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Lorekeeper -> RE: =EC 2018= Factory Arena (8/2/2018 13:37:09)
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You are a persistent little wretch, aren’t you?
There is a pulse to this place.
Even now, the thought lingered. It gained new meaning. The beating of the Arena’s mechanical heart had steadily become more than a series of noises to filter out, grow used to, and yet sometimes orient oneself by. This vague melody, once a faint undertone concealed amidst a grotesque challenge to the senses, had finally revealed the poetry of its orchestration. Steady beyond the hands of mortal musicians or craftsmen, omnipresent and yet multifarious in both direction and composition. It was a manifold instrument setting the stage for its inhabitants’ entwined destiny, performing a symphony that each of their hearts would interpret differently.
As a defeated opponent, broken and dejected, still found the courage to struggle to his feet and meet his approach with dignity, Gabriel could hear this unnaturally orchestrated pulse take up a dirge. Further, he could hear it play a memory. Looking down at his opponent, he took in the whispered song of a moment stolen from his mind and watched as it was turned into another instrument of the Clock Tower. The larceny of its ominous music invited a revelation: Suhmat stood before the former Adept as he himself one stood before an overwhelming menace, terrifying and absolute.
He was too young back then. Too young for war, and certainly for suffering of that sort. But the same could be said for the other allies that collapsed as he did, faltering all around him. Broken before the advent of a ruthless father. Fallen, doomed beyond any mortal fate. Stripped of everything but purpose, and the dying wish that an army of united strangers had delayed oblivion itself long enough for Hope to take root.
The Fireborn’s eyes carried the same mournful defiance that he had seen in his allies. Human, Elani, Ulgathi, Vartai, Kruath'ri… For once, all of their eyes looked the same. Like Suhmat’s.
Gabriel’s mien transformed in an instant. He approached Suhmat with a firm stride and firmer purpose, grasping the swiftly manifesting haft of a spear. The length of ebony stretched towards the warrior, all but pressing the subtle wave of its silver edge against his chin. From the abyssal blue of its flat, runes of a much clearer color cast the flow of their faint radiance upward onto their potential prey’s face, forming a contrasting play of dancing hues with the more intense glow that filtered overhead.
At spear’s length, Gabriel spoke at last with a voice that was deepened and wearied beyond the apparent youth of his marred expression. Sever was a weapon that carried a certain finality, and it would not do to speak its purpose lightly. To do so would be to dishonor its target.
“I ask of you, warrior of Fire: In one breath, from the bottom of your heart… What boon would you ask of the Lords?”
The warrior’s inhalation was slow and pained, threatened more by the pinching of his broken ribs than by the stillness of Gabriel’s spear. In overwhelming contrast, however, his response was swift. The answer had been waiting for this question, even if it would have sought these words in different lips.
“To go home.”
Whether it was the whim of higher powers or the ever so brief collision of kindred spirits, the words inspired an emotion that Gabriel had never learned the name of. Even though he would never know the memories stolen by raging fire, this nameless familiarity almost conveyed the feeling of the desert sun setting over the ocean and giving way to cold nights, and the veil of a breathtaking starscape coming to life over the still-bustling ports. Waves of the endless sea dancing to one side of the walls, waves of the shifting sands looming to the other.
Images that the Kinslayer would never know, forlorn nostalgia that would not relent. They colored Suhmat’s words and smoldered on his gaze. This was not the yearning for a home far away, but the longing for a home long lost.
It was in Gabriel’s power to grant that wish. But even if he was right… It was not his place to do so.
“Hold on to that wish until the very end. Never tarnish it.”
Sever was promptly withdrawn, promising a swift end from its vertiginous spin over Gabriel’s head. The blade sang its own humble addition to the Factory’s play as it whispered promises of death to Suhmat… then cut past him, relinquishing its strike to the heavy pommel instead. A different sort of darkness awaited the body that crumbled before him. Without fully realizing it himself, Gabriel hoped to not only inspire Suhmat to forge ahead, but to reaffirm his own resolve — Or rather, come to understand it.
It is unfortunate all of creation cannot be more like you.
Across the body of the first competitor to fall to his peers stood another challenge. The Spear of the Forsaken River had completed one last turn before coming to wait behind Gabriel’s back, blade aimed to the right while the left hand was held forward toward the restored druidic effigy. A foe that commanded immediate wariness and respect, since the advantage of alacrity afforded Gabriel little safety from its sheer menace. He could feel, through what water remained on its hulking frame, that there were few to no gaps in its form. Its prior cries hinted at another presence within, but direct blows would stand no chance at piercing through the wooden armor and reaching it…
...In complete and overwhelming contrast to Gabriel’s composure. The eyes that had preoccupied themselves in completing a thus far fragmented analysis of the construct found their task cut short, lids suddenly spread wide around contracting pupils — Even as they were all but crushed under the pressure of a sternly furrowed brow.
For during each moment of this attempted evaluation, the young man’s senses were beckoned more intensely. His attention was compelled with rising power. There was no bridge to separate this rush, only a single crescendo. There were, however, two distinct sources: One inspiring, the other infuriating.
The con fuoco glory of The Secret Chord seemed to reach Gabriel’s heart before his hearing could properly make sense of it. Though the severing of strings delivered a shrill, fortissimo finale to its prelude, this was the one composition that grew from such a display rather than suffer a ruinous end. Its power extended beyond sound, exalted by a majesty that didn’t need to meet Gabriel’s sight to inspire memories he had not valued enough at their time:
The moments of light to be found amidst the torments of war, in the eyes of those given a reprieve from its ravages.
