Home  | Login  | Register  | Help  | Play 

=WPC 2023= Final Battlefield

 
Logged in as: Guest
  Printable Version
All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Role Playing] >> The Championships >> =WPC 2023= Final Battlefield
Page 1 of 212>
Forum Login
Message << Older Topic   Newer Topic >>
2/12/2023 17:27:36   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


In the beginning, there was nothing. No sights. No sounds. No color, no light, no life or death. To this nothing the Pawns were thrown, alone in the gaping void. Yet even in this empty space, there was weight. Oppressive, all knowing, and ever-watching. The Pawns are gazed upon; to be proved - or dismissed.

The strike of a hammer against steel echoed through the darkness, drawing the edges of reality apart and splitting them into two solid pieces. The sky glowed with light and color, while the ground split into neat tiles of starkest white and deepest black. The hammer echoed again, its force slamming the former Pawns onto a new battlefield. A chessboard of black and white, floating in the sea of an unborn nebula. The newest players in an ancient, never-ending game.

The Powers had chosen.




Tiles of white and black formed a spotless mirrored surface. Upon them lay not a single stain, not a crack or blemish to bely the fights that have been fought on their cool planes. They spoke of Purpose. Of structure and instruction and the patterns of repetition. It called to its knights, promising unity.

Knight of the Sea. Settling your scores, controlling your fate. Rise, Captain, and claim your victory.

Knight of the Cosmos. Learning the truth, discovering your self. Rise, Thorn, and witness your stars.

Knight of the Desert. Wandering new paths, forging your laws. Rise, Kasdil, and burgeon your soul.

“Join me.” Called out a single voice, ringing with richness and certainty. “Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”


Colors stained the rippling sky; the reds of dancing fire, the greens of rustling grass, and the blues of rippling water, all dancing across the ever-changing sky in a tumultuous display. In the spaces between one could almost make out other hues, combinations flickering and fading in a sky that had gradually dimmed, waiting to reignite. It spoke of Freedom. Of motion and wildness and the shattering of expectation. It called to its knights, promising change.


Knight of Rhythms. Searching for life, desperate to match. Rise, Parodist, and secure your pulse.

Knight of Burden. Reciting your mantra, freed and re-bound. Rise, Vessel Bearer, and decide your will.

Knight of Disruption. Looting your foes, toppling the mighty. Rise, Ferdinand, and find your vengeance.

“Join me.” Called out a cascade of voices, crying with discordance and beauty. “Fight in our name, and we will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”



The calls quieted, leaving the frozen pillars that held a set of shining scales glistening in the silence. The hammer strike returned, its echo shattering pieces from the pillars and filling the air with the sound of breaking ice that cascaded to the ground. Where once there were smooth columns; now stood towering sculptures, hilts and handles of all blades, swords, and weapons of all shapes and sizes jutting outwards. Twin spires of weaponry, standing beneath the scales overhead that held three glowing orbs each, pulsing to the rhythm of their Knights.

The hammer strikes died off, leaving behind a vibrating energy that shook the spirit and seemed to pull at the weapons of those present. The Knights stood, facing each other across the First Battlefield, frozen and reforged. Whether rivals or partners, past family or past foes, they now shared a single goal. Tip those shining scales. Win this endless war.

Post #: 1
2/16/2023 1:10:07   
  Starflame13
Moderator


She fell downdowndown, light narrowing to a pinprick as the void swelled about her; an infinite nothingness. Gravity pulled her along in its current, a riptide stronger than any she’d sailed. She tried to scream - no sound left her throat. Only her breath, coming harsher and harsher as she struggled to pull in enough air. Her vision tunneled, gray leaking in over the blackness of the void. She twisted, frantic, bruised limbs entangled with those who fell with her. Let them fall. She had to… she had to…

She could not bend. She could only break.

The Captain went limp against iron and stone.

Then…

A heartbeat thrummed through the void, slow and steady. It pounded through her veins - not her own skipping beat, not the disordered pulse of the fingers clasped tight to her wrist, not the constant buzz of living crystal pressed against her side. Something else, something greater. Something beyond.

It swelled, light flaring in tandem with each throb - void flooding in brightness. The star… Stars meant a chance. The Captain threw herself towards it heedlessly, her unwelcome companions melting away into an explosion of searing heat. She was no longer falling. She rose.

“Alrighty, my little minnow! Let’s introduce you to the ocean.”


She’s racing her way through familiar streets. A laugh bubbles in her throat as she weaves, short legs and pudgy fingers pushing through the crowded market. She’s… young, her wild mane of black hair flying behind her as she hurtles around a corner - and straight into a pair of strong, familiar legs.

“Miri, my little minnow! How was my little girl today?”

“A little nightmare,” replies her mother, dry and slightly out of breath as she rounds the corner behind her. “Really, dear, did you have to give her your stubbornness? I’m about ready to tear out my hair!”

Her father reaches down to pick her up with thick, wind-tanned arms and bounces her on his hip. “She’ll be a sailor one day, Nuala. Best way to survive the waves is to know how to bend and not to break. Now, Miriam, my little nightmare -” she giggles, reaching out to yank on his beard, and he chortles with her. “You bend for the soft breezes like your mama, okay? Because when the storm and its strong winds come, you need to have your strength saved up to fight those instead.”

“Whatever storms could you possibly mean, Alban?”

“Why, my dear, your darling dragon of a mother of course - I’m joking, I’m joking!”


“Now, don’t be afraid of the ocean, Miriam. Cautious, yes. Respectful, even more so. But never afraid.”


She’s in front of the path to her house, facing off against her father as her mother stands in the doorway, hands covering her mouth. She’s a young girl yet, just the faintest hint of height in her legs and toned muscle in her arms. But her eyes crackle with lighting to match the storm raging in her heart.

“You can’t keep me off the water! You can’t!”

“Now, Miri - ”

“You’ll have to break me yourself to stop me, Da! Because I’ll NOT BEND!”

Silence. The two stare at each other, sea waves crashing against the rocks in the distance. It’s been her cornerstone, her guiding star, witness to her entire life from the day she was born. She’ll not lose it. Not now. Not ever. The space between them stretches, and she takes in a long, slow breath to fold her rage back inside her thin frame. She swallows, voice softer; bleeding, but not broken. Never broken. “I’ll not.”

Her father exchanges a single look with her mother, then sighs deeply. “Alright, little minnow. You’re right, you’re old enough to choose. We sail out tomorrow at first light.” He pauses and looks her over, steel entering his gaze. “But you obey me out on the ocean, you hear me? A captain’s word is law on their ship. And if you break that, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”


“The ocean gives you everything you need to know, Miri. Everything from the height of the waves to the shade of the currents - heck, even the clouds forming overhead! It tells you everything you need to survive upon it. You just have to remember to listen.”


She’s older - barely more a woman than girl - and her throat is raw with her screams. She lays there, cheek against the sand, and watches the blood trickle down her fingertips to fall with slight ripples into the lapping tide. Her body can’t support her rage, her storm, anymore, and she watches as it drips away. Another droplet. And another. And another. And -

The droplet hangs suspended above the frozen surf. Spray stills mid air. Silence, true silence, presses in upon her. An oppressive heat swells, pervading flesh and soul alike. Something black and twisted rises from the water before her without a single ripple, and her eyes slowly track after it, squinting to make out its crooked, humanoid form. It grins at her, mouth full of sharp teeth tangled with seaweed, and calls out to her with a hoarse laugh.

“Yer quite the sight now, ain't ye, girly?”

Her response turns into a wet, hacking cough - and all she manages to gasp out is, “...what?”

“Called me here withou’ knowing, didja?” The figure shook its head, thick dreadlocks swishing with the motion. “Old ritual, oooooold ritual. Blood of th’ innocent gifted t’ the sea by a heart of rage.” It regards her with eyes like black pits, eerie and empty. “‘Course, even those tha’ call me a’ purpose get more n’ they bargain for, usually.”

The words make her head spin further, vision already slightly blurry around the edges. It takes her a moment to realize the silence is expectant, the figure’s head tilting as it watches her. “I don’t… understand…”

“Care t’ make a deal?” The creature bends slightly, cupping a hand of the blood-soaked foam and bringing it to his lips, slurping loudly. Then it grins, teeth stained crimson. “I’m the devil, girly.” Suddenly it’s right in front of her, crouching down to peer into her eyes, scant inches separating pupilless black from dulling blue. “Make a deal with me. Give me yer skill, yer soul. Give me the ocean in yer eyes and the storm in yer heart, and I’ll get ya the revenge ye want on these here raiders.”

She wants it. In that moment she wants it so badly that her pain and exhaustion slip away, dominated by the resurgence of her fury. Her heart races, storm rumbling in her chest, but… all she tastes is still iron, blood pooling thick in the back of her throat. She coughs wetly once more. “What… what happens then?”

“Then? Well, tha’ depends on ye! Been ever so long since I’ve had a soul t’ eat as vibrant as yours.” The creature - the devil leans in closer, putrid breath thick as he smacks his lips. “Course, could always use it elsewhere too. Not near enough sailors endin’ up in me waters as late t’ keep me fed. Suppose I could… lighten yer sentence, as it were, were ye t’ get me a few others instead.” He hopped backwards, balancing perfectly on the crest of a wave. “Unless ye decide ye want t’ die here an’ now after all.”

Miriam’s gaze sinks slowly back to the unmoving water, resting on the single drop of blood suspended above it. These… these raiders. They burned her home. They killed her parents. They sunk the ship that was meant to be hers. Only half her face moves properly, but still her lips curl downward into a snarl. They’ve taken everything else from her. They will not take away the sea.

The devil claps, delighted, taking her snarl as her answer. A quick gesture manifests a scroll of parchment between them as he trots over the waves back to her. “Perfec’ perfec’! That’s a good girl! Or a bad one, dependin’ on who ye ask. But we’ll get ye what ye want, I guarantee it, I really do!” He brandishes the quill with a flourish, words - a contract - appearing on the paper even though he never once draws it across the page. Then he turns back to her with his bloody grin.

“So, ya ready t’ make a deal with the devil, girly?”

“No.”

For the first time since he appeared, confusion flickers through the devil’s eyes. “Huh? But ya jus- “

Bend if you must, little Miri, but do not break. The weight of the frozen world presses in against her from all sides, yet Miraim manages to close her hand into a fist. Fingers curl in one by one and squeeze until fresh pain shoots through her palm once more, trembling beads of blood forced free and falling to form ripples on the otherwise smooth sea. Blue eyes look up to meet pupilless black. And the dying woman drags in her arm, braces it against the stand, and pushes herself upright. She stands tall, weight entirely on one leg, and stares down the figure before her.

“Is the devil ready to make a deal with me?”


“Now, that’s enough of the lecture! Ready to learn to swim, little minnow?”


The Captain snarled, memories dissolving into chunks of the black-and-white city, now falling away in pieces to form a whirling maelstrom of vivid color. “I’ve kept my bargain!” Her voice tore through the hues as she shoved her shoulders back, fists clenched. “And you’ll keep yours if I have to become a devil myself to make you!” The tumult about her surged, wilder and wilder - but… It’s just a storm. Her next breath came slow and steady. I know storms. Eyes flicked between the swirls and the shades, tracking the order within the chaos. There, the vortex of bronze slowed to curl into amber. There, the lavender darkened to the deepest indigo. There, where hues sink and crest like clouds forming over the only true interruption of the ocean - land. She dived for the flash of white and black, the stark contrast visible for only a moment in a rend between the turmoil and -

She landed on one knee, weight braced on her ghostly limb. Boot gone and clothing singed - but the ephemeral mist swirled calm and gentle. She flexed the muscles, tension relaxing as she realized the damage to her soul had vanished. In a smooth motion, she straightened, garb settling as she did so with the weight of six pistols, primed and loaded. Her shoulders shifted back, confidence in every line of her frame. No blood gushed forth at the motion, its inky stains banished from the shredded shoulder of her coat. Claim your victory, Captain. Her smirk curled across her face, hardened and cold. Caught the attention of someone greater than her devil, indeed. Like I need your permission.

The ring of steel against steel, like the strike of a hammer within a forge, rippled through the air in a tangible force, her coat whispering faintly in its wake. Ice shattered and cascaded downwards in a frozen waterfall, leaving behind a pair of towering twin sculptures absolutely bristling with swords, axes, polearms, and more. Above them rose a massive set of scales, glowing orbs in either bowl maintaining the balance. And between them…

The Captain’s grin turned predatory. Between them, Ferdinand. Knight of Disruption. A goose.

Her ghostly eye didn’t quite have the vision it should, her soul repaired but not fully restored. Still, that hardly mattered when she aimed with flesh and blood, when she fired with lead and smoke. The Captain raised her arm lazily - and let the report of her first pistol speak for her as it shattered the last of the silence. First move to her. And last, as well. After all…

A deal forced was not a deal at all. She already knew her purpose. Let Order give her the support for it.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 2
2/16/2023 22:15:40   
roseleaf320
Creative!


Wind grated against the jagged holes in the Parodist’s chest and stung against their bared, unblinking eyes as they stared up at the beating star. It was painful. It was calming.

Their eyes were glazed over, unable to see the light that burst from the star. Their skin is too fractured to feel its vibrant energy. The Parodist simply heared its last beat; resounding and beautiful.

And then silence.




It is too silent.

You blink up at your ceiling, eyes adjusting to the darkness of night. It is too early to wake; you do not remember what startled you, but you are awake regardless. The blanket’s weight pulls at you as you shift to your side, trying to catch sight of the clock on the dresser. You can’t shake the small itch at your chest, the hunch that something just isn’t quite right. 2:17, the clock reads. You should go back to sleep. You should really go back to sleep; you have a long day tomorrow, after all. And then it clicks in your mind. It shouldn’t be silent. But it is. Your clock isn’t ticking.

That’s… fine. You’ll just check the clock outside; Mom made sure to wind that just last week. You need to go to the bathroom anyways. You sigh and swing your legs off the bed. Bare air chills your skin, and you fight the urge to sink back under the blankets. But it’ll just be a quick run, and then you can come right back to the comforting warmth of sleep. Your steps send shivers up your body as you take one, then another across your hardwood floor. The door handle chills your palm; it squeaks as you turn it, but the door does not budge. Stupid old thing-- hadn’t Dad fixed this already? You wrap both hands around the knob and yank, your whole body weight behind you, and the door flies open with an angry screech.

I wouldn’t have done that if I were you.

You wince, the noise grating on your ears. You stand at your doorway for a moment, listening intently for the sound of movement, for an indication that you’ve woken Mom and Dad. But their door does not creak open; their floorboards do not squeak under their feet. You don’t even hear the tick of the grandfather clock. That’s… well, it must just be too quiet to hear from your doorway. You take hesitant steps forward, aware of each small creak in the floorboards as you make your way down the hall towards the bathroom. Towards the little alcove that has been home to that huge clock for as long as you’ve been alive; maybe longer.

The hallway brightens just the smallest bit as you reach the alcove. Was there a night-light here that you’d never noticed? Or a light Mom forgot to turn off? You look towards the source of the light, towards the alcove just before the door--

Where atop the silent, unticking grandfather clock sits an owl with a human face.

Your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. You force your eyes shut-- wake up wake up wake up-- but when you open them again the owl’s stare bares into you, its too-many eyes scarlet and very human. It tilts its head; your heart beats faster, punching into your throat. This has to be a nightmare. Birds don’t have human faces. Any minute now, this thing will fly into your face to maul you and you’ll wake up covered in sweat but alive, alive and untouched. The horror tilts its head to the other side. Tick. A shutter runs through your spine as your screaming heart reaches your ears. Come on, wake up already, you can’t take much more of this, it has to be over soon. The bird rocks its head again; with a crunch, your head is yanked with it like a string. Tock.

Yeah, that one didn’t work out so well, did it hun?

You’re done with this place-- that’s the last time you let John scream at you like that. You run, run down the stairs, your heart pulsing in your head. You push into the front door and it slams open with a bang. The sky is bright and blue today, but the gorgeous weather does nothing to penetrate your fuming heart as you stomp down the sidewalk. He’s sorry, of course he is, he’s always sorry, but he never CHANGES anything, does he? It’s obnoxious. You just need to get out of there.

Your foot hits something, and you stumble forward, arms flailing. Your leg swings out, and you’re able to catch yourself-- phew! You glance down, wondering what kind of rock or bag you’d tripped on, and you see a leg. Shoot-- you hadn’t even noticed anyone there, you were so absorbed in your thoughts! You look up the leg for the person it belongs to, stammering out an awkward apology.

That’s-- that’s not a person.

It can’t be, his neck is-- and where are his-- oh lords oh lords someone must have-- you didn’t think stomachs could-- bend like that. You back away slowly; you should scream, should call for help, but what if someone did this to him, what if you call and the authorities come and they take you in and-- Your heart is in your throat, spilling onto your tongue, and you decide the best thing to do is just to leave, leave and just-- just pretend you never saw anything. You peel your eyes away from the body, fighting the vomit that rushes to your throat as you catch a glimpse of glowing scarlet eyes that flicker open from the place where the man’s face should be.

