Devon Warner vs. Emanuel Canzito
Location: Heavenly: YGGDRASIL
They call it the World Tree for a reason. It?s impossibly wide, with bark so enormous and pronounced that surmounting it is more akin to scaling a cliff than climbing a tree. The branches are so large and sturdy that they could hold an average-sized palace.
The longer you stay on the tree, the wiser you become. It creeps up at first.
The problem is that the more you know, the less life seems worth living. Everything starts seeming pointless.
Both competitors start on a particularly large branch, one the size of a small city. Your opponent is not your only enemy. The tedium and the despair are also attacking you.
And that?s not even mentioning the Nidhogg.
Lady Athena and Axle vs. Mort and the Fae
Location: Earthly: MCNAMARA?S BONEYARD
Mid-sixties. The jungle. The Cong on one side, America?s good ol? boys on the other.
Hop to it.
I probably won't be active for a while. I've got NaNoWriMo and work eating my time, but I'll be on when I can be.
Lady Athena and Axle vs. Mort and the Fae
Location: Earthly: MCNAMARA?S BONEYARD
Mid-sixties. The jungle. The Cong on one side, America?s good ol? boys on the other.
Hop to it.
Lady Athena and Axle vs. Mort and the Fae
Location: Earthly: MCNAMARA?S BONEYARD
Mid-sixties. The jungle. The Cong on one side, America?s good ol? boys on the other.
Hop to it.
It's another placeholder, this time for the pre-battle banter between Devon and Seppy. Sorry to get your hopes up.
On an unrelated note, can we get our asses in gear here? I just found out about this yesterday and I still plan on having mine done by tomorrow! And it'll be awesome!
I'm sorry, but it's been ten days! Really, what the hell!
i could spin some sob story about having exams on (and some of it would be true - like having exams on, but it's not actually taking up much of my time, what with me being a lazy ass and all.) but the truth is i just can't get inspired. i know thats what this is all about really - writing to a set of rules, restrictions breed creativity and all that, but i've just lost it. i think it might be the length of time its been - i'm not exited about Mort and the Fae (attention span of a cricket? could be...). i could swear that my earlier pieces on Mort and the Fae were better. though that might be due to me always procrastinating and writing the night before the deadline. i have this thing about deadlines, probably comes form school - i'll stay up all night if i have to. no extensions. crazy, hunh? and now i'm rambling...
essentially, it boils down to this: i don't feel i can do this justice.
... well, that and i like Athena and Axle better than my own characters. by a little bit.
I came up with an interesting idea about halfway through, and had to rewrite most of it; plus, the liabrary is closed on Sundays, so I couldn't get online.
Apologies if the premise is too...absurd? I just thought it would be cool as hell.
amounts to three things
1. If Devon wins, it won't be him taking the seat; it'll be the being that called him, Sephiroth. In fact, with very few exceptions (The Lady and The DJ come to mind) none of the people fighting are actually fighting for themselves. Not that they know that.
2. Sephiroth is intent on destroying existence, his excuse being God couldn't possibly exist, and therefore, nothing else should. It (as with everything else) is more complex than that, but the basics are going to have to suffice for now. He intends to do this by killing the Twelve Pillars once he ascends to Godhood.
3. Devon's perception of reality holds reality up; that's what a Pillar does. All of Devon's unique abilites stem from a very different way of seeing the world, a way crucial to the existence of all things. That's how he could hear The Council, that's why The Conduit couldn't kill him, and that's why he has, "Divine Protection." If he dies, a good chunk of reality goes with him, and on every level of reality, not just his.
4. Sephiroth told Devon that he can be replaced. That's a lie, of course, but Devon doesn't know that, and he doesn't want to test it. What? I said only three things? Well I guess I lied, didn't I?
So...yeah. If Devon wins, reality is fucked. If he loses, reality is only a little less fucked. That being said, he's still bound and determined to stop Sephiroth. He just doesn't know how...yet.
This was my plan all along, by the way.
Apologies if you don't understand; I'll be happy to write something else to explain it (I have actually, two things, but I haven't finished either yet.)
Devon opened his eyes; he'd been having such a good nap. He'd been dreaming about not being taken advantage of by a psychopahic angel-being intent on destroying existence. It was a good dream. Lots of ordinary stuff happening, like lunch, Physics class, and looking for a girlfriend. No being tourtured, getting the crap kicked out of you by Batman, illusion casters, fucking rafts, snow worlds, or people who can't tell they aren't machines. Just ordinary stuff that a twenty-two year old can deal with. Yeah, that's the life.
So what was he dealing with now? Devon's eyes told him it was a tree, but Devon's eyes also told him there was no sky, no clouds, just more tree jutting up into the stars. Sitting up, Devon looked around. Nope, just a crapoad of branches. Hell, he was even sitting on a branch, a huge one, so big he could't see the ends of it. .
"Well, at least there's no worry of falling off." Devon said to himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone replied.
"Good, you're up. Shall we get to it, then?"
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"Hold on, hold on...you were fighting a kid?"
Emanuel took a drink. Around him, the circle of perhaps twenty people leaned in closer. "Well, certainly not just a child. He beat me didn't he?"
An elf in the back stood up. "What?"
An orc tapped him on the arm. "You didn't really think a God would spend his spare time explaining his ascention to Godhood, would you?"
The elf clenched his fists. "I-I thought..."
A hooded ranger in the back piped up; "Sit down and shut up or get out. I want to know how this ends."
The enigmatic man raised his glass. "Thank you good sir; you won't be dissapointed."
The elf shook his head and left, and Emanuel continued.
______________________________________________________________________________
Devon stood up, and turned around. Standing behind him, looking cross, was a french-looking swordsman of indeterminate age, complete with an over-the-top feather hat, red cape, goatee, and tunic-y thing. His arms were crossed around his waist; one hand was rested on his sword, a rapier Devon supposed. "Sorry to keep you waiting." Devon said, brushing himself off. "Although, to be fair, you could have killed me at any time."
Frenchie scoffed. "What sort of man would strike another down in his sleep?"
"An smart man. A smart man would also be 'striking me down' right now."
"I'm not going to attack an adolecent, an unarmed one especially."
"I...what? The fuck?"
The Swordsman clicked his tounge and waved his finger. "Such language is ill-befitting of both a child and a child aspiring to be a God."
