsteps and the creak of old stairs echoed around them as they rose several flights. Here at last was the chestnut door to coffee paradise.

"Morning Tash, Janet," the owner said without looking up from a particularly complex construction in coffee liqueur and steamed milk. Tommy went on to ask them their order, make a mental note, then wave the two away to sit and wait. Companionable silence reigned for a time until Tash pulled out the box to hang the simple silver chain about Janet's throat.

"Ohh, that's nice. So here are your coffees, the breakfast should be along in a little while. So how are you two ladies of late? Still surrounded by The Drama?" he enquired, taking a moment out to sit down and converse. Janet zoned out as the other two chatted away.

Drama. That was one way to put it. Another would be to say that persecution and catastrophe had followed the two for about a month. Every religious nut in the area wanted a piece of the action. Even now they sometimes picked up a letter containing something unpleasant. Tash had been far less affected, but it hurt to the bone to see people Janet had trusted turn away after the startling realisation that she was for the women. They'd been forced to be pillars of strength for each other as many others peeled away from fear of the caustic limelight. Of course, any number of unpleasant male invitations for combination adventures had been politely refused, some less so than others. It had always been a source of wonder to her that the phrase "Lesbian" did not carry a disassociation with men in the bedroom, at least in direct contact. Janet was forced to break one of their most passionate peruser's arms after he attempted to drag her away while drunk. Her rather more violent traits had been the only things to keep the two alive on more than one occasion. More fighting experience was the way she preferred to see it although Tash was never so optimistic.

The visceral scent of bacon interrupted her musing soon followed by, yes oh god yes it was, grilled mushrooms. Janet could feel the saliva welling up at the sight of those golden brown cups of flavourful bliss. Tash may have been born to cook but Janet maintained that her true calling was as a culinary expert and general lard-arse.

The rest of breakfast was a leisurely affair. Each slice of gently cooked fungi took the longest time possible to chew so that she could enjoy it more. The other woman was already settled back with a second very short espresso cupped between her fingers by the time Janet had finished. Tommy brought the bill and they paid before departing with a dampening air about.

"Something wrong love?" Janet enquired.
"I don't know. Probably just my usual paranoia but I never feel easy after a chat with my mother. Too many bad things have happened on such occasions."
"Oh come on, you spoke to your mother all through your youth and it wasn't that bad. Only after you came to your senses about which gender had the better deal did she start giving you the willies."
"Shush. It's just a feeling. They've been right in the past so don't you dare shun them."

Rather than heading straight home the pair elected to walk off any overhanging blues. They broke into a jog half way down the front steps of the cafe's building, feet thudding into wet concrete, breathing picking a similar pace. All through their relationship they had run together just for the fun of it.

Many miles were eaten beneath rubber-shod feet and the sky had once again clouded over when Janet took her mind out of the ether and realised that they were a long way from home. Facing them was a more downtrodden area of the city, one that bordered on the outright obnoxious against anyone who did not fit their underhand rules. Both women felt unfriendly eyes upon them from all directions as they were unknown people where they had no apparent right to be. Their feet never stopped. Even though Janet could feel the sweat on her back turn cold with a tremble of fear she forced herself to maintain that pace until they were on the outskirts of the neighbourhood and headed home. Only then did she allow herself a sigh of relief, though Tash did not relax, and soon fell forward as a figure smacked something into her head.

Janet froze for half a second before she could react and fly at her wife's attacker. The palm of her hand smashed up under the assailant's nose to a squelch and scream of shattered bone, the blood flying everywhere. Her movements were fluid to grasp the shirt and belt of this man. A slight re-set of her position allowed Janet to throw the larger frame head-first into a park bench. Adrenaline had almost swamped her mind as she went to her knees, reaching for Tash with one shaking hand and her mobile phone with the other. Unconsciousness swiftly followed a brief spurt of pain when a second cosh knocked her on the head as well.

Part three soon.. and pretty pretty violence. I'm always up for critiques from those willing to provide. Thank you for reading.
 

Zemalac

New member
Apr 22, 2008
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Well, I just got back from my foray into the land without internet, and I have my character here for you. Comments are welcome.

"...and I've heard the wine here is very good. Almost legendary, in fact. Expensive, naturally. I don't suppose you'd consider paying?

No? Cheap bastard, you are.

Oh, you don't actually have enough money? Hmmm. I seem to be at a loss for coin at the moment as well. Never fear! Between us we have enough for a single round, and after that I can pay for our drinks with stories.

What? No, of course not. I am renowned everywhere I travel for good swordsmanship and good stories. Of course someone will be kind enough to buy drinks for us. It's all in how you present it, sir...

No, I will not take a bet on it. Sarcastic bastard, you are. No, I don't care if you were serious about the bet, it's still sarcastic.

Fah! Just watch sir, as a gifted storyteller works his magic.

Bartender! What assuredly fine wines have you today? Yes yes, I know all the usual suspects, but I am inquiring as to what you yourself would suggest.

Ah, a beautiful looking vintage indeed. Where from, might I ask?

Verdan? Since when do those crazy monks make wine?

Ah, well let's have a taste, then. If it turns into acid and melts my throat I shall blame you and you alone sir, you may be assured of that.

Now, my friendly companion, see how easy that was? The bartender does not even suspect that we barely have funds enough for this single cup.

It's all in how you present it.

Now, to earn drinks by stories to an audience in a tavern--yes, I see your questioning gaze, and I assure you that it works even in so expensive and purportedly noble a tavern as this--now, to earn drinks by stories you need to turn your seat like thus, facing outward slightly, and begin your tale in a voice just loud enough to be heard by your fellow patrons. Keep them spellbound, edging ever closer to hear your words, and when you look around and see avid faces staring back at you...that is when you mention that all this talking is making you thirsty, see? Works like a charm sir, every time. Except for that one night in Lomar, and how was I supposed to know everyone else in the tavern was an assassin?

No, that's a tale for another time. I thought I might tell the story of the tournament. Or at least my part in it--I know there are other stories hidden there, but they aren't mine to tell. But even my meager part in the undertaking is a tale worthy of a few drinks, wouldn't you think?

Ah, I see your interest is sparked already. Let us begin the tale, then, and pray that our fellow patrons are avid followers of the oral tradition.

What? No, I said 'oral tradition,' you gutter-minded fool. As in 'storytelling.' I would suggest, sir, that you get your ears examined, but I suspect the problem is somewhat deeper than that.

So then. To the story."

"It was a spring day in Chadrais, much like this one in fact, and not too long ago. The sky was cloudless and bright, the air clear and clean, and the trees dripping with flowers. A beautiful day to be alive, or so I thought at the time. Beautiful day. I wasn't actually in the city at the time, much to my disappointment. I really don't know why everyone was getting so exited--the duel was completely fair, after all. If they had wanted to keep their brother alive, perhaps they should have taught him more skill with a sword, or perhaps endeavored to make his nature less offensive.

Nevertheless, the fool's brothers had taken the matter somewhat personally, and thus I found myself on this fine day walking along a poorly-known road leading away from the city to a secluded inn where I would while away the days until the heat of vengeance passed or the brothers left to seek me in some distant clime.

Here is the scene; a road of dust, edged with trees bearing pink flowers and the occasional fruit, with a boundless sky above. A lone figure, noble and handsome, strides down the path with a sword at his side, occasionally stopping to brush drifting petals from his magnificent plumed hat. (Who is this figure, you ask, walking lonely in dust and flowers? It is I, of course.) From behind, the direction of the city, hoofbeats coming fast.