She carried that image all the way through to her deathbed, you know. Bet that one fed you real nicely.

“Mom? Is that you?” You call from your bathroom as you run a comb harshly through your hair. That must have been her voice.

Yes. It’s me. Mom sounds like a flitty, high-pitched young man today. Or was he older? It’s always hard to tell with Mom. You make your best attempt at a smile as she opens the door a crack.

So this is what you want. Of course it is. It’s always been. Did she not realize that?

It’s incredibly mundane. That’s… kind of the point, Mom. What do people always say? ‘Settling down?’ It’s time to settle down.

You really think you can do that? Why not? Other people aren’t that different. Everyone’s learning more and more, every day. You pull your lipstick from the upper drawer and glance up at the mirror.

b-bum. You have too many eyes. Terror fills your head and freezes your limbs as you meet your own pupils, numerous and wide and scarlet. Stop. Stopstopstopstopstop

CLANG

bum It’s you. It’s always been you, little pulse. They’re scared of y-you.

They’re… no…

CLANG

bum Porcelain cracks as the Parodist’s body b-bum ragdolls onto hard stone. Pain. Painpainpainpain. The Parodist shook their head and bent their limbs bumm backwards to thrust themselves to their feet. Another battlefield. More humans. More people to… no…

It was fine. Mom must have been… mistaken.

A harsh, grating voice clamored uncomfortably through the Parodist’s bumm skin. Order. Chaos’ enemy; and so the Parodist’s own.

The beautiful woman was addressed first. She was too far for the Parodist to hear her rhythm, but as her name was b-bum announced, the Parodist could almost feel their heart beat b-bum in time with hers. Captain. The Parodist cracked ---- their cheeks, trying to repeat the strange mesh of sounds. Captain. Captain. A harsh lump formed in the Parodist’s throat. She did not want to fight Captain. She did not want Captain to see her.

The Watcher was addressed next. They called him Thorn. She ripped bu- her lips into a scowl, the memory of his drone echoing against her porcelain skin. Not that one. Not again.

The third Knight was unfamiliar to the Parodist. Another figure like the Parodist’s own, tall and thin. Yet the realization did not make the Parodist’s heart bum dance as it had before. She felt as if she faced an invisible, unbreakable boundary. She tried not to wonder whether it was actually there.

Chaos spoke next, their voices infinitely familiar to the Parodist. Mom…

Knight. A new name. Chaos spoke to the Parodist first. Spoke of life. Of her pulse. If she bummm fought here… one last time… would she finally… settle down?

Incredibly mundane…

She glanced bbbum to the ground to see her clockhand laying peacefully beside her feet. Its endless, confusing swirls had always entertained the Parodist. But… the unticking grandfather clock… no, hers was different. It had to be different. Chaos’s voices echoed in her mind as she bumbum knelt and wrapped long fingers around the brass handle. Secure your pulse. Was there… a future for her among humans? Normal?

The next call drew bbum their attention to a being who had fallen squarely between two smooth central pillars. An… animal. A bird? It was still far away, but the Parodist’s focus brought its rhythms to their head, a fast-paced, almost panicky beat. It was fast, much faster than people, but sometimes human rhythms had gotten… close. When the Parodist was near. Did that mean… The Parodist’s jaw twitched. They didn’t like this ally. Its speed was grating. Painful.

The last of Chaos’ Knights was a human, too far away for the Parodist to hear. She held a pot above her head, its shape vaguely familiar to the Parodist. They tilted bu-um their own head in curiosity; they could not tell whether the pot was part of this Knight’s body or simply an accessory.

CLANG

bum The Pillars’ outer layer shattered, revealing countless spikes that seemed almost like their clockhand’s brass handle. Different shapes and sizes, but all metal; all from holes as if they could be pulled.

She flexed buuuum her feathers, careful to ensure they covered her eyes as she approached the pillars. Each step brought the bird’s heartbeat louder; each step pulled more of her focus towards its center. You are painful. A bang; a sizzle; a clatter; all joined the cacophony as the bird added its own painful hiss to its rhythm. It was so loud. So loud. ”Stop staring at me.” The Parodist bum gnashed her teeth and reached down to the bird with a free hand, fingers b-b-um sinking into its feathers. Her joints cracked as she twisted her forearm in a circle and bum-bum flung the animal towards the bulbous man. They could play together. Take their drone and their babble far away from the Parodist. She, instead, set her focus towards the steady heartbeat before her.

The Desert man. Kasdil. The Parodist did not know what Chaos meant by “soul.” They were bu- desperate to find out.

Post #: 3
2/16/2023 22:24:21   
Apocalypse
Member

Mannequin and ghost fought tooth and nail against his steely embrace. They twisted and writhed, smearing his crystals with their foul iron and tainted earth. Their taste burned so strong, so powerful, overwhelming the star’s as the three fell further and further from its light. Thorn tightened his grip. The mannequin’s porcelain skin would be crushed to dust between his fingers, the ghost’s bones shattered within his grasp.

He would split them asunder, and still they would understand only a fraction of what he had lost. -I gift my pain-

The star’s halo pulsed with renewed life, fresh waves of turpentine and vinegar caressing every exposed crystal. It… wanted him back. -please- Thorn lurched, the ghost and mannequin slipping from his grasp as he reached out for the anchor to his world.

-grantmercy-

Another pulse. Another burst of intoxicating delight. Metal groaned as gemstone cracked and bent towards the source. What once formed limbs and head now mimicked a starfish striving to grasp onto something, anything. -forgivemeforgivemepleaseforgiveme-
Each spiral of crystal flickered and flailed, flashing hues of reds, greens, and blues lighting up their tendril shapes. -Ionlywanted-

The star flared with astral light.

-towitness-

A tidal wave of brightest radiance slammed into the operator, blazing with purist ivory. It ripped through the S.O.L.A.R. suit, penetrating every crooked and jagged fiber of his being. The light dominated his vision, purging the rest away. It tasted-

-it tasted-

Empty

EMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTY
EMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTY
EMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTY
EMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTY
EMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYE
MPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMPTYEMP -


A touch.

Yes, something touched it. Small. Subtle. Hesitant. As light as a butterfly but as rancid as spoiled milk.

...butterfly…milk…

What were these words?

It touched back. Slight, but strong. It grasped onto what had touched its - no, his - form. The spoiled stench seeped into him, his disgust magnifying yet he could only drink deeper as he encompassed more and more.

A finger.

A hand.

An arm.

More touches now, coming harsh and fast. Bolts stinking of lead rained down on him in hammer blows. ...lead…rain…hammer… This belonged to him now. Nothing would take this away. He latched on tighter, clambering upwards to claim all he could.

DINK

Glass, smooth as pearl and dry as sawdust, blocked his progress. Something…something else moved through him now. Tremors, resonating through the glass in ever so minute reverberations. A cadence, wild and fiery, beneath the…the what? ...touch but…not touch… Needlelike protrusions of himself spread down the…helm? Yes, the helm. Down the helm and beneath where the material felt softer. More vulnerable. His needle-self weaved through the fibers and to the other side, the vibrations now distorting the air in their undulations. ...what…

...what are…you…

He folded and built on top himself to reach the center of this hanging void, from where the vibrations emitted themselves. Precious little of his self penetrated through the fabric, but he could feel himself getting closer as the fluctuations rocked over him in acrid shockwaves. A single spire reached out to the center. ...close…

“-AARRRRRGHHH!!”

He recoiled at the scream, crystals splintering in blossoming flowers as a diamond storm flooded his newly found vision. ...TOO… He poured himself forth, trying to suffocate the noise. ...LOUD… Parts of him warped over malleable flesh - an ear - before finding stronger purchase and traveling further. The hint of the skin’s ocean mist almost went unnoticed to the raging fury of the man's - the operator’s - cry. ...STOP…

A face now. A face he could see. Pale and thin, a single eye of blue present as his own glowing crystal covered the other. Blood trickled from the socket, pushing through the cracks of himself in rivers. ...PLEASE…

Crystals shifted, crawling over one another to cover the mouth in a web of red. He could taste the man’s sweat now, its salty tinge accompanied by the chirping of locusts. Revolting, but at least his gemstone self muffled the screams. He spread further, coating the nose and smelling for the first time. The purified air felt as rough as sandpaper as it pumped through the suit. ...suit…

…what was that?

He pushed further.

Needles and shards and serrated edges forced their way inwards; flaying flesh, biting bone, and devouring the organs lying beneath. A S.O.L.A.R. suit. Spacial Observation, Life-Support, and Anti-Radiation. ...space… Yes, he resided in space. He dived deeper, cutting into that fragile body and pushing it through his fractal self. An anomaly. High radiation signature detected off the fourth moon of Lidieon, a barren planetoid devoid of atmosphere, more of a comet in actuality. Crystalline shapes snapped together with each fleeting memory. A Network. A mission. A search for a cosmic-level entity known as the Ravenous Nomad thought to have been scattered among the stars.

And here on Lidieon’s fourth moon, the presumed location of its hand.

...the hand…

Shards slid and locked into place, filling out the S.O.L.A.R. suit’s shape.

...of the Ravenous Nomad…

Crystals, no fingers flexed.

...THORN…

White flame engulfed the operator, cleansing away the blood and flesh and bone with its chalky scent. His body should have been in agony, but…he lacked a body. Lacked the nerves to feel the pain, the heat, the scalding touch. Blind but resolute, Thorn trickled his fingers over the wisps of the brilliant flame. ...a lie… He clenched his crystals in the imitation of a fist.

...all…a lie…

If he stayed, the extraction team from Lidieon would bring him to Star Leader Qanius. From there, it would be a life existence in a cold cage with brief allowances to walk among the stars. He could not return there. They would not take this from him. Not again.

White flame still blinding him, Thorn stretched and waved his false limbs in all directions. There needed to be something. A place where he could tuck himself away and hide, a way to propel himself away from here. Something, anything.

Above his helm, a pinprick of darkness - hollow and bare of savor - popped into existence.

A threat of oblivion.

A promise of freedom.

Thorn reached both gauntlets out to the levitating orb. No bigger than the eye of a needle and yet-

False fingers found purchase.

-and yet-

...I…crave…

With a burst of strength, Thorn threaded himself through.

Knight of the Cosmos. Learning the truth, discovering your self. Rise, Thorn, and witness your stars.

Brisk air met him with a chilly embrace, prickling his form with its cinnamon aroma. The operator hauled himself upwards, clinging to tiles of black as he rose from the ivory void. It clung to him like molasses, only falling from him when his entire being breached through the tile. The floor solidified from viscous material to marble beneath his armored boots. Another host of stimulation assaulted his senses, a tangle of discordant scents all demanding his attention.

The operator honed in on the three across the checkered field. He had no words to describe it, but each of the knights stung of something wrong. The two compatriots flanking the operator, on the hand, tasted right.

Thorn focused on the skies above, their chaotic array of colors and flavors blocking out the galaxy and its wonders.

He focused again on the three in front of him, standing on the far side of the two icy pillars drenched with pewter.

...I want…

Thorn marched forward, heavy steps shooting winding threads of rouge in all directions.

...to witness...

He raised his false arm at the avian scented with wild grass, crystals burning from emerald to crimson.

...the stars…and you…

Behind him, the ghost aimed her own weapon. ...bar-

Thunder boomed in floral flurry. Thorn recoiled at the noise, the coalesced energy bursting from the prism glass just a hair’s breadth after. He turned his helm toward Captain, for her sake rather than his own.

-my…way…
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 4
2/16/2023 22:47:47   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


My Ruin.

She charged. The dragon-scaled woman charged.

Her heartbeat thrummed with power. Change. Knowledge.

And the star, so bright against her golden eyes, exploded. The fire washed over her skin, a supernova against the dark—

And the world plunged into cold and darkness.

My Ruin.

Cold and darkness … and a very familiar sensation.

She was not dead.

She was not dead …

Slowly, her vision returned, revealing marble that replaced steel, and ever familiar perfectly carved buildings which replaced the void.

Back to the Chequered City.

A very familiar sensation …

She could see again, but why did it feel so dark?

A very familiar sensation …

No! she gasped. She dropped her hiltless swords and brushed her fingers over her eyes. Leather.

She nearly staggered, but did not dare. The power of Ruin hummed its silent, one-note song.

Freed and rebound!

Fury. Rage. Despair. These emotions boiled over, surging until she thought she might explode. She wanted to tear her eyepatches off. She wanted to fling the vessel into the marble, to watch it shatter.

To taste freedom again.

But the vessel of Ruin sat impassive over her head, so instead she merely dropped to her knees.

She had no one, now.

Ruin, so much Ruin, she thought. But did it really need to be held?

Did one person need to hold it?

Something itched under her eye patches. A peculiar sensation. She reached up and brushed at them, and her fingers came away wet and warm.

Tears? she thought in wonder.

She reached down and her fist closed on familiar metal. Metal now caked in dried blood, resting in palms freshly healed. Her grip tightened on the blade. Perhaps, with one quick motion—

No hope to cling to. It was said in her voice, in her head, an insidious whisper.

But why would I do that, when before, for me, there was no pain too great?

As flesh withered, the Vessel Bearer was to hold the Ruin. As bone crumbled, the Vessel Bearer was to hold the Ruin.

As she must.

Must what? came the sharp, ringing voice. A stark, clear memory.

Like so many memories that had come before, that she had forgotten. Or perhaps she had never forgotten them. Just as her swords had never been lost, only rusted over.

And her flesh was made whole once more. An opportunity no Vessel Bearer before her had ever received.

And so, I carry the vessel, for I must.

She raised her sword, slathered in her own blood. But my blood and blades are still my own.

I hold the Ruin, because it is mine to carry.

Because through hope and sight and pain, I still have at least one thing.

The City stood silent. She found that she hated it. She hated its rigidity, its coldness, its perfection. It was the binding like the vessel she bore.

Will I ever be free?

But the sky … the sky overhead rippled weakly.

Perhaps I already am.

She turned her face upward, gazing at the sky with eyes that had no sight to distract from.

“I am ready.”



The echo of a hammer strike shattered the empty silence, and with eyes that had no sight to distract from, she observed the final battlefield manifest.

She heard the voices call out the names. Including her own.

Decide your will.

This would be one last test.

”Join me! Fight in our name, and we will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”

On the other side, of her three opponents, she recognized two. The ghostly revenant called the Captain. The tall, armored humanoid with an orb for a head called Thorn. The last she did not know, a male roughly her own height called Kasdil.

She was not alone.

To one side, a warped, cracked effigy of the human body.

The Parodist.

To the other — she did a double take — a … goose?

(A faint smile touched her lips, the ridiculousness of it all).

Ferdinand.

The odds did not look good.

The voice in her head, once constantly reciting the mantra, was now silent.

And so, I will decide my will.

Her breath came out in a cloud. Two frozen pillars covered with various weapons formed the only landmarks on this barren, chequered marble platform. She approached the pillar to her left. All manner of weapons seemed to be frozen into the ice. Without particularly hurrying, she aligned her swords so she had the handle of what appeared to be a sword in a scissor. Cautiously, she used her scissored blades to push against the sword’s pommel, and the sword slid out smoothly with no resistance.

Again, she surveyed her opponents. Kasdil and Thorn, her gaze slipped past. They did not have Ruin.

The Captain, however …

You have so much Ruin.

The Captain raised something — the Vessel Bearer recognized it. The preferred weapon of Red Manor assassins.

A pistol!

With a sharp twist, she sent her newly acquired sword spinning, just as the shot rang out.

She had no time to check on the goose. The rules of engagement were clear.

The Captain must be removed first.

Too much distance to cover …

She grimaced slightly. Dare she risk it?

She already had no hope to cling to.

But she had her will.

So with her will, she opened the lid and sent a ball of Ruin flying in an arc at the Captain.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 5
2/16/2023 23:01:23   
markthematey
Member

“Your actions; foretold. Your destiny; Secured. My text; Absolute. How does one defy what is already guaranteed?” ~The Scripture




Kasdil’s boots collide with the floor of the stage, each step following the pace of the melody that is ever present within the theatre. The music swells large and larger to a climax and Kasdil comes closer to the opponents in front of him. Time seems to slow around him as the music reaches its apex.

The theatre light grows into an all-consuming, blinding blaze as he’s forced to look away from his fated foes before him.

The music that once followed and pushed him forward turns into an ear-piercing final note that deafens him. The sound of applause from a thunderous audience consumes his mind. No single voice is louder than another in the entourage. They all meld together to create an overwhelming tide of sound that also has an unsettling undertone to it. Hidden beneath the crowd cheers, Kasdil could hear cries, wails, and other sporadic sounds.

The light and the music fade in an instant, leaving Kasdil in pitch-black darkness. When he opens his eyes once more, he is no longer in a theatre, nor The Checkered City of earlier.

This town is ever burned within his mind, yet it has no name he could remember. It lacks any importance to the world it resides in, as if the planet forgot it existed as well. He finds himself walking the streets of a familiar slum he had walked many years ago.




The street reeks of filth and trash. The scent alone leaves a poor taste in Kasdil’s mouth. Has this district no sense of self? A disgrace to the Scriptures passages for this to be included in it! He furrows his brow in slight disgust as another waft hits his nose.

