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Thread: Round Two - [Bard - vs - Gladiator] Judge - Omac

  1. #11
    Give into Decay...
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    The crowd cheered as the curtains fell once more sending the fighters into darkness. Only this time, they were not lost in an abyss. There was no reset. They were simply frozen in time for only a mere second, almost completely unnoticeable. The spotlight broke through as the curtains sparked to life. The fiery tensions between the warriors physically ignited around them. They were still looking at each other, unable to watch the flames surround them. The curtains were no more. It was only the fire. It was a complete wall of flames. The sticky ooze that leaked from the nooses bubbled up, causing holes in the stage. Inside of the holes was more fire and within that fire was the blurry gaze of burning flesh and agonizing screams. The stage itself was starting to die.

    Kozzar appeared to them. His shadow reflecting through the flames so that he appeared much larger than he was. It washed over their faces like a cool wet towel in a steam room. He looked up the ropes and shook his head. “Disappointing. I was going to come out here with a flashy musical number. Throw some whips. Reset the stage. Unleash the fire. Instead, I have disappointment.” He clapped slightly. “It wasn’t that Act 2 was bad, no no. You two are my favorites, yes yes. It’s that Act 1 was fun. Act 2 was also fun, but you can’t have more fun, you need excitement and action." He sighed. “The show is over. I'm bored. If you won’t take this seriously neither will I.”

    He spread out his arms, which the fighters couldn’t see, and the fire left the curtains as it wrapped around his arms. It spread through his fingers first, yet rapidly like a tornado, until it stretched up his arms. While he did this his shadow scattered becoming hundreds and spreading throughout the Marcos and Bri filling them with that cold blanket feeling. It was more than that. It was like death. The absence of anything. The cold hollow feeling. The shadows danced throughout them as Kozzar absorbed the fire. When he was done, it was all gone. There was nothing left.

    There was no sight of the fire, the audience, or the demon. All that was left was the burns and the holes. That smell of Decay in the air. There were no whispers of excitement. It was complete silence. The surrounding Auditorium was now bleak and empty. It looked like it had been for years. Mainly, there was no spotlight. It should have been pitch black. There was no reason for there to still be light throughout the stage. Maybe it was an aftereffect of the flames or a continuation of the dying illusion. The stage they saw was never really there. It was all a ruse, a trick, or a show. They were promised a grand finale. They were denied that. Maybe it would bring them peace to know the fight was now up to them… or maybe they would feel robbed of a true finale. However, they felt, Kozzar left his disappointment still floating on that stage. It was like salt in the air. It was all that was left.

    Just disappointment.


    The seals have been broken...
    The Purgament has begun...
    The Piper's out of the basement...
    The Dead have started to boogie...
    Decay is Coming

    Spoiler: The winner is... 

  2. #12
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    Mystress of Shadows's Avatar
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    Default Death

    Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.
    Through Passion I gain Strength.
    Through Strength I gain Power.
    Through Power I gain Victory.
    Through Victory my chains are Broken.
    [Your death] shall free me.

    - The Sith Code



    Inexperience was rife in this dwarf. Rather than blocking the kick with her leg, a sturdy post that could withstand large impacts, she opted to block with her wrist, a joint prone to injury and fracture. When blocked in such a way, his kick should have bruised her ribs or shattered the wrist at the very least.

    Luck played a part in battle, too, though. Just as Scherazade was lucky enough to redirect his first strike in his first battle, and just as Marcos was lucky enough to avoid the dwarf’s previous attacks unscathed, so too was she lucky enough to not suffer serious damage from his blow.

    However, she also proved she was attempting to think outside the box, searching for the single thread that could grant her the much needed advantage. With a swift sweep of her sword, she slashed towards his feet, evidently seeking to break his stance.

    That single thread she desperately sought was nonexistent-

    Darkness once again overtook the pair of them, snatching Marcos’ focus from his nimble footing. As the spotlight flashed on, igniting the stage, he realized his lack of focus would cost him. His body froze midair, his feet an inch from the ground as he pushed himself back. The dwarf’s rapier was millimeters from contact, and there would be no way for him to withdraw fast enough to completely avoid the strike.

