(Fight started Wednesday, May 5th.)

The barren landscape seemed all the more ominous from the brooding storm clouds above. Winds from the east kicked up a fine layer of dust and rustled the dry, brittle branches of the black deceased trees that scarcely dotted the wasteland. Like an impressive totem, Xerathril stood in place without moving as much as a single muscle. One would assume he had been there for several weeks, if the concept of time were not lost within the harsh wilderness. Suddenly his neck craned itself downward, despite the groaning protest of his tensed muscles, to inspect his person. A loincloth was the only article of clothing on him; the rest of his body were covered in tatoos of arcane origins from which he drew his power and the scars of confrontations he was all to familiar with. Xerathril's attention then shifted towards what he understood as his new opponent.

"Whoever it is, he is our enemy. Eliminate him."

Lacking free will and his own concept of comprehension, Xerathril could do nothing more than obey the orders of his recondite master. Within one articulate movement, his body was brought about and his weapons were readied; a slight rust could be seen on the blades of his kamas, wherever blood did not stain the steel beyond recognition.

Before Xerathril sat a small, wizened figure, oblivious, nor indeed even aware of the environment around him as his opponent approached. His head was bald, and his eyes were a dull pink, making it obvious that he was an albino. His eyes were opened, but they were unfocused, and seemed closed. He sat in a drab blue grey robe, and maintained this pose silently. He was here to eliminate the demons that he himself had created... and now plagued his mind. He would do so by giving them to a new host... One more heartily bound by the confines of reality.

However, he sensed that this being, approaching him through the mists of the wasteland was being controlled by some other being.

Perfect.

"I am the essence of your subconscious. I am the realm of your aura." Said the small figure, his mouth never opening, the voice harsh and deep and light and echoing all at once. A capiphony of voices sounded as his voice gained power, speaking in unison. "I am here to destroy your being, your mind, and your soul. I am the Nightmare, and I must take your energies as my own." The voices screamed now, at the top of their non-existant lungs, crying out in pain, "You will know oblivion as yourself! You will know the realm of nothing as none have! IN THE INSTANCE OF YOUR SUFFERING THAT TRANSCENDS THIS METAVERSE, YOU WILL KNOW OF NOTHING BUT ME. I AM THE NIGHTMARE, AND YOUR ESSENCE IS MINE!"

The words had just barely begun their echo into silence when the small figure before him split, into six, eight of himself, illusions and presences undiscernable from one another. They surrounded Xerathil and the presence of his master's mind, in all realms at once. In a circle, there were now eight bodies of the Nightmare spread around Xerathil, and he had still not moved. From each one was issued a visible, tangible hemisphere of force, tinted a sickly black and purple, directed inward at Xerathil. They moved inward until a sphere of open space with a radius of ten feet was all that was between Xerathil and a massive psychic backlash.

From above the battleground, in the Aurastral plane, the Nightmare manifested a final form of himself, the true being among one of the eight illusions. This final form was inivisible to those fighting below, but saw clearly the mental connection between Xerathil and his master, whoever it was controlling this being in the shadows from afar. He watched, and waited. How would this master control his puppet to avoid the first trick?

He would claim Xerathril's essence as his own? Miaylsma could not help but laugh at the prospect; many strangers have claimed to be able to defeat one of his agents, but the only being ever to succeed was his own father. Back within the tangible realm, the storm clouds above began thundering, as if the end of all creation were upon them. A wave of pouring rain fell down upon the combatants. Droplets landed on his dark, weathered skin and rolled off before they had the chance to bead. Xerathril's lips formed the words of a foreign tongue, but no words came. Instead, the message echoed omnipotently throughout the entire region; Miaylsma was ready to deliver his proclamation.

"Mortals above all mortals, mere husks of their former selves now resigned to the task of murdering their own kind. They are the perfect beings; my own children; my invention. I would be careful in your position, Xerathril is not the trifle you treat him as. And I will be more than glad to demonstrate!"

As Miaylsma concluding his boast with his bastardice laugh, Xerathril seemingly joined in; once again, however, his voice failed him. Several seconds passed in this fashion, then all at once his face sobered and appeared as before, as if no emotion had ever been shown, had never been felt. He then lept several feet into the air to see the extent of the psychic barricade the Nightmares projected. Desiring to test his opponent's abilities, Xerathril was ordered to hurl one of his kamas at the pink orb that shone below him. Lightning flashed as the blade flew from his hand; he then landed within a forming puddle and stood as he had, awaiting the results of his test.

