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2/11/2024 13:24:01   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


In the beginning, there was nothing. No colors reached the eye, no sounds tickled the ear. Death claimed no souls, and life held naught in its grasp. Into this nothingness the Pawns are thrust, alone in the empty void. Yet even in this space, utterly alone, a force tugs at the soul. It peers and pulls from all angles; oppressive, contemplative. They are watched. They are judged. And if they slip up, they are lost.

A captain’s triumphant warcry shattered the silence, cannon fire echoing in the voices' wake. At the voice’s command did reality move, each shard of the world rushing to its place. The sky alighted with color and freedom, while the ground coalesced to stark, neat tiles of pale light and deep shadow. Another chorus of cannon fire, and the former Pawns are slammed to their feet upon this new Battlefield. A chessboard of black and white, floating in the sea of an unborn universe. The newest players in an ancient, never-ending game.

The Powers had chosen.




Vibrant colors burned against the rippling sky; the deep blues of the ocean’s waves, the brilliant reds of fiery torches, and the glittering greens of stolen gems and treasures, all yearning to dance ‘cross the ever-changing world overhead. And yet, they are alone. Their prismatic brethren shuttered behind an invisible prison. But behind that prison, a presence can still be felt. It spoke of Freedom. Of motion and surprises, of the end of the known and the edge of everything else. It called to its Knights, promising change.

Knight of Whispers. Tasting other lives, diving through songs. Rise, Vale, and sing your own.

Knight of The Cycle. Chasing your sun, yearning for more. Rise, Margul, and seize your hunt.

Knight of Sacrifice. Drowned in burdens, desperate for freedom. Rise, Ephemera, and cast off your charge.


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



Achromatic tiles both white and black form a perfect, reflective surface. Not a single stain, not a single crack marks their face, absent of all evidence of the blood spilt upon them time and time again. They spoke of purpose. Of command, of sequence, of the steady comfort of routine. It called to its Knights, promising unity.

Knight of Honor. Seeking engagement, finding it time and time again. Rise, Ladd, and win your bout.

Knight of Radiation. Craving control, seeking through efficiency. Rise, Ryuk, and enforce your peace.

Knight of Storms. Blessed by your Lord, chasing their wake. Rise, Elysia, and rule your tempest.


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



The calls quieted, leaving naught but the rushing water cascading from the shining scales. A sharp laugh cut through the sound, its demand turning waves to wood as the twin waterfalls shifted and solidified, a familiar criss-cross of roped shrouds draped from their heights and anchored to the ground. Where once there was plummeting water, there now stood two masts, complete with rigging, one solid oak while the other flickered with ethereal white energy. Twin spires of a ship never sailed, standing beneath the scales overhead that held three glowing orbs that each pulsed to the rhythm of their Knights.

The laughter cut away, leaving behind a chilled seabreeze that seemed to pull at the souls of the Knights. They stood, facing each other across the First Battlefield, rebuilt and released upon the sea of the world between worlds. Whether rivals or partners, past friends or past foes, they now shared a single goal. Tip those shining scales. Win this endless war.
Post #: 1
2/17/2024 17:32:16   
  Starflame13
Moderator


CR-A-A-A-CK!

Lighting crashes into her, alighting on her outstretched hand with a rushing boom. Bolts arc about her, spinning and dancing and humming in tune with her mind. They branch off, three then one then two, hungrily diving past her to seek the metal littered in the watery ghosts. Their afterimages dart across her blood-streaked vision, flickers of seeking claws and flashing blades reflected in their light.

Elysia closes her eye to the mirages. Lets the storm wash over her, wash through her. No sound in her mind but the echoing report of thunder, the faint buzz of energy beneath it. She hums, lets the sound crescendo, lets the pain flare then fade along her face and body as the status surges about her. Numb fingers refuse to close to a fist, dulled muscles stretch across cracked bones, tacky blood drips and drips and drips from the gouged socket still aching despite the storm.

The Stormcaller exhales, forces her remaining eye open. Any plainshunter knows a wounded wildcat is at its most dangerous. The fight will not end until she sees her enemy dead before her. She turns, hums -

The cavern howls.

Layers upon layers of crystal shards ruffle across the ground like the hackles of a wild beast. They grab at the lingering sparks of static, cast a swirling tempest of refracted light across her face. She shakes her head, forces a step back - only for the chitinous wave to rush towards her, a dead, cold weight that flows over her boots in jagged waves and races up her limbs. The howl builds and builds in her mind, drowning her focus causes the last remnants of lightning to sputter out across her knuckles even as the tide of gemstone swarms up her torso, her shoulders, her neck. She pulls in a last, panicked gasp of air, lungs struggling to expand against the press of crystal, as it the tide floods up and over her face, locking the woman into place as she manages to close her eye in the last moment against the swarming mesh of scarlet, chartruese, cobalt -

Perfect silence. Perfect blackness.

No space left to breathe. No breath left to hum.

The Energy in her soul sings to her all the same.

There is a place for silence in the order of the world. There is a place for stillness in the nature of a storm. She claims the fire of the sky as her very own. She will not be trapped in a cage. Her bones vibrate with the surge of mana, with the swell of pressure that accompanies thunder. She delves deep into her mind, into the core of her being, pulls forth from within the very essence of the storm.

Thunder booms.

Crystal explodes about her, shards of garnet and emerald and sapphire bursting forth, sent flying by swirling eddies of pure force. Elysia gasps, stumbles, pulls in a ragged breath of air as the unseen wave of lightning shatterers the air about her. It rumbles and roars and hums, sending flashes of white across her closed eyelid as she staggers and sways, as the echoes surge, then settle, then fade. The rush gives way to stillness, to stagnant air that tastes stale upon her tongue. To silence.

Elysia opens her eye.

She stands - is she standing? She exists in a plane of pure, perfect white. She cannot distinguish the horizon, cannot find the point where sky meets ground or where walls meet floor. Cannot distinguish features of any sort of support, for all that she sways upright. There are patches missing from her vision, a whole segment carved and severed away. She looks down - sees her boots waver, then refocus. She turns right, keeps turning, twists her head almost about to make out her glaive hovering at her side. She blinks - and feels only half the motion. Trembling hand raises, presses against her cheek. Finds rough, raised skin stretching over an empty socket - healed to the point that neither sharp aches nor soreness respond as she digs the heel of her palm against her face. Her bones do not throb, her limbs respond to each command. The Stormcaller is fully healed, held within this current of stillness, of silence. Healed at cost.

She hums. The world hums with her, bones and body alike. She stops, throat falling still, and the world silences. Her hand reaches out - almost unbidden - and curls gloved fingers about the slim ash of her glaive.

Thunder and lightning and Energy compressed into a single moment. A storm, waiting for her order to burst outward. Waiting for her call to erupt.

Dare she hold tight to a gift from her Lord, given in both favor and penance? Dare she grasp and hold that a gift that is equal parts blessing and curse?

The world about her does not shift, does not change, yet she feels something Watching all the same. Something Other. Something More.

Her fight is not over.

Steely determination shines out of Elysia’s remaining eye. She will harness this storm in her blood, gifted by one power yet tamed by another. She dares.


A woman’s warcry pierces the silence - not her voice, not her throat, but Elysia recognizes the tempest in its call nonetheless. The white expanse cracks, fractures - then shatters, white fractals coalescing to form squares interlaced with blooming black tiles. Colors rush past her, pull her gaze upwards to a swirling, watercolor sky painted in streaks of vermillion, of verdian, of indigo. The world itself breaths and sings and hums, Power pressed into every corner. Power beyond any she knows. The Stormcaller swallows and bows her head, respectful. She remains silent. The Powers hum.

Voices press against her mind, against her soul. Their words weave through her, leaving imprints of knowledge like footsteps in her mind. They echo of freedom, of change, of the edge of the known world.

Whispers. An unknown person, this Vale, their lithe figure clad in the darkened blue of the sky on a dull winter day. The light caught at undertones of indigo in their midnight hair, fur-lined ears twitching as they rose from a kneeling position to look around them. Elysia’s mind flicks back to a different opponent, equally slim but far more feline. Her lips curl in a smile. The Powers have a strange twist of destiny.

Cycle. The cursed man from the cavern. Margul. Devoid of his mask, red eyes the color of his blood-borne lightning dancing with excitement. At this distance she cannot sense his storm, cannot hear the crackle of his static. Smile twists, turns a shade closer to a snarl. She will not lose herself to him again.

Sacrifice. Another woman, younger and taller than herself and garbed in long robes that must have once been white. Even from here, Elysia can make out stains of travel and streaks of blood. If this Ephemera is desperate, truly desperate, as the voices have called her, she is a caution and warning even with her arms held empty before her.

The Voices shift away from the tones of carelessness and selfishness. They narrow to purpose, to duty. To Order.

Honor. A young man, dressed in white from his hat to his boots. A reflection shifting against the matching pristine tiles of the floor about them. Silver embroidery catches the light, draws her eye to his outstretched hand. For all his foppishness, the glinting blade in his hand speaks towards some level of talent in this Ladd. So she hopes, at least.

Radiation. Not the Sun Blessed nor the Mountain Woman, though both could lay claim to such a title, but instead a dark-suited man with a strang, fanged helm. Angled eyes, glowing deep red, slashed through the dark metal. As cursed as Margul, this Ryuk, but Elysia has known others who took their curse and turned it to greatness. She will trust in the Powers that placed him on this board that he is able to do the same.

Storm. Blessed. The confirmation loosens a knot clenched in her chest, allows Elysia to breath. She spins her glaive lightly in her grip. Her storm. Her tempest. Her Lord would not have given her this gift if she was unable to carry it. She hums.

No symbols flash in the moment of stillness, in the calm before the gale. She does not need them. She knows enough of her allies and her enemies from the Call. Knows enough of how these battles work that something Great lies in the balance, even without the scales swaying overhead in the wake of sharp laughter. Knows that the time to strike is now, is first, as the chill of ocean salt snakes across the field and great masts rise in the center of the board. Before others have the chance to gather their bearings, to dictate the pace of the battle.

A last look at the others upon the field. Leave the unknown quantities to each other, for now.

Elysia inhales, swallows the moment of silence, tunes her mind against the external noises to focus on the surge within her own refilled pool of mana. Sparks dance across her fingertips, blue-white light stinging the air as it pulls to her palm. A single hum escapes her in a long, smooth exhale. Then she snaps her arm, skyfire following the motion to launch a single bolt at Margul, the golden-hued figure unmoving in the narrowed vision of her gaze.

She is the Storm. And she will win today.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 2
2/17/2024 17:33:40   
markthematey
Member

He is a child, heat scorching his face.
  The boy isn’t frightened, just shocked. His home is set aflame by some unknown assailant. He can’t force himself to move; he can only blankly stare into roaring flames.
  He will soon forget this moment. The memories only return to haunt his dreams. He will wake up in the night in a cold sweat. He will remember the flames but the faces and names will never return.
  Pain snaps the child back to his senses as the heat caresses his face. The child’s fight or flight senses take over and he makes the only decision you could expect from a child.
  The house burned.
  The child ran.

He is a child, shaking hand gripping steel
  Thick sweat coats his face. Ill-formed, self-taught techniques can bring the child only so far in this battle. Now he fights with the essence of his being, determination, and desperation.
  The man promises him a home if he wins here—the child’s very first duel.
  The duel is a shameful display, it quickly devolves into a brawl. Any semblance of skill is lost as both are fighting their exhaustion and each other opponent.
  If not by sheer luck the other prospect apprentice bends a knee and resigns to defeat.
  For the first time, the child’s heart begins to beat.

He is a teenager practicing with his master.
  The master looks similar to how the boy will look later in life. Youthful and unassuming but a strong personality makes him look larger than life ever should allow.
  He teaches the boy the importance of what a duel means and the formalities around them.
  The child doesn’t care for it but understands steps were needed before his heart could burn ablaze in combat. He will later internalize the lessons, clinging to each as precious words from his master.
  The master teaches the boy how to sharpen his mind to a point. How to align his soul with it, and how to command his body in harmony.
  The boy is an enthusiastic learner and the master is an enthusiastic teacher.

He is a teenager kneeling beside the cold dying body of his master.
  Tears stain the boy's face, arriving minutes too late to help. Blood coats the master's chest and stains his fine white suit. A hole pierced through his chest giving a window through him to the other side.
  His master had lost a duel, something the child never thought was possible. Hundreds of contests the child has watched but the most important one he manages to miss til the very last moment.
  The murderer has already turned and walked off—their shimmering cape with a sword-church symbol burned into the boy's mind. The murderer's face remains obscured and the child can’t discern anything else from their simple but elegant form.
  The dying man was quickly fading but urged the child to listen. Pulling the child from his trance, he begs the boy to keep a promise.
  The words etch themselves into the boy's soul. This was more than a promise but an oath. The boy nods through tearful eyes.
  The child chokes out his last words to his master “I promise, I swear I promise I will.”
  The child is lying through his teeth.

He is a young man staring into his own eyes.
  A silver mirror reflects his brown iris to the beholder.
  His heart feels empty, awash with grief that he can’t process. His eyes lack the glamor they once held. The man only feels the weight of his blade in its holster.
  It begs to be set free and the man agrees. The thought alone stirs his soul, igniting his spirit once more.
  If he makes his mind a blade— he no longer suffers.
  If he can find the murderer will that quiet his sorrow?
  He knows one thing for certain, with each breath he spent in a duel—his heart would beat longer.

He is a young man hundreds have fallen before him and hundreds will follow
  The man forces himself into challenge after challenge. He is slowly gaining a reputation he uses to leverage into another challenge.
  Each duel ends swiftly, it only takes a few exchanges of blades before his opponent kneels in defeat. His heart beats not for more than a few seconds before it rumbles to a still once more.
  That stillness urges the man to find a new opponent and the cycle continues.
  No matter how many opponents he defeats, his true targets still reject his offers. Frustration overwhelms the man, knowing they’ve fought others with far less glamorous resumes.
  This will not stop the young man. He will find the man he seeks. The man simply will need to challenge them more directly than before.


he is a young man, standing inside the first church of King Valentine’s Basilica

He is a young man, chasing a hollow path.

He is a traitor to the one person he ever loved.





Stillness

This was such a painful feeling for Ladd. The feeling made his breath short and his mind hazy. The gods above had ripped him from his duels and flooded his mind with images of the past. The flickered past like a slideshow, recounting all that had happened.

To Ladd, this was unnecessary. He was painfully aware of his path and where it was headed. Each duel served as a gleeful escape from it.

