Dreadlords Evaluation

[Liliana]

Aniria - The Academy

In the Old Days, when Liliana had attended the Academy, there had been frequent 'shows' of each Initiate's progress. These displays had been meant as a way for the Great Houses to further study and learn more about each student. This, along with other means, would eventually narrow their focus when it came time for Graduation so they could choose which Initiate's best fit within control of their House.

These odd sort of reviews had taken on a dozen different forms over the years, though most often they were displays of combat between students. Not a show staged for the benefit of others, but fights which often turned deadly as the various Initiate's had tried their best to impress those above them.

Not that Liliana had ever needed to do such a thing. "This is a waste of time, Father. I should be in Alliria wi-"

"Quiet." Atrienn Lorel hissed at his youngest daughter as they continued towards the stands. Moving to join the three dozen or so members of Parliament, Nobles, and Upper-Ranked Guardsmen already sitting in attendance. "Do you think you're the last important Dreadlord to Graduate from this place?"

Her father whispered, the anger in his tone clear. "Just because we cannot take them under our wing anymore, does not mean there is not influence to be had."

The reason they had come here, of course, the reason most people were here. The fights today would not be as brutal as they had been in her day, but they were still an evaluation. Each Initiate would be watched, tested, and assessed. The Guard, The Vigilite, even the members of Parliament were all here for that reason. To see how the new stock would fare.

Why her father cared was beyond her. "Sit, and shut up until I ask your opinion."

Atrienn continued, sending Liliana into a silent furor. Her fingers twitched as she felt the temptation to turn her father into a drooling moron. Wondering just how upset Cousin Elise would be if she did.

"Yes, Father." She bit out as she took her seat in the bleachers. Fingers raking against her arms as she considered the next bout of Initiate's. Twelve of them ready to fight as the evaluations continued.

At least she would get to see her cousin.

 

[Vittoria Larrainth]

If Revolution never came and went, this day would secure Vittoria's future.

She had been primed and honed for this display of her magic, to unleash the full extent of her powers, and finally show just how capable of a Dreadlord she would make.

But now, this was simply a talent show. A means to entertain.

Her future was to be like every one in her class, to complete graduation and be inducted into the ranks, not won by power and might, but simply doing the same as her classmates. Perhaps it was a true blessing that this was styled to be one on one magical combat, for there were very few that could fight back with Vittoria. She liked to instil false hope before dashing all their confidence.

Dressed in fighting leathers, she leaned against the frame of an open window that overlooked the cold earth that made up their fighting grounds. She bit into an apple, taking a large bite that saw her teeth produce a some of the fruit's juice to spill over the crimson skin. She had little difficulty pressing her teeth into the apple and coming away with a piece in her mouth, and after chewing and swallowing her bite, she let the apple fall down below without another thought.

 

[Marcia]

Every moment in an Initiate's training was an opportunity to separate yourself from the rest of the pack and be noticed. These moments weren't equal in weight; to excel in one class was to excel in the eyes of one Proctor alone. Doing the same in a mission was where the meat of recognition lay, and your successes were an active benefit to Vel Anir and her territories.

Evaluation?

Well, that was where eyes outside the Academy could witness progress, and influential forces made snap judgments on who was worthy and who was worth leaving behind. It was the golden opportunity. Before the revolution, it had also been a chance to eliminate the competition.

A pity, really.

Marcia's opponent for the review was Initiate Catrina Bletzin, which on paper might have seemed like a mismatch when one considered that the taller girl's choice of offence was nothing more than hand wraps and her defence meagre in the form of clothing suited to martial arts more than battle. For all of her short stature, Marcia seemed like a bulwark in comparison, opting for light leather armour and, of course, her spiked steel buckler.

Of course, judging Initiates on appearance alone was foolish. Could they have looked at Marcia and known she delved into the realm of mirrors? Would they have known that Bletzin freely wielded the elements throughout her body as if they were a part of her as much as blood and bone?

As far as potential opponents went, Bletzin was an ideal choice—a strong combatant without being a vindictive arsehole who was better in the physical sense than mental. Academia had never been the red-head's strong suit. She remembered that the girl had struggled with her...

"Hey, Marcia," Catrina said casually, looking down at her, the two standing side by side in a presentation of the match-ups. "Do you remember when you told Pilleth I couldn't read, and he forced me to read in front of everybody?"