The Nightmare did not react. The barricade only flickered, its color intensifying. Meanwhile, the astral projection of himself stretched, and bended, an abomination of his physical self, turning and twisting... It dove towards the yellow streak that, in this realm, represented as a physical manifestation of the master's control over the puppet. It, with shocking calm, dived into the stream of the control, flowing deep into the puppet's brain as the sword collided and cleanly bounced off the barrier, the blade cleanly shooting almost in the opposing direction to where Xerathil was dropping to land.
Inside the puppet's head, the projection wrapped itself around the control's stone-like spire that was implanted firmly on the cortex of the puppet. It began convulsing, emitting energies that were seeking to counteract the force of the control that the master had on Xerathil. It began searching for the master as, in the physical realm, the projection whose force had been infringed upon began directing its hemisphere in the direction of the warrior who was now landing. Smoothly, the rest of the projections followed suit, and they began moving inward to catch Xerathil where he would have trouble defending himself from both the psionic barriers' ever-present inward path and his own sword, which was coming straight back at him.
The Nightmare, coolly invisible in the crowd of projections, mused to himself. How could the puppet discern which barrier was the real one without input from the master?

(Edit, fixing a few positional errors on my part.)

Immediately as the projection entered his minion's mind, Maiylsma became aware of it's presence and the threat it could present. He decide, however, to humor Nightmare's futile attempts to free Xerathril. Xerathril could suddenly be seen showing signs of his own consiousness, gripping his head in a vice-like grip and attempting to cry out in confusion and pain(although he has always been mute). He crumbled to his knees as pupils came to focus in his pupiless, tearing eyes. The tattoos adorning his body also began to quaver and fade. It would seem that the grim totem that slaughtered hundreds in his two hundred years of existance had been reduced to nothing more than a quivering mound of pathetic mortal flesh on the front of an unstoppable onslaught. Seeing a human reduced to the pitiful monstrosity he has always viewed them as gave Miaylsma much pleasure, but the fact remained that this monstrosity was his. Nothing would allow Nightmare domination on the situation. With a grasp of his massive fist, control over Xerathril's mind was Miaylsma's again. The projection that was his nemesis was expulsed in a cataclysm of darkness.

"You dare to defy a GOD?! In the future promise me you won't be so wreckless!"

Xerathril once again became erect; a cloudy swirl engulfed his once visible pupils; the markings on this body came back into focus and shone bolder than before; his kama could been seen hurdling back at him, but it was quickly halted by the grasp of his hand, which could barely be seen reaching for the blade.

"Now, behind you!"

As the command boomed within the confines of his head, deafening the pouring rain and crashing thunder, Xerathril turned to behind him and began to wade through the sea of psionic energy that already began to immerse him. What would have torn the flesh from an mortal's body could only singe his body at first. Harsher burns and tearing of the skin began to occur over time, however, signifying him to speed up his advance. Soon after he raised both kamas and swung them down upon the pink orb that was now visible before him. Rain could be seen glistening on the blades.

One projection was erased from the physical realm, and with it, its force field. The projection within the mind of the puppet, thrown free of the control spire by a wave of energy, re-intensified itself and swirled around for a counter-attack, dividing itself in two and doubling its effectiveness and swirling at twice the speed around the spire, now with enough information to attack the master himself. Hurling the energy used to control the puppet back at the master, the projections whirled with almost blinding speed through the astral realm.
Back in the physical realm, the team of now six projections (and one being) redoubled their attacks, begining to suck energy from the astral realm projections' efforts, the energy moving faster and growing more intense back towards where the warrior stood, over the last dying wisps of dust that had been the projection. Two of the projections disappeared entirely as the Nightmare increased the potency of the attacks of the remaining projections.
One of the projections shot up above the four, and aimed its force bubble down from above, at a now moderate speed, attempting to collide directly with the head of Xerathil, further disrupting the control of the unseen master.
The Nightmare, in so many places at once, was still calm. This master being was a God? Perhaps he wouldn't outright kill the puppet after all... A subtle tie to such a vast amount of energy; the prospect was interesting... But perhaps the puppet, Xerathil, was only kept alive by the master's control... If so, the link would be lost. No matter, the master would strengthen his grip once he realized the peril his dear slave was in.