The memories had now passed and Ladd stood in a distinct darkness. The void he stood in offered a strange clarity. Here there was nothing. Nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to desire. It was empty.

That emptiness didn’t remain. Something was watching Ladd. He felt eyes upon him from all angles. Observing all that he did.

A shattering captain cry engulfed the void they stood in. Cannon fire tore throughout the expanse. As if following the words as they traveled, shards of a world pieced themselves together.

With the chatter of another round of cannon fire, Ladd landed on the checker-patterned board along with 5 other competitors.

One by one each finalist was called by name. Ladd recognized one of them and got names for the other two he had fought earlier. He was pleased he finally had a name for the geist-maiden he bouted with earlier, Ephemera. He thought it to be fitting strangely.

Ladd was elated to hear that Vale had continued as well. Both were outstanding duels he had yet to formally conclude. He was almost willing to call them a draw but he was pleased he did not have to yet.

It was clear to Ladd that this would be a more team-focused encounter. His heart rumbled from below. The slow consistent pulses began to quicken. Another type of competition he was yet to experience in its full.

On his side stood, Ryuk and Elysia. Ladd briefly remembers seeing Ryuk but didn’t get to formally challenge him. He briefly considered throwing a glove in his direction but decided to wait for the time being.

The other ally was Elysia. She stood just barely shorter than Ladd and wore a variety of leathers and hides. The scar on her face told of the many battles she fought in her life. The monstrous glave she held stood taller than she did. Ladd had dueled against such a weapon a handful of times throughout his life and he yearned for another chance in that moment. Alas, he fought against his drive to challenge her and focused on the enemies ahead.

Drawing his blade, Ladd inspects it briefly. Espada Ropera, his master’s rapier. He had named it well before it ended in Ladd’s hands. Ladd considered renaming it at one point but now he could never. This was one of the few things his master had left behind.

Its sleek and elegant handle felt natural in his grip as Ladd flicked it to the side. He brought the blade upright and then glared past it the opponents ahead.

As if in response a single voice echoed over Ladd.

“Join me! Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”
Post #: 3
2/17/2024 22:16:23   
roseleaf320
Creative!


Vale’s face flushes under her mask as she charges her opponent. Bare feet scrape against the roughness of the sands, reflected heat flaring into her soles. Adrenaline races through her limbs-- her own and her opponent’s-- as the vulpe’s narrow pupils lock with the tattered duelist’s. Their Life, their Songs, resonate together as the gap closes, their blades barely a breath away--

A resounding crash-- the vulpe loses her footing as sand and glass explode into shards that buffet her skin. Feet lose their footing, and Vale plummets, her screams drowned in the raining sands.



Vale is lost.

She had a destination, once. She knows that-- can feel it in the ache of her limbs, in the itch of her impatient mind. But this path has so many dead ends; so many turns Vale does not notice until she has already taken them. She is in a town, she thinks-- though right now she sees little more than gravel under her feet and spots of trees far in the distance. There is no way to know how long she has traveled-- only that her legs are weak and her throat is dry. If she just keeps walking-- just a little bit longer-- she will find whatever she was looking for. She is certain.

A person walks in the opposite direction, brushing her shoulder as they pass by. It was a soft touch, but it smarts-- like pushing on an open wound. Vale turns her head towards them, unable to distinguish any of their features. “Hey!” she yells, teeth bared, but they do not seem to hear. They keep walking. Vale squints her eyes, lips open, but shakes her head. She has somewhere she is going; it’s pointless to start a fight. So she continues onward.

She finds another two, standing a step off the path. Their feet are practically buried by the sand around them. They turn towards each other, chatting, smiling. Vale smiles, too. “Hello!” she calls, her steps quickening towards them. Each step brings pinpricks of rough heat; she ignores it. They keep chatting. “I’m Vale!” she comes to a stop before them, huffing. “I think I’m in need of directions!”

They do not turn. Vale’s brows knit. “I’ve always wanted to explore the forest,” one says. “I went many times when I was younger, against my mother’s wishes!” the other replies. They both laugh. She could understand them perfectly-- why were they not listening?

“I come from the forest,” Vale says, hope brightening her voice. “If you can show me the way, I can take you!”

They do not turn.

Vale’s dark ears lower dejectedly. Perhaps she was not wanted. Perhaps they were too enveloped in their conversation to pay her any mind. She backs away from them, watching as one shakes her arms excitedly. Vale drops her own arms to her sides and forces her body to turn, her steps to carry her forwards. She was never one for chatting anyways.

The next encounter is a group of six.

They sit in a circle, hands out as if warming themselves near a fire. One leans close, glancing back and forth towards the others as he speaks in a hushed and dramatic voice. “Where atop the silent, unticking grandfather clock sits an owl with a human face.” Some around him squeal; others sit, eyes wide, enraptured by the tale. Vale smiles-- they must be having so much fun. She steps off the path once more, to find a spot within the circle. Her feet find space between two women, but there is not enough room for the vulpe to sit; and they do not move when she tries.

That was… fine. Vale steps back awkwardly, lowering herself to the sandy ground a few paces behind them. Vale would just… listen from here. “The horror tilts its head to the other side. Tick.” Everyone in the circle leans closer, waiting with anticipation. Vale leans, too, though she finds herself watching the listeners more than the storyteller. “The bird rocks its head again; and with a crunch--” the women shriek, and Vale echoes them half-heartedly, unsure why they are afraid. Shrieks dissolve into giggles. Two of the crowd hit each others’ shoulders, laughing at their previous terror. Vale smiles, sadly, and lets out a pointless chuckle. No one turns to laugh with her. So she rises from the circle, her steps slow and halfhearted, and continues alone.

By the time she notices it, the crowd is so large Vale cannot count. They come all at once, rushing her from all directions, hurrying towards this thing or that. They cut off her path, jostle her from side to side. She steps in front of one, trying to stop his stride. “Hey, can I bother you for directions?” But he continues walking, his body roughly pushing Vale until she is forced to step aside. She growls, fangs bared in frustration. She follows the next, racing beside him, her face inches from his ear. “Please! Sir! I’m lost, I just need someone to tell me where to go!” But he keeps walking, faster and faster until Vale cannot keep up and stops, stomps her foot. The next, she yells at-- “Ma’am!” -- and when the woman does not answer, the vulpe roughly grabs her arm and yanks her so their faces are almost touching. “WHY WON’T ANYBODY LISTEN TO ME?”

Agony rips through their right shoulder, a clean cut down their front side. Their grip spasms, loosens; the woman leaves, her eyes never meeting Vale’s. Vale shrieks and bends over as blood spills from the wound. They bring their other hand over, desperately clutching at the wound, fingers staining scarlet. Another figure jostles by them. Vale’s heart skips a beat as they notice the short tail flicking behind the figure, its features recognizably similar to Vale’s. Another of their clan— it would surely see them! “Please! Kin!” Vale reaches out, desperately. For just a moment, their fingers brush through its fur, but the figure slips from their grasp and continues without turning back. “Don’t leave me…” Vale sobs, their legs weak and shaking. They reach out to another with their left arm, desperately, but a stabbing pain erupts from their left shoulder blade. They gasp, choking on air, as their legs give out from under them and they collapse to the ground. Tears cake their mask as blood streams from both shoulders, each sob wracking their body and ripping their wounds anew. Soon their whole face is covered, itchy and sticky, as the mask pushes tighter and tighter against their face. They bring their hands up and claws at the wood they had forged so long ago, so lovingly. So I can hide better, they had thought. So I can drift and explore, mysterious, never settling. The mask is a cage, now, it is their skin, and they cannot breathe as it traps their tears against their lips, cannot see as darkness covers their eyes. The Watcher is never seen; the Whisper is never heard, and they have always taken pleasure in being both. Vale is not a Protector of Life, Vale is not even alive, Vale is dissolving, Vale takes one last agonizing tug, one last scream;

I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO HEAR ME

Needles of pain arch across their face as the False mask rips free. Light streams through Vale’s vision, pure white, and they take a deep, strangled breath. They blink once, twice, adjusting to the brightness that they realize reflects up from the ground beneath them. Their hands rest within their lap, and the mask rests within their hands, caked with tears and blood. Their whole face feels raw. Yet when they bring a gentle finger to their face, they find no wounds. Just the sting of air’s cool breath on her skin. It hurts. But Vale’s lips curl upwards anyways. It… feels.

“Knight of Whispers. Tasting other lives, diving through songs. Rise, Vale, and sing your own.”

She turns her chin upwards to the voice, and scrambles to her feet when she realizes she is not alone. Her pure white floor is just one square on a vast chessboard-- and there are other figures along them. Vale shakes the last grains of sand from her feet and glances at the mask in her hand. She trained for a year under a woodworker just because she felt like it, and this mask had been her last creation. She remembers every hour she’d spent smoothing it out, making it perfect, nondescript, elegantly unnoticeable. But the eyes of the figures on her path flicker through her vision. Uncaring; unseeing; as if she was not there. Staring blankly as she begged for help; for connection.

With a deep breath, Vale drops it onto the stone below her.

Vale does not want to be unseen.

The vulpe glances around her, following the trail of the voice as it names its Knights. Kon’s voice. Yes-- she is here to fight for Kon. For Life’s Chaos. For the Chaos she spent her own life simply watching. Her first ally is unfamiliar to her. He is a tall, handsome man, with bronze skin and a beautiful mane of hair tied in an elaborate mix of bun and braid. She watches his eyes as they flare, bright red and orange. Almost like her own. Her tail flicks, eager to find another ally, another being to know. Someone somehow like herself.

Her second ally is the tortured maiden from atop the pyramid. Ephemera, Chaos calls her; Knight of Sacrifice. In this breath of a moment, Vale took in her tattered robes, like a priestess; her crumpled mass of dark hair, silhouetting her like a ghost. Her memories had all bombarded Vale at once; but they suspected each memory sang a different tune. Within the maiden, there must be a melody.

Ephemera’s cold eyes meet Vale’s, and the maiden scowls instantly. Her voice curdles with malice as she addresses the vulpe. “So we are allies of circumstance, kith...” Vale opens their ears for just a breath for Ephemera’s Song; they bare their teeth as anger surges through their chest. Of course she doesn’t recognize Vale, doesn’t realize it was Vale who reached out to her on the pyramid. “Do not take my mercy for granted, trickster, or else I will withdraw it.”

Vale smiles, an ache all their own building in their chest. Trickster. The wraith clearly means it as an insult. But they do use their tools, their whisper, to trick those around them, even though they hadn’t tried to do so to Ephemera. Or-- Chaos had used Ephemera, but the girl’s Song had echoed… Ayane. “Insult your allies and you’ll find them absent when you need them, Ayane.” Vale spoke. I see you, Ayane. For a breath, Vale almost sees the wraith’s features soften.

Kon calls out to the three of them, endless voices echoing through its melody. Endless voices echo within Vale’s own memories, the despair, the heartache, and the exuberance of the Lives she’s known. As Chaos fades, so do their extremes, their randomness, their humanity. Vale will not let them fade before she has a chance to experience them for herself.

Order’s regimented, demanding voice booms across the field as Chaos quiets. It introduces its Knights in turn. Vale’s duelist is first. He shines in the same white grandeur he began with on the pyramid. Instead of focusing on his Song, Vale watches her own, watches the flutter of familiarity that dances across her as she thinks of their tumble down the steps. Her shoulder flares in an echo of pain as she glances at his rapier. He is dangerous. And… someone who will recognize her. Vale… likes that idea. Hello, Ladd.

Order’s second is the dark, armored soldier that had listened to Vale’s whispers atop the pyramid. Ryuk. Crimson shines like blood across the edges of his armor. Vale listens as her chest curls, conflicted, remembering the satisfaction she had felt when the solder melted into her whisper.

The third is unfamiliar-- a human woman Order names “Elysia.” Knight of the Storms. Her hair is a dusty pale color, reminding Vale of a mouse’s fur. Vale feels her ears perk up in curiosity. She takes a breath, feeling the calm relief of a working body as both shoulders, now unharmed, rise and fall with her lungs. Order calls to its Knights, and Vale’s right hand drops to her sword’s threaded hilt, running her fingers along its strange texture. Between the Knights hangs a shimmering scale, waterfalls cascading from either side of it. Vale’s tail flicks as a sharp laughter cuts through the silence, and from the scales’ waterfalls two tall pillars solidify; masts of a ship.

A cold breeze rushes across Vale’s face, twirling her twilight hair behind her, her cape left behind on the pyramid steps. Vale raises her chin, feeling the air’s caress like a newfound lover.

See me, friends, as I see you.

I am Vale. I am
alive.
Post #: 4
2/17/2024 23:02:49   
Dragonknight315
Member

The wraith stumbled, her knees bashing against the pyramid steps. All seemed lost; Ayane’s body refused to move, her will no longer truly hers. A whisper fell on her ears as Ayane felt a pair of hands wrapping around her face.

<Don’t struggle.>

Mind, body, soul– all of it was slipping away. The desert sands turned to empty nothingness as her heavy burdens dragged her down.

<... Let me go!>

As her thoughts echoed out, a light shimmered in the abyss–

–a bolt from above.

Ayane’s eyes opened wide. A wave of thunder erupted in the air, and something collided with the pyramid, tearing the structure apart inch by inch into a curtain of glassy rain and dust. As the foundation beneath her shattered, all went silent as Ayane descended into a freefall.

<It’s so quiet.>

Terror gripped Ayane’s heart as she fell towards the ground. In this last moment, Ayane knew that this was a sign, a display of power. Whoever ruled this domain, it wanted Ayane to see just how easily it could undo everything.

When Ayane touched the sands below, there was no thud, no back-breaking snap. She simply disappeared without a trace beneath the earth as though it were a cloud. It was as if she had never existed to begin with.


When Ayane opened her eyes, the girl found... darkness. Not some kind of abstract darkness. No, real, physical, tangible darkness as she felt the cloth rub against her eyes.

“Hhmm!–”

Ayane tried to speak only for her words to suddenly die in her throat. Her whole mouth felt sore and dry as she screamed into her gag. The maiden went to move her arms, but as she did, the rope bit into her flesh– into her wrists, into her waist, into her neck–

<... No. No! It can’t be!>

Ayane continued to struggle as the soul-rending realization filled her mind.

<Anything but–>

Deep within the ancient temple, the maiden hung above the altar. Dozens of ceremonial ropes were attached to the nearby pillars; like a spider's web, the coarse strands intersected and suspended Ayane in the air like helpless prey. She was made into a living effigy to bear the sins of the people.

