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Thread: Round 3: Archer (Gel'talot) VS. Necromancer (Sabriel) - Judge x Kiki x

  1. #11
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    And it spins around...
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    The endless sonorous lullaby tolling from the bell sent Gel'talot's vision sliding ever so slowly sideways, slipping subtly free from the clasps of cruel reality into a swaying serenade of slippery flames, hypnotically dancing around swirls of suffocating fumes. His equilibrium started to drift, disconnecting from the ground that seemed now... so. far. away. The bell was still ringing, but how? mused the whispers in his feverish little mind, floating languidly amidst the burning blaze and bobbing this way and that in a drunken haze.

    Whirling around, was he whirling around? The whole world spilled over on a tilt and spun (round and round!) like a languid merry-go-round. Flames and fire, twister and shadows, a somnolent savage choir--squeezing his queasy stomach into sickening knots. Slurring his speech, he thought half-words, slumped into sizzling incoherence...

    ...hissing upon the ground. Something... something... little claws, trembling, reaching for a thought...

    Reaching for something... sharp, cutting...

    She's got her eyes open wide

    Painfully impossible swallows accompanied the jagged razor feeling of an arrow's sweet edge cutting much too deep, dizzy feverish blood drops slowly slipping free, leaking out in swirling, rushing rivulets of boiling memories. Pitch black faded imaginary phantoms oozed up from these searing cuts too close to hear, lancing his mind with a serene melody, shivering into (de)composition this agony, anguish and heat...

    ...too close to breathe.

    I've got an angel in the lobby...

    The slow turning metal scraping over blackened flesh and bone so very, very close to the fire. Breathing flames. Singing and tolling and ringing the same. Cover your ears! it whispers. Cover... the same... cover... the pain... Whispers cutting, biting into the flesh, bleeding into shapes, intentions slipping off into some sawing razor's edge... to cut it open and end this game.

    Slice, slice, jab, scratch, slice. Shrieks of pain shattering his sides, sizzling drops feeding the fight...

    She's got her Christian prescriptures

    ... to keep going. Slicing and sawing...

    ...and death has crawled in her ear

    Screams echoing so. far. away. they seem! Drops of blood and flesh chunks to feed the hungry ground.

    Freed. Slipping down over his face, soaking his makeshift mask, dripping to his lips...

    ...while bloody chunks fell, littering the soil at his knees. Sawing, cutting, to make the singing stop.

    ...and it spins around...

    Bloody tears soaked the ears in his claws, swaying with a rhythm he couldn't unhear.

    ...and we all lay down...

    Swaying, swinging, sliding so much further now...

    ... so much further away from his ear in his claws, the taste of blood saturating his mouth with stickiness. Swallowing, so much... harder... now.

    The world slipped by again, the tornado raging and rending everything in its way, winds taking every breath he had, laboring under the weight of a wheezing sleep.

    ...and it spins around...

    Tumbling to the side, spilling like so much blood down his face upon the field that blazed before him...

    ...and we all lay down...

    Eyes burning red, sizzling blackened tears streaking his miserable little features while weak lungs wheezed for ragged breath.

    Keep spinning, it whispered. His little claws, trembling, clutching, pulling...

    ... so much effort to the distant sound of tearing, the twister ripping up the grains against his consciousness. Tearing, tearing, further away from the fields of this dream...

    And wrapping him up in the coma of death, to slip back into the undiscovered blackness of memories and dreams, slip from the shell of a mortal coiling...

    Wrapping it round and round... Fates' string so close to the arrow's sting...

    To lie beside him now... in the sleep of death.

    A dreadful light, dancing in the distance, reach for it.

    Stretch into the fire. Catches, burns, higher, and... rise.

    Struggling wretched little form, to his knees, reeling back...

    ... whirling, slowly...

    ... wheezing, breathe...

    ... dragging, dizzy, back around...
    ... into dry grasses whispering...
    ... shadowy stars spinning 'round...

    ... so high above, long arcing streaks...

    ... drifting sparks falling, igniting...

    ... whirling and lighting, slowly...

    ... changing winds into fire....

    ... pitching forward amidst a circling pyre...