The cobblestone road that surely hasn’t seen a carriage in months is overgrown with weeds that split the stones within it. A few foul beggars sit on the sidewalk, raising their hats to ask for a coin while Kasdil walks past.

Kasdil is wearing a pristine set of Churchwear. The pure white and refined suit makes a stark contrast that sticks him out from this disheveled hole of a town. Many followers of the Scripture may have been kind enough to spare a coin, but Kasdil pays them no mind. If these people are made to beg by the Scripture’s will, then beg they shall. Unfortunately for them, the Scripture did not ask Kasdil to pay the beggars.

Kasdil doesn’t bother looking at their souls. He knew each of them would be a sickening gray blur as they always were. Only those of the church have souls that glow vibrantly and break the monotony. The higher the rank, the brighter they are. His own is only trumped by the highest-ranking of members. The beggars’ souls are the way the Scripture set them to be and what they are couldn’t matter less to Kasdil at this point. It isn’t their fault they ended up this way; to pity them would mean to doubt the Scripture’s plan.

A side-eyed glance at them is enough to make them divert their eyes. Kasdil’s bright, slightly glowing iris’ of Kasdil’s are enough to tell them what their place is compared to his. No man here would dare interrupt the work of one of the Scripture's Quills. They alone have the power to change another's script. Kasdil is gifted with the ability to cut one's script off where it stands. One he is not afraid to use.

For what purpose has the Scripture sent me here? Surely, none of these… people could disgrace the Script enough for me to be needed, Kasdil thinks bitterly. He sighs and reaches for his bag. A copy of the Scripture’s command to remind him of the exact task he must fulfill lies inside. Most likely to remove some heretic that threatened the Scripture’s will. He starts fiddling through his bag before-

“Excuuuse my language, you look like real hogwash Mister,” a voice calls out to Kasdil’s left. The voice has a scraggly nature to it, raspy yet still firm and audible.

Kasdil's head pivots in a snap. The voice is clearly directed at him. He harshly eyes down the stranger, fire burning in his eyes. No one dares to speak to a member of the Scripture in such a way.

A frail old man sat on the sidewalk no more than 5 feet away. His head is clean and bald spare a few stray hairs that are defiant in leaving his scalp. A gray, uneven beard covers his chin and lip, behind which hides a smile with more teeth missing than remaining. The man looks as if he hasn’t eaten in days either. What stands out most to Kasdil is his eyes. Both are very clearly completely gray and clouded over.

A blind fool.

“You clearly can’t tell who you are talking to, old man,” Kasdil spat, his words sharp and dripping with annoyance. “Think more carefully before you speak to a Quill of the Church.”

The old man laughs, “I don’t give a rat's bum about who you are, I just worried you ain’t doing well, that's all.” His posture remains relaxed and his smile stays genuine.

“Excuse me, not doing well?” Kasdil mocks, “Out of everyone here, you think I do not do well? You could say that to any bum in the city and it would make a minuscule amount more sense than me” Kasdil let his emotions escape more than he intended.

“No no no, you don’t understand. These fine folk around me have the brightest souls I’ve ever seen. But yours…” The old man pauses and thinks for a moment. Bringing his skinny hand to his chin.

“Is that how you want to be defined?” The old famished man asks. His words carried a weight to them and the question is pure in nature.

Kasdil pauses. A completely puzzled look escapes his normally plain expression. What do you mean by “defined”? These men are nothings; The Scripture wrote them that way. Who cares for what their soul is? They are all grey sludge! I am…

“Let me help you,” The old man snaps his fingers. A sharp pain spikes the front of Kasdil’s mind. As if something on the back of his eyes had been just cut out. Kasdil staggers and looks around once more. Instinctually, Kasdil reaches for his gun, but in doing so he turns around and looks down the street once more.

This time he sees a different story than before. He looks at the soul of each person on the street, just briefly. He sees an ocean of color that seemingly wasn’t there before. The sight of each person is nearly stunning to his eyes. Each soul contains untold stories and a uniqueness he has never seen before. Kasdil’s mind gets overwhelmed easily, not sure how to process all the new souls.

A soul doesn’t have color. Did they? No, the Scripture wrote them only in terms of brightness. The brighter they are, the more in line they are with the Scripture. He was told to get rid of the ones that strayed too far… Kasdil's mind with racing with a flurry of thoughts and a sickening doubt starts to grow.

With a sharp gasp, Kasdil closes his eyes and stumbles backward. His back hits the ground as he loses his footing. He gasps for air, each breath deep and labored.

Once his eyes open again, he sees the old man standing above him. The beggar's soul now fully reveals itself to Kasdil. It looked like the cosmos itself opened up behind the old man’s weak frame. Hundred of stars and whirling cosmic mist ever-flowing behind him. Each motion of the cosmic waves hide hundreds of other behind it. The depth of his soul is unknown to Kasdil.

Kasdil gawks for a moment, unsure what to do.

The old man says nothing more but points toward Kasdil’s heart. His own soul.

A flash of recognition fills Kasdil’s mind as looks at his chest. He sees something that is revolting; Utterly vile. He sees a complete grayness. A nearly featureless soul that could only be described as an ocean of sand. Nothing for hundreds of thousands of miles in this abyss of desert that could be nothing but Kasdil’s soul. A sickening gray blur. Kasdil snaps his eyes shut.

“Now young feller, how about you have a seat with me? You can keep your eyes closed if you want to.”

“What did you just do?” Kasdil’s eyes remain shut as his breath is nearly trembling.

“Well, I just opened your eyes to something that was always there.” The old man replied simply.

Kasdil follows the man to the spot on the side of the road. They sit together for a while, mostly in silence. Kasdil still hasn’t opened his eyes since but the realization of what happened slowly becomes more and more apparent.

“Is it all a lie?” Kasdil begins.

“Hardly so. The Scripture gave you the ability to see souls just as I. They just didn’t want you to see the whole thing.” The man retorts.

Silence stretches between the two.

“Can I… fix… my soul?” Kasdil asks weakly. His arms covered his head.

The old man pauses a second before answering.

“How about this? I got an offer for you. I got this here Journal and imma’ give it to you. Now you can write anything you want in there. It can be a story, a recipe you like, well anything really. Just make it matter to you.” The old man continues once more, “then once you’re reaaaal happy with it, then you can read me your journal. Then you can ask me that question once again.”

The old beggar pauses once more and slips a note out of Kasdil’s pack. Kasdil doesn’t react to it. His mind is still overwhelmed by what he saw.

“Also, you won’t be needing this,” holding the letter in his hands, embroidered with the Scriptures’ Church’s insignia. The old man finishes,

“A battlefield is no place to heal a broken spirit.”




Kasdil wakes from his memory to find himself in a different arena. One that has checkered tiles and two large pillars in the center. Each pillar is a massive shard of carved ice that is incredibly smooth. Above him, a river of colors fought against itself and a chaotic swirl.

His breath leaves a cool fog and his lungs feel an icy sting as he breathes in. The cold temperature is a far cry from home for Kasdil but he’s sure it won’t hinder him in the battle to come.

His thoughts were overpowered by a gentle but powerful voice. The voice sounds completely pure and refined. It calls to Kasdil and the others he only now noticed were beside him. It promises unity above all.

One by one it calls out a different “knight” by name. Until his name was spoken itself.

“Knight of the Desert. Wandering new paths, forging your laws. Rise, Kasdil, and burgeon your soul.”

The title “knight of the Desert” feels like lead in his stomach to hear. Even the gods here have destined him to this fate. No more, he will change this fate.

This is not how I will be defined.

Post #: 6
2/17/2023 22:55:02   
Sylphe
Member

The floorboard creaked a final time; the goose leapt to meet his adversaries. Before he could think what to even do or think behind a final goose battlecry, the music swelled into a blinding crescendo, and the audience clapped with a deafening applause.

Just when he thought he had done mighty well for a goose, searing spotlights drowned everything in their radiance, and he couldn't help but cry out in pain. Even after all of those years of having feathers, even after all this time of trying to do better, to be brave, the light terrified him.

Ferdinand opened his eyes to blackness. He blinked, once - twice. Had the spotlights made him blind? On the third blink, he spotted little fireflies of dots. The ceiling of the room was spotted with a thousand little stars dancing around like sunspots, but it felt as if their colour had washed out. Almost dazed, he decided that the best course of action would be to eat one, of course. But he couldn't crane his neck far enough.

Odd.

He couldn't fly to reach them, his wing felt so hopelessly broken. But maybe if he reached out with it...

The room rattled with a scream.

Ferdinand gawked at his wing. It was all long,all bare, without a single feather. It was deep blue and littered with little dots that glowed. And it also didn’t do anything when he tried to flap it. At all.

Okay. Walking. YOU'VE DONE WALKING BEFORE. With a strained groan, Ferdinand attempted to get up, only got about an inch from the ground before all those weird dangly limbs rattled and sent him back to the ground. A change of plan was at hand. Hand. Hand! Their feathers had no fingers, but they could hold things. He saw the warriors hold their weapons!

With a defiant noise that sounded awfully hoarse and not like a goose at all, he scrambled onto his feet, stumbling backwards with a quiet "Nonononono-". He remembered at last that he had a plan in place and windmilled his new ugly bare arms forward at just about anything. His hands had to catch on something eventually, right? That's how that worked.

"Ow." Lesson learned, that's not how that works.

Something softly tinkled as he fell. His fingers closed around a little bell, calming his heart. It was so small to him now, and yet he fondly smiled. He never knew what it felt like to touch it before.

It was all about keeping to the little lights. Maybe he was a goose before, but he had wings! Maybe he was an... elf? Now? But he still had his bell!

Sometimes it was the precious little that remained.



The walls of this large farm were so hopelessly cold and dark. He didn’t mind dark, usually. Not when he had feathers, at least. Not when he heard crickets. For a long time, he used to tell the other birds it reminded him of home. But this was the cold darkness of stone walls and large, tall windows that let cold through so easily, and that wasn’t the home to tell the jays and peafowl about.

He felt his chest tighten as he passed through the darkened halls, full of knights and golden lined dancers. They darted in the corners of his eye in and out of shadow, increasingly panicked as the night behind the windows faded and faded and faded, black to indigo to finally blue. He felt the weight of his old sword in hand, the armor lined with enchantments to protect against the sun.

Revenge, the word bounced in his head.

As the sun rose, it filled the room with stray beams. In them, he spotted a fairy and her deer steed, waiting for barely a breath.

He reached into the sunlight. But just as soon as he reached into the sunbeams, he recoiled. Where his arm should’ve been, there was nothing except the pain of sunburn.

"Wow, Ferd! You've gotten big!"

He blinked when he heard her speak, holding on to his tingling hand still. Where the fairy and her deer had been just a moment ago sat his ditzy human, soft grass under her feet. Well, she wasn't wrong. It was the first time he was taller than her. He didn't like that. So he sat, not quite sure what to do with his legs. And arms.

"Yes." He responded, softly chuckling. "You could call it that."

"I don’t even need a guard dog anymore. You’re plenty mean enough to guard the kids at this point."

The kids. That’s what human goslings were called, right? He never managed to make that link before. His chest lit up with warmth. Oh! They’d love to see him like this! He’d be taller, and fingers meant more tricks.

"Can you hear me? I’m okay! I’m all-”

He froze in his attempt to get closer, the warmth inside chilling. Just behind her, the trees were catching flame, silhouettes flickering between the wide, age old trunks. He willed his heart to calm, enough for another attempt. Cautiously, like a gosling's first encounter with water, he dipped a toe in the sunlight. Through the wince, he spotted just the top of a goose flipper.

Ah.

So that's what this is.

"I see," He whispered, getting back on his feet without trouble.

"Well then, say hello to them for me, yes? And the sheep, and the cows, and the river." His voice fell for just a moment before picking its way up. "I'll be seeing you all soon. Everything’s going to be okay."

He had a new family now. He took a deep breath. A cheery tune broke past his lips and his old tears as Prince Ferdinand stepped into the light.

"Without pause. Onward!"

He'd make that sacrifice a thousand times for her, for them. They were his precious little, after all.

He just had to enjoy that little moment where he could still sing. The tale of the little crow prince of darkness, sung to a goose afraid of winter storms, of bright lights and faucets turned on just a little too harshly.

Ferdinand only hoped that somewhere, some time, they’d hear him and stay strong.

Searing light tore him asunder, skin and bone burning away, feathers sprouting all over what was left. The memory of the curse flashed through his mind, cut clean through the burn.

Falling without purchase, broken sword tossed from his hand. A form most foul, unworthy of a king. Lightblind, and so, so small.

This time, he spread his wings and found himself flying. This time, he refused to let his voice wither, so he sung, and then howled, and then,

honked.

And the world got bigger.

He met the sunlight, salty spray and rocks of a familiar craggy path. The sun hung high above the horizon instead of hanging low as the prince knew it. It didn’t sear and just warmed his feathers, and his pain faded with each springly step.

Be it any other day, he'd stop and gnaw at the bristly island grass. To think, his second favorite place in the world, through goose eyes! He felt the rocks scratch at his legs as he ran up the cliff.

But where he expected to meet the seagulls and open sea, he instead saw an elf. At least, he was almost sure even the sneakiest of seagulls wouldn’t have hair, at least all tied back like that. They’d probably wear it all full of kelp.

Ferdinand drew closer, head held low as he sneaked around, obviously invisible. By her side, a glittering hammer of stolen starlight - and next to it, a sword, its blade reforged just enough to keep it in place for another shattering.

He remembered this! He remembered getting his hands on the weapon, back when the night was fading. The weapon to fight the sun itself!

Ferdinand stopped just short of the woman, freezing. He could have sworn she had looked his way. Was that a hint of the slightest smile? Was it all a trick of the light? Was she a seagull? He still had no idea. She was pale enough to be one for sure.

The sword’s ruby glinted as Ferdinad craaaaaaaaaned his neck and pulled the sword out with a pretty loud -shink!- And yet, she didn’t move. At all. Ferdinand waited, a moment, two.

Alright, LADY, if you’re not going to chase me, or be mad, I’m gonna do the same thing.

He lasted the silent treatment for about four to five seconds. Flippers on sand and rock, Ferdinand made sure to walk right up to her so that she would see him. And maybe also nibbled on her socks. Boots? Boots. Are there socks in here? No! Not Important! He waved the sword in front of her.

Ma’am! I took your precious sword hello?

Finally, the elf sighed.

“I have a message for you. Yes, you, o feathered prince.”

Red eyes blurred as she finally looked at the goose, dappled with all the colours of a rainbow after summer rain, the colours elves had seen, and the ones only birds could.

“I’ve enjoyed our little fun, but as we both know, I'm sure…Your time draws too short for games.”

What he caught was just a flash of the star-thieving hammer. It slammed into his side with the power and roar of a thunderclap that cracked and realigned every bone in his body to where it was meant to be. It tore the sky clean in two, leaving just a divide that bled stars into the empty sky.

Ferdinand screamed and spun in the air gaining speed. That blasted hammer stole the ground right from under his flippers! Again! If he could count like the humans did, he’d count just how many times he was already flung like he was nothing more but a toy! The goose’s beady eyes lit up, and he got a brighter idea than flap around with his flippers and wings in a wild attempt to slow or control his flight. He fought against the speed and drew the sword and wings close to his body.

He caught the way the sun caught on the black blade, glistening gold. It wasn’t the slick, burning gold of fae blood, he realized. For the first time, it was nothing but a trick of light between ancient cracks.

The goose arrow tore through the sky to end up in an endless expanse of stars. Spotty and dotty like the lights he saw from bird’s eye when he tried to take off for winter. Lights of the houses and homes. He felt dread constrict his chest as he wondered. How many of those lights had the war taken while he was gone? How many friends were lost to the flames?

Knight of Disruption.

And who was this really loud big goose in his head?

Ferdinand crashed down like a meteor, missing the scales by a breath, and slammed right into the chessboard tiles with a soft thud. He bounced off, once, twice, like a skipping stone over the sea of polished marble, and then slid the last few inches on his butt, ending up just in front of the ice pillars.

Looting your foes, toppling the mighty. Rise, Ferdinand, and find your vengeance.

Sooner than the word Rise even started, Ferdinand was already on his feet. He was surprised that it took him a single attempt, but he was ready, gnashing his sharp beak and tongue teeth at the sword’s handle.

I’m up already, weird big disembodied hammer seagull chaos goose!

Ferdinand hissed and put his whole self into the warning, invoking the wrath of ancient scaly goose ancestors.

Vengeance? Pah! Come at me, dogs of Order. I won’t let you get a step closer to those I care ab-

A gunshot tore through the chilly silence, and he barely avoided it by a fast sidestep.

“Ho-”
I said, I won’t let you get past me-

A sword made of ice fell right by his destination. He angrily hopped over to the side on one flipper to avoid that, as well. And then his hop lead him right into a red flash that seared his left side. With a ferocious honk, Ferdinand took off towards the latest fool, his eyes barely flickering a red, the Knight taking on the rage in his heaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“HooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!!!!!!”