Though her sight was stolen, Ayane knew it to be true with every fiber of her being. Pain, hunger, thirst– she remembered it. She was living it. For nearly a month the girl had been without sleep or sustenance, sustained only by the “miraculous” powers that Ayane once wielded. Though she prayed for release, any kind of release, the gods seemingly could not reach her. That, or they simply did not care.

Once again, she found herself begging.

<PLEASE! Anyone! If you are listening!>

Nothing. Tears dampened the girl’s blindfold as she fell into despair. Ayane didn’t know how she found herself here, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be of much comfort to the girl anyways as she found herself back in her darkest hour.

<... Mokou.>

“... Ayane!”

Ayane’s heart skipped a beat. The voice was unmistakable, but it had been centuries. Could it be?

“Ayane, are you there?! Ayane!”

<Mokou!... Wait, Mokou!>

The maiden's chest felt tight as a wave of pure warmth filled her soul. The moment was interrupted however; Instincts took over as Ayane's body swung through the air. One by one, Mokou severed the ropes, careful to make Ayane’s descent as smooth as possible. Eventually, Ayane felt a curtain of warmth sweep over her as she softly landed in his arms.

“Ayane!...” Mokou’s voice quivered as he undid the last of her bindings. With the cloth removed, Ayane gasped for air. And when Mokou peeled the damp blindfold off of her face, his brown teary eyes were the first thing she saw.

<Mokou..>

The world grew still as Ayane took the sight in. It had been so long she last saw her love. As he cradled her in his arms, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in the moment. But Ayane could not ignore the overwhelming dread that echoed in her mind. If she really had returned to that fateful day...

<I need to stop it.>

Ayane tried to speak, to warn her lover, but she couldn’t manage even a whisper. Her body was too exhausted, too abused from her torture.

<... I can’t stop it!>

The hour of her becoming, the darkest moment of her existence–

As Mokou carried Ayane up the steps, she wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn't look away from his smile.

“It’s okay, Ayane.” As the two reached the top, a ray of moonlight fell from the sky. Mokou looked down at his fragile lover with such tenderness. Maybe there was hope after all.

“We’re almost–”

Mokou's words were cut short as a bolt whistled through the air. Ayane felt the metal graze her hair. It had barely missed her head. But as she looked up, Ayane saw the arrow buried in Mokou's heart.

“... Mokou.” Ayane let out a desperate whimper as the two crashed against the carved stone floor. Blood seeped from Mokou’s flesh, his color fading away as the red stained his autumn-colored shirt and Ayane’s robes.

“... You two really are more alike than I care to admit. Stubborn until the very end.”

Ayane refused to look at the headmistress, her eyes fixated on her lover’s gaze.

“I’m sorry...” Tears fell across Mokou’s cheek as he forced out the words. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Ayane had no more tears left to cry as the last light faded from Mokou’s eyes. Twice now she had heard his parting words. The ache in her chest grew louder and louder until–

“Unforgivable...”

A cold whisper escaped Ayane’s lips as the headmistress leaned down. Suddenly, Ayane’s hands moved on their own. With inhuman fury, Ayane wrapped her hands around the headmistress’s throat and tackled her to the ground. Black tears dripped across the headmistress’s face as Ayane looked into her eyes.

At that moment, Ayane saw the headmistress trembling with fear.

“Ah– Ayane...”

The headmistress choked on the words as Ayane tightened her grip around her neck. She pressed her knees against the elder’s chest, her intent unshakable. She would not tolerate her intervention any longer.

<I’ll make you pay, you demon. I’ll swear I–>

Lost in the moment, Ayane blinked and let out a gasp. Suddenly, the elder was gone.

As Ayane looked down, she saw her hands– her claws. They were stained black with sin and ink, wrapped around her own smiling corpse.

“See?” Ephemera reached out with her own talons and tore Ayane’s grip from her neck.

“It felt good, didn’t it? It felt wonderful. To see the terror in her eyes.”

Ayane gasped in horror as the dark strands wrapped around her neck like a noose and pulled her back. The wraith pressed her talons into Ayane’s sides like needles, and ink dripped from her wounds.

“We’re one and the same, Ayane.”

Ayane gasped in pain as her surroundings changed. The pristine temple from her memories turned to ruins as her haunt came into reality. A sea of shadows flowed out from every corner as hundreds upon hundreds of identical corpses surrounded Ayane.

“Listen to me.” The chorus spoke as one. “Give in, Ayane.”

“No–” Ayane shrieked as she scratched at the hair around her neck, her claws slicing against her own throat. “This isn’t what I want! I’m sick of this! I’m sick of you and all these burdens!”

“Don’t you understand? I am you! ” The masses shrieked. “I am all there is, Ayane. Without me, you have nothing! You’ll die and fade away.”

Black tears dotted the wraith’s face. For all her fury, it was as if she was pleading with her.

“Don’t you want to live, Ayane?! Don’t you want to see his life avenged?”

“I..” Ayane fell silent as she ceased her struggling. She gasped for air as Ephemera released her grip. “Of course I do.”

As Ayane looked out to the chorus, to the multitude of voices within, she tried to find him– to find Mokou. The one voice she wanted to hear. But outside of her nightmares, he was gone. Forever.

“I do. I really, really do. But retribution won't bring Mokou back. I just want this to end.”

The wraith leaned in, their words dripping with feigned compassion. “Then end it! End their lives and be satisfied! Do to them what they did to you!"

<... Will it ever really end?>

“... No." Ayane shook her head. "There will always be someone to blame. Let it go. Let me go."

Ephemera growled like a wild animal trapped in a corner. She lashed out, plunging her talons into Ayane's heart. As the light faded faded from her eyes, she could hear her corpse screaming.

“Don't act so high and mighty. You're the one who can't let go, Ayane.”


“... Rise, Ephemera...”

A black hand reached out from an ebony tile as the powers that be summoned the wraith. Its surface rippled like a disturbed pool of ink as another, and another, and yet another claw emerged from the edge of one of the checkered squares.

<I will finish this.>

As Ephemera pulled herself up from the wounded abyss, the black liquid dripped from her robes and her unearthly flesh. The wraith basked in her newfound strength, in the dark power that once again swelled in her veins. As the wraith took in her surroundings, an unhinged smile broke across her face.

<So intoxicating...>

The sunless sky was beautiful, the world illuminated only by the swirling essence of chaos. The battlefield was like home to her, or at least as close to home as she could call anything besides her haunt.

As Ephemera flicked the ink from one of her claws, the pitch-black drops scattered across a nearby title. White, pristine– orderly. The ink refused to settle on the surface as if the very stone refused to be defiled by her essence.

<That’s right...>

Ephemera turned her gaze to the other combatants, to these so-called warriors of order and chaos. Some of them were familiar to the wraith– too familiar. Across the way was the duelist, Ladd, smiling as if nothing had changed. Ephemera clutched her chest as the burden swelled within her heart, his presence awakening old wounds.

<I must fight. I must fight or else–>

<You will have your fight, and I will wipe that smile off of your face.>


Looking to her side, the wraith went still as her eyes fell upon the kitsune.

<Vale. Protector of life...>

Her mask, her wooden veil of protection, was cast aside revealing her true shape. Deep within the wraith, a single voice stirred, but as it tried to speak her words were cut off by the wraith.

“So we are allies of circumstance, kith...” Ephemera’s voice brimmed with thinly-veiled aggression. Her dark strands of hair reached out with a threatening swipe. “Do not take my mercy for granted, trickster, or else I will withdraw it.”

The kitsune, seemingly equally unamused, wasted no time in firing back. “Insult your allies and you’ll find them absent when you need them, Ayane.

The wraith’s mind hung on the last word as Ephemera swallowed her venom. Her face visibly softened before she turned away, unable to look at the kitsune any longer.

<Thank you, Vale...I–>

Ephemera gritted her teeth and pushed her remnant away as she focused on the unfamiliar faces. Close to her, one individual stood proud.

<Margul, was it?>

Earthen skin and flaming countenance– Ephemera could not help but notice his ash-covered flesh and the numerous tattoos that adorned it. Without realizing it, the ink danced on Ephemera’s corpse flesh and mirrored what her soulless eyes could see.

<In this darkness, your essence burns with such warmth. How I wish I could taste it...>

As the craving filled her mind, Ephemera's thoughts turned to her prey. Across the battlefield was the soldier. Clad head to toe in foreign armor like a second skin– Though the wraith had encountered him previously, Ryuk was practically a stranger to her. Not that it particularly mattered; she would pry his secrets from underneath the metal.

Lastly, Ephemera’s eyes fell upon the last individual. Another unfamiliar face. Flesh met fur that met leather and steel. With glaive in hand, the warrior carried herself with an indomitable spirit.

<You...>

The chorus went silent as Ephemera stared at Elysia. Hundreds of years had sharpened the wraith’s intuition. Fear and terror were her tools, and yet–

<This one...>

–Ephemera could not help but hesitate.

<Afraid?> The remnant asked from within. The chorus refused to answer.

As the wraith gathered herself, a roar erupted across the checkered plane. Laughter and crying and song filled the void as the powers that be gave their command, their voices drowning out even the chorus within.

“Join me. Fight in our name–”
“Join me. Fight in my name–”


The wraith fell silent as she took her first step forward. Regardless of what the powers were or why they brought her here, one thing was certain. No one would ever restrain her again.

<I fight for myself, my vengeance–>

<My love–>
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 5
2/18/2024 21:17:34   
Sylphe
Member

Come they did, following his roar. He saw the Sun-warrior, moving on the edges of his vision like shadows under the sea’s surface. But the other shadow interested the Serpent more. He knew he balled up his fist, it happened somewhere at the edges of his mind. He felt the animal growl that left his chest when the line was cut, somewhere in the depths. The prey dared not deliver itself right into his mouth, and he wouldn’t let the recoil hold him back.

His bare feet scraped against the crystals as he shifted his weight and prepared to meet the lunging shadow, only for something sharp to hold him in place. He thrashed against this new force, trying to be even louder than the howl that shook the cavern. He clawed and thrashed until his claws were firm and stuck, bit until he could no longer breathe, until his fangs stopped scraping against stone, until all that made sense in his mind was dread and howls that never made it out.




His madness left him stranded in the first darkness he couldn’t see through. It grew with each shallow breath, filling his lungs with sharp dust until he couldn’t breathe. And yet this sharpness upon his skin he held on to. Held on to it tearing into his lungs. Because it meant-

It meant that he wasn’t falling asleep again. Wasn’t holding on to the soft ash that invited him to close his eyes and sleep, for days, months, centuries, until he forgot the bones of his friends, the years he lived and still had to live, and the doom he brought when his feathered sun finally winked out. It hurt, still, a wound never truly healed. He lost his grip for one brief moment, thought back to the comfort, and he was lost.

In that darkest dark, a hand reached back. He did not hesitate this time, gripping it tight.

He blinked. Once, twice, until his eyes adjusted to the curtain of dim lantern light and incense smoke. The room was far too small to fit one like him comfortably, with barely enough space to fit a small table with a makeshift altar and a bed. The offering had been measly. A beaded coral necklace, torn at the string. An antler of a prey long since dead, drained of all power it once held. No blood at all, no flowers picked at night.

To anyone else, they’d be measly. They were not, to her. And so, they weren’t to him.

“You came,” The old huntress croaked from her bed, deep sunk eyes staring into the dark corner of the room. “I know it’s not much… Kai was bringing the rabbit, later, but I thought…”

…Thought I wouldn’t make it, he knew. They both did. There was no need to finish that sentence.

“I come when I’m called.” He whispered as he stepped over the small table, back arched to not draw lines into the brick of her ceiling with his horns. “Miani.”

He knew that necklace back when it was new and shining. Her grandparents had him fish the coral out, himself. It was no great hunt, but it was a delicate work for his large fingers so ill-equipped for detailed work. All worth it for the kid’s face when he met her later. And the old, bleached antler. Her first hunt, as far as he knew - one that led her to the first dots of ink to commemorate. The young stag couldn’t have found a better home than her reverent arms.

“I couldn’t have asked for better offerings.”

She reached out with a hand, cupping the vampire’s rough cheek. It was too big for her, always had been. He leaned into it still.

“Don’t tell me you are crying. A whole god, being a baby.”

He knew he showed her his fangs then, said a retort as he pressed the ash down in his heart. He did not do it this time.

“It’s been quiet since you’ve been gone,” He whispered instead. Since Kai’s been gone, too. She did not seem to hear, instead bringing his head closer with the weakest of tugs. He let her, helping himself to a little smile as her fingers found his horns. “I’ve missed you all. I’ve-”

Sorrow made for poor fighters. Poor hunters.

His voice lent itself to the briefest of shakes. “I’ve missed the warmth.”

She reached as far as she could, gently touching her forehead with his. The vision shifted when his eyes closed, reaching far and deep into memory. He caught the chill of the night air, the lush scent of leaves.

“Dear reckless friend, so long as there are stars in the sky, so long as there’s moonflowers and fireflies and resting trees, even in the night, you’ll never be alone.”

His eyes kept closed firm, knowing what the next vision would be even before the obsidian crept back in. Black slopes full of buried bones, black sun, and bare branches before the last weathered trunks fell and made no sound.

He inked the likeness of the Phoenix upon his back alone.




Margul’s eyes fluttered open on the black, too familiar shore. The cool air stood still, the only moving thing was the surging of tides somewhere at the back of his mind, and the growing black obsidian that lazily climbed up his skin, inviting him to rest up and listen to the waves. But his claws dug into the volcanic sand as he hefted himself up, moved even as the mountain’s stillness made his muscles heavy like rocks.

He dragged himself forward along the dusty path. The shadow of the mountain grew taller with each step, with no sun in sight.

He remembered what he did then, though from a different angle he was standing at now. Streams of sacred blood like heated lava to share his power and life with the village below.

So that no one may break. So that no one may die.

The once vibrant streets lay quiet and cold. The glass of the many lanterns covered with dust inside out. Newborn vampires needed no light to guide them, no colours but red.

Hear me - I give you unending life. I give you peace. I give you stillness.

He grit his teeth as he pulled himself up on the steep slopes, feet slipping on the fine dusting upon the rock before his claws found purchase and shook off the black glass. He grit his teeth at the bleached bones peeking out among the stones. The animals they hunted, the fear and joy they used to feel, all lost to their new hunger. A spark of heat awoke to life in the vampire’s chest. He felt it, deep underground and under his skin. The Mountain listened, the Mountain responded. He clawed his way up to the crater - and halted at the sight he had wished with his whole heart to see. Her song was crisp and sharp as the morning breeze.

“Child of blood. Have you come to free us of our cycle again?” She taunted as their world held in the balance.