I assumed that the hoofbeats belonged to one of those pursuing me. A natural assumption, you will agree. Thus I stopped and waited, sword in hand.

It wasn't one of my pursuers, it turned out, but rather a man in heavy armor, glided white and riding hard on a white horse, a bloodred cape streaming out behind him. His face was set in a mask of holy determination, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the horizon. He did not see me, but fortunately enough his horse did, and veered to the side so as not to run me down. A very wise horse, I thought. The rider, alas, did not share my appreciation.

He made a very good effort to stay on his horse, I'll give him that, but the sudden veer had taken him by surprise, and off he fell. He did not curse when he hit the ground, as most other men would have done, but rolled into an ungainly heap and lay still for a moment. Pink petals settled to the ground around him.

When he rose, I could do naught but blanch at the fury in his eyes.

'The sacred warrior must be tireless,' he said. His voice, it was odd--toneless, echoing slightly. Frightening bastard, he was.

'Terribly sorry about the tumble sir, but you might want to keep your eyes on the road next time,' I said. I was still trying to be polite at this point, you see.

'You have stood in the path of the sacred warrior, the chosen one,' he said in reply.

'And you, sir, have almost run me down," I said, cocking an eyebrow--like so. 'You seem to be in a great hurry indeed, but I can assure you that you would have regretted depriving the world of the splendor that is myself.'

I almost regret my mocking words, for I had no idea that he was in haste answering the invitation of a god. I say almost, because even that is no reason to be impolite.

I, seeing no reason to be so crass, asked, 'What is your name, good sir?'

'I am the sacred warrior,' he said. 'My name is Chosen.'

'That's your name?' I asked, astonished. 'Really? Ye gods, your parents must have hated your guts.'

I had determined by this time that the man was insane, you see, and thus there was no need to be polite--or even speak any longer. I merely wanted to get in a parting shot before striding nobly into the sunset. Instead, he attacked me. Apparently one of the principal qualities desired in a sacred warrior is a lack of humor.

Anyway, as I was saying, he attacked me. His heavy sword came off his back at a speed that would no doubt have seemed unnaturally fast to another man wearing heavy plate, but which was embarrassingly slow for a true swordsman such as myself. He was very impolite about it all, not even issuing a decent challenge. He just up and swung at me.

I, of course, already had my sword in hand, so I suppose I could have tried to parry him. If I had, the sacred warrior named Chosen would have been in the tournament instead of me. The man's sword could more properly be called a cleaver, and to block a sword such as that would be to invite sure and gruesome death. No, I didn't parry. He swung overhand from his back, and I simply stepped to the side.

He didn't even look surprised when my infinitely more nimble sword kissed his throat. Not once did he falter in his expression of righteous wrath. I stepped away, about to let him die in peace, and what did he do? He came after me! Didn't make it very far, but you have to admire the man's tenacity. Or stupidity: I don't think he truly understood what was happening to him, which is quietly disappointing.

Anyway, Chosen staggered a few steps towards me, raising his sword again, and then collapsed (straight down, no trying to soften the fall, stone-dead). Dust and petals shot into the air from where he landed.

I really wasn't sure how to proceed from there. In the city, where I usually duel, the man's second would appear and take the body, wrapping it in scented cloth and informing those who would mourn for him. On that dusty road coated in petals there was me, the horse, and the body. No second, no mourners. I doubt the horse was going to do anything with the body, and I sure as hell wasn't going to try dragging all that armor anywhere. In the end I took Chosen's horse and rode off, leaving him there in the road.

Oh, and his cape. I took his bloodred cape. The same one I'm wearing now, in fact--see here, the little silver sword brooch he used to fasten it? Beautifully made, isn't it? Someday I'm going to take this brooch to a priest and ask whose sacred warrior it belonged to. If I have time, and if I remember.

I rode on from Chosen's body, feeling quite pleased with the world. True, I wouldn't be able to go back to Chadrais for a while, but on the other hand I now had this fine cape and a horse that had decided not to ride me down (for which I loudly thank any gods who are listening, except perhaps Chosen's). True, it was a horse, and therefore perhaps not possessing the greatest amount of sense, but at least it was someone who had decided I did not deserve to die. Such persons are far and few between, I assure you, and I treasure each and every one of them.

That horse and I got along extremely well from our first fortuitous meeting, and became close friends while ambling down that road. He carried me for a ways at a sedate pace, and I fed him the occasional apple from trees I discovered along the road. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

The sun was setting when the woman stepped out of the trees.

We were almost to the inn where I had been planning on vanishing from my pursuers, and I had been looking forward to a hot bath and a fine meal. In fact, I was fancying that I could already smell roast beef when she appeared, though I was probably imagining it (we weren't that close to the inn, you see).

What?

Of course I'm going to tell you about the woman. I just need to set the scene first. Impatient bastard, you are.

Anyway.

She had skin like...I suppose you'd call it pale, but it didn't seem that way. It was like marble without any blemish, alabaster and pure. She seemed to glow slightly in the twilight, and the setting sun was at her back. She was a stroke of white against a hazy cloud of red and gold, pink blossoms drifting at her feet, silver-gold hair drifting around her head like a halo. She had the most marvelous eyes, I remember, all gold...not yellow, like a wolf's, but gold. I thought I heard feathers, on the edge of hearing.

I was completely enchanted by this vision of beauty, and then she had to go and ruin it by speaking.

'Where is Chosen?' she asked. I can't say that she snapped the words at me, because her voice was too melodious. Every word she said sounded like song. Staccato, but still song--

All right, she snapped at me. Let a man keep his fond memories, will you?

Anyway, I said, 'Lying in the road quite a ways back, I'm afraid.' There was a pause that would have felt awkward with anyone else. 'Was he a friend of yours?' I hoped the answer was no.

'A friend?' Golden eyes narrowed. 'No...I wouldn't say that. He was issued an invitation, and I was sent to bring him.'

'Ah. Well, he won't be able to respond, I'm afraid.'

'No, I see that he won't be,' she said, in a voice that I later realized was laced with irony. 'Well then, I suppose you'll have to do, now won't you?'

I'm not ashamed to say my heart beat a little faster at those words. 'Lady?'

'Follow me, master...' she gave me an inquiring look.

'Cazinto,' I said, 'Emanuel Cazinto.' She nodded and turned down the road. I followed.

It took me quite a while to realize the road we walked wasn't the one where I had met her. The trees with their pink blossoms were gone, the petals and clear sky absent, the road showing cobbles through pale grey dust. I have since been informed that the grey world is called Purgatory, the place of waiting.

I had, all unknowing, entered the realm of the tournament. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was. After all, most of my adventures have started by talking to a beautiful woman."
Name: Emanuel Cazinto
Weapon: Rapier. He also has a dagger he infrequently uses in his off hand.
Appearance: A dashing young man in fine clothes. His features hold a carefully-maintained handsomeness, with a goatee kept intentionally scruffy and and sharp green eyes. His hair comes down past his ears, is curly when he hasn't combed it for a few days, and is covered by a broad-brimmed hat with a feather stuck in it. He wears a red cape clasped with a silver brooch in the shape of a sword and rides a white horse, all of which are items formerly belonging to the man named Chosen.