"I'm twenty-two, I'm not a child."
"Funny, because I happen to be around the same age."
"I...wha...what the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"You brought it up."
"YOU WERE CALLING ME A CHI-" Devon stepped forward, and stopped himself. Frenchie had a grin on his face; he was enjoying this, the banter. He did this for fun. That meant he was going to be harder to reason with, because he wold know what to say in response. Maybe he could use that to his advantage, though...
"Frenchie!" Devon said. "What's your name?"
"Excuse me?"
"Name! I'm Devon Warner, who are you?"
Frenchie laughed. "A name, you say? Well, know that-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, cut the crap, I haven't got all day."
Mr. Frenchie French-French of Frenchington took off his hat, pressed it against his chest, and bowed. "Emanuel Canzito, at your service." He rose. "Devon, you said your name was?"
"A-yup."
"Do you have a weapon on you?"
"I've got my head, don't I?"
"Ah!, so you're a magic user! I've no need-"
"No, no magic, just wits."
That seemed to throw Emanuel off guard. "...wits?"
"Yeah. I've convinced two people not to kill me. One was a zombie, I think."
"You think?"
"Well, he was a rotting corpse that ate brains, but I did manage to convince him not to kill me." A daggar stabbed Devon's heart; he still hated having to do that, having to see a person like that. "He seemed like a decent guy actually. Just didn't know what he was fighting for."
Emanuel stroked his goatee. "So...you battle with words, not blades?"
"If I can help it."
Emanuel clapped. Showy bastard, wasn't he? "So it's a battle of wits you want, not swords!"
"I don't think 'want' is the right word, but sure."
"Very well then!" Emanuel unclasped his sword and threw it before Devon. "Let us have this battle of wits!"
______________________________________________________________________________
"And then he lunged at you?"
Emanuel's glass paused mid-drink. "Excuse me?"
It was a dwarf that had spoken, a smithy by the look of him. "He lunged at you with an axe, threw a knife at you, cast a fireball at you, something!"
"No, actually. He may have had a weapon, but he never used it against me."
"Then how the hell did you get beat?" the dwarf said scratching his head. "I...I don't get it!"
Emanuel stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should have clarified; it was not so much Devon that defeated me as it was the tree."
"The...the tree?" the dwarf smithy replied. "How do you get beaten by a tree?"
"It was the world-tree." a battled Palidin replied. His armor may have been a shining chrome color once, but after years of use, it had been worn to a dull gray. "The dwelling place of the heathen gods of old. They say that it grants wisdom to those that dwell there."
"So it makes you smart? I don't-"
"They also say," The palidin continued. "That only the gods can truly grasp that wisdom, and are the only ones fit to dwell in that place."
The dwarf scratched his head. "What-"
"All in good time friend." Emanuel replied. "Now may I continue?"
______________________________________________________________________________
"...so what do I do now?" Devon asked.
"Convince me to throw the match, I suppose." Emanuel replied. "You said you battled with wits, didn't you?"
"Well, it's not the same thing. That only worked because The Conduit and Malcom didn't know why they were doing what they were doing."
"And I do?"
"Seems like it. If you really thought I could beat you, wouldn't you have killed me by now?"
"I told you I would never-"
"Yeah, and I call bullshit on that. If you really, really thought I stood a chance against you, I'd be dead right now, unarmed adolecent or not, and I dare you to tell me you wouldn't. This is a game to you."
"You're not helping yourself any." Emanuel said. "If I could kill you, what is there stopping me?"
"Hmm...what if I told you were a patsy?"
"Oh? Pray tell, would you?"
Devon cracked his neck, and sat down. Emanuel walked closer, and did the same. "This tournament, the whole thing, top to bottom, is bullshit...sort of. We aren't fighting to see which one of us becomes the next Mr. God, we're fighting to see which divinity gets to be the next Mr. God."
"Divinity?"
"You were summoned here, right?"
"No, as a matter of fact."
"Then you killed someone who was summoned."
"Yes. His name was Chosen."
"What an awful name. His parents must've hated him."
"I thought much the same thing myself."
"Anyway, the person who summoned you here is using you as a representitive. Angels don't fight each other; a house divided, y'know."
"And how would them setting people against each other be any different?"
"...it's not them. Du."
"And that would not explain certain other things I've seen here...demons, faire, and the like."
"Really?" Devon said, surprised. "Mmm...maybe they can argue that they're divinity. Quite a few demons are fallen angels, after all. Right?"
"You're the one doing the talking." Emanuel replied.
Devon shrugged. "It might be that the people you fought are representitves of other divinity; I don't see what's stoping them from doing that. If they can use a guy that has to exist in order for existence to exist, I don't see why they can't use a faire...thingy. Or a demon."
"You fought a Pillar?" Emanuel asked.
"Ok," Devon said, exasparated. "How the hell is it that everybody but me knows about these Pillar things!"
"I've heared of them in my travels." Emanuel replied. "Supposedly they perform some function nessecary to the universe, though I would have no idea what."
"It's complex." Devon replied. "I don't understand it myself."
"And you defeated one of these 'Pillars'?" Emanuel asked.
"...no, I am a pillar." Devon replied. "Behold the Pillar-y goodness."
Emauel laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. "Really, you thought that would get me to forefit?" he said, wiping a tear from his eye. "You? A Pillar? Not only are the odds, what, five-hundred million to one, but you expect me to belive they would risk a pillar dying in the tournamnet?
Emanuel kept laughing, but Devon knew it was a farce. He was scared. He was scared because he was fighting a Pillar, a fucking Pillar, and he didn't want to. He had only joined on a whim, he didn't want to be responsible for the destruction of all things, why the hell was this happening, what had he done-
Devon shook his head. How did he know that? How did he know he knew that, for that matter? He had always been a little empathetic, but not enough to literally read people's minds.
That was a lie, too. He had always been able to read minds, no matter who he was-
Stop it Devon thought. Fucking stop it. You aren't psychic, and you're not special. You're just another-
Devon stopped. He was special. He was a Pillar. He held up everything, or helped, at least. Why had he been lying to himself all these years? To be normal? Fuck normal. He had responsibilities now, he had to help people.
Devon closed his eyes. Something was trying to sneak into his mind. He didn't mind; it was helping. He was just...curious.