The smoke that rolled off the mountain’s slopes, covered her skies. He felt it clear at the back of his mind. Knew lightning would bounce between the dust motes until he directed the tempest to strike.

“No,” He said. He turned his eyes towards the silent village at the mountain’s foothills. Quiet save for a few shadows. His palms relaxed, letting the lightning go before it could even form. They’d die if the sun rose back up. Who knew what would happen, then.

“Why are you here, then?”

He felt her by his side then, her voice growing gentler, softer. Her heat was so much sharper compared to his. The bright furnace of the mountain’s depths, the eruption that could level a land and start everything over.

He had the faint knowledge within that burning heart. That power was his, now.

“I don’t know yet.” He said in response, equally soft. He let his eyes follow hers as she looked up upon the ever shaded sky. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and reached out to flick with his claws - and they felt the first breeze in years. “But I know I want to watch the sunrise with you.”

He did not know how long he stayed like that, but years of ash took time to disappear from the sky. He could have sworn he felt the faintest smile upon her beak, a growing fire in her feathers. But it billowed softly like igniting embers, different from the searing heat that assaulted his skin just as the sharp light tore through the gray clouds. She rested her head on his shoulder sometime along the pain.

He rested his hand on her head in response, staring into the sun. And even as the light seared him eyes to horns to claws to everything in between, he could feel the phoenix’s golden feathers sprout under his skin once more.




The heat gave way to the feeling of fresh air, of breathing. Of coldness that mercilessly lapped at his skin. Though his mountain was far behind the man, the smoky taste of ash remained on his tongue.

Margul turned his head up towards the skies and their many dancing lights. His eyes all but glittered looking back. The colours swirled into shades he had never seen before - the deep blues of a twilit sky he knew, he knew the dark greens of trees illuminated by moonlight. But those bright yellows and reds and pinks were so lively and light and new.

He wondered what those could be. Maybe that's what the flowers the townsfolk saw open were like for their eyes? Maybe that light electric blue was what the serpent’s scales truly were, instead of the indigo he knew?

The lights swirled again and spoke.

They spoke of a Knight dancing in tune with the many sounds souls made. They spoke of a spirit desperate for freedom.

They spoke of him, and he couldn’t help but stay silent over their choice of title, though he did not bow his head. Knight of Cycles, forever chasing the sun. Striving for more. Invited to finish his hunt.

Is that what he was before all of this? A hunter, scaling the greatest beasts with his claws to mark his conquests on his skin.

The thought was bittersweet to him, but it still tasted better than the ash and bone dust. Blood and bile were sharp. They were living, making his heart race. They weren’t the dust of a place where nothing had changed for hundreds of years save for the piling layers of gray snow. Margul’s eyes steeled as he turned his gaze from the colourful sky to the ground and its cold tiles, its too-clean voice that came from below. Black. White. He knew these colours already.

His prey though, he did not, save for one. A warm feeling of pride washed over his body as he spotted her injuries. His ally must have fought viciously for that to happen, and her spirit must’ve been bright to best him. The scar spoke of a battle he would’ve loved to hear about, were their fates different. It brought a strange sense of sorrow along.

Elysia. He rolled the name on his tongue, on his teeth. He would remember her.

The other two made him snort and raise an eyebrow one after another. Control. Peace. He thought of the dusty, empty cliffs of his home. Honor, and he remembered the paints and drums and music his people would play before taking on a large foe, before marching to war.

They’d grown cold with their fangs and too-long lives. With nothing to fear and nothing to celebrate.

He turned towards the swirling lights in the sky for the last time. He sensed a strange uneasiness in the air, the same sensation as the growing obsidian glass, yet so much fainter. The lights, as beautiful as they were, felt like they used to be so much more. They seemed lonelier, though perhaps that was his own heart.

This fight for freedom - it wasn’t only for himself, was it?

Old God, are you too stuck in a cycle?

The vampire lowered his head and released a heated breath. It turned into clouds of warm mist upon leaving his mouth. A little golden spark or two left with the cloud. As the mountain’s burning heart breathed, so did he.

Then I shall hunt for you, with you, just as well.

As his blood ran, so did the magma veins under the basalt. Standing tall once more, he turned towards his fellow warriors, and spoke with eyes sharp and focused.

“Free Spirit Ephemera. Singing Vale. I’ll distract them. We hunt together.”

His horned head snapped in a direction when he felt the familiar taste of ozone on his tongue. Before he even saw lightning flash his muscles were at work, attention turned towards the honorable who so well called storms to her whims before. First step, soft on the cold tile, launched him forward. The air thickened with his own storm as it danced in little forks over the tiles, collecting in his palms. The second step shrieked against the ground as his claws met it and helped him steel himself against the power.

Skyfire-child. Chosen. You are getting too rowdy.

He growled in exertion, fanged mouth twisting. And yet, as his eyes met what remained of Elysia’s, his face was glowing.

Watch, listen. The adult has yet to speak.

He spotted the flashes of a new storm sparking, his mouth agape in excitement and joy. His lightning was spiked like a beast’s tooth as the hunter launched it against hers, giving it a roar for good measure. Not that he could overpower the sheer scream of thunder as two bolts collided over the battlefield. The explosion as the very air got torn, the sparks! He couldn’t not give that a clap, the energy was just too much to leave in his body. Even if his fingertips still burned! Even if his mind still jittered!

If he was to fight for freedom of the coldness of stone, if he was to fight for the freedom of the lights above his head and the colours he never saw before, the adversaries were going to endure all there was of him, and perhaps even more. He ran, not minding the burn in his chest, the invading chill in his cooled fingertips. Even as his breath stuttered the vampire had a job he offered and promised to do, with no idea or care if his allies had listened and took it to their advantage.

But as he vaulted around the ship mast made of the last whims of once living trees, there was a spark inside his ribs that hoped they would. It had been so long since he hunted with others. For others.

It was a short, and rather mocking curtsy the vampire did right then. Hand on the heart, the other open to display all of those pretty claws and last whispers of thunder. No full bow for the Warriors! That he bowed his horns for them, even a little, was enough already. But that they did earn.

“You! Chosen by safety and gray stone! Your God thinks you worthy.”

He slammed a fist against his chest, feeling his inner flame stir. The ink of the basalt volcano burned and glowed with lines of hot light. The serpent bared its teeth. The phoenix spread her wings over his shoulders once more.

He cherished the thought that she called out with him somewhere on the other side.

“Step forward! Show your power to me! Let us celebrate until all that’s left is shreds and blood!”
DF  Post #: 6
2/21/2024 1:00:17   
  Starflame13
Moderator


Silence. It’s so… loud.

Elysia’s fingers tremble in the wake of the bolt, the buzz and crackle and hum a fading echo in her mind. Her eye narrows, finds Margul’s gaze on her, his mouth wide and grinning. Crimson static shed from his fingertips as he throws back his head, cursed lightning leaping from him to streak down the inverted path of her own strike. The air quivers and cracks and breaks, a violent twister of burning light as scarlet light fractures apart the sky-fire, as blue-light energy burns away the blood-drenched bolt. Tendrils twist, twirl, consume themselves before dissipating in a final spattering of sparks, leaving only the faint sense of rust and ozone in their wake. But no thunder reaches her. Not from his storm.

She smiles. She hums.

Steady fingers twist her glaive, brace the wooden shaft against her forearm. No sounds come from her allies behind to break her focus. No deluge comes from the sky above to drown her own. And ahead… the bloodstained woman has reached the Knight of Cycle, has thrown back her head in laughter that causes the lingering haze in her vision to ripple in its wake even if the sound fails to pierce her storm-walled mind. Elysia swallows the urge to laugh herself. So kind of her enemies, to group themselves together once more.

So careless.

The woman darts forward, glaive sweeping behind her to streamline her motions. She keeps her center low to the ground, pace slowed just enough to keep her balance on the perfectly smooth tiles passing beneath her feet. Over ivory stone, not a step touching the black on either side. Between the mast and its false twin, the air cooling against her cheek as she passes them by. Gaze narrowed to focus on the cursed man, on his new companion. On the wavering figure of the Knight of Sacrifice as it flickers and morphs, a second skin settling over it to make Epherma into a false twin of her own…

Curses spread quickly amongst the Chaos, it seems.

A shadow twitches in the corner of her vision, darkness bouncing against the silvers of the white. Reminiscent of a wildcat’s tail, flicking high in its last pounce upon its prey within the planes -

Wildcats. Vale.

The Stormcaller whips her head to the side, sees the Knight of Whispers racing to intercept her, their arms wide. She pivots on one boot, sliding across the tiles even as she twists to face the new interloper. For once, Elysia is grateful she has only her own two feet to manage - these tiles slide worse than sands, and no mount would manage such a turn without falling. Hard. She allows the momentum to carry her glaive, sweeping it out in a wide arc that ends with the blade snapped suddenly forward, glimmering point held steady at the core of the charging Knight. Vale’s purple eyes widen as they shift from her face to her weapon; their move curves into a snarl, words curling around their lips - Elysia hums, loud, drowns the outside world to her own mind. Pushes her focus through the pounding crescendo of her own storm to hold her glaive steady as the other Knight moves too slow, sending their blood across the ivory floor in a crimson spray.

Hums, tuning herself to her static, her storm, tuning out the noise of her opponent as they swing back to her, pull a shining blade into their hands. Hums, even as she feels the shift of static behind her, of a figure close enough to strike turns to dart away. Hums, as she pulls back her weapon, casually braces herself against her glaive. The parting Knight is most likely Ephemera. Margul did not seem one to lightly forget their prior acquaintance. She smiles.

Across from her, Vale’s head tilts. Their ears flick. Their lips move.

Elysia hums.

Vale takes a sharp step forward, eyes narrowing, blade glinting. For one moment they almost look… panicked. Good. Elysia mirrors them, takes a step back. The feline’s ears tilt forward in interest. Another step forward. Panic gives way to something almost like curiosity. Good. Another step back. Elysia prefers her opponents unprepared.

Their tail flicks. The storm holds its breath.

The wildcat pounces. They dash forward, blade outstretched, eyes gleaming. The woman hums, drives the instinctual panic from her mind, forces herself to keep her glaive loose at her side. Her eyes never leave Vale’s own. Not as their purple gaze flares to bright orange. Not as they close the distance in a few short leaps. Not as their curved blade bites through her furs, scouring a shallow gash on her shoulder. Vale had not been aiming to kill.

Their mistake.

The Stormcaller smiles. A moment of silence passes. Vale’s eyes desperately scour her own.

She hums.

The static rises through her veins, blurs the sharp throb in her skin. She hums, and the air shakes around her, pressure dipping to center on her core, the unseen storm swirling about her. Elysia hums - and lightning streaks her soul. Air about her shivers, shudders… then bursts.

Thunder roars.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 7
2/21/2024 21:57:18   
Dragonknight315
Member

<Now.>

Eager to sate her bloodlust, Ephemera darted her gaze back and forth between her prey.

<One already tasted. One with a burden yet to be fulfilled. The last unknown, uncertain.>

As the wraith considered her choice, one of her newfound allies called out to her.

“Free spirit Ephemera. Singing Vale–”

The wraith turned her gaze to the primal warrior. His words hummed in Ephemera’s ears, his eyes fixed solely towards the enemy.

“I’ll distract them. We hunt together.”

Ephemera stood in silent awe as sparkes crackled throughout Margul’s form. She watched as the man laughed and lightning leapt from his throat. His voice, his authority, reached out across the checkered tiles, the energy stopping only when it met its equal. The air cackled and rumbled as lightning met lightning in a clash of wills.

As the sparks settled, Ephemera could see the indomitable paragon standing off in the distance.

<That... power.>

The memories swirled on the wraith’s corpse flesh. Thunder and rain, winter and harvest– emanations of the land that once guided her. To wield such power...

The wraith was certain. The display had confirmed Ephemera’s prior suspicions of Elysia. But what really struck Ephemera was Margul. His skin was flushed red with life, with power– with emotion.

<I...>

The wraith’s claws twitched in anticipation, the ill intent sharpening in her heart.

<I need it. I need to taste it–>

Ephemera danced forward, her steps silent and calculated. As the wraith neared her newfound obsession, she gently traced her talons across his back.

“If you’ll excuse me. May I ask a favor?”

The wraith leaned out from behind Margul. Ink dripped from her stained lips as her flesh stretched out into a smile. As the warrior’s attention shifted, Ephemera could see his inner thoughts flashing across his face. He narrowed his eyes in agitation, seemingly disappointed as the wraith had ignored his call to action, before they immediately softened. Hesitation gave way to curiosity as Margul gave his reply.

“What do you propose?”

“An exchange. With your consent of course.” Ephemera whispered to Margul like a demon on his shoulder. She reached out with her ebon claw, the black liquid glistening in the chaotic light. “My ink for your blood. My power for your power.”

<What could you possibly offer him other than torment?>

Ephemera did not bother to refute the remnant; her focus was on the prize before her. The wraith would not miss a chance to experience such a delicacy.

Margul went silent as he stared into the wraith’s soulless eyes, the heat rising behind his own. He was completely taken aback by the wraith’s request, that much was obvious. But after a moment of absolute silence, the primal warrior let out a warm, heavy breath and nodded.

“Be wary.” His face was stern and solemn as he cautioned the wraith. “Do not let it overcome you, naitwa.

<Yes– Yes!> The wraith’s eyes went wide. Without hesitation, Ephemera brought her claw up and raked it down against Margul’s back. She made one broad stroke, as deep and as long as she could possibly make it. She would only get this one opportunity, so she wanted to savor it.

The bargain was struck– her talons, the ink; his flesh, the parchment. The hot red blood stung as it trickled against her corpse flesh, but the heat paled in comparison to the fire that burned within. And as the warmth swelled in her chest, she laughed. The wraith laughed as the ink flooded the primal’s skin, a new story etched into his skin.

<I am alone in this world.>

As the voice echoed in the darkness, Ephemera could feel her essence twisting in pain. Her corpse flesh stretched, every fiber of her being ripping and tearing in a mad frenzy only for it to instantly be stitched back together.

<None can surpass me–>

Ephemera’s laughter grew deeper as red ink dripped from her maw. With her transformation complete, she stood changed. Stronger, taller, her pale skin darkened and covered in ash.

<None can call me equal.>

Ephemera had become an exact reflection save for the dark tendrils that shifted around her new form.

Margul snarled, leaving his doppelganger behind as he engaged the enemy. But Ephemera stayed behind. She stretched her arms and legs, testing her newfound flesh. It was exactly as she had hoped.

"Such life!"