Bio: Emanuel Cazinto is the bastard son of a nobleman from Chadrais. He grew up alongside the noble's other children, and was unaware of the tension that caused in the nobleman's wife until his fifteenth birthday. On that day the poor woman broke down and got into a screaming fight with her husband, with the end result being that Cazinto was sent away from the house.
Since then Cazinto has lived off his wits and the occasional money that his father sends to him in secret. He found he has a singular skill at the art of the duel, and like many young men of Chadrais made that the focus of much of his life.

A Note on the World: Cazinto is from a world I created for Dungeons and Dragons some time ago, and have been building on ever since. This isn't the time or place to tell you the details of said world, but Cazinto does make occasional reference to various locations, people, or events from his universe, so I thought it best to tell you where those were from.

A Note on the Style: I think it's self-evident what I'm doing with the style, but I'll explain it anyway. This introduction, and the battles following it, are recounted by Cazinto himself, to a crowd at a tavern. If he seems to step outside the story for a moment and speak directly to you, the reader, then obviously you must be a member of the audience.

Welcome to the Dragondrop Tavern. Try the vintage from Verdan--the evidence suggests it's not poisonous.

All other necessary details can be gleaned from reading the introduction, in Cazinto's own words.
 

Dastardos

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Just outta curiosity, is anyone reading these stories or are they just posting?

If so I really would appreciate feedback on my stories.

They are all compiled Here. [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.107952.1814023]
 

SargentToughie

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chaos

Those with the star's blessing must live a selfless life, always striving to ease the burden of those around them.

Ivan just got finished performing a seemingly endless barrage of small and menial tasks for the people of the town. He enjoyed making their work load easier, it kept his mind off the fact that he still didn't have a course in life. But Ivan's motives sunk deeper than that, he was helping people, and making around the people around him happy filled Ivan with a strange sort of liveliness and energy that he never had before. It was a very pleasant feeling, to say the least.

After Ivan finished his last request of the day, he headed for his training school, for some final practice lessons with his blade teacher. For some reason, Ivan couldn't resist the feel of wielding a blade, and engaging in combat with it, this was another activity that allowed him to put his future on hold for a few more minutes. When Ivan was in that school, the only thing in the world that mattered to him was his enemy on the other side of the chamber.

Those with the star's blessing will find themselves called to action, they will be compelled to wield a weapon, and engage in combat in the name of good

Ivan's blade left it's sheath, today was the day that he planned on beating his teacher. The two of them began to circle around the room, scanning for an opening in the other's defense. After a few moments, Ivan began to speak.

"Master Kami, today... I will win"

"Don't get overconfident, I haven't taught you everything I know... not yet"

"Yeah, fine"

"Those with the star's blessing stand out, forging their own style of combat."

Ivan dove forward, striking directly at Master Kami's blade. It was obvious from his response that he wasn't expecting this to happen. Kami had no choice but to leap backwards and press his blade against the attack, this moment of surprise quickly passed, however, and Kami was quick to go on the attack. Launching an overhead slash downward at Ivan's shoulder. Ivan spun on his toes, striking at Kami's blade arm's elbow.

The strike hit home, and the dulled weapon caused Kami's elbow to jolt violently, and forcing him to drop his weapon. With another spin back to where he was standing just seconds ago, Ivan pressed the weapon against Kami's chin

"Told you"

Master Kami stood there in shock, it was obvious that he didn't expect his student to overpower him, at least, not as easily.

"My years are starting to get to me... you did good, Ivan"

Master Kami turned about after saying this, heading for a nearby drawer.

"Ivan, this is for you"

He pulls out a stunning silver amulet, Ivan only saw him wear it around his neck on a few occasions, one of which was when he first decided to take lessons from the old man, back when he had childhood ambitions of joining the knights. Kami handed the small amulet to Ivan, who couldn't fight away a delighted grin.

"You are far more gifted with a blade than anybody I've trained in the past, you have a bright future... Ivan"

Ivan accepted the necklace, and put it around his neck without a moment's delay. Wearing it gave Ivan a powerful feeling, as though he finally accomplished something major in his life. He was overwhelmed by pride, if only for a few moments, Ivan was on top of everybody in this entire world.

Those with the star's blessing, are struck by more tragedy than any normal person could handle

Ivan was on his way home, eager to show off the pendant, and what it represented, when the sound of the damned filled his ears. It was the quaking sound of tandem marching of soldiers, escorted by the rumbling roar of bass drums. Ivan ran in a full sprint to the top of a nearby hill, only to have his worst fears realized.

The country of Soravel, which Ivan's town was lorded by, was recently attacked by the neighboring kingdom of Lankoria. Lankoria' invasion only began a few months ago, and Soravel was unable to set up a stable front line fast enough. And now the entire front line of Lankoria's legion was marching down towards Ivan's town.

....

It only took minutes for Lankora's army to cause unprecedented amount of carnage to the town that Ivan lived in for his entire life. From his hiding place in a small string of trees, he could see the Lankorian soldiers slay anybody that got in between them and the total destruction of the whole town. Ivan couldn't move, and all that he could do was worry about how the rest of his family was doing. No doubt that they were just as worried about him, if only he could get through and get together with them... somehow.

A pair of soldiers began to approach him, blades drawn. There was no question, they could see him. Panic began to take over his entire mind, and all that he could think about doing was running. Ivan suddenly bolted to his feet and took off, away from the soldiers. The only thing going through his mind now was using his knowledge of his home to escape from these soldiers.

He paused in relief for a moment when he jumped over a barrel, and kicked it back into their legs. As it turned out, heavy armor made it hard to move, so their legs bent the other way with the sicking sound of snapping bone. If Ivan had a moment to spare, he would have wondered what in hell's name that barrel was filled with, but adrenaline shut down his thoughts and continued to tell him to run away.

He turned around the next corner, and ran face first into a solid metal breastplate. The shock of this mixed in his brain, disorienting him as a gauntlet reached down and grabbed at his neck.

"The orders say no survivors... I'm sorry"

Those with the star's blessing only realize their gift when they knock on the door of death

The soldier's blade began to fall towards Ivan's head, and in an instant, time stopped, and Ivan found himself trapped in his own mind, when he looked out, he could see the soldier's blade, his face... but he couldn't move, Ivan's body, as well as everything other than his mind, was frozen. And inside Ivan's mind, he could hear a deep, powerful voice. But it wasn't the voice of evil, or hate... this one sounded almost... welcoming.

"You have been blessed, by the azure star, now rise... and make your mark on the world"

Ivan's mind flared in a blue light, and in a brief moment of confusion, he could hear a cry of agony. But that cry did not emerge from his own throat. The confusion faded, the disorientation faded, and Ivan found himself standing over the body of a dead lankorian soldier. Confused and scared, Ivan ran again, and there was only one place that he could imagine heading, home.

Ivan charged though the ruined streets, it was clear from the abundance of bodies and the lack of soldiers that much of the main force had pulled away. And Ivan was lucky enough to not be caught by any of the remaining troops. He arrived at his house in moments, only to find it in shambles. Dreadful thoughts filled his mind, and he ripped the door away, denying what his mind was already telling him.

"They're all okay, they're hiding somewhere and ware just fine, they really are"

His denial didn't last long, because when he entered the living room, his entire world came smashing down around him. All three of them, his brother, his mother, and Richard... all three of them had bloody gashes in their heads, all three of them were dead.

Ivan's mind completely shut down, why was he still alive? how did he have the power to kill that soldier? Why didn't Ethan save them? Why didn't Richard get them somewhere safe? Why didn't he make his way home and save them? Ivan became trapped in a world of these thoughts, and his body got to his feet, looking for revenge.