    More pressing, the flames encasing the curtains were overtaking more and more of the stage, replacing the curtains as the nooses’ dripping blazed holes into the floor beneath them. The heat singed his fur as it flickered ravenously, and there were screams - so many screams - as Kozzar presented himself.

    He mocked the pair of them. He mocked them as he locked them in position. Disappointment. Boredom. Believing they did not take this battle seriously. The longer Kozzar spoke, the more Marcos’ demeanor shifted. The cold, calculated fighter of before chipped away with each icy phrase lacing the demon’s tongue. For the first time in this battle, with her eyes locked to his, his opponent would see rage. Rage and fear.

    He misjudged his audience.

    He made a fatal error, and as the frozen chill of death itself clawed across his being, there would be no redemption. Before, he had disregarded the oozing noose with the belief that death always hung around his neck.

    He was wrong.

    The threat of death shadowed him before, not death itself. That grinning reaper presented itself only now, slinking through his skin, stealing his breath, and snatching his vision. It stripped the life from his being inch by gluttonous inch, hollowing him from the inside out.

    He was going to die.







    He didn’t want to die.

    No. He wouldn’t die. He refused to. He did not come this far only to fail now! The one true victory of his was his ability to survive, and he refused to allow anyone to take that away from him.

    The stage revealed its true state, assuming the appearance of abandonment and Decay, as though untouched for years. With the absence voiding the area, Marcos began to believe his audience and judge never existed in the first place.

    However, the remaining chill of death and the holes burned into the silent stage warned him otherwise, and the emptiness only irritated Marcos more. His audience. His judge. They left him to rot and perish, the smoke and peeling heat from the fire a mere murmur on his memory.

    Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.

    Deemed unworthy, this truly was his execution. In this moment, no place remained for respect or showmanship. The rage consumed him, replacing the hollow void of death.

    Through Passion I gain Strength.

    The rage flipped a switch within Marcos, awakening the dangerous beast in his genes as he relinquished the need for careful tactics.

    Through Strength I gain Power.

    Abandoned, attacked, executed, it mattered not. The prosecution fueled him now, allowing him to push through pain and direct his innate agility.

    Through Power I gain Victory.

    If he died today, he would ensure he wouldn’t leave alone. Even if small, the victory would be his when the dwarf lied lifeless before him.

    Through Victory my chains are Broken.

    With the blood of the dwarf on his hands, he would grin at Kozzar, wherever he was. Even that defiled creature could not take this from him, the final thing he could control before his demise.

    “Sua morte me libertará.”

    Marcos landed a short distance away from his opponent, the sting of the rapier’s strike across the front of his shins failing to register. Apathetic to what damage befell him, his only wish was to end the woman in front of him as efficiently and as brutally as possible.

    The moment he landed and he spoke, he leapt forward, sweeping his katars down in a wild, raking slash. He targeted the center of his foe’s mass, uncaring to where he injured her. A finger or an eye might be the first to go, but eventually, it would be her limbs, heart, and head that perish.

    Geared with blind-sighted determination to live, Marcos would continue to push, unleashing a flurry of blows with a disregard to defense altogether, no matter the actions his opponent took against him. The friendly, honorable fight. The showboating. The respectful exchange of names Scherazade received. It all faded beneath Marcos’ desire, and it would take an incredible display of skill or luck to prevent him from destroying her before his death.

    This would be the second time Bri would lose her life at his hands. That, he was certain of.



    *Sua morte me libertará. - Your death shall free me.

  3. #13
    Mystic of the Grimoire
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    She found it, a thread of hope to follow. As she watched her blade dance closer to her opponent, her mind was already planning to move forward, muscles tensing to drive forward. She would press her advantage, to continue to sweep his legs until he was left nowhere else to run! It was that single focus that kept her hoping, planning what moves to make from there, to bring this foe down. Even the cheering of the crowd was lost to her ears, her focus so deep that everything else began to grow dark, tunneling her vision---

    Why am I not moving …. KOZZAR Her mind screamed in anger as the light was blotted out completely, freezing them in his grip and drawing out the spectacle even more. She raged, willing her body to move, eyes locked upon her opponent as heat began to wrap around her. The thick scent of burning flesh choked my senses, the heat lapping at my skin as I could do nothing but stand there. Was this demon so petty that he would burn his own toys just for his amusement.