Miaylsma was becoming aggrivated with the current turn of events...

"Insolent fool! Have you not learned from my previous demonstration? You cannot free Xerathril's will, his consiousness, his MIND; they belong to me! I refuse to repeat the mistakes of the past, especially to the likes of...of..." Miaylsma continued more scoffingly, "WHATEVER you are. Prepare to bear witness to the true power of the defiler of all humanity!!"

Paying no mind to the vain efforts of Nightmare's projections that resided within his minion's "mind," he began a chant in ancient Grecerian, which Xerathril's lips could easily sync:

"Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril..."

As the chant continued, the clouds within Xerathril's minds flowed and ebbed, and danced in erratic patters. These clouds seemed to flow from his eyes and shroud his body in a thin layer that accentuated the black markings on his person. Rain could be seen evaporating the instant the droplets touched the forming barrier. But before the enchantment could reach the whole of his body, Nightmare's psychic barrier came crashing down upon his head. His concentration was undeterred, but bruisings and abraisions could be seen upon the impacted area as it was driven into the softened earth below. As the psionic forcefield pressed upon the rest of his body, the scars previously left on his body worsened in degree and began to shed blood; the blood came to a boil and created smattered designs all over his legs and torso. The impact drove one of his kamas from his hand, but the second it touched the ground it could not finish rattling before it flew back into his hand (more of Miaylsma's handiwork). To worsen the situation, Xerathril's chanting was muffled by the mud engulfing his head moment by moment, with began to cancel the enchantment which kept his body from being oblitherated. Crossing his kamas, they were thrust directly at the projections torso; he then began to push with bewildering might to release himself from his pinned position. Blood ran fluently down his wrist, boiling and steaming all the while. But not even the look of persecution could be seen within Xerathril's battered face.

The upper projection faltered and was obliterated by the flying swords, but then, from the collision with the energy, fell to the ground, lifeless of any previous energies inside them, while in the brain of Xerathil, the energies that the projections were distorting was beginning to effectively be absorbed and redoubled. The projections, now wispy strands of energy, only vaguly in coloration to what the original projection had been, split again, now four wires surrounding the control spire on the astral plane. They began sending waves of anti-particles generated by reversing the polarity of the control particles that were being sent to the control spire. They sent them back up the connection, attacking the master directly.
Back on the physical plane, two more projections faltered, leaving just one projection left to confound Xerathil, a psychic wince audibly heard as the Nightmare was focusing on two fronts. The overhead projection destroyed, the final two projections (one the real Nightmare), lifted up into the air, still unmoving despite their movement in the world around them, and they began circling, faster and faster, their two barriers beginning to swirl over the body of Xerathil as his flesh was pressed farther and farther into the soil. They became a maelstrom of energy, crackling as the physical force increased, making a swirling vortex of energy that threatened to suffocate Xerathil, his entire body held pressed tight by the intense focus of the energy as it passed, many times in a second, over him.
Suddenly, another projection appeared before Xerathil, and moved! It grabbed his arm with one small, ancient hand, and placed its other hand above his mouth, clearly unfazed from being inside the similiar frequency of energy that made up the psychic barrier. It began rambling, this projections' voice indiscernably quiet, a loud whisper that echoed as it spoke.
"Your voice is soon mine, soon mine, soon mine!" And as it chanted this, the hand above Xerathil's mouth began to glow, shooting a line of energy into Xerathil's mouth, moving to suck the very essence, the very soul of Xerathil, from his body.
"Soon mine! Soon mine! SOON MINE!"

Xerathril's body sunk back into the earth, desperately trying to avoid the growing malstrom of force looming before him. His lips continued to form the incantation which could barely keep the psychic energies (now greatly intensified) from crushing Miaylsma's agent. Faster and faster the words of foreign tongue formed...

"Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Ect Xect Zai'ril, Me Kei'sai Erhall, Erhall She Gon'nai, Erhall She Gon'nai, Erhall She Gon'nai..."

