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Tournament Round 2 - Tatlin and Gord
Topic Started: Jun 22 2009, 11:49 PM (559 Views)
Ranger
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Previously Nex Terren
Water.

This is focus of your thoughts as you both watch the sun begin its dawn rise into the sky. You are the only two survivors of the crash of the "Lady of the Moons," a small, wooden passenger ship that had as recently as yesterday been making trips to and from Eastern Valua and Norther Nasr. After the black pirate attack had sent the craft crashing into the endless expanse of dunes that now surround you. As you had no time to get to a lifeboat, luck saw you in just the right part of the craft; most of the ship was obliterated on impact. You spent yesterday searching the craft for survivors, a reason for the crash, and supplies.

To the first, it seems to only be the two of you. To the second, the melted remains of the engine give only a vague clue of overheating--unless that was the damage from the impact. For the last, you have plenty of dry food rations, but as to water you can only the bottom of a cracked barrel...

Enough for the two of you for a four--maybe five day journey across the sands, and by the last markings on the captain's map, its at least a week's journey to the nearest town.

Although the sun is just starting to peak its head over the horizon, you already feel the heat of the day. If either of you hope to make it to civilization, there isn't water enough to split between the two of you...




Feel free to expand upon the setting as much as you like, including the physical description of the crash site, the history of and since the crash, and motivation of the characters. Any expansion is allowed following standard rules of RP conduct; there's no need to okay it with me. The setting has been given to you, do with it whatever you want.

Tatlin is to post first. He has a week from me posting this to make his intro post.
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Tatlin
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I Have the power and the Speed!
The sun hung low in the sky, now just peaking over the distant tall dunes. Vadik lay huddled in a ball, his cloak slung over his head. It kept him slightly cooler. He cleared his throat, a dry burning sensation pulsating through it. He swished his mouth in an attempt to create some saliva, and swallowed, easing the pain only for a second. He groaned and looked over his arms, the sleeves of his shirt ripped off for some cloth in an attempt to create a water generating contraption. They were brownish, yet still had the red hue of sunburn. He felt his face, which was already warm with heat. Sweat started to form in little beads. He hunkered down more and looked out over the barren landscape.

The pieces from the wooden ship lay strewn across the sand. Only one part of the ship actually remained relatively intact. This is where Vadik and his companion happened to be when the ship crashed. He didn't remember too much from the incident. It all happened so fast. He had jumped up quickly from a nap, and the next thing Vadik knew, he felt a plummeting feeling in his stomach and the gigantic force of the large crash in the desert. He woke up what he assumed was hours later, the sun setting across the desert. Vadik remembered rising from the ground, and meeting up with the one last survivor. They had found the lone bucket of water. Vadik knew what would come next. The bucket could in no way sustain them both. Vadik would either have to battle for it or perish in this desert.

Vadik’s head thumped. He felt his body yearn for water. It was like a pounding sensation in his mind.

Water.

Water.

Water.

And it continued without end.

Vadik gnawed on one of the food rations he had thrown inside the pockets of his cloak. It now lay draped over his shoulders like a cape. He pulled up his ripped hat and threw it on his head. It had been torn diagonally and the brim came down almost to his eyes. Vadik kicked a piece of wood, flipping over to reveal the faded spelling of the word “Lady”. He laughed slightly. The Moons sure hadn’t protected this ship.

He looked out across the dunes again. He was once again aware of his body and mind’s call for water. He would need to find his shipwrecked companion. The only way was to defeat him, then the water would be all his. Vadik hunched down and started methodically towards where he had last seen the man. The sand blew violently with a quick gust of wind that cooled Vadik, yet sprayed sand everywhere. He coughed and looked up again. The sun had risen higher, and it was only going to get hotter. The quicker he got to his new enemy, the faster he could get defeat him and get the precious water. The instinct of survival pumped through Vadik’s veins. He would fight to the death for this one. He heaved forward again, pushing on through the hot sand.
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Gordreg
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Nasr. Too hot. Too bright. Too dry. Marcus Sadlanar covered his eyes with a shaky hand as he came slowly awake once again. Right beneath his face he saw sand, right in front of him he saw sand. A little in the distance some sand of a slightly lighter shade broke the monotony of this view, but past that he saw only more sand and dry ground; onward to the horizon itself. Still further he glanced upward, past a haze upon the horizon that he glumly assumed to be windblown sand. Above that, the sky looked clear – very clear; pale shades of unbroken blue without any clouds close enough for a naked eye to see them. Only one object in the skies he could see marred that blueness, and that was the moon itself – gibbous and red; it leered balefully down upon him, as if scorning this son of Valua who marooned upon Nasrean shores, and punishing him with the searing heat of this burning desert.