    As if in answer to her mental question, Kozzar appeared, his engorged shadow draping across her, akin to the cold shadows of a storm. She couldn’t turn her head to look at the demon, but if she could, her eyes would be willing this petulant brat to burst into flames himself. He was no more a child playing with his puppets than a deity that deserved fear. No matter the cost, Bri was going to survive this and find a way to kill this man, fill him more full of holes than swiss cheese!

    “Disappointing. I was going to come out here with a flashy musical number. Throw some whips. Reset the stage. Unleash the fire. Instead, I have disappointment.”

    Well, if you would just leave us the bloody hell alone, we wouldn’t be doing this. God, you’re worse than a pregnant critic with mood swings Bri insulted the demon, listening as he berated them on their lack of excitement and action. Bri hated this kind of critic, one with omnipotent power as he berated them more, before she could feel the flames began to leave the stage, twisting in her vision as Kozzar sucked it up. As the heat of the flames, all that was left was a seeping cold dread.


    It was the touch of death, leaving her soul numb. She could taste the decay across her tongue as the oppressive feeling of disappointment hung like a wet blanket, wanting to drag her down. Only the illusion of light remained as her body was allowed to move again, striking her target. In those moments, she locked eyes with her opponent, seeing the change there. Much like the anger she felt at Kozzar, she could see the rage in his eyes, directed at her. His rage burned deep in his eyes, and only her body was left as a target, his opponent. She hated it.

    She couldn't turn away, but she could see the decayed stage. Holes pocked the floor they stood on, the audience and joy all gone. There was nothing but a husk left, the shell of a dream long dead. The fire, however brief, had taken everything, the smell of decay hanging around them like a cloud, the whispered of the audience having becoming nothing more than a forgotten echo. The only sounds were their very own breaths, as though time had left them, letting everything fade away. Nothing remained of what was once a glorious, if not demented stage, full of an uncaring audience that only sought someones death.

    Even this has been stolen from me! You steal my stage, my light, the hope and light, and now, you steal my opponent. You truly leave disappointment! Bri thought angrily as she finished the sweeping strike, tucking her blade against her side. She could feel the stage rumble as he landed, speaking to her in words she felt in her soul, even if she couldn’t understand them.

    “Sua morte me libertará.”


    No, this I shall not let go. I will not lose to this deranged critic and his plaything Bri thought as the man rushed her. She could see in his eyes that he didn’t care anymore. Nothing but her death mattered. There was no care for tactics or thoughts, strategy and planning. He had fallen to nothing more than a beast, and she would be damned if she would fall to that. Her opponent had given into his demands, letting that feeling drag everything away to leave nothing but beastial rage.

    Bri moved then to answer him, bowing down as she saw the first blow come for her. She was bowing to the loss of a great adversary, leaving naught but a beast to be slain. She dropped to her left knee as she braced against the ground with her left hand, allowing his blow to land upon the violin case that had rested upon her back. Bri braced herself as the blow landed, feeling the strength of his blows land. The strength was there, unguided as they landed upon the case and her back, hammering each blow into her bones.

    Is this what you want, you damn demon?! For us to be nothing more than your play things? He may have given up, but I never will. You will not break me! Bri called out mentally to Kozzar, feeling the rhythm of his blows upon her back, his blows having broken the case and now scratched across her violin. She counted, keeping track of his blows as she grit her teeth against the pain. She would never give up her ideals, never let another dictate her will and desires.

    “I honor you, but no mere beast shall ever best me!” Bri shouted when she had gotten his timing. As fluid as she could, she pushed up between his blows and slid her left side forward, raising her left arm as a guard to catch his strike. As she moved, she howled out, her body screaming in protest as the pain of his blows lanced through her, but she would not stop. She would break through his strikes, sink inside his blows as she tightened the grip on her hilt.

    Like the crack of a whip, her blade sung through the air, whistling as she swept in a single blow, aiming for his body, a single line connecting from his right hip to left shoulder. If she had been facing the gladiator head on, this would never have worked, and would have cost her deeply.

    But against a beast? One who abandoned all reason and logic to destroy what was in front of him?

