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Alphaeus
05-02-2017, 06:29 PM
Sooooooooooooo

This is what you guys have been waiting for, right?

"Dooms vs Anyone"

Well, I'm anyone. Or someone. I think.

Anyhow, here it is. The story of a really old man playing rough with a little blind girl. :P

Dooms' Story

The Doctor blinked as he scanned the printed note placed on the forefront of his desk. It read:
Dear Doctor,
We wish to appraise you and your companion known as the Fixer. It would be preferable if you could meet us at these coordinates(and here it provided a set of fairly standard coordinates). You may be as armed or unarmed as you wish, and you may decide not to go. However, if you do not go, you will lose out on a serious opportunity for both of us.

Best wishes,

Your(potential) colleagues, The Animus.

Collapsing into a chair, Altaer eyebrowed his friend, curious as to what he had called him over for today. Glancing at him, the Doctor answered his silent query: “We have been contacted by an anonymous organisation calling themselves the Animus. Not entirely sure who they are or what their intentions could be, but they have provided co-ordinates for a meeting. I was hoping we could check it out together, especially as they asked for you to tag along. Would you be interested?”
Altaer continued to eyebrow him, before sitting up, arching his fingers and leaning forward.
“Details, my man, details.” came the seemingly somewhat enthusiastic reply.

”Well, they said we could bring as few or as many weapons as we liked, and it didn’t matter. Of course that means we could be walking into a trap, but we’ll be armed and ready. Now, I will ask you again. Are you interested?”

The Fixer grinned. David Macbeth knew him too well.

Around the same time, a little girl was sitting in her Cocoon, wondering whether they would show up. Alice had waited anxiously for 19.356 hours since her message was sent, and she was beginning to suspect they wouldn’t risk it. She was… interested in the duo.

Very, very interested.

Altaer strode along the path through the woods, his boots clacking like stone splintering against its polished wooden surface. The Doctor was sweeping through the undergrowth, his usual classy suit somehow not hindering him one bit. They had agreed strategy. Altaer would go to the coordinates and hide. Dr. Macbeth would be the face of this negotiation- assuming, of course, it was not a trap. This would throw off anyone tailing the former Chaos Deity, and allow the Doctor to utilise his people skills- normal social ability and otherwise. As he reached the location, the ex-Lord of the Abyss vanished from sight, his certain skillset enabling him to blend perfectly with the environment- almost to the point of invisibility.
A sharp inhaling sound was just about audible as the air splintered and a pod emerged. The mirrored silver surface split and three figures stepped out. At their forefront was a little girl in a longcoat and a skirt. Alice had arrived. To her right was Adrian, his arms folded and his posture arrogant. And to her left was Sleipnir, her robotic eye darting around and her hands behind her head. “Doctor Macbeth, I presume?” queried the 8-year-old. The Doctor simply raised his eyebrow and studied her. The girl was clearly here for a purpose, and this question was important to her. He needed to find out motive and for that he should answer her questions. “Yes, little one. What of it?”
“Oh good. I thought I had come all this way for nothing. I challenge you to the rite of A Thousand Cuts.”
__________________________________________________ _________________________________

The veteran just looked at her blankly. “Come on. The Rite of a Thousand Cuts? No?”
The girl looked sad, her eyes downcast. “Never mind. Sleipnir, would you explain it to the Fixer while I take care of business?”
“Sure! Just after you get me that damn cookie!” Came the slightly acidic reply.
“Oh, fine. I’ll do it.” Adrian stated flatly, his eyes locked on Altaer.
Altaer stepped out of the undergrowth, it being clear that stealth would be of no value. It would therefore probably hinder his progress. “Let’s be having you then,”growled the Alluminakin.
“I haven’t had a proper workout in ages.”
__________________________________________________ ________________________________
Alice spun around, her blades flashing in the noonday sun. The Doctor sighed, fighting not being his first call in this situation. They both took stock of their opponent. The way Dr. Macbeth held his rifle clearly showed some experience, perhaps even expertise, and the Descendant’s pose proved that her frail exterior belied at least some skill. Macbeth eyed her, and began his machinations. Feeling a blanket of calm gradually drift over her, Alice became slightly suspicious, aware of something. Her Bjarkan had spied a spark of intent in her opponent, and she was quick to perceive his deception. “Ah-ah-ah, Doctor. I challenged you to the Rite. We are going to fight now.”
The Man with Healing Hands simply did not answer. He looked down. And almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.
Alice frowned slightly. This was important, though. She could not get hung up on little issues like the Doctor’s willingness to fight.