...connected to all things...
...Pillar of Sun...
...father of all...
...hearts of children...
...open before...
Emanuel had finished his laughing, and was watching Devon. "Surely you have something to say!" Slowly, the smile drained from his face. "You do, you must. I'll say it for you; I belived you defeated a Pillar, so why would I not belive you were one? We'll continue from there." Emanuel got up, walked over to Devon. "Devon? Devon? Wake up. Please, I need you to wake up." Put his hands on Devon's shoulders and shook him. "Wake up. Wake up!" Emanuel wasn't sure why he was so paniced. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP, YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP! PLEASE! BLINK, YAWN, CALL ME SOME AWFUL NAME, DO SOMETHING!"
Emanuel was shaking. He shouldn't be shaking. This was nothing. Even if Devon was dead, all that meant was he won. He didn't want to win, though, not like this! Devon didn't even know how to fight, he didn't want to win against someone like that, not like this! He'd only joined on a whim, no one told him he'd be fighting children!
Oh god...I've killed children...and I spared the demon...what have I done...what am I?
Emanuel put his hands over his face to hide his tears. He wanted to scream. He wanted to claw his face off. What was he doing? What had he done? His whole life was pointless; all he had done was hurt people, when had he ever helped anyone? When had he done anything worth doing? He hadted his life, he hated it, and he had always hated it, that's why he spent all his time in sleazy taverns or cheap hostels; he was running away from his life, he hated it so much.
He had to kill himself. He had to. That was the only way Devon was going to live; it had to be done. Emanuel picked up his sword, unsheathed it. Even this sword...he had stolen it off a corpse. It was a good sword, but it wasn't his.
Emanuel sniffed, and wiped the tears from his eyes. At least he was doing something worthwhile now. His death meant the life of all things; he should be happy, really.
Some deep part of Emanuel knew that something was very, very wrong. Emanuel would never contemplate suicide, he was too selfish. On some level, he knew it wasn't him thinking these things. On a deep, almost unfathomable level, he didn't want to die. So he hesitated. Shaking, weeping, he hestiated. He called himself a coward, he called himself worthless, he called himself a monster, and he still hesitated. Eventually the sword clattered to the ground as Emanuel screamed curses at himself. He was too cowardace to save everything if it cost his own life. Who was he that he was worth more than existence itself? How dare he?
______________________________________________________________________________
"Wait, wait, that doesn't work. How could the dragon be as big as the planet? How would you know? And what the hell is this tree on?"
It was a halfling who spoke up this time. One of the annoyances that came with any level of noteriety, Emanuel supposed; the more people listened, the more likely they were going to take issue with what you said.
"Well, master hobbit.." Emanuel replied, finger tracing the rim of his glass. "I may embelish a small bit for the sake of the story, I admit. But I assure you; this dragon was the single biggest thing I had ever seen. Well, second biggest; that was an awfully big tree."
"Pah." the hobbit said, waving his hands. "It's all nonesense. I bet you're just making this up as you go along!"
"And if I was?" Emanuel replied. "Would you know the difference?" The hobbit said nothing. "If you think I'm a liar, why don't you leave?"
"You're too goddamn entertaining!" the hobbit replied. "I need to know what happens next, and you know it!"
"Yeah," a gnome growled. "So sit down and shutup so we can hear what happens next!"
The hobbit mumbled something inaudible and did just that.
"Now..." Emanuel said, raising his glass. "If I may continue?"
______________________________________________________________________________
This was amazing. Everything was here, not just people. Trees, birds, grass, fish, insects, moss...Devon could feel all of it. This wasn't just his world, it was all worlds, trillions upon trillions upon trillions of lives all here, like a whirlwind the size of a galaxy. Carefully, devon reached out, touched someone; he was in pain, his car had crashed and he didn't know what to do. Devon felt his pain, and took it in. Devon calmed him, told him to make sure the person he was with was alright, find his phone, and call for help, that he would be just fine.
This...this power... how could he have ignored this? He could do so much good, help so many people! He was afraid people would think he was different? How could he have never grasped this for such a small reason? Such a pitiful reason?
Something reached out to Devon (from within?), gently, but firmly. It was the voice, the whisper. Devon hadn't noticed it because it was part of him. Of course. That's how cancer worked, wasn't it? Not that this was cancer, or anything like it. No, this was good, warm, and friendly. This was everything Devon could be, all the best parts of him.
Someone was screaming. Someone close. Devon reached out, and was nearly overwhelmed.
Stop, clear your head. Devon had been less direct with Jessie, but compared to him this guy was...he was suicidal, he really thought he needed to die, and someone, something was telling him he did...
You're not yourself. You're being influenced by something, someone. Try...try remembering something from your past, something good.
Devon probed a little deeper, looking for something to anchor the man back to reality. There was nothing. No happy memories, nothing worthwhile. He was just drifting along, day to day. He shouldn't even be here, Chosen should be here, Chosen had een summoned, the son of a *****, why did they summon someone who couldn't defend themselves from a traveling bard for-
The word shit passed thorugh Devon's mind before he bolted up. "Emanuel! EMANUEL!"
Emanuel was on his knees, sobbing, thin sword at his feet. Devon picked it up, snapped it in half over his knee, and threw it away. "Emanuel! Emanuel! Stop, listen to me!"
"Can't..." Emanuel was beyond words, beyond help...if Devon was just another guy. "Need to...need to..."
Devon reached into Emanuel's mind, keenly aware of a third presence. Using all the willpower he had, he ripped that presence out, and stepped away.
Talking wouldn't help, not immediately. Emanuel needed to realize that it wasn't him thinking those things, it was the tree. The tree? Did that mean Devon was doing it? No, they were two seperate entities, linked, but not the same, like a wall and a roof, different gears in a clock, different fingers on a hand. Linked, but not the same.
Time passed. Devon took a breather. Emanuel regained his wits. "You have to know..." Devon said. "That wasn't you. It was the tree. The tree was protecting me-"
"Even so," Emanuel replied. Devon could barely hear him. "It doesn't keep every word of it from being true."
"Half."
"No." Emanuel shook his head. "All of it. What the hell am I doing?"
"Drifting. Floating along. You're scared, nothing wrong with that."