The knight that Didn’t Help, The Knight Of Rhythms must have had enough of his own. They were a flash of feathers and pale and red before they so roughly manhandled him and launched him into the air right towards the glassy glittery knight.

BETRAYAL! Of the highest order! By a fellow biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiird!
DF  Post #: 7
2/20/2023 0:55:38   
  Starflame13
Moderator


The Captain’s eyes narrowed slightly as a bolt of gleaming red shot towards her target. Her gaze flicked sideways, landing on the Knight of the Cosmos. She frowned as its glassy helm turned towards her, a harsh ruby glow concealing the crystalline structure within. Just what are you, Thorn? Beyond, the Knight of the Desert ignored them both, his silver shawl fluttering as he strode across the battlefield. Land and sky and sea… They would either dominate the field or destroy each other. Still, her shoulders dropped slightly and a faint tension eased out of the revenant’s stance. Ships functioned better with a full crew, after all. Assuming the crew knows what it’s doing.

A furious claxon honk snapped her attention back to the goose, her frown deepening at the sight of the singed but otherwise unharmed fowl hurtling through the air towards Thorn. Smarter than it looks, then. She stepped nimbly forward, pivoting to the side to flank the bird - then slowed. The air thickened rapidly. Ribs hunched inwards as the wave of pressure curled about her, crushing against her chest and stunting her breath. She jerked, muscle tense, and dragged in a harsh gasp - only to clench her teeth against a scream. Something squelched across her side, skin sizzling and bubbling at the contact. What in the hells - ? The Captain’s eyes raked along her torso, her breath sharp and rasping. Threads of cloth disintegrated, the tainted steel links woven through them rusting and tumbling in a series of plinks to the tiles below. Bile rose in her throat as she swayed, ooze clinging against deteriorating flesh, and the agony burned and burned and burned…

Skin throbbed; muscles spasmed. Burning fangs sunk deep into flesh and bone, but she made no sound as coal-black fire burned away her broken limbs.

Her leg below the knee. Her arm just past her shoulder. The entire left side of her face, trawling down her neck and collarbone. Flames devoured the wrecked and ruined flesh before the cool sting of the ocean slipped through its cracks, weaving the ivory tides of her soul in its wake.

She took slow, limping steps along the ruins of the wharf. Flesh, then soul, then flesh again. Blood dripped down her forearm, the mark of the sworn oath dyeing the crimson stream a thick, inky black.
Let it scar, she snarled, vicious. She would remember the bargain made today.

The girl reached the end of the ravaged pier and fixed her eyes on the depths below. A single ship of the raider’s fleet greeted her, sunk by the town’s cannons before the slaughter. Their vessel would better suit her needs than the handful of dinghies and fishing boats barely afloat in the quay. She snapped translucent fingers, wisps of alabaster drifting across her knuckles, and the ship rose upwards. Its scorched hull, pitted and cratered, reformed as its torn and ragged sails gradually mended. A flick of her hand as the vessel -
her vessel - settled and bobbed on the gentle roll of the harbor tide, and its gangway extended down to meet her. She strode across it, slow steps growing more steady with each pace.

Once she boarded, the bridge vanished. The ship lurched and tilted, sending her staggering against the rail.
Steady, Miriam. She must stand tall on her own. She had no one left to lean on. Her ship steadied itself along with her as she straightened. Its prow turned towards the open waters to match her gaze fixed upon the horizon. It sailed forward, cresting the first waves as the new Captain took her first steps toward the helm.

She did not look back.


The Captain swayed, legs moving with the roll of her ship and catching her stumble even as her mind reeled. Her pistol grazed her side as she curled around the wound - only for the barrel to rust immediately. Festering skin receded while metal corroded, the weapon scouring the foul fluid away. Steady… Burning pain dwindled to a faint prickling. She dragged in a slow, even breath, bracing herself against the smooth tile. The pressure about her lessened, and the revenant scanned the battlefield quickly, eyes settling on a figure just beyond the icy pillars. The Vessel Bearer, with her bandaged gaze fixed upon her.

I knew I should have broken that damn pot.

With a sharp twist of her wrist, the wraith hurled the tarnished pistol at the Knight of Burden’s vessel, then dove sidelong for the scant cover of the icy pillar. She gave Thorn and Ferdinand a wide berth, leaving the goose to the behemoth to deal with. All it has to do is fall on the stupid thing. If Thorn needed her help with that, that's its own fault.

Her breath ghosted out before her as she circled the pillar, temperature plummeting near the amalgamation of frozen blades. A familiar hilt caught her gaze, and she grinned. The Vessel Bearer had a slight reach advantage with that pair of slim blades. Let’s even the odds.

Ghostly fingers dragged against the smooth ice, exposed blades grazing her palm and leaving thin trails of pearly mist in her hasty wake. Gripping a sturdy handle, the wraith yanked out a machete as momentum carried her forwards. Flesh hand dropped to her own cutlass, tugging the second blade free as the Captain rounded the pillar to meet the Vessel Bearer head-on.

Pressure subsumed her once more, but the Captain's grin only widened. The ocean’s embrace carried far greater weight, and she’d plumbed its depths a-plenty to keep her head now. Stay calm; breathe steady. Like the terrors of the ocean, this woman incited panic - but the revenant knew better than to pay much heed to the terrified screams muffled in the back of her mind. The Knight of Burden in contrast was struggling to keep up; she trembled violently, still facing the wrong direction. The Captain’s grin sharpened. Perfect.

The wraith ducked low, her smooth roll an echo of the pitch of her ship as she dove beneath the Bearer’s twin blades. The ocean is my ally. Not yours. Her borrowed sword glinted as she came out of the tumble, machete angled upwards to guard against the thinner blades as the icy guard settled firm in her phantom grip. In her other hand, living flesh warmed the hilt of her cutlass; the sword slashed out and forward at the unprotected skin of the Bearer’s ribcage, the Captain's eyes turned hard and ruthless. Let the devil take you first.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 8
2/20/2023 20:50:54   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


For the second time in what seemed to be the same day, the Vessel Bearer once again fell to her knees. The same searing chill, the same freezing heat radiated from her bones, but she clenched her teeth together hard. Her grips flexed, but in the cold of the arena, the cold of the blades did not register. It was all she could do to not draw blood from her palms yet again.

Unlike the first time however, the Ruin blast soared through the marble field, an invisible bomb of concentrated—

change.

—destructive, ruinous energy, right at the ghostly skeletal creature called the Captain. Caught up in its — hers rather, she did seem to be a female, or used to be — her hunt of the goose called Ferdinand, she didn’t see the Ruin coming.

Her lips twitched slightly.

The ghost did not scream, but even with no sight to distract from, the Vessel Bearer could see the former’s shock as the Ruin enveloped her. Ragged, ancient clothes disintegrating, steel rapidly rusting—

—and their gazes met. With no sight to distract from, the Vessel Bearer stared down the ghoulish grin and mismatched eyes that made up the Captain’s visage.

So familiar, yet quite different.

She didn’t quite narrow her eyes; she had no sight to distract from, so there was no reason to. The same sequence, the same mistakes—?

The next thing she knew, the Captain made a sharp movement. She reacted on instinct — the Captain had thrown her pistol. She was in no shape to stand up or move aside, and to keel over would not be an option—

So with her left hand, she simply raised her sword.

A Ruin-coated pistol clanged off the blade’s edge, intercepted before it could hit the vessel.

A few extra dregs of Ruin slipped off the pistol and flowed into the vessel.

Ever so slightly heavier.


And the Captain disappeared around the icy pillar.

Here she comes.

Her grip on the left sword contracted—

The skin of her palm broke. And quite suddenly, through the chilling aura of the arena, warmth returned.

She put one foot under her, rising up to one knee, then to none—

Just as the Captain rounded the pillar, her own blades flashing.

She whirled and slashed, but her sword cut air. The Captain had anticipated her retaliation and come in low.

She jerked back and the blow missed her ribcage by a hair. A faint tearing sound signaled how close she’d come to being disemboweled.

(Her blood pumped, warm and lively.)

The Vessel Bearer spun in a pirouette, away from the Captain’s deadly blades. The latter was practically right under her!

(Her blood pumped, her breath came in harsh gasps.)

The mantra came back to her unexpectedly.

Hold the Ruin.

Forward, backward, left and right, nowhere to move without being sliced to bits. No room to defend.

Hold the Ruin.

What Ruin? another voice, small but sharp and clear, interrupted.

That’s true, she thought. You have so much Ruin … but I’ve relieved myself of some.

She thrust one foot down and launched herself into the air. Her momentum carried her backward, yet she leaned forward.

Nowhere to move … except up.

Hold the Ruin!

And so I shall … but so too, can I let go.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 9
2/20/2023 21:41:52   
roseleaf320
Creative!


The Parodist’s arm bbum twitched, clanging her clockhand roughly into the stone as she took a step towards Kasdil. How did humans normally start an interaction? Something like… ”Hello Kasdil, how b-bum a-are you?” A pain the Parodist couldn’t place tugged at her heart as she spoje. Chaos wanted her to defeat this human, but he was still… human.

The Parodist could not track Kasdil’s lips behind the silver cover he wore, but she could hear the rhythmic rumble in his voice. The prominent arch in his throat sat low and still as he spoke. “Is now the time for words, yearning soul?” The Parodist twisted their head in confusion. Yearning? She opened her lips, but Kasdil rumbled once more, responding to her first question before she could ask a second. “I’m doing--” b-b-buu Her side convulsed, sending the clockhand again into the floor. Kasdil’s rumble faltered as his stance tensed. The Parodist lifted her bronze hand from the ground immediately, unsure what to think about Kasdil’s sudden change. Did he want her to use his rhythm instead?

bu-bum The Parodist shook her trunk to echo Kasdil’s slow, steady beat. It stayed constant even as he rushed towards her. Painted lips pulled up into a smile as the Parodist felt her chest falling calmly in sync with Kasdil even as he brandished his knife. He swung in a wide arc, his life throbbing outwards as if it were a part of the dagger itself-- as if three hearts beat in time instead of two. Was this why he spoke of ‘soul’? She snapped her chest backwards as Kasdil’s knife whistled in front of her. A perfect rhythm. She hoped their synchrony made him as happy as it always made her; as if she was where she belonged. She stepped around the dagger’s swing and grasped her clockhand with both limbs. I will try to be gentle, human. Chaos wished her to cause pain; perhaps it would make Kasdil feel alive, as she had.

bu-bum The Parodist hurled their clockhand low towards Kasdil’s legs, but he lurched backwards in time to avoid it, the blade swatting harmlessly through the air between them. Good-- their rhythms were truly in sync, each swing, each dodge mirrored perfectly. They sidestepped as their partner swung again, but he reached further than they expected, and his shimmering dagger grazed across their arm. They felt a strange kind of pain twist their chest for a moment, slow its beat; as if they were pulling out of sync with their partner. Wait, wait! The Parodist’s heart grasped at the rhythm, but it felt as if it would slip from their fingers at any moment.

So she let bummm go. Shrouded eyes saw the fold of Kasdil’s cloak, and she reached spindly fingers out as she exchanged her grip on his rhythm for a grip on his lungs. Air fled from his chest as she forced it still. He could be calm, like her. See? You don’t need breath. Isn’t it easier this way?

Kasdil slammed backwards, the force of the Parodist’s touch perhaps bububum stronger than she’d meant it. Countless chimes battered the Parodist’s ears as Kasdil’s body shook the pillar behind him and sent icy handles dancing to the ground. Now was her chance. She could learn. Her chest throbbed back in time with his, reaching out for understanding as her voice chimed like falling ice. “What is a ‘soul?’”

She focused on his throat once more, on the deep rumble that sung in time with his slow beat. “It is what defines you and I,” Kasdil sighed as he spoke, and the Parodist struggled to interpret what his tone meant. “Most truly and wholly.” A soul defines us, and she was… a yearning soul? The Parodist’s painted lips parted, but she was bumm cut short as Kasdil slashed roughly towards her, holding an opaque sword like those in the pillars. Did he sneak that out while he was speaking? The Parodist crumpled her face in hatred as she jumped out of its way. He had just wanted to distract her! She readied her weapon to mirror his newfound sword, porcelain face b-b-b

You are definitely, totally, not at all afraid of the dark.

Being afraid of the dark is for little kids. You’re not little anymore- you’re almost fifteen.
Fifteen-year-olds get invited to big, late-night, no-parents-around sleepover parties.
There’s no way you could’ve passed up an invite to this.

But… standing out here, alone, in the pitch-black night… you kinda wish you had.

Your tenuous steps echo through your ears as you make your way down the silent, unlit street. Why did
you have to be the one to walk all the way to the corner store?
You’re not… afraid, really. But it’s not like it’s comfortable, either, walking in winter in the middle of the night.

What was that? You start as something calls through the darkness. No, it was… it was just a hoot. It must be an owl.
You shutter and try to shake away the dark thoughts creeping into your head. You’re not afraid. It’s just… cold. You’re shuttering for warmth.

They said it should only be about a fifteen-minute walk. That’s easy; you’re probably already halfway there. This… isn’t really so bad. You’re getting used to the chill.
The owl hoots again, and you force yourself to breathe deep. The owl’s almost good company. Kind of helps with the whole… sensory deprivation thing that goes on when you’re wandering alone.
Keeps your mind from wandering too much.

Did they really just do this because they wanted snacks? Their faces had seemed so… mischievous, when they first asked.
They said they always did it at sleepovers; get super hungry around midnight and send someone out for junk food. They said you had to go because it was your first time.
That it would make you a real member of the group. That was so fake, wasn’t it! You feel your face bunch up in frustration as you repeat their words. “Oh c’mon hun, what’s wrong? You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

”Oh c-c-cmon, hun”


Your stomach drops as terror shakes your limbs. Your feet stop, and you quiet your breath as much as you can. You strain, listening for anything, any words, any footsteps, any indication that you are not alone.

But it is silent except for the sound of your heartbeat, strong in your ears, as if it’s already outside your chest.

It must have been an echo. That’s all. You step forward hesitantly, thoughts still on the silence around you.

”You’re not afraid of the d-dark, are you?”


The voice is shrill and scratchy, as if someone was speaking by grating two pieces of metal together. You bolt, breath stinging your throat as your feet
slam slam slam onto the concrete.
You need to run you need to leave you need to get back. Someone’s chasing you you’re sure of it, they must be right behind you. You can’t slow down, you’re going to die.

You have never been more
afraid.


The Parodist reeled b-bum backwards, clockhand dragging across the ground as they clutched their shattered waist. Fear wracked through their body like blood streaming from a wound. Nonononono she knew the voice in the dark, the echo that made her so afraid, an ugly hateful painful feeling she would never wish on anyone. The voice was her own. The eyes were always her own. It was just like Mom said.

She made people afraid.
Post #: 10
2/20/2023 22:00:02   
Apocalypse
Member

CRACK

Polished pommel struck hardened glass, cascading a storm of neon stormflakes across the operator’s vision. Thorn reeled, finding his footing as a web of fractures proliferated across his helm. ...where… Citrus trickled from every crevice, obscuring the foul little fowl. ...are… He clenched his fists. Crystals crunched in bursts of viridian behind the glass. ...YOU…

In a shower of sour shards and oscillating threads, a fist of glowing ruby burst through his helm.

Thorn froze.

He was not human.

He was never human.

Thorn’s fingers flexed, gemstones crackling in frothy shades of fuschia. Up above, six orbs mocked the stars with their false illumination.

Not fears.

...truths…

The operator steeled himself with these truths, stepping to the icy pillar as his third hand melded back into its orblike shape. ...not human…but…witness… Ferdinand, drenched with the scent of wild grass and chirping in waterfalls of bubbling vermillion, still stumbled from his haphazard flight. A small thing. A wretched little thing hurled by the mannequin - Parodist - and wielding nothing but a sword with a broken tip. His unrelenting noise persisted even as Thorn reached for the pillar and grabbed hold of a massive handle that dwarfed the rest. The biting cold stung with the fragrance of aloe as he drew the weapon from the ice: a sword of such size and girth more suited to slay steeds than their riders. The operator turned to face the Knight of Disruption, its feathers hackled and beak still yapping. Exorbitant for a goose. Yet - Thorn tightened his grip - not for a foe who sought to steal the stars from him.

They all did.

...thieves…one and…all…

Thorn marched towards the incessantly chattering Ferdinand. He tuned out Parodist’s clanging blade, an unwieldy slab of metal, surging with violet sparks. He tuned out her jasmine-scented mud mingling with Kasdil’s earthy rich flavor. He tuned out the skirmish between Captain and Vessel Bearer, drowning their tastes of salty iron and stale grain in the wild grass of the Knight of Disruption. He tuned out the hanging scales which illuminated the battlefield, their star-mocking light reflecting the savors of every combatant.

Thorn needed to focus on but one.

...knight of…disruption…

Thorn raised the frozen sword above his head, its weight cumbersome even for his titanic might.

...fall…

He cleaved the icy blade down, reddish-brown hues trailing its whistling arc through the frosty air.