She attacked.
The whistle of steel slicing through the air was punctuated by the sharp clang of said steel clashing. The Doctor had drawn a single knife, and was using it to defend himself. Alice was behaving less like an opponent and more like a force of nature; a storm of cleaving strikes rained down upon her opponent, more reminiscent of a blistering typhoon then a series of attacks. While Alice was certainly skilled, her opponent was a demigod of war: empowered by his many battles and preternatural skill, he ducked and weaved around her assault, rarely actually having to block said blows, during which times he deflected them to the side. Leaping back, the Doctor shot his cuffs, as a duplicate of himself emerged from the trees. Charging from behind, the Reflection held Alice’s arms back. The Doctor took three quick steps as he reached into his jacket-something metal flashing in his hands. The Descendant squirmed, but could not escape the Reflection’s grip of iron as the original Doctor swung downward with deliberate finality. Alice felt the object penetrate her skin, and began to fall-

and fall-

fall descend go down
and down
and down

Into darkness.
Alway darkness.
Dark darker yet darker.

Macbeth frowned. This next assailant’s questioning should prove to be very, very interesting.
Springing up, Alice moved to attack…no-one. Shaking her head, Alice groggily looked around herself, bloodshot and bleary eyes scanning her surroundings. She was standing atop a metal table, with broken Lego all around. She had clearly broken the Lego in her attempt to attack. Looking around and focusing more, Alice glared at her surrounding. The bleached white walls and spotlights stared blankly back. Getting off the table, Alice sat in one of the three plastic chairs arranged just next to it, and began to plot.
__________________________________________________ _________________________________
The Doctor eyed the monitor. After his fight with the golden one, Altaer had come back without a scratch, but a hollow look in his eye. He refused to tell David what he had seen, but the Doctor suspected he would get the answer in time. The child was sitting, a void gaze of disinterest upon her face. Then the child disappeared. Blinking, the doctor stood up and dusted himself off. He was not entirely sure what this one was capable of. She woke up, and behaved as if she had never been sedated. What sort of training would you have to go through for that? He shrugged on his jacket, and collected his rifle from just next to his feet.
__________________________________________________ _________________________________
The Doctor was a potent enemy(and hopefully, a useful ally), but he had made a fatal mistake: not realising Alice could summon her weapons if necessary. Hacking her way through the door as everything seemed to grey slightly around her, Alice moved down the corridor, glancing briefly along the redbrick walls for signs of motion detectors. Her ruse of teleportation would be sunk if there was… but funnily enough, the Doctor had not accounted for people who manipulate time, and as such, she sped forward. Time was of the essence if she was to succeed. __________________________________________________ _________________________________
Macbeth sighed. It was clear he could not contain the girl in a safe enviroment. Calling Altaer, he began moving down towards the basement of the safehouse they were staying in. This was not going as planned. But he needed to talk to this one without hostile conflict. He holstered his rifle and kept it concealed-protection might be necessary, but he did not want for this “Animus” to find their former associates. By the skills of both Alice and that golden one, he could determine quite easily that inviting a whole organisation of them after sedating and kidnapping one would be a pretty bad idea.
Alice crossed her fingers, hoping fervently that 32-34 didn’t try to pick her up. The full force of Nehustan should be more than enough to eliminate the Kin, considering Sleipnir and Adrian are probably not going to be around for a bit. She decided:she was going to have to speak to him. He did draw blood first, though.