Devon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The world-tree creaked and groaned, visibly stretching and twisting. "This tree is a physichal representation of my function. It holds up all worlds; I hold up all worlds, or at least help. That's why the tree had a different effect on me than you; it needed me to fulfil my duty. Thing is, it couldn't tell me anything I didn't already know, and it couldn't tell you anything you couldn't grasp."
"I've killed children." Emanuel said. "I've done nothing with my worthless life but this tournament, which I had no intention of winning. Everything the tree told me is true."
Devon laughed, kneeling. "Right. Listen; here, in this place, I can hear the five-hundred-billion-billion-billion souls that depend on me, including you. Not one of them doesn't matter to me."
Emanuel looked up. "Really? Does it occur to you that you can't care about everything? The gesture become pointless.
Devon shook his head. "No, it doesn't work like that. Every single living, breathing thing on every single earth has worth, especially people. You know about physichs, how every object has potential and kinetic energy at any given moment? That's how people are. Each of you has great potential inside yourselves, it's just...getting it out. Not all of you are going to reach your full potential...in fact, most of you aren't, for various reasons...but that's not the point. If every one has the same worth as the other, how can any of them be worthless?"
"I...I..."
Devon put his hands on Emanuel's shoulders. "Let me tell you a little secret. Your worth? It has nothing to do with what you have or haven't done; it has to do with what you're going to do. People change, inevetably. Who you chose to be, what you chose to do, is up to you. Not your father, not your mother, not your past, not even your God, just you."
Devon smiled. "Do you really still want to do this?"
Emanuel shook his head. "No. I'm done. I surrender."
Devon nodded. "Start over. No more running from the past, no more hiding from the future; face both full on."
Emanuel nodded. "Thank you. I...I didn't..."
"No one knows, not really." Devon replied. "That's kinda the point isn't it?"
______________________________________________________________________________
Silence, for a moment. An orc in ebon armor spoke first. "...so that's it?"
"As it were, yes. Oh, there was a little bit afterwards, my speaking with the angel who summoned Chosen about my loss, my coming back to this world, and my traveling here, but all that is more or less immaterial. What matters is that I lost."
An elf scratched her head. "Kind of a downer..."
Emanuel smiled. "I think not. I learned something in that last match; no ordinary man is fit to be a God. Do you think I would have made a good God? I don't. That boy, though...he may be able to pull it off."
The hooded ranger spoke again. "The man you fought couldn't have won, either, at least not yet. One would hope he doesn't, if what you say is true."
"Ah, but you underestimate him. If anyone could stop a renegade angel, it would be Devon. No, I do hope the young man wins, because he may be the only hope we have."
There were grunts and words of agreement. Emanuel continued for a short time, as he always did, but the story was over. Slowly but surely, the crowd shuffled out, some going home, some going to another town, some simply chosing a direction and moving on. Hours passed. Eventually, The enigmatic man was one of the last few people in the bar. "Ah...one last drink before closing, barkeep? I can pay this time."
"Nah, it's on the house." The Barkeeper said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but everyone here has been paying for your drinks."
"That was the plan."
"They've built up quite a tab." Barkeep continued, pouring out a pint. "One could eat and drink here for...I dunno, years, without needing to pay."
"Is that so?"
"It is, yeah. Say, do you know...any more stories? Like the one you just got done telling?"
"Why of course."
"Well..." The barkeeper took a deep breath and braced himself. "You've brought more business here in the last two weeks than I've had in the last three years, and...and I'd apreciate it if that business continued."
The enigmatic man smiled. "Are you asking me if I would like to continue spinning yarns in this humble establishment?"
"I-you'd never have to pay for food or drink! The people will just pay for you, hell, they'll even pay you. Not only that, but you'd have a pretty steady income. If you don't have a place to stay, I've got a spare room you can stay in..."
Emanuel took a drink, and scratched his chin. "I do think that I'd like that, actually. Thank you for the offer."
"Oh, no problem..." The barkeeper said. "No problem..."
Devon has a new ability; he mentally reach out and communicate with any living thing native to earth, similar to The Quickening/The Prize from Highlander (this was not done intentionally, for the record). He also has a more minor ability, a dominance over some astral beings. Of course, Devon always had these abilities, but it would've taken him about ten years to realize it and hone them to the level they are now; due to being on the All-Tree, he went through this in about ten minutes.
This is also going to mark a major change in his personality; he's going to go from well-meaning smart-ass to a benevolent father-like being.
Why did I give Devon two new powers? Well, for the last battle. I have an idea for what I want to do, and it's going to be epic...if I can pull it off.
Ladies and gentlemen, for your appreciation: Emanuel Cazinto.
"You know, despite all the strange arenas and stranger opponents, there was only one thing that I never really got used to in the tournament. Being badly wounded--thrown about, cut, bruised and broken--and then being completely healed the next day. Never got used to that. I mean, getting your ribs cracked like I did in the Graveyard, that should take, what, a month to heal? At least, right? I'd never actually broken my ribs before then, so I don't really know. Duels tend more towards cuts than breaks.
My point is, I shouldn't have been walking about the very next day, feeling fresh as springtime and twice as bright. My mind knew this, but apparently someone had told my body a different story, because my ribs were as solid as ever and all the bruises had vanished like frost in the sun. It was...odd? Not quite the word I'm looking for. It was like seeing a firework go off and not hearing the boom--it messed up cause and effect.
Never really got used to that. Oh, I pretended I did, acted casual and smiled and made an offhand remark or two over the wine--'Oh yes, yesterday I was thrown fifty feet through the air into a tree. No no, I'm completely fine, thanks for asking. I've had worse, I assure you.' Lines like that apparently don't work too well on angels, though, and my fellow entrants in the tournament...well, there were few people there that I would choose to talk to.
It was lonely in Purgatory, did I mention that? Grey and bright and lonely. Good wine, though.
What?
No, I'm not just putting off talking about the next round. I'll get there.
Hmmm...the next fight...my fourth one in the tournament.
Actually, I think I need a few more drinks before I'll be able to tell this one right. It was that bad. Well, not bad, but strange. Not something to talk about without a few stiff drinks beforehand, if you know what I'm saying.
I am going to ignore that comment. Insulting bastard, you are."