When she spoke, it was Margul’s voice that left her throat.

“I will cherish your burden, Lord of the Hunt. I owe you a debt–”

The wraith leapt away, eager to test her stolen strength. But deep inside, Ayane stirred.

<It’s... suffocating–>

The girl struggled amidst the darkness. Her enclosure grew tighter as another voice, another burden, joined the chorus. As the presence crowded around her, she tried to cry out. But it was no use; her words were drowned out by the frenzied chanting of the other spirits.

<Blood– Blood– More blood!>

With each of the wraith’s steps, Ayane felt a spike pounding into soul.

<It hurts– It hurts so much.>

As Ephemera pushed on, her eyes fell upon the soldier in the distance.

<Ryuk.>

The soldier had moved closer to the edge of the checkered plane. He stood alone, far away from both his peers and his enemies.

<Alone. I am alone. None can surpass me.>

The wraith smiled as she advanced towards her isolated prey. Thunder and lightning bellowed from the center of the battlefield. But Ephemera paid no attention to the storms; her eyes were fixed to Ryuk.

The soldier stood firm as he stared down the charging beast. As Ephemera closed in, he simply raised his hand. The air shattered into a kaleidoscope of light as a bolt of raw energy leapt from Ryuk’s gloved palm.

There was no time for Ephemera to adjust. As the foul energy crashed into her shoulder, it seared her corpse flesh, the ink igniting in her veins. In that moment, her body remembered–

Whatever intention Ryuk had with his assault, it did not slow Ephemera. If anything, it only spurred her forward. As the wrath charged forward, she felt a phantom ache swelling in her back.

<You! So you were responsible–>

The shadows clung to Ephemera’s changed form as she leapt forward. She brought her hands together and slammed down towards the soldier's chest. But once more, Ryuk held firm. He crossed his arms and brought them up. As Ephemera brought all of her infernal strength against him, she delighted in how the soldier desperately struggled. Ryuk’s arms were shaking as he shuffled back inch by inch.

“Fight!” Ephemera shouted, her voice echoing the burden in her mind. “It will make this all the sweeter!”

As Ephemera taunted the soldier, it seemed to stir something within him. Without warning, the tide turned in their struggle. Ephemera’s mouth went wide as Ryuk pushed back, slowly gaining ground. Ephemera could hear the sound of something clicking beneath his flesh.

<... That’s it. More.>

Suddenly, the soldier’s armor shuttered as though it were alive. Plates of metallic exoskeleton lifted from his flesh; from the gaps, a wave of blistering hot breath rushed out. The soldier let out a guttural cry as he threw his weight forward.

Ephemera gritted her teeth as the soldier found his strength. She stepped back and moved with his momentum. As the gap widened between them, her will traveled through her hair, and the dark whips responded. The wraith lashed out from both sides, her shadows hissing through the air. But they found no purchase; the two ropes collided together, barely missing the soldier as he fell into a forward roll.

As his feet touched the ground, Ryuk pushed off, rebounding upwards as he drove his armblade into Ephemera’s flesh.

The beast howled, her head rolling back as the metal slipped between her ribs. The pain was sharp but brief, and yet it left a gaping wound in the wraith’s soul. She could feel her essense leaving her as if were being siphoned off. As Ephemera looked down towards the soldier, she could see the black ichor sinking into the blade. Suddenly, Ryuk pulled his arm back, withdrawing his blade. Instead of continuing his assault, the soldier’s breath grew heavy as he clutched his helmet, his whole body convulsing as the ink flooded his system.

“... That was your final mistake.”

Seizing the moment, the wraith lunged, pouncing on the soldier and pinning him to the ground.

“Though not your worst–”

With a shout, the wraith pulled her fist back and slammed it against Ryuk’s chest. The soldier let out a gasp as the metal caved under the pressure. The primal’s blood surged through her veins. With all four of her infernal limbs Ephemera battered him over and over like a drum, each blow carving out another dent in his armor. With one final punch, the wraith raised her voice in malevolent laughter.

“That would be daring to challenge me!”

Ephemera was panting as she looked down and examined her work. Scraps of flesh and metal clung to her claws. And yet, bloodied and battered as he was, the man still clung to life. She leaned in close to his face; from beneath the helmet she could hear his faint breathing...

<... Watch closely, Ayane.>

The dark strands twisted and coiled around the soldier’s shoulders. As the wraith rose to her feet, she lifted the man’s body into the air. Ephemera reached out and pressed the tips of her talons against the folds protecting the soldier’s throat.

<... Don’t!>

The wraith rolled her arm back and swiped her claw, severing the protective plating and piercing the flesh beneath.

“With your dying breath... Let me hear it. Your voice.”

The wraith leaned in, eager to feel the burden swirling in her soul. And yet as the blood seeped from Ryuk’s veins, he remained defiant.

<You will not yield your burden?> The wraith tilted her head as the moment gave her pause. Then, the wraith bared her teeth. <So be it.>

Ephemera reached out with both hands and slipped her fingers underneath the severed helmet. The fabric tore with an audible rip as she pried the cover off of him.

His face exposed to the elements, Ryuk’s pale skin was dappled with spots of deep purple and red. Eyes closed, he coughed up some ink, the liquid splattering against Ephemera’s face. Delicately, she pressed her palms against the side of his head and gently pulled his eyes open.

“... Die.”

Then she twisted her arms, and the soldier's neck snapped in one clean motion.

As the last ounce of life left the soldier’s body, she felt her transformation slipping. Though she and Margul were now pact bound forever, his strength was only temporary. The shadows lifted from her form, and Ephemera was truly herself again.

<That...That–>

As the wraith tossed the soldier’s corpse off of the plane towards certain oblivion, black tears trickled down her face. And yet, she was smiling.

<That was wonderful–>
<That was horrible–>
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 8
2/21/2024 22:09:22   
roseleaf320
Creative!


“Free Spirit Ephemera. Singing Vale. I’ll distract them. We hunt together.” Vale smiles and nods her head towards her ally-- Margul-- as he speaks. Singing Vale-- she loves it! Help me Sing for them, Chaos.

Vale shields her eyes as brilliant lightning arcs between Margul and the Knight of Storms. fur-covered ears shrink away from the deafening crack that fills the battlefield. Vale glances towards the Knight of Storms, who breaks into a sprint towards Margul. She’ll be on him in seconds. Vale slinks to the side and reaches to her belt. The woman won’t notice a dagger as she’s running; and if it hits, might not notice where it came from. Vale could stay hidden while the Knight of Storms focuses on Margul.

Vale’s hand hesitates at her belt. She watches Margul; scans his face, his bright eyes, the glamor in his stance as he taunts their enemies. Within her mind, unbidden, emerges an image of him brawling with the Knight of Storms, lightning crackling between them. While Vale stands back, watching.

The vulpe slides her hand away from her daggers and grips the hilt of her sword. She would watch no longer. She glances towards her allies, turned towards one another, though Vale could not see what was passing between them. Whatever Ephemera and Margul are doing, they need more time. Her tail stills; she rocks between her feet; and charges.

Her feet slam against the hard tiles, the air whistling past her face as she races to intercept the Knight of Storms. For a moment, a lightness fills her chest, and Vale realizes she is smiling. It feels good, to run, to carve a path through the wind with nothing in her way. Vale remembers sprinting through the forest, bounding over trees as if she could fly, her tail streaming behind her. When had she stopped? Vale’s smile widens, and a carefree laughter overtakes her. She lifts her hand from her sword hilt and reaches both arms wide as she nears Elysia.

“Coming through!” With catlike grace, the vulpe pounces towards Elysia, intending to tackle her and yank her away from Margul. But the woman swivels, cutting her momentum and turning her face to Vale’s. One eye is gone, covered in a claw-like scar that looks relatively fresh. The other stares straight at Vale, bright as a forest after a rainstorm. Vale wants so badly to lose herself in the Knight’s melodic Storm. What are you thinking, little lion?

A flash of metal draws Vale’s eyes away-- their opponent’s glaive, slicing towards them. Vale curses and tries to pivot. Its edge kisses their waist as they hurtle past the Knight, scarlet seeping into the dark blue of their leather bindings. Vale sucks in a breath-- the cut isn’t incredibly deep, but it stings. She bites her lip, feeling her heart beat fast in her chest as she swings around on her opponent. Practiced fingers nimbly grab the hilt of her sword and draw the shining blade out. She feels her quickened breathing, forces it still, eyes once more fixated on her opponent’s. The Knight of Storms stares back and smiles.

A breath; Vale tilts her head. Her ears flick, and she feels the question, burning in her mind, as it escapes her lips. “How did you lose your eye?”

Elysia stands, her eye staring into Vale’s. But she does not move; does not respond. Anxiety flickers in the vulpe’s stomach as the silent figures from their path loom in their vision. Say something. Anything. React. Vale steps abruptly towards their opponent, pushing their body towards her. Elysia takes a step back. Vale’s tail flicks. A chase. You do see me. Vale lurches forward; Elysia lurches back. The vulpe smiles and dashes, leaning into their sword and quickly closing the distance to Elysia. Eyes alight orange as magic flares through the blade, bending the air to hide its curve. They slice upwards, the tip of their sword sending the fur on Elysia’s shoulder flying. Tag. Elysia’s gaze never leaves Vale’s eyes; Vale clutches it desperately. She sees me.

Elysia’s lips curve into the hint of a smile; Vale’s tail twitches in confusion. If they are noticed, why is Elysia not speaking, not reacting? They could push their focus, see what Elysia is thinking, but if they listen to her Song, how can they hear their own? The air distorts around them, and Vale steps back, alarm rising in their chest. What is Elysia--

The air bursts from around the Knight of Storms, thrusting Vale off their feet and slamming thunder through their ears. The vulpe stumbles, their gaze finally breaking from the Knight as they scramble to catch themself and find purchase once more on Order’s tiles. Feet hit the ground first, and Vale lands in a crouch, reaching their free hand out to balance themself. They plant their palm firmly against the cold stone and close their eyes, feeling their breath slowly return to their chest as their ears ring. Their limbs tingle in-- Vale’s eyebrows fold in momentary concentration-- excitement. The vulpe bares their teeth, exhilaration flooding through them. Their body feels like it used to during all their childhood hunts.

Vale was a hunter, once. They’d just stopped listening.

This was going to be fun.

Post #: 9
2/22/2024 1:06:39   
markthematey
Member

Ladd’s blood boiled and his body was hot with energy. His mind swirled as he considered who to challenge first. He knew he wanted to finish his duel with Vale and Ephemera, but the other new competitors were also too tantalizing a choice, teammate or otherwise. Challenging a teammate would go against the whole point of it being a team competition, though, and where would the honor be in that?

He sighed, though the idea of team-based combat was exciting– Ladd wondered if he would miss the simplicity of a duel. These restrictions on who he could fight weighed on his fighting spirit. He looked at Elysia, who had already begun to advance. He would find a chance to fight her in the future, he assured himself. He began to step as a mighty voice called from across the checkered arena.

“You! Chosen by safety and gray stone! Your God thinks you worthy.” The powerful call rang within Ladd’s ears. Whether or not they were for him specifically it did not matter.

“Step forward! Show your power to me!...” The rest of the words fell on deaf ears. More accurately, he didn’t care to listen more. Someone had just issued him a challenge…

A CHALLENGE! He felt as if his heart had grown wings and fluttered away. When was the last time he had been challenged? Oh, he couldn’t remember but he hardly cared.

Almost immediately, Ladd started to skip but quickly stopped himself. He was a professional— he couldn’t be caught doing something so childish. Children don’t duel and he was no child. However, it would be rude to not respond to a challenge as soon as he could. That would waste their time, and only a child wastes another’s time thoughtlessly. He would simply sprint over and accept the challenge, as an adult would.

Ladd ran through the center of the arena. He passed a set of masts. Each rippled with ladders and ropes reminding him of the massive ships that he seldom rode in the past. He pondered their use here, but tossed them aside as decoration for now.

Margul stood strong as he finished talking to Ephemera. Ladd hadn’t heard what they said, but he didn’t particularly care for what they spoke about. The challenge swam through his mind, filling every corner, drowning all other thoughts.

Ladd skidded to a stop and took a formal pose. He couldn’t hide a grin that had been stuck on his face since Margul spoke. Making a show of himself, Ladd flicked his rapier to the sky.

“Margul, Knight of the Cycle!” Ladd swiped his blade down. “Thou wishes to see strength, Thou shan’t be disappointed!” He puffed his chest out slightly while sliding his hand to the pouch concealed under his cape.


“I accept thy challenge. Raise thy weapon and face me-” He filled the glove with energy and pooled more into his feet. Ladd hardly even thinks about it while he speaks. They have become intrinsic to his preparation for a fight.

“Ladd Nisent, The Knight of Honor.” Ladd’s pupils constricted as they focused. His eyes a bow, his mind the arrow, both trained on its target.

As Margul spoke you could hear the smile within his words, "Then see my honor: Of the roaring mountain, of soot! My weapon is thus!”

Margul flexed showing a body of sculpted brilliance. It told stories of countless hours of refining to reach such a beautiful shape and hundreds more battles they had participated in. The Ironclad body nearly broke Ladd’s honed concentration. If he was not prepared, he may have hesitated to simply marvel at it a moment longer. Ladd nearly didn’t notice the bone horn sprout from his forehead.

A challenge had been issued, the challenge had been accepted, and weapons had been drawn. With this, the duel could start.

Without hesitation, Ladd tossed the glove towards Margul’s face. The glove was brimming with his energy and gladly jettisoned forward at Ladd’s command.

The glove collided with its target’s face but unexpectedly stuck to his face. Margul’s mysterious smile revealed he’d caught the glove between his teeth. Ladd had seen many gloves torn to shreds, slapped aside, and if he was unlucky, dodged entirely. He had never seen one caught by their mouth. Ladd's heart skipped; this duel was certain to be interesting.

Just as the glove left his hand, Ladd pushed the energy in his feet forward as he drove himself into a lunge. The combined strength of his legs and energy made his lunge travel the entire distance between them. By the time Margul began to grin, Ladd was already upon him.
Finishing the extension, the blade sunk into the muscular shoulder of Margul. Pain caused a grunt of both shock and pain to escape which told to Ladd the attack landed.

Before Ladd could back off, what felt like a sledgehammer collided into his stomach. Ladd was still in a deep extended lunging stance and unseen to him, a knee rose under him.

“Would that be all?” Margul grunted, oozing with confidence.

Shocked by the speed of the attack, Ladd could only hop back. To shrug off Ladd’s attack and respond so quickly. This foe was a cut above most others, Ladd was certain.