So she guessed the Rite was satisfied. It entailed this: Challenge to determine strength of a person. Whoeverso draws blood first without killing or permanently damaging the opponent wins. The challenge is usually done to show dominance: as if they draw blood first, they win. But if you draw blood first, you win. Killing or permanently damaging counted as losing though, so you had to be skillful. The Doctor had drawn blood first. So she should negotiate now.
__________________________________________________ _________________________________

The girl waiting at the foot of the stairs, humming to herself, threw Macbeth off. He had assumed she would either be waiting for an attack or long gone. Striding down the stairs, still confident, he assumed a sitting position on two steps from the end. Doctor looked at Descendant, and for a while, neither said anything. Then came a timid whisper, like ice cracking under the heat of the sun in summer: “You won.” The doctor most certainly did not expect this statement.
“Won what?” he whispered back, mirroring her tone perfectly.
“The Rite. You won. That means that we can be friends now. So in all honesty, what I am trying to say is: You won’t need that rifle.”
Blinking in surprise for the second time that afternoon, the Doctor checked. There was no possible way she could see from that angle.
“Don’t bother. Anyway, me and my friends at the Animus looked at your operation-before and after the activities of a certain man- admittedly I could not find the man responsible. We decided it might be salvageable.” Chuckling slightly, the Head of the Serpent admitted:
“That is the plan. But why would it be of any interest to you?”
“I said we might be interesting in joining in with the salvaging. We have resources that you may find… useful, and we also share a similar goal.”
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Shared prosperity, and acceptance for all. Basically a combination of what I believe to be your and another organisation’s goals.”
“And here I am, having a conversation with an 8-10-year-old child about my life goals.”
“It’s a strange world, isn’t it.”
“That it is.”




Alphaeus' Battle

David let out a long sigh as he stood and stretched, gingerly setting down his now-empty tumbler of rum. A young black man with the wonderfully rich accent so representative of the tropics hurried up to him. “Anything I can help you with, sir?”

David straightened his straw hat. “No thank you, Richie. I’ll just be heading into town, I think.”

Richie nodded, and stepped over to the lounge chair David had occupied, sweeping off some of the beach sand and snatching up the jacket that was draped over the back. “Sir, your jacket.”

“Ah, yes…island time does wonders, but it would never do to forget my jacket.” David paused and extended his arms as his man helped him with his jacket. With a shrug of his shoulders he settled into it and then strode off across the sand. A massive, sprawling teakwood plantation style home sat behind them on a cliff that was the highest point on the island. David slipped into his boathouse, stepping deftly into his 40 foot VanDam Custom. The hand-cut panels of mahogany had been salvaged from a 1700s British East Indiaman, and gleamed like they were new. The lithe, majestic form of the speed boat – one he personally designed to incorporate the best of his beloved 1930s Riviera Runabouts with modern ocean performance – purred softly as he motored out of the boathouse and past the coral reefs that surrounded Solaveri, MacBeth’s Carribean island; and island which registered as a legally independent nation, in fact.

As soon as the slender bow sliced through the breakers, David steered past Banquo’s Bane, the only clipper ship still fully functioning from the old MacBeth family’s days in international shipping. The few crew members that regularly stayed on board for maintenance saluted him as he passed, as he did in return. Now fully in the open, he tightened his grip on the polished chrome wheel and slammed forward the throttle, letting the Twin Super-Turbo Bugatti Custom Marine W-16 roar to life. The twin jets under the hull spewed out a rush of water that threatened to send the slender craft airborne, yet were placed just close enough to the center of the vessel that it remained balanced. Within seconds he had accelerated well past 120 knots, skimming across the waves as lightly as the wandering albatross that occasionally drifted past his piece of paradise.

He dropped back on throttle just enough to stop accelerating, then settled onto the seal-hide seats basking in the warmth of the sun. Despite his speed, the windshield was angled just right to create a pocket of almost still air over the passenger area, isolating them from all but the invigorating spell of sea spray. His eyes wandered languidly back and forth from under the brim of his hat, keeping watch for any reason to cut his speed. He wasn’t particularly worried about collisions – the boat was agile, and the wood was more resilient then the best metal alloys. Still, he didn’t want trouble on his vacation. It was the first time in a while that he had been able to get away from it all, and with Altaer having found a replacement for his P-51 Mustang, David simply couldn’t resist a flight down to Solaveri. Being a nation of its own was more of a title than anything – given its size and a population consisting of only his plantation workers and house staff, it held no international position. It did give him a place satisfactorily under is legal control, however, for centralizing some of his more high-stakes dealings with international figures, as well as a handy shelter for his wealth.