With the cry that would scare a god away, an entire massive pillar of blue energy erupted from Ivan's body, blasting his house, the corpses, and everything else in range of the pillar. Within minutes, soldiers came running from every direction to investigate the explosion, and came marching to their deaths. With a flick of Ivan's wrist, blades made of raw energy appeared in the air around him, all of them shooting out in their respective direction, each of them impaling a soldier and vanishing, along with the soldier's lives.

Those that were lucky enough to not be killed were looking for revenge of their own, but in those moments, Ivan's body became the host of fury, anger, and power. The Lankorians drew their weapons and began to charge at him, they stormed towards the young demon and prepared to attack. The young Demon fell to his knees, all that he wanted was for the soldiers to die, and the power tapped into his will to make that wish come true.

Beams of light blue justice erupted from the body of the young demon, turning the bodies of the attackers into nothing but ashes. Ivan paused after this, his sanity partially returned. He looked at the piles of ashes, he looked at the carnage that he himself created. In a scarce few moments, he felt anguish, his life was gone. Everything that Ivan had ever cared for, or loved, all died, and he was helpless.

His body was weak, and he no longer had the strength to stand on his own two feet. Ivan fell into the rubble, and the warm darkness of a failing body began to enshroud him.

........

Ivan's eyes opened, and for a delightful few seconds, he had no memories. All that he could feel was pure confusion. But those seconds passed quickly, when everything that had happened to him hit his mind like a thousand tun hammer. His eyes began to water up, and he cried out in anguish and sorrow.

"There the hell am I!? What the hell is going on!?"

An older man approached him, while he sat up in his bed. The stranger began to speak in a kind voice, although it did nothing to put Ivan's soul at ease

"You are in the Civil Sanctuary... Home of the Knights of the eversteel order"

Ivan looked up, he refused to believe what he was hearing, the old man continued to speak before Ivan could respond

"My name is Orin Tarros, welcome, young man"

end

I'm not putting very much effort into these posts, If I had more time on my hands, here are the things I would have done better

1) More detail
2) The chase scene with the two guards would have been longer
3) Ivan's freak out would have been longer and better
4) The ending would have been less abrupt

So, that's it, I'm going to have a lot of down time tomorrow, so my next story I do will be of much higher quality

only two more chapters left
 

Lord Krunk

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Dastardos said:
Just outta curiosity, is anyone reading these stories or are they just posting?

If so I really would appreciate feedback on my stories.

They are all compiled Here. [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.107952.1814023]
I am, but there are so many that I can't possibly handle them all in one sitting. So, I've decided to focus on one character a day.

Thing is, I've already done your character, but that was before your chapters. It's sort of getting out of hand, really.
 

Dastardos

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Lord Krunk said:
Dastardos said:
Just outta curiosity, is anyone reading these stories or are they just posting?

If so I really would appreciate feedback on my stories.

They are all compiled Here. [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.107952.1814023]
I am, but there are so many that I can't possibly handle them all in one sitting. So, I've decided to focus on one character a day.

Thing is, I've already done your character, but that was before your chapters. It's sort of getting out of hand, really.
Yeah I realize this. I'm going to do a short wrap up and call it quits until I write a battle post. I wanted to establish some of his morals in (which would be done the way I planned it) but there is no point if it isn't going to be read.
 

Brett Alex

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Zemalac said:
Well, I just got back from my foray into the land without internet, and I have my character here for you. Comments are welcome.
I can't read that and not think of Julio Scoundrél [http://www.giantitp.com/comics/oots0392.html] from Order Of the Stick.
Which is a good thing by the way, I look forward to watching your fights.
 

Lord Krunk

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Dastardos said:
Lord Krunk said:
Dastardos said:
Just outta curiosity, is anyone reading these stories or are they just posting?

If so I really would appreciate feedback on my stories.

They are all compiled Here. [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/jump/362.107952.1814023]
I am, but there are so many that I can't possibly handle them all in one sitting. So, I've decided to focus on one character a day.

Thing is, I've already done your character, but that was before your chapters. It's sort of getting out of hand, really.
Yeah I realize this. I'm going to do a short wrap up and call it quits until I write a battle post. I wanted to establish some of his morals in (which would be done the way I planned it) but there is no point if it isn't going to be read.
Trust me, I read everything.

No point in not doing it, especially when I don't know who I'll get pitted up against first.
 

Ultrajoe

Omnichairman
Apr 24, 2008
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Lord Krunk said:
Trust me, I read everything.

No point in not doing it, especially when I don't know who I'll get pitted up against first.
Similarly, there's nothing i don't get my eyes on eventually. I've already sent you my opinions, but there's a lot to read over. At some point i'm going to compile all 11,000 words of EJ so far into a single post, or at least link to all the chapters (Compiling it all broke the escapist). I have two more chapters to go, today and tomorrow, and we begin tomorrow i think. So don't sweat, my relaxing time tomorrow will be spent writing up critiques on everyone's stuff, after my own little narrative draws to a close.

In any case, Chapter 2 of Act 2 is incoming.
 

vid20

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?Jayck and Jyill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jayck fell down and broke his crown
And Jyill cam tumbling after.


I wrote that just before I sent them away; a record of their final failure too me. You may think the reaction is a little extreme, disposing of children because they spilled a pail of water on the crest of a hill and in the process of it ended up injuring themselves. But it was just a pail of water they spilt, that in fact is a complete mistranslation. The content inside that bucket was actually pale water, a powerful reagent used in some of the most potent potions.

Maybe it is my failure as a teacher for not stressing to them the importance of the pale water. But I feel that even had I forced its significance upon them through means of magical mind alteration they still would have fought atop the crest of hat hill; the bucket still would have been spilled. You see it was Jayck and Jyill?s nature to fight; there relationship to each other as siblings seemed to be based around conflict with each other. Anything and everything could be turned into a competition, and while this may have been a good trait if the competition lead to them trying to out preform each other, such was not the case. Instead of trying to grow over each other like trees in a forest searching for the sun, the two acted like lumberjacks and sought to constantly cut each other down.

I never quite understood why they fought the way they did, as far as I can gather looking back over their records the two are orphans; sold into service of the wicken convent at birth the two have known nothing but servitude to others. Generally in my experience such bondage would lead to a strong bond between the children; such is defiantly the case with Hansel and Gretel. But with Jayck and Jyill this was never the case.

I tried to be understanding with them, its one of my better qualities; and a necessity for any good Story Teller. But the incident with the Pale Water was the last straw in a long string of inane failures that stemmed from this rivalry they possessed.

My judgment may have been hasty and harsh, but I was considerably miffed at the time, and even now looking back on it I still think I made the right decision. It is defiantly one of my ore ingenious punishments to date.

If Jayck and Jyill would refuse to cooperate with each other I was going to force them to cooperate, I made it so that their very existence depended on each other; Jayck with Jyill, and Jyill with Jayck. Neither of them could now stand a chance of living in these dangerous times without the aid of the other.?

As it happens when a long story is being related, some one finally interrupted the conversations flow.
?I?m not following you here dame.? Piped the Big Bad Wolf. It seemed most appropriate that he be the one to interrupt the story, so logically he did. But you?ll just have to trust me on this. ?What exactly did you do??

?You don?t yet see my genius? Then let me explain further. This is a dangerous world inhabited by dangerous people; it is most advantageous to be able to defend yourself when the time arises ? and its not a question of if, but when ? If you rob some one of the ability to defend themselves, then essentially you are handing them a death sentence.