Margul was already bearing down upon him. His threatening horn pointed straight toward his heart.

Ladd stumbled, his body still recovering from the pain of the last attack. His mind tried to wrestle control back but it wasn’t quick enough. He was going to be impaled at this rate.

Only then did a thunderous boom of lightning explode out from behind Margul.
Post #: 10
2/22/2024 19:06:05   
Sylphe
Member

It was just when he was about finishing his proud boast that an instinct sent his nerves buzzing. Entirely too late, as the wraith was already upon him, claws raking across his shin and head over his shoulder in a way that sent zaps and lights under his tattooed skin. His fist tensed for barely a breath as he followed the wraith with his eyes, then let go.

Were he only a bit younger, such a daring would be met with a head swiftly parted with its shoulders.

Be it prey, be it follower, none would be spared of divine wrath.

Margul followed the wraith’s gaze as she spoke, asking for favors. The spark in his chest faded a little. He gave her an opening, one she chose to not see. Yet, her question brought a certain curiosity from the man. Not that there was much time to think, as his eyes flicked up front and spotted the Knight of Storms beginning to move, acrid ozone to soon met his senses.

“What do you propose?”

Though he did not move away, he no longer let his stare stay on the wraith, giving only her show of claws a faint glance before turning his attention away. She promised him power, ink in response to blood. His blood. He felt a cold feeling shudder through his body, all before his gaze on Ephemera grew serious and hot. His blood was sacred, his blood was intertwinned with the magma of the ancient earth.

It gave life neverending. It gave burning fury and hunger that took centuries of control to master.

“Be wary.”

He finally spoke, his then-warm voice full of challenge and mirth growing sharp. The mountain did not give its gifts freely, and the costs were scorched, lonely, and empty as the shaded cliffs. His eyes turned to face the storm-warrior’s approach, and another one light in their step.

“Do not let it overcome you, naitwa.

This fight was not just for him and his pride. If the lights in the sky were to be freed, he could part with some of his blood for his allies. He spotted a fluffy tail and elegant movement in front of the oncoming assault, and not a moment too soon. A searing pain tore through his back, cracking deeper beneath the rock blessed surface than he ever thought possible. He saw the Spirit, taking on his very form, drawing from the shadows that he called home. He felt her in his mind, tugging. He heard her, a crazed laughter so unlike his own. In her, he saw the same mistake of the past, of releasing the inner liquid fire to feed fanged hungry throats. An appalled snarl left his throat.

Is nothing sacred to you, Spirit?

Is nothing sacred to you? Is that shadow not what you’ve doomed your people to be?


Margul grit his teeth as he moved forward, only catching a brief glimpse of the fox that so bravely lunged to protect both him and the spirit knight. He did not know if they managed to match eyes, didn’t know if she’d hear him over Elysia’s storm. But warmth returned to his voice as he called out to her, hearty smile turning to rest upon his lips past the heavy burden.

“Thank you, Vale foxling!”

Brief, as it may be - for someone heard his request and was already charging. There was a lightness in the younger warrior’s steps that elated Margul’s heart. He prepared to face them, battle stance ready to steady his feet. But this fellow did not attack, instead skidding to a stop, their excitement heavy on their breath.

He knew his shadow was unleashed upon order, somewhere in the far reaches of the arena. He felt the struggle and discomfort of his tattoos as they danced around the new arrival that dotted his flesh. Marked for his exchange. No.

It mattered not. If only for a moment before those burdens made their great return.

Ephemera would soon see the mountain would sort out ones unworthy of her fire - These Old Ones weren’t the only gods with the power to choose their champions.

Margul turned his full attention to this child with bravado and a comically tiny sword. Not that he could really retort - his weapon of choice over the years has been the age old mantra of hitting things until they die. They flicked that bee stinger for the sky to meet and spoke, and their voice felt like gold sunbaked sands and blood.

They called out of him, and twice now, the title of Cycle felt like ashes and salt on his blood.

Cycle-holder, thousands times killed, thousands times lived, trapped by mere prayer.

Cycle-breaker, inviting an age of suffocating not-quite-night, with waterless rain and hungering nights.


The new ink within his skin stirred, having not quite found its place. For once, he and it saw alike. So as the Knight of Honor proudly declared themselves so, the vampire filled with a strange new hunger. The fire within him swelled even as his heart grew heavy, and he chose to honor both of them.

“Then see my honor! Of the roaring mountain, of the soot!”

Margul flexed, bringing his strength into full view, glittering lines darting across his shoulders, dancing like feathers in the wind.

“My weapon is thus!”

The Knight of Honor had fallen into his trap, their eyes lost on Margul’s display of power. They did not notice the well of power as the vampire drew on something deep within.

At the very edge of his memories, past the thousand deaths, a primal knowledge of how to call on something that predated even his cycles. A hand, clawed as his own, brushing past the bone growth on his forehead. A soft kiss and warmth of her forehead on his no daily death could erase. Eyes, warm amber, meeting his own.

“You’ll grow into it, little warrior. You’re still a calf - Tens of thousands of sundowns from now, when you’ve forgotten all but who you are, you’ll grow a crown like mine.”

One day, he learned to call it forth, though it never lasted. It crowned his hunts. It was the greatest honor he could bestow.


A beautiful, yet beastly horn of bone ruptured from the warrior’s forehead. Margul wasted no time, snapping his gaze towards this Ladd Nisent who accepted his call. As the glove was thrown, he realized he knows the significance, the meaning, without ever seeing the custom. With a sharp bite of excitement and mischievousness the warrior narrowed his eyes and caught the glove in his fangs.

Yet another display of power.

And as he raised his eyebrows to his honorable opponent, perhaps a way to invite levity within what would soon be a bloodbath, a brief respite from the war of tiles and lights and whatever pasts may lead them here.

Then this new opponent moved, and Margul realized he nearly swallowed the glove in surprise. Their speed was a wonder to watch that made his hairs prickle. They were upon him so much faster than he thought their small legs would carry them. Their little stinger was a thorn in his shoulder, biting deep and hard in a single point of sharpness tearing. He groaned in response, teeth digging into the precious glove. He savored the energy on his tongue as he met eyes with Ladd, sharp red dripping challenge. His voice fell deeper than before.

A strong introduction, child of the wind. But you will try harder.

“Would that be all?”

In a flash, his knee was upon the young warrior, slamming into their guts with all the power his legs carried, and just enough bravado in the motion to send a message. So they introduced themselves in pain, and so would he. He wasted no time mourning the sharp string of pain that tore through his shoulder as their rapier was torn out. His horn was a weapon that craved blood, was the herald of the greatest fights to come. He spat the glove, sending it away with his foot for good measure.

It was the one certainty he knew the future would bring.

Then Margul charged, horn poised like a wilderbeast set to gore the Knight of Honor. They lay prone still, the sight eliciting only a faint streak of despair on Margul’s heart.

To finally be heard after so long, only for it to end so soon. A duel against one that carried themselves on honor, no less!

As if the gods themselves listened and were named Elysia, a thundering roar crashed into the vampire’s body mid-step, tripping his legs and shoving him to the ground. He managed only a surprise grunt as it stole away his hearing.

Not now! Not now, when they finally speak to me!

The scared thought hid behind his growl, feeling it rumble in his chest and bones even half-deaf. He shook his head and attempted to push himself back into a stand with his arms. The tiles were so sickeningly smooth he couldn’t catch a claw or finger on them at all, and the perhaps puny strike of rapier in his shoulder made his trip back to his feet awfully slow. Ink and blood dripped on the pristine tiles, more than there should be, double in his vision. He thought of crackles, he thought of lightning as he lifted his head up. But his blood was still too cold from his first response to the Storm’s chosen to muster new strength so soon.
DF  Post #: 11
2/22/2024 23:12:24   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


A seabreeze swept across the field, carrying with it the scent of salt and brine as well as a small chill. The scales above shuddered and tilted, first towards Order, then towards Chaos. Two orbs dropped, one of sharp, pulsing crimson, the other a swirl of fiery orange and deepest black. The latter orb broke upon the tile, leaving a path in its wake, its destination shrouded in a hazed fog. But the former burst before it even struck the ground, the sound echoing like a gunshot across the tumultuous war. No portal burst from the orb’s demise. The Powers spoke, their mismatched tones overlapping as their calls resounded through the field.

Knight of Radiation. Dismissed.

Knight of The Cycle. Though you display passion aflame, you reach for more than Chaos must grasp. You are Dismissed.

The scent of the sea lingered as the voices faded. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.




< Message edited by Chewy905 -- 2/22/2024 23:23:53 >
Post #: 12
2/25/2024 0:02:08   
  Starflame13
Moderator


One blink, one ragged breath. Another blink, another shaky gasp for air. A third blink, and a third breath taken, before Elysia’s sight begins to clear, her heart pounding in her chest as she slowly fights for control over the air in her lungs. The crimson dunes slide, sending tiny motes of dust sparkling in the sunlight as the last of the breezes die out and the remaining echoes fade, leaving behind a strange silence…

The world goes silent. No screams, no sounds. No hums. Elysia sways in place, knees locked, eyes fixed on the ground before her. She tries to hum - and cannot hear it. Limbs tremble as she shakes her head, holds her breath, counts one second, two. Her lightning is muted, mana guttering in low flickers. Three seconds, four. The faint prickle of static flickers at her injured shoulder. The storm returns, a soft presence in her mind that builds, that crescendos, that humshumsHUMS -

Something cracks overhead, a gunshot that has her moving without thinking, gripping her glaive close in both hands like a staff. Voices slam through her being, dominate her mind and quiet her storm. She recognizes the curl of rejection in them before she registers the words themselves. Dismissed. Dismissed, dismissed, dismissed. A single word, stark in finality, dripping in disappointment.

Soft whispers echo in her soul as the silence returns, fill her ears and block out the surrounding world. Disappointment. She was not enough. She is not enough. She will never be…

Vale snaps up into a crouch before her, shaking off their disorientation. The Stormcaller’s body, trained and tested, reacts while her mind reels. If she cannot silence the whispers in her mind, she will silence their Knight. Leather boots strike smooth marble, reverberations traveling through her muscles with each step. Her pace sways - still unsteady. Pain flairs and quiets and flairs at her shoulder, the static ebbing and flowing with the last dregs of her mana. Elysia’s lips form a silent snarl. She’ll finish this one up close, then. Her fist curls tighter around the glaive, then snaps the wooden shaft forward, cracking the solid ash into Vale’s head just as the wildcat turns towards her.

It - she - it hums.

The wildcat staggers, and Elysia presses forward - too fast, too hasty. Too desperate. Vale shifts, and she catches the flicker of metal in the corner of her eye just in time to realize her mistake, throws herself backward and away as her opponent swings their blade wildly before them, scouring through the leather at her forearm and leaving only a hint of crimson on its tip. A single stinging flash before the static rises, fades, and Elysia draws in a rough, ragged breath.

Her Lord did not kill her for being a disappointment once. She must prove herself today to survive once more.

She - it - she - hums.

Green eye flicks to Vale, grip tightens until the wood creaks beneath her fingers. Someone roars behind her, loud enough to puncture her silence. Margul. The Dismissed. Perhaps he cannot overcome his curse afterall. Perhaps he chooses not to. Elysia whips her glaive up overhead, ignoring the sudden rush of blood from her injured shoulder. Blade glints as she swings, dual-handed, to bring the weapon down on Vale’s head. A quick death here, so she can focus elsewhere. So she can help dismiss this cursed man who refuses to yield. She hu -

Metal flickers. Twinned blades flash in the place of one as Vale’s eyes bore into her own. Their saber splits in two, forming a neat cross that traps Elysia’s glaive just behind the curved blade. Her arms jolt, ache, at the sudden motion, vibrations shaking through her as she snarls, out loud this time even in her own ears. Green glares into eyes that have faded back to a dusty purple. “You - !”

Narrowed vision misses the instant the second blade slips free. Her weight sways forward at the lesser force, for one moment off balance - and fire erupts along her outer thigh. Her leg buckles, glaive slipping free of the remaining sword as she stumbles, catches herself with a sharp inhale as pain surges deeper than her static can carry, as the blade bites deep into her leg. She cannot give way, she will not retreat - so she pushes forward, pushes into their firm voice, their words blurred out in smooth tones tinged with something like desperation, with something like hope. Elysia turns herself towards the Knight of Whispers, twists with the blow so that the blade tears through muscle with a sickening snick. Allows her weight to fall forward to drive herself bodily, shoulder first, into Vale’s chest. Plain-honed and winter thick muscle slam into the lithe wildcat, sending them sliding back, feet loose on the slick floor, and Elysia grasps at her glaive, switches the grip to slam the capped end towards her opponent -

Sharp pain erupts across her cheek, a swarm of needles carving through flesh so recently healed. Not so deep as the claws, but the broad swipe burns all the same as Elysia jerks away from it, twists to face whoever managed to sneak up on her - and sees the Knight of Sacrifice barely a horselength away. Sees a length of pitch black hair writhing between them, its edges blurring into shadow save for where her blood drips from the rope’s end. It roils, an echo of the twisting vines of Chaos, its smokey darkness staining the pristine, perfect white. Her feet slip, step from her tile onto the inky black of another.

Elysia roars. Here, she is unfrozen. Here, she can move, can react, can strike. Her glaive swipes out before her to its full length, her hands still close to its base, and severs the reel of hair in two. She limps forward, eye blazing, intent on driving through the Chaos, to reach once more the Order at the heart of the storm - and freezes. The locks drift downward, almost softly. They flutter to the ground and burst, shattering into tens, hundreds, thousands of grains of sand, stained the bright scarlet of her weeping tears of blood. Sun-baked warmth emanates from the sands, bathing her face as she raises her eye, slow, almost terrified, to the bloodstained woman before her. To the deluge of red grains pouring forth from her to pile about her feet.

Sand that has known her blood not once, but twice. Sand that has seen her defeat, once.

No…
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 13
2/25/2024 23:38:08   
markthematey
Member

The thunder dominated Ladd’s senses not for more than a moment. His ears were consumed by a ringing that faded as the seconds passed. As Ladd regained control of himself, a realization entered his mind. Margul was not their champion. The fact stifled his lust for combat. So bluntly had their duel been put to an end. These arbiters of combat dictated it over, and so it must be.

When Ladd met Margul’s eyes, he did not see the gaze of a defeated man. He saw great conviction and a burning spirit. The kindling flame in Ladd’s heart ignited with a furious blaze. This duel wasn’t over yet. This warrior still craved battle.

