TEST: Drifa/Opan/Coralee v Mallory/Reldexx/Matteo

mallory wraith. 

The sand rolled and swayed, an undulating ocean. I knew it was the same shimmer given off by hot tarmac, or mid-summer cement, but it was hard to shake the feeling that it was something other-worldly. Each step was a struggle, not just for the blistering heat but because the world was shifting, the sand spilling as if in an hourglass below me, so deep it was hard to imagine solid ground below us. It must be somewhere, though. If I were to get a shovel and start digging, dig until my hands were blistered and numb, surely I would find the bottom. I could build a tunnel, dig myself and Matteo and Reldexx out of here. Keep going until the scalding desert was behind us. Wouldn't it be nice.

Instead, the endless desert imprisons us. The only way out is through. And by through, I mean through the hearts of our peers, through their chests and necks and coronary arteries. I keep my glaive clasped in my hands every step I take. It serves me as a kind of walking stick, a support as I wade through the abyss, helping me keep holding my head up. It's important that I don't let it droop, because even these allies of mine seek the same exit route I do; and it is me who stands in their way. The blade flashes in the sun. I think you'd see us coming from a mile away; there is no shelter here, just we three beacons of glinting metal and shimmering, sweaty skin. It's a call out: come and get us, come and try. 

Better they come to us anyway. Any step I don't have to walk is a relief to me. Just as I'm thinking it they appear in the distance; a mirage, a dream, no, real, three wanderers just like us, crossed paths guiding us toward victory. Or failure. Death. Whatever it might be. I'll take it. Once they are close enough to hear us, Reldexx begins her speech, all cocky, riling them up, trying to elicit fear in their hearts. The sight of us probably does enough to negate this, but I am, if nothing else, her supporter. She mocks them, spits on their family ties. She's right, they mean nothing here. It's just us, and them, and the blood that's currently inside of us all, soon to be splattered through the sand. Maybe when it drinks it up the sand will calm, lose its restlessness, settle down for the night. Maybe. 

She strikes; a knife thrown at the Emberstatt. It buries itself deep in her chest. 

I shift my weight, drawing the glaive so I can use it. It's a toss up, which one of them I head towards. I decide on the one with the stupid name, in the hope that I don't have to hear it again.

[attacks opan with glaive] 

sKerJUdGI7glaive

stabbed in forearm, 8.5
+ 1 blades
9.5

mallory wraith. 

I hate to be touched. 

I hate hugs; forced upon a person by social expectations, hellos and goodbyes that could easily have been verbal but instead extend to the physical. I hate handshakes - the sweaty slip of palm against palm, the grease of a hand, the consideration of whether a grip is too light, too forceful. The unspoken message of it, unintelligible to me. I hate the brush of a fingertip on an arm or a shoulder while somebody tells a story. I always jump, even when I see it coming. Afterwards, I can feel the impression of their hand on my skin, and I want to rub at it until it's scrubbed clean. 

I also hate to be stabbed at with a sword. It's uncomfortable in a different way, but the torrent of aggression that moves toward me stirs my stomach just the same. I want to tell them step back, I want to shout get away from me, you bastards! but I'm all too aware that that goes against the spirit of the thing. That's the rules: I hit you, you hit me. It's give and take. It's not a transaction I approve of, but I appreciate the equality of it. 

They look like absolute shit, all three of them. It almost seems that the sand has been grating away at their skin, making them rough and coarse, versions of themselves that are a far cry from the smooth, shining opponents I met in the Capitol. They've been ground down, chipped away at. I know this is a matter of give and take, too - nobody out here in the dunes could avoid it, but I like to kid myself and pretend that we three warriors are different from them. We are made of tougher stuff. We have the same rules, yes, but the game treats us better. It hasn't been true so far, but I'll give it a while longer. 

"Oh, you don't want to play with me?" sings out Reldexx, coming to my aid. 

"Don't worry, I've got it!" I say, stumbling a little.

An arrow lodges itself under my skin. I have to reach down to pull it out. I look up, shocked. I was busy fending them off at short range (get back, get back, get back) and they come at me from afar. I hiss, a strangled sort of sound designed to swallow pain, but it comes out mean. Good. Hopefully they're afraid. (I'm afraid.) But I know how this works. I take a step back, trying to ground myself, finding it difficult to stay upright as the ground once again pours away from beneath my feet. I hate hugs, and handshakes, and being touched, and being struck with a sword, and being shot at with arrows, and, especially, I hate sand. I strike again, if only for the fear that if I die here, I'll spend eternity in this sandy hell.

"I was just starting to have fun," rings out Reldexx's voice again. I shudder. This is not my idea of fun. 

[attacks opan with glaive] 

D9ntkGD8vdglaive

Shallow cut on stomach - 4 damage

[mallory attempts lightstep against opan's attack]

1-10

success