    There was no question remaining, nothing left but to slay the beast, and allow this fallen warrior his rest.



    "Even Dreams, can be a nightmare"
    Spoiler: Click it, I dare ya! 




  4. #14
    Give into Decay...
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    Default And the winner is...

    Koti
    Writing Style: 5
    -Ideas: 2
    -Flow: 1
    -Conventions: 2

    Effectiveness of Combat: 6
    -Character Consistency: 3
    -Ingenuity: 1
    -Interaction: 2

    Control of the Field: 6
    -Environmental Awareness: 2
    -Strategic Awareness: 2
    -Control of the Fight: 2

    Total: 17

    Important notes:

    First off, I love the Kozzar rants that the Bard has. You know I love it. That’s why you do it. Flattery will get you nowhere! It did make for an enjoyable fight though. Koti I just adore your writing style. I know that you looked at the scores before you started reading my assessment. It’s okay, I would have too. So know that I recognize the limited ability of the Bard and I still fall in favor of my decision.

    Your writing is never not interesting, often it’s even entrancing. The problem I had with this fight was the exessive references to music. The stage. It was an enjoyable fight. I was enjoying the references. It was also, a bit much. It’s a weird mix. I felt you matched the character as perfect as possible, including the character development with how the death of the Bard impacted her. I do enjoy seeing into her head. I do. I enjoyed reading it, but I also felt it slowed down the fight and a lot of it, while being buildup, was unnecessary.

    Also, did it say anywhere that you needed to roll to prevent the Bard’s hand from breaking? It wouldn’t change my assessment either way but I’m not sure where you got that from. I do understand how it added a level of “fair” to the fight though.

    As for actual fighting? You did think in new and interesting ways, like with the blinding technique, but you also fell into a pattern. Distract. Rush. Corner. You asked me about potentially setting the ooze on fire or using the nooses and then did nothing with it. You also did interact with you enemy quite a bit, but like I said, it involved pushing the same moves in different ways. I had to intervene, altering my plans for how my judge posts would go, to reset the stage so you two weren’t locked into that corner. Which lasted about three seconds before you both fell into that same pattern. I would think the Bard would use the stage to their advantage, not rushing against the enemy. I enjoyed the stubborn nature, but it isn’t exactly the most fitting, and ultimately that’s why I went with Mystress over you.


    Mystress
    Writing Style: 7
    -Ideas: 3
    -Flow: 3
    -Conventions: 1

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

    Control of the Field: 5
    -Environmental Awareness: 1
    -Strategic Awareness: 2
    -Control of the Fight: 2

    Total: 19

    Important notes:

    First off, Mystress, for any and all future reference please refrain from editing. Sometimes things like an unnecessary space (akin to one of Koti’s post) is an error and those mistakes happen. I don’t consider that a massive error. I do though, have to score off for editing, as it’s against the rules, and I have to assume it was because there was an error in place. Even if it was simply an added space that shouldn’t have been there. I have no way of knowing if it was more. You should always message your judge before making any type of edit. Convictions should be a 2, but I want to be as fair as possible.

    I want to say that I really enjoyed the slow increase in the Gladiator giving in to the fight and the realization of what was happening. You can already see my scoring by this point, so you know who won, and I hope to see this character development evolve further in round three. It felt very true to the character and I want to see that increase. I also felt your pacing was intense and exciting. Especially that last post. That was a good post. You gave in. The reflection of the Bard refusing to give in, even though her very essence should push her too, and the trained warrier choosing to give into it was very interesting. That’s not a criticism. I thought that you two worked well together, on an emotional level anyway.

    You weren’t at the mercy of the Bard, no, but you were backed into a corner for much of the fight. I understand if you felt restricted or limited and didn’t have much more options. You were, quite literally, backed into a corner. There were options though. Ways you could have prepared or used the arena to your advantage. Neither of you really utilized the arena much at all. You were observant of it and that was enjoyable, but you didn’t use any of it to your advantage. Koti used it reflect light and that was about it. That’s why he scored slightly higher on environmental awareness.


    The seals have been broken...
    The Purgament has begun...
    The Piper's out of the basement...
    The Dead have started to boogie...
    Decay is Coming

    Spoiler: The winner is... 

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