And robbing Jayck and Jyill of this right is exactly what I did. Neither Jayck nor Jyill can wield a weapon unless the weapon that they wield is each other.? And here again the Story Teller stopped, letting the last honey filled syllables roll of her lips and enter existence in the room around her. All of those assembled, even Winky, slowly grasped the gravity of what had just been said.

?But how does it work?? Interjected Alice as politely as was possible.
?They are a weapon for each other Alice, it is a simple as that. But how it all works, not even I know that. Although I had a concept of what I wanted to see when the punishment was sentenced, but it seemed that spilling the Pale Water on themselves provided the two with a degree of protection against my own intentions. And so while the moral assessment and punishment was met, the full repercussions of the actions are a beauty that I have no yet seen myself.?

?So basically we have just decided to send some kids, whom we have no idea too the capabilities of, into a competition to potentially become the new ?gods of earth.?? Comprehension slowly dawned on the Big Bad Wolf, he wasn?t sure that he liked it.
?But, it?s brilliant.? Breathed Alice, whom was of a similar mind set to the Story Teller on these things. ?Unknown power, unknown possibilities.? Unlike big bad Alice didn?t at all feel unhappy with the chose they had made, on the contrary she felt it was quite fitting.
?But, where are they now? And how do we get them to this competition?? Unhappy as he was, Big Bad was determined to find a fault in this plan.
?The terms of there punishment was simple. They would be returned to normal as soon as they brought me another sample of Pale Water. I gave Jayck a vial to fill, and told them where another source of the liquid could be found. I assume presently they are off searching for it. As for how to get them to this competition, you seem to forget Big Bad, the world is put a Story to me.? And with the last words seeping from her lips the Story Teller did exactly as she said, again re writing the destiny of the two who had no idea the path their destiny was about to follow.
 

The Lyre

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To avoid this turning into a mass clusterfuck, would it be possible to simply update your original post, and make a quick 'bump' at the end of this thread, rather than dumping the entire chapter? Or, at the very least, spoiler your chapters, as it makes it very hard to find the parts I haven't read yet when I have to scroll through long pages of things I've already read.

Admittedly, my real problem is it makes it hard to find the Evil updates. But that's understandable, it's like the movie version of EvilJoe.

Secondly, if anyone is giving it away for free, I'd like any criticisms or pointers in regards to The Conduit, but this isn't an urgent request, I've already got a couple critiques.
 

Ultrajoe

Omnichairman
Apr 24, 2008
4,719
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Act 2: Rise

Chapter 2:
Discipline

-An animal is all the more furious when caged. He is not an Animal-


-----

"Rise and shine, monsters, your king has come home!" screamed the walls, the voice echoing down halls and into every cell in the wing. It rumbled netween bars into the ears of the thieves, it crashed through glass to wake the murderers, and it soared through air and the wood of the cafeteria door into the mind of Samuel Dawson, who dropped the tray of lunch he was carrying. As the asylum woke to the sound, he rushed outside to hear the distant voices echoing from the isolation wing. The murmurs, jeers and pleas of the condemned ringing faintly down the concrete corridors as the one inmate audacious enough to announce his freedom stalked the halls.

Sirens leapt to life, as dull minds registered the threat in their halls only after it had chosen to be known. The duty officers equipped for recapture stormed out of their relaxed stupor towards ward 3V, and the two figures that marched firmly in their direction. The system was ingenious, the very layout of the prison designed to funnel even a mass breakout towards manageable control centers, where correction officers with tear gas and batons could bring to bear the full might of the law, any cunning or smartass inmate would be sent running into remote gate after remote gate.

Six men, all strong if not fit, stood at the gate leading into 3V, ready to subdue the inmate when he turne-

Inmate Seventeen rounded the corner, with the struggling figure of Laura held before him. From the pattern of spray on her face and chest, her nose was obviously broken, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. With her legs she kicked out madly at the man behind her, but with each attempt that her legs left the ground she strained to breath against his unmoving grip. The guards clenched their batons, they knew that he wouldn't harm his one ticket out of the building, or so he thought. But even so, they were unnerved by the knowledge that the stakes just got higher. Around them, the shouts and whoops of roused inmates jeered through the halls, the sounds of idle minds finding purchase on the spectacle. Twenty-five meters away now, never slowing as he approached the gates. Either side of him, secondary passages slammed shut, bars closing over the gaps between cells as quick fingers locked off all alternate routes. But, unfazed, the escapee moved ever forward.

They system employed by 100% of the prisons and asylums in the world rests firmly on the belief that any escaped convict or charge will invariably make a bid for greater freedom. They do not, in the slightest, account for a situation where the criminal in question will actively seek to enter further into the building.

-----

People can't handle me. Not in the physical sense, because there are those more individually powerful than me, but from a confrontational perspective... and physically as well I suppose, Whahahaha. Take these human bulls up here, each one bearing a nightstick and an unwavering conviction in the law. Standing in a line because the only situation they have been trained to deal with is one based on what they want. They want me to come towards them, to try and use this gorgeous little key as a shield. They aren't stupid, they aren't incompetent. But what they have is blind and unshakeable faith.

They have the trust, so now lets put the fear of god into them.

The girl falls to her knees when i drop her, instinctively reaching for her pepper spray as she breathes deep the air she's been denied. Not so soon, not so fast, you are my ticket out of here... or at least my ticket to my ticket, Whahahaha. Consider yourself a connecting flight, one that needs to really stop. fucking. moving.

She still tries to kick as I push her to the ground with a foot, but it's enough that she's on the ground. See, it's not about expectations or chance, because those things are perfectly understandable assumptions. What this is about is inevitability. It's inevitable that there might come a time when a prisoner could escape his cell and challenge rather than flee his pursuers. That is accounted for. It is inevitable that a prisoner might get his hands on a member of the staff, that is accounted for. What is not accounted for is certainty, the certainty that at some point all their plans and drills might not meet the demands of the moment.

I reach down and haul up the girl by a leg, pushing against her kneecap with my hip, forcing a joint to bend the way it was never meant to go. I'm quite certain she'll scream, it's a natural reaction. I'm quite certain she'll scrabble against the smooth floor as the warning, painful pressure builds in her leg. I'm quite certain she'll swear, and try to find a way to escape the mounting agony.

This is accounted for, and the guards rush forward to save their own. What is not accounted for is the young and infatuated mind of Samuel Dawson, who knows me as well as anyone can and is certain that the only chance his budding romantic interest is getting out of here with all of her winning features relatively intact... is if he helps me escape; Men are ruled by their genitals, you see, and I?ve got Samuel by the hairless, pasty balls.

Cells snap open, the bars rolling back either side of me as the one option available to his mind becomes terrifyingly realized. Men pour out into the corridor, leaping at the opportunity for any second in the free air, and the guards are suddenly faced with a situation they were never prepared for. Riots are easily dealt with; the entire prison becomes compartmentalized and is cleaned out section by section. All that needs to happen is for the rather large button in the control room to be lazily pushed by whoever is in it at the time. I imagine there are three people in the control room at the second; The two unconscious operators and the sweating, panicking form of our friend Sam.