After just over an hour, he dropped to cruising speed and coasted into the harbor of the nearest town, a sleepy half-forgotten place by the name of Isla de Caballo Maron. The island itself was hardly larger than Solaveri, but was politically part of Belize, which lay far beyond the horizon to the west. Motoring in to the dock, he aimed for one of the slips he owned on a private dock. A Latino dockhand in pristine blue uniform stepped forward to guide the boat in while David cut the motor and leapt onto the greyed planking. David scanned the docks, taking note of the other boats and giving an approving nod. Much of the life at this town was funded by Solaveri, which did in fact run as an operating plantation, albeit one that focused on experimental growing techniques and heirloom agricultural varieties. His presence had drawn the attention of other local islanders from Belize, as well as the kind of shiftless nondescript “well-to-do” that can afford to stay in obscure tropical islands for months at a time. He made a point, however, of ensuring that publicity stayed low, for if there was one thing he enjoyed here, it was the tranquility and relaxation.

He headed down the sandy main street to Raphael’s, an ancient bar that sat halfway over the water, was built from driftwood, held together by what seemed to be mere balance, and had survived two hundred years and more storm swells than could be counted. Back then it hadn’t sat over the water, but erosion had pushed back the beach until a shorefront sailor’s bar became waterfront, and then almost floating. He gave a silent nod to those inside, familiar with all of them, even the old Matilda who sewed the fishing nets for the locals at her table in the far back corner. He leaned against the bar, and called out to the man who was busy in the kitchen. “Hey, Torrando, you know what I came here for.”

A tanned man with a long handlebar mustache and greying hair stuck his head out the open kitchen door. “Si, si…my tostadas and pina colada, and to ask me to be your cook at Solaveri, to which I again say no. Am I right?”

David swore softly, grinning. “Damn stubborn old man, you are. Yes you’re right, but I’ll keep asking that last question.”

Torrando chuckled, his craggy skin pinching up under his eyes to nearly hide them from view as he laughed knowingly. “And I, Medico, will still say no. But for now, I will get your order.”

David smiled to himself. This was why he loved places like this – the people. He genuinely loved people who did not bother with the worries that plague so many moderners. As the seabreeze came in for the evening, David shivered. His empath powers tugged at his mind…something was focusing on him. He cast a glance at the door, and noticed what appeared to be a young girl. David studied her for a moment, swiftly deciding that, appearances aside, the emotional feedback and posture of the being was not that of an actual child…not that of a human, either. He rolled eyes.

“Damn…can’t a fellow get some peace?”

The little creature began to speak. “Oh Great Doctor David Roy MacBeth, I –“

David waved it off and snapped his rifle out of his jacket in one swift motion. “Just…no. This is not the RHG, and I have no concerns with you. Now leave me in peace, and either make an appointment with my secretary or bug off, I don’t really care which.”

The creature merely looked at him – or rather, did what he presumed was looking at him, considering it had a bandana wrapped around its head, covering its eyes. A few people in the bar cast a worried glance at David’s rifle, but said nothing. Everyone in the town was familiar with him – his family had been coming here since before he was born, and his “secret” of being long lived…and special in other ways…was common knowledge here. He had long since convinced them to join Nehushtan, not a hard task since the organization’s intent had been first accepted by the local padre of Santo Juan, the town cathedral. They kept his secret, and he helped sustain and improve their town and lives. He stepped towards the diminutive being, perturbed that he could not simply lock eyes with it and focus his empath powers. It whipped up a pair of guns from seemingly nowhere and fired, catching David off guard. He found himself frozen in place, and quickly generated his Reflections behind the girl. They fired in staggered shots, but the little creature spun and dodged them deftly without even looking.