“The gods hath stated thy loss. Do thy surrender?” Ladd spoke, though he already knew the answer. The words were simply a formality Ladd felt obligated to ask.

Margul gaze sharpened on Ladd, and a grin confirmed his thoughts. With elegance, he carefully removed a pin from his hair. His hair flowed down, reaching nearly his waist.

"No." He answered simply. The weight of the single word planted itself firmly in the mind of Ladd. A protest against the gods themselves. Ladd couldn’t help but smile. The warrior was asking the duelist to defy them as well. To fight where the gods dictated the battle concluded.

For a duelist, a battle ends in shame. For a warrior, a battle ends in death.

Ladd was, of course, a duelist but who would Ladd be to deny a warrior's call? A fraud? A sham? No, he would be a coward. No simple arbiter, god or not, could quell this warrior’s spirit and Ladd felt compelled to meet it.

The tension between the two was palpable as they maintained their gaze. The only sound Ladd could hear was his own heart in a roaring rhythmic beat. His mind was a blade, his body its tool, and his soul burned so bright an onlooker would have sworn Ladd’s white attire was glowing.

Margul was the first to break this standstill. He dashed forward in a wild blitz, moving as fast as his well-trained muscles could take him.

Ladd quickly entered a defensive posture. He rested the tip of the blade toward the aggressor. Carefully, the rapier followed the center of mass as Margul approached.

As soon as Margul was within range, a flurry of fists flew forward fervently. Each strike failed to hit its target as Ladd evaded with precision. Hard fists grazed Ladd’s form and nicked his cheek, but nothing landed hard enough to cause Ladd to fumble.

As Ladd dodged, he weaved his rapier through the warrior's guard. For each fist that scraped Ladd, the bite of his sword would scrape the warrior. The tip of the blade infused with his essence, marking each wound with his energy.

With each use of his power, Ladd would create a small opening. A fist that would certainly hit drove off its course. An attack in the process of being blocked passed through without resistance. Margul didn’t relent, each of these small cuts quickly stitched themselves close and caused him no great harm.

Ladd couldn’t maintain this, the pressure from the attack slowly overwhelming his defenses. Triggering multiple saved essence spots at once, Margul’s stance was thrown off. Ladd took the opportunity he had created aiming his rapier for his eye.

Espada Ropera lunged forward towards its target but to Ladd’s surprise ricocheted away. The tusk of the warrior batted the blade away. Ladd had already committed himself to the lunge and couldn’t redirect his momentum. At this moment, Ladd was completely defenseless.

Margul flexed his hand and closed it as if he was holding something. In the center of his hand, a bright core of energy manifested. In the blink of an eye, it expanded into a long spear. Crackling energy engulfed Margul’s arm as he swung the spear down with all his force.

Ladd pools as much energy as he can into his hand. Redirecting and pointing his blade downwards, he shunts the energy away and the sword shoots forward.

BOOM

The shockwave blinded all who watched, a storm of smoke.

Time held still. The smoke was a thick smog that obscured both fighters under its haze. As the dust settled, two silhouettes could be seen standing. One with their arm extended; the other pierced through the heart.

Electricity rippled throughout Ladd’s body. The center of his shirt was burnt away and the skin under charred a crimson black. His chest was ravaged by the strike, but the wound wasn’t life-threatening.

Margul was as still as a painting. The warrior didn’t look pained or shocked, but satisfied. His head leveled to meet Ladds.

"You withstood… Good." The words escaped from Margul’s lips as he fell. Ladd’s blade slipped from Margul’s chest. The thin blade dripped with blood.

The duel was completed and the victor stood proud.

Ladd turned, not watching the warrior fall. At the end of a good duel came the most cathartic moment. His soul basked in this feeling as long as it lasted. Ladd dreaded the feeling to come after; when his blade had to be sheathed.

He heard a familiar cry from a voice in the distance. The fox-like fighter. His heart jumped at the chance to end another duel, but he quelled it for now. He would make time to fight them, but right now wasn’t the time for that. Ladd had a small ritual he performed when a duel ended like this. Death in a duel happened a rare few times, but this tradition was passed down by his master.

First, he flicked the blade to the side, and the blood stained the ground underneath. Taking a clean glove from his satchel, he inspected the sword. Though the excess was forced off, the blade still weeped with blood. Starting from the hilt, he wiped it with the length of his rapier. The blood tinted the glove in a red so deep it could be mistaken as black.

He turned back to the fallen warrior, held in Vale’s hand. The two exchanged words but Ladd was too absorbed to notice what was said.

Ladd tossed the glove to the ground next to the dying warrior's feet. It rested on the floor as he said prayer so softly only he could hear,

“Thy hath fought well. In death, Stand Proud.”
Post #: 14
2/26/2024 20:55:09   
Dragonknight315
Member

Ayane wanted to scream.

She looked over the edge and towards the abyss from behind the wraith’s soulless eyes. Her soul bound in red puppet strings, Ayane was a prisoner in her own body. It moved, but not by her will. It spoke, but its words were not hers.

<You... Monster!>

Ayane cried out from within, but the wraith without remained silent. Her words were unable to pierce the thick veil above her subconsciousness.

<Another dead, and for what? Your so-called vengeance? He had nothing to do with us!>

<He was a threat.> Ayane shuddered as she felt the darkness brush against her ear. <Or do you not remember how he treated you on the pyramid? He would have killed you without hesitation– and he even tried again!>

<Yes, but...>
Ayane’s voice trailed off before falling silent.

The chorus erupted into laughter, clearly satisfied with their work. <Aren’t you happy that I was here to protect you?>

<Happy?!> The remnant brushed the scraps of gore and metal between her sin-stained talons. The sensation was so lucid. It made Ayane sick.

<Nothing would make me happier than to be done with this.>

A voice boomed across the battlefield– a proclamation of judgment.

"Knight of the Cycle–"
"Knight of Radiation–"

"Dismissed."


The spirits held their peace as the words lingered in their mind. A primal fear swept every fiber of their being; it needed no explanation.

A death sentence.

Ephemera pulled her eyes away from the abyss and looked back towards the other competitors. Surrounding the towering ship mast, the others were engaged in an all out struggle for survival. Margul clashed with the duelist as he bucked against his destiny. Meanwhile, the kith met Elysia head on with saber against glaive.

<... Then let us be done with this.>

The wraith fixed her eyes to the Knight of Storms as she dashed towards the center. She swallowed her earlier reservations; She knew Elysia to be a genuine threat, but there was no point in hiding or stalling. If Ephemera wanted to seize victory, to fulfill her desires, then she needed to act. Otherwise, all that awaited her was a second death.

As the wraith approached her prey, she saw her opening. The warrior’s back was turned to her, too entranced in her duel with the kitsune. She had Vale on the backfoot, slamming into her and breaking her guard. Just as Elysia was to make her decisive strike, Ephemera seized the moment–

<Hands off of her; she’s mine!>

Ephemera spun to the side, twirling her dark strands around and like a whip. She felt her soul shudder as the force rippled through her hair. It caught against her cheek, tearing into her flesh without mercy. As Elysia roared out in pain, Ephemera heard her voice trembling in her mind.

<Dismissed.>

In her mind's eye, the wraith saw it– The hot sun, bearing down with the gaze of authority. A pillar shattered and turned to dust, and with it, the paragon’s hope.

<I’m not strong enough.> The burden echoed, its whisper deafening and absolute.

As the strand left her cheek, Elysia lashed out with her glaive and cleaved the shadow in twain.

<I... I’m not strong enough.> Ayane repeated, the shadow of her lover’s corpse looming in her mind.

As the severed lock of hair fell towards the ground, its boundaries grew sharp and solid. It hit the ground, the strand shattered like glass into a sea of crimson shards. Suddenly, the ink moved across her skin. A silhouette of a horse galloped across her arm; in its wake, crimson ink like blood rose from her pores. As the ink reached the surface, it dried out before falling– from her hair, her sleeves, from every inch of her body it fell to the ground as lifeless red sand.

The wraith’s face twisted into a wide grin as she saw the realization in the paragon’s wide eyes. Elysia was frozen solid, the ink falling from the open wound on her cheek. Her once indomitable spirit had turned to absolute terror.

As the wraith stepped forward, the dust flaking off her form, she felt her bare feet against the particles below. It felt warm, comforting, as if it were drenched in freshly spilled blood. As she kicked the sand into the air, the burden and the remnant stirred within her mind, their voices joined as one.

<There will be no mercy if I fail–>

As a cloud of red dust swallowed the two, Ephemera focused on her remaining strand of hair. It reached towards the paragon, wrapping its talons around her neck. With her prey in her grasp, Ephemera lunged forward.

<Not if, when–>
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 15
2/26/2024 22:05:20   
roseleaf320
Creative!


Voices boom through Vale’s ears, distorted through the ringing that echoes from Elysia’s energy burst. Lavender eyes trace the path of two shimmering orbs as they drop from the scales. one shatters before it even hits the ground. The other rips a hole in the air, its destination shrouded in mist. A path back to the world. Vale considered it for a moment. Where would she end up, at the end of this? She didn’t have much of a home. Was that something she even wanted? She had always enjoyed wandering… but a home would mean people to go back to.

Vale shakes her head, her midnight hair flowing behind her. This portal isn’t hers; Chaos had called to Margul. A dismissal. For now, Kon needs her to keep fighting. Vale glances up, towards where the Knight of Storms had stood before she’d thrust Vale away. But Vale does not glimpse her practiced stance, or her single emerald eye. Vale’s tail twitches in confusion. The Powers had not called the Knight of Storms-- where had she--

Vale’s eyes find emerald a moment before the Storm Knight’s glaive smacks into their skull. Agony cracks up the vulpe’s head, and they reel backwards, their world a carousel of movement around them. Their vision fogs, and they feel something biting at their stomach, crawling across their body in a flush. Fear. If they faint here-- if they die--

No one would remember them.

Vale thrusts their sword arm forward in a desperate attempt to ward the Knight away. Their heartbeat thrums in their ears, drowning out the echo of Margul’s voice behind them, the click of their opponent’s feet against the tiles. Emerald eye bears down on them, this opponent that does not speak, that only stares, Vale is not used to being stared at, their own Song is much too loud, too panicked, they need something steady, Vale pushes their focus outwards--

Tiles fade below them, white and black enveloped by the memory of crimson sands that swirl around their legs. Their voice catches in their throat; their chest falls, turmoil swirling in their stomach. Failure-- and the determination to avoid it again.

Vale’s heartbeat steadies. Her eyes flick back up from the chequered tiles to meet Elysia’s emerald. The woman raises her glaive above her head, but does not look away from Vale’s face. Warmth floods through the vulpe’s chest. Listening to another’s Song had quieted Vale’s own-- not silenced it. Vale gripped her sword with steady hands. A careful twist-- a quiet click-- and one becomes two in her fingers. She lightens, thinking of Ayane’s comment about her tricks. You know me already, Ayane. With graceful swings, Vale brings the twin blades up in front of her, split in a perfect X to brace Elysia’s glaive. Now-- now Vale knows Elysia, at least a little bit. I see you, Elysia.

“You--” Vale’s ears flick forwards. Elysia speaks! Her voice is sharp, a hint of surprise leaking into its tone. Vale thinks of the crimson at their feet-- a battlefield past. You’re fighting me, now, Elysia; on tiles, not sands.

“Me,” Vale mirrors Elysia’s word, a breath of joy flooding through them as they speak it. “Focus on me.”

Like the flick of a fox tail, Vale sweeps one blade out of the block and loops it downwards to swipe across Elysia’s thigh. Elysia’s gaze breaks from Vale’s as she glances down to the crimson that flies from dark metal. I won’t kill you-- but I will ensure Kon wins. Vale holds her other blade high against Elysia’s glaive, expecting the woman to step back. But when Elysia staggers, she staggers forward. Vale catches a glimpse of emerald, wild, before Elysia’s shoulder slams into Vale’s body, snapping the vulpe’s head aside and sending her flying backwards.

That’s when Vale sees Margul.

Her ally-- Dismissed-- stands silhouetted in a cloud of smoke, the duelist’s saber piercing his chest.

“Margul!” Vale yells, voice cracking. She pivots, sprints, excitement no longer highlighting the freedom of her steps and the air brushing her face. He stumbles back; falls; she catches him and eases him to the ground. No, we just met, you can’t die--

“Don’t waste your time on me.” He laughs. His voice is quiet, so quiet. Vale searches for his Song, but it is a whisper too quiet for her to hear, too ethereal for her to grab onto. She opens her mouth, but her voice will not come. He fades too fast--

Vale’s heart quiets, resigned, and lavender glows like fire as she Whispers, desperately hoping he will hear.

"You will be remembered."

I saw you, Margul.

His body slumps.

Vale listens to the slow, shallow breath that forces itself through her lungs. She does not know what to call this feeling. It’s more difficult when it’s her own. She does not like it-- but she’s glad she feels it.

Vale pushes herself up, their torn waist stinging with the movement. Hands come together to gently latch twinned blades back together as the vulpe raises their chin to the duelist that stands above Margul.

“But he was already dismissed." It takes considerable effort to keep their voice steady. The shadowed portal reflects in Vale’s mind. Margul could have left through it. Should have. Towards Life.

The white-clad Knight glances towards Margul. His voice rings out, solemn."Shame is a far worse fate than death for a warrior."

Vale narrows her eyes, distrust curling in her chest. Is he implying Margul chose this-- would choose death over simple shame? She focuses, searching for maliciousness as Ladd’s Song thrums into view. Vale lowers her chin as a dull, solemn respect washes over her. Ears flick towards the voice of an older man, chanting a prayer Vale cannot make out. She turns her focus back to the feel of her blade’s braided hilt within her hand.

She nods toward Ladd. His words are genuine; but she did not like the choice. "Are those the only two options?"

"For some mayhaps. If thou sees defeat as shame, simply be the victor.” He gazes into her eyes, the hint of a flame burning within. “For myself, loss is a path I've never crossed nor plan to. Vale, will thou be the first to make me share its path?"

The hint of a smile flickers across Vale’s lips, their chest fluttering as he says their name. “We shall see, Ladd Nissent.”

With her free hand, Vale reaches for a firework and scrapes her claw against it. In one fluid movement, the vulpe springs into action. Legs thrust her towards the duelist as one arm reaches her sword outwards and the other flicks the firework towards Ladd’s face.

We shall see.

Post #: 16
2/26/2024 22:14:20   
Sylphe
Member

He may have been half-deaf still, yet the judgement still rang in his ears clearly.

Though you show passion aflame, you graso farther than even Chaos should reach.