...SILENT…
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 11
2/20/2023 22:56:04   
markthematey
Member

“What is a soul? Why, what is it not?” ~Preacher of the Scripture




Kasdil looks to his right, where the voice of Order spoke before. Towards the man named “Thorn.”

There stands a hulking suit, the one that goes by Thorn. They tower over Kasdil and their armor reflects like polished glass with small amounts of color like oil rippling through each plate. Kasdil can’t glean anything from the onyx suit itself, but their soul is a completely different matter entirely.

The colors bleed off the armor and almost mix into the soul itself. What starts as a small splash quickly expands into a massive aurora that paints one strip of their soul. Wherever a small ripple begins, it grows into another wonderful streak inside the cosmos of this person's soul. Before long, the entire soul is covered in this beautiful miasma of galactic lights, but then the soul sputters. The color that once was there disappears rapidly and the soul returns to an empty night sky. A few seconds pass and the cycle starts anew once more. Another ripple, into another northern light until it fills and then dissipates.

Past Thorn, Kasdil sees the visage of the final pawn who stands for Order. He can’t make out much about her appearance, but her soul's powerful aura rages clearly to Kasdil’s eyes. At first, he only sees the edges of it. They look like a cloud of deep grey, a foretelling of something to come. The rest of her soul is constantly swirling in a crackling storm. The eye of the storm is directly in her heart which itself looks like a ball of energy. From the eye of the storm, strikes of white resembling lightning arc out and flow into the winds that surround it. One of her arms is filled with lightning, some of her limbs seemingly brimming with energy. Above all, the soul irradiates a dominant aura that kneels to none.

Once more, Kasdil feels regret build up in his chest. Two more wonderful souls stand beside me. He will stand beside them, he will show Order why he will stand taller.

Kasdil shifts his attention to his coming opponents and a familiar soul first greets his eyes. The reminiscent winds of the forest covering the small stature of the goose. The meddling creature that stole his gun… I’ll avoid them if possible Kasdil retorts to himself.

The second member of chaos wears tattered clothing. The shabby appearance is accompanied by several bandages covering their chest. Their Kasdil knows to look deeper to begin to understand someone.


At first, this person’s soul looks stagnant. As if it is bound completely, it stands unmoving almost accepting of its current fate. The soul is locked in a cage that can’t be seen by Kasdil’s eyes as if fate itself has written the soul to stay where it is. The cage and chains that bind it are completely invisible. A fate that Kasdil knows too well himself. Unfortunately, this soul accepted its fate long ago.

No… there is something more. Beneath it all, the center of the soul sways and pushes back against the chains which bind it. It is very slight but it's desperately trying to fight back. To break free from what is trying to hold it.

Another kindred spirit to Kasdil’s. It seems the path I walk is a shared one Kasdil thinks to himself, yet such a lonely one despite that

Kasdil’s eyes meet the final Chaos Knight. The Parodist, the voice of Chaos calls it.

Its eerie silhouette seems almost human, but there is something clearly off. Kasdil focuses on the soul that surrounds them. Their deep red lips seem to blend into the soul itself. A set of five red dots fixed where its eyes should be. This inhuman face boars into Kasdil with wicked curiosity, almost grinning at him. Most interestingly, their heart is visible in the soul. The heart remains at the center of this person’s being, the core where a sharp red desire brews.

Unexpectedly, the heart beats, and the entire soul pulses with it. It fluctuates in size as a small ring of red approaches the soul’s limits. The wave flows with a desire, reaching for anything that it could grab hold of. It wisps away right as another pulse begins. This time harsher and erratic. The soul once more stretches out of shape to match the heartbeat. The pulsing continues and the soul never gets a moment of rest; constantly malforming itself to meet the pulses. Yet the soul doesn’t seem in pain at all. It almost invites this harsh desire, willingly following it.

The sound of a hammer echoes over the battlefield as the pillars ripple to life. Hundreds of hilts coat the sides of each pillar. Kasdil knows that the battle has just begun.

Kasdil approaches the Parodist. Instead of reaching for his gun, he immediately moves his hand toward his thigh. Letting out a deep breath, energy surges through his arm as he grips the soul in his palm. Twisting his fist, a shard of his soul breaks off and resides in his hand. Wasting no time, he takes the shard and places it in the hilt in his other hand. His leg begins to numb as he walks but this is a feeling far too familiar to Kasdil.

With a brief delay, the dagger’s blade erupts from the hilt. The blade itself looks like a fragment from the crystal shards that float within Kasdil’s soul. The blade glows brightly and specks of sand-like energy float off the blade.

Kasdil prepares himself, inspecting the blade. A clear piece of himself being used to accomplish his goals. Despite how he hates it, he needs it to reach his goal. The voice of his opponent breaks his concentration.

“Hello Kasdil, how a-are you?” The voice sounds extremely grating, as if each word is forcing itself into existence. A mimicry of how a human should sound with a harsh metallic rasp overshadowing it.

Taken aback, Kasdil responds, “Is now the time for words, yearning soul?" He pauses soon after. He has no reason to be rude, this being just wants to satisfy its curiosity.

"... I'm doing ~!!" Kasdil stops himself and his steps stutter. Nausea overtakes him like an intervening force of something breaking his thoughts, his rhythm, completely. He glances up to see it removing the clock hand from the ground.

That is a dirty trick! Kasdil dashes forward, the outside force seemingly disappearing just as quickly as it came. Kasdil takes a swing with the dagger but the Parodist flicks their chest backward. The dagger cleanly misses. Its movements so closely mirror his, what are you? Not a human, yet still have a soul as such!

The Parodist swings the clock hand with both arms toward Kasdil’s legs. The strike comes just as he finishes his attack. The motions almost land in a consistent beat that they share. Kasdil is able to step back and prepares to attack once more with his dagger.

It is as if they’re in a dance together. Once motion cleanly leads to the next. A smooth combination of attacks and dodges creates a theatric display. Kasdil lunges forward with the dagger, aiming to break from the rhythm if possible. The Parodist attempts to sidestep but it bites the eerie figure's arm. The soul which covers it has a small tear split inside itself, leaving a gap where it was hit.

Kasdil overextends himself in his part of the dance, unable to retreat before a counterattack comes. The Parodist sneaks past his hastily formed guard and places a hand against his chest.

An incredible force hits his lungs and forces him back. The air forces itself out, leaving Kasdil gasping for air that won’t return. His back slams into the ice pillar right next to him as he attempts to regain his composure. The being in front of him could have taken his life but curiosity takes over it.

“What is a soul?” it asks. This time its voice sounds like the ice crashing around him but the essence of a human voice is forming behind it. The question is one Kasdil has asked himself many times in the past. What is it that he seeks to change? Does this thing even matter? Of course it matters! What is a soul? What are you without one? Kasdil roars to himself in his mind through his gasps.

He slowly chokes out the words, "It is what defines you and I,” His arm slowly moves to one of the many hilts sticking out of the pillar.

“Most truly and wholly." Kasdil grabs one of the weapons and brings it down in a deadly arc toward its head. The creature mirrors Kasdil, following his motion, and intercepts the blade.

It cannot mirror what it does not have, Kasdil takes his soul dagger and drives it into the side of the Parodist.
Post #: 12
2/21/2023 21:03:13   
Sylphe
Member

Cold air swept through Ferdinand’s feathers as he careened towards his first enemy’s untimely demise. Just half of a scream more and he’d collide with them! He needed a plan. He could spread his wings and slow his flight. Cowardly, if you asked him. Or he could use this speed to attack! To close the gap! Ferdinand, you’re a master strategist! This horrible annoying disgusting DISHONORABLE betrayal was actually a blessing!

Get bent, dangly goose! The bird thought as he flew, but just as he was about to swing, the stars melted into cold awful soup. The bird’s chest tightened, as if forced under another’s beat.

The spilled rainbow stood just one struggling bird breath away.

With all his might, Ferdinand fought to make his beak move. The Burning Glowing giant was his foe, the whistling cold air was his foe, and even his own heart was a traitorous foe. Three on one.

Best odds yet!

With a strained honk the sword’s pommel met the giant’s helmet, and feathers soon followed. Ferdinand heard an ugly crack and then only felt the slightly less ugly softer Boink of a goose smacking into glass. His honk became a confused chatter, and the stars swirled in his vision violently as he fell. A new voice joined their spiraling, quiet like a nesting pipit’s trill.

...where…

There was no space for another bird in his head. It was his turfest of turfs! He didn’t care if it was a very very big goose that oversaw everything. He didn’t care if it was a little whispering bird! But as he tried to complain, to chase them off, his body was confused and so was his voice.

Ow? There was no pain at the end of his fall. Just the feeling of an impact, then a little black. Then light and cold once more. The goose blinked, once, twice, at the pulsing lights. One pulsed brighter, just once, the pipit’s song quiet still yet sending prickles of dizzy dread up his spine.

are…YOU…

Thunderous steps rattled the floor. Ferdinand forced himself to stand, stumbling back to his flippers and swaying all the while. Why were there stars in his vision? They were supposed to be up in the sky. They couldn’t run around like goslings on the road. They’d get hurt!

A sudden wave of chill washed over Ferdinand, leading to a little dizzy thought. Oh, this was just almost like a snowglobe! Even the ground shook like someone was rattling it. He remembered his friend having one on the shelf. A gift from some good relatives? With the big city towers and…

Wait.

The floor was… shaking?

...knight of…disruption…

Ferdinand looked up to meet a towering Giant. Their final lumbering step sent the marble shuddering under Ferdinand’s feet, threatening to take his balance. Even their blade was at least three Ferdinands in size. His heart froze over with dread even without rhythms to slow it.

...fall…

It came down with such weight it cleaved his dizzy snowflakes into two halves.

...SILENT…

Horror punctured the goose’s mind. Clumsily, he dove to the side and slipped on the smooth tile. He heard nothing but his heartbeat as he clambered back to his feet and ran. The Giant’s weapon slammed into the ground just a blink later, with the sound of ice shattering on marble. He felt those icy shards tickle his beak, felt the chilly wind against his heated breath, and he was half sure he saw death right there in the frozen blade’s reflection.

The waterfowl’s fluffed body shook with fear. His spirit, though, burned.

”Be quiet, stupid goose.” Barked a soldier as an iron boot met his side.

”The Night values silence, young prince. Best not break it with unneeded words.” whispered an unearthed memory.

His friend said nothing, her face buried in his feathers to quiet her sobs, praying without words.

Just as his flippers met the marble, prince Ferdinand hit the ground running. He zoomed directly at the Giant’s legs, and held his blade tightly between gnashing teeth. Its broken edge was still poised to strike, no matter its form. No matter its enemy. Unforgiving, unwavering, and refusing to die in silence!

No, they’ll be as loud as they could! So loud they’ll annoy Chaos into coming down and helping!

“HONK!”
NEVER!

“HONK! HONK! HONK!”
I am the knight of Disruption! And I am bringing you down, Giant!

The memory of a titanic sun flashed through his mind, red and searing. The memory of a thousand men with two-ferdinand-big swords lit his eyes blazing red. That’s just one more Ferdinand in sword size! That means nothing! With a swift but resolute swing, the goose slashed against the Giant’s left kneecap, eyes and garnets shining.

“Hooooonk!”
Let this be the fight of our lives! En garde!
DF  Post #: 13
2/21/2023 23:00:35   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


A wave of hot air surged through the field, the heat rolling over the board and distorting the air. The scales above shuddered, and tilted, melting away the tops of the pillars to tip first towards Order, then towards Chaos. Two orbs dropped, one filled with swirling desert sands and one of burning gray flame, rolling off the pillars and shattering at their feet to create two paths, their destinations shrouded in a hazed fog. The Powers spoke, their distinct tones overlapping as their calls resounded through the field.

Knight of the Desert. Though you show tremendous growth, you fail to maintain Orders strict perfection. You are not our champion, you are Dismissed.

Knight of Burden. Though you show deft prowess, you fail to match the Volatility of Chaos. You are not our champion. You are dismissed.

Coolness returned as the voices faded and the heat swept away. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.


Post #: 14
2/22/2023 20:06:21   
markthematey
Member

“When life comes to an end, my scripture shall keep you forever memorialized”. ~The Commandments of the Scripture




A sudden realization hits Kasdil as The Parodist reels from his attack. The glimmering blade rests in his hand but Kasdil loosens his grip. A booming voice affirms his fears,

“Knight of the Desert. Though you show tremendous growth, you fail to maintain Orders strict perfection. You are not our champion, you are Dismissed.”

He feels lost in this moment, unsure of what to do. He watches helplessly as his orb falls from the scales. Like a speck of sand to an hourglass is cast aside and forgotten, his soul is discarded by the gods. A sinking feeling grows in his chest. After all his work and all of the trials, he took to finally get to this point. He has failed.

I am not the champion of Order…

He is to leave and continue his fruitless journey or stay and die. The thought dwells within Kasdil. He cannot escape the Scripture on his own, can he? No, impossible. He had tried countless times, yet his soul never changed. It always remained the same color, the same picture, as it was foretold to be.

I’m sorry, old man. You’ll have to read another’s journal. The Scripture’s grip is too strong for me to grab a pen myself. Kasdil resigns to himself. If he can’t change what the Scripture has chosen for him... then he won’t be a part of it anymore. No, I will decide my own fate. No god of Order nor god of Chaos and not some stupid piece of paper will write my future! Kasdil laments to himself in anger.

“Parodist!” Kasdil shouts with a ferocity that sears his insides, “You want to see a soul?” Kasdil flings his blade to the ground. Ting~ The hilt deflects off the ground from the force and slides away, illuminating the checkered floor as it passes. With a flick of his arm, Kasdil anchors his hand over his chest. Energy manifests into the tips of his fingers but he pushes it further. The bright light spreads down from his fingertips until it floods his entire hand with a magnificent glow that spreads to his eyes like wildfire.

His entire body begins to buzz as his fingers feel the shell surrounding his soul. The thin layer separating his hand and the wasteland underneath feels silky to the touch. The energy from his hand ripples across the skin of the soul. Kasdil drives his hand deep into the core of his soul over his heart. His body screams at him to stop as the alien intruder goes deeper into what it should not. As he grabs one of the large crystals that floats within his soul, he feels the pulse of his heartbeat echo inside it. With all his might, he tears the heart of his soul out.

Immediately, Kasdil gasps for air as numbness spreads rapidly through his chest. The buzzing of his body ends immediately into a deafening silence. His eyes widen, almost in surprise as he stares at the mass of glowing desert and realizes the truth of his actions. But he cannot stop now. I will not be held by the Scripture any longer! With his free arm, he unholsters his gun from his side. Kasdil’s lungs begin to feel heavy, each breath becoming more and more labored, I’m not finished just yet. The world around him begins to blur and his concentration begins to slip.

Raising the sand-dripping crystal, Kasdil crushes it with a brilliant flash of energy, the large crystal condensing into a shard that nearly blinds Kasdil as he looks at it. Behind him, he could feel his soul manifesting as he prepares the bullet. The soul feels hollow to him, missing something so important but Kasdil disregards it. Determination fills his slowing heart and his soul reacts to the emotion.

The rapid winds rage harder than they ever have before, obscuring the endless barren wasteland behind it. The typhoon coalesces around him, like a thick sandstorm that covers his silhouette; Leaving only his head, arms, and gun visible.

The numbness solidifies in his chest and begins to reach his arms. He lifts his hand to the chamber but it feels like he’s moving through tar, I can’t stop now. With a quick motion, the bullet slides in.

“Here’s one for you. TAKE IT ALL.”

Kasdil levels his gun and releases a cold long breath as he’s done hundreds of hundreds of times before. As he slightly feathers the trigger his eyes burn and begin to blaze from the energy of his soul. His entire body feels re-integrated as his soul overtakes the numbness. The pair of crystal-like wings form in their full glory, reflecting brightly in the frigid air around them. The sand-filled windstorm circles his gun, following the crystal that lies within it. An incredible power grows larger and larger, whipping the storm more and more until;

Kasdil pulls the trigger.

CRACK

The shot leaves the rifle like lightning, the initial crack followed by a harsh reverb that fills the air with sound. The streak of Kasdil’s soul paints the path the bullet took before landing directly into The Parodist's chest. The energy that just filled every inch of Kasdil’s body is completely gone. The shot creates an incredible shockwave. The wave of soul energy covers Kasdil entirely, like a flash-bang center from the chamber of the gun. The massive blast stains the air with an image of Kasdil’s soul.

The vast winds that once kicked typhoons of sand into the air are nowhere to be seen. Silence overtakes the landscape, the anger that it once held seemingly gone. The heat haze disappears, leaving the plateau still. The crystals that floated in the distance began to take a slow descent into the earth around them. The sand that once streamed endlessly into it ceases their flow. For the first time, a horizon sun is clearly seen over the vast sands and the desert no longer seems endless.