Have a drink yourself, why don't you? The bartender is polishing glasses, listening to the story with half an ear and listening for orders with the other. He'd be happy to pour you a glass of whatever you like, for he is a businessman above all else and will never turn down your money, no matter what else is going on. He'll keep a wary eye on the storyteller while he brings you your drink, though, watching for when he starts talking again. You might want to do the same. The story is moving towards the climax now, just a few more pieces that need to fall into place, and you don't want to miss a thing...
Have a drink, take a seat, and try to schedule your trips to the privy so they don't come right in the middle of a good part. That'll get trickier the more you drink, of course, for more reasons than one.
"Damn, but the wine here is good. I think I'm falling in love with this vintage. This bottle and I, we really understand each other.
Anyway. The next fight. An odd one, and I hesitate to call it a fight--hell, I hesitate to call it a victory. The judges said I won, of course, but what do they know? They weren't actually there, they were just watching. I don't know who should have won, but I did very little to deserve it, let me tell you.
It started much like the others, with Gabriel calling my name and matching my pace as we walked to the portal. I was in a cheerful mood this time, hat cocked at a rakish angle and cape swirling behind me. Gabriel was his usual stone-faced self, giving nothing away, speaking quietly and minimally.
'You will be fighting Devon Warner, among the branches of Yggdrasill,' said Gabriel.
'Helpful as usual,' I said in reply. I'd never heard of Yggdrasill before--I'm probably not pronouncing it right--and knowing my opponent's name helped very little. I knew by now not to try and guess at the nature of either.
Gabriel was silent until just before I stepped through the portal. 'By the way,' he said, surprising me; usually he didn't speak any more than he had to. 'By the way,' he said, 'Devon Warner is the Eighth, the Pillar of Sun. We would appreciate it if you didn't kill him.'
'What?' I began, turning to face him, and he gave me a gentle push. I took a step to catch my balance, and I was through the portal. Bastard angel knew exactly how to stop a conversation before it began. And he needed to, believe you me, because I would not have let a comment like that go without questioning. I mean, what the hell? I'm preparing for a duel, and then the guy running things tells me that he would 'appreciate it' if I didn't kill my opponent, for a reason that sounds suspiciously mystic? The hell with that!
But, well, it's Gabriel. He'd thought it important enough to say, which was a good indication that it actually was important. I'd give it some thought, I supposed, but nothing serious.
Through the portal, it was dark. I could see, there was light coming from somewhere, but it was one of those things where you don't know where the light is, if you know what I mean. Like there were clouds in front of the sun, but there were no clouds--it was dark all around, except for the ground.
I was standing on a rough surface, ragged and dry with cracks running through it, like a dry lakebed or tree bark. The ground stretched out in either direction, but sort of curved in front and behind me, like I was standing on a giant tube or something...aw, the hell with it. I can't describe this without telling you what it was. I was standing on the branch of a giant tree, a branch the size of a city--no, I shit you not. I'm serious. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's what it was: an enormous tree.
...You know, it just struck me how godsdamn weird the tournament was. I mean, I was sent to hang out on a giant tree and duel someone called the Pillar of Sun or whatever. That's not exactly something that happens every day, or at least not to sane people, know what I mean? And the rest of it...weird, like I said. Interesting, though, I'll give it that.
Hang on for a moment, my throat's a bit dry...
That's better.
Anyway, I was standing on the branch of a giant tree, looking around and not understanding what I was seeing. There was no one else in sight, and the environment was rather...confusing, I suppose. In the distance to my right the ground-branch banked upward and shot towards the heavens: to my left it just seemed to go on forever. I drew my dagger and tossed it in the air: it came down with the point to the left. I sheathed the knife, turned left and started walking.
It was an unearthly experience, walking along that branch. There was no one else to be seen, just dark sky in all directions and bark crunching beneath my feet. I had to watch my step to avoid the cracks in the bark, but that wasn't enough to keep my mind occupied, and I soon found that I couldn't keep myself from thinking. As I strolled along I started noticing things, like the big leaf-shapes in the distance and the way each step crackled against the ground. It was while I was walking that I realized I was in a giant tree. I stopped and looked around for a moment, then continued on--for some reason, that realization wasn't as mind-blowing as it should have been. Yes, I'm in a giant tree, I thought, but I have more important things to worry about right now.
Wandering along that branch, I began to think of the past, of Chadrais and the course of my life that had brought me to this point. It seemed strange to me that I had spent so much of my time on duels and matters of honor--the solitude and lonely walk was putting me into a black and melancholy line of thought, you see. I mean, what good was it to kill a man for insulting your honor? Surely the gods will look favorably upon you as a man of honor with principles that you are willing to die for, but what use is the appreciation of gods if they don't do anything with it? No one remembers the reason for a duel even a month after the fact. No one cares, and eventually the whole thing is forgotten. Even ten years after I die, will there be anyone in Chadrais who remembers the name of Emanuel Cazinto? Why even bother?
There was something in the air there, around that tree. Something that inspired deep and disturbing thoughts. It sounds pretentious to say it, but it was so. The lonely walk and the dark sky and the quiet crackle of my footsteps on the bark, it was all too much. I was small, that was it. The tree didn't even register my presence, no more than I would notice an insect. It was a daunting thought.
I had walked for quite a ways now, and the branch was getting narrower--still broad and stable, but narrower. I stopped for a moment and looked over at the dark sky beyond the curve of the branch. If I turned and started walking down the curve, I thought, the ground would slope steeper and steeper until suddenly there would be a point of no return, unnoticed until I had passed it, and all I would be able to do is move faster and faster as the slope increased until I would be running so I wouldn't be falling, and then the angle would go past vertical and there would be nothing but air and darkness beneath my feet, and for a moment it would seem like I could fly...
My continued survival is perhaps thanks to that thought being interrupted before action could be put to it.
'Hello?' someone shouted from behind me, and I turned to look back in the direction I had come from. In the near distance there was a figure, coming towards me at a brisk walk, avoiding the cracks in the bark with an athlete's unconscious grace. It was the first and only person I had seen on Yggdrasill and so, presumably, this was my opponent.
'Hello?' he shouted again, coming closer.
'Good day,' I called. 'Are you...ah...Devon Warner?'
'What?' The distance seemed to drink the sound, and I waited for him to come within reasonable speaking range before replying. He halted a couple hundred feet from me.