David grunted, his lip pulling up in a grimace. Blind-fighting was not unknown to him, and he guess that whatever this thing was, it had an area-sense of some kind. As his paralysis wore off, he locked down and fired a small EMP round at the kid. She jerked for a moment, but seemed to handle the pain well. He snapped off another shot, but she dashed off out of the short range. By this point the locals had all moved to the bar’s side porch, far enough out of danger but close enough to watch the fight. David snarled as he watched his Reflections trying to catch her but failing, and grabbed an explosive round. As he was manually loading it, however, He noticed the girl transformed, her clothing changing to shades of deep blue and a kind of glow surrounding her. In a flash his gun was out of his hands and a pair of blades were flashing past his face. He flipped backwards, knocking a barstool into the kid who quickly recovered. He snapped his neck, and calmly set down his straw hat. As the attacker moved in again, he had his Reflections bull-rush her. She turned to fend off their attack with her blades, but they vanished just before she could attack, allowing her momentum to throw her forward and off balance. David grabbed another barstool with his left hand and swung it at her. Without turning she seemed to almost teleport out of the way and to his side…which was right where he had expected her to go. Almost instantly the butt of one of David’s knives smacked her square in the center of her forehead, knocking her into a table and down to the ground.

She lay there somewhat dazed for a moment. Realizing that his opponent could teleport, he decided to solve that problem. Stripping off his jacket, he unsealed one of his strangely expansive interior pockets. He pounced on the girl, pressing down the pocket over her head as she let out a squeal. He pinched it shut the instant she was inside, sealed it, and stood. His jacket ruffled for a moment, and then lay flat. David smoothed his lapels and grinned broadly. When Altaer had still been a Chaos Deity, David had asked him to use the Chaos-Void to alter the pockets in his jacket so that he could carry his gun more supplies with him at all times. “Heh, nice job, Al. It holds drugs AND strange little girls. Job well done, my friend…”

He gave the thumbs up to the locals, who gave a brief round of applause before drifting back in to take their seats. David straightened the two stools before picking up his rifle and sheathing it on his back, where it too vanished into the jacket as if not even there. Torrando emerged with his food and drink just as he was putting his hat back on.

“Trouble, Medico?”

David took a long, deep sniff over the steaming plate, and moaned slightly. “Not one bit, Torrando, not one bit.”

Several hours later, David was in his room listening to the sea as his translucent silk drapes billowed in the gentle breeze at Solaveri. As Richie was drawing water for a bath in the massive clawfoot tub in his master bath, David slipped off his jacket, taking out his knives, rifle, drugs, and other assorted gear. Each piece was placed in a nice slot in an ebony case that was clearly designed precisely to hold his accoutrements. As his gaze lingered on the last pocket, he chuckled to himself. Richie emerged from the bathroom just in time to see him laugh.

“May I ask what you find humorous, sir?”

David just held the jacket out to the man. “Oh, just a little private joke. Richie, would you take this down to the Talya and have her give it the full deep cleaning? Just make sure she knows to keep the pockets sealed.”

Richie bowed and took the jacket. “Yes sir, we’ll have it ready for you in the morning.”

David smiled as he unbuttoned his shirt and headed for the bathroom. “Thank you, Richie. Goodnight!”

David caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and stopped to meet his own somewhat accusing gaze. “Yes…I know I’m the one who always says never put off until tomorrow what you can do today…but hey, Island Time – I’m on vacation, right? Besides…that girl needed a timeout, I’d say.”

Tomorrow would be fun. Very fun.

Urako
05-02-2017, 07:36 PM
Not bad on either side really, but I think that Alphaeus did better with the characters and detail so he gets my vote. Best of luck to both of you and Dooms, you did well for a first match.

Note: I'm not sure how well you stayed aligned with Alice's character since I honestly don't know too much about her personality.

969_DoomsDruid_969
05-02-2017, 08:04 PM
It feels like whoever voted for me did so out of pity.

The comparison isn't even there.

gg sir

EDIT: Something I noticed though.

The guns pin. With physics. They don't magically paralyse you.


But that wasn't made clear, so idk.



Glad I'm swapping to Washington though. Btw is this canon? Can't find the word "spar" anywhere? Also should I count this as a loss yet?