Scowling back at the sight of the Pyryn moon, Marcus raised his head a little farther, remembering as he did so what had bought him be to this position. Sheer exhaustion; a heat-blasted day spent tending to wounds and scouring the fresh wreckage for supplies. There had been plenty of food; enough dried fruits and meats had been recovered from spilled crates to feed the two survivors for months if needed. Yet without water, it had all been meaningless – so he’d set off toward a sheen upon the horizon; only for it to vanish as the sun had sank, revealing itself as nothing more then a trick of the light and the heat. And there, with despair on his mind and a curse upon his lips, he had sunk into sleep as hot day turned to warm night.

He would need to return to the crash site. There had been water there, he remembered. A pitiful amount, but better then the nothing which he had upon his person. His arms moved, his fingers pressing against and sinking into the soft surface sands before finally finding a more solid layer beneath. Against this he pushed himself unsteadily upward; hoisting his torso away from the desert surface and giving him room beneath himself. His legs followed only lethargically; the left one throbbing with pain as he tried to drag it upward, the ache flaring again as he curved them back under himself and stood slowly up.

Marcus coughed, expelling some of the warm dirt that he must have ingested during his lie in this place. His mouth felt gritty and tasted quite revolting; even now he could feel more of the dry grains still clinging about his gums and crunching unpleasantly when he moved his teeth. He spat, and regretted immediately that he’d done so. His mouth still felt gritty, only now it felt drier then before; and the only water he’d seen had been in that breached barrel near to the wreck.

He felt a brush of wind against his shoulder; a brush that carried with it the sting of blown sand; and his eyes screwed up until he could see only his own lashes, and even then only vaguely. He turned, and looked back down the way he had come from. Behind him, he could just about see the sprawled mess of charred timbers and shattered plating that had once been a ship; though of his tracks made the prior evening there was already no sign. The winds had done their work there already; scouring his imprints from the face of the desert and leaving only the same monotony of rising and falling sands. The haze too seemed to be returning; though he could make out the wreck of the ship the sands between him and it were already starting to warm; already beginning to shimmer as it collected the heat of both Sun and Red Moon rather then of Red Moon alone.

But the fires were out now; the wreck might at least produce shade still. He would make it to the wreck, Marcus decided; and there he would wait out the intense heat of the day. He would rest, recover, supply himself with as much as was suitable; and once twilight fell only then would he start the long journey.

Brushing the sands away from the torn fabric of his uniform, Marcus wandered slowly back across the sands; back toward the crashed ship, and to the supplies that were all that stood between life and death.

Replied, but too late. I think I'm out, right?
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Tatlin
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He drudged forward through the sand, the broken timbers of the ship looming. Even though his eyesight was badly blurred by the swirling sands, he could make out what he believed to be his companion far in the distance. His goal. The true hope for water. His destruction meant everything.

Water.

Water.

Water.

It pounded through his head and Vadik let out a raspy groan. It was stupid to have left the wreckage anyways, but it was the only thing that would have stopped him from killing his other shipwrecked fellow. He needed time to think, but the hot sun didn't do that for him. He had really needed sleep, and to be honest, he didn't trust the fellow Valuan. Vadik begrudgingly headed toward the ship, knowing the water was there. At this point it controlled his whole body, his whole being.

It felt like hours as he made his slow progress to the ship, the sun continuing to rise. It was now at its zenith, and Vadik was sweating profusely. Every little drop was a bit of life that he lost. Vadik crunched his hand into his fist, and felt the dusty, dried hands move together like sandpaper. He winced and then rubbed the hand across his head. He then took the sweat into his mouth. It tasted disgustingly salty, in addition to being filled with grains of sand. A horrendous idea, but Vadik felt the need for water slightly less. Vadik looked up. He was now at the base of the wreckage. He made a motion for a solid chunk of wood and stood on it. He felt a minor breeze cross his legs and sighed. Better than constantly being pushed into the hot sand.

Vadik made his way to where the food and water were stored. It was a tiny room, the only complete room preserved from the crash. He gathered his strength and pushed on toward it, taking wider steps. He had more bounce in his feet at the prospect of water. He stopped short of the doorway. The paranoia set in. Perhaps this was a trap by his fellow shipmate? Maybe he was waiting in ambush. Vadik slowed down and threw his hand to his sword. He ducked down and pushed himself in a shady corner. Perhaps he would wait for his companion to see what he would do, if he indeed came back to the ship. It had to have been him that he saw. What other moving creatures were there out here? And by Vadik's estimates, he must have been closer to the ship. Vadik stood tensely, prepared for anything
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Gordreg
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Even from afar the remains of the ship had seemed a ghastly thing; scorched by fire and torn by collision. Standing amidst it was a worse fate by far, for the blood and bodies of the former crew lay strewn about the broken remnants of the shattered hull, where they had fallen against the pirates or where they had died when the stricken ship had ploughed into the ground. One corpse, that of a young Nasrean crewman, lay a mere three paces from Marcus' own boot. The dead man looked upward toward Marcus with wide open eyes, his face turned toward the stars he had been watching whilst the life had slipped away from his shattered and wounded body the previous night.

Marcus grunted, and looked away. He hadn't expected the young man to survive the night, but it wasn't a comfort that his assumption had been correct. That made... just the two of them, now, then? Perhaps even just the one one; the other man he’d seen unconscious after the crash might have been breathing when he’d struck out across the desert last evening, but then… so had the young Nasrean.

Nonetheless, when Marcus had finished climbing up the half – destroyed wooden pillar that had once been the mast and now served as a quite functional boarding plank, he found that the figure had moved. Had it been sometime today, Marcus wondered? Perhaps some time the prior evening? Had he gotten up and walked away, or had some desert scavenger seized upon the limp form and dragged him away? Marcus considered the idea, but his eyes narrowed. There was certainly enough meat around; if a Scorfly had come crawling about then Marcus doubted it would have gone right for the one figure with any signs of life still showing. And besides; a mere few paces onward, where the desert sands had already been blown upward and onto a part of the wrecked hull, he could see the unmistakable imprint of shoeprints in the sand.

Following them slowly, Marcus made his way across the wreckage and over to a shard of the ship, a slice of hull and deck that had torn off as a single piece in the midst of the crash. The section of the hull was drastically slanted, so what had once been the floor now served as a wall with the former ceiling serving as another; but the footprint trail moved onward and Marcus followed them with his eyes as they passed in through the doorway.

A further quick check of the nearby sands confirmed that no tracks led out again. Unless some other route out of the room existed – which, Marcus considered, was extremely possible given how much of the deck and hull had been torn in twain – the maker of the footprints was still inside that room.

He squinted, and lifted one hand above his eyes to try and block out some of that bright desert sun, to try and see in through the doorway into the dark insides of the section of the broken ship. But it was no good – compared to the brightness outside the insides were too dark, and…

Marcus paused, and blinked once. Had he just seen something inside the doorway move, just for the briefest of moments?

“Hello?” Marcus called out once toward the doorway, only then noticing just how rough his voice now sounded when spoken aloud, only then noticing just how rough and dry his throat felt.
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Tatlin
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I Have the power and the Speed!
Vadik's heart skipped a beat. He heard the footsteps long before the one he was looking for had called out to him. He had almost missed the voice due to its dry, cracky sound but Vadik's ear had picked it out. He quickly darted out of the room and tried to step lightly as he took refuge behind a ravaged piece of wood. He peaked out from beside it and saw what he was dreading. His fellow shipwrecked companion. Marcus.

Vadik closed his eyes and thought. He could see the dark clouds around his homeland, Valua. He saw The Insurrection flying high above it, the wind blowing into his face. He felt the touch of a woman on his hands, the pleasure of a drink, the thrill of the battle. The cannons blasting loudly. Vadik yelled out orders and sat in his command chair.

Water.

Water.

Water.

Vadik snapped out of it. He had been dreaming. He knew he couldn't let this other man get the water. He had so much he still had to accomplish. Don't let this weakness get to you. Fight it off. Vadik threw his hand over to the handle of his blade. This was his chance. Vadik shot up from the ground and dashed his way towards Marcus. He let out a large cough and tried to summon the words to speak, but he found his vocal cords unable without the fresh life of water. Vadik quickly thought of why he was attacking again. It was irrational, however the paranoia had already set in. He was going to do whatever it took to get this water.