The chant neared completion, but not soon enough - one of the projections pinning him down had taken grasp of his blood-soaked wrist and placed it's hand over Xerathril's mouth, attempting to cancel the enchantment fueled by the Grecerian spell. Energies began to pour from the hand of his nemesis threatening to steal Miaylsma's voice itself. However, the same spell keeping the psychic energies from destroying him also went to work keeping the energy that threatened to consume his voice at bay. It was still a priority for Xerathril to be free from his submission hold, but with one of his arms held down it would be difficult. The clamped wrist began to writh and struggle within Nightmare's grasp, but not much progress could be seen. More and more his hand struggled, and the idea came to Miaylsma to use Xerathril's own blood as lubricant; the captured wrist slid back and forth as much as possible within the vice-like grip, coating Nightmare's hand. The struggle became easier at this point, and Xerathril dropped his weapon to try and slip his hand free. The spell was now faltering, as Nightmare was winning the war over possession of Miaylsma's voice; an upside could be seen, as Xerathril was finally able to free his now crippled hand. The dropped kama immediately returned to him as he tried to deliver a blow to the hand supressing his power.

Meanwhile, Miaylsma could feel the reprecussions of Nightmare's assault; never before had such mental anguish been felt by the god.

What IS he, anyhow?! This cannot be; none can compete with my capacities!

Even such a simple thought pained him incredibly, as the phantasms in his mind intensified. By the time he commanded Xerathril to counterattack he was nearly silenced and doubled over within his suffering. It would be incredibly difficult to give Xerathril commands from now on, and near impossible for Xerathril to hope to defend himself. He would have to rely on his prime directive that drove him like a primal rhythm: he must defeat his opponent or perish doing so.

Weakness. The Nightmare felt it. He felt it inside the realms as the master cried out, not used to being harmed in any way. The projection under the barriers faltered, cut into psychic dust by Xerathil's last slash of the sword... But Nightmare could only assume some of the energies had taken hold over Xerathil's body, and so he pressed the assault, whirling the psychic barriers faster, and with a higher intensity, if only to ease the tension that was multiplied inside his astral projections as they spun, weaving about the control spire withing the puppet's brain at near breaking point, sucking energies from the master and redoubling them at a blinding speed now, their own rate increased in harmony with the spinning of the psychic barriers.
But the projection's faltering had taxed the Nightmare, and the final projection that was in the air with the real Nightmare vanished, the true Nightmare the only one left to combat. Knowing that his illusion had run dry, the only psychic barrier holding Xerathil now was spinning so fast that it had now taken on the visible presence of a spiral of energy, holding in the puppet whose weapon was again decharged of energy from a successful slash of the projection. The Nightmare himself launched down into the spiral, which widened for him, his true form still unmoving since the beginning of the battle. The barrier widened over Xerathil's upper torso and head, and the true Nightmare made his first real, slow movement.
He moved his hands. Both of them. He held them out in front of him, and from them he issued the final rites of his essence-drying attack. From each hand was issued a larger, more intense version of the beam that the projection itself had issued, one pinning Xerathil in the chest, and the other shooting into his mouth. The pressure he intensified in the chest until the beam was almost tangible, like the barrier itself, a pressure so intense that moving any of his limbs at this point could be so excruciating in its pain that the muscles, with any luck, would involuntarily contract and become useless, like the actions of a normal cramping of the muscle, only crammed into seconds instead of hours.
The Nightmare moved down, the barrier widening until Xerathil's arms and legs were stuck under its full force, the spiral's energies moving so rapidly that they might almost be capable of ripping skin and flesh from Xerathil if they were plunged into them.
He looked down, his eyes in focus for the first time, and shining almost remorsefully at Xerathil, before a white glow enveloped them.
"Your energies... Your being... Your essense is mine."

Intolerable agony. A cold sweat covered Miaylsma's entire body as he lay nearly motionless, quivering slightly. It had happened. Xerathril could no longer be sensed, be seen. Was his essence...? His mind...? His body...? Such questions raced across his now eerily clamed mind; an acumen of despair. Whatever had happened, happened. The only memory that could be slavaged of his former liege was the final command he was given, the concluding words of his chant:

"Mefal... Te... Dai."

For the first time in eons, Miaylsma cried out in helplessness.

Back in the physical realm, Xerathril was not at all fairing well. Finally vanquishing the projections, all that seemingly remained was his true opponent. Nightmare undoubtably unleashed the true extents of his power; the myriad of energies before him begant to swirl faster and faster, seeming to form graven images against the ominous sky. The spiral widened itself to allow the passage of his nemesis. His legs and arms were helplessly pinned into the ground; his blades lay idly in filthy puddles at his side; nonetheless, the chant continued, providing futile protection for his blood-sullied body. Then it happened. Miaylsma's limitless intellect suddenly stopped flooding his mind. Deafening silence only remained. Xerathril's lips fell still, halting the incantation and his defense against the beams that now sought to pierce his body. And so they did. Nearly missing his heart, the beam shot into his chest and tore away at the suprisingly thin wall of muscle. Though the flesh was dissipated the arcane markings adorning his body remained; the energy experienced difficulty piercing the tattoos that were now rendered near useless. The forces pressing upon his limbs found a victory; Xerathril's legs were reduced to indistinguishable shrapnel, colored red and white in varying hues and intensities. If he were capable of comprehending pain... His lips suddenly moved in the pattern that would prove his last hope:

"Mefal... Te... DAI!!"

Xerathril's pinned arms suddenly found purpose; they could fluently move through the pressing force, though not without sustaining injury. 'Injury' was describing it lightly: his already bloodied hands glistened with newly spilt fluid. Flesh began to be torn from sinew and discintegrate in the malstrom of Nightmare's onslaught. Skeletal fingers rose up and attempted to find the throat of his opponent. This was the final hope of the crimson spectre already half-buried. Even if there was any possible means of defeating Nightmare, would he truly have won?

The Nightmare, drawn on by the tenacity of his opponent, allowed himself to enter the grip of the dying being, the beams now nearly complete in their purpose. The mind of the Master was gone, his apparitions now idly surrounding the control spire, sucking any remaining energy still of the Master's origins into it, slowly deteriorating the remaining wisps or power inside the head of Xerathil.
In the grip, the Nightmare felt his throat tighten, but simply ended the barrier in response. The pressure from the beams of power still intensified, the pressure bearing heavily on the chest still, and in the mouth, where he was nearly complete at drawing out the last of the dying streams of power.
With the barrier gone and the astral projections' maelstrom of activity slowing, the Nightmare quietly enveloped himself in the aura of power that had consumed his palms and and eyes, and began drawing not only the raw essence of Xerathil into himself, but his physical imprint as well... The aura burning deep as he was slowly, inexorably being choked. Straining to maintain his powerful mental discipline, he inhaled in the physical realm audibly against the vice-like hands that held him, and held his breath as he began to charge his aura with power, attempting to absorb Xerathil into himself in the last crucial seconds.
Inside Xerathil's mind, the projections shattered the control spire, symbolically as well as literally, and entered his mind.
"Now, you shall become me, and I shall become you. From you, your knowledge, your understanding, I shall know it. And while I did not lie, your suffering will be incredible. But it will end as you enter me. Your salvation in me. Your pain will be brief... And then. Your power incredible. All within me. All in the arms of the Nightmare."

(Kaholic, I salute you. That was an intensely fun fight, and I must say, I truly respect your abilities in an RP fight. Thanks for that.

Edit: Anyhow, it is Saturday, and on the fourth day of the match, I believe we need some judges. Anyone know how that's supposed to go down?)

((You just grab three people that are online and have them judge, try to divy it up among each other so it's fair))

0_0 Wow, that was a great fight. Good work guys, probably the best I've seen here. The only problem was that the overall flow of the fight was a little dull, as it wasn't very easy to pick up where the characters had been located or how they moved throughout the fight, but it's probably just a personal qualm.

BR- Amazing descriptions and great posts overall. However, your biggest problem came from your character's.....ease in achieving his mission, he barely broke a sweat during the whole thing. There was never any feeling of actual like...satisfaction in what he was doing, there wasn't really a reason to root for the character or cheer for his successes, and that was a strike against you. But don't get me wrong, Nightmare was extremely well-written character, and you definatly captured the....ambition, for lack of a better, that he had in his quest to "consume".

Al Kaholic-Another amazing set of posting, extremly well done, each character had they're own arching history that could only be speculated and never told yet, but it was still something I had been thinking about as soon as I read that the original character from your sign-ups, the personification in your posts was probably the best parts about them, every element of the battle came to life and you were able to feel Xerathril's character despite him being a controlled mute. If I were to make a bet, I'd say that if you keep your attacks more varied and aggressive, you will probably come out on top of this whole contest.

My vote: Al.

since i was just hired on as a judge here we go



the match itself was great, great effort by both fighters. if it were on a point system i'd give you both the highest score possible because it was a great fight. the only thing is from the start i didnt like br's power to take on the power of his enemy.......i found it very nubish but he did well with it. but in the end i have to vote in favor of james

Jay, I'm going to question the validity of that judgement based on "Not liking" my power when the tournament is supposed to be judging skill in the writing... Crossknight, your want of plot within my character is also a questionable decision, but seeing as I made a semi-plot-related judgement in my last match, I will accept that one at least.

I'm challenging Jay's judgement for this match on the grounds that it is not based in any part of how the match was actually played out. Because we do want a fair, impartial judgement from each judge based on the skill of the competition. We wouldn't want this to become a popularity contest.

Br, I hate to say this, but.... too bad. The judgement was questionable in every fight so far. Like you said winning should be based on writing. But that hasnt really been the case. In Gelfman vs. Fezzod, Ed voted for Fezzy-boy based on the fact that his character was winning the fight. Not exactly the kind of system we wanted.
In my fight gelfman said and I quote:

... but he voted against me anyway.
and Fezzod voted sean because he liked the character better. Everyone just has their own interpretation on how the winner should be decided. So que sera sera, whatever will be will be. *man that is so corny, why dont I just edit it?*

I'm sorry to hear that, Slade.

Well! excellent. As long as I know where the tournament stands as far as integrity in the judgements, you know, description, position, general ability to convey your movements accurately, and not just a bunch of "I like this guy better" than I understand perfectly why all tournaments ever run on this site have always worked and will continue to be a long-standing tradition, because everyone judges with such tact and fairness!

Oh wai

No, seriously. I'm out. Kaholic, you win. I don't need any other judges here, because I guess I can't find enough people involved in the tournament to judge based on quality instead of likeability, because you know this contest was, yeah, it was supposed to measure who has the most skill on the board. Yeah. I'm out. I'll stick to the story-based RPs from now on, since not many people on here know how to do or judge RP duels. But Kaholic, thanks. I was sincere when I said I enjoyed that match, and that I respect your skills.

Go Kaholic!

Edit: Yeah, Jay. I know. It was the lack of judges that allowed me to pick you in the first place. How sorry I am that I was made aware of this now apparent flaw in the tournament system. But then again, I wasn't going to count your decision anyway, since you have admitted you've got no right to judge (and if it was me deciding it, participate) in this tournament. So, yeah, I don't need any two replacement judges, since most of the judges aren't doing their job.

You fail at Internet :(

br...it was a three judge system((i believe)) and even if you found another judge, he wouldnt be eough for you to be declared the winner....

You want another judge? fine. Heres my opinion. You are a master of description. that much is clear. In that sense, you are the best. However, one important factor to an rp duel is to work with your opponent. Its a game of give and take. throughout that fight you kept complete control. You used your powers to give you a huge advantage. With a power like mind control, there isnt a whole lot your opponent can do to counter. Especially within a three day time limit. Do you realize that throughout the fight the two of you basically stood still the whole time? (with some minor exceptions.) Also, your character was not hurt once. Not once. James on the other hand went toe to toe with you in descriptions, had more character development, and was willing to be affected by your attacks, even if it made his character look weak.

So I vote James

This is what I take into account in these fights. whether you agree with my method is completely up to you, but complaining about a loss in a game like this isnt going to help you. I was frustrated that I lost, but was willing to accept it. And I really hate to quote something this corny, but. "Its just a game. Winning isnt everything. All that matters is you gave it everything you had."

No, I don't want another opinion. I don't need another opinion. You people think this is a game of give and take. It's not.