EDIT #2: Noticed some inconsistencies with my wording, especially due to the fact that Alice is blind.

Urako
05-03-2017, 11:57 AM
Glad I'm swapping to Washington though. Btw is this canon? Can't find the word "spar" anywhere? Also should I count this as a loss yet?


It'a as canon as you want it to be. That's the general rule anyways.

IgnusBurns
05-03-2017, 12:30 PM
What I find sad is that eight people (myself included) have voted and not given CnC...

Time to change that...


While I actually quite liked your story, my vote went to Alphaeus for three reasons.
1) Spacing
2) Pacing
3) Length

The first of the three is simple to fix, just go through your story a second time after you've finished it and make sure all the spacing is correct. This is especially important at the end of paragraphs as they convey changes of perspective or maybe even an entirely different scene.

Second, I didn't much mind the feeling you gave off of "David, you got a challenger... FIGHT!", but this also sort of killed it for me, while it was short and sweet, like a single skittle, I would've much rather preferred a jolly rancher type of story, long lasting but still sweet. (If you get my drift)

Lastly, the length, I hit upon that just above, but this is another key point. Length is essential for a good story, my current one I'm working on is around 9 pages as it is, and I'm not even done. However, while yours was a bit short, I still think you did quite a good job for your first (legit) battle. Well done!


Another fine story! But the biggest gripe you're going to hear from me today is the GOD DAMN length... I'm so used to seeing you pump out these huge, well crafted and detailed stories, but the fact that this took me around ten minutes to read through, is rather disappointing. You still got my vote, don't get me wrong, but would it kill you to add a bit of substance next time?

Crank
05-03-2017, 09:12 PM
Dooms, for all your self deprecating comments, you're not half bad. One thing worth watching out for though, is that things that are second nature to you may not make sense to the rest of us.

“Oh good. I thought I had come all this way for nothing. I challenge you to the rite of A Thousand Cuts.”
The veteran just looked at her blankly. “Come on. The Rite of a Thousand Cuts? No?”
The girl looked sad, her eyes downcast. “Never mind. Sleipnir, would you explain it to the Fixer while I take care of business?”
“Sure! Just after you get me that damn cookie!” Came the slightly acidic reply.
“Oh, fine. I’ll do it.” Adrian stated flatly, his eyes locked on Altaer.
Altaer stepped out of the undergrowth, it being clear that stealth would be of no value. It would therefore probably hinder his progress. “Let’s be having you then,”growled the Alluminakin.
“I haven’t had a proper workout in ages."

At this point, I don't know what the rite is, and while you do cover it, David's lack of response seems to imply the reader's the only one in the dark, which in tern makes it feel like we're missing some vital information. Even a glimpse of the Primary Kubacki's name buddy looking lost would ease the feeling. Another thing you do a bit is reiterate information you just covered.

Dear Doctor,
We wish to appraise you and your companion known as the Fixer. It would be preferable if you could meet us at these coordinates(and here it provided a set of fairly standard coordinates[side note, this takes you way out of the moment]). You may be as armed or unarmed as you wish, and you may decide not to go. However, if you do not go, you will lose out on a serious opportunity for both of us.

Best wishes,

Your(potential) colleagues, The Animus.

Collapsing into a chair, Altaer eyebrowed his friend, curious as to what he had called him over for today. Glancing at him, the Doctor answered his silent query: “We have been contacted by an anonymous organization calling themselves the Animus. Not entirely sure who they are or what their intentions could be,[Implied] but they have provided co-ordinates for a meeting. I was hoping we could check it out together, especially as they asked for you to tag along. Would you be interested?”

“Details, my man, details.” came the seemingly somewhat enthusiastic reply.

”Well, they said we could bring as few or as many weapons as we liked, and it didn’t matter. Of course that means we could be walking into a trap, but we’ll be armed and ready.[Implied] Now, I will ask you again. Are you interested?”

Honestly, when you do this sort of thing, it comes across as talking down to your reader, especially when as much is repeated as there was. I wouldn't have minded the opening being the note, but through Alt's eyes having been given it from Lesser-David. From there, both characters and the reader have the information and Regular-Sized-Arm-David and his hitman can discuss a plan, or even why they may have gotten it.