'Are you Devon Warner?' I said again.
'What?' he said again, sounding surprised. 'How do you know my name?'
'Gabriel told me, of course,' I said. Now that he was closer I could give him a good examination, and I must say, he was rather unremarkable. Normal looking man, maybe twenty years old with an athlete's build, dressed in shirt and pants and with a knife sheathed at his belt. On first glance he was the most ordinary person I had faced in the tournament.
I gave him a bow anyway, sweeping my hat off my head and carefully keeping my cape from getting tangled with my sword. 'I am here to duel you, good sir.'
Devon just looked at me for a moment. 'Why?' he said.
'What do you mean, why?' I said. 'We're both in this tournament, yes? We both have weapons, yes? Neither of us can leave this place until one of us is defeated, yes? So we must duel.' The reasoning sounded weak to me at that moment, though it makes sense now.
'I knew all that,' he said. 'I've been over it with three different people now in three different arenas. But I'm curious about why they would tell you my name before you met me.'
That surprised me, let me tell you. I mean, it wasn't exactly a breach of routine, was it? Being told his name, that is.
'Gabriel always tells me the name of my opponent,' I said. 'And the name of the arena. Not that it has ever helped much.' I paused for a moment, watching his face. 'I assume from your reaction that you don't get the same information?'
'No,' said Devon, 'they don't tell me anything. They didn't even tell me I'd have to fight people. I thought I was going to be a representative--a diplomat or something.'
My opinion of him dropped a notch. 'Really,' I said, noncommittal. Something as important as this--the seat of a god, no less! --and he'd thought that everything would be sorted out by talking? Either he really did have very little knowledge of what was going on, or he wasn't familiar with politics. Which is a polite way of calling him naive, I suppose.
Devon seemed to catch a bit of what I was thinking. 'They said that I would be their representative,' he said. 'They didn't say for what, or what I would do, or for what reason.'
'Who?' I asked. 'When you say they, who is that?'
'The angels,' said Devon.
In a normal duel, such a claim would be grounds to declare my opponent insane. In this one, it made a whole lot more sense than it usually did.
'Well, I'm afraid I can't help you with that,' I said, and drew my sword. It felt heavier than usual in my hand.
Devon stared at my blade as though it represented something far beyond mere metal. 'They call me the Eighth, the Pillar of Sun,' he said distantly, as though reciting a riddle. 'They tell me I'm important to reality, but they don't know how.' His voice had a tinge of bitterness to it, as though he thought someone in the darkness was yanking him around by a chain.
'Gabriel told me that too,' I said. 'Said he'd like it if I didn't kill you. I didn't think much of it, myself.' If it turned out that the Pillar was important to reality, and that killing him would break the world...well, who would miss it? No one will care in a thousand years, and even if they did the universe itself wouldn't. It's a harsh world, this one that we live in...
Just a moment. I need another quick drink.
Anyway, Devon gave me an odd look as I started walking towards him, sword held loosely at my side. 'I'm important to reality,' he repeated, 'which makes no sense, does it? Everything relying on one person, or even a few people...it doesn't make sense.'
I halted not ten paces from him and raised my sword. 'There's nothing you can do about it now,' I said. 'Talking will get you nowhere except in circles.' I saluted him with my blade. 'En guarde.'
He looked at my sword wide-eyed, like he was trying to stare it down. 'I don't want to fight you,' he said. 'We don't have to. We can figure a way out of this place. We don't have to play by their rules.'
'Yeah, we do,' I said. 'Those like us, we always play by their rules, yes? Play or die, play and die, it's all the same in the end.'
There was a pause, with each of us watching the other. I examined the words I had spoken and noticed with surprise the dark sentiment embedded therein.
'When you say they,' Devon asked, slightly mocking, 'who is that?'
'Everyone, I suppose,' I said, and lunged. My sword came up and flew straight and true, and it turned out that Devon Warner wasn't unwilling to fight after all. His knife came up, black and brittle as iron, and he parried my blade with the flat of his.
And we fought.
Not a proficient knife-fighter, was Devon Warner, but he made up for it with sheer agility. He didn't know how to use the knife, but he knew how to move his body, and he had a very keen interest in not being in the same spot as my sword. He was good at that, I'll grant you, but he didn't manage to deal any blows in return. I got the feeling he wasn't really trying. Like he really didn't want to hit me, but didn't want to get cut himself. He wasn't particularly good at that, though.
I thought I could bring the fight to a clean and neat end by making him yield. I wouldn't even have to kill him, which was good. It felt wrong, to be fighting a man armed only with a knife, and me armed with a sword.
Of course, that was before he chopped my sword in half.
His blade came across on a parry, but this time instead of the flat of the blade he hit mine with the edge. I winced slightly, thinking of the nick that would make in my sword, and was surprised when the black knife passed clean through the good steel of my rapier. It wasn't quite split in half, I suppose, but it took off a good six inches of folded steel in a single blow. The odds had been drastically altered, and if I'd been fighting anyone else my moment of surprise would have gotten me killed.
'Come on,' Devon said as I was staring at my shortened blade. I like to think that it was a grim stare, cold and angry, but I must admit that I was probably looking at it in slack-jawed shock. 'I don't want to kill you,' he said. 'No, forget that--I won't kill you. I've killed one too many people this tournament. And you can't kill me, because I'm a Pillar and your Gabriel would have your head if you did. We don't have to fight.'
I looked up from my sword, eyes narrow. 'Sure we do,' I said wearily. 'You might not want to kill me, but I don't care much if I kill you. I've dueled men who didn't want to fight before, and most of them died honorably. The least you can do is the same.'
'You can't kill me,' said Devon. 'I'm a Pillar, man.' He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of something--no, scratch that. He sounded like he'd had this thing, this idea pounded into his head so much recently that he was starting to believe it himself. Starting to believe he was important to the universe, like everyone was telling him, but also angry that they wouldn't tell him why.
I gave him a pitying look. 'Everyone thinks they're important,' I said, and I recalled my fifteenth birthday--so long ago now, I barely remember the words that were said. The words that were screamed, now, those I remember too well. 'Sometimes people even tell you you are. When it comes down to it, though, they don't mean it.' I recalled my father, the man who had raised me and encouraged me and praised my swordsmanship and grinned at my eagerness. I recalled him standing and wilting beneath the torrent of words, looking at me guiltily from the corner of his eye, and I recalled the quiet talk that had followed. Before the streets. Before I was sent away. 'You might be a Pillar, whatever that is. Then again, you might not be, and maybe someone's playing games with your head.'