...literacy.

Truthfully, the memory was barely a footnote for Marcia. Still, she recalled their peers' laughter as the girl had barely stumbled over every word until it fell into an awkward, painful silence punctuated only by the childish way Bletzin attempted to sound out her words.

"And?" Marcia shrugged, staring ahead impassively. "Has your reading improved since?"

They were fourteen, and she should have known how to read. The girl needed to build a bridge and fucking get over it.

"Consider this payback," she promised before moving away to stand opposite in preparation for the beginning of their bout, limbering up meanwhile and stretching out her well-muscled arms and shoulders.

 

[Takoda]

This was insulting.

Takoda stood in the corner as he adjusted the leather braces on his forearms and made sure all of the straps from the rest of his meager armor were tucked inward. His weapon of choice, the spear sat leaning against the wall within arms reach of him.

He had been told that this evaluation was a requirement for him, seeing as he was behind on his studies as compared to the others, which he also found laughable. Most of the initiates were all from the same mold, a mold that Takoda could easily break. Only a handful of them were actually competent. So what if he started late, he would already take himself over many of the Academy's 'prized' initiates.

And now, because of this bias, he was supposed to be some entertainment for the Anirians? Laughable, he was the son of one of the great Chieftans of the Savannah and was even in this pathetic place as a mere symbol for a peace treaty. Now they expected him to put on a show? No, he would crush whoever stepped out across from him in this arena.

Taking up his spear he turned back to look around the room before noticing Vittoria not so far away from him. He watched as the apple fell to the floor and a small frown tugged at his lips,

"A bit of a waste don't you think?"

 

[Pawel Wilhart]

There was something unsavoury about attending a demonstration of teenage soldiers' combat prowess. Pawel Wilhart didn't want to spit in the face of Anirian military traditions, silently acknowledging that war was in Vel Anir's blood and soaked into the soil of her territories, but that didn't mean he had to agree with it.

Especially not when hearing a passing noble make an off-handed remark about missing the days when they allowed them to slaughter one another.

Such a dire fate, and for why? Happenstance. To be born with the gift of magic, which in turn became the shackles that would deny you the chance at a normal upbringing. 'Oh, but the reserves,' Pawel, he'd often heard in rebuttal, 'they have the choice of a normal life', but by the time they'd made it to that point, they'd already missed the mundane joy of childhood, already been drilled with a regime to live by.

Still, pontificating with people who weren't Dreadlords nor Initiates was pointless and a disservice; he couldn't speak to their experiences. So his attendance was necessary, if for no other reason than the pursuit of understanding.

Pawel had decidedly left Miss Marzipan in his mother's care for the day, not needing to draw attention to himself with the attention-hogging great hound. Instead, the man's companion was his packed lunch: roast mutton sandwiches that he carefully unwrapped from the wax paper that held them. He hadn't witnessed any of the evaluations that had taken place so far, but in anticipation of losing his appetite, Wilhart decided it was best to eat now.

 

[Blake]

So, lil Marci and Cat were the first ones up to bat, huh? Nice.
"This oughta be a good show," Blake spoke her thoughts aloud to no one in particular. Catrina had made for a good sparring partner over the last year or so, a fellow pugilism enthusiast as she was. She was good, too. Made great use of her elemental powers alongside good form and technique. Marci was about to have her work cut out for her.

Then again, Marci was a total dynamo in a pint-sized package. Her magic might not hold up well under the circumstances, but Blake could hardly count the number of cocky initiates that underestimated just how much tenacity was crammed inside of her. No matter who came out on top, it was the audience that was ultimately the winners here.

Blake looked to her left to see who else among the waiting room might've been watching. Vittoria was at the next nearest window, and Takoda was orbiting her. She raised a hand up and cupped it to her mouth, then called to the others.
"Oi! Who're you two bettin' on?"

 

[Liliana]

Atrien Lorel shifted in his seat, eyes flickering over the Initiate's below as the bouts began to line up. His gaze lingered on one in particular, lips drawing to a thin line as he studied her.

Liliana watched her father curiously for a moment, though didn't press as her own eyes sailed over the Initiate's below. She knew precious few of their names, though only because her own focus had always been in recruiting her own peers.

Eventually her interest waned.