Quality. That's the only thing that matters. Skill. If Kaholic had really wanted to stop me, he could've found a way. Every attack is counterable, and every attack can be stopped. The only question in the game that is asked is: "How do I stop it?"

The answer is simple. You find an attack or counter-attack that is so, so, so difficult to plausibly prevent from working that your opponent must cede to the attack, and accept that it happened to them.

Naturally, this can be strategic, meaning that you can let an opponent's attack hit you so that they are in a position of weakness against your next counter attack. That seems to be your stance in this. Counter-attack.

Well, mine is not. I attack, and I keep attacking. I position, I ready myself, and I attack. It is my opponent's job to counter the first attack and prevent me from attacking again. That is the real truth behind the RP dueling. You are all positional-defensive, and I am positional-offensive.

Oddly, this situation relates to chess, so I'll use it as a metaphor.

Chess is played turn after turn, and you can attack, defend, counter-attack, the same basic decisions of an RP. Because of that, you want to attack in the way that you perceive is the fastest possible way to defeat your opponent, unless you're sure of a strategy that will win based on predicting the action of your opponent, which is mind-games, and sure, that can be played effectively, and I enjoy doing that, sometimes.

But in this match, I played my truest style. I attacked, and kept attacking, deflecting the counter-attacks made against me and preparing to defend at every turn for a counter-attack should I be given a truly difficult attack to defend against.

...Is that so hard to defend against? In my opinion, it was not. I can give you play-by-plays, of accordance to what Kaholic and I both did, and many possible senarios that end in victory and defeat for both parties.

It's all possibility, buddy, and it's all about keeping the balance away from you to win.

You know what? Continue fighting the way you do. I'm never getting into one of these tournaments again. Sorry, Sean.

Edit: Crossknight, you seem to think I care about winning the round. I don't. If I had won on the very same grounds as I had lost, I would've contested them in the same manner.

this is why I stay away from political arguments on this site. The arguments are so pointless. We obviously have two opposite opinions as to how the game should be played. I cant change your mind and you cant change mine. However, even though we differ in this aspect, you should know that I still respect you as an RP duelist. If we do another tournament, I really think you should join. I know it gets frustrating, but you are very good at what you do. The next time a tournament comes around, show us exactly why your a winner. Make us sorry for voting the other way. When someone has talent, its a shame to see them quit out of frustration.

...way uncool, BR.

How would you respond if you one and Al was carrying on like a child about it? I don't think you're being fair to him at all.

...

I'm not sure how to reply to any of this, or even if I should.

Ahh GEEZ! Now BR's out of tournaments? Can you like, keep peace for a little bit? Man, BR please don't stick with your current statement.

Wait, I should reply to this!

Like Matt has said, don't let this drive you from tournaments, BR. You're an incredibly skilled opponent and it was an honor to fight against you. Everyone will have a bad experience roleplaying now and then (for me it was my first; Joe's tournament ended up being discontinued after I made a total of 3 posts. And that's not even mentioning Natual Selection: Crisis...). Ever since "Alpha Masks Vs Dos Burritos," (Brian chose the name :P) I've been looking to finish a fight with you. And now that I have I have no regrets. You were a definite and continuing challange and I hope you'll remain that way in the future.

How can I play in a tournament where my style of play is going to automatically lose because of the attitudes of those involved in the tournament? I can't subject myself to that every single time. I'm out.

Edit: Yeah, the conversation should end here. I'm not pitying myself, despite what you may think, I'm just stating a fact. I'm out.

Alright, end of convo. We don't need any pity parties here. You're out? Ok.

I'm a little worried about being in a tournament where weither you entertained the judge or not has more to do with how skilled they think you are. Ahh well, I'll ride it out.

thats the way to go ling!

The problem with that, is that this decision wasn't made based on the "characters" alone, and you guys insist that it was so. Did James not write with "Skill"? I didn't think so, and I don't think you or BR think so either. If you're writing with skill, are you not also pleasing the judges?

A "how-to" manual was written with skill and precision. A "story" was written with both that and characterization, personification, plot, theme, all of the literary elements. This is a story we're RP'ing, not a how to manual. And I graded as such.

i judged how i saw it, and i saw two people giving a good rp fight. i only ruled in favor of james because he seemed to be the only one trying harder than the other one