Kasdil tries to grin, but not even the muscles in his lips would move anymore. He attempts to keep his balance but he couldn’t feel his legs either. He feels his heartbeat stifle, each pulse further from the last. He couldn’t feel the brisk air fill his lungs and taste its frigid bite on his tongue. Kasdil couldn’t make one form from another, each shape melds together in a blur. His entire body feels so distant and foreign to him. How did people move their arms again? It just didn’t seem possible. The gun falls limply onto the ground with the chamber busted wide open, unable to contain the shockwave. Kasdil hardly notices as his legs give in and his body slumps down into a near-sitting position. An onlooker may think he is just resting. His eyes remain open but the glow that once held so prominent flickers out and hums to a dull grey color.

Yet the last emotion to leave Kasdil's soul is not anger or bitterness, but contentment. He has finally done it. He has escaped from the Scriptures' text. By getting rid of what he was given, what the Scripture destined him to be; He no longer would have one more line written in it. Thus, this is where the story of Kasdil must end; I have no more to write.“

~ The Holy Scripture, Script of Kasdil, Quill of the Scripture (End)
Post #: 15
2/24/2023 0:45:24   
  Starflame13
Moderator


The edge of her cutlass tore through tattered cloth, the Bearer wrenching away mere moments before the blade sunk into her flesh. Lucky girl. The sea seldom gave second chances. The Knight of Burden twisted away from the Captain’s assault, desperately casting about for an escape from the onslaught of swipes - before taking a massive leap skywards. Twin swords arced down, and the revenant snapped her blades up to meet them. Metal bit deep into the ice of the borrowed machete, forcing a snarl from the Captain as her phantom arm buckled, foreign steel scoring a thing cut across the swirling white of her chek.

The Blood Oath caught the second blade mid-stroke, hilt clanging against the slim curve of metal. With a lunge, the Captain drove forwards as the Bearer landed lightly upon the ground. Metal rasped in a shriek against her own steel, and the wraith bared her teeth in satisfaction. She shoved forward hard to lock her hilt against the hiltless blade, metal singing forward with scarce resistance.

A wall of heat slammed into her, scorching her skin and driving the Captain's momentum to a halt, blade scant inches before the Bearer’s heart. Oppressive warmth swelled around her, and she turned her head wildly, certain she’d find her devil present upon the field - only for the air to distort in a shimmering mirage, an echo of the sunlight streaming against the waves.

The Nightmare glided smoothly between curtains of haze, the thick, shimmering fog parting before her as her bow flicked cool foam into the hot summer air. Beyond her came the muffled echoes of screams and gunshots. The Captain grinned, as silent as her craft while the Nightmare skulked closer to the pair of interlocked ships swathed in mist. One was obviously a merchant vessel well out of guarded shipping lanes. The other…? No clear markings. Perfect. She raised ghostly fingers and snapped.

Lightning cracked directly overhead, bolts of white energy splitting the murky sky and catching the unmarked mast. It erupted into flame, raining chunks of burning wood and ember on the crew below. Whoops and hollers gave way to panicked screams, the deckhands breaking rank and scattering in disarray. The Captain’s grin widened, and a long rope settled in her hands as the Nightmare drew soundlessly abreast of the fight.

Her boots struck the deck in the center of the pandemonium, her first pistol cracking out before she even let go of the rope. Cutlass in one hand and a continuing series of guns blazing in the other, the Captain took out sailor after sailor in a whirl of carnage. A dark chuckle reverberated through her chest, bursting forth into a roar of laughter. Arcs of blood flew as she kicked one crewman through a rail, drove her sword through the gut of another, and crushed the throat of a third bare-handed, phantom limbs swelling in power with each soul. In mere minutes, she had slaughtered the entirety of the pirate ship, their ghosts sinking to the ocean’s depths below. As for the other…

She turned sharp eyes on the merchant vessel. Poorly armed, and even more poorly captained to have sailed this far out of patrolled waters just to shave a few days off a long voyage. It would be easy -
so easy - to leap from one ship to the other, to claim the lives of the misplaced crew and fuel her storm further. The Captain licked her lips, gaze narrowing in thirst, in hunger.

Muffled sobs reached her in the otherwise terrified silence, and she turned, eyes falling upon a shaking bundle half-hidden by a pile of rigging. The merchant crew cowered away from her - all save one, a man who stood between her and the shaking bundle, using his own body in an attempt to shield it from view. A father, then.
A child…

The Captain exhaled, eyes closing briefly. The taste of blood still stung the back of her throat, even years later. Her storm could find other ways to grow. She would become a different nightmare than the one she had replaced.

Miriam turned on her heel and strode away across the deck. She leapt from the pirate’s ship back to hers, a gesture bringing the mist to rise thick once more and wrap the pair of them tightly in its embrace. The
Nightmare vanished with nary a whisper.

Let the innocent survive.


The Captain stood frozen, the tip of her sword hovering over the Bearer’s heart. Strident tones rang out across the battlefield and echoed through her mind. Dismissed. Mismatched eyes rose from the edge of her blade to meet the bandaged gaze of the woman before her. What had the Knight of Burden done to prove herself worthy of death? Only fought her hardest when summoned. The same as me. A second chance for survival, then. If the other woman took it.

Purposefully, pointedly, the revenant eased her stance, cutlass slipping out from the Bearer’s blade to let the opposing weapon clang loosely against the floor. She took a step back, raised an eyebrow, then turned her back on the Knight of Burden. Mutiny or walk the plank, Bearer. Either would lead to death. The difference was who controlled it. Flesh, then phantom, then flesh again met tile as the Captain walked away -

Movement flickered before her, the Bearer’s swords reflected between the kaleidoscopic fractures of the icy pillars; the Knight lunged weapons first in spite of the second chance she’d been offered. Foolish. If you don’t bend… The Captain twisted around, bending over backwards to allow the blades to sail over her head. One swiveled, its curve carving a gash across her forehead before sinking deep into her ghostly skull. Her teeth clenched as the vision in her ghostly eye subsumed in howling white, thick black ichor dripping down her temple. …you will… The wraith wove under the Bearer’s thrust, the latter wide open in a desperate overextension. Phantom shoulder caught the Knight in the stomach, thousands of fights in the confines of tight quarters echoing through her movements as she knocked her foe off-balance. …break! The Captain snarled, lunged, and rammed the cutlass through the Knight of Burden’s heart.

The tip of the sword plunged deep, emerging from the Bearer’s back slick with crimson blood. The woman… smiled. Her features softened, relief bleeding across her face. “Thank… you.” She wavered beneath the Captain’s incredulous gaze, voice growing softer and softer. “Run… now.”

The Bearer slumped forward over the cutlass, lifeless.

Run - ?

Something sloshed. The Vessel wobbled, tilted… and tumbled towards the ground.

Oh, hells - move!

The Captain sprang into action, a sharp twist sending the corpse sliding from her sword as she leapt over the fallen Knight. Faster! She strained forward, weakened spirit dragging at fatigued limbs. She needed distance, she needed - a shattering crack echoed behind her. A wave of fiery sludge crashed against her back, knocking the revenant to the ground and forcing a shrill, uncontrolled shriek from her throat. The wraith wretched violently, bile staining her throat and coating her tongue, her body ravaged by roiling, searing agony.

It burns - the devil - I can’t - it burns - she shouldn’t - it burns it burns it burns -

Nerves screamed, flaring in mounting bursts. She thrashed, wild, frenzied, thick droplets of vile liquid flying in scattering arcs. Then smooth coolness pressed against her back, tile scraping off the remaining fluid in sheets as she slid against them. The searing pain mellowed - subsiding enough for the Captain to choke in a gasp past the blood clogging her throat; she had bitten her tongue. She rolled over once more, skin fever warm against the chilled stone, to see a trail of splotched ichor dotting the ivory tile behind her. What… in the hells… were you holding, Bearer? Her arms bent shakily under her, cutlass clicking softly against the floor as she loosened aching fingers. She could just make out the machete in a melted, corroded puddle near the shattered remnants of the pot. The wraith stared, then shook herself violently. Focus. Back on your feet before you drown.

The Captain shoved herself upright, swaying slightly as her boot slipped on the smooth tile. A quick glance around showed her lapse had been forgiven. This time. She could make out the clash of Thorn and the goose from between the pillars, while beyond them… the Knight of the Desert lay still and unmoving before a shattered, bleeding figure, its chest split open to reveal a misshapen, wildly pulsing heart. The Parodist. The demon. It still lived. It had a name. What are you?

Her eyes flicked to the set of scales and the four orbs remaining, then back to the broken puppet. Right now? Fingers tightened upon her cutlass and dashed the blood from her eye with her free hand. It was her enemy.

The Captain took a slow, bracing step forward. Ghostly fingers dropped to another pistol, easing it slowly free from its holster. Another limping step towards the demon, purposefully keeping her gaze forward, away from the fallen Bearer. Only a few souls left to collect, now. For the first time, a thread of unease wove through the confidence of the thought.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 16
2/24/2023 16:54:16   
roseleaf320
Creative!


The Parodist raised an arm to their gaze as the battlefield’s scales bbum chimed and shuttered. Afraid. Pallid elbow cracked and bent backwards as an orb fell and bumbu shattered. Afraid. Porcelain shards flew from a wrist that spun too far as the second orb b-bbum echoed the first, portal bursting from its shards like blood from a vein. I make people afraid.

They let their arm fall to their side and took a hesitant step away from Kasdil. His rhythm beat as steady as before, but it seemed more dim; no longer supported by the strict perfection of Order. ”Leave,” the Parodist forced out, their porcelain cheeks scraping against themselves in a strained, rasping whisper. Run away. Run away like the afraid girl in the dark. Like the woman who carried her fear to her deathbed. Like they all must’ve. Why, mom, the Parodist cried, why do I live, why do I make people afraid, whywhywhywhywhywhyWHYBUM-BU--

“Hey Parodist!” The erratic, hateful beat that raged in the Parodist’s ears plummeted to a whisper as Kasdil’s strong, steady voice called over it. “You want to see a soul?”

The Parodist paused, their heartbeat waiting like a held breath. Kasdil needed to run from her. She made people afraid, didn’t he see? She was ugly. She caused pain.

But she desperately wanted to see a soul.

She could steal just a glance. He was offering to show her; surely a glance would not be enough to scare him. But others had run from less before. She didn’t deserve to know a “soul.” She was too grotesque, too terrifying to speak with a human. She wanted to run, to run far away from anyone. She would be alone, alone forever but at least she would not cause fear.

But he had called her “yearning soul.” Yearning soul. She was a soul.

Porcelain tumbled bbum against itself as she whipped her head around towards her former partner. Feathers fluttered and opened just enough for her eyes to see, to really see, as Kasdil held a ball of pure energy in front of his chest. The Parodist stared, entranced, as it swirled with sands and crystals and the vastness of an entire desert. The slow, constant pulse that sung from Kasdil must come from his heart, as it did with all humans, but as the Parodist watched the desert’s beautiful, rhythmic swirls she knew it must truly come from this.

Souls were what made people people.

No-- why was Kasdil making it go away? He pushed his hands together and turned vast desert into a tiny oval, hiding beautiful soul inside his weapon. Feathers flared fully bu-um outward and her too many eyes searched Kasdil desperately for meaning, for understanding as he leveled his weapon and--

bu-bum

Porcelain splintered; souls converged; mind exploded.

You’ve lost track of just how long you’ve been wandering.

Has it been years? Or days? Despair creeps into your mind as you look out over the endless sands before you. The wind whips at your silver cloak, as if the desert itself is trying to pull your tired body to the ground.
Your mask filters out the sand as you take a deep breath and shake the desperate thoughts from your mind. The time does not matter.
You hold your head upwards, still and strong against the winds, defiance fueling your next step forward. You will find it.

A battlefield of powers beyond comprehension. A way to gain their
favor. The words you should not have read echo in your mind, as clear as they’d been on the Scripture’s forbidden pages.
“The war of Order and Chaos spreads through milennia. Their champions possess a small fraction of the quills’ power, but are perhaps the closest humanity has come to rewriting history.”
A single paragraph hidden in a section of the Scripture you were commanded not to read. No Quill ever questions the will of the Scripture.

It had perhaps been your first act of defiance.

You reach the top of a hill and look below at the small path left by your thick boots before the sand whisks it away as if it never were. Your nose flares, and you stomp again, defiantly, into the sand.
Someday your eyes will see more than this barren desert. Someday you will force the sand to flee from your steps and never return.

You reach down and unclasp the small leather pouch on your belt, the movement by now as routine as your steps. Your fingers close around the perfectly-snug leather binding that rests inside and bring it up to your gaze.
Though the Scripture will forever echo in your head, the old man’s words cut through them, a defiant verse to their refrain.
“A battlefield is no place to heal a broken spirit.” Would he scoff, now, knowing you search for the very thing he had cautioned you from?

Perhaps you should write of your journey. Of your search for the battlefield that may heal your broken spirit. You do not need to open the book to see its bare pages, like a held breath, waiting for your own words to blossom.

But you do not know what to write. You never do. So you put the book away once more into its perfectly-snug leather pouch. You do not glance down in the movement;
you do not want to see the barren wasteland the Scripture wrote for you, the harsh winds and floating crystals that have appeared by the Scripture’s design.
You stare instead at the barren wasteland you have chosen to walk for yourself. And then you take another step forward, your footprint lasting mere seconds before the sand whisks it away as if it never were.

Even a small glance can be an act of defiance.



Porcelain cracked bu-bu- as the Parodist’s knees slammed bum into unrelenting stone. Arms bu--- followed suit, bracing her body as it keeled bumm forward and convulsed. Each spasm bbu scattered shards of her chest like scraps of paper onto the bum pitch-black below, and a bright scarlet blurred bbu- her vision. The Parodist did not know how to intricately describe the bum shaking, screaming agony that burned its way through her trunk save for the single word the patient had repeated long ago. Pain pain pain pain pain pain

With each pulse, the pain faded, yet even as porcelain ceased to fall the scarlet that eclipsed her sight did not fade. It swirled and morphed across her vision, ever changing, ever moving. The Parodist dimly wondered if she had gone blind.

But then a trail of sand swirled across the scarlet’s surface.

Kasdil. The Parodist’s waist bu cracked under her momentum as she forced her torso upright. Kasdil lay before her, body unmoving, beat fading, fading, fading, no no no no… The Parodist shuffled bum towards him, her clockhand discarded beside her. She shook bu- his shoulders, but the desert that surrounded his chest was barely visible. Thin fingers reached bum frantically under his cloak, trying to get to his skin, to fix whatever wound he must have, and heart fell easily, almost automatically in time with his whispering song. bu-bum.

bu-bum.

bu--bum…

-----

The Parodist’s beat shuttered bu- once more as Kasdil’s heart fell silent.

She gripped Kasdil’s body and took a breath she did not bum need. She took another, bu- faster, a reflex she did not realize she had as her chest rose and bum fell and a pain she could not name tumbled through her form. Scarlet faded bu- from her vision and pulled her focus towards the heart that now beat bum freely in her shattered chest. She caused fear she caused pain she caused death she needed to run bu-bum

Shaking porcelain stilled as a strange calm rushed from the Parodist’s heart through her limbs. What if she could choose not to cause fear? To defy what she was-- to change it, just as she’d always tried to do? Chest rose and fell in a slow, steady breath, and the last wisps of Kasdil’s desert encircled her heart. She nodded bu-bum to him; though she knew he could no longer see her; and let his body gently slide from her arms onto the white stone beneath. She reached beside her and bu-bum grasped tight onto her bronze weapon before rising to her feet to glance at the battlefield before her. Bird and drone were tangled between the pillars; but Captain stared directly towards the Parodist, hand on her side.

Fear and pain crept like spiders across her pallid skin; she did not want to hurt the beautiful, she did not want to cause fear to the being she had loved so much beneath the gleam of the dying star. But defiance bu-bum surged through her limbs and reached towards the pillar to yank a curved, wave-like shortsword from its depths.

I will not be trapped by what I am. I might cause pain here, for this; but I won’t cause fear any longer.
Post #: 17
2/24/2023 22:00:12   
Apocalypse
Member

Crimson bolts spewed forth in erratic arcs from the clash of ice upon marble. The plucky knight weaved through them, dancing away from the operator with nimble steps. Sparks of viridian accompanied every noise from its infernal beak. Thorn’s grip tightened, splitting a hairline fracture along the frozen hilt and painting waves of amethyst in the chilly air. ...so…LOUD… He raised the horseslaying sword once more to silence the chatter. ...you…

“HONK!”

...can…speak…?

“HONK! HONK! HONK!”

Thorn froze, cold seeping into his gauntlets with its herbal flourish. The goose did not speak - not truly. Yet the operator could not deny a meaning to the cadence of its chirps: a boast, a threat, a…promise of grandeur in this world between worlds. Did this knight…crave battle? Before Thorn could process this newfound information, Ferdinand struck. The avian stepped to the operator in a flash, blade singing with saffron hues as it slashed open his knee.

Flesh ripped open, thorns of lightning
Puncturing nerves-


...no…

Thorn stood tall, empty ruby dust spilling from the gash in his suit.

No flesh existed to be ripped open.

No nerves for lightning to puncture.