Devon shook his head. 'It's gone too far for that,' he said. 'This is real. I'm a Pillar, but I don't know if I'm on the right side, or if there are sides in this tournament.'
'Doesn't matter, does it?' I asked. 'Whoever wins gets the chair and they're in charge, and whatever faction put them there gets whatever the victor wants to give them.' I flicked my sword off to the side, trying to get used to the balance. It was different, now that it was shorter--the balance point was more towards the hilt now, which threw everything off slightly.
It was an effort to keep my thoughts clear and simple, focused on the blade and the target. I think it was Devon's constant desire to talk, and talk about deep things, that was doing it. I couldn't concentrate with his ideas dancing in my head.
'Of course it matters!' Devon said, agitated, a little angry now. 'I--'
I cut him off midsentence with a straight lunge, hoping to catch him while he was distracted. He stumbled backward, and a wild parry with his knife carved a large nick near the end of my sword. I pressed forward anyway, trying to keep him off balance and retreating, which was easy to do, seeing as I was advancing downhill.
He didn't try to cut me with his knife, but he did try to kick my legs out from under me. He was almost successful, too--I stumbled, and accidentally ran into him, sending us both tumbling. He rolled to his feet: I stood more slowly, but quickly enough to face off again.
'I'm not going to kill you!' Devon spat.
I was suddenly angry. I had spent my whole life fighting duels and winning duels, serving the prickly mistress called Honor, and somehow because of that I ended up here? Why was I in this tournament, anyway? Someone else was supposed to be here--the man called Chosen, the holy warrior of some religion that I had never inquired about. He had died in a stupid dispute over honor on a dusty road, and so I was here in his place. It was all so...so stupid, and pathetic and weak. I had done nothing with my life up to this point, and here presented to me by some quirk of luck or fate was the chance to make something of myself--to claim the seat of a god.
And in the face of this, the bastard had the nerve to say he didn't want to kill me? What would it matter if he did, anyway? It's not as if the world would lose out on much if I died.
'You've said that already,' I replied. 'And you know, I don't believe you. If you didn't want to fight, you would have yielded already. You can surrender, you know, and end the fight.'
'But that doesn't do anything except take me out of the tournament,' said Devon, 'and that isn't enough.'
'You hypocritical bastard,' I said conversationally. 'You can no more just step forward and surrender than I could, can you? You're going to die with honor, my friend, but you're still going to die.'
I attacked. He dodged. The dance of steel went on. I had an advantage in that he was retreating down the curve of the branch, and the slope that he had to move backwards down increased gradually with every step.
There was another pause in the combat, but no words this time. He stopped retreating and circled, trying to get on my flank where I couldn't parry his knife, but I wasn't about to let that happen. I reached out and slashed at him: he trimmed another half an inch off the end of my sword. That knife was damnably sharp.
But cutting further at my blade left him open on the right, and I lunged: a perfect, clean lunge, one of those where you know before you move that you'll hit. If my blade had been balanced right, and if the ragged point had been as neat as it usually was, I would have killed him right there. Instead my sword scored a long, deep gash along his side. His hand flew to the wound, and he stared narrow-eyed at his own blood while I came back en guarde.
'You can still yield, you know--' I started to say, and then he tackled me. His knife came up and hacked at my chest, and the poor remnant of my sword barely deflected the blows as I fell backward. Heavier than he looked, was Devon Warner--all muscle, I expect--and he bowled me over quite easily.
We tumbled across the branch, rolling downhill, and I managed to plant my foot and heave, throwing him over my head. He slid across the bark and I rolled after him, both of us scrabbling for a grip, but the slope was too steep now and neither of us could halt our tumble. We had passed the point of no return on the branch's curve, all unknowing, too caught up in our own fight to notice or care.
Devon still had his knife in his hand and he brought it down hard into the bark of the tree, holding onto the hilt with both hands. The blade cut through the wood without visible effort, the unnatural sharpness of the blade working against him now. He was slowing nevertheless, catching crags of bark with his feet and the knife pulling ever so slightly. I don't know if he would have come to a stop or not by the time he reached the point where the curve went vertical and all hope was lost. He never got the chance, for I was falling above him and I had no such way to slow down. I caught a crazed glimpse of Devon looking up, eyes wide as he saw me tumbling at him, and then I crashed bodily into him and we were flung out past the branch and fell into the darkness. His black knife went spinning out into the distance, lost beyond all hope of recovery.
I had lost the remains of my sword somewhere, and my hand was clenched white-knuckled on nothing but a hilt and about an inch of blade. I released my hold and flung it away, turning towards Devon with a glare and a shout.
'Yield!' I screamed, the wind of our fall stealing the words from my mouth and carrying them upward. 'Yield!'
At the same time he was shouting, 'Surrender! We don't have to die! We never had to fight, you idiot! Just surrender!'
'You godsdamned fool!' I screamed at him as soon as I figured out what he was saying over the sound of the wind. 'Yield, you bastard!'
He didn't yield.
Dimly below us I saw another branch approaching, looming slowly closer and closer, filling the horizon below us. I didn't really want to kill Devon Warner, but if it came down to him or me...actually, if it came down to him or me, I no longer knew who I would choose.
So thought my mind, but my body's instinct for survival surpassed even that.
I grabbed Devon's shirt with both hands and spun him bodily around. I held him beneath me, keeping him there even after he realized what I was doing and started beating at my arms and trying to spin us, grimly keeping our fall exact so he would hit the swiftly approaching wood before I did. The branch grew and grew--it had been further away than I had thought, its size fooling my eyes--it grew until it filled my vision, and Devon Warner screamed 'Surrender, you idiot!' and I looked down into his mad eyes and suddenly it no longer mattered. I let him go, smiling at his astonishment, but it was too late for him to do anything but look over his shoulder and see the approaching doom.
I remember distinctly the way his hands clenched into fists and he looked at me through eyes closed into slits against the wind. His mouth was a thin, pressed line: I recall that above all else. His mouth was closed. He never said a word.