At the last second before reaching Marcus, he pulled out his sword and lunged forward.
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Gordreg
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No reply, just movement, a figure rising from out of nowhere to move right at him. The man must have been waiting there, Marcus realised; waiting for him to step inside. He must have thought he’d been seen, why else had the figure broken his ambush prematurely? The figure coughed loudly as it lumbered toward him, evidently slowed and rendered mute by the heat and fatigue, and Marcus’ gave the figure a disgusted stare, placing his hand very securely upon the hilt of his sword as he did so. The man might have been bedraggled and exhausted, his dark hair made untidy by sand and much of his clothing torn away, but Marcus recognised the ex-valuan officer he’d briefly met back before the crash.

And right at this moment, running toward him, the man – Vadik, Marcus recalled the name from their meeting a few days prior – hardly looked in a mood to debate the particulars of their situation. Rather, Vadik looked rather worse for wear, a mite confused, and very worked up about something or other unknown that in his dehydrated state the man seemed to be preparing to take out on him.

Marcus drew his rapier, conscious as he did so of his own weariness. For an instant he considered letting Vadik close and going toe-to-toe with the man; it was the accepted form for a duel between officers, and in his dehydrated state the man would be clumsier and easier to outwit. But then, Marcus considered, he was tired and dehydrated himself; also with cloths torn and a throat parched from the lack of a drink. And from the way he was acting, Vadik hardly looked in a mind to act predictably in a duel…

Therefore, with his rapier drawn and glinting in the bright light of the desert sun, Marcus let his free hand slip downward to his holster as he gave the blade a dramatic flourish. He squinted as he moved the Rapier blade around in the air, watching the charging form of Vadik as he slipped his sword out into his hand in readiness for the fight…

In a practiced movement Marcus drew his Valuan naval pistol from its holster, aimed it as best he could toward the charging figure’s knee, and pulled the trigger. There was a bang, a whiff of smoke, and the smell of ignited moonstone power
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Tatlin
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I Have the power and the Speed!
The shot rang out, reverberating against the wooden boards strewn in the sand. The gunpowder shot up into his nostrils. The pain wrecked havok through his leg. Vadik screamed out in pain, falling to the ground. He began to slide across the sand covered piece of wood that he was running across towards Marcus. As he slid, he swung his sword haphazardly in the air, hoping to slice Marcus as he passed. However, his vision was no good due to the sand that had kicked up into his eyes. He felt the scraping burn of the hot and damned particles of sand. His right pant leg ripped, opening his leg to the painful scrape of the tiny particles. Vadik slammed into another piece of wood and looked up, his vision blurred and feeling substanially disoriented.

The shot had missed the knee, however penetrated just below, barely missing his bone. The shot blasted out the back through the calf, leaving a well sized hole. Vadik groaned and pushed up from the ground, sitting up on his knees. Using his sword as a cane, he pushed himself up onto his feet. The pain pulsed through his entire body. it felt like his heart had moved to the wound and was pounding furiously.

Without warning, Vadik's hand shot down to his pistol and he flicked it up. His hand trembled as he fired a shot at Marcus.The backlash from the shot sent his arm into a frenzy. He backed up slightly and steadied himself, feeling his leg starting to buckle under the weight of his body and the pain.

"Where is the water..." he mumbled under his breath. Vadik's voice was so hoarse and his throat was so dry that the words came out merely as a raspy blowing of the wind. Even though he knew the water was still in the ship, his mind had gone quite crazy. As the adrenaline took care of the pain, he could still hear the ominous call for water coming from the back of his mind. Vadik stumbled forward a little bit and threw his sword forward in a dueling stance.

He balled his hand into a fist and concentrated. Sparks began to rise at his hand. While still trying to conserve energy but deliver a powerful strike, Vadik thrust his hand forward with an Electri spell. The bolt arced in the sky and shot toward Marcus. It was only a small bolt due to his lack of energy but he hoped it could strike the fiend who distanced him from his water.
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Gordreg
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The charging figure screamed out in pain and collapsed, sliding upon the sand-covered timbers that had once been a deck. But it didn’t drop the sword, and the weapon struck out unexpectedly as the wounded man slipped right on past him, catching the barrel of his pistol with the blade and smacking the weapon out of his hands. Marcus turned to watch the sliding figure, and even as Vadik collided with another panel of wood the Marcus shook his stinging hand, trying to relieve a fraction of the sharp pain, and only then noticing the thin droplet of blood that fell to the sand from his wounded hand..