...empty…

Scarlet shards pooled from either side of the limb, sacrificing the integrity of the whole to reinforce the joint. They slid under and over each other to stopper the flow, tickling him with a medicinal aftertaste. Stability returned, Thorn swung the behemoth blade again, forcing the goose to flutter back out of his range. It landed with ease and locked its gaze on the operator, fire burning within its eyes.

The two stood still for a moment, each measuring the weight of the other. The Knight of Disruption did not seem to possess any supernatural durability; its injury from the earlier beam filled the air with the acrid taste of burnt plumage and buzz of static. A single blow would end its life. Yet Ferdinand proved itself to be faster, and its skill with the blade could not be denied - a single strike should not have wreaked the damage that it had. Thorn shifted, holding the horseslaying sword before him. What drew his caution instead was the avian’s penchant for violence and bloodshed. ...for…chaos… He raised the frozen weapon to chest height and shifted his weight onto his forward leg-

Twin veils of ivory and ebony descended upon the battlefield, encapsulating all in their embrace as a pair of voices rangout in perfect harmony. Each distinct yet indecipherable from the other, running parallel and yet perfectly intertwined.

Knight of the Desert-
Knight of Burden-


-you are dismissed.


The operator watched as the hanging scales shed two of their orbs, their radiant bodies crashing to the floor. Tumultuous desert and volatile argent flame erupted in dual novas, each carrying the tastes of their knight a hundredfold. Savors of grain, both rich and stale, slammed into Thorn like a hurricane. He fell to a knee as every crystal, every fiber of his being consumed the banquet prepared only for him. The dizzying onslaught vanished a mere moment later, but the rush and tingle of the storm still clung to every crevice of his form.

This.

This…was truth.

Thorn rose.

...I care…not… for glory…

He stepped forward, stilted gait leaking puddles of cyan and cinnabar. Elsewhere, the dismissed knights fell upon their adversaries instead of claiming escape. Both met with ruin.

...I care…not…for status…

The sphere resting where his head should have been elongated, pulling mass from his center to form a makeshift arm. His vision stretched and distorted, the many images of the battlefield compounding upon each other. He pushed it away - he had eyes only for Ferdinand.

...I…was happy…

He switched his grip, freeing a gauntleted limb and replacing it with the newly formed one. Crystals hummed from ruby to cerulean in their ethereal glow. Their energy consolidated into the now-loose gauntlet aimed at the confrontation between Sea and Rhythms.

...drifting…among the stars…

With a glimmer of starlight, an azure beam erupted from the gauntlet’s prism glass towards Parodist and Captain with no regard for target. In the same instant, the operator swung his blade in a sweeping arc towards Ferdinand. With agility and grace, the goose flapped its wings and lifted itself over the strike. Predictable. Thorn lashed out with his free gauntlet as Ferdinand hung suspended in the air. A celadon starburst detonated from the avian’s cry as the blow sent the small creature tumbling across the chequered floor.

...it…was peaceful…

Thorn reached to the pillar and plucked free a spear, the weapon tasting of rosemary and rich with lavender. In his other hands, the horseslaying sword crumbled to snow. Shadows of fuschia danced around the powder as it clinked to the marble ground. No matter- such a large blade had been a mistake for the tiny creature. The operator hefted the spear in all three of his grasping limbs. The sword had been a weapon of war - what he needed was a tool to hunt.

...and here…you are…

He hurled the spear with all his might, ice whistling with violent flames of vermilion.

...RUINING…IT…ALL…

AQ DF MQ  Post #: 18
2/25/2023 13:33:51   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


The ghost parried, a sharp, practiced movement, though one blade slipped through her guard and sliced her cheek.

At this moment, the Vessel Bearer’s own swords betrayed her. Just as she landed, the Captain slammed a blade against hers, and the hilt of the large sabre locked against her hiltless swords.

A sudden wave of heat washed over her, and with it, a voice.

You are Dismissed.

In her own head, that voice sneered. If you no longer wish to hold the Ruin … then so be it.

And it was gone.

And the sinking feeling she had felt not so long ago was back. There was nothing left for her now. Especially not if she went back.

She was still alive?

Her opponent’s saber point hovered over her heart. She had not pressed her advantage. She met the Captain’s mismatched eyes.

Incredibly, the Captain lowered her own saber, pushing the Vessel Bearer’s sword away at the same time. She turned pointedly and walked away.

Surely there is some common ground upon which we meet.

She raised her swords … and attacked.

And as she anticipated, the Captain saw her movement through the reflection on the icy pillar. The latter whirled, but not before one sword cut deep into her skull, spewing something black and viscous.

But that wasn’t enough. The Captain charged and slammed a shoulder into the Vessel Bearer’s stomach—

—and the blade sank into her heart.

She gasped, spittle replaced with blood. Cold against warmth, the taste of iron within and without.

Finally.

Confusion colored the Captain’s eyes. She realized: she was smiling.

And so, I finally let go.

“Thank … you,” she whispered, her throat clogged with her own blood. Finally free, from the weight of the Ruin …

Finally …

You have so much Ruin … but not as much as I.

The Ruin!

“Run …” she whispered. “Now!

Her strength spent, she crumpled, and the vessel that was her burden fell for the last time.

Her body went cold, colder than the chill of the arena.

And she let go.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 19
2/25/2023 20:58:03   
Sylphe
Member

Cloth tore, and splinters of crystal shone in the wintry air. But the behemoth didn’t fall from his perfect strike, why, didn’t even take a knee! Ferdinand huffed as he hopped back, his flippers meeting with the shiny marble.

All good! The more they struggle, the bigger the fall!

The floor sent chilly prickles up the goose’s feet. It was then that he came up with the most wonderful idea.

Smooth + Very cold = Fun! Fast! Ferrrociuos!

He spotted the monster winding up for another strike in the corners of his gleaming eyes. Doubtless a devastating blow, but not for him. Not now that he already knew ALL of the giant’s tricks. Ferdinand spread his wings, gritting his goose-teeth against the searing pain that flared through his left. The goose slid on the smooth floor to gain momentum, all with a bell’s chime and a joyful cackle.

The last winter was all red snow and biting wind. It wasn’t always like that.

“Come on, Maeve. Don’t be a chicken!” The boy called out from the icy lake. All warm and cosy, with flipper covers sharp enough to slice an unprotected hand right off! No wonder the other kid was so scared. With a honk and a little encouraging poke he tried to get her to try. Your brother made those for you! I don’t know what they do! But lakes are good! Lakes are very fun.

“Honk!”

I said lakes are fun! You’ll never learn to not fear water if you don’t try!

“Honk!”

He gave his warnings. He gave exactly one. After that, he chased the kid onto the ice crying and screaming. That’ll teach her how to slide!

“HA-”

“HONK!”

“OW!”

AND THAT WILL TEACH YOU TO NOT MAKE FUN OF HER FOR BEING AFRAID!


He felt the Giant’s power as it swung its sword in a wide arc. It roared with wind and shook his bell and heart into a wild chime. Focusing, he flapped his wings with all that he had, straining the wing’s injury and avoiding another death.

There’s not much flight left in those.

I can still YELL, though!


The goose landed with a mighty shriek of Is That all you have, you spilled oil in the sun vermin? I’ve felled way larger than you!

Unfortunately, with all the focus in intimidation, he faltered, feets mixed up and slipping on the marble. He recovered in time, and raised his wings even as it tore at him. With eyes burning and head bowed in preparation to lash out, he watched for the Giant’s next move. Raspy breaths left his beak in little clouds.

They ran last winter, too. They cried, too. They couldn’t scream, voices silent from fear and long lost to tears. This time, nobody laughed when a friend fell.

Ferdinand skated forward on the smooth floor. The giant was preparing for an attack just as he was, their gargantuan foot stepping forward with a thud. His eyes furrowed, his own blade preparing to strike against ruby. Once again, old friend. Like humans felling trees, it has to give.

I will not let this winter be their last.


The sounds of struggle fell on his ears muted and bleak. He had no use what was happening outside, so long as his foe still stood. But just then two voices cut through his mind, clean and radiant.

…you fail to match the Volatility of Chaos.

His eyes flickered to the sidelines, breaking his own rule of undisturbed combat. One orb fell, shattering, and soon another followed. The goose’s stomach sank as he realized that he had not thought about what might happen should The Big Goose really think less of his heart.

The Giant had fallen to a knee. He didn’t have time to wonder if it was the injury he caused, because it did not last. Ferdinand’s feathers stood on end, his little body shaking with rage as it whispered and whispered. As loudly as he could, the goose honked.

“HONK!”
Out of my head! Begone!

First these big birds and then this Giant, invading his space with their words! That was the only reason for the way his body shook, his mind raced. Had to be! It couldn’t be the words he heard, possibly!

The Giant wound for another strike and spoke of the stars.

Ferdinand hopped over the arc with a bell’s chime. He clung to the searing wrath as he trapped cold air under his wings and pushed himself up. The Giant was no good, after all. This Giant wanted him dead, spoke in his head without asking, and swung three goose sized sword at him!

This Thorn wanted nothing more but peace.

Feeling wrath dissipate from the corners of his eyes, the goose desperately stabbed forward. He’d topple one sad giant to save many other, very small friends. He couldn’t think of a deer falling into a cloud of dust and dying too soon, or the betrayed sunburst fae.

What are you thinking about, you fool? Geese don’t care about those that hurt them and threaten their friends! Strike!

And neither did this Thorn.

A sudden crystalline hand slammed into his side with such force it sent him into the floor. There was a small darkness as he hit the ground, and a horrible crack. Small darkness, the stars, small darkness. White, and black.

Birds couldn’t cry, Ferdinand knew. Birds couldn’t cry. But then his eyes landed on the little bell, torn and bent on the floor beside him, and his chest tightened, hurting almost worse than the snapped bones. He whipped his head up just in time for a shriek, no longer entirely bird.

And it still took just one fast smear of movement to hunt him down.

Friend!

There was a flash of ruby as the sword in his hand saved him, bearing a terrible curse as it had before.

You’re too soft to lead, little prince. There’s no place for jesters at war.

No…? I know jesters, they’re… colourful. Drawn on leaves that taste nothing like grass…


It was just a flash of warmth he clung to. A story, told to him by his friends. Told back to the curious swallows.

The goose came to with a pained little whimper. He inhaled the icy cold air, shaking. The battlefield was doubled in his eyes, with two more hazey towers, and so many foes. He had too many fingers, his wings were too long. Shaking, the goose made it back to his feet. Blood dripped from his beak, staining the perfectly white and dark tiles alike, blood in the snow, blood in the night. The goose stepped over the broken bell and shattered sword with quiet reverence, and made it right to the Giant’s spear.

The goose fluffed up. The jesters in those stories were smart! They knew when to laugh, when to fight, remembering those that didn’t make it. It wasn’t an insult. If anything, the only problem was that they didn’t slay enough monsters in those stories! And he could fix that for sure!

“Honk!”
Ugly strong Thorn that seeks peace! So do I! Peace hurts! Peace is loud before you get it! I'm not dead yet!

“Honk!”
Eat my handle!

In a wide swing, the goose exerted himself to throw the bladeless remains of his Old Friend at the giant. It was barely enough time for him to totter back and regain himself, enough to snatch the icy spear in his own beak.

Crimson stained feathers lit up with white light. Ferdinand sent the spear careening forward with a honk that rang clear and loud and warm. He didn’t know if it’d reach the Other Knight that still fought by his side. But he’d keep Thorn off of her for as long as he could, so long as he could drag himself forward.

And if this was his last winter, then there was no reason to not have some fun matching the volatility of Chaos.

Ferdinand ran. Foot after foot, so small, so slow, but his weight would do the rest. The goose slid towards a pillar on its belly, and did a very bad job of not spinning while he did.
DF  Post #: 20
2/28/2023 0:30:16   
  Starflame13
Moderator


Flesh. Soul. Flesh. The Captain paced forward in slow, measured steps, her expression fixed and grim. The puppet merely watched as she approached, covered face illuminated by the scarlet glow of its exposed core. The false heart pulsed, its irregular beat slightly steadier than when she’d last seen it beneath the starlight. She cast her gaze down to land on the fallen Knight behind it. Did you steal his heart then, demon? The wraith tightened her grip on her pistol. You’ll not get mine.

The Knight of Rhythms lurched, its hands grasping at the icy cache beside it; the Captain capitalized, bolting forward with a grin as it looked away. Let’s see you dance, Parodist. Black ooze dripped into her eye, stinging as she flicked it free with a harsh shake of her head. As fortune favored, she wasn’t really intending to aim this time. Phantom arm rose, the muzzle of the pistol sparking with ethereal energy as it came level with the demon. The shot cracked forth, wide to the Parodist’s side. The wraith staggered, recoil surging and stinging through her soul, a vicious grin surfacing through the pain. The puppet dived away from her glowing bullet - and straight into the wall of swords. You’ll make a lovely pincushion.

Gray surged across her vision as it weakened, the translucent side of her face roiling in a mass of repairing tendrils. A lance of sharp pain spiked behind her eye, the headache compounding upon the damage from the earlier blow of the Bearer. The spent pistol slipped from loose fingers, and the wraith pressed the base of her palm against her forehead, gritting her teeth to hold back a groan. Her other hand curled tightly around the cutlass, the familiar bite of steel against taught flesh grounding her. Focus! The Captain planted her solid leg against the marble, halting her stumble with a shudder. Aches flared and resettled along her spine as she straightened fully. With the vision in her ghostly eye marred by a gray-tinged haze, the wraith refocused her flesh eye on the puppet. A multitude of tiny fractures riddled its form, and the revenant smirked as it staggered away from the pillar. Good.

The Captain raised her cutlass and braced to meet the icy blade head on - but no strike came. She frowned, muscles tense and ready. I thought Chaos called you desperate, demon. You don’t look it. The unease from earlier swirled in her gut as the Parodist finally moved. It pulled its massive club back for a sweeping blow, then turned its head away to strike blindly. The wraith simply back-stepped to dodge the sloppy arc, then darted forward herself with an uneven limp. She slid her cutlass forward in a slash of her own - but the puppet kept its face averted. Are you… afraid?

The spirit kept their head bowed, their entire form quivering with the sickly green of fear.

The Captain paused, mouth open to issue a command, and looked the cowering sailor up and down. They flinched, feeling her gaze even without meeting it, and she closed her mouth with a frown. Her eyes flicked over the rail to their former ship thoughtfully; its sails slowly stained deep scarlet. It circled her storm, the first of her soon-to-be growing fleet.

She’d thrown their crass, brainless captain to the depths already and sent the first sailor she’d recruited to man its helm in his stead. The devil-bound bonehead had been screaming, spit flying and whip cracking as he hid behind his crew in a vain attempt to shield himself from her approach. He’d obviously ruled his ship through sheer terror and nothing else.

The Captain looked back to the former mate. Fear was useful. It gave her an edge over her enemies, kept them too panicked and shaken to form a proper defense. Her now-familiar smirk curled over her lips; half the ships on the sea were watching over their shoulder for the tell-tale sign of her crimson sails. She’d
earned that. Earned the dread that cloaked her name and the terrified whispers landlubbers spoke of her storm. Earned the fear of those too foolish to respect the seas they sailed. But here…

Miriam’s shoulders eased, and she folded her arms behind her back, smirk gentling to something closer to a smile. Fear was useful - in her enemies. But for her crew it was… inefficient. It stifled creativity, suffocated potential. Respect - even admiration - was far more practical.

“A Captain’s word is law on their ship,” she spoke softly, eyes never leaving the recruit. “And my word is final upon the sea. But if you speak, I will listen.” The ghost’s aura flickered, streaks of white lightening the green as they looked up at her, startled. Miriam’s voice continued, tone serious. “I have no use for sailors who are too afraid to sail. If you fear the ocean, tell me, and I will have your spirit laid to rest on land instead.” Mismatched eyes, perfect orbs of black and white, held the sailor’s gaze calmly. “If you are too afraid, tell me. And I will listen.”

Miriam gave the same words - the same choice - many times over the years that followed.

Not one took her up on the offer to leave.


Chaos ignored your fear, didn’t they… For the first time in nearly a century, Miriam faltered. The edge of her blade wavered mid-strike -

A sharp buzz split the chilled air, an azure glow leaking through the fog in her vision. The Captain snapped her head to the side, tracking the sound. It felt familiar, almost like… Thorn. Her eyes widened and she threw herself backwards, twisting awkwardly in an attempt to direct her momentum away from the beam. You blasted, incompetent moron! Fatigued muscles strained - and failed, steps too slow to skid out of the path of the brilliant blue ray that shot between herself and the Parodist. Ice-cold radiation seared her sword-arm, the frost sinking through the flesh and leaving a handprint of black, deadened skin behind. The revenant growled, fury rasping in her throat. The devil can take the bird. You are mine. She could barely raise the arm, struggling to fall back into her stance as pain spiked through her skull and blue ripples obscured the edges of her vision. Parodist first. Then I’m coming for you.