The birth of camaraderie amongst strange and new allies, a bizarre but welcome experience after an early youth marked by the lonesome tenets of the Order of Tempests.
The sorrow and glory of an ally’s sacrifice, paying the ultimate price without hesitation. A shooting star streaking amongst mortals, who find in its fleeting majesty the inspiration to obtain victory.
The discovery of love’s foundations hidden in years of teachings. An aging hand struggling to reconcile its instincts, dancing at the intersection of fatherly love and a mentor’s temperance. A younger hand pushing one’s back to keep them heading toward the future, causing feet to skip a step and a heart to skip a beat.
All of this came to an abrupt and bitter end, yet the swelling of Gabriel’s heartbeats did no such thing. The admonishment and promise of judgement had completely transformed the nature of this brief but sublime reverie. Inspiration was corrupted into pure wrath, a rising rage that took a great force of will to contain. Even then, it would only be held at bay for long enough to offer a moment of regained composure to the competitor within the effigy.
Bidding Sever to vanish for the moment, Gabriel gathered his hands in a martial salute to extend a gesture of respect. “I would offer you a proper duel, warrior of nature… should we both succeed. I do not wish to spurn you, but I am bound by purpose to face that man. Forgive my arrogance.”
His prompt departure left behind the curious sight of a spade scraping lightly against wood, in a synchronized extension of the effigy’s thoroughly confused pilot.
A father comes not to reprove, but to reform.
Indeed…
Gabriel had spent a good deal of the prior engagement seeking opportunities, and scarcely creating them. Although it was his way to frequently change his apparent combat style, just as water takes the shape of its vessel, this particular change would have to be more drastic from the very approach. He had fought conservatively so far, saving energy for the right moment. The time had now come to force the momentum and the moment to become one and create that opportunity in their rhyme.
Mercifully, the druidic construct allowed him a safe departure. When a gaze stolen over his shoulder confirmed this, Gabriel inwardly thanked its creator before turning a run into a full sprint. Extended hands bid water to rise around him before coalescing into another surface at his feet. As he was not yet engaged in combat, he could command a larger amount this time — A combination of miniature wave and platform to carry him closer to the central pillar, then rush past as he leapt forward. As he had priorly sprung off of a similar conjuration, this time he raised both hands toward the arena’s shifting ceiling. This command sent the water rushing upwards, propelling the warrior along to the higher spokes of the pillar. In overshooting the intended height, the maneuver didn’t make for the most subtle of entrances, but subtlety was no longer close to Gabriel’s intent.
Instead, he made a very deliberate descent towards Dalavar while delivering his response to his most audacious announcement. There was no unnatural quality to his words, nor any favorable silence from the arena to lend a better stage to his own proclamation. But nonetheless, the conviction of his stride and delivery were strong enough to command attention.
“You.
You chose the wrong stage for this display. You would stand under the gaze of the Lords and present yourself as a devourer of worlds? I fought in the war for this world’s salvation. Dead before the god you present yourself as a pale mockery of, to steal seconds from His advent. Doomed and Forsaken before his Network, that Hope would have time to rise.
I am not here for the slaughter. But I will show you Judgement.”
Gabriel expected to be met with action, but was nonetheless not surprised by finding condescension in its stead.
"The form of judgement you enacted upon the vessel of fire, now slain and forgotten, renders you a hypocrite, child. Speak not in absolutes or grandiosities until you can support them with honour, wisdom and calculated mercy."
A mirthless smirk stole some of this sentiment as it found a home on Gabriel’s face. Though his wrath did not subside, there was a small satisfaction in meeting his opponent in a battle of wits as well, in advance of a more decisive clash. The water that elevated his form danced a short distance behind him, mimicking the waving of the worn blue coat. A dramatic prelude to a duel could stir the crowds better than violence being the opening act, but Gabriel had forgotten about the spectacle. In a strange way, his motivation was now purely personal.
“You may ask him about my hypocrisy later, if you survive this arena… For now, spare me the grandiloquence. This is not the stage where stories are told. Here, they are made.”
A moment’s realization saw these words inspiring a bright but bittersweet expression in his prospective opponent. The ensuing reverie nonetheless grew haughty, in a combination that Gabriel felt summarized this curious personage perfectly. “Stories are made every moment of every day, and the best ones are those which end happily. I implore you to revisit your destructive outlook on life, lest you find it rapidly extinguished—”
As it had happened to Suhmat before him, Dalavar found his posturing interrupted by a veritable torrent of the water that had awaited Gabriel’s command. This time, however, he didn’t offer his foe the dignity of finishing his speech before being assaulted. The small wave struck downward along the direction of the spokes, slamming Dalavar into them and washing him just far enough to send him falling down directly opposite of the position of his proclamation of judgement. Now only a body’s height above the ground, the fall was not remotely threatening, but it certainly had an undignified end.
Shortly afterwards, Gabriel narrowed his focus to something more adequate for combat, lest he find himself grasping more than he can hold once his opponent saw fit to pay him in kind. It was a more modest amount of water that broke his fall, depositing him between the pillar and his most loquacious foe yet.
“I just told you to spare me the grandiloquence.”
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