The eventual breakdown of the rite had a similar deal. Initially, the reader is withheld all information, and then later on, it's relayed factually and straightforward, like we're looking it up in the dictionary. Personally, I think doubling down on who's perspective would've helped with this. Follow Alice and you highlight her drive to draw blood just once and slowly learn more about it as her frustration with Keeps-His-Tongue-In-His-Mouth-David grows, or have the reveal be through Not "Harper Woods Fuck" David, as he gets his answers of what exactly just happened.

Alph, I think you write really well, I just can't get into the character. The concept of locking an enemy away with all your guns amuses me, however.

Vern
05-03-2017, 09:33 PM
It feels like whoever voted for me did so out of pity.

Throwaway vote on my part. I just voted for you since I realized how irrelevant it'd be to use it in a serious fashion, so I decided I might as well use it to troll Alphaeus (don't worry it's all in good spirits, we get along).

Also because 1-8 is just slightly less demotivating than 0-8.

Also also because you voted for the opposition so my vote is rendered useless by that anyways.

EDIT ;


Alph, I think you write really well, I just can't get into the character.

There's a difference between "being craft with words" writing well (literary talent), and "being able to tell a good story" writing well (storytelling talent). I haven't exactly read either of these battles, and even if I did I'd keep my opinion to myself, but if you're having trouble getting into his characters that may show a lack of storytelling talent on his part despite his craftiness with words.

Crank
05-03-2017, 11:14 PM
Dude, read the stories. I'm not saying Alph is bad at characters. It's the one specific character I have specific beef with. There's also the personal level that his character has my brother's name, and my brother being a firefighting physical-fighting EMT ME is a pretty difficult thing to live up to. I have a preference against characters who have it made, as is my constant 'but' comment on the overwhelming majority of his stories after explaining why its a good story. This amplifies other things I lean against. I like underdogs and tales of struggle and overcoming. This was a super rich guy who had his vacation crashed. I'm not into politics so House of Cards doesn't click right with me, despite being an amazing show. Don't take seven words I say and shrug saying maybe he's not that good, maybe I'm just incredibly bias towards a David I've looked up to my entire life

Alphaeus
05-04-2017, 05:34 AM
Information

Well now, that explains that. Honestly, I totally understand. I do want to note something, though.

David was never meant to be a character people like. When I created David, I was deliberately doing a spin off the "lovable villain" trope and created a "hateable hero." He's meant to be unquestionably good, but at the same time the kind of guy that irks you deep down and you can never bring yourself to like no matter what you do.

I accomplished this goal perfectly, it seems :P.

As a note, my wRHG is Altaer right now, and has been for a few months, because the fact is that I got tired of writing a char that (while doing what I wanted) is rather hard to like and became difficult for me to get into because (despite what Vern might say) I'm not an obnoxiously rich world superpower. While I'm not an assassin badass like Altaer either, on a personal/emotional level I am much better equipped to write him than David.

David was used for this battle because way back when Dooms and I agreed to fight David was still my wRHG, so this is a carry-over battle.

Lastly, if you like underdog stories, then you'll enjoy my upcoming battle of Altaer vs Zalgo, given that Altaer is just a human now and Zalgo has mutated a couple times since their last encounter.

Alphaeus
05-05-2017, 03:57 PM
I think we can go ahead and say I won this, can't we? :P

Also, Dooms -- yes, this is scored. As for canon, I'm making it canon. I had originally told you this didn't have to be canon for you, though, so you can choose to act like this never happened. IRL you still get the loss, though.

969_DoomsDruid_969
05-06-2017, 11:17 AM
I think we can go ahead and say I won this, can't we? :P

Also, Dooms -- yes, this is scored. As for canon, I'm making it canon. I had originally told you this didn't have to be canon for you, though, so you can choose to act like this never happened. IRL you still get the loss, though.

She needs the putdown, so I concur.

I will ask you something in a PM.


Please respond to it, or I will find you, remove your organs via your throat with a fork, and then replace them through your anal cavity with a rusty spike.