Her distraction cost her; this time, the demon gave no quarter. Broken from its stupor, the Parodist dove in tandem with the Captain’s turn. It slid low beneath the trail of the beam, its icy sword lunging at the Captain’s chest. She hissed, swiping a clumsily parry across her torso. Curved steel hit the blade of ice, knocking it sideways. Her cutlass skittered along its waves, sharp vibrations cutting through her wrist and forcing it to twist, yanking the demon’s blade upwards. Its frozen tip skidded off the steel of her bandolier, directly over her living heart -

Sharp cold bit into the flesh of her chest, tearing through muscle before ripping out through the mists of her phantom shoulder. The Captain screamed, raw and wrenching. Her vision whited out, soul surging against the pain. Thick rivers of black blood soaked through her coat in moments, scattered droplets caught in the maelstrom of crackling ghostly energy. Swirling eddies dragged streaks of black through the paths of long-lost veins, carrying echoes of warmth and pain in equal measure. She flailed blindly, fist slamming into ceramic and shoving the demon away. Her weakened leg buckled, and she fell to her knees, biting her lip nearly clean through to cut off her scream. The Captain slumped over, barely upright, and dropped her sword into her lap to press her fingers against the wound, trying to stem the flood of ichor. Anger, red hot against the icy chill, blossomed with each rasping gasp, serving as her guiding star against the tide of pain. Innocent or not in this life, demon, I’ll kill you before you take mine.

Ghostly fingers fell to the curve of her boot, the woman shaking as fresh blood gushed at the motion. She slipped them just below the flap, hand grasping at the metal dagger hidden within. Hold… Flesh fingers tugged at the edge of her bandolier, pulling it out of place to partially stifle the wound. Her ears strained to hear the Parodist over her ragged panting. Hold… Stone clacked softly as the demon approached. Perfectly smooth, perfectly white feet clipped into her sight, standing out against the gray haze and black tile alike. Hold She exhaled harshly, focusing on the air in her lungs to force the wave of pain down for just a moment. Stone joints cracked above her as the Parodist shifted directly overhead. Soft words, feminine but with the unmistakable echo of broken glass, came from its throat. The Captain ignored them. Now!

The Captain rocketed upwards under the reach of the Knight of Rhythms, pulling the stiletto from her boot in the same motion. Her gaze raked across the Parodist’s face as she drew to her full height, mismatched eyes scouring its blank face for the flickers of scarlet she knew were hidden beneath its wings. In a sharp twist, the wraith plunged her blood-streaked dagger into the face of the demon. Go back to hell!
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 21
2/28/2023 21:36:12   
Sylphe
Member

The plan went roughly like this:
1. Slide elegantly over to the pillar.
2. Nevermind! Rotate!
3. Grab the handle. I said grab the handle.
4. Rotate away with scary new weapon to bring down giants and impress the heavens!

Unfortunately, the moment his beak snapped around the ice, it sent little shocks of cold to his teeth, and stopped all of his movement. Ferdinand glanced over at the giant in his struggle. Not much time left! Not at all! He pulled with an angry honk, but it just wouldn’t budge.

Of course there was the option to just choose any other weapon.

Not for Ferdinand, that is!

With all of a bird’s tired exertion, physics, and several tries, the goose tore out a large morningstar. The ice’s weight was more than he could handle, flippers teeter tottering on the floor as he tried to regain his balance. The weapon dropped into the marble with a heavy slam. Crystals of ice fled in all directions, yet the marble remained pristine. Not even something as heavy as this could get the Big Geese’s attention? Geeze. Gooze?

The mace will slow him down, Ferdinand realized as he glanced back to witness it. Gnarly edges like claws stuck from its heart along with spikes like the horns of drakes.

No matter, large lonely Knight.

Ferdinand huffed as he dragged the weapon along, each breath drawing a cloud of steam. He watched Thorn stand as he neared, having to stare up, up and up at the wonderful foe, and then higher towards the sky where the orbs glistened.

His heart had all but stopped.

…come…

Next on that list! 5. As has been done once before, the time had come to kill a Star.

The Prince took off into a strained run, the weapon’s hiss turned a shriek. Taptaptaptaptaptap his little legs went as he swung the gargantuan, nearly falling off his feet. The Giant leapt into the battle, a hand of crystal sailing forth. Ferdinand threw his body off to the side just a little too jerkily. He was reminded of every joint as he made his landing. The morningstar hit the ground just beside Ferdinand. The goose breathed out and charged. The icy weapon sent icy shocks down and up his precious beak as he pulled and tore the weapon from the ground.

“Honk…!”
My new friend and slayer of foes, I dub thee…

This morningstar was heavy and angry. It was perfect for striking down the mortal enemies of one’s people before their weapons were drawn. But Ferdinand, bruised and bleeding and sticky and cold, Ferdinand struck with a wild pouding joy. He always wanted to try what it felt like to hit invisible dragons as they darted in trees, vulnerable only to wooden swords and sticks and brave, honorable knights.

"Honk!"
…Bearmaw!

A wonderful name for a killer mace, and for a wooden sword that left his throat full of splinters when he tried to swallow it.
Bearmaw tore through the air like a wrecking ball, shattering gauntlet and breaking crystal bones. Ferdinand’s eyes flickered with elf guilt and geese joy for the slaughter. Even as the Giant begged for more and more the goose hesitated in his bloodlust, and the Cosmic Knight’s horrible grip found the prince’s throat. Pain erupted and blackness overwhelmed his senses before resounding pain. All he managed was a slobbering, gurgling noise against the giant’s grip. Night danced behind his eyes with every airless breath.

With death this near, even a Giant’s hand turned soft and caressing.

Come home, feller of the Sun.

You’ve done enough.


Her voice turned into a snappy, cold growl as sun-blood dipped from his beak.

You’ve done enough damage.

With what little power he held, Prince Oculari drew on his final breath. Opened his fingers, felt the glistening stars on his skin far beneath his feathers. He forced his eyes open from the comforting dusk.

Thorn’s green was acrid and burning. It was waves of nausea and nothing alike the hills and trees and drenched stones. Nothing like sunlight weaving between leaves, and yet he caught onto it like a lifeline. The blue elfin skin flickered into the nauseating crystal.

I refuse… to witness you…

Green was the colour of snowdrop flowers, stubbornly rising from the ice. He’d seen them, bundled in blankets still, carried outside even as he bit anyone that tried to love the disgraced prince.

Green was the colour of woodpeckers, cackling at a fox he chased off his friend’s chicks. So terrified the thing was it slipped and dipped into a pile of mud.

For those I… love… I will protect…

Green was the colour of a dress, tattered and dirtied from falling in the grass running, running, running, with the woodpeckers and foxes, from banners of red. Green was the colour of a cervid knight, lying dying in the dark and green was the colour of Thorn.

All those lost… to the loud peace… so we could live…

Little black marbles snapped open, rage, grief and love taking their turns in flickering red.

“. . .”

A featherstorm of eight sharp quills assaulted the Giant, tearing, stabbing and slicing.

I will remember… you… Geese never forget… anyone…
DF  Post #: 22
2/28/2023 21:43:21   
Apocalypse
Member

Tendrils of black smoke spiraled about the Knight of Disruption and congealed at the last second into a makeshift shield. The spear’s violent flames crashed against orange-scented smog, devoured whole as the projectile rebounded off the avian’s delicate feathers. Thorn tilted his third false arm, the puzzling image swimming through his mind as it refracted across his many crystals. ...the…sword… Its scattered pieces glistened across the marble tiles in a flowery array of aromas. By design or disaster, the goose had traded its blade for its life. ...so…persistent… The operator raised a gauntlet towards the bloodied Ferdinand. A little more and the battlefield would-

-Thorn stopped.

The battlefield.

Yes, something felt different. He focused his attention on each of the fallen knights in turn. Their tastes burned so much paler now - a fraction of the invigorating delights they once offered. The operator’s third arm swiveled to the hanging orbs in the blasphemous, chaotic sky. Four orbs still hanged in the balance: salted iron, sweetest grass, muddied earth and...emptiness.

Why was he empty?

A sharp bang of fluctuating moonbeams interrupted the operator’s thoughts. At every conceivable moment, the battlefield demanded his attention. From the incessant chattering of the avian, sparking with puce, to the wretched scream of Captain, dousing the whole field in a shimmering veil of olivine, all denied him peace. So full, so vibrant…and yet he remained empty. He returned his focus to Ferdinand, its non-words turning over in his head.

...loud…

The hilt of the broken blade bounced off Thorn’s shoulder in a clang of cascading mahogany.

...before…

With a whip of the neck, Ferdinand hurled the frosty spear through the air towards the operator.

...peace…

Thorn staggered as a lance of searing splinters and fresh rainfall ripped up his side in a verdant blaze.

A forest of fire and thorns
Blistering, piercing-

…no…


Thorn reached to where his waist should be and plucked the icy spear free. Sapphire dust showered the marble floor in a din of prismatic splashes as he pulled crystals from his abdomen to strengthen his side.

A forest of fire and thorns
Sizzling, tickling
Heat and warmth and touch and point
Engulfing and feeding
Caressing and embracing
Painting the void
In all the hues of dawn


The frozen weapon clattered to the floor. ...yes… Thorn stepped over the flickering petals of amethyst. He was empty.

Yet he could be filled.

He lasered in on the Knight of Disruption and his hanging orb of evergreen, drinking in the double dose of their grassy aromas. ...come… The operator spied the fallen bodies of their compatriots once again, their scent so faint and pale, before turning his attention back to the avian. Kasdil and Vessel Bearer could no longer sate his hunger. Ferdinand still offered so much to feast upon.

The Knight of the Cosmos widened his stance to brace for the avian assault. He waited with false fingers opened as the goose drew a morningstar from the aloe-scented pillar. The large bulky head screeched in magenta fissures as the avian dragged it across the marble. Thorn only watched, drinking in the discordant lights.

Shrieking, pounding
Static bound in space


Thorn’s entire being shuddered at the mere morsel. ...more…

With a final honk of iridescent lightning, the Knight of Disruption charged. Ample waves of striated gold cut through the air with each growling swing of the morningstar. The taste of the weapon’s cedar titillated his senses, tantalizing him. ...more- Thorn lunged forward, S.O.L.A.R. suit splitting at the shoulder as a gauntleted limb stretched forth for his foe. Ferdinand dodged left, his feet slapping against the tile with splatters of cherry. -MORE-

The morningstar slammed into his gauntelt with a sickening crunch. A burst of azure light shot off wide into the void as spikes of citrine and mauve erupted from the crushing blow, strewing prism glass and polished metal in a vivid spray of lapis. A wildfire swept up his limb, reigniting with every movement as crystal ground against fractured crystal.

Erosion and lightning
Weaving, dancing
Sharpness coiled in a loop
A spring wound over and over
Through his fabric of being
Alive with energy
Tainted with promise
Permeating every crack and crevice
Surging with knives
Hunting for blood and veins
Meeting naught but empty crystal


...better…

Thorn’s third false arm lashed out, bending at two false elbows to clamp down on the avian’s exposed throat. He could count the barbs of every feather and smell the morning dew trickling from each and every one. He could feel the unscratchable itch wafting off the goose’s natural odor.

...I…have witnessed…you…

Crystals shimmered, the sapphire glow morphing to an emerald sheen. Thorn watched across the multitude of angles as the Knight of Disruption flailed his flippered feet, listened as the avian gurgled in frothy bubbles of blush. He clenched his false arm tighter. ...now…

He plunged deep into himself, grasping at the only thing he had to give: his radiation - his lifesource. It tickled and buzzed and reeked and splintered as he pulled upon the fathomless well residing deep within himself. With a thrust of his will, Thorn hauled the ocean within to the surface. Of forests and glens, of astral glows and alchemical fires, the absolute spectrum of all things green burgeoned to life in a living nova.

...witness…ME…
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 23
2/28/2023 23:01:38   
roseleaf320
Creative!



The Parodist stepped bbubum forward with bleach-white feet onto pitch-black stone. She imagined it displacing under her feet like the sand of Kasdil’s soul, of the desert she-- he had walked. He had given her that vision, somehow, though the details of it faded like an old, sundried paper. Captain surged towards her, but the Parodist held buubum still, imagining the sand that would move on her feet and never come back to wash her away. Her old partner could come to--

Instead of getting close as they’d been before, Captain stopped mid-dash and pointed a weapon at her. The Parodist leaped bu---bum wildly aside as a bang echoed through the Parodist’s ears. The Parodist’s back slammed into the Pillar beside her just as Kasdil’s had, releasing a sea of chimes as ice rained from the pillar. Dozens of tiny shards carved into her back and her vision went white with pain.

Your footsteps carry you far from the fence, yet you desperately try not to falter as your love cries behind you, and you are filled with--


No! The Parodist’s head lurched forwards as they bbuuum yanked themself from the vision. Fear crawled like insects over the desert that struggled to whisk the memory away as it had stolen Kasdil’s footsteps. They would not see-- they couldn’t see-- any more memories. They charged buubum towards Captain, fleeing the feeling as the embedded shards caused a spasm with each step. Captain’s heartbeat beckoned to them as they approached, and the Parodist dove into its comforting embrace.

bu-bum. They reached forward in time with Captain’s breath and readied their clockhand to swing at her side. Wait, but I don’t want to-- The Parodist flinched away, turning their head and squeezing their eyes shut. This would hurt, they knew this would hurt her and they knew they had to but it was so much easier to say that when she wasn’t right in front of them, when her heartbeat wasn’t their own, when their clockhand wasn’t hurtling towards her, please don’t--!

bu-bum But Captain spared them from the sickening slam they were expecting, her heartbeat pulling back from the Parodist as she leapt out of the way. The Parodist opened their mouth to say something, anything; but the sound of their voice was roughly cut off by a familiar drone. Not you again! The Parodist ducked as a beam of energy shot towards them, but they were too slow, too far from the movements of their rhythm.

---- The sharp drop shot a new wave of harsh pain through their back as the beam shot grazed the top of their head, leaving a harsh sting in its wake that made the Parodist flinch.

You wake, a harsh weight pushing on your chest as it always--


bu-bum They would NOT, they did not WANT to. The Parodist let their beat consume their body and pull their mind back from the newest horror that threatened to fill their vision. It tugged her towards the Captain, and the Parodist tried to shake the sour taste in their mind, the lightning that rippled through their form. This beat was theirs, together with Captain, this was how things were meant to be.

bu-bum She drank in the joy of their synchrony as she shot upwards with her partner’s heartbeat, waving shortsword in hand. She traced it with her as she moved, a wonderful, breathless dance--

---- Hearts’ breath and partner’s hands thrust the Parodist from their joy as Captain dropped to the ground with a hateful scream.

bu-bum No, nonono… The Parodist flinched backwards as pitch-black ichor stained Captain’s form like poison.

bu-bum The Parodist’s heart chased Captain’s as it gained speed, and the Parodist’s chest seized as it followed Captain’s attempts to draw breath. Thoughts of joy and synchrony fled from the Parodist’s mind as they felt Captain’s body surge with pain. No, no I didn’t want to, I--

---- The Parodist let their hand go limp and their ice sword slipped from their hands. It shattered across the ground, pieces skidding against the stone in familiar harsh chimes that threatened to drown out the words that spilled fearfully from their lips. They bent and reached their hand towards Captain’s chest in a vain attempt to stabilize her breath. ”I’m sorry--”

bu-bum Burning white flared in the Parodist’s vision as Captain’s head jolted upwards. White of their wrist as another strike faltered; white of their shivering knees as Chaos yelled in rejection; white of the marble as lifeless porcelain clattered to the ground. They… they were going to die here.

no no no nonononoNO!

bu-bum As the Captain lunged forwards, yerror flared through the Parodist’s body and wings exploded outwards, thrusting feathers into the air above her. Eyes of scarlet bore into blinding white and black as the Captain plunged a shining silver dagger straight into her eye.

---- Scarlet ruptured; vision splintered; doll shrieked.


Post #: 24
3/1/2023 0:00:24   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


The tiles below shuddered as if struck, vibrations spreading in from the edges then back out from the center. The Scales above tipped once more, first towards Chaos, then towards Order. Two orbs dropped, one white, stained with crimson and one shifting between hues of red, green, and blue,. The Powers spoke, their distinct tones merging with one another as their call echoed across the board.

Knight of Rhythms. Though you show beautiful motion, you fail to match the pulse of Chaos. You are Dismissed.

Knight of the Cosmos. Though you show ceaseless persistence, you fail to keep the rhythm of Order. You are Dismissed.


Stillness returned as the shaking stopped and the voices cut off. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then froze once more.


Post #: 25
Page:   [1] 2   next >   >>
All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Role Playing] >> The Championships >> =WPC 2023= Final Battlefield
Page 1 of 212>
Jump to:






Icon Legend
New Messages No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages Locked w/o New Messages
 Post New Thread
 Reply to Message
 Post New Poll
 Submit Vote
 Delete My Own Post
 Delete My Own Thread
 Rate Posts




Forum Content Copyright © 2018 Artix Entertainment, LLC.

"AdventureQuest", "DragonFable", "MechQuest", "EpicDuel", "BattleOn.com", "AdventureQuest Worlds", "Artix Entertainment"
and all game character names are either trademarks or registered trademarks of Artix Entertainment, LLC. All rights are reserved.
PRIVACY POLICY


Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition