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=EC 2023= Grand Arena

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8/14/2023 23:05:34   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 Silence reigned in the vacant stands surrounding the Grand Arena. Its walls, witness to countless years of slaughter and carnage, ever yet stood firm at the boundary of the sands. Sands stained in hues of scarlet and crimson, thanks to the tribute spilled upon them year after year. The dunes gleamed in the sunlight, gorgeous enough to mesmerize - were it not for the aura of hunger, of excitement, of desire for further satiation that permeated them.

No wish came without a cost, and the Arena would exact its toll.

As noon crept ever closer, the entrances to the stands swung open. Crowds rushed to fill the empty seats, an excited babble filling the air even as the throng filled the stands. They elbowed and shoved, rushing to claim the spots closest to the coming bloodbath. Yet throughout the chaos, all kept half their attention on those already present in the frontmost row. Delicate scarves and long, multi-colored robes hid the faces and features of those chosen to speak for the Lords. With heads bowed and arms clasped before them, they stood as statues in stark comparison against the scrambling spectators. Watching. Waiting.

Then the sun reached its zenith, sliding into place directly above the center of the Arena. As one, the criers moved; heads raising and hands extending to command the attention of the abruptly hushed and eager crowd. Calm lasted for but a moment before they spoke, a multitude of tones and voices that melded into one as they issued forth their decree. “Fights of glory and deceit, acts of mercy and cruelty, moments of hope, despair, and fury; all have we witnessed in the Trials on this day! Now the Lords have chosen, and as they once passed Judgment on the Champions of Old, now will they decide the most worthy of those before us today. Witness their chosen heroes. Witness the Paragons!”

The sands hummed with a song. A series of notes, clear and sharp, reverberated from an invisible flute that called the motes of crimson to twist and dance in its wake. The ground shivered, trembled - then convulsed. The music broke with a high shrike as the sands cleft in twain. A great chasm yawned forth, stones emerging from the depths below. Plates carved with intricate scenes of a thousand worlds crashed together, overlapping to form a great pillar of stone. A lumbering beast hauled itself atop it, her slightless faced turning this way and that to survey the crowd. The demon smiled, sunlight catching at the glittering, prismatic crystal of her horns as she stilled upon her perch. The Pillar of Earth was a foundation for all worlds and could just as easily crumble away.

“A servant to a single master, savior and shackle in equal measure. Her will bent the world to her whim within the Veil of Twilight. Witness Elodie, Paragon of Earth!"

The roar of an ancient dragon split the air. A great maw of flame erupted from the ground, filling the arena with an unbearable heat as mirages flickered in the corners of the watching eyes. Curtains of scarlet parted to reveal the great serpent’s skull, crimson and gold etchings clear against bleached bone. It rested upon the brow of a mouse-like figure, coal black fur shedding waves of dust onto the opal pedestal below. The rodent curled a long tail above his head, one paw resting upon the estoc gleaming at his belt. Keen golden eyes tracked the last wisps of flame before his gaze turned to the center of the arena, dust slowly settling about him. The Pillar of Fire burned all - friend or foe - that stood between it and victory.

"A veteran of violence and warfare, great blade singing at her side. Her wrath burned strokes of fury through the Veil of the Twilight. Witness Meng Chiyi, Paragon of Fire!"

A beam of radiant dawn, stronger than even the noon-day sun above, illuminated the scarlet of the sands. The unrelenting brightness brought with it an unrivaled calm until even the most restless of the crowd fell still. It alit upon a diamond podium - and from the glow stepped the twisted figure of a werewolf. It blinked at the brightness before shifting, folding into itself to form a tall, wiry paladin, the glow of heaven-light ever present against her ragged locks. She pushed the hair out of her face with one hand and summoned a battleaxe with the other, leaning on it as she turned to observe the arena. The Pillar of Light would blind the unworthy, yet heal those who held faith in its glow.

“A traveler searching for a challenge, her attention pulled to the brightest fight. Her flight scattered destruction within the Savage cage of Spike. Witness Mooth, Paragon of Light!"

The sands sparked. A snap of static crackled into a storm and a rush of raging anticipation sent watching hearts beating ever faster. A bolt of lightning cleaved the sky in twain, streaking downwards with a thunderous crash. Sky-fire poured forth from the heavens, pelting flecks of burning crimson and molten cullets across the sands. In its wake rose a shimmering pillar of glass. Electricity surged across its length, twining to shape a tall, formidable woman, face lined with wrinkles and scars. Fangs glinted at her neck while vines of lightning curled at her temples - lighting captured and bound, but never controlled. Even claimed, the Pillar of Energy tamed itself for no hand - its chaos known far and wide to all.

"A defender of time itself, caught in a current far from his own. His tactics quenched the thirst for bloodshed within the Savage cage of Spike. Witness Ezkeraz, Paragon of Energy!"

A whispering breeze disturbed the ravaged arena, swirling across the bloodstained sands. It tugged mischievously at loose hair and clothing, with just a hint of cruel trickery behind its playful facade. Gradually the eddies grew - joining together into a cyclone that swallowed motes of crimson dust only to pelt them at the spectators’ exposed skin. At its center emerged a plinth of silver, bearing a figure small in stature yet fierce in bearing. From her bare feet to her pointed ears, her entire form rippled with muscle and grace. Even as the rest of the statue stilled, her mane of wild hair continued to billow slightly in the breeze. The Pillar of Wind provided the air of life itself, yet could steal that breath away with a mere thought.

"A daughter of feather and bone, bloodshed raining beneath her outstretched wings. Her weapons shattered the air itself in the Ruins of the Sky. Witness Vosta ver Vostadteir, Paragon of Wind!"

A bone-deep chill settled over the crowd, frost creeping over the edge of the arena’s walls. People pulled close together, as if to defend against the sudden bite of bitter cold. Snow fell from the cloudless sky - piling upon itself until it formed a sculpture of an immense fur-covered creature, wicked claws digging into the crystal stand beneath it. The bear reared up onto its hind legs, a show of strength made all the more impressive by the gleaming armor covering most of its form. It bared sharpened fangs in a silent roar as the snow ceased, a torc of iron and gem glinting at its throat. The Pillar of Ice preserved the worthy, and slew the rest.

"A rebel with ties unbroken, to family detached and bound. His graceful movements drew diversions throughout the Veil of Twilight. Witness Sterling, Paragon of Ice!"

An unsettling gloom followed upon winter’s heels. Colors dimmed and excitement waned away as a pool of inky blackness spilled across the sands, coalescing into an obelisk of smoothest obsidian. On it stood a man made entirely of shadows - shades of black and gray that emphasized the long overcoat covering his slim form. Two lone spots of color stood out amidst the morass: the bright red scarf circling his neck and the brilliant scarlet gloves adorning his hands. He saluted the stands with a beautifully curved blade, the shaska glinting even in the absence of light as he thrust it towards the arena’s center. The Pillar of Darkness brought both death and rebirth, but always at a cost.

"A beacon of brightest hope, engulfed in the deepest shadows. Her bravery heralded the battle upon the Ruins of the Sky. Witness Parralia Anita, Paragon of Darkness!"

A single drop of rain fell from the sky. Then another. And another. The heavens opened and people dove under their seats for a modicum of cover against the sudden deluge. It drenched the sands, pooling until a pillar of salt rose upwards from the soaked ground. Upon it stood a simple Drakel, regarding the suddenly-dry crowds with bright eyes. He leaned on a long staff as bits of salt continued to rise from the drying sands, forming delicate patterns as they worked their way along his scales - the last pieces settling in with a series of gentle plinks. The Pillar of Water held dangers in its depths that lurked far beneath its still surface.

"An amalgamation of many creations, the whole stronger than the sum of its parts. It balanced chaos with dignity within the Veil of Twilight. Witness Bjhonkcioucles, Paragon of Water!”


Silence returned to the stands once more, tension heavy in the air. People held their breath, leaning forward as if desperate to get just that much closer to the fight. A single moment of calm before the storm. But just a single moment.

The pressure broke. The crowds roared. And above them all came the joined voices of the criers. “We now bear witness to the Trial of the Desert Sands. Let the Judgment of the Arena begin!”

AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 1
8/18/2023 23:49:18   
Apocalypse
Member

Lightning burned and flared, a cerulean star dominating her vision. Her feet carried her faster despite her calves burning with every fleeting step. Grandfather Crow flew with them, his word gifting them strength and resolve on the winds. On his wings, the Crowcallers descended from the mountain. By his decree, they would spread across the Gilded Plains. Seen by Jarl, witnessed by Crowspeaker, spoken by God!

As Vosta buried her doubt with verses of faith, two silhouettes cast their shadows against the dawning sky.

A roll of thunder resounded far too low and far too quick after lightning’s strike. Vosta’s heart leaped into her throat. She cut through the ravaged wheat, leaving her bloodsworn behind. A low folk turned and screamed as the Jotnari came upon him, lashing out with a gardening tool in poor imitation of a spear thrust. Vosta did not look twice as she passed him by, her greataxe lopping off his head almost as an afterthought. From above, Feylor mimicked his dying breath. Ba’jorn failed to join in the mockery, his cries trapped in repetition of a single word. “DEATH!”

She ignored the crows, ignored the skirmishes surrounding her, and kept her gaze only on the clashing shadows. The larger of the two twirled about with a boar spear in hand. Every slash and lunge of the weapon cackled with maniacal fury. Vosta grinned. Her father - Jarl Vostadt, King of Crows! The greatest and fiercest of their people; he led by strength and conquered with cunning, casting his hungry shadow far and wide over Gods’ Peak until it was his and his alone. What threat could a low folk, even one heralded as mother of the plains, pose to him?

And yet this same low folk pushed him back.

As broad as an ox and bearing fingers like daggers, the mother of the plains outmaneuvered the jarl at every turn. Fists tougher than stone crashed against his ribs. Claws dancing with fireflies of lightning painted him violet again and again and again. Her father’s body jerked with every impact. His movements slowed with every fresh wound. A snarl, not a wild grin, lay splashed across his face. Vosta had never seen her father fight with a snarl. The warclad’s grip tightened on her greataxe until the bone haft groaned and her knuckles turned purple. Her breath lay out of reach, constrained within her chest and heavy as stone. A few paces more. A few paces more and she could reach her father.

Jarl Vostadt jumped backwards, separating himself from the mother of the plains. His wild eyes of amber never left her hulking form. He bared his teeth and reared back The Crow Laugh. “From the skies!”

Vosta bounded forward with her greataxe held high above her head. She answered his warcry with a roar. “We hunt!”

She believed in her father, the greatest of the jarls. She believed in Crowspeaker Junral and their realms of dreams and prophecy. She believed in Grandfather Crow, the only absolute in a harsh and unforgiving world .

But as she witnessed the fear in her father’s eyes, she realized he did not even believe in his own survival.

The mother of the plains turned over her shoulder. Fangs, long and wicked as a hellhound’s, protruded from her jaw. Eyes more golden and pure than the setting sun fell upon the bellowing warclad. Neither pity nor hatred tainted the pools of that ominous glow - only sorrow.

Blades of father and daughter descended upon the thunderous jackal of a woman. From above, Feylor and Ba’jorn dove to the aid of their masters, deadly talons extended. They cried out in dreadful harmony.

“DEAAAAAAAAAAAATH!!!”

And to answer, the mother of the plains burned the world bright.



Vosta shuddered and dismissed the ivory haze robbing her thoughts and vision. She refocused on the wisp of a woman within her clutches. A curtain of crimson unfurled itself down the lying queen’s slender neck, its warmth nuzzling the warclad's cold knuckles. No such ichor trickled from the throat of the shadowclad figure - of Ol’ Crow. In its place crawled out a hand of gnarled and knotted talons. The Jotnari failed to suppress a shiver as clawed fingers caressed over her own before clamping down, rough and firm.

K R O D O T T I R

Vosta thought she knew cold from the harsh winters on Gods’s Peak and the blistering winds of Ol’ Crow’s Scolding Breath. She thought she knew cold from her duel with death on the Gilded Plains. The ice that now claimed her heart and flooded her veins dwarfed them all as a mountain dwarfs a molehill. She choked on her next word, spitting a mouthful of blood when it finally escaped her throat.

“...father?”

Queen and Crow screamed, the final anguish of the dying enthralled in a chorus of the damned. Their notes cut sharper than knives; stung sharper than scorpion’s cruel kiss. Vosta’s screams joined their melody as the discord boiled and hammered into her skull, the world fading to white all round her…

…except for the torn and tormented visage of Jarl Vostadt, trapped and punished within the eternal clutch of Ol’ Crow.

Her crow arm held tight onto the sovereign, refusing to relinquish its iron grip. Instead, her mortal arm wavered. The Jarlman’s hilt, passed from leader to leader since the Crowcallers first named themselves, slipped between her fingers. Her father cried out, hollowed eyes racked with mania as his yowl warped into a laugh. The blade, his blade, took flight. Feathers spewing and cackling in its wake, the Jarlman tumbled end over end and sank hilt deep into his daughter’s chest. Vosta stared down at the pommel protruding from between her ribs, anticipating white-hot agony to swarm out from the wound. None did. Only a hollowness, an emptiness, crept out from the ancestral knife; a huntsman savoring the kill as her front became sticky with liquid lilac. Her mind hung a mile away, a mere onlooker as death feasted upon her body. She raised her left hand to touch the blade, fingers trembling and vision blurring. If Vosta could only touch it, she could dispel this mirage conjured by the deathsinger. Bloodied fingers tapped the pommel’s end-

A flash of silver, a howl of cruelty. The Crow Laugh got its last as it too betrayed her, gliding on the tempest and carving her arm from her shoulder. The Jotnari felt nothing as it fell to the ground while her father’s spear clattered somewhere behind her. She stared at her fallen limb, the cold and the emptiness lashing ropes around her mind and dragging her down deep below the surface.

Vosta turned her gaze to the lying queen, the torrent of feathers falling off her form in droves to leave her bare and alone in the Krodottir’s grasp.

“Was that all, Ol’ Crow?”

White, harsh and unforgiving, stole her vision. Her mouth moved but no sound escaped her lips. To die…abandoned and alone…

The last warclad of the Crowcallers fell to the ground, her body as ruined as the arena.



Vosta opened her eye.

The sight of the Gilded Plains greeted her. A clear night sky with Ol’ Crow’s Frozen Eye hung above her. The smell of blood and storms filled her nostrils as she breathed deep. Stalks of wheat lay trampled, burned, and dyed both scarlet and violet in equal measure. Yet somehow, the plains looked better than she felt. Every inch of her body ached and protested with every slight shift. The warclad sighed and winced as pain lanced through her side. She closed her eye and rolled onto her good side. The grass embracing her never felt softer. She should have died here that day. Perhaps it had the decency to take her at last.

“Krodottir.”

The warclad’s eye opened once more. Furred boots beneath dirtied robes stood planted before her. She glanced upwards into the disheveled face of Crowspeaker Junral, feathers of all colors embellishing their hair. Her chest rose and fell as she took another deep breath. “What have you come to seek, crowspeaker?”

Junral said nothing as they held out their hands, Blood and Bone in their grasp.

Vosta sighed and sat herself up. Her body screamed every inch of the way yet obeyed all the same. Junral kneeled and offered the prosthetic socket first. The warclad reached out with her remaining hand before stopping herself and presenting her ruined arm instead. Junral bowed their head in reverence before setting to attach the violet appendage. Any poke or prod would have felt like a wasp’s sting, and yet their fingers moved with such care and gentleness that the Jotnari hardly felt anything at all. Crowspeaker and warclad sat together with silence as their comfort.

It was the former who broke their quiet arrangement. “Why?”

Junral looked up with eyes glistening like sapphires. “I must beseech you to be more specific, Krodottir.”

“Why?” What little serenity held between them shattered. Vosta’s heart thrashed against her chest. Blood roared like ocean’s waves in her ear, and fire raged within her. “Any of it, crowspeaker!” Her voice swelled against her will, shouts rolling over the abandoned fields. “All of it! Why was the mother of the plains not away as you promised? Why did my father see false visions of triumph? Why did you lead him astray when it mattered most?” Vosta clamped her jaw shut. Hot tears poured down from her remaining eye. When she next spoke, her words fell as a whisper, as tired and beaten down as the one uttering them. “And why did Ol’ Crow forsake us?”

Vosta stared into Junral’s broken expression. She wanted to pity them. She wanted to hate them. She wanted to embrace and strangle them in the same breath. Instead she remained still and watched those cerulean pools shed twin tears down the canyons of wrinkles carved into their cheeks. The crowspeaker shook their head softly. They extended their hands forwards. Vosta glanced down to see the Storm Eye cradled in their grasp. Vosta looked back to Junral who spoke, their once proud and calming voice faltering. “I failed you.”

The fire raging inside her became dormant. In its stead burgeoned unparalleled cold.

“Yes. You did.” Vosta stood up, The Crow Laugh in hand. She pried open the empty talons of the spear with her own. “Failed the Crowcallers.” Every word fell from her lips like a host of scavengers upon a fresh carcass. The warclad pulled free one of the carrion eggs hanging from her neck. She thrust it into the The Crow Laugh’s grasp with such force it was a miracle it did not break. “Failed your jarl - my father.” She snatched the Storm Eye from the crowspeaker’s hands. “Failed me.”

With the eye sitting in her palm, Vosta slammed it into her empty socket. She clenched her eyelids shut as energy, raw and primal, scorched the exposed flesh. Dreams of storms and tempests splitting an onyx sky swam across the warclad’s sight. She held her breath and endured until both agony and visions exhausted themselves unto oblivion.

When Vosta opened them again, Junral stood small before her. A tempest of feathers enveloped them within the field of the Storm Eye.

“Krodottir-”

“Do not utter that name.” Vosta marched past them, the world shifting with every step. Suffocating walls of stone blended with towering stalks of wheat. The temperate air dried up, and beneath her feet the floor switched between flourishing flora and hardened rock. She heard words, giantish words, echoing in a chamber that both existed and did not as she approached. They spoke of paragons of war and bloodshed. Each gifted name received the accolades of thunderous applause.

“Krodottir!”

Vosta hesitated with Junral’s voice cracking like an avian’s. She peered over her storm side to see the shadowclad figure of Ol’ Crow harvesting his crowspeaker. Glistening feathers and beaks swept over the aged and weathered face openly weeping. And now you claim them, too? The warclad turned away from her tormentor, denied even the satisfaction of ignoring his cries as he called out to her no more.

Try as she might, she could not halt the bitter tears streaking down her face.



"A daughter of feather and bone, bloodshed raining beneath her outstretched wings. Her weapons shattered the air itself in the Ruins of the Sky. Witness Vosta ver Vostadteir, Paragon of Wind!"

Wiping away the fresh tears, Vosta stepped forwards and raised her hand to block the scorching rays. The mingled realms of stone and field settled into a colosseum laden with scarlet snow. It felt uncomfortable below her feet, neither giving way like powdered snow nor providing surer footing like its compacted counterpart. The individual flakes of it sifted beneath her boots and did not surrender to the sun’s heat. The Jotnari approached the statue looming before her, amber eye tracing up and down its practiced form. And what lies did Ol’ Crow feed to you? She sniffed, nose twitching at the influx of hot air. The mere act of standing became a burden in the heat as the warclad eyed her enemies one by one to match names with faces. She recognized the low folk walking in a devil’s silhouette - Parralia Anita - from the arena of ruins. Vosta glowered for a moment before turning her gaze elsewhere. If the girl wanted to fall victim to more false promises, then so be it.

The other chosen came from all shapes and sizes, from petty humans to a monstrous being stitched together from an entire food chain. Her thumb idly trailed along the shaft of her spear. Perhaps the one called Bihonkcioucles would grant her the simple glory of one last hunt before the brittle snows enveloped them all. Vosta turned to the last pillar - the one to her storm side - and froze.

No.

She blinked her eyes against Ol’ Crow’s final trick, and yet the statue persisted: woman as broad as an ox and bearing a crown of storm’s own lightning. It could not be and yet both of her visions swore it to be true. Even here, in a land as far from Gods’ Peak as the stars above, the mother of the plains haunted her.

Her entire body shook as she took seething breaths, each shorter and sharper than the last. Vosta had not noticed she had started moving until she had crossed half the distance to the pillar of energy.

Quivering talons seized the last egg sitting at her breast. Blood and Bone tore the fossilized sphere free and hauled it back. Blind and deaf to all else, Vosta roared.

“What more could you take from me!”

And the warclad hurled the untold life of Ba’jorn’s heir at the static visage of her father's slayer.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 2
8/19/2023 21:40:19   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Step and thrust. Simplest cadence and simple assault. These things should have been straightforward as Sterling stepped in towards Elodie, but reality coldly declined him. He felt pressure pushing against him, gravity twisting round sideways. He'd never felt anything of the like before, but he caught bloody tears streaming down the maid's face. She crossed her arms as Sterling's stance broke, and he barely had the thought that she was behind this sudden turn of events before his skull cracked against something — or someone — and his world faded into Darkness.



Awareness trickled into Sterling's mind, softly scratching at his perception. Waking him glacially from deepest slumber, gentle waves of paralytic numbness suffusing his limbs. Such a deep unconsciousness was atypical for him, but felt ever so peaceful. Comfortably suppressed as his mind gently reached for wakefulness, led by a single thread of urgent nerve signals. He became aware of his breathing as a yawn dragged its way out from his chest; aware of being laid out on his back on hard ground. Nerves nagging him that such was physically wrong but the muddled mind struggled to divine reason.

It was…pressure? Very insistent, but not quite. No need for a latrine. The nerve signals kept tapping harder and harder. Pain! His body was in pain! Sterling's mind flooded with adrenaline, shocking him fully awake and jolting him to sit upright. The base of his tail was agony from laying on it for Lords knew how long! But no sooner was he sitting upright than he fell towards one side. 'Bwha?' More details filtered in through the fugue, as his cheek rested against a perfectly smooth surface. Sterling had reacted with the assumption of a counterbalance that wasn't there, sat up with no shield upon his shoulder. His eyes blinked rapidly as he assessed, and found himself wearing nothing more than trousers and a threadbare tunic. Wasn't I…just in a fight?

Disquiet sifted through his mind, wiping away the adrenaline surge and replacing any remaining lingering sleep. His surroundings were nothing he could have expected from memory, pervasive gray mists swirling above flat ground. Though Sterling's cheek still felt numb, the ground was smooth as could be. Glassy. "What in Heck?" Where had all this glass come from? Mists…okay, sure, maybe someone pumped mist into Twilight while he was out, but replacing wooden floors with a wide expanse of glass was a bit much.

Sterling rolled, getting his arm and knees beneath him so he could push himself upright only to find it wasn't quite as straightforward as he expected. This glass was slick, and he couldn't seem to find any purchase — physically or with the shadows beneath him. "This…doesn't make any sense. What even IS this place?" His disquiet grew with each passing moment: he couldn't shake the numbness, this place was unfamiliar, and both his gear and his glide were gone. It wasn't helping that everything seemed to be in greyscale, between the mists themselves and the glassy ground having a frosted look to it.

As he carefully turned around, he realized that wasn't quite right. There was a bit more to his surroundings then gray on gray. Sporadic bursts of color shone from below, pouring from cleared patches of the ground strewn haphazardly about. Not quite randomly — they all shared a measure of distance from each other, but Sterling was at a loss for any rhythm to the design.

Curiosity peaked, Sterling made his way towards the nearest. He promptly tumbled to the ground given the slickness, the everpresent numbness taking only some of the sting out of the fall — albeit none of the embarrassment. "Oh for the love of…ooof." With a shake of his head, he went and gathered himself back up so he could shuffle slowly over to the color. It was far from the freedom of movement he was used to, adding hints of frustration to his internal disquiet.

As Sterling peered into the patch of clarity and color, he found himself surprised. The scene beyond the glass? For the life of Sterling, it was a memory pulled from his own head and warped into a new viewpoint. He saw the house of Durgan standing tall, embraced by the early morning sun and full of shadows on its western side. An imposing two stories tall contrasted by the wee lad clambering up over the roof's edge. Sterling's mind slowly began to remember, his mind filling in details that cut through his numbness.

The muggy warm air of the late summer's morning clinging to his frame.

Delightful triumph upwelling from within, tugging his mouth into a grand smile.

Cassandra's voice filtering up from the ground, calling him an idiot most profound. More sass than concern, as was her wont.

He had been…maybe seven or eight at the time? Young enough to have that adolescent impulse to climb any tree in reach — or in his case any shadow deep enough for purchase. Childish enough to have no plan whatsoever on how to get down afterwards, much to Cassandra's chagrin at the time. Young Sterling had seen the western wall drenched in shadows and simply focused on the challenge before him. "Lords, no fear at all back then." It had his adult self laughing at the audacity, knowing his child self hadn't quite grasped the full mechanics of his shadowglide. Grip enough to climb, but no eye for depth of shadow to control one's descent.

Sterling both watched and remembered what followed. He had challenged Cassandra's assertions about getting down with boundless confidence as he backed away from the roof's edge. Took a few steps…then ran forward. Casting himself into the sky all laughter and smiles, trusting in the shadows to be enough. Utterly foolish in the most innocent of childlike ways. The youth caught at the shadows with his feet, but they weren't being cast strong enough to slide and grind upon. His small frame hitched in midair, tail lashing as what little purchase tilted him inevitably backwards. Crashing to the loam below, skull cracking back to Cassandra's piercing shriek.

The raw strength of the memory had Sterling wince, reaching up with panicked speed to feel about his bald pate for lumps and contusions. He had knocked himself out cold with such an impact that he felt it anew decades in the future. Fingers felt and probed, confirming his skull was intact and still bound by skin and scales. As he looked back towards the patch however, he found it smoked over like most of the expanse. No illumination of how he'd been treated at the time.

"Well, that was spectacularly painful. But…why?" It was a painful fall, but he hadn't died. Durgan had claimed his head was too hard and his body far too light at that age. There wasn't a clear reason behind that memory being shown. Perplexed, Sterling shuffled onwards to the next patch of color. Then another…and another.

He was beginning to believe he was being reminded of 'Hubris', as the next half dozen such patches held similar reminders of falls. From the tumble of his undermined attempted hook back in Twilight, to skinned knees on the cobbles of K'eld Varlish. Spills at high speeds and trips during technical 'tricks'. Sterling was finding his mind battered by reminiscence, his confidence beaten low…and his body was taking a fair share of being knocked about thanks to the perilous terrain as well. No matter how slow and cautious he tried to walk and shuffle, he just. Kept. Falling.

Frustration kept him shuffling along, thankful for the numbness that continued to hang heavy along his limbs and dull his pain. Sterling was tempted to not bother with the patches, but he still saw no other landmarks amidst the mists. No obvious escape from the timeless expanse he found himself trapped within. So he shuffled along.

The next patch of color had him frowning with immediate recognition, a memory he didn't want to revisit which had nothing to do with the echoes of physical pain. All he saw at first was a simple window. A simple cracked window, frost spilling in from the chill of winter, misty tendrils of palest white. "No. Not this. Anything but this." His words had no effect, the scene cared for nothing but plundering his memories for greater detail as it panned towards the bed nearest the window. A bed where a trembling tail poked from underneath doubled blankets.

Sterling shivered, both then and now. He hadn't wanted to wake up, freezing breath stealing what rest sleep was supposed to provide. There were more bodies in that bed than just him, and he was clinging to his closest bedmate for warmth. It wasn't that Durgan was stingy with blankets or fire, just that Old Man Winter had a grudge against K'eld Varlish and its surrounding villages. So spratlings huddled, up to four to a bed, bundled under as many blankets as could be spared. He shivered all the harder as the memory became more real, he could feel a girl wrapped in his arms. 'Sophie! Thank the Lords it wasn't Bella back then…' Felt how cool to the touch she was, how she shivered in his grasp.

They were lucky. Shivering as they were meant warmth, meant life. He grumbled softly, not wanting to wake up to the lightening skies of morning, curling in all the more against her. Doing his best to ignore Durgan's morning call for assembly. Sophie was a fair bit more well-behaved, and stirred to the call. She had opened her eyes, and seen their other bedmates laying still. Eyes never to open, lips blue; cold and still. Tamriel and Maggie had also clung to each other in the unconscious night, but hadn't survived the witching hour where temperatures had flirted with sub zero. All because no one had noticed the crack of the window in their shared room the night prior.

Her shriek had a piercing ringing to it, straining the spines of his ears and digging sharp nails into his skull. Sterling couldn't hold back tears as he watched his younger self jolt into the horror before the pair of surviving spratlings. The house erupted into activity, Durgan's heavy footfalls leading a stampede to check on the children. But there was nothing to be done. Death had come and gone, two more fragile souls added to Their collection. The next few days were a blur, children being reassigned to different beds and that room being cordoned off until repairs could be made. More appeals for charity and funding that often went unanswered.

It had been The Worst Winter. Two became three became more, a steady toll upon the Dolls growing throughout the season into double digits. Sterling remembered growing numb then, inside rather than out, just to make it through. He had lost his bedmates — Sophie passed mere days after that fateful night, having caught a sickness of the lungs shortly after — lost more Dolls in a single season than he had seen pass in his short life up to that point. It dimmed the spark of his mind. Left him with difficulties in grieving, unable to properly celebrate the lives of so many dead in short order. He closed his eyes, tears silently running down his cheeks as he forced the memory to close.



Sterling sank to his knees for a long time after. Took as long as he needed to let the swell of emotions from that memory process through his mind; his heart. That had been heavy. Far heavier than any of the patches prior, each of which 'only' had slashed at his ego. Rising on shaky legs, he wrapped his arm tightly around himself. "Whatever this place is…I want out. OUT!" The mists swallowed his shouts without even the pleasure of a distant echo, leaving Sterling to scowl behind reddened eyes.

There was only mists and frosted glass, punctuated by the same patches of color. Fewer now, though Sterling struggled to notice that. Part of him wanted to pitch a fit, that petulance of adolescence that still simmered in his soul alongside his childlike whims. But there was no measure, no means that would matter. So he shuffled on again with a defeated sigh, trying to ignore the patches for as long as he could.

Lacking any sense of the passage of time left boredom as a concern. He could only go so far before he needed something more than shuffling steps to occupy his mind, and the allure of color played against his natural curiosity. Eventually, they won out, drawing him back towards looking through the viewing glass.

What he saw this time wasn't a memory, though it was a familiar scene. Sterling saw Timothy sitting near a pond's edge, fishing kit and crutches off to one side. Pants rolled up to the knee as the taller Doll tried to massage some life into his mangled lower limbs. Sterling's head tilted to one side as he spotted fresh bruising and decay. "Oh Tim, what's gone wrong with you now?" Timothy was akin to Sterling, born and bred 'wrong', with both his lower legs permanently twisted and ill-suited to support his weight. This Doll also equally matched his stubbornness, as he insisted he was capable of walking with paired crutches rather than being bound to a wheeled chair. It was that spirit that appealed to Sterling, and contributed towards them becoming fast friends as wee lads.

Watching Timothy appear so vulnerable on his own, pain and discomfort writ large on his expression? Sat like a leaden weight in Sterling's stomach. Timothy was reliable for not showing weakness, a brother in spirit if not by blood. It felt…perverse to be peering at his brother's private suffering. He deserved better, much better than a noonday's peace of fishing to distract himself from his body's slow decline.

"Catch something grand, Timothy. I'll remember to visit once all this is done."

It marked a paradigm shift in what the patches were showing, pieces of the present rather than plundered from his past. After Timothy's peace came Cassandra. Confined to careful shade with her skin so pale, he wished he had caught her sassing the new crop of spratlings indoors. But akin to Tim, he caught her vulnerability. How she grit her teeth and gently pulsed the leather bag in her hands, pushing fresh blood through a tube that snaked around her leg and buried into her thigh beneath her dress. The Vampire Doll, whose condition demanded transfusions of fresh blood every few days, keeping her bound to Durgan's charity. To this day, he still didn't know where Durgan acquired such a precious commodity.

Frankly, he'd never asked.

More Dolls followed, from the older sets under Durgan's care. More secrets behind how they had to cope, just to get by each day. It left Sterling with a mix of perverse thrill at the discovery, and a growing burden upon his heart of a task unfinished. "Why here, why now? Why am I not in the Arena? I don't need these reminders to know I'm the lucky one. To know why I came here!" They deserved better, the Dolls in Durgan's care. Deserved more than to survive a span of days, their lives celebrated by eulogy when Death caught up with them. They made the most of it, without a doubt, but each Doll suffered.

His suffering was the weight of theirs. A bleeding heart so sensitive he had broken away from the family he cared for most. To fight and steal every ounce of coin or provision he could pass back along to Durgan. As an anonymous charity, that way the Old Man couldn't refuse them out of pride or misbegotten loyalty to law. Sterling loved their smiles, their laughter, their brightness all and wanted — no, needed — to help secure their futures. It wasn't just for Bella…though it always came back to her. Patch after patch he searched for her, scrambling on hand and knees, but not one showed him an iota of Bella. Because he knew where she was? In theory at least, she had been in the stands.

"What do you know about angels, son?" The words startled Sterling, cutting his worry short as his head whirled around. Patches shimmered and disappeared entirely, leaving just the swirling of mists around him. Nothing else seemed different to him.

The topic also had him off-guard, leaving him to challenge the unseen voice after stumbling for words. "I…who's asking, exactly?"

A figure strode forth, parting the mists with its presence. One which was vaguely familiar to Sterling, though he had to cast his mind back very far indeed to recognize the features. Not because it was someone he hadn't seen in decades, but because the figure before him was far younger than the present age. Younger still than when they had first met, but still tall and angular. Blonde hair pulled tight into a short tail, eyes flashing with the blue hues of a clear sky. "Come now. Not like anyone else gets away calling you 'son', son."

"Durgan…" There was something about his elder's grin that was unsettling. It was more than just lacking the lines from age, it had an edge. And the topic? Durgan knew he wasn't religious. "Why are you asking about angels?"

"It's a simple question." Seeing nothing forthcoming from Sterling, the elder continued on. "Well now, you see, the things about angels? Sometimes when a man has made such a foul and tangled mess of one's life that death appears to be the only option." Durgan gestured towards the surrounding grays, endless and timeless.

Oh. Well that explains a few things.

"Well, then an angel might appear. And offer one a change of life." Durgan reached out a hand to help Sterling back to his feet, surprising him with both stability and strength. His elder didn't seem to be affected by the slick surface beneath them, and was steady as a rock. "I should like you to think of me as your angel, Sterling. I'm offering you a second chance, as it were. Though, perhaps I should point out that door behind you." Durgan trailed off, pointing over Sterling's shoulder with a thin smile.

Sterling blinked, at a loss. There wasn't a door behind him! Nothing was present in this greyscape Heck, but when he whirled about, so there was. He approached the door, which stood between vast monolithic rock walls. A rich oak, the color itself a stark contrast from the rest simply by having any color, with a bronze handle on one side. The youth clutched the handle, steadying himself before opening it wide. He very nearly stumbled into the pitch black maw beyond the precipice, an enveloping pure Darkness. Sterling glanced back towards Durgan, who watched impassively, then he reached into his pockets.

Finding a coin, he flipped it into the Darkness. Tilted his head and craned to hear the soft ring of metal against the floor. His heart beat in his chest, keeping time amidst the timeless expanse, but the silence reigned supreme. Sterling's brow knit close as he stepped away, heading back towards Durgan. "What is this, Old Man?"

"Well. If you wish to leave, simply step beyond that door. Whatever happens then is, well, purely your own business." An endless pit of Darkness hardly felt like any business he wanted a hand in. "You see, the interesting thing about angels is that you only ever get the one."

"I'm not following."

"You see, son, you happen to be a survivor. A rather good one, among a whole flock of survivors. One who deserves a bit of a second chance, you might say. I am here bringing you an offer from someone who could use a good survivor."

More about this visage of Durgan kept sounding wrong to Sterling. The word choice, the inflections. Surely some of it was youthfulness, being near on par with Sterling himself, but… "Still not following here."

A smile broke across Durgan's face. It had a feral, threatening edge to it, leaving Sterling to gulp softly. "Boy, let me make it clear. Either you can take your chances over there with utter Darkness obscuring your fate. Or, perhaps, you might find yourself willing to play for another team. What do you think, hm?"

Sterling felt poleaxed for a moment. Now this was entirely out of the blue, but the mere offer made a few things click in his mind about his surroundings. There were hints aplenty, he just hadn't put them together. The numbness was from cold. The floor? Was frozen all along. Just the perfect unbroken stillness of a pond in the depths of winter. This was an entreaty from Ice for him to turn colors.

Well, it wasn't like he was religious. Bella could be Creationist for the both of them, though she would be tickled pink at this. Loritihia provides. "Hah!"

"Okay, okay, I see what you're laying down. You want me to turncoat and make an enemy of Darkness, right? All because your crew couldn't measure up to my talents, eh?." The grin that blossomed into being for Sterling matched Durgan's. "Right. Okay. Let's have a chat."


To call what followed 'negotiation' would have been strong, but Sterling was not about to accept terms without trying to have a say. Going into the Finals blind? That would have been stupid, idiotic, and throwing every lesson he had ever learned out the proverbial window. But Sterling couldn't pass up the second chance, the guarantee of making the Finals. He knew it, Durgan knew it, and the leverage was clearly against Sterling. The chill of winter would suffuse Sterling's body and warp his natural talent into something more befitting a Paragon of Ice. A small price to pay, really.

As the business concluded, Sterling could feel a tug, a pull. Time may not have purchase in this place, yet it was nearly Time all the same. The inescapable finality of Finals was nearly upon him. He strode past the visage of Durgan, happily so, but he turned back around before he left this odd domain entirely. "You know something? I appreciate the guise, but you're not Him."

Durgan raised a brow, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Oh?"

"You know. Him. Or Her. Or it. Whatever their followers might call the Ice Lord."

"Careful now, boy."


"Not only do I think you aren't Father Frost or Governess Glacier; I'm betting you don't even fit in the hierarchy. Not even ranking Viscount of Verglas."

"What's an overgrown spratling like you doing using words like 'verglas'?"

Sterling couldn't help but smirk. "Hey, I listen to Bella. Sometimes. Occasionally. But that's besides the point. I've got the feeling you have nothing to do with Ice. Why would they care to convert, or coerce, or cut a deal on terms to turncoat?"

The mists began to wrap around Durgan, the air growing even colder still. His surroundings growing just as dangerous as his line of thinking. "Then who am I?"

"Honest? The Boon is real, so why can't the legend of life be true too? Only one thing I think has the right to make any demands here. You. The Arena Itself."

The visage of Durgan snorted lightly, disappearing behind the shroud of mists. Neither confirming nor dismissing the claim outright, leaving Sterling forever without an answer. Just a remark at the gall. "Cute."

"Darling, I'm adorable." Insane giggles spilled from his lips, the stress of it all popping in one great bubble. "Now I've got some work to do."



The Grand Arena was a sight to behold, even from behind barred gates at ground level. It was the walls, the stands, the stature of the place rather than the field of battle that was grandiose all surrounding the most level of playing fields. Scarlet sands, initially unbroken by any feature. 'Bloodsoaked, as the stories go, holding fast to every drop since the beginning of the time itself. Or at least since the arena's birth as a monument to mortality. Was the Boon always present, or did that come later?'

Mysteries aplenty to this place, he supposed with a shiver. Sterling couldn't shake the cold that still lingered deep within, and 'wore' several new scales of raw rime along his skin. He would let the Dolls mull those over when he told them the tale later on. Though speaking of Dolls, his eyes scanned the stands in a vain attempt to spot Bella among the thronging crowd. A difficult task at the best of times, made near impossible as the Chorus burst into sound, with the Arena following suit. Explosions of activity marked the arrival of living statuary, prior Champions to look onwards upon the Paragons announced. It was a captivating sight. Utterly distracting from his desire to find proof of Bella's support.

It also gave him names for his opposition back in Twilight. The maid was back, annoyingly enough, as was his partner in crime. Elodie and Chiyi, musical names for a pair of known threats, and he owed them both for earlier in differing measure. Later, perhaps, after the field was reduced. Three Paragons from the same Trial did make for a tempting power bloc…

Next came a trio of unfamiliar names, and though he strained to sift clues from the Choir's call, Sterling was left with very little gain for the effort. So what if Spike had been particularly bloody? That didn't tell him about Mooth or Ezkeraz's grit directly, just that they had been present for the bloodbath. Vosta would be one to watch warily, perhaps, since weapons that could 'shatter the air itself' had some fell connotations.

Then his gate opened, and the Choir called him out to the field. "A rebel with ties unbroken, to family detached and bound. His graceful movements drew diversions throughout the Veil of Twilight. Witness Sterling, Paragon of Ice!" Sterling smirked as he strode out onto the sands, gliding forward on skates of raw ice for several feet. At least until his tail, dragging behind, brushed against the trails he now left. Proof of his bargain, the pact behind his presence. Ah, right. Can't afford to waste even an inch.

Sterling shifted to a casual walk, still playing up to the crowd with the shine of his smile and the gleam of iridescence. He moved up alongside the grand statue of an ursine champion of the past, suppressing a shiver that was part cold and part awe. "Well now, aren't you a sight." Talking with a statue probably wasn't that normal, but what was? Sterling shrugged the shield slung tight on his left flank and continued, uncaring about the last two making their entrance. "Betcha good money you'd be angry, a little turncoat like me out here threatening to take your place. You'd probably charge the field, too. Be a living glacier for the rest to chip away while you devastated them with those jaws."

He smirked and shook his head. Tradition was not his style, and while bantering with the Bear would earn him no favors, there was no harm in it. “We now bear witness to the Trial of the Desert Sands. Let the Judgment of the Arena begin!” To business then, and Sterling's smile grew wider. What better way than for a bit of mischief, drawing some lines in the sand?

Sterling wasn't quite as fast as the rage incarnate from his left, and though he brought his fingers to his lips he found himself compelled to wait. Vosta was very angry, roaring to the field in a language unknown to him and throwing something that shattered against the pillar of energy itself. It broke apart into a cacophony of crow's cries, drowning out all else for a long couple of heartbeats.

He was left perplexed. 'That…that was a thing.' Sterling made a mental note to avoid Vosta's ire if he could, though blind rage could make for a very good mark. Maybe he could feed others to her one by one. Something to consider, but for now? He placed his fingers to his lips and whistled keenly to regather attention. To be a distraction and lay down some lifelines of jolly cooperation moving forward.

"Oi! Looks to me like Twilight had the cream of the crop, and the rest of you lot are second helpings. And you know what? I think that means us survivors of the Veil ought to take out the trash first, then we can get back to the bloody of hashing it out ourselves. How's that sound, Auntie Chiyi? Up for putting a pin in the punishment, little miss Elodie? And let us not forget the great chonk of Master Bhonk over there, pardon but I'll not insult you by massacring your full name. Shall we put the rest into their place?"
AQ  Post #: 3
8/19/2023 22:39:50   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 Chiyi lunged, her Two Fingers ablaze, an inferno of determination propelling her forward. The tailed creature, too, was in the midst of a charge, his gaudy hair — or rather, his wig — left behind in the chaos. As their coordinated assault closed the distance between them and the maid, an eerie stillness seemed to descend upon the arena.

The maid's hands slowly rose, her movements deliberate and controlled. A familiar alien sensation began to wash over Chiyi, a warning bell echoing in her mind. Curses! That attack again! The memories of the previous encounter flashed before her eyes, a bitter reminder of the force that had once brought her to her knees.

In just a heartbeat, the choice was stark — crushed by the maid’s telekinetic power or impaled on her ally's spiked cane. An unsettling chill crept up Chiyi's spine, her instinctive fear almost paralyzing. Why am I afraid?

Gritting her teeth, Chiyi's mind raced—

—and the stone-like seed clicked against her teeth. In a split second, realization dawned upon her. She still had one more weapon, a desperate gamble that might turn the tide.

The maid's swift movement propelled her off the wooden floor, a sinister intent gleaming in her eyes.

It was too late to shout a warning to the tailed creature, and Chiyi knew she had to act swiftly. She released the fire of the Two Fingers to extinguish the flames, hoping to spare her ally from harm, though whether it went out in time, she could never be sure.

The alien force struck her with a force like a war chariot, threatening to overwhelm her, but Chiyi's will remained unyielding even if she was helpless to resist it physically. But not before she bit down hard on the seed, sending a jarring sensation through her molars.

Yizhu.

A wave of scorching heat and death surged from her lips, billowing towards the maid, who had already slumped over. But the arena had one last twist in store.

The very air seemed to constrict, freezing time itself. The shattered globes lining the entrances blazed to life in blinding brilliance, only to explode with a deafening roar, including the great central orb. The arena was engulfed in a blinding luminescence, the sun and moon flaring up at the floor's center.

And then, darkness fell.

Amidst the encompassing darkness, Chiyi released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The taste of the wrathberry seed was suddenly harsh against her tongue as the adrenaline ebbed away. She wiped her lips with her fingers but for some reason stopped. Her gaze fixed on her hand.

Pale skin. Simmering with heat. Prickles on the pores. Aching from exertion. Callused ever so slightly from hefting the heavy greatsword. Exertion. Battle.

Life.

In the shrouded abyss, a soft glow emerged from her two ignited fingers, casting a gentle radiance amidst the darkness. She had survived the ordeal, passed the test, and now stood at the precipice of the next step.

Only for now. The words echoed in her mind, a reminder of the challenges yet to come. Despite this, Chiyi's fingers continued to glow like candlelight, illuminating the path ahead in the enigmatic darkness.

Why is the night so dark?

The journey was far from over, but in that moment, Chiyi's spirit burned like a steadfast flame against the night's embrace.

A faint smile touched Chiyi's lips.


The smell of fresh autumn leaves permeates the air. The village is bustling.

While out running errands, she overhears her mother's voice mingling with those of the other women. Her gaze shifts to the women huddled together, their laughter a symphony of secrets and shared camaraderie. She can’t help but eavesdrop, a curious bystander on the outskirts of a hushed conversation. Their words float to her like the fragrance of blooming flowers, a scent that tickles the senses and stirs curiosity. And amid the gentle hum of the market, she catches snippets of a tale that makes her heart skip a beat, a name intertwined with hers in whispers.

“What are you all talking about?” she asks breezily, striding forward. The women gasp then giggle like schoolgirls.

“Muqin,” she says, tugging at her mother's sleeve. In response, her mother smiles back at her and chuckles, a melodious sound that carries the warmth of home. "Gossip, my dear. People love to share stories, true or not."

“Xiaomei,” she teases, crouching down to the level of the giggling girl beside her. The little girl squirms with glee, her eyes shining with adoration.

“You're so pretty, Jiejie!” the little girl exclaims, reaching out to touch her sleeve.

“Am I?” she laughs, ruffling the girl's hair affectionately. Her heart swells with a tenderness reserved for family.

Then quite suddenly, the little girl snatches her purse out of her belt. Giggling wildly, she zips off.

“Hey!” she yells in surprise.

“Catch me if you can!” the little girl calls back. She laughs tolerantly, shaking her head. She gets ready to run.

And then, as if painted by destiny's brush, he steps into view. Her breath catches, and a warmth spreads across her cheeks. A stolen glance, an accidental meeting of eyes, and her heart flutters like a startled bird.

“Chiyi — er, Meng-guniang,” he says, his voice a soft melody that lingers in the air. She can feel the gentle brush of his words against her skin.

“Hello,” she manages, her own voice a fragile whisper. She's suddenly aware of every beat of her heart, every pulse of blood coursing through her veins.

His smile is a reflection of her own, mirrored and shy. She blushes under his gaze, her cheeks burning like the evening sky painted with the hues of sunset.

“You look lovely,” he says, and the compliment weaves through the air, a delicate strand connecting them. Her heart flutters again, as fragile as a butterfly's wing.

The dream dances on, a fluid cascade of moments and emotions. Conversations blend into laughter, gestures become poetry, and the world around her is a canvas splashed with the colors of memory.

In this ephemeral dream, she is young and unburdened, a flower caught in the gentle breeze of days gone by.


“Ma'am, I'm going to need you to sit up a little bit.”

Chiyi blinked the cobwebs out of her eyes as she slowly awakened. The world around her swam into focus, and she remembered she was in a small makeshift infirmary. Sunlight streamed in through narrow windows, casting a warm glow on the scene. Noon was approaching.

Chiyi shifted slightly, feeling the dull ache in her muscles. Surprisingly, she had managed to drift into a short nap despite the tumultuous events of the day. Her body was weary, the aftereffects of sudden exertion and adrenaline roiled in one.

Sitting on a hospital bench, Chiyi took in her surroundings. Her cloak was pulled down, revealing the splinters of wood that had embedded themselves into her back during the fight. Her trusted sword, unstrapped from her side, leaned against the bench beside her.

A healer, with a gentle touch and a focused expression, had used tweezers to pull out all the wooden splinters and was now carefully dabbing a soothing lotion onto the punctures. The cool substance stung as it made contact with her skin, but Chiyi barely noticed. Once again, she was chewing on another wrathberry, perhaps with slightly more relish than usual.

The infirmary, though not overly crowded, hosted a few occupants, including a tall man wrapped in bandages and a somewhat surprising sight—an individual dressed as a maid.

A very familiar maid.

As Chiyi's gaze swept over the room, her eyes locked momentarily with the maid's, a silent exchange that held more than met the eye. Undeterred by the bandaged man, the maid seemed to make an attempt to rise, only to be restrained by his intervention. Unperturbed, he strode toward Chiyi. Calmly, confidently.

Arrogantly.

“Miss Chiyi, I assume?” he inquired. Not familiar with Eastern customs, this one; he must have assumed that was her surname.

“Yes, I am,” Chiyi replied politely. “And you are ... ?”

"I am Lord Nathanial Durando,” he answered. “I was in the audience for you and Elodie's fight. I take it my servant treated you well?” A subtle smile played beneath the bandages.

So, the maid’s name was Elodie, although Chiyi's curiosity was piqued at something else Durando had said. “Your servant?”

Lord Durando seemed unperturbed by the question and continued, “Yes. I am pleased to find that you were a worthy opponent for her. It was a captivating spectacle to witness your engagement. I look forward to observing your performance in the final round.”

“Why is it that you have your servant fighting in the arena?” Chiyi's inquiry was tinged with a hint of skepticism.

“Because it would hardly be fair for an old soul like me to participate, would it? These bandages are not just for show,” Lord Durando responded with a chuckle before his expression grew more serious. “This is an opportunity for my Elodie to grow. To challenge herself against formidable opponents, to nurture her potential. Regardless of the outcome, there is something valuable to be gained.”

Chiyi narrowed her eyes, her eyebrow raised in observation. “You do seem to be rather intact,” she remarked, while making a slight shrug. With her cloak down, it was impossible to miss her missing arm, faded scars against milky white skin bared for all to see.

The unspoken implication hung in the air, and Chiyi pressed on, “So, is that all she is to you? A tool, an assassin's blade to be honed and wielded?”

Lord Durando's response was measured, his voice carrying a weight of experience. “I've traversed paths beyond comprehension, encountered forces that defy explanation, even by my own understanding. Powers watch us, unseen. In the days to come, the world will require individuals with gifts akin to Elodie's.” A glint of determination flickered in his dark eyes. “So, to answer your question — no, she is more than a mere tool. She represents my hope.”

We have seen and heard this type of speech before. Many a person has been swayed by grandiose visions.

Chiyi's tone was a touch dry as she responded, “I'm afraid I do not have the luxury of dealing with what I do not understand. What I do know, however, is enough. I am not here merely to sharpen my blade,” her gaze shifted downwards, though whether to her sword or her missing arm neither could be sure. “As such, I stand in the way of your servant—ah no, your hope’s—victory, no?”

“Indeed, you do,” Lord Durando acknowledged. “But understand that this is …” He paused for a moment, seemingly looking for the words. “… simply business. We — I have no quarrel with you, especially in the current interim. And I hope that once everything is said and done that you find what you were seeking here.”

Chiyi's response was a measured reflection of her perspective, delivered with a touch of restraint. “No quarrel indeed ... but we need quarrel not for me to have my own thoughts. You speak of understanding and forces, but what I grasp is the contradiction. If I find what I am seeking here, it is more likely to end with your hope's demise, is it not? Oh, I am well aware—” Chiyi raised a finger before he could interrupt, if at all, “— there will be more opponents for either of us in the final arena. There can only be one who walks away with hope in this battle: you, or me. But I ask you, which side of the scale does she fall under?”

Chiyi shook her head. “It pains me you must use a servant to resolve business in your stead, my ‘lord’.” She held his gaze, challenging.

The maid sat up, radiating hostility, but Durando made an indication and she stopped immediately. Durando sighed, “Years of experience, yet still you can only see in black and white. Regardless, I stand by my word, Mrs. Chiyi. Good day, and good luck.”

Chiyi did not reply, but she simply bowed slightly, which Durando returned. Her age and experience transcended personal grudges. After all, even amidst the turbulence of the present, there were greater battles yet to come.

One that would come soon.

She pulled her cloak back on and strapped the Headhuntress’s Torment onto her back once more.


Sand. Coarse, rough, irritating, and already getting everywhere. Chiyi tapped her boots together, grimacing as she felt the uncomfortable grains wriggling their way through her socks like tiny intruders breaching a fortress. The arena was hot, uncomfortably so, such that the wrathberry’s fiery juices managed to produce a sensation akin to a chill instead.

The names echoed in her mind, each holding its own unique resonance. Elodie, Mooth, Ezkeraz, Vosta, Sterling, Parralia, and that convoluted Bjhonk-something, a name so intricate it seemed born from an entirely different language. Among them, a few familiar threads, a few faces she recognized amid the chaos.

The amalgamation that went by Bjhonk-something, an enigmatic entity whose spine-chilling screeches haunted her thoughts. She couldn't help but wonder about the unfortunate soul it had been locked in battle with before. What fate had befallen him?

On the opposing end of the sprawling Arena stood the tailed creature known as Sterling. An oddity that had found its place beneath the pillar of Ice, a pairing Chiyi hadn't predicted. Given his twisted visage and form, not to mention his prowess in and inclination towards the shadows, she would have thought Darkness would be his affinity. But in any case who was she to judge? Despite his twisted face and form, he had extended a hand (his sole one at that) in friendship on the killing floor.

And then, to her immediate right, a juxtaposition of roles embodied in the form of an assassin — Elodie. Her master was definitely in the stands somewhere, watching. For a moment, Chiyi wondered if the maid intended to pursue a vendetta, but the latter’s attention seemed elsewhere, so Chiyi guessed for now at least, she was safe unless she made the first move.

Chiyi's fingers brushed against her designated pillar, a column ablaze with fervent fire. It emitted a radiant warmth, not scalding but inviting, akin to a well-lit lantern in the dead of night. Yet, there was an undercurrent, a whisper of danger restrained within its flames. Fire had chosen her, graced her with its benign touch, but it was a fickle ally. The flames hinted at a less merciful disposition towards those not of its favor. Chiyi had a dark feeling the same held for the other pillars.

An unsettling sensation gnawed at Chiyi, a gnawing that refused to be ignored. Something about the very layout of the Arena felt askew, as if the elements themselves were engaged in an intricate dance of opposition.

Darkness against light. Earth against wind. Water against lightning. And fire …

Opposed by ice.

There was no telling, then, how reliable Sterling would be on this new battlefield. But rather than dwelling on unknowns, Chiyi instead turned her attention to the unknowns that could very quickly be known. Naturally, the first order of business was to determine exactly who she was up against. Elodie to her right was a known quantity, down to the positioning, so Chiyi focused on the being on her left, the one called Mooth.

Mooth, to put it succinctly, could be considered the mirror opposite of Sterling. At first glance, Mooth emanated an aura of otherworldly grace and fragility. A humanoid form, half-hidden beneath the mysterious shroud of shadows, giving way to a feathery, moth-like expanse of wings. The wings, with their immense span, were a testament to her connection to the pillar of Light. They appeared almost like gossamer tapestries woven from the threads of twilight.

Mooth's visage was at once enigmatic and captivating. The glowing crimson eyes, unsettling in their intensity, bore a fervent devotion to her chosen element. Yet, it was the small lantern suspended around her neck that immediately drew Chiyi’s focus. The soft, gentle radiance it emitted contrasted starkly with the chaotic battleground, casting an almost serene aura around the mothwoman. It was a beacon of luminance amidst the encroaching shadows …

As Chiyi observed the enigmatic Mooth, an idea began to take shape. Given that in the previous arena Chiyi's unlikely ally was the creepy one-armed tailed skater of all of them —

“Can you ... can you speak?”

“Yes, me speek,” the moth-woman responded sibilantly. She turned her red eyes on Chiyi, which fairly glowed with their intensity.

“You are Mooth,” Chiyi ventured cautiously.

The moth-woman ruffled her fur, a soft fuzzy coat that covered her skin. “Me Mooth,” she agreed, “here to fight.”

Here to fight.

Fight or die.

For the initial phase, perhaps Chiyi could have afforded a temporary alliance here and there. But this was the final stretch. Either she would triumph, or she would not. The idea, as much shape as it may have taken, promptly withered into nothing.

“Yes,” Chiyi said softly. “Here to fight.”

With that, she kicked savagely at the red sand, sending a crimson cloud billowing at the moth-woman.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 4
8/19/2023 23:19:09   
Oddball
Member

Parralia’s opponent met her advances with the staggering confidence of one who had seen far too many battles in their time. Truthfully the magical girl wasn’t one for melee combat, especially not against highly trained warriors like the ones she had been facing today.

A resounding clash reverberated from the weapons as the operative’s strange blade met Parralia’s axe. The girl barely had time to think as her target swung towards her, recovering much faster than she was able to.

So she was fighting someone with not only a much higher proficiency in melee than her, but someone with an easier time recovering from the force of their weapons clashing…

Looks like the odds were stacked against her once again.

But she was used to this. Most, if not all, of the infected were physically stronger than her and some were blisteringly fast! But as long as she held on and kept herself up, Hope would find a way to persevere through all challenges.


As long as there was Hope, her spark would never fade.

Parralia had managed to stay silent as she focused on defending, twirling her axe with a surprising degree of finesse. She knew she lacked the training to keep up with this fighter, so she could only pray that her unorthodox way of using her weapon would keep him occupied for the time being. At least until she figured out a secure strategy to put him down.

A late block to a thrust aimed at her chest forced the girl to take a half-step back in an attempt to put a small amount of distance between the pair. Her movement gave her roughly a quarter of a second to think as another quick strike aimed to separate her head from her body. Before she could even blink, her body moved forwards and thrust her axe out, catching the blow with the weapon’s handle before she pushed with all of her might.

Even then, she couldn’t take a moment to catch her breath as the sword wielder stepped forwards for another attempt at her life. Compelled to keep herself from failing her duty, Parralia swung with a heightened amount of force, hoping to push her opponent onto his back foot. But all her effort rewarded her with was sharp pain as that same foot found its way directly into her stomach.

With an audible grunt the girl staggered back a couple of steps, resisting the urge to place her hand against where the pain was in a vain attempt to try and see if she had suddenly gained the ability to cast healing magic.

”Move”

Again, the operative moved in to capitalize on such a small opening, quickly stepping forwards with the same professionalism he had shown throughout this battle. Was she really this far behind? Was her participating just a foolish idea from the start?

”MOVE!”

The voice commanded her and so her body complied.

With a sudden pivot the girl twisted to the side, twirling her axe across her back before quickly swinging her weapon. Momentum was key to her style. As long as she kept herself in motion, Starlight would do the rest of the work.

Another loud clang echoed across the battlefield as Parralia’s axe crashed against her opponent's sword, sending it off-course for just a brief moment…

Just what she needed.

With a leap forwards the girl blindly thrust her free hand outwards, finding sudden resistance as her fist came into contact with the chest of her enemy. She recalled something her devilish friend had said before.

”Sometimes one clean punch is all it takes to swing a fight in your favour.

Well. He was right.

This may be her one chance at seizing victory and she was not about to let it go to waste.

With another swing, she twirled the axe before dropping low, sending the flat side of her weapon crashing against the operative’s shins and sweeping him off of his feet.

”Gotta act fast. Gotta act fast!”

Continuing her swing, Parralia gracefully stepped in place as she twirled, bringing her axe back up and over her head before letting it fall forwards. Her target was that little stretch of flesh that connected one's head and body. With this strike, Parralia’s shadow loomed over her, mimicking her movements with a strange degree of accuracy.

…Strange. The sun was facing the other way.

A last second block from the man caused panic to enter Parralia’s heart in an instant. There was no time for a second plan as a second boot forced its way into her stomach, erupting a very familiar sting. The blow forced both the air and her thoughts to escape as she was sent soaring backwards. The girl was almost too stunned from the strike to keep her balance, as she wobbled on the soles of her feet for a brief moment before using her axe to stabilize herself.


With her axe still pressed against the ground, Parralia instinctively sent the command to the crystal, shadows weaving through her body and into the top of her weapon before suddenly expanding into a cloud of fog. She knew she couldn’t stay in here, the effects it had were too detrimental, but she could at least use it to-

Her thoughts were cut off as her grip tightened around her axe, hefting it up before she swung in front of her. She didn’t understand how she knew her target had rushed her and she had no time to think about it…

Something was wrong.

Her opponent parried her blow at the last second, throwing the girl’s balance off significantly and leaving her exposed.

How!? Could he see through the smoke?

With no time to react, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot filled the silence.

And a pain unlike any she had felt rippled through her leg.

With a pained cry, Parralia found herself dropped to a knee. A choked sob escaped the girl as she tried to force herself to stand. She had to get up! She had to keep fighting.

In the darkness, she reached out for her axe, only to hear it clatter against the marble floor several feet away.

“Wha-”

Was all she could muster, before another sharp pain assaulted her senses as her opponent’s foot collided with her for the third, and probably final, time today. The girl coughed and sputtered as she skipped across the floor, landing on her back after she had become closely acquainted with the taste of marble.

“A good try.” She barely heard her opponent admit, though he didn’t sound like he properly believed it. As she lay there a familiar stinging began to make its presence known. The girl managed to hold back a sob as she felt the cold metal press up against her throat, she only chose to close her eyes and accept whatever came next…

Except. Nothing followed the maneuver.

Whatever it was that Parralia was expecting, this didn’t make the list… Hell it barely made the top 10.

In her fading state, she could barely make out the sounds of somebody singing. She had no idea what it sounded like, or if it was something she understood. But her last memory was weakly reaching out towards the operative as he stalked towards the woman she had saved from the Giant…

Gods that felt so long ago already.



”Hey, Kiddo. Rise and shine.”

Parralia groaned as she accepted the hand lowered in front of her, pulling herself up onto her feet with some assistance. She took a quick glance around the room, finding herself back inside that fancy room that her friend liked to bring her.

”So! Would you like the good news, or the bad news?”

Punctuated with a soft laugh, Parralia gave her quick response.

“You certainly don’t wait around, huh? Hit me with the bad first.”

”Ol’ Queeny? She ain’t making it out.”

“That’s…” The girl paused, clearly struggling with what she wanted to say. She had assumed she was some kind of royal from her clothing… but a Queen?
“...Her people are going to be devastated.”

The devil chose to stay quiet. Revealing the Queen’s true nature to Parr right now would only serve to push her further towards despair. And that outcome had to be avoided at all costs.

”Monarchs come and go, kiddo. It won’t be too long before somebody else takes the throne in her place. Now the good news!”

Turning to face Parralia, the devil leaned in close, whispering something the girl could somehow understand in a language she knew nothing about. His every word echoed through her being, momentarily pulling Parralia’s consciousness from the outside world.

”Your courage to keep standing impressed the Lord enough, Parr. You have been chosen.”

And with that, Parralia regained her senses, finding herself standing before a large statue cloaked in darkness.

Was… was this it? Her friend mentioned she had been chosen. She looked down at her leg, finding that it had been fully healed and a quick mental check gave the knowledge that her magic was stable for the time being…

“So. What now?”

”Simple, Kiddo. You fight.”



She couldn’t ever get used to the heat of the sun, it had been so long since the haze of madness had descended upon her world and blocked out the sky. She couldn’t lie, it felt great to be able to bask in the sun again and the city had given her a snippet earlier.

“Well. Here we go.”



”A beacon of brightest hope, engulfed in the deepest shadows. Her bravery heralded the battle upon the Ruins of the Sky. Witness Parralia Anita, Paragon of Darkness!”

”Man what an entrance..”

She thought to herself, taking a sweeping glance around the arena at the other people who had made it to the finals. Her eyes meet the Giant’s, Parralia offering a short smile as a greeting that was completely ignored.

“..Yeah that’s fair.”

She took a few steps forwards, clutching at her chest with a deep sigh. It was time to dazzle the stage once again!

“-Parralia!”

A voice called out from beside her, pulling the girl out of her thoughts as she whipped her head over to the source of the noise.
An elegantly dressed maiden, calling out to her right before a fight? Strange… What did the voice say her name was? Elo-something… Elodie! Yeah, that sounded correct.

“Y-yes? Hello ma’am. Can I help you?”

The sudden conversation had really confused the girl, so much so that she had completely forgotten to transform! How silly of her.

“Wait! One second I need to do something.”

She didn’t like speeding through her transformation, as showing off her dazzling performance was part of the whole process of being a magical girl after all… But desperate times, desperate measures or something.

In a quick flash of brilliant, black, light, the girl underwent her transformation once again.

She dusted off the hem of her skirt, gently taking it in her free hand and politely curtsying towards her new partner.

“Magia Spes. To who am I competing with today?”
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 5
8/19/2023 23:19:27   
Dragonknight315
Member

<Noisy... so noisy.>

The servant– or what was left of her, wandered through the yawning expanse of the deep. She found herself in the space-between-spaces. A kaleidoscopic cacophony of ever shifting everything. Here, there were no rules– just whims and possibilities without rhyme or reason. In this moment, she existed. But for how long?

As the servant moved through the chaos, her thoughts pushed back against the current.

<I am Durando’s servant.>

<My name is Elodie Paige.>

<I am 34 years old. >

<I am... >

She repeated the mantra over and over. It was the only thing keeping Elodie’s consciousness together as she fumbled for herself in the abyss.

Just as the servant was making progress, she slipped. Her knees crashed against what she thought was the ground. It shook with her impact as a wave of possibility rippled throughout the surrounding space. As the current changed, so did everything–

So did Elodie.

She felt the force invade her mind. It whispered of false truths and alternate narratives, and the chaos coalesced before her into fragments of different realities.

In one world, the one called Elodie was never abandoned by her parents.

In another, she was adopted by a loving family and spent her life as a farmhand.

In a different world, she was of royal descent, ruling from an iron throne.

And in many others, she simply did not exist.

A myriad of worlds. All equally possible. All equally true. All equally meaningless.

Lost and fragmented with nothing to guide her, she felt herself slipping away.

<... No! This is not me! This is not what I want!>

As she screamed into the void, the void screamed back at her. She felt herself sinking into the ground, disappearing into the deep.

<No... No! NO!>

With her last clear thought, she closed her eyes and reached out.

<I...>

...

<... ENOUGH.>

Just before oblivion, she felt something– something solid. As the chaos threatened to swallow her, the servant’s feet touched solid earth.

<You are Elodie, Servant of Durando. You are Chosen.>

<... I am!>

Standing on a firm foundation, Elodie found it easy to gather her thoughts. For as much as Elodie asserted herself upon the world, it was others who gave her clarity and purpose. There was only one person who the servant wanted to see.

<... Let me see him. My Lord Durando– >

“... Elodie? Elodie, are you there? I think she’s coming to– ”

Her consciousness was still hazy from her experience. But as the servant opened her eyes, the world she knew gently greeted her. Several medical officials were standing over her. One was chanting to themselves in a choral prayer; another was mixing together various reagents for some kind of balm.

It took a moment before Elodie caught the glimpse of her master.

“... Lord Durando!”

The servant tried to sit up from her bed, much to the dismay of the medical staff. They crowded around her and bidded to rest. But how could she?

“You should listen to them, Elodie. Take it easy.”

As the words met her ears, Elodie felt a soothing calm rush through her being, and she sat back down in her bed.

“My lord, where... Am I?”

“The local medical ward.” The bandaged lord sighed with relief as pushed through to her side. “After you collapsed, they brought you here immediately... I must say, I almost forgot how fierce you are when your mind is set.”

Her eyes wandered the room as Elodie gathered her thoughts. In addition to the doctors, there were several other people in the room. Warriors and adventurers, all nursing some kind of injury. Suddenly, it dawned on her– the competition! Her heart swelled as she remembered her “performance.” She looked down expecting to find her clothes torn and her shoulder bleeding. But miraculously, everything was in perfect condition, as if Elodie had never stepped foot in that arena.

The Lord did not have to read the servant’s mind to know her thoughts. “A favor from your newest patron...”

The subtlety was lost on Elodie as she stared into her open palms. Tears dripped from the corner of her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“I.. You must be displeased, master–”

The servant’s voice cracked as she forced out the whisper. But then she let out a gasp as a gentle hand touched her cheek.

<Look at me.>

Without hesitation, the servant’s eyes turned to meet her master’s pitch black. He wiped the tears away.

“Not at all, Elodie. In fact, I am proud of you... You did it.”

“What... I did?”

“You finished the first round, anyways.” Lord Durando smiled through his bandages as he continued. “For this next round, you will serve a new master as the Lord of Earth has chosen you.”

The servant brought her hand up to meet her master’s and brushed it away.

“Pardon me, but I have only one master.”

“Perhaps,” the warlock replied with a grim tone. “Then consider this a form of repayment. After all, I distinctly remember telling you not to get yourself killed. Without the Elemental Lord’s intervention, I don’t know if I could have saved you.”

“... I see.”

As Elodie gathered her thoughts, one detail became apparent. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but just a short distance away was one of her competitors. A familiar woman. Grey hair, one arm, eastern garb.

“... You.”

Elodie’s blood boiled at the sight of the woman. Her very presence seemed to reawaken the fire in the servant’s healed wounds. It appeared that the swordswoman was in a good state after their battle. A single assistant was helping her pluck out some splinters.

Elodie cursed herself for her weakness. Her eyes wandered to her hidden blade as she sought to finish the job. But just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a hand against her chest.

“Stay. Let me talk to her.”

“... As you wish, my lord.”

The servant watched as Lord Durando approached the woman. “Mrs. Chiyi, I presume?”

The name lingered in Elodie’s mind as the swordswoman dispassionately replied.

“Yes, I am. And you are... ?”

“I am Lord Nathanial Durando,” he warmly introduced himself. “I was in the audience for you and Elodie's fight. I take it my servant treated you well?”

“... Your servant?” The swordswoman did not respond with the same enthusiasm. Infact, Elodie thought she heard a hint of disdain in her tone.

“Yes,” the warlock continued all the same. “I am pleased to find that you were a good match for her. It was exciting to see you two engage. I look forward to seeing your performance in the final round.”

<Final round... Was she chosen as well?>

Elodie leaned in as she hung on every word.

“And why is it that you have your servant fighting in the arena?”

Just as the servant had thought, this “Chiyi” was none too pleased with her master.

<How dare you have such a flippant tone with my master!>

Lord Durando appeared unphased however. “Because it would be hardly fair for an old soul like me to participate, wouldn't it? These bandages are not just for show...” He gave a hearty chuckle, but soon his laughter gave way to a solemn expression. “Because this is a good experience for my Elodie. Sharpening herself against the best and brightest, developing her potential... Regardless of the outcome, there is something of value to be gained.

Chiyi raised an eyebrow at his response. “You do seem to be rather intact” The swordswoman made no attempt at hiding her numerous scars. “So, is that all she is to you?–”

Elodie twitched in her bed as Chiyi spoke.

“–A tool, the assassin's knife in your hand, to be honed and wielded?”

“I've traversed paths beyond comprehension,” Lord Durando retorted. His voice remained calm, his words soothing to Elodie’s heart. “Encountered forces that defy explanation, even by my own understanding. Powers watch us, unseen. In the days to come, the world will require individuals with gifts akin to Elodie's.”

For a moment, a light seemed to shimmer in the warlock’s eyes. “So to answer your question- No, she's more than a mere tool. She is my hope.”

Sitting on the corner of her bed, Elodie stood in awe at her master’s words. To hear such kindness, to see his compassion on full display. This is why she served him...

It made what came next that much more painful.

“I am afraid I do not have the luxury to deal with what I do not understand.”

Chiyi seemed to gaze down at herself. As she found her words, she looked up and stared the warlock right in his eyes.

“What I do understand, however, is enough. I am not here merely to sharpen my blade. As such, I stand in the way of your servant– ah no, your hope's victory, no?”

Her words were like dagger’s in Elodie’s flesh. As Lord Durando continued, she could still taste the bitter feeling of disrespect.

“Indeed, you do. But understand that this is...” His voice wandered for a moment as Lord Durando searched for the right words. “... Simply business. We– I have no quarrel with you, especially in the current interim. And I hope that once everything is said and done that you find what you were seeking here.”

“No quarrel indeed ... but we need quarrel not for me to have my own thoughts. You speak of understanding and forces, but what I grasp is the contradiction. If I find what I am seeking here, it is more likely to end with your hope's demise, is it not? Oh, I am well aware– ”

Before the lord could respond, the elderly woman woman raised a finger and continued.

“– there will be other opponents for either of us in the final arena. There can only be one who walks away with hope in this battle: you, or me. But I ask you, which side of the scale does she fall under?...”

By now, the nurse had finished the swordswoman’s treatment. Chiyi shook her head as she stood up. “It pains me you must use a servant to resolve business in your stead, my 'lord'.”

“... Enough.”

She could bear this farce no longer. The sharp hiss of metal echoed through the air as Elodie rose to her feet. Several of the nearby staff rushed to meet her, but they soon stopped as they glimpsed the hidden blade from Elodie’s sleeves. But before she could enact her vengeance, Lord Durando was already moving.
<Elodie!... >

The servant froze in place as the warlock placed his hand on her shoulder. The fire that filled her heart suddenly grew cold and numb. She felt the compulsion linger in her mind...

With a sigh, the warlock turned to face the swordswoman once more. “... Years of experience, yet still you can only see in black and white. Regardless, I stand by my word, Mrs. Chiyi. Good day, and good luck.”

The elder had no more words. She simply bowed, and the warlock returned the gesture. Then, she left. Once she was gone, the lord turned to his servant. Still mesmerized, Elodie had barely processed the woman’s absence.

“Listen to me, Elodie... “ Lord Durando locked eyes with her. “If you feel obligated to settle the score with her, you may do so in the arena. But I ask you to consider the other competitors...”

The servant opened her mouth as if to protest, but she knew better than to talk over her master.

“... I trained you to act with poise and rationality, did I not?”

“... Yes my lord.”

“Your encounter with her was the most challenging experience of your life. Truth be told, you’ve never really had a chance to challenge someone as an equal. Not until now.”

She responded with only a meek nod.

“I am proud of you, Elodie. To see you grow and progress... This is an opportunity to continue your path. Do not overlook the other competitors. It will do you well to test yourself against them. When you feel the storm rage inside you, remember; do not let it control you. You are the one in control...”

As the master spoke to the servant, one of the officials spoke up to get their attention. “Mrs. Elodie, you are all clear. Please follow me; I will escort you to the arena.”

Elodie could hear Lord Durando speak in her mind.

<You heard them, Elodie. And remember... Poise and rationality. When the moment is right, you may face her again and triumph.>

<... Understood. I will not fail you, master.>

“... Witness, Elodie, Paragon of Earth!”

The crowd roared as the servant stepped onto the blood-stained sands; she was the first to do so. In truth, Elodie was nervous. She felt the weight on her shoulders as the multitude stared down at her. And yet, that tension faded for a moment as the servant looked up in awe to the pillar before her. A brilliant statue carved into the shape of an exotic creature. Her predecessor– and the previous champion, she was told. Expectations were high as the moment of fate was at hand. Her life, her master’s future– everything rested on her.

One by one, the powers beckoned the rest of the competitors forward, and the servant took note of the names. Immediately to her right was a familiar sight as another one of her previous competitors joined her: the chimeric abomination. Elodie had only glimpsed it for a moment, but there was no mistaking its monstrous appearance.

<... To have joined us for the final round.>

No one here could be discounted. Elodie would have to keep an eye out for the beast.

As fate would have it, another competitor was to her left, a sight that she loathed– the swordswoman, the one called Chiyi.

As the two glimpsed each other, the servant could feel it in her very soul, that instinctual urge to hunt her down. But just as the noise filled her ears, the servant bid it to cease and she shook her head. Just her master had instructed her.

<... Soon, you will see the error of your ways. But not yet.>

With everyone assembled, the very arena called out to the paragons.

“We now bear witness to the Trial of the Desert Sands. Let the Judgment of the Arena begin!”

Without hesitation, the servant rushed towards the center of the arena. Already, her hands reached for the knives in her apron. As Elodie passed her pillar, she could spy several of the other competitors. Her rival appeared to have taken the hint and gone off to engage with someone else.

Of the competitors, one of them caught her interest. Appearing from behind the pillar of darkness stood a young maiden in common clothes. Elodie knew better than to trust her plain appearance; if she was here, then she was a proven fighter.

<... Let’s see what you can teach me.>

“... Parralia!” The servant echoed across the sands as she called out to her soon-to-be new rival.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 6
8/19/2023 23:21:11   
deathlord45
Member

Violence… Madness… Pain…

The primary thoughts that were rampaging through Bjhonkcioucles mind while it was facing down the feral armored humanoid that harmed it. Though as the chimera focused its thought to bring down the individual in front of it, a brilliant glow of silver and gold overwhelmed the patchwork creature’s senses.

Warm, damp, and calm Bjhonkcioucles found themselves floating in what felt like a limitless lake. The power that began to erupt inside of their throat had vanished, their mind calmed from the rage planted within it, wounds dug in flesh by fell claws sealed anew.

I do wonder if this is the domain of the one called “Lord of Water” or perhaps some manifestation of my own inner world. Either way it is truly fascinating.

Old instincts kicked in as the beast’s feet began to move unseen beneath it as it swam along, seeking an end to the limitless azure. Almost as if in response to the amalgamated lifeform’s desire to find an end a current in what seemed to utterly still was roused, leading the behemoth to the next battlefield.

Mayhaps one day I shall return to this place but there is still much work to do. Battles to win, triumph to acquire, perhaps friendships and rivalries to form. The world still held many wonders the creature wished to see and experience.

A shore of blood-stained sands rose over the boundless horizon as the current propelled the great beast towards the next stage of its time here in the arena. No longer a mere contender for a position, but a chosen champion; Bjhonkcioucles steeled their nerves for this next place was reserved only for the strong, clever and mighty.


"An amalgamation of many creations, the whole stronger than the sum of its parts. It balanced chaos with dignity within the Veil of Twilight. Witness Bjhonkcioucles, Paragon of Water!”

It seems the gods can at least understand me, though the others may yet be lacking in conversational skills.

Surveying the surroundings, Bjhonkcioucles noted that three of the others from Twilight had also made it this far. It had been the trio engaged in the frantic melee that had frightened the armored fool.

I guess there really was a proper reason to fear them back then, maybe the armored one wasn’t as much of a fool as I thought. Though it appears he didn’t make it to this place, I wish him luck in his future endeavors, especially those that would expand his knowledge base.

“HONK!” [“Glory to we who have been chosen, may only the most worthy of us find that which we seek!]

While taking the visual of the pillar before it, one final thought crossed its mind before it pushed everything save for battle knowledge to the recesses of its mind.

I do wonder if my visage will become part of this pillar for those who come after, or will all that remain of my time here be my blood on the sand?

“We now bear witness to the Trial of the Desert Sands. Let the Judgment of the Arena begin!”

“Honk?” [“Who here is brave enough to face me?”]
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 7
8/19/2023 23:31:11   
TripleChaos
Member

Feet fall upon the trodden path at a steady yet hurried pace. Ezkeraz’s nervous excitement builds and he treks forward. Not long has passed since his nineteenth year walking these lands and he has finally been given the chance to prove all he’s learned. He is out on his first assignment alone, and already his thoughts are filled with all the things he could brag about when he meets up with Tazarik again.

It may be Ezkeraz’s first time working solo but Tazarik was obligated to stay close, in a village not far. Just in case any other issues arose in the area, or if his only apprentice finds himself in over his head. Not like that would ever happen, with how well Ezkeraz took to his training. In fact, he had already found a lead.

He had asked a merchant heading the other way about anything in the area, and they told him that there was something curious not far ahead. Yes, just past that hill. Excitedly, he steps atop its crest and stands, expecting to see the beginning of some grand adventure laid out before him. Instead, he finds nothing but a sturdy tree with a small shrine at its base. No tracks or clues of any villains or monstrosities, just the perfect image of a spring afternoon.

At the back of his mind he hears a faint shouting like his own, as if there was a frantic fight happening a distance away. A moment later his swords flash in their sheaths. A quizzical expression crosses his face, as he pulls one of them out only to see the blade stained with a viscous, fungal-green mucus, dripping down toward the hilt. Looking at the sheath, the same substance clings to the inside of the leather.

Before he even has time to shout in disgust, he feels a weight lift from his hips. Turning to check his quiver, he can see that all of the arrows he had carefully fletched in preparation the night before were gone.

Ezkeraz shoves the sword back into its sheath and turns around. Fuming at the thought of how disappointing this first mission of his is, he begins to trudge back the way he came.

* * *

Tazarik throws his head back in laughter and slaps the shoulder of his apprentice, Ezkeraz.
“So that’s all it was? Ha! You walked in here with your head down like an emptied-handed hound and had me worried something terrible happened!”

Tazarik sits next to Ezkeraz at a table in a tavern of no particular note, in a village of little significance. He has been teaching Ezkeraz for some fourteen years now, and is only going to be forty-five himself in the coming winter. Despite his age, his hair is already starting to grow the color of ash instead of brown. A stark contrast to the pitch-black mess that is on his apprentice’s head. The two of them were a pair with what they wore, however: both carry a pair of swords sheathed in leather beneath traveling cloaks, fitting well with their sets of leather armor covering all the parts that mattered. He watches Ezkeraz go on complaining with his bronze-tinted eyes, returning his head to rest on one arm.

“It wasn’t just that nothing happened either! My swords are a mess because of whatever ick they got covered in!” Ezkeraz raises a pouch and continues, “I spent a third of the funds the Order gave me to get them fixed, and I didn’t even know what to tell the smith about how they got that way.”

“It ain’t your fault kiddo, jeez,” Tazarik says as he sits up in his chair. “That’s why they give us that many coins. You didn’t ever wonder why your purse was so heavy? The Order isn’t concerned about a few swords for a warden.”

“But my arrows also got taken, and I had to spend—”

Tazarik cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Enough with money! Why do you think there are folk back at the Order that teach how to track weather patterns? Merchants like that one you passed are always willing to pay a hefty sum for storm predictions, especially if they think it's coming from a group that can see the future.”

Ezkeraz crosses his arms. “They should also know the Order is the group that strictly bans any kind of chronomancy related to seeing into the future. Any time someone brings it up at the temple, there’s always some bookworm around to go off about how it's an almost entirely useless magic, and something only a young fool would try.”

“And you are the exact type of young fool they’re worried about,” Tazarik chuckles. “But you’re not all wrong. Of course most people know that there ain’t some wizard in the Order with a crystal ball or a magic mirror, peering into the future. They trust those forecasts because they respect us,” he pauses, “and not ‘cause of any superstitions either.”

“Even when there’s a few clouds on a day that was supposed to be sunny, and even when a plucky young fellow shows up raring for a fight that isn’t there, they still respect us. Sure, we’re due respect ‘cause the Order says we ‘preserve the stability of the cosmos’ and all that. But they respect us because they remember how often the Order is right about storms, and the times we did protect them.

Protect them...

* * *

One foot falls in front of the other, with a deliberate apathy. The sandy dust along the hallway moves aside to acknowledge the sluggish march of the Paragon of Energy, Ezkeraz.

He may not have a spring in his step, but he is in his best condition since getting whisked to Bren. His fatigue is gone, and any scrapes and bruises–and those visions–were nowhere to be found, in spite of the fighting he had done with–that mage–that Keeper—apparently the title his foe had given herself, he heard in passing on his way here. She definitely put up more of a fight–they said they healed it, but it still hurts–than any mage he has had to deal with. In fact–what kind of self-respecting mage would learn to use an axe–he distinctly remembers–why?–her landing a solid blow with that dagger she drew last–I remember it hurting my neck a lot, actually–as Ezkeraz brings his hand up to rub the spot at just the thought.

More than any mortal wounds, hearing all these voices at once is straining. Here in the hallway leading to the next arena–the ‘Grand Arena’–the presence of all his thoughts became denser. Ezkeraz guesses that all of him–all of us–were chosen as the Paragon for Energy.

“Those ‘Lords’ must have a sense of humor, then,” He said to no one in particular, reminding himself which voice was his own.

He thought he had gotten used to these voices a long time ago, but here, the degree to which they are present, and for longer and longer, is almost nauseating. Stepping out into the arena is sure to be a suffocating experience. It would have been a boon if he was somewhere familiar, if he knew anyone around here. Going out on his own was something he had gotten used to at his age, but Ezkeraz still enjoys the opportunity to talk with his peers on the job, like whenever he and Tazarik—

Like getting struck by that mage’s spell again, that scene flashes in his mind. The same feeling of despair flickers, his heart missing a beat, before a wave of anger snuffs it out.

Why? Why? Was it not he who preached that the short pleasure of a single life is worthless in the face of the infinite lives we serve to protect? That we NEED to protect? How could he fail to grasp that now? Why would he cast that aside? Why would he betray everyone? Why would he betray me? WH—

Ezkeraz tightens his fingers around his bow with deliberate strength, and then relaxes. His vast presence here is already a weakness. He cannot allow himself any more distractions. He pulls the bow from his back and holds it in front of him. Someone had already begun announcing those who would be competing, and he only notices the latter half of his own.

“... Witness Ezkeraz, Paragon of Energy!”

Ezkeraz steps out, trying to hold back his emotions, and prepares to assess who he might have to fight. He steels his nerves, readying his mind for anything.

Before he can even finish glancing to his left, a massive woman hurls an orb at the pillar in front of him.
Post #: 8
8/20/2023 19:18:10   
DaiTigris
How We Roll Winner
June14


 Mooth learned the thrill of fighting a long time ago. Wolves were often a common problem, tearing into the dark woods in packs decimating any mothman they manage to grab a hold of. While their vile smell could scare them for a moment it was never enough to keep them away. Often many had taken to hiding in the trees to avoid them. However one time Mooth came across a lone wolf, it was injured with an arrow stuck in its shoulder. At first she thought it to be dead lying there, till it nearly snapped onto her wing. In a rush she kicked it away, thus beginning their fight. She learned how to move around it. This unwitting sparring partner taught her to use flight and distance to her advantage. In the end she seared the wolf with the light of the lantern and it perished.

Having learned to fight a lone wolf, she began to hunt them as their equal. Yet it didn’t end there, and kept working her way up until this very day as she stood before the red sands of the arena.

While the strange pillar of light took the form of a wolf Mooth was confused even further when it shifted to a Woman wielding a double bladed stick.Perhaps it was some strange magic for power ...could she make a wolf made out of light? However her thoughts were interrupted by the announcer.

“A traveler searching for a challenge, her attention pulled to the brightest fight. Her flight scattered destruction within the Savage cage of Spike. Witness Mooth, Paragon of Light!"

Mooth let out a sharp whistle in response. The fights up to this point hadn’t been without a hitch but she had undoubtedly found what she wanted here and of course she would be excited to join in for more. To her left was one she had seen in the previous arena, the human that wore shiny plates on it. To her right was a very old looking woman, the signs of age were well apparent in her appearance and she seemed more ghost than alive.

The ghost hag was staring at her.

“Can you ... can you speak?”

“Yes, Me speak.” She said with a tilt of her head at the curious creature.

“You are Mooth,” she said with the timidity of a mouse.
She ruffled her coat: “Me Mooth, here to fight.”
For a second a pin might have dropped in that time and something seemed to flicker in the ladies eyes before she spoke in a barely audible voice.

“Yes, here to fight.”

She moved quickly and kicked with a hidden ferocity at the red sand.

Mooth hissed as she raised her wing to shield her eyes. She called forth magic to protect her body, encasing her in a brief shimmering glow. Then she jumped forward with the intent to strike her attacker out of the way with her wings.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 9
8/22/2023 23:14:38   
Apocalypse
Member

The life untold shattered against the statue’s strong and chiseled chin, unleashing a torrential rattling of crowsong over the scarlet snow. Its thunderous mockery assailed not the image of the storm’s herald but Vosta herself. How dare such a craven raise a hand against the chosen champion of the storm! Jarl Vostadt had been broken by the Gilded Plains’ unyielding guardian - how could his lowly daughter accomplish what he could not? Caws and clicks reverberated within her ear, each one a piercing lance to body and ego in equal measure. Vosta’s gaze bored into the resolute visage of her father’s slayer. Even in her absence, the mother of the plains towered above her in every regard.

Vosta turned her burning eye of amber from the statue to the armored figure standing in its shade. Her nostrils flared. If the warclad could not have the mother of the plains, then she would rend her substitute limb from limb.

The Jotnari charged, her bellow masked by the cacophony of her own crows. When the cruel laughter died, her voice sounded as a war horn wrenched from deep within her chest. A cry to war. A lust for blood. A vengeance born from loss. All flowed and wove together until they amalgamated into a singular rolling din purging any thought from her mind - leaving only hateful instinct to take root.

Behind her, winter's chosen - Sterling - proclaimed some grandeur announcement to the arena. He sounded a good distance away, but at any moment he could move to plunge a knife into her turned back. Vosta cared not as the red snow puffed up in misty plumes around her boots. All that mattered was the one named Ezkeraz and how well his armor would protect his neck from her spear.

The armorclad figure neither stumbled nor faltered as the Jotnari barreled down upon him. With poise and grace, the so-called defender raised his bow and took aim. A brave soul, a brave fool. Vosta’s fury only propelled her faster. Ezkeraz would need to drop the warclad with a single shot lest she cleave him in twain.

The defender loosed his arrow, its whistle lost within her roar.

A thousand streaks of lightning split her vision as the arrow crashed against the Storm Eye. Vosta’s bellow fell to a cry and she stumbled, uneven feet struggling to find purchase against the course snowfall. The concussive force felt like a stone slung straight into her skull. She could hear, she could feel the glass crack and grind within the empty socket. Jagged shards ripped away at soft flesh. The Jotnari clenched her eyelids shut, bolts of cerulean and violet still blazing across her vision. For a heartbeat, they seared the forms of a pouncing jackal and a diving crow into her mind. Fang and beak, claw and talon tore at each in a primal frenzy. Another heartbeat, and it vanished, leaving her sight to darkness.

The warclad yearned to open her eyelids; to reach in and cast out all the shattered glass shredding her from the inside. Vosta grit her teeth as she denied herself that solace, that privilege. Storm’s chosen lay before her, and she held no hope to receive any quarter from him.

Keeping her eyelids closed, the warclad cocked her head to present her remaining ear forward. The other chosen fueled the din with their own callings, but between their declarations and cries Vosta caught what she searched for: the crunch of scarlet snow two, maybe three odd paces ahead. If storm's chosen possessed faith in his own skill, then a second arrow may already be lined up to seal her fate. She gripped The Crow Laugh tighter, talons and fingers alike threatening to crush the wood in its grasp.

If she was already dead, then so be it. Ol’ Crow would at last claim his own.

But if not-

Vosta bounded forward, the feathers of her cloak jangling against one another in a sharp array of chimes. The leap would cross the distance to where her enemy last stood, that much was certain. Whether she would impale herself on an expectant blade remained unseen. Tears and drops of blood embraced each other as they leaked through clenched eyelids. Her temple grew wet from where the arrow had diverted after striking the Storm Eye. She could very well already be ensnared in Death’s cold embrace. The warclad reared back The Crow Laugh. Her need to land an assured blow oumatched her desire to rend the defender's head from his shoulders. Vosta sucked in a breath and tasted not the heated air of the colosseum but the blistering winds of Gods’ Peak.

No shadowclad figure appeared in the darkness of her vision. No calling came from beyond her realm of hearing.

She spoke in the low tongue, so all would bear witness to her last.

“DEAAAAAAAATH!!!”

The Crow Laugh cackled not like a lone madman but a hundredfold, and the boar spear sundered the sky.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 10
8/23/2023 18:08:32   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 It is a clear summer day. The air is alive with the delighted cheers of children and the playful banter of friends. Amidst the cheerful atmosphere, Chiyi — the warrior princess here — finds herself engaged in a deadly battle.

“You’re getting faster!” he exclaims, his grin as infectious as his enthusiasm.

The enemy prince! Of course, he is not a prince by any means.

But he is to her.

“Don’t underestimate me!” she retorts, though her own grin matches his in width. She lunges forward with her chosen weapon — a blunt wooden stick.

The village children had gathered around, their faces alive with excitement. “Get him, Jiejie!” the girls call out, their voices brimming with encouragement.

“Daca, you can beat her!” the boys yell, the playful chants adding to the festive ambiance.

Their improvised swords meet in a gentle clash, lacking entirely any killing intent. Their movements are fluid not through technique but through familiarity. Their strikes are not well-timed, at least not to any decent student of the blade. After all, what would the son and the daughter of farmers know about swordplay?

Chiyi’s wooden stick whirls through the air, aiming for a playful tap against her opponent’s shoulder. But he deftly parries, the wooden weapons meeting with a satisfying thud. His grin widens —

Uh oh!

—and he executes a quick twist, sending Chiyi’s stick flying out of her grip. It whirls once, twice, before landing almost hushedly against the sand.

Chiyi rushes toward the sword, bending down to reach, but she finds his wooden stick leveled at her throat, a gesture that spoke of feigned triumph.

Chiyi’s eyes meet his, and a hint of challenge glints within her gaze. Even if this was a game—

“Watch out,” she says suddenly, and she flicks her wrist, sending a spray of sand right at him.

“Hey!” he yells in surprise, backing off to shield his face. Instantly, Chiyi darts forward, snatching up her stick. In one swift motion, she lunges at him, aiming for his chest. The tip jabbs him in the chest.

“Gotcha!”

The children erupt into cheers and laughter.

Briefly, she feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry,” she says.

In response, he flashes her a grin. His eyes sparkle. “No need to be sorry. A true warrior uses every advantage available, even a handful of sand.”

Chiyi's lips curve into a genuine smile.



Amidst the swirling cloud of crimson sand, Chiyi surged forward, determination powering each step. The blade of the Headhuntress’s Torment gleamed against the noon sun as she drew it from behind her back, ready to strike a decisive blow. Looming out of the softly cascading sand, she must have seemed for all the world like a demon of the desert.

The moth-woman called Mooth hissed at the surprise attack, raising one of her wings instinctively to shield against the grains. Something in the back of Chiyi’s mind prickled, but she put it aside. No time for distractions now.

The entire scene must have seemed like something straight out of a tale of fantasy. The desert demon and the moth-woman, shimmering—

Shimmering?

Yes, shimmering! Particles of something bright caught the sunlight, flashing like a thousand fireflies as Mooth met Chiyi's charge with equal resolve. The moth-woman's eyes, intense and unyielding, remained locked onto Chiyi's every movement. As Chiyi brought down the Torment with a resounding swing, aiming to cleave through the opposition, Mooth's response was swift and controlled.

She lunged, and with a swing of the seemingly fragile wing, actually deflected Chiyi's strike. The Torment’s blade edge didn’t quite hit the moth-woman’s wing; instead it was like a glancing blow against plate armor. Chiyi gritted her teeth.

No time to cancel the attack. The only choice—

Thus, the sword strike went wild, thudding harmlessly into the sand instead. But Chiyi, undeterred by the initial deflection, rode the momentum of her swing, spinning deftly to the side. Her movement sent another cascade of sand into the air, adding to the chaos of the battleground.

In tandem with Chiyi's evasion, Mooth seized the opening, lunging forward with her own attack. Her lithe form cut through the billowing sand cloud, a specter of determination. Chiyi's peripheral vision caught the blur of Mooth's motion, and she instinctively twisted her body, narrowly evading the moth-woman's strike.

Not quite.

As Mooth's attack swept by, her wing grazed Chiyi's arm in a glancing blow, sending a shiver down her spine. The heat of the arena mixed with the chill of anticipation mixed with the deadly thrill of taking action mixed with the frosty prickle of blows that may or may not have hit mixed with the fire of wrathberry, a potent cocktail of battlefield adrenaline. Chiyi's heart raced as she assessed her options on the fly.

The books said in times like these, time would seem to slow for an instant. Chiyi had lived and fought for long enough that she could say firsthand this was not true. Time did not slow. Rather, it was more that she did not perceive the time, since such perception would require thought.

There was no time for thought.

Under white eyelashes, a flicker sparked in Chiyi's red eyes.

Shizhi!

In the heat of the battle, wrathberry, and sun, she activated the Four Fingers. Flames ignited along her remaining hand, dancing with an intensity that mirrored her resolve. The world around her seemed to fade, leaving only her and her adversary in a fierce dance of elemental mastery.

Still whirling about and kicking up sand, she turned the Torment slightly, now enveloped in flames, and traced an arc of fiery brilliance as she executed a powerful upswing. The blade's path intersected with a fiery trail that peeled off from the blazing metal, eagerly snaking forward. This, along with a combination of fire and blazing-hot sand erupting with it, called to mind an ancient tale of a great dragon awakening under a volcano.

It was hard to tell the moth-woman's expression in those alien eyes as the torrent of fire and sand hurtled toward her. The flames painted an infernal dance in the air, and the searing heat intensified with each passing moment. If Mooth stood her ground, she would be burned by the river of flame. If she flew, then the wall of fire would catch her.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 11
8/23/2023 20:01:10   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Raising a hand to rub his bald head, Sterling felt slightly chagrined for having tried to make an offer at large. Between the crowd, the crows, and various other battlecries it seemed he had just been flatly drowned out in the fervor. Sound was just a poor replacement for his usual loud antics, but his wig was still confined somewhere in Twilight. As was his tomahawk, come to think. 'Plenty of ways I can manage without, shame how tight that negotiation went though.'

Sterling turned with a deep shiver, showing his back to the arena at large and circling around the grandiose statue of the prior ursine champion amidst some soft prattling. "More the fools, you know. Selfish, too. Such a right problem really." He sucked against his broken teeth with a tch, and cast his gaze up into the crowd for a moment. Searching towards the arc behind Darkness for any sign of Bella — he couldn't claim he wasn't selfish either, but he could at least be principled and polite about his desires. And while Sterling had to suffer the disappointment of being unable to find the sole supporter who mattered, his meander did let him face one of his principles. But his ears pricked at the salty sound of a declination.

"Sterling, correct?... Pardon my rudeness, but no, and don’t ask me again."

Elodie had no faith in his word? Foolish twice over, as he was wary of her ways now. Sure, that worked both ways, but you could only guard your flanks so hard without losing sight of the opponent right in front of you. Sterling grinned up at the bear as his mind put some ideas in place. "But first! If you'll excuse me, I'm going to send a message to that little usurper. Deal or no deal. Keep that podium warm for me, will ya?"

There must have been crackling of ice or an uncanny echo from the stands, because Sterling could swear he just heard an amused snort from the statue.

Parallia, said 'usurper', was adorned in an absurdly poofy black dress that felt incredibly out of place in an arena of bloodsport. Even more so than the salty combat maid dominating the center of the field, but unlike the maid, they were unknown to each other. Though if he wanted to avoid Elodie spoiling any surprises, that meant he ought to go aerial. 'Hmmm. Ah!' His mind quickly flipped through his list of trick maneuvers, and he grinned more broadly as he settled on an old favorite: a 180 Springcane Flip into a 360 Crescent Slash adjusted for combat.

With a loose plan in mind, Sterling upped his pace from meander to sprint, aware of the need to ration Ice Skating's inner chill. He kept near the outer wall as he built his initial speed, awkwardly waving his arm towards Bjhonkcioucles in a 'come follow along' gesture. An open invitation for increasing mayhem, before he leaned to his right and curled towards Parallia's advance upon Elodie. An even juicier opportunity as she presented a much more open flank.

Sterling pumped his legs even faster, breaking stride with a pair of ka-thunks as he shifted to the metaphysics of icicle blades on conjured surface. He poured on increasing speed as he turned to chase Parallia, only for the spines of his ears to go on edge with discomfort. The entire arena became subject to the same surprise — the sounds were more than just a gentle hiss with each push. As he neared full clip the ice beneath him began to keenly warble with the delicate thinness of black ice.

'Well ain't that a neat little wrinkle. Guess I deserved that for the "adorable" sass.'

The sarcastic thoughts came naturally, even as he braced for his planned maneuvers. Sterling judged the distance, bending deep into coasting at his swift clip and letting the tip of his cane skim across the surface of the sands. 'Deep breath. And…now!' Thighs contracted hard as he pushed and leapt, even as his core bent in. Sterling twisted hard, thrusting his cane into the sands with all the torsion his arm and shoulder could provide. Compression — or hard ground hidden beneath — gave him a surface to push against, extending the moment of upwards acceleration.

Sterling hadn't just gone airborne. As he completed the initial flip, he had earned himself some serious height. More than enough to pull a trick with some dazzling iridescence from his scales, or to come down with a fairly rare angle of attack. His body was poetry in motion as he twisted, pulling his extremities in tight and engaging his hips. Shifting his angle of rotation and lashing out into a momentous flying roundhouse at Parallia as he entered her airspace and blew past. Only to be frustrated twice over.

In both his focused preparation and the complexity of his movements, Sterling had been unable to keep an eye on Elodie. In his artful twisting, he felt a gentle prick against his back. His maille and gambeson was more than capable of deflecting such a small blade of common steel, blunting the impact with nary a broken ring. Sterling's tail, however, was not so well-established, and a lance of raw fire ran up his spine as the deflected blade shallowly split inches of skin and scale. The chill that filled him did nothing to deaden the pain.

His second frustration was with Parallia herself. The wretch was dead fast, in spite of the fanciful attire she had magically donned. Her twirling evasion reeked of casual arrogance, leaving his Soul Sole to cleave nothing but the air itself. While it proved she was more than capable of stepping up to the competition, it was aggravating as sin and a growl spilled between broken teeth.

Sterling's growl was replaced by a grunt as his feet reconnected with the ground, phantom ice skates digging deep trenches into the sand. He bent his legs to absorb the impact, squatting so far the base of his tail also dredged up sand before he could firmly recover. The finest edge of his speed blunted as he settled into a backwards skate vaguely towards the pillars of Fire and Light. Though he couldn't quite resist a parting remark to further needle Elodie, while keeping his shield guard wary in her direction.

"Yeah. Well. Message received. Have fun with your high-heeled friend." Fun and bloody mayhem, he hoped. Sterling may well have left the two Beauties with a bit of a Beast problem, but he wondered if they had pegged on that threat. He just had to hope the chimera could grasp the tactical advantage it being set up with and actually tangle with that duo. 'Enjoy being left with two tons of trampling fun in your corner, Elodie. Lordspeed, Goose-mera, and take the bloody hint.'
AQ  Post #: 12
8/23/2023 21:49:51   
Dragonknight315
Member

“Y-yes? Hello ma’am. Can I help you?”

Amidst the fanatic cheers and screams for death that echoed across the sands, Elodie was taken aback by Parralia’s meekness. Her competitor seemed confused by the servant’s sudden presence.

<... You are aware that you signed up for a fighting tournament?>

Elodie wondered if there was something in the water in Bren. But before the servant could respond, the girl continued.

“Wait! One second I need to do something.”

The servant raised an eyebrow as she slowly pulled a dagger from the side of her apron. Whatever the girl had in store, Elodie would not let her guard down. But then, there was light. The servant brought her arm up to cover her eyes. A brilliant black flash emanated from the girl, its glow casting a negative across the sands. As the dark-light faded, the plain girl from before had disappeared. Or rather, she had transformed–

<Magic.>

It was unmistakable. Before Elodie was a completely different person, as if she had assumed some kind of alter ego. From her clothes to her mannerisms, it was apparent to the servant: this was the real paragon of darkness.

Now clothed in an elegant black dress, the magical girl radiated confidence and excitement as she curtsied to the servant.

“Magia Spes. To who am I competing with today?”

<... Finally, someone with some manners!>

The servant could not help but sigh in relief as she returned the gesture. “My name is Elodie, and I–”

Suddenly, like a dagger in her ear, a whistling noise interrupted the servant, and a familiar voice called out to her.

“... Up for putting a pin in the punishment, little miss Elodie?... Shall we put the rest into their place?”

<The troublemaker...>

Elodie turned towards the sound to confirm it. She scowled at her ill fortune.

<Both you and the swordswoman made it?>

Elodie felt skin crawl as she took in the scaled one’s visage and words. Sterling was his name, knowledge the servant wished she could erase. She already knew more than she cared to know about the troublemaker– an opportunist in every sense of the world. Quick to make friends, quick to use them. The servant would not play his game any longer.

“Sterling, correct?... Pardon my rudeness, but no, and don’t ask me again.”

Elodie brandished one of her knives, twirling it openly in her hand as if to emphasize the point. If Sterling advanced, then she would put a dagger in him. Much to the servant’s frustration, the scaled one elected to ignore her.

As Sterling shuffled around the edge of the arena, he left a trail in his wake, lines of black ice cut into the red sands. Meanwhile, Parralia advanced closer to the center, closer to Elodie. The magical girl’s intentions were unknown, but Sterling’s was easier to predict. He just wouldn't take no for an answer.

<I don’t have time for this.>

Elodie pushed off the ground, jumping back to put some distance between her and the others. As she did, Sterling appeared to brandish his cane. The scaled one plunged it into the ground, shifting his momentum and rising high into the air. After some last second acrobatics, the troublemaker’s trajectory was apparent to Elodie. Sterling wasn’t after her; he dove feet first straight towards Parralia.

“... So be it.”

Elodie seized her opportunity. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the steel flying towards Sterling's exposed back. While the knife did not pierce his scales, it did leave a foul cut on his tail.

It seemed Sterling would have no luck with the magical girl either. Parallia was already moving, denying his leap with a graceful twirl. The servant watched as Sterling landed hard onto the sands, his suffering on display for all to see.

"Yeah. Well. Message received. Have fun with your high-heeled friend."

The sight was no small pleasure for the servant. As Sterling left for a more promising encounter, the servant gave a cold wave.

“Now then...”

With the troublemaker out of the picture, the servant turned to her actual interest and eagerly made her way towards the magical girl until the two were only a few feet apart.

“So, Magia Spes.” The servant spoke with a playful tone as she addressed the magical girl. The name felt sweet on her tongue, as if the very words carried some innate kind of magic.

“Let’s make this entertaining.”

The servant focused. As Elodie raised her hand, four of her daggers slipped out from her clothes. The knives spun in the air, aligning their sharp points towards the magical girl as they levitated behind the servant.

With an almost infectious enthusiasm, the magical girl spun around, manifesting something from nothing. Its shape was soon fixed, a massive battle-axe nearly the girl’s size. Yet Parralia carried it with ease, twirling it around until she let its head sink into the red sands beneath them.

"Entertainment through combat is a magical girl's specialty, Miss Elodie. I shan't let you down."

The servant could not help but let out a laugh. Not a cold laugh of mockery, but one of genuine excitement. Elodie had found someone special. She extended her hand out, as if to offer the magical girl a dance. “Then shall we?”

Then, the servant snapped her fingers, and the knives descended upon the magical girl.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 13
8/23/2023 23:00:56   
Oddball
Member

A genuine sigh of relief and a courteous mimicry of her curtsy was not too unexpected from the servant across from her, doubly so with how she was dressed.

A bona fide maid fighting in a tournament like this? It was even less likely than her own appearance here… But fate had deemed them both required participants so here they stood!

Fate was weird.

The lady seemed to start her response, only to have her attention stolen by another voice calling out to the arena at large.

Trying to get help from the people they fought previously? Clever.

If she were to try a similar tactic she’d only have the Giant, Vosta, to rely on. Yeah, as if that would happen after their brief bout in the Sky. Best to avoid her if at all possible, Parralia wasn’t sure if she was capable of taking on an opponent like that.

From Elodie’s response to the other figure, she didn’t seem too keen on the premise of a temporary partnership and Parralia had to try and stifle a chuckle when the answers from the others didn’t seem too favorable either.

It was worth a try, at least.

Still… It had barely struck the magical girl that she had earned the gaze of the being residing over Darkness in this world, and she was half expecting to suddenly jolt awake to find herself back in that ruined hospital. Hell, if not for the pain of gaining a new hole in her leg still being fresh in her memory she might’ve tried the old trick of pinching her cheek!

Not that it would do her any good in a waking nightmare.

”Parr, focus. You have incoming."

Once again making a mental note to thank her brain for being alert, Parralia shifted her gaze over to where she heard sudden movement. It seemed this Sterling fellow had decided to make her his first target? Wait, this was the exact thing that happened back in Sky! And one guy even got smited for it… Not that she really paid a lot of attention to the action as she was too busy trying not to get her head crushed by a snazzily dressed man armed with a rock.

…Wait, she was letting her mind do that wandering thing it did. Back to the important bit.

Parralia watched carefully as Sterling took the air, rocketing high into the sky before descending onto the magical girl in a flash. The manoeuver reminded her of a technique a certain strain of the Infected liked to rely on, and it was simple enough to dodge if you were paying attention.

Unfortunately, sand wasn’t as accommodating to heels as a nice marble floor was, and Parralia had to put a little more effort into her elegant twirl than she would have liked to. But the rush of air that passed her was all she needed to know that the incoming blow had been successfully evaded.

Whew, a little too close for comfort there.

She wouldn’t admit that out loud, of course, she had somewhat of a reputation to uphold! Or something along those lines.

”Yeah. Well. Message received. Have fun with your high-heeled friend.”

And as quickly as he had appeared, Sterling had removed himself from the confrontation and left the pair alone. Chaos right from the get-go! What an exhilarating time these finals were shaping up to be.

“So, Magia Spes.”

The maid started, closing the distance until there was barely a few feet left between them. Parralia tensed some, magic thrumming at her fingers in case she needed to act quickly.

“Let’s make this entertaining.”

And with a lift of her hand, four knives pulled themselves out from underneath her clothes and hovered behind the maid, poised to strike at her command.

It felt very similar to her Blade spell… just without the overwhelming sense of dread the use of her magic came with. How lucky that she didn’t have to deal with that particular problem. That burden was her own and she wouldn’t wish it on even the most cruel of villains.

With a hearty spin, the magical girl willed Blossoming Starlight into existence once again before she effortlessly twirled it between her fingers. The weapon eventually found itself pointed at the red sands, the gem at its head sparking to life with a strange black energy.

“Entertainment through combat is a magical girl’s specialty, Miss Elodie. I shan’t let you down.”

A promise, from one fancily dressed girl to another.

She would have to try her damndest to dazzle this opponent, she felt.

A laugh that held no malice managed to escape the Maid as she extended a hand out towards Parralia. A petition to dance, perhaps? Oh gosh she wasn’t too confident in her dancing.

“Then shall we?”

And with a very sharp snap of her fingers, the knives rushed towards Parralia’s chest, the girl taking a half-step backwards and spinning the axe in her hands. With the flat-side facing upwards, Parralia swung the weapon forwards, knocking the thrown projectiles into the sky. With a stride towards the Maid, Parralia twirled Blossom in her hands before she ducked down, swinging the flat end of the weapon towards Elodie’s legs.

Now the finals had truly begun! Only one last obstacle stood in her way of her wish.

And the only way forward was through them.
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 14
8/23/2023 23:26:13   
TripleChaos
Member

That orb flying through the air was an egg, made all the more obvious as it shatters upon the pillar in front of Ezkeraz. Instead of the sound of its shell breaking, a shrill noise assaults his ears, the incessant cawing and shrieking of a murder of crows. He winces and rushes to raise a hand to cover his ear, but the clamor pierces through regardless. It certainly is a shock and he can’t hear anything over it, but Ezkeraz can’t help but think that perhaps this isn’t as bad as hearing himself speaking over himself and himself and—

Focus, Ezkeraz tells himself as he grits his teeth. He opens his eyes and notices the attention of the giant who had thrown it. Her golden-hued eye filled with rancor turns from the pillar to him. He can’t hear with those crows still shrieking, but she starts to yell something. A moment later her feet push off the sand of the arena and she charges with a speed entirely unbefitting a creature her size. As the sound from whatever she had thrown began to fade away, the roar coming from the deepest reaches of her stomach became prominent in its place.

The sound makes his bones quake, yet Ezkeraz can’t help but feel a tinge of something familiar: Another voice joining the chorus ringing in his head, calling for justice; no, calling for vengeance, exacted by one’s own hand. Those wishes would be much easier to deny if they weren’t echoing his own feelings, and speaking with his own voice. The quaking earth, each time the giant’s feet crash against the sand, does help him ignore it for now.

The giant hadn’t thrown the spear in her hands, but Ezkeraz only had so much time before she would reach him. With his bow still ready, he swiftly drew an arrow at his hip and aimed. Against something as large as her, his arrows would surely have trouble landing deep enough to hurt. Beside her normal one, that other eye of hers glistens as she dashes: A shifting blue shade with no pupil. A challenge for sure, but a tempting target no less.

Any normal archer wouldn’t think about letting their foes get close. But an archer who can drop their bow and wield their swords in an instant can afford to think differently.

Just a few strides away, he let loose his arrow at the giant, aimed at her strange eye. It streaks through the air toward her head and with no time to dodge it strikes true, fracturing it like a thick pane of glass. The giant charging at him stumbles as her roar tempers into a cry. It seems a wound to a fake eye still hurts just as much as a real one. Ezkeraz can’t stop the slightest of smirks from curling his lips.

He doesn’t have time for satisfaction, and his stern gaze returns a moment later. As soon as the arrow hits its mark the bow leaves Ezkeraz’s hands. A blink of light and a pair of swords, gleaming in the sun, appear in its place. He takes a single cautious step as the giant continues her charge, looking away from him and steadying her breath. Pointed toward him was not her eyes, but her ear.

Ezkeraz doesn’t realize her plan until his foot steps onto the sand again and she pulls back her spear, larger than any person Ezkeraz’s size could hold and with a tip as long as his own swords, in preparation to slash at the sound of his steps. At the same moment, Ezkeraz feels a chill up his spine as she lets out a shout: a clear, singular word:

“DEAAAAATH!”

Ezkeraz only has time to begin leaping backward and bringing his swords up to defend himself before she swings her massive spear at his stomach. It cuts through the air between them with a startling swiftness, the bladed tip clashing against his swords and knocking one of them out of his grip as Ezkeraz is shoved back and off his feet. He only barely manages to avoid cutting himself on his own blade as he tumbles in the sand.

Ezkeraz doesn’t lie on the arena’s floor long as he groans and pushes off the ground with his free hand. He takes a deep breath, trying to clear the spots from his vision. The sword he still holds tightly hadn’t shattered at the force of the blow, and Ezkeraz is still in one piece. He hurriedly rises to his feet, anticipating another attack.

The giant hadn’t moved any further, still dealing with her eye. She beats against the back of her head and glinting shards fall from her face with each strike. Ezkeraz glances away, looking for his other sword. Thrown far out of reach, the sword that was in his right hand sits embedded in the sand, its handle pointed to the sky. Ezkeraz squints at it, but hesitates. He could reach it before his opponent would be upon him again, but why should he wait for them to come to him?

Ezkeraz darts his head back toward the giant and kicks up off the ground, breaking into a dash.
She finishes knocking the loose pieces of her eye out when he rushes up to her. His two hands barely fit to grip his sword as he takes a last step and slashes at her ankle.
Post #: 15
8/24/2023 11:20:15   
deathlord45
Member

Bjhonkcioucles slowly meandered around the moat that encircled the pillar of salt, it would be much faster to swim across the pool though their animal instincts told them that it would be a terrible idea. The slow deliberate movements of the behemoth along the water’s edge gave plenty of time to survey the battles that had nearly immediately kicked off after their introductions.

Dancing about the sands was what looked like another patchwork creature flitting around seemingly observing the battles that were beginning just like the behemoth was. Though the beast did feel a bit of sorrow for the other creature since it looks like it is currently molting quite severely given the lack of hair on its head.

I hope they are only molting or shedding like many creatures do and not some skin disease affecting its hair.

As it glided before Bjhonkcioucles path it made a gesture of wanting the chimera to follow behind before the other patchwork creature then moved towards one of the battles currently beginning.

It either thinks of me as a beast that it could use for its own ends or a fool who is easily predicted. I should make it regret those assumptions.

Muscles coiled as Bjhonkcioucles began watching for where the bald creature would land so that the behemoth would have a target. Surging forward as Sterling landed the creature grasped its magic ready to deflect any stray attack the pair that the patchwork humanoid had passed by.

"Honk!" [Get back here and don't look down on at me!"]
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 16
8/24/2023 16:20:43   
DaiTigris
How We Roll Winner
June14


 The sand splashed up with each step she took. Her wings flung out to smack into the ghastly figure, but for a moment she thought there was nothing there. Until her wing clipped its arm. Then the strike of a sword clipped the side of her wing with a blunt thud, the protection from her magic made the blow dulled its edge. The sword was thrown away by the momentum into the sand, but the lithe figure was still spinning.

For a moment Mooth realized this ghostly hag was no push over. She had overestimated and brought herself too close to this foe. She needed to get back and fall back and unlatch her lantern. Then she saw it, a spark under those red eyes that looked like a blazing fire.

the figure turned the cloud of red dust into a blazing devilish tornado. Mooth had experienced the dangers of fire before, attempting to fly away from this could get her trapped, standing her ground would burn her. The only option left was to run.

She skittered sharply out of the path as fast as her legs could take her to the left of her opponent, though some sparks seared against her body in a painful manner. Once far enough away from the danger she unlatched the lantern and pooled her magic into it. Many small sparking dots of light appeared and were sent hurtling towards her opponent like falling stars.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 17
8/26/2023 22:54:52   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 The bedroom is modest but exudes an air of hushed anticipation. A sanctuary of emotions away from the world. The soft glow of candlelight paints the room in warm hues, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Tonight, it is draped in red and adorned with delicate silk.

Chiyi sits at the bed’s edge, her heartbeat a constant rhythm in the quiet room. The air is laden with various wildflowers picked by the village. She wears beautiful red robes with a matching veil resting lightly over her head and face, its soft touch both comforting and isolating. It veils her features from the world, a symbol of the transition she is about to undergo. The room is still, as though time itself is holding its breath in reverence for what is to come.

Footsteps. The door opens, creaking slightly. Through the veil, she can see someone approach, but she has no doubt whatsoever as to who he may be. Her heart agrees, fluttering in response.

He nears the bed, and Chiyi feels the weight of his gaze upon her. He reaches out and gently lifts the red veil.

She should be happy. But strangely, in this moment, a tremor of fear courses through her. She is afraid of the uncertainties of the unknown future.

His voice, soft and familiar, breaks the stillness. “Do you trust me?”

Chiyi’s breath catches as the words touch a chord deep within her heart. In that moment, the cold of fear is promptly swept away. She meets his eyes.

“I do,” she answers.


A gamble.

With the exact opposite luck of the Purple-dressed Dragonslayer, Mooth chose neither.

With a swift retreat, the moth-woman dashed aside, out of the path of the wave of burning sand, avoiding its searing touch. All in all, not totally unexpected. What Chiyi had overlooked, however, was the possibility that the moth-woman had other capabilities. Capabilities such as—

That lantern!

The little ornate trinket Mooth wore around her neck, held in place by a cord— the thought dawned on Chiyi in a split second, realization sweeping over her like the same red-hot wave she’d sent at Mooth. In one fluid motion, the moth-woman unclasped the lantern. It dropped, thudding into the sand, but even then something inside it glowed—

The next thing Chiyi knew, the air was suddenly blazed with pinpoints of brilliant light. The points shimmered and danced, zipping toward Chiyi with unnerving speed.

Instinct took over. Chiyi dropped Torment, her Three Fingers poised—unlike Elodie’s physical knives from the room of twilight, the triple scars of fire would be sure to—

Arrrgh!!

Pain erupted! Agonizing heat radiated from the bones in her fingers, scorching her from within. Her fingers twitched and shuddered, clenching and unclenching involuntarily, like those of an old woman’s in the throes of an epileptic attack. She knew with a deadly certainty that if she tried for Sanzhi now, she would surely torch the flesh off of her bones.

Ironically, as abruptly as the fire surged, the sharp cold spike didn’t penetrate her so much as manifest itself right in her heart, washing over her as though she had been doused in a bucket of ice water. Helplessness. Fear. A feeling she was rather familiar with.

No, not quite.

Chiyi’s mind whirled—there were no thoughts, no plans. To grab a thought might as well have been to snatch a paper out of a tornado. So instead, she gathered something else: her composure. Time for a last ditch desperation move.

Chiyi tore savagely at the frayed cords holding her equally frayed cloak in place. It came loose. The sudden lack of weight around her shoulders made her seem to move faster.

Swirling her cloak around her like a blood-red maelstrom, she spun, sand flying everywhere—-

Too slow!

The little points of light might as well have been miniature suns. Even as her clock flapped in the wind, they burned pockmarks through her cloak. A not so insignificant number snuck past her makeshift barrier of cloth, burning tiny but painful pinpricks into her skin, not too unlike the time she had gotten a bit too close to the local forge for her own good.

Chiyi swirled her cloak once, twice, before tossing it at Mooth as a hunter might cast a net. Her feet did not stop moving; she kicked at the handle of the fallen Headhuntress’s Torment, sending its grip flying up into her open palm. Grains of sand clinging stubbornly to the wooden handle dug into her palm. Chiyi vented her strength, grunting from the exertion, bringing the blade up level to her waist like a spear.

One last, grimly desperate kick sent another blinding cloud of sand billowing towards Mooth— Chiyi wasn’t sure what had happened to her cloak— one thought mushed into another—

But even as all her thoughts swirled together, one feeling burned.

Chiyi had felt true fear once. Sometimes, she doubted there was any fear that could truly eclipse it. But she did know one thing.

She hated being afraid.

Anger.

It burned brightly in her soul, and she charged once more, the world narrowing down that singular point, to deliver a thrust intended for Mooth’s heart.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 18
8/26/2023 23:01:29   
Apocalypse
Member

An ear-splitting clang answered the Jotnari’s sundering of the sky. Vibrations spasmed up the ironthorn shaft, jostling her arms and rattling the many fragments of glass in their socket. Fresh hells of agony burned and burrowed deep with each new laceration. Vosta grit her teeth until she tasted blood. Her body ached to roar but she killed the urge, desperate not to invoke further punishment. Wounds could not be tended to with enemies afoot. Eyelids still shut against the world, the Jotnari focused her hearing to cut through the clamor of the arena. The sound of a body falling onto coarse snow more than a meter away rewarded her efforts. Storm’s chosen would only be wounded at best, but a moment’s reprieve was a close secondary prize.

Relinquishing Blood and Bone’s grip on her spear, Vosta opened her right eyelid and smacked the back of her head twice in quick succession. Jagged shards and glittering dust rained from the cavity to join the crimson below. Wicked edges carved fresh grooves along muscle and membrane as their parting gifts. Vosta hissed and cursed as fiery wasp stings ravaged her smooth flesh. How could losing an artificial eye dwarf the pain of the original scarring?

Hot air swept into the empty expanse of the socket before the warclad could close her eyelid. Muscles tensed and seized as the heat rolled over flesh far too soft and wounds far too tender. She wrenched her amber eye open, blinking away the tears welling in her vision. She had lost an eye once before - she could bear to do so again. She would do so again. Mirrored images of armorclad figures folded into the singular form of Ezkeraz launching himself forward, blade in hand. Not sorcery. Storm’s chosen had stripped her of the sight beyond sight; whatever imperfections she perceived were born not of arcane fabrication but her own mortal fragility. Vosta set her face still as stone and placed her right foot behind her in a defensive stance. Let the wave crash against the mountain. Storm’s chosen took the bait, sword singing through the air to slash at her tendons. A clever strategy. A hunting strategy. When targeting prey larger than one’s self, harass and exhaust it first. Only then does the hunter secure the kill. The Jotnari inhaled. But the foundation of Ezkeraz’s approach possessed one crucial flaw.

Vosta was no prey.

The warclad slammed the butt of The Crow Laugh down, scarlet snow swallowing the egg-clutching talons. Fleeting sword struck true against the ironthorn shaft, yet both Jotnari and spear held firm. Vosta exhaled. By presenting her strong side forward, the warclad had drawn the blade’s ire to the side she could best defend. He had not chosen where to strike - Vosta had. Ezkeraz thought her a beast, as all low folk did. Pale knuckles bloomed violet from their tightened grip. For that, he would pay in blood.

“Break against me!”, Vosta roared in the low tongue. Blood and Bone reached hand-over-hand to grip near the spear’s end. With a tug and a flourish, the crow’s foot erupted from the snow in a sweeping volcanic plume. Ezkeraz jerked backwards from the sudden reversal. Eyes of emerald narrowed into a scowl as the egg-clutching talons arced up towards him. The defender stepped back, the life untold reaching just short of his chin-

Vosta’s voice grew cold. “Vostorn.”

Blood and Blood clamped harder on the ironthorn. In-tandem, the clutches of the crow foot crushed the egg within its grasp. For the second time that day, the cackling of crows flooded the colosseum. Yet this time-

-this time-

-they carried an unparalleled malice and horror within their cries. Three eggs, three lives denied by the whims of fate: the unsired of Ba’jorn and Feylor, named for them and the jarl of their clan. All their love and hatred - anguish and sorrow - infused into one ear-shattering scream: endless knives grinding against stone and glass and stone again. The warclad’s heart quivered within her chest and her body shook against her will. For Vosta, the noise pierced her down to the bone and rang through them as if they were hollow. For Ezkeraz-

-a relentless chorus of the forlorn, bitter and vengeful beyond measure.

Storm’s chosen reeled at the din and the tragedy sewed within every caw and screech. The Jotnari twirled The Crow Laugh about her head. Before the storm’s culling, she would have laughed at the spear’s shrieks. They had terrified her as a child. Now? A babe's lullaby when held against the wail of a life untold.

Today, her face remained grim as the grave. Once more. Your warclad forbids you to fail.

With a grunt and cackle, the boar spear came crashing down, the gap between the defender’s neck and shoulder its mark.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 19
8/26/2023 23:01:48   
DaiTigris
How We Roll Winner
June14


 The old hag went to make a strange movement with her hands but shuddered. Then it ripped off the cloak off her back and hurled it around her, kicking up a swirl of sand. The motes of light cascaded into her, burning holes in her improvised cover.

Suddenly the cloth was being tossed at her. It collided on top of her. She let out an indignant screech as she shredded it, just in time to see the hag bearing down on her with the intent to drive her blade through her heart. There wasn’t enough time to get away, only react. She placed her lantern firmly on the ground and raised her leg, ready to kick her oncoming opponent, this time she would not miss.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 20
8/26/2023 23:02:56   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 There was something admittedly majestic at seeing something as bulky and malformed as the chimeric Bjhonkcioucles moving around on the arena sands. A feeling that was totally at odds with the intense aggravation behind the sole sound effect it seemed capable of screeching. 'Honk!' What in the absolute Heck was that supposed to mean? It was a monosyllabic word with only so much inflection — assuming one could piece together even that much nuance — and gave absolutely nothing. Thank the Lords for body language.

Which pleased Sterling even less than the honking, to be fair. The bulk of Bjhonkioucles was on a straight, steady shot chasing him. Which was not the plan at all. "Oh, come on Big B. You're disappointing me here! I thought we were all on the same page, Elodie aside. Served you a distraction on a silver platter…tch." Sterling sucked at his teeth, working his hips to maintain his backwards momentum and risking a glance over his shoulder towards his original plans in mind. Trying to tango with Big B was extremely idiotic for the skirmishing skater, as he would have maybe one shot to deal any significant damage before his cane probably would fail.

Sterling shifted his grip on his cane, feeling reluctant to dare such an all-in gambit. It was his favorite tool for good reason: no other fashion accessory could serve as a socially acceptable bludgeon, spear, and war pick all in one. You could hide a blade on almost anything, he'd even seen the rim of a hat ringed with razors once, but not much else had reliable reach. Full-on staves rarely found themselves as acceptable, and the combination also made for an incredible tool to expand his Shadowglide's mobility. Just as true with this variant Ice Skating on the sands, too!

Speaking of sands, his eyes caught quite the whirlwind surrounding Chiyi and Mooth. One, or perhaps both, had decided to weaponize the terrain quite nicely. Could suit his machinations nicely as a bit of a veil, if he could come to terms with the chimera. "Look, okay, so maybe you don't care for —" Bjhonkcioucles hadn't just been trundling along the sands, chasing the evaporating trails of his passage. Water particles hung in the air, drawing together at the avain beak of the chimera's head. 'Oh Heck…' Sterling didn't need a high education to be able to recognize a magical assault when he saw one.

"Honk!" A ball of liquid slightly larger than the size of a brute's fist shot from the veil of condensation surrounding the chimera. It wasn't arrow fast, but the distinction was lost as the pure elemental mass streaked through the air between the two combatants. There was no doubting Bjhonkcioucles' intelligence either, as the chimera targeted where his shield couldn't cover. The shot was angled low, splashing into Sterling's left ankle like a hailstone, shattering the careful rhythm of his backskate. Though…the impact didn't quite match what he had seen, the armor of his Soul Sole barely buckling.

Stung something awful all the same. Sterling hopped awkwardly on his right leg, foot digging a trench as he let go of his focus on the skates. "Rude!" He kicked and shivered his left in a hurry, trying to shake away the worst of the sting with haste. Not that the chimera was giving him the chance to recover.

"Honk!"

Sterling flinched at the sound, ducking low and taking a second orb hard on his shield. This time the impact rocked his whole body backwards. 'Proximity!' The key clicked in Sterling's mind, as Bjhonkioucles kept pressing forward after pinning him into place for the moment. A fell and inevitable tread, heavy upon the sands. 'This is bad. This is bad, bad, bad. But…' His mind was working overtime as he scrambled backwards in small crow hops. It didn't have to be bad. He was willing to bet he was the fastest in the arena. This could work, but it would be risky.

"Honk!" The chimera wanted him pinned, and a third shot as followup was meant to kill even his hopping gait. Sterling leapt with the warcry — the incant? — and managed to clear the orb with an aerial split. He risked a glance downwards, and the aquaforce projectile certainly looked larger than either of the impacts until now, just lesser than the point of origin. The Doll smiled between broken teeth as he landed. If he could just time things right, wait out the beastly Bjhonkcioucles until it decided to charge rather than maintain its barrage…yes. It could work.

"Alright big guy. You want me? Come and get me."
AQ  Post #: 21
8/26/2023 23:22:55   
Dragonknight315
Member

To the magical girl’s credit, she was quick. As the servant willed her ill knives towards Parralia’s heart, the magical girl moved with lightning-like reflexes. Instinct turned to action as the dance began. Parralia took one step back and spun around, twirling her massive weapon with ease. Metal met metal as the knives collided with the flat of the axe, their purpose denied and cast away.

Her follow-up was predictable. Inevitable. The magical girl carried her momentum forward, whipping the axe around like a carousel to sweep the servant’s legs. Elodie took one step back and pushed off the ground. The magical girl tried to adjust her swing, but it just barely grazed the fabric of Elodie’s skirt as the servant jumped back.

Meanwhile, the maneuver had kicked some of the red sand into the air; it gave Elodie an idea. As the servant landed, she crossed her arms behind her back, and her hidden blades extended with a sharp hiss. At the same time, Elodie pulled her leg back and swung it forward, kicking up more sand straight towards the magical girl. It seemed to do the trick as Parralia stopped to shield her eyes, coughing and mumbling to herself. It would only last a moment, but that’s all Elodie needed to obscure her intentions.

The servant circled around the magical girl. She brought her arms together at her chest, and the world seemed to grow lighter as Elodie centered herself. Then, she leapt forward. The first jump was small, a warm-up. But as her feet touched the earth again, the servant rebounded into the air with a flourish, spinning and spinning until she landed right on the magical girl’s shoulder.

“Tag, you’re it."

In different circumstances, this might have been the end. Elodie briefly considered wrapping her leg around the magical girl’s throat and pinning her to the ground. Truthfully, there were more sensible options at the servant’s disposal. But Elodie was enjoying herself, and what would she gain by cutting this experience short? As her lord instructed, she needed to learn everything she could from her rivals. And if it came with the approval of the crowd? All the better.

Before the magical girl could properly respond, the servant took to the air once more, her leap higher than any normal human could muster. But Elodie was no mere human. As the crowd watched her ascension, the servant ripped a pouch from her harness, its contents brimming with caltrops. She twisted in the sky until finally at her apex, Elodie was completely upside down.

As gravity began to reclaim her, Elodie felt the tension in the air. She descended with open arms and her hidden blades primed, eager to embrace her rival. The servant’s eyes locked with Parralia’s–

They shared a smile.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 22
8/27/2023 0:17:26   
Oddball
Member

She had only been meaning to ‘test the waters’ as the saying went, but Parralia couldn’t help feel a little disheartened as her strike found nothing but air. At least the maid seemed to just jump away from her to gain a small amount of distance, Parralia was sure that if she were still fighting the operative from the previous arena he would have found a way to step in and get a good blow against her.

She assumed that Elodie’s game plan was to keep a relatively comfortable distance between them, what with the throwing knives and all. Made sense, really - she didn’t know what it was like trying to block a weapon like hers with a small knife but she could hazard a guess at the difficulty of such a task.

Parralia tensed as her target gracefully landed from her descent, ready to pounce forwards at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t until she noticed Elodie had her foot reared back that the magical girl caught on to her intentions. Parralia threw her arm up in front of her face, only barely managing to catch the sand-related assault as the Maid kicked a torrent of the horrible stuff straight at her.

Bah, and here she thought she’d get a graceful fight from the servant! Kicking sand wasn’t very elegant…

Pulling her makeshift shield away from her eyes, the breath she took caught in her throat as the gift of sight rewarded her with a missing Maid.

“Where the-”

Elodie would not be missing for very long however, as a sudden increase of weight almost forced Parralia onto her knees.

…Wait, was she-?

”Tag, you’re it.”

The combination of words and the feeling of something pushing down against her shoulders ripped the magical girl’s thoughts out from her head.

..Huh. That was what physical weight on one's shoulders felt like. Very different from the metaphorical stuff she carried with her, that was for sure.

Nowhere near as heavy, either.

The girl slowly tilted her head back, a soft smile finding its way through as Parralia locked eyes with the descending Elodie. She appeared to be enjoying herself at least, if that smile was anything to go by.

Well… Time to dazzle.

Dipping her weapon into her shadow, Parralia felt her magic’s icy grip tighten around her heart once more. She allowed the magic to course through her body before coalescing at the gem hovering at the top of Blossoming Starlight.

In a flash, the space that the magical girl existed in was overcome with a thick, dark fog. To those outside, it was like she had suddenly been overrun by this strange darkness. But her voice echoing out from inside the fog did away with such silly thoughts.
“Okay, Miss Elodie. We can play~”
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 23
8/27/2023 13:58:39   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 The acrid stench of scorched sands and rusted blood faded away, leaving the Arena full of sweet, clean air. The radiance about the Pillar of Light flared, its statue momentarily lost to the surge of brilliance. Luster dimmed in the next breath, seeping away from the golden paladin and coalescing in the lengths of chain twined about her arms. Cracks wove their way through the figure as she raised her axe, the weapon consuming the light one shackle at a time until it blazed beneath the sun. With an unearthly howl reminiscent of the wolf within her, she drove it downwards. Shining gold split through diamond with a blinding explosion, searing the surrounding sands clean of impurities and leaving a crater in its wake.

"And so has favor been withdrawn from Mooth, Paragon of Light." Each voice flung forth like it's own spark, a deluge of sharp exclamations that fused to deliver a single message. "The Pillar of Light has fallen - and we now bear witness to her choice, and to her Lord's dismay." The crimson sands glinted about the faintly smoking crater, glittering debris razor sharp and ready to draw blood.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 24
8/27/2023 23:24:24   
TripleChaos
Member

Ezkeraz’s sword rushes to cut the giant’s ankle, but instead bounces off the hard wood of her spear. She had slammed the end into the ground to block his attack; whether or not it was due to his hesitation, Ezkeraz was too slow.

The giant shouts again and adjusts her grip to swipe the spear up at Ezkeraz, whipping up a storm of sand. Ezkeraz manages to jerk out of the way and scowls. She got used to that wound in her eye faster than he expected, and now he’s on the back foot again. He doesn’t want to fight long, hoping to avoid an opportunist joining this duel. He steps back–need to make another opening–to avoid the end of her spear. The spear misses his head, the egg at its end held by a bird’s talons in front of his face. Before he has time to recognize that it’s the same kind of egg that made all that noise before, the talons clutching it tighten their grip and shatter it.

The sound of a storm of crows reverberates in his head once again, but this time it feels even more oppressive, as if it's coming from everywhere at once. Ezkeraz stumbles another step back and shuts his eyes closed. The sound of it makes his head split, and now he can’t even hear any of the thoughts coming from his other selves. Ezkeraz forces his eyes open despite the shrieking in his mind just in time to see the giant’s towering form aim her spear to bring it down upon him. He twists to avoid the blow, but still sees some of his leather torn by a graze from the tip of the weapon.

He shuffles back more and feels the crows’ screeching leave his mind. Thinking clearly now, Ezkeraz notices the blood trickling down from the top of his shoulder.

He has to almost catch his sword with his right hand as his grip falters, the pain spreading down the length of his arm. He guesses that a muscle must have been torn by the giant’s spear, if that arm can’t bear to hold the weight of one sword.

All of a sudden, a voice as loud as the one that called the Paragons to the arena shouts to the crowd, as one of the pillars sinks into the sand: “And so has favor been withdrawn from Mooth, Paragon of Light.” The giant looks to the stands where the voice had come from, expecting–a chance–something. Ezkeraz grits his teeth as he pulls a marble out of the pouch on his thigh with his wounded arm.

He grips firmly the sword in his right hand and rushes to the giant again. She turns to him as he gets close, holding the spear in front of her. Ezkeraz aims to slash her arm, but when she brings the shaft to block the strike he suddenly shifts. He swings wide, missing her entirely, and instead hits the marble he had tossed into the air beside her a moment earlier.

The clear orb and the glinting topaz inside shatter, releasing a bright purple beam that shoots a short distance to collide with the giant’s forearm. It solidifies upon striking, creating a vibrant tether not much longer than a foot. Ezkeraz steps to the side and raises his sword in preparation to slash her arm held almost in place by his magic.
Post #: 25
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