A door rolls open beside me, a long and windowed corridor into the general population. It's almost stunning how quick things are unfol- *oof*. Oh, balls, literally. Oh, i forgot how much this hurts, oh, shit! What the hell did she do that for? You'd think i never took her anywhere! Whahahahaha

-----

Laura ran, each step putting more pressure on her injured knee, but stopping was not an option. Why had the gates opened! Why had they let out the inmates? Where was she going!?. Fuck, general population, five hundred angry-as-all-hell men with nothing to lose and each one disturbed, to a greater or lesser extent. She glanced over her shoulder to where the shit who had started this whole thing had gone down. He was getting up, rising slowly with deep breaths to counteract the nausea of her strike. Another inmate, freed by the unknown force, rushed towards him from where they had been mauling the guards. Laura didn't see any more, as she rounded the curve of the corridor, but that was the least of her worries.

She knew general population had several floors surrounding the central, open space. She was on the ground floor, and was counting on the panic of the inmates to let her slip into the mess hall, and through the back doors where someone could let her into the green zone via one of the manually operated doors. That was what she was counting on, anywaym when two of the men from general tore around the corner in the opposite direction... just as the doors at either end of the corridor slammed shut...

Oh, fuck. Laura grabbed for her pepper spray, baton or even a flashlight to ward them off with, but there was nothing left on her belt. Her feet moved apart, into a steady pose she had been taught at the academy, and wondered fervently if her training covered self defense while unarmed against two angry men with a strained knee. It's never too late to learn... The first of the men, a tall and gangly creep with thick glasses, moved towards her. "Stop" she said as commanding as she could sound, raising her hands, and she was infinitely surprised when he did.

"They aren't scared" Said a voice behind her, and she didn't need to turn to see who it was. What the fuck did he want? She'd rip his god-damned balls off if he tried anything. Not scared? Clever catch Sherlock, there?s me and you three. If she spun, she might be able to break a rib if... ?Drop? He said, kicking her legs out from underneath her, how was he that close!? ?They?re terrified?

Rolling desperately to avoid any heavy stomps, Laura was thankful when she heard the echo of boots on the floor around her. Someone would open the door, if she could run bac- *Fwmp* ?Fuck, someone was on top of her! Her elbow jutted out into his gut, but he didn?t move. Reacting on instinct, she reached up and forced a thumb into the bastards eyes, but he didn?t budge, even when she could feel her finger pushing deep int- he was dead. The shock hit her at the same time as the corpse, head lolling elastically on a broken neck, was pulled off her and she was hauled to her feet. Th-the isolation man, he had... how?

One was dead, and the other was... was.. behind him. The second man had run, but now the short fuck was coming up with an arm raised for an almighty haymaker at the original bastard himself. Her eyes gave it away, although she was disgusted by the fact that she was trying to warm him verbally as well, and she watched as her ironic savior dropped to his knees, whirling as he did to deliver a brutal punch into his assailants gut.

The man cried out, the punch pushing the air from his body and making standing impossible. Dropping to his knees, he had enough time to open his eyes wide in horror as a sweeping kick roared into his peripheral vision and sent him crashing, lifeless, into the wall like a bug swatted by a truck.

The doors rolled open, and Laura realized in horror that her and a convicted psychopath were each other?s only way of getting out of there alive.

-----

Samuel panicked, he needed to gain control again. Shit. Ok, think, it was just like... like... like sluice gates at a dam! He just needed to guide the pair through the facility, around the tides of the escaped. He had locked down as many safe zones as he could, sealing himself off from the other staff... this was something he had to do. It was his fault she was in there with him, and by god he would get her out. His mind wandered for an instant to what it would feel like to have her fall into his arms thankfully when she got to the control room, but he bit down the treacherous vision as he focused on the task ahead.

Left, right, straight. Using the segmented alarms he gave brief warnings when roaming packs of inmates passed near them, but he couldn?t stop them as they rounded the corner into a group of the prisons guards, hammering on the last door before the green zone.

A pair of baleful eyes shot at him through a camera, his most ferocious charge shaking his head in warning. ?Don?t you fucking dare? was the message, loud and clear to the control room. But Samuel was already pushing the button, because whether she got through with the guards or the monster, she was safe.

Two halls away from where he was sitting, an alarm blasted into life. And four armed guards turned to see an inmate and their new female rookie right behind them.

-----

Backstabbing little asswipe, does he think I can just be abandoned on the floor of this forsaken dump? The four uglies aren?t your regular doughnut pushers, nobody who works in correction is. But I?ve come too far now, spent too much time in this house of the joke they call justice. Too long left seething, and far too fucking long since I?ve felt my own skin.

The girl runs towards the guards, getting behind them as they spread out.

You know the flaw in these bruisers? They die, ?Whahahahaha.?

They come in hard and fast, their training based on control and anticipation. But I?ve already died, and If there?s one thing I have not a shred of, it?s doubt. Doubt makes you hesitate, makes you calculate, doubt makes you think about how you?re going to floor some cell-scum punk with your baton. Me? I?m not a planner, and before he knows what?s happened the first human watchdog has my knee in his face and the floor against his ass.

And then I have a club, and I still don?t have any doubt.

-----

Laura pressed her back up against the cold metal of the boom gate, watching as the same men she had had breakfast with closed in on the convict. She slapped against the door, begging whoever was running this show to open the door and let he- he had got one.

She spun back, eyes glued to the scene as the fucker rose from... Paul? He twirled the stick in his hands, beckoning to the three men standing, foot pressed down on the downed mans throat. The guards moved as one, rushing inwards to overpower th-

He was fast

The door shuddered as the first of the men slammed into it faster than any person had the right to move, the ruin of his left eye socket and jaw venting blood into the air, and the second staggered back from a stabbing blow to the gut. Clutching his stomach, he gasped in shock as his attacker rolled over his back, away from the sweeping blow of the final unharmed man.

Laura felt the door move, raising a foot off the ground as she dropped without hesitation, rolling under the heavy steel. As she did she saw the inmate catch a poorly thrown fist, breaking the mans arm with his own baton before bending the savaged limb back over his own shoulder. Her memory flickered back to his cell, and the illegible words scratched over his name... Evil. That was how he fought, evil, brutal and without hesitation. He wasn?t fast, he just didn?t think.

With a vicious stomp there was only one guard left, and he hammered on the gate to open, to help him escape. He went to speak, his mouth opened to frame the word ?please?, when his head snapped sideways with an almighty crack and the whipping blur of a bloodstained baton.T Th-they were... he had... oh shit...

Laura ran, turned and ran and cursed herself for ever thinking that she could escape this man after they got out of there. She ran towards the door, the heavy door of the control room, and she saw Samuels face poke out as she neared th-

-----

She fell into his arms. Samuel couldn?t believe it, haha, she actually fell into his arms. He didn?t blame her, she hadn?t exactly been through... through...

He knew it was blood before he looked at his hands, and he knew what had happened before he saw Evil standing behind the gate a dozen meters away, the gore-slicked baton gone from his hands. It lay on the ground, where it had clattered after shattering Laura's skull on impact.

?You heartless son of a *****? Samuel yelled, before a second baton smashed into his throat and he collapsed, Laura rolling off him as he sank beside the doorframe. Wh-what was he doing? Oh no, the gates required two sets of keys to manually unlock, and there were four among the red ruin within his reach.

?Close, Samuel? Said the voice, as the steel bars rolled up into the ceiling and he strode forward ?But for once, you?re going to say my name and mean it...?