His foe temporarily incapacitated and out of sword-reach, Marcus turned to see just where his pistol had fallen, finding the weapon had fallen into the nearby sand. It had been damaged by the blow that had thrown it there – a new, sharp indentation had been cut into the barrel’s side by the errant sword-swing – but hopefully the weapon would still work just as well. He stooped quickly to retrieve the gun with his wounded hand, but even as his fingers closed about the solid handgrip a nearby dune erupted with the force of an impact. He halted, twisting his body around even as he threw it groundward, expecting another shot… another shot that that never came.

Instead, as Marcus looked across to his opponent he noticed that the man’s arm seemed to have gone into spasms. Standing on a wooden plank, Vadik was using his sword as a makeshift crutch, teetering a little as he stood there and mumbling something under his breath that Marcus couldn’t quite hear.

“What in deep sky are you on about? ” Marcus retorted in a hoarse voice, unsure exactly of what Vadik had actually mumbled just then. But whatever the words had been, there were no mistaking his adversary’s next movements, a balling of his fist whilst he stood stationary, with sparks of electricity beginning to rise from the man’s outstretched hand. He was calling upon the moons; but evidently upon the Yellow Moon of Valua… Marcus smiled cruelly at the realisation. Had Vadik forgotten that he, too, was a citizen of the stormclouded city?

Flourishing his rapier again, Marcus held it aloft as he charged across the sands toward Vadik, keeping a careful eye upon the man’s hand. Closing fast, Marcus watched as Vadik thrust his hand forward, watched as he unleashed the Electri bolt that arced up into the sky before falling back down toward him toward him.

Triumphantly, Marcus smirked, and thrust his rapier right up toward the oncoming electric spell, using his own yellow moonstone that lay within the blade just as the energies struck home against his weapon. The bolt of lightning crackled along the length of his rapier, the electrical energies sparking from the weapon as Marcus swung at Vadik's outstretched arm with his ‘Blade of Thunder’.
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Tatlin
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I Have the power and the Speed!
As the spell arced up into the sky and struck down towards Marcus, Vadik had realized his mistake. How could he have been so stupid? Using yellow magic against a fellow Valuan was no doubt madness. He watched as the spell struck the sword, and now came crashing towards Vadik's arm. Perhaps the residual sparks from the spell had snapped some tiny sense into him, or the subconscious part of his mind suddenly clicked. He knew he couldn't take that blow in his arm or it would come clean off. Neither could Vadik dodge the dreadful sword. Vadik quickly pulled himself around, allowing the blade to strike his back.

The yellow energy exploded on Vadik, pulsing through his veins. He let out a guttural scream as the electricity wrecked havoc on his whole body, every nerve screaming and pulsing, feeling like being stabbed on every single square inch of his body. He dropped to his knees at the same time, yet not quite falling forward onto his face. He still leaned upon his sword, buried now into the sand, acting as a pillar.

The electric shock did something else. It fully woke Vadik up from his crazed water search, continuing the process the smaller sparks had done to activate his mind. His heart pounded heavily, each beat feeling as though it was pumping heavy vibrations through his body. His mind buzzed incessantly. He felt like he had reached the end, nowhere in site to turn now. He was facing his destiny. Vadik thought about turning back now. It was nigh impossible. Even if he could convince Marcus of his crazed state, there was still the issue of who gets the water. And Vadik doubted his clarity would last long. The electric shock was starting to wear off and he was feeling duller than before. Now he could feel the inside of his throat again, dry and rough. He would have to make one last stand against his foe. If he made it out, good. If not, better to die in battle than of thirst.

Vadik used what little strength he had left to pull the sword out from the sand. He quickly swung around and threw it at Marcus. However, he had cleverly aimed so that it would fly over Marcus. His real attack lay in the pistol he just drew. The sword, he hoped, would be a good distraction. Vadik fell onto his back, and seeing that he only had one shot left, took aim and fired at Marcus. The shot rang out and the recoil once again shook Vadik's arm. However, he held strong and hoped he could aim well enough. He was counting on this last shot.
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