He realized then, I think, that if he hit first I would win, and that there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
We fell. Neither of us was screaming, which was odd--normally, I will admit that I would be terrified in this situation. But we fell calmly and neatly, and the branch came up and hit us like the club of the gods.
Instead of wood and bark, we slammed into a wash of pearly light, and I saw Devon spinning away from me through the glow. When I could see clearly again I was in Purgatory, standing by the portal, blinking in the grey-pearl light.
'Congratulations,' said Gabriel. He handed me my sword, whole and complete, looking freshly polished. 'Your opponent yielded. You have won.' He turned and fluttered away, expressionless face giving away nothing more than he wanted it to. I stared after him, absently smoothing my clothes where the wind of the long fall had rippled across the fabric.
Devon Warner hadn't said a word. To the end his mouth had been compressed in that thin, judgmental line, unwilling to or incapable of surrender. He had never yielded.
I thought of his strange words, of the angels who had claimed him as their representative and never told him anything, and I thought of Gabriel who had paced beside me for every fight and calmly told me the name of my enemy and of the arena. And I recalled the one time when he had, all unprompted, said something more.
'Devon Warner is the Eighth, the Pillar of Sun,' he had said. 'We would appreciate it if you didn't kill him.'
When you say we, Gabriel my friend...who is that?"
Just finished this up, and I'm rather happy with it, though I think that some parts could use a little polishing. I'm never certain if I get the emotions right in these things--like with Jayck and Jyill. I don't know if Cazinto's style of narrative conveys everything I want it to, or if the hints as to what's going through everyone's minds are too subtle...
Nothing I can do about that now, though. It's finished, it's due today, and I'm done. Enjoy.
Logician: I will have comments on your piece as soon as I've actually read it. In the meantime, may the best writing win.
Sorry folks, I've had enough. I just can't write this anymore, not only because of my impending HSC, but also because I entered for competition and recieved none in return.
I have made my way to the semis simply by forfeit, and I just can't stand it any more. Makes it feel futile, you know.
So yeah. Sorry guys, but I guess Zemmy and The Logician will have to be the finalists this Ratings War.
... Holy fuck? So uh, this is the final round then...
Wow. Most disorganized RW ever. Actually, I shouldn't say that, didn't this happen in RW 2 as well? In the semi's me and Toughie fought and Crowghast and Sorrow surrendered to each other? So, we have a precident of sorts if we want to pick someone to come back and present a final round for the winner.
Of course, that really begs the question, do we want to do that? Or do we just want to accept that this round of RW was overpopulated with dropouts and fluff and we should just move to the next?
Not being in this one and eagerly awaiting the next, my vote is obvious. Of course, not being in this one, it's entirely possible my vote doesn't count.
Either way, its a pretty good round. I was impressed with both (possibly) finals peices and I wish both of you luck. If you want I can try to get a review out before judging. I'll leave it to both of your decisions.
By way of less in-depth feedback.
Zemalac: You have a real gift for imagery. You have a very subtle hand in this peice but it's almost stronger for it. I think the part I found most notable was the description of the diffuse light. It's accurate from the perspective of being on the branches of a giant tree (the light can't reach you directly behind thousands of leaves the sizes of mountains but it filters through nonetheless) but I would never have considered it; particulalry when there was the option of having the light drift through in beams. I think you picked the stronger option though honestly.
Cazinto's style of narrative is charming as always and smooth to read. The plot was quite interesting but very simple. If it had been me I would have done slightly more with them falling off the tree (unarmed, falling through infinity, a countless measure of time to come to an understanding of each other) but I'm not sure that would have been better. Honestly, as subtle and simple as the plot is, I have trouble thinking of a way to improve it. I'm reminded of that old saying, something like "a machine is truely done not when there is nothing left to add, but nothing left to take away." The stlye is so simple but so satisfying, it really leaves you wanting more. Nicely done.
Logician: This was a fascinating piece but unfortunatley I can tell you only had four days to write it. With a day or two of polishing this really could have been a masterpeice; as it stands the ideas are phenominal but not tied together quite as they should be.
I loved the idea of using Yggdrasil as an interactive arena (arguably a character in and of itself), or that the tree would be too much for mortal men, that it might be dangerous just to be there. It was a fascinating idea and you use it pretty effectively but I can't help but feel that it need a little more polishing and exposition. Similarly, Devon finally realizing the psychic powers that have been hinted at for the whole tournament opens up a new and interesting approach for him to take during his largely diplomatic fights. the fact that we see it in full power here for the first time is... well, cool. But I feel like it could have been ... I almost feel bad saying the word again, polished.
Overall, I really don't have a specific complaint I can lodge at the peice, and I want you to understand I enjoyed it emmensly, but I feel like the quality of the ideas could have allowed for a peice that was much stronger than this one already is. You did an excellent job though.
Sorry folks, I've had enough. I just can't write this anymore, not only because of my impending HSC, but also because I entered for competition and recieved none in return.
I have made my way to the semis simply by forfeit, and I just can't stand it any more. Makes it feel futile, you know.
So yeah. Sorry guys, but I guess Zemmy and The Logician will have to be the finalists this Ratings War.
Arright, I've had time to read through this now and am able to offer comments. Be advised: I'm not exactly the most unbiased person to talk about your piece, so bear in mind that all my advice is questionable due to me being your opponent.
My first, major and really only criticism is that you're trying to do a lot in a small amount of space--you have all the events you want to happen, neat and orderly, but you don't have enough time for them to happen in. Things move too quickly from first meeting to Cazinto sobbing on Devon's shoulder. The effects of the tree are gradual--I would suggest making it subtle at first, not a sudden crushing realization that makes a grown man break down in tears.
Also: "Mr. Frenchie French-French of Frenchington" had me laughing for a good five minutes.
Seriously though, don't worry about it. I can fully understand not wanting to fight in the finals by virtue of every opponent up to that point forfeiting. Better luck next time around.
I would volunteer facing the winner of this round so that we'd have a final round. But A) I lost in the second round and didn't really earn any kind of Final round. B) Seriously, I'd be facing either Logician or Zemalac. I might as well be in a fist fight with Bruce Lee. Besides, Zemalac vs. Logician is a pretty good finale as far as they go...
Yeah, that's all I got. It's just lonely sitting in the line for RW4 in the snow.
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