?You godless bastard? Samuel spat, a fleck of red appearing on his lips. He had never known a purer hate for an individual like he did now. It shocked him to see the same primal distaste in the eyes of the creature standing over him. Samuel reached for his own pepper spray, but his elbow was kicked backwards for his attempt, the crunching pain of a joint reversed eclipsing the cold agony of his collapsing trachea.

?Oh, Samuel, but I have faith? Said Evil, crouching before him. ?I believe everything has a reason. I just don?t think that reason is good enough.?

-----

When a failed check-in from the local authorities alerted the wider world to what five of the buttons at Samuels fingertips could and should have told them instantaneously, I was already gone. By the time they identified the shitty sedan I was driving, I was past their cordon. By the time they made it to the local Police Depot, the one where they had dragged me that night and tore off my skin, inch by agonizing inch, I was inside.

And there... there it was... a part of me i should never have been denied...

And by the time to first man through the door had got his gun out; he was staring into the face of Vengeance. Now i'm gone, vanished into your urban jungle as the inconvenient truth about all that lets you sleep at night.

I?m the secret you couldn?t kill, the lost child you couldn?t smother. I?m the one you have a name for, the one who knows what you really are. I?m an honest man.

Because while you have so many excuses for all the filth....

...You have no excuse for me


------------------

Qayin said:
Admittedly, my real problem is it makes it hard to find the Evil updates. But that's understandable, it's like the movie version of EvilJoe.
When I tried that, making a single mega-post, the escapist broke. It's 1am here, i'll make some mini-compilations when the final chapter goes up tommoro- later today. *Ultrayawn*
 

Zemalac

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Apr 22, 2008
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Armitage Shanks said:
Zemalac said:
Well, I just got back from my foray into the land without internet, and I have my character here for you. Comments are welcome.
I can't read that and not think of Julio Scoundrél [http://www.giantitp.com/comics/oots0392.html] from Order Of the Stick.
Which is a good thing by the way, I look forward to watching your fights.
A bit like Julio, yes, but without most of the wisdom.

Yous is the student who has sporadic control over entropy and chance, right? I'm not really sure how that works, but it's an interesting idea. The character is cool, even if I don't understand most of his actions (hitting the dartboard, the watch, etc).
 

Brett Alex

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Jul 22, 2008
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Zemalac said:
Armitage Shanks said:
Zemalac said:
Well, I just got back from my foray into the land without internet, and I have my character here for you. Comments are welcome.
I can't read that and not think of Julio Scoundrél [http://www.giantitp.com/comics/oots0392.html] from Order Of the Stick.
Which is a good thing by the way, I look forward to watching your fights.
A bit like Julio, yes, but without most of the wisdom.

Yous is the student who has sporadic control over entropy and chance, right? I'm not really sure how that works, but it's an interesting idea. The character is cool, even if I don't understand most of his actions (hitting the dartboard, the watch, etc).
Control is a bit of an exaggeration. Things (really, really odd 1000:1 things) happen around him, and his main ability is to stay alive and avoid them.

I guess you can say he creates them, unintentionally, but as far as he knows he has no power to influence or manipulate the chances.

In battle this basically means improbable and dangerous events will happen to both competitors, Henry is just more experienced at dodging.

The watch and the dartboard are just ways for him to check background coincidence resonation in the atmosphere. The clock is kinda of a pun from that "Even a broken clock is right twice a day" so when the broken pocketwatch gets closer to the right time, it means coincidence resonation is reaching dangerous levels.

I got the idea from a similar thing in a Jasper Fforde book, but I've added to it and made my own character.
 

SargentToughie

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Jun 14, 2008
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Starting again​

Ivan paused in shock, he was in the home of the Knights. When he was a child, Ivan dreamed of seeing the inside of this place, this fortress of justice and good, he imagined the civil sanctuary to be a lot more dynamic than what he saw before him. But naturally, Ivan held onto a small hope that the infirmary of the fortress was required to be more, simple. Ivan's shock rolled over into depression, as his mind went back to the fact that his home, and everything he had ever held dear, was now destroyed and gone. He looked down into his closed fist, and a pleasant thought couldn't even begin to penetrate the wall of dread and misery that he had thrown up around his mind.

Orin could obviously tell this, Ivan wasn't exactly trying to hide his depression. This became clear when he spoke to Ivan, his voice at comforting as it could become

"You have suffered much, I visited the wreckage of that town personally... I am very sorry"

Orin turned away
"You may stay here, while in this sanctuary, I think that you'll find your depression to not torture you as it has. Just wait, you'll understand"

And with that Orin stepped away from Ivan's bed, leaving him to rest.

.......

By the next day, Ivan was out and about, giving himself a tour of the civil sanctuary. It wasn't any where near as grand as Ivan imagined it as a child. He had imagined it to be a gargantuan fortress, with the halls lined with deep blue crystals, that caused the whole sanctuary to glow in a pale light at all times of the day. What he got was indeed massive, but the walls were all brick, without so much as drywall to mask their existence to the world. He had expected the knights to be carrying on in the halls, laughing and encouraging each other to continue fighting with valor. What he got were a few kids his age scuttling about the halls, moving swiftly to their next destination, as though being seen in the halls shamed him.

He would have been let down beyond words, but the voice of a girl rung out behind him.
"Sort of disappointing? Isn't it?"

Ivan turned, and his mind drew a complete blank as he laid eyes on the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life. She smiled at him with a warmth that put his mind at ease, she was playing with a strand of her light orange hair, which fell to the small of her back. Ivan just stared at her in awe for a moment, his mouth making words with no support from his brain at all.

"er- no- not at all, nope"

She giggled, her laughter was so pure that when she stopped, Ivan's ears craved to hear it again. She began to speak, as she continued to twirl her strand of hair. It took all of Ivan's self restraint to prevent him from melting through the floor on the spot.

"That's a surprise, when I first came here, I thought it would be a little more-"

"Grand?"

"Exactly!"

She smiled warmly at him, causing his heart to rocket up to the point that he thought it would tear out of his chest and smash into the ceiling. She continued to speak, and Ivan was all too ready to hear what he had to say.

"So, what's your name?"

"I-Ivan, and yours?"

Ivan flinched a little could he be any more blunt about it? He was afraid that she would run off, and was relieved as he would ever be when she answered him. Ivan's face was so red now that there was no way the girl didn't notice, Ivan wanted a mask more than any thing else in the world right now.

"Cecilia, I'm a squire here"

"A... squire"

"Yeah, people that are supposed to have the powers of the knights, but haven't had them awaken yet"

Ivan recalled what happened at his hometown, the power he had at his disposal, but for some reason, it didn't hurt him to think about it. He was far from happy, but he wasn't as torn up as he expected. Was it being with Cecilia? Or had Orin done something to his mind?

"Got it..."

Cecilia tilted her head at him, squinting as she finally brought up Ivan's discomfort.

"So, do you always act like this? Or am I special?"

Distress flooded into Ivan's mind, he was horrified that if he answered this question wrongly, that she'd never want to speak with him again. He was so panicked in fact, that he thanked what ever god it was that sent Cecilia's trainer to call for her, it being her class time. Cecilia frowned at this call, however and she turned away to head towards the voice. She looked back, however, in order to finish her conversation.

"Will I see you later on?"

"uh- I- I will be around"

She gave him a soft smile, and turned back around, walking around the corner as she spoke
"Good, we'll finish this later then"

As soon as she was gone, Ivan threw himself against the wall in exhaustion. Talking with that girl had been the most frightening experience of his entire life, there was no question on the matter, Ivan was head over heels in love. His heart was in Cecilia's hands, her soft... pure hands.

He only had a moment in that position before he heard laughter, not the same, pure laughter of Cecilia's blessed throat, but the laughter of an aging man who had just seen the funniest thing in his entire life. Ivan turned himself around, and he saw Orin approaching him.

"Feeling better, kid?"

"A lot, thanks"

"Don't thank me, thank our priests... they're the ones that softened the impact of your memories."

"Alright, whatever"

A few seconds of silence passed, it became clear on Orin's face that he was about to bring up a very serious discussion, Ivan could guess what his question would be, and he already had his answer planned.

"Join the Knights, kid"

"With pleasure"

Orin was taking by surprise by Ivan's swift answer to his straightforward question, he grinned.

"Nice doing business with you, kid"

"call me Ivan, and won't I have to become a squire first"

"Your little girlfriend may have already told you-"
"Ooh, if only..."
"-But squires only remain that way until the powers of the azure star awaken in them. You're passed that phase"

"So that's it? Some badass powers and you're a knight"

"That and you need talent with a blade. But correct me if I'm wrong..."

He reaches into a bag on the side of his armor, and pulls out the silver amulet that master Kami gave to Ivan

"This little trinket says that you've already got plenty of skill there"

Upon laying eyes on the amulet, Ivan became desperate to get it back, that was something from his time at home, a memento of his life before everything got taken away from him. He had to have it back.

"Give that back to me!"

Orin turns around, tossing the necklace over his shoulder towards Ivan

"it means more to you than it does to me, take it"

The small sliver jewelery landed in Ivan's hand in one moment, and was around his neck in the next. He was never going to let go of this amulet, it was one last tiny link to Ivan's life before the walls came down. Orin began to speak, walking away at the same time.

"Come with me, Ivan, we'll have you knighted before the hour, and have a ball tonight to celebrate our newest member"

he grins and looks back

"You're encouraged to bring a date"

Ivan scowled, embarrassed that Orin would even think of bringing that up

"Oh bite me!"

Orin laughed, and the two went on their way, Sir. Ivan of the eversteel order, was soon to be born.

....

The party was a bit of a big deal, it was grand enough to make Ivan believe that new recruits for the knights were extremely few and far in between. Most of the squires looked at him in envy, it was clear that they thought it unfair that he was already a knight, when he was only there for less than a day. This didn't bother Ivan though, because shortly after Orin's blade was lifted from his shoulders, he ran into Cecilia, she was wearing a black dress, which complimented her, causing her to look even more stunning than when they first met.

"Greetings, Sir. Ivan"

she bowed her legs, and pulled at her dress lightly. Ivan couldn't remember the term for it, but it was supposed to be some sort of formal greeting. He smiled at her

"I'm glad to see you again"

"You took the words out of my mouth... Shall we dance, bold Sir. Ivan?"

That word send a slight chill down the spine of the 'bold' Sir. Ivan, and he only had one sentence that made an adequate response.

"I, don't know how to dance"

Ivan's words only caused Cecilia to laugh, she grabbed his hand and dragged him to the center of the ball room.

"Good, neither do I"

.........

"You liar!"

The ball was over, leaving Ivan and Cecilia outside on a balcony, talking about how Cecilia could most certainly dance.

"I was just making things up"

"That was the most elaborate dance I've seen in my entire life, there's no way you made that up on the spot"

"That's my story and I'm sticking to it"

"Ugh, fine"

The two of them laughed, Ivan enjoyed being with Cecilia, and he wanted more than anything to hold her, be close to her. Something that Ivan had never wanted in his entire life, all of the girls that he grew up with were either dear friends, or idiots. But Cecilia, she was different. Ivan could actually see a future with that girl, he could see himself kissing her tonight, asking for her hand in marriage a few years down the line, This girl.

"Ivan?"

The silence had gone on for too long, Ivan was just blankly smiling at her for a moment too many.

"Sorry about that, trapped in my own little world"

"Cute, now how about you answer my question from earlier... Am I special?"

Ivan paused and inhaled, he had become more bold since this morning. It was possible that becoming a Knight awakened a part of Ivan that he never knew he had, he turned to Cecilia, smiling.

"Yeah, I've never met a girl that I care about in the way that I do you"

Cecilia's face started to turn red, Ivan realized that he was making her blush. She took a moment to respond, looking up at him with a smile.

"What a relief"

Ivan grew even more bold, and took an action that he wouldn't have imagined doing this morning, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and drew her in closer. She smiled wider, her cheeks blushing twice as much as before. The two just froze there for a moment, neither of them moving or saying anything. It was Cecilia who broke the silence, speaking quietly.

"Are you going to kiss me... or not?"

Ivan's eyes widened for a moment, surprised by this question, he moved his lips in to meet hers...

and for those few moments, everything was right with the world.

end​

Give me a minute to wash the romance off of me! I do violence, not mushey lovey-dovey scenes!

feedback? I'm clearly trying to branch out my writing styles with this post, as well as continue Ivan's story
 

Lord Krunk

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Well, I've finished reading "The Evil Archives", and I would have to say that I'm impressed. While I don't necessarily understand his motive (apart from the diagnosed 'agent of chaos' thing, it gives me a lot of ideas to run with. I have to say I was a bit scared at the start that I would be put up against you first, but now I'm not. It isn't because I think you're easy pickins' though, quite the contrary, but because I'm going to have quite a bit of fun working with your character.

Two questions though, one directed at you and one directed at everyone:

1) Ultrajoe, I'm a little confused as to what your character's real name is. Is it Joe or Edward? Also, what are Eviljoe's abilities, ignoring his relentless 'act before you think' attitude? If you could clear those things up, that would be great.

2) I don't know if anyone else is having the same issue, but I would love it if a stat sheet was compulsory. It helps to have a story (so I know your play style - what I have to work with/emulate) or ten, but a lot of the characters here still confuse me. It puts a lot of people at a disadvantage, after all, when you have know idea who, what or how your opponent actually is.
 

Higurashi

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Lord Krunk said:
2) I don't know if anyone else is having the same issue, but I would love it if a stat sheet was compulsory. It helps to have a story (so I know your play style - what I have to work with/emulate) or ten, but a lot of the characters here still confuse me. It puts a lot of people at a disadvantage, after all, when you have know idea who, what or how your opponent actually is.
It would make the entire process of facing someone a lot smoother, as one is now forced to PM one's opponent and ask for details. All you have to post is a intro. This is a tournament, and while you are free to dump chapters of a story here, I suggest people simply add this to their first post about the character and keep the info there. Subtlety and artistic license in all their glory, but we need to be somewhat concrete when dealing with a tournament.
 

SargentToughie

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Higurashi said:
Lord Krunk said:
2) I don't know if anyone else is having the same issue, but I would love it if a stat sheet was compulsory. It helps to have a story (so I know your play style - what I have to work with/emulate) or ten, but a lot of the characters here still confuse me. It puts a lot of people at a disadvantage, after all, when you have know idea who, what or how your opponent actually is.
It would make the entire process of facing someone a lot smoother, as one is now forced to PM one's opponent and ask for details. All you have to post is a intro. This is a tournament, and while you are free to dump chapters of a story here, I suggest people simply add this to their first post about the character and keep the info there. Subtlety and artistic license in all their glory, but we need to be somewhat concrete when dealing with a tournament.
I'll just pin them all together in one post along with my closer tomorrow, would that work?