The fights would be starting soon, six of them at a time, if only so the day wouldn't drag for hours. There was little doubt many of them would be unremarkable, not even worth seeing, but at least Vittoria would put on a good show.

Until then though, there were other opportunities to be seized.

Liliana's eyes began to wander through the crowd, plucking out faces and putting them to names. Her fingers drumming against her thigh until she spotted one face that was newer than the others. "Excuse me, father."

The Girl said as she stood, Atrien Lorel barely acknowledging her with little more than a grunt as she made her way down the stands and towards Pawel Wilhart.

(There are six fights going on at any one time, I highly encourage people to choose to either face a PC or make up an NPC opponent like Marcia did. This is meant to mostly be a thread about showing off your char/magic, and a bit of socializing between Anirians )

 

[Vittoria Larrainth]

"A waste to you, but the apple will feed the earth as it decomposes." She turned her head to see an Initiate she rarely spoke to. That was the thing with these sorts of events, the entire class came together in a way that meant she had to endure those she never spent any true time getting to know. All Vittoria knew of this classmate was his name.

Then her eyes flicked to Blake. A worthy opponent, she had remarked as much witnessing her in combat against King. Even her shadows were remembered by Vittoria.

She returned her attention to the fight already in progress, and assessed the competitors with a trained eye. "Marcia will win. It is her need to not fail that will make her go down fighting, and I can see Catrina has an injury in her shoulder. It would have been fixed by Proctor Urahil, but she is away on mission. A disadvantage, truly. She could have learned to heal herself in Proctor Krixus' class if she had not been knocked out in the medical wing."

But before Vittoria could look back at her classmates, a Proctor approached and cleared his throat. "Dreadlord Ophir wants you out there now. An Initiate has asked for you by name."

Vittoria turned to them, giving them a curious glance. "Oh? And whom may that be?"

"Initiate Eliza Wylls."

The name alone sparked something feral inside Vittoria. Wylls had always wished to put Vittoria in her place, but this was Vittoria's chance to show her classmates her power was only being held back all this time.

"I sure hope you both bet on me. I will make it worth your while." Was her parting words to Blake and Takoda.

 

[Marcia]

Marcia already knew what Catrina's strategy would be, but in the very same breath, she was not so arrogant as to believe that Bletzin wasn't thinking the exact same thing. It was one thing to be functionally illiterate, but on the field of combat, her opponent was not a slouch. In fact, it was the opposite; the struggle of academic pursuits drove the elemental strike harder into the training rooms.

They had been at the Academy long enough and had had enough bruising sparring encounters to know one another's strengths and weaknesses.

Catrina would seek to overwhelm, to go in hard and fast in an all-out assault, which, in tandem with her empowered strikes, would exhaust and break her defences. Marcia would opt to end it before it even began, using her reflection to intercept the first blow before it was even made, but on failing that, would rely on her spiked shield to primarily defend until the opportunity to attack presented itself.

The pair did not wait for the others to get into position themselves and begin, seeing the chance to take the attention of the spectators solely for themselves for a minute or two.

Initiate Bletzin burst into a sprint as Marcia raised the buckler by the hand grip, her eyes connecting with the polished metal to send her imperceptible mirror self running towards the red-haired girl to intercept. Catrina knew it would be coming but had to predict when to dodge, one of her keys to winning the bout.

She picked her moment, suddenly diverting her course just as Marcia's reflection barrelled in with the spiked end of her shield, avoiding mild perforation. Catrina couldn't be sure she'd avoided it but resumed her charge, drawing closer as Marcia braced for impact, pulling her eyes away from the shield to watch her opponent.

Unpredictably, instead of clattering her, the striker burst into a running front handspring, her impeccable timing ensuring that she cleared Marcia's short frame by flipping over her.

If the martial artist was sporting a shoulder injury, a detail unbeknownst to the pair of them, it was not present in her movements. Perhaps it was a small mercy that Marcia was entirely unaware that perpetual shit gibbon and future town massacre enthusiast Vittoria Larrainth was attempting to undermine her moment to shine with her petty and remarkably believable lies. The rage at the very thought might have unbalanced her.

Marcia was forced to whirl around, shield raised, just in time to be met by a spinning roundhouse kick that splattered against metal, sending a dense deluge of wet mud everywhere in a thick spray.

Fucking mud?!