    ... surrounding a sleeping little archer...




    ... in the field.

    Praise and credit goes to the lovely and talented Karma
    Spoiler: Commentary 

  2. #12
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    It was a moment, long and full, before she heard the pattering sound that signaled the Archer's quiescence. Screaming and shrieking, he had not gone quietly to slumber. Madness and pain had gripped his final consciousness, and Sabriel brought Ranna to rest once she had heard his own peacefulness settle.

    Sight blurrily stretched outward once more into her eyes like petals greeting the dawn, and at the same time Sabriel became suddenly aware of the full toll of the fight. Serenity cracked like a mirror against the ground, the fatigued fragments tearing itself away in a hurry. That great joy of her father was fled, and Sabriel was now made cognizant of just how few years she had spent upon the earth.

    Looking down, four wooden shafts stood as stalks protruding from her. Their wood was almost gray, but light stretches of a former yellow lay under their sheen. Bits of ember and ash clung to the cloth on their tips; it seemed that the wrapping along with her robes and leathers had prevented them from piercing her too mortally. No fire had taken hold either, for the arrows had not been dipped in any pitch it seemed.

    Her leg, however, was a different matter.

    Smoldering and with a hole surrounding its lodging, it cut deeply into her upper left thigh. Bright brooks of blood ran rivulets down her leg, the black cloth of her robes and pants soaking it up as a shore. Even standing still it sang a song of aching, but she decided to test it all the same.

    As she placed the foot tentatively forward and returned Ranna to her belt, the whole of her mental fortitude collapsed fully along with the leg. Catching herself by her hands, new scuffs clawed at her while exhaustion dragged a bleary daze across her thoughts. She let out a shivering sigh, in spite of all the warmth, and got wearily again to her feet.

    Limping heavily forward and with occasional stumbles, she distracted herself by surveying the damage on the field. At the beginning of the fight, the grass and ground had still only been partly consumed - a half eaten meal - but the darkness of death had torn off the edges of the clearing. The tree she had been leaning against was now even further engulfed, and the ground looked perturbed not only where she had drawn the small corpse up but also where steps had been placed. She could even see the trail of her sprint from one end of the clearing to the other, the grass rustled where her feet had kissed it. The whole of the area was tightened to the fire's grip, and she gazed upwards in stupefied awe of the twister now pressing against the threshold of the battlefield.

    Her gaze passed over the scene with all the uncomprehending wonder of a child. Her unsteady gait was reminiscent of someone who desperately needed a bed or to have perhaps imbibed less drink. Her progress was like a torn flag in a windstorm, and each step she laid carefully was a price taken on her constitution.

    Ever the twister grew closer. Ever did she stumble. Mind reeling and running in forty two different directions, Sabriel ignored the buzz of it as well as the shooting pain in her thigh, and kept moving in the direction of where the little green body lay.

    It was uglier up close. The eyes underneath the curtains of its lids bulged in alien fashion, its skin and claws nothing like she had ever seen. Crimson was its crown, the stumps of its ears pouring red onto its putrid skin and well-worn clothing.

    A torrent of hatred overcame her, an emotion unconnected with the goblin or her own plight. Drawn again to thinking of the unseeing powers which had placed them both here, she felt nothing but the deepest and truest contempt for them. What had they to gain from pitting such creatures here against one another? Surely there must be others, struggling along as she had. Surely the scavenger and old man had proven that much. This couldn't be her own hell, not as the archer had claimed. It was his as well.

    The passage of time from her first fight in the sandy catacombs, to that in the enlarged hourglass with the frog beast, to here in the flaming field felt a great deal longer than it should have been. This wasn't how time was supposed to be. This wasn't the toll it was supposed to take. How long had she been at this, had the others? How long would she be set to it still? She shook her head.

    "Time to rest," she spoke to the little green sleeper.

    The draw of the blade was instinctual, second nature. Dark eyes focused on the sleeping and broken form of her foe while the maw of gluttonous fire roaring behind. She held the sword with both hands, high above her head. Orange gleamed off the runes etched along its fuller, running from the tip to the cross-guard. They watched like eyes.

    Strength fleeting from her and balance uneven, her sword wobbled with the effort of holding it above. The goblin's neck laid bare before her, it's body fetal and its chest rising and falling. As waves of exhaustion threatened to overcome, she focused - perhaps for her last time - and carefully honed in on the archer's neck.

    She did not know whether her blade would strike true. She did not know whether her grip would slip in the downward arch and she herself would collapse. There were a great many things which, in that final moment, she could not guess at: the goblin's name, her full past, how she would escape from this place. Yet she carried on all the same, just as she had been.

    And the blade descended.

  3. #13
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    ** GM POST **

    Each opponent has reached their five-post limit. The battle is over and the scores will be tallied up soon. Please check back for an update.


  4. #14
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    ** GM POST **


    Marking - ~ N~

    Writing Style: 8
    -Ideas 3
    -Flow 2
    -Conventions 3

    Effectiveness of Combat: 8
    -Character Consistency 4
    -Ingenuity 2
    -Interaction 2

    Control of the Field: 7
    -Environmental Awareness 3
    -Strategic Awareness 2
    -Control of the Fight 2

    Total: 23

    Marking - Juicesir

    Writing Style: 9
    -Ideas 4
    -Flow 3
    -Conventions 2

    Effectiveness of Combat: 8
    -Character Consistency 3
    -Ingenuity 3
    -Interaction 2

    Control of the Field: 8
    -Environmental Awareness 3
    -Strategic Awareness 2
    -Control of the Fight 3

    Total: 25

    Beginning note: From what I had read and derived, both combatants had solid character development and understanding of abilities, flow of the story with GM guidance, and conventions with battle interactions.

    However, I will not lie. This battle? Confusing as hell.

    While I encourage players to get through their battles with clear detailing, I felt myself getting caught up in all the small minute details that you both were attempting to convey. Posts felt long and drawn out and distracted at times. I know it is round three, and by this point as much as your characters are tired, you are too. Taking that into account, I will not be lenient about battle choices, tactics and efforts.

    Please, understand that my critique of this is, in fact, harsh – I recognize that – but as you are two very strong writers and it being the third round, I must nit-pick and rip apart the battle I witnessed and read, or I’ll never be able to pick a winner.

    Before I continue, I still want to ensure that I am impressed with the ingenuity and beautiful writing of both of you. Do not mistake my criticisms as personal.

    The determining factors in my scoring, because you both did so well on the above listed, relied on the control of the fight that you engaged in, and length of post and detailing.

    Juicesir's Total Score: 25
    Note: I was very happy to see the integration of both current battle arena composed with past given biological information about Sabriel. In her way, Sabriel has been appropriately developed with her character through your efforts. The characters (the players) were worked on by the judges before the Rumble was even to begin, and to see that, their pasts and histories honored, is pleasing.

    I was able to clearly understand what was happening inwardly for your character, with the thinking process and battle rationale. I very much appreciated the attention paid to the surrounding and changing environment; it helped to display your ability to change and adapt your character and its already existing abilities to the arena.

    The unsavory parts: At times it seemed as though the confines of the arena were pushed against. I like my arenas to be vague on purpose so that my players can be expansive in their creation of how to interact. However, for things like – the cat skeleton under the tree. While inventive and still within the confines of the arena itself, it still feels like it was bordering on being too convenient – too easy. Now, I realize that you did take advantage of your own set of skills, and used the arena effectively in this way, but my critique here is (I guess) that it should have been a bit more imaginative. It just felt like even for a vague arena, this was being taken advantage of.

    However, overall, I felt you had the upper hand in the direction of the battle. Wounded, and blinded, Sabriel felt to me to be leading the dance.

    ~N~'s Total Score: 23
    Note: I was happy to see how much you, and your character, wanted to win, to be focused, and determined. I could feel that determination within the writing. It felt invigorating to read it. I thought you were very good at adapting quickly to both the arena with effortless abandon and with the unpredictable moves of your opponent. All of the attacks used were calculated and well-played in response to your opponent.

    The unsavory parts: While the integration of music was clever, it felt really distracting at times. Doing it perhaps once or twice might have worked, but it carried on longer and felt that gaps in story and battle were just being filtered with some imaginary soundtrack. I tried to follow the thinking and the music, but it detracted from skill within the arena – it didn’t describe what the player was thinking, or even feeling at times. That inner-work is so important – for a character to have motivations. That felt lost amongst all of the song lyrics and interludes. It was not necessary – too much fluff. It detracted from everything else, as eloquent and lovely as all the references were. I was disappointed at how much of the space could have been used for battle instead.

    However, I appreciated all of the efforts taken to keep close to representing Gel’talot as close as the biography, skills and abilities were given to you. I never felt as though you strayed from representing him well, and in character while taken full advantage of all of the attacks/skills available. I though the use of the orb power to blind Sabriel was genius and well-used.

    The winner is ~Juicesir~.

    This is the longest critique I've written in a while, gents. Know that none of this was easy for me to write or to decide. You tested me as a judge, and I am humbled to have been able to serve as such.

    I congratulate both you for your efforts and ability to write within the context of a changing environment and strong abilities of both in the art of Battle RPing!
    Last edited by Kiki; 07-30-2015 at 05:23 AM.


  5. #15
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    Appeal stage 1:


    The battle is now on the appeal process which means two judges will post their input on the battle.

    The winner will be decided according to the scoring of all 3 judges (the new 2 judging and the original first judging )


    I will be the first judge and my scores are as followed:


    (The socres are 1= Bad ; 2= Average ; 3= Good).

    N:

    Writing Style: 9/9
    -Ideas 3
    -Flow 3
    -Conventions 3

    Effectiveness of Combat: 8/9
    -Character Consistency 3
    -Ingenuity 2
    -Interaction 3

    Control of the Field: 8/9
    -Environmental Awareness 3
    -Strategic Awareness 3
    -Control of the Fight 2

    Total: 25

    N, You brought out the goblin in a very amusing way. I think the ideas and thinking brought into this were very detailed and well thought. The posts were rich but Some actions were repetitive and the total draw of the battle was against you at the end. I do think it lies on the interaction given from both sides and you followed it in a very honest way.

    Juice:

    Writing Style: 8/9
    -Ideas 3
    -Flow 2
    -Conventions 3

    Effectiveness of Combat: 7/9
    -Character Consistency 3
    -Ingenuity 2
    -Interaction 2

    Control of the Field: 8/9
    -Environmental Awareness 2
    -Strategic Awareness 3
    -Control of the Fight 3

    Total: 23

    Juice. I love your writing, but in few posts you were a bit vague which made me give you a lower socre on the "flow". I love the way you plan, I love the way you see the field, I love the way you set your moves and I think you were very honest to the role of Sabriel but I also feel that you ignored the surroundings a bit in some places and that few attacks which were landed at you, should have been mentioned, or at least affecting the way she moved.


    Winner: N


    *The first stage of the appeal process ends. An additional judge will come forth and add his/her input*

  6. #16
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    Appeal Stage 2


    Quite honestly, I judged this battle very harshly. As it is round three I expected a lot to be given by both contestants. That being said, I judged it by the following criteria in the most strictest of measures. I would like to applaud both contestants for their efforts.


    N:

    Writing Style: 7/9
    -Ideas 3
    -Flow 1
    -Conventions 2

    Effectiveness of Combat: 5/9
    -Character Consistency 2
    -Ingenuity 2
    -Interaction 1

    Control of the Field: 7/9
    -Environmental Awareness 3
    -Strategic Awareness 2
    -Control of the Fight 2

    Total: 19

    While you were very aware of your environment and described it in detail, I was put off by how hard it was to understand your posts. The unneeded breaks, the repetitive displays, and unnecessary attention to certain details really made it difficult for me to understand what was happening in your posts.

    From the very beginning the control of the fight belonged to Juice. You gave some incredible rebuttals to the fight itself, but you lacked in ability to "dance" with the opposing character in a battle that could have been glorious.

    Along with that, I felt your character lacked certain elements that could have been brought out better like personality. You made your character think, but what was great in thinking was what was lacking in feeling. For this battle I wanted to feel exactly what was happening inside your character's head.


    Juice:

    Writing Style: 9/9
    -Ideas 3
    -Flow 3
    -Conventions 3

    Effectiveness of Combat: 8/9
    -Character Consistency 3
    -Ingenuity 3
    -Interaction 2

    Control of the Field: 8/9
    -Environmental Awareness 2
    -Strategic Awareness 3
    -Control of the Fight 3

    Total: 25

    To start with, the flow of your writing was what impressed me most. I was able to completely understand what was happening. What you brought forth in the battle was amazing, regarding your ideas. I could see clearly what was happening and what your character planned next. Your writing all together was spectacular. For that, I gave you a perfect score in those areas.

    However, the interaction between your character and the opposing character was lacking in certain elements. Sometimes, the interaction was brushed aside and replaced with your strategic awareness.

    While you displayed Sabriel well, your attention to the environment wasn't promoted. What you lacked in the environmental awareness, you made up for with your character and the control of the fight.

    All in all, your writing was very easy for me to understand. And while you were weak in some areas, you made up for it with character and your awareness to strategy and the control of the fight.

    Winner: Juice

    ​Beautiful Nightmare

  7. #17
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    Sabriel, Round II Epilogue - "What do you come for? What did you expect to find? What do you live for? What did you expect to find?"

    Through the air the sword slowly fell, a long crash waiting to meet with a distant shore. Ever descending, ever rending the air around it. Heat glistened along the mirror of its metal, shimmering like a question.

    Should I?

    Mercy mewled at her heart, pulling the strings of it in pleading. While her title was necromancer, her charge was not to create new dead but to care for those already passed. She was caretaker of the damned, not one to condemn.

    Hesitation and exhaustion nearly overcame her. Pity fueled her expression, and for a moment she thought it would win out. Her eyes almost brimming with tears, she saw where the little creature lay in the path of her weapon's thirst.

    Was it her place to send it from this world? Could she not just pass it by? The blade almost strayed...














    ...but no mercy would be had.

    It fell.

    It broke.

    It burst.

    Sabriel brought it down again, and again, and again. Iron gnashing against the archer's sleeping flesh, she tore the goblin from its mortal vestiges. Her anger was only matched by the brilliance of the twister, by the deadening catalyst of the hungry firestorm surrounding.

    She broke the wretch into pieces, slamming her sword through bone and blood over and over. It didn't deserve life. If she was to be in this purgament, this terrible show of battle, she would ascend past what hold her captors had given her to become their equals. And there, in the path of all her devastation, she would smite them in a felling song.

    It did not matter who stood in her path. It did not matter how many twists of time and arrow she must undergo: she would reign supreme. She would become torment, and make of herself as fire.

    Gradually, her arms tired, and her breathing labored. She used the blade to sheer off the arrow shafts sticking out of her before cleaning and sheathing it again. Tossing the pieces of her former foe to the hungry fire gave her a melancholy satisfaction. The blaze had been so patient; it deserved a treat for its time. It licked up the remains of the green thing with glee.

    Again she stumbled to the tree, but this time with Kibeth in her hands. The Walker's march was bright and cheery against the howl of the murderous maelstrom. The bones of the cat shuffled together at the feet of the tree, the tree itself now somewhat skeletal at the fire's touch. The bony feline shivered, and then lithely jumped to Sabriel's shoulders to where it nuzzled against Sabriel's cheek. What a strange comfort they had found in this place.

    It did not matter that she and the archer had both been placed here, that they both were victim to the same cruel game. The archer deserved death. She had been too cautious for too long, allowing her hand to stay when it should have struck. No more.

    "C'mon, little one," she said, petting the spine of the undead kitten, "let's get out of here."

    The smell of flesh pervaded the clearing fully now, piles of bright ash the only testament to where she had flung the corpse of her foe. And as Sabriel walked down the narrow path with her friend on her shoulder, the hesitation hit upon her again. It was that supreme sense of unknowing she had had when she brought the blade above her head.

    She did not know where this path lead. She did not know for how long her risen companion would stay with her. But she knew she was alive.

    And that was all that mattered.

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