He rose back to his full height, though his head was kept down, eyes closed for a short moment. Couldn’t help but laugh.

It was bittersweet to him, really. Chaos saw him as unworthy. As grasping too far. But it did see. It saw the heat, the passion.

Is that your judgement, then?

“...Can’t say I disagree.”

He raised his gaze to meet the duelist from before. The same golden sands voice was asking him to surrender.

He thought of the ashy slopes where nothing grew, thought of the endless nights before, endless nights that await should that escape be taken. And then he cast them away.

The slightest of grins cracked Margul’s expression as a choice was made. He plucked the ironwood pin out of his hair and sent it sailing featherlast to the ground. He cracked his neck, letting the now free black locks sway, and then fall free. He made sure the word was delicious on his tongue.

“No.”

If he reached too far, then perhaps there was nothing more even and grounded than honoring a duel. The simple rush of a fight, of a hunt.

Margul surged forward with a proud roar, his eyes an inferno. His fists flew at the young warrior as he beared down on them, inked serpent hissing with every blow. Each fist flew fast as the hot wind, and each of them was so brilliantly dodged it made his heart both frustrated and joyful. Scrapes for scrapes as claws and rapier moved in near unison, the duelist glittering with dangerous and delicious energy.

He missed that feeling of danger, that rush of uncertain future. The sharpness of a serpent’s fang grazing his throat.

The memory came alive in his mind as the serpent lunged for his eyes. Ladd’s rapier shone in the chilly air as instincs of a bygone time parried with his horn. Metal scrapped against bone, and batted the youngling away.

With a deep exhale of exertion, the warrior drew his arm out, palm open.

A sky so far away darkened above a lone volcano, thunderbolts dancing across the heavy smoke covering the sun and clouds, the stars.

A new storm formed in his hand, drawing heat. Drawing strength as it always had. But as he stared upon the defenseless Worthy, he made one more god-spiting choice.

The tattoo on his chest heated, ink’s black growing red as lightning and embers danced in his outstretched palm. He inhaled air and nearly exhaled fire as his arm drew back.

Heat fanned around his throat as the inky clouds swirled and glittered red. His heart the conduit, he howled as a faraway mountain once again grew to life, with long forgotten lava seas flowing closer and closer to the basalt and ash, until he threw the spear with all his might, all his fire until there was nothing left. Its eruption roared in his mind as the javelin left his hands, louder than the storm he brought upon Ladd. Louder still than the rapier in his heart as the dust and howl of thunder settled. All he could really do was raise those graying eyes at the brave duelist.

“You withstood… Good.”

Then it was blinks of the all colourful sky and blackness as his legs gave. Though he did not meet the ground just yet. He turned his gaze to the foxling.

Foolish… you’ll get hurt.

“Don’t waste your time… on me.”

Though laughter made all of his body hurt like sparks in the dullness, he gave it. A comfort, as she gave to him. He faded, extinguished, as the licks of golden light faded from the inked feathers. The last thing he saw on the edge of his vision was a glove.

He did not hear the words of the two, but they were so warm. It made him smile.







DF  Post #: 17
2/27/2024 23:20:55   
  Starflame13
Moderator


She was not enough. She is not enough. She will never be…

Crimson motes surge and swirl and cover the tiles of black and white. Green eye tracks the sand, trails its dance as it spins into a dust devil of scarlet that glides towards her. Elysia cannot move, cannot bring herself to move. Deaf to the combat breaking out behind her. Deaf to the soft pad of footfalls against the dunes. Deaf to all but the echo of a crowd’s roar, its bloodthirst an imprint upon her soul. Sand envelops her, hot flecks of dust stinging against her cheek like drops of warm blood. Silence - not welcome, not comforting, but stifling - presses in from all sides.

The Stormcaller stills. Her glaive dips, fingers lose upon its shaft. Her remaining eye flutters closed.

Something rasps against her neck, coarse fibers digging against her skin, and Elysia jolts in a breath, snaps her eye open. Tries to shake off the past that settles about her like a cloak. That fight does not matter here - this one does. Dark strands tighten against her throat, choke off the end of her breath. Glaive falls from her hand as it rises, snagging the smaller knife from her waist. She hacks at the rope of hair, gritting her teeth against the scrape of sharpened needles as the strands give way, against the faintest line of sharp static as her knife nicks her own skin. Inky locks dissolve to smoke about her even as blood drips from her dagger, spilling to feed these sands once again. Elysia swallows, gaze pulled down almost against her will, eye caught on the darker spots of rust against the bright scarlet piling up about her. Her mind is silent. Her storm is silent. Her opponent -

Pale hands - the flesh stained black with Chaos - reach out of the sandstorm; seize at her shoulders. Her remaining mana struggles, surges, sends weak flares across her skin in flashes of static. It hums. She hums. Muscles burst into motion, and Elysia shoves her forearms into the Knight of Sacrifice, slams a wave of shock into Ephemera that makes the younger woman flinch, startled, and yank away from the sparks. A gasp. A growl. Elysia hears them. She hums.

The Stormcaller jerks backward, away from Ephemera. Away from the epicenter of swirling sands. Her leg buckles beneath her, and she stumbles, falls backward, crashes into solid wood. The mast. Ridges dig against her back, a series of holds carved up the length of the beam. Stretching up and up and up…

Reaching out of the sands.

Elysia’s dagger drops as she grabs at the rungs, hauling herself upward. One rung, two. Blood gushes from the widening gash in her shoulder, drenching her furs as the fiery throb of pain roils and dulls with each pull. Three rungs, four, injured leg dragging against the rough wood as she pulls her weight upwards, barely pausing to rest herself on her solid limb before driving upwards once more. Five rungs, six, the warmth of the sand still a blaze against her back as she climbs -

As she flees.

Her shoulder aches, blood pooling about her fingers as she leans into the mast, suspended above the battlefield. As she flees. Like she hasn’t faced far greater foes, suffered far worse injuries. Like she hadn’t stood once upon the crimson sands and walked out with her head high. She failed. She was not enough. And still something chose her again, named her Knight of Storms and bid her fight. For Order. For purpose.

Elysia exhales, harsh, loud. Forces the sound to echo through the caverns of her mind. Forces herself to pause, hold, until the silence breaks, until her mind hums in response. She is the Stormcaller.

She shifts, lets her weakening arm fall to her side, holds herself in place with one hand locked upon the ladder, one leg braced beneath her weight. Lets her injured side dangle away from the mast as she turns to look below. Blood leaches out of the sands beneath her, crimson slowly fading away and leaving only dull gray dunes in its wake. The tiles stretch out beyond the sands, squares of black. Squares of White.

If she is still not enough even now, then she will have to become more than she is.

Chilled air shreds the oppressive warmth, crisp and sharp against her injured cheek. Elysia inhales, tastes the salt of the seabreeze on her tongue. Turns her single eye to the shadow of Ephemera, the woman’s figure growing more defined as the sand around her slows and stills. To the glint of familiar metal in the flat light, her own glaive held in the Knight of Sacrifice’s hand and wrapped in the remnants of the sheared black locks.

Elysia is not her weapon. She is not her failures.

The final motes of dust settle, revealing her enemy in full.

She is not even just Elysia, no longer just the Stormcaller. Energy’s own breath hums in her veins even now, with her mana barely a flicker to suppress the pain of her straining, shaking limbs. But a flicker is enough.

Elysia pulls the last dregs of sky-fire to her hands, scrapes the repository of her soul bare as sparks begun to alight at her fingertips.

The Knight of Storms hums.

Lightning leaps from her hands, streaks towards the tip of her glaive so often used to call bolts down from the sky itself. Blackness creeps in at the corner of her eye as her grip slackens. A shower of brilliant sparks flash against her graying vision, the skyfire striking the weapon and skipping against its tip to the faint glimmer of metal on Ephemera’s brow.

Elysia smiles.

And she falls.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 18
2/29/2024 22:17:46   
roseleaf320
Creative!


Vale dashes forwards, sword primed to slash across her opponent’s side. Ladd stands, almost unmoving, until the last moment-- he seems less to dodge and more to be thrust aside by an unknown force. Vale’s sword sweeps freely through the air, and she smirks. What tricks did her duelist have up his sleeve? The vulpe plants her foot against the tile to pivot and opens her lips to taunt him. “Is that--”

Ladd’s fist slams into Vale’s torso, harder than Vale thought possible. The sound of cracking alights in Vale’s ears, and a sharp whisper escapes their lips to accompany it. Red clouds their vision as their torso quivers, trying to take a breath as agony floods through them like fire. No, they whimpered in their mind. They feel numbness crawl across their mind, their body. Thoughts of running in the woods, of wandering through towns, flashes across their vision. They couldn’t take much more of this-- and there was still so much more they wanted to experience.

Vale’s hands split one blade into two, following muscle memory faster than their clouded thoughts. Tired arms reach out towards their opponent, one from above, one from their right. The gilded duelist reaches upwards to block the overhead-- Vale cannot manage a smile through their pain as he fails to notice the second. It cleaves into his side, staining white robes scarlet. But her momentum abruptly ceases as Ladd catches her blade with his arm, driving it even further into his chest and locking it in place. Panic flashes through the vulpe’s eyes as her opponent brings his sword down and bashes her wrist with its hilt. Vale feels the bones shatter, feels lightning spiral down her hand, and the half-blade drops from her grasp. Blade hilt slams upwards and into Vale’s chin. Her Song screams, it fills her ears until she cannot hear anything else, she is dying,, No, no,
"no, NO!”


Vale’s second blade clatters against the tiles. They reach forward with the now-free hand, the hand that does not hold lightning down its fingers, the hand that is so close to the man who saw them because they let him, because they dared to drop their mask. To pull him aside, to the ground, into them, they do not know, but they touch and grasp and pull and scream.

"My Song will not end here!"
Post #: 19
2/29/2024 22:19:22   
markthematey
Member

Ladd’s body was shocked still in silent vigil. His muscles ached and begged to relax but he still had much to do. What was more concerning was his chest didn’t hurt nearly as much as he thought it should. The giant black callus on his chest had stopped sizzling by now, but his chest still felt burning hot.

Vale stood from the ground, leaving the recently deceased behind.

“But he was already dismissed." Vale's words were so thin it was as if a stiff breeze would cause her voice to break.

To Ladd, this was another part of the process—an expected ending to a contest where neither would back down. The longer he pondered the thought the more his mind wandered to a younger him. He too had learned this lesson from someone far wiser than he could ever be.




The master stands over a dead warrior. The body is pierced through the chest, with a glove next to its feet.

The child saw the full duel transpire over a minute. After the first few bouts, the warrior kneels and the master asks for surrender. The warrior laughs and stands again. Determination fills the eyes of the warrior at that moment. Not moments later those same eyes were gray and hollow.

The child is distraught, where did death belong in a duel? A contest of skill shouldn’t end in death. The child tries to speak but the words never escape his lips. The master's gaze silences the child.

The master’s solemn expression gives as much clarity as any words will.

Nonetheless, the master speaks the self-evident truth.




“Shame is a far worse fate than death for a warrior." Unconsciously, Ladd mimicked the same tone his master had.

"Are those the only two options?" Vale’s words were searching for something within Ladd. Ladd wasn’t sure what exactly but he would respond as honestly as he could–For it's the only way he knew how.

"For some mayhaps. If thou sees defeat as shame, simply be the victor.” To know no defeat is to know no shame. If Ladd simply beat every contest, duel, and obstacle he crossed his heart would roar proudly. Until the splendor of victory faded and he searched for another to fill that evergrowing void. What if he lost? He had never entertained the thought. He had far too much riding on his victory to even consider it. His defeat would bring shame to the star the shone brighter than any other. The same star that had been snuffed before his very eyes. He would win, if not for himself for the ones that watch him from the great beyond.

“For myself, loss is a path I've never crossed nor plan to.” Ladd paused and a thin grin broke onto his face. The melancholy of death almost made him forget. He still had a duel he needed to complete and the challenged stood right in front of him.

“Vale, will thou be the first to make me share its path?" The engine in his chest kicked to life as he waited patiently. He made a slight show of the offer, bringing his offhand across his chest. Though, as it touched his ribs, he instinctually imbued energy into it. He left more of his essence sitting in his hand, another preparation for the potential contest of blades upon him.

Somehow, Ladd had answered whatever question Vale had of him as she smiled slightly. She responded,

“We shall see, Ladd Nissent.”

The aching in Ladd’s body disappeared and was replaced with an overwhelming excitement that would tune out the pain for now. His wounds could be fixed later, the duel must be won right now.

Vale took the first move, dashing forward with a blinding firework in her hand. Her blade swiped towards Ladd with deadly intent but Ladd held still.

Just before the blade connected, Ladd activated the essence on his ribs and shoved him sideways. He moved less than a foot but it was just enough to make the blade miss its target. Catching himself, he was positioned to Vale’s side.

Ladd was too close to work his blade but the essence in his hand tingled with energy. Aiming for her gut, the duelist pushed the energy in his fist forward as he punched. The force-enhanced punch flew fast despite the short distance. The blinding light from the firework blinded him just enough for it to go off target.

His fist collided with bone hard and a snap could be heard as knuckles break on collision. Ladd’s mind warbled as fresh pain pierced its ironclad hold. The pain was quickly discarded from Ladd’s mind. A problem to be dealt with later once again.

As Ladd regained his focus Vale was already upon him. She brought down her sword, no… Her swords? Each hand of her’s held a blade, taking Ladd off guard. One flew downwards and the other soared sideways.

Unprepared for the cross-section attack, Ladd’s honed mind came to a hastened decision. Raising his sword he swiftly deflected one sword off to the side as the other dug deep into his ribs.

An exasperated gasp escaped from Ladd’s mouth, but his focus held strong. This blow wasn’t going to be one Ladd could simply ignore but he wasn’t going to let it stop him either. Using his non-sword arm, he trapped the blade in a cage of bone and flesh. Stuck between his ribs and pinned with his arm, the sword couldn’t move. Ladd swiftly capitalized.

Transitioning the sword arm from the deflect downwards, Ladd slammed the hilt down into Vale’s wrist. Vale released her grip on the entrapped blade and the blade fell limply to the ground.

As she reeled from the sudden attack, Ladd rotated his rapier once more. Once again, she was too close to his blade, but the short hilt was more than enough. Lunging out once more time, the hilt jabbed forward colliding with her nose. The sound of a second blade crackling against the ground filled the arena around them.

A creeping feeling stifled Ladd’s heart; the duel was almost over. He was nearly disappointed. The foxin was… interesting to him. From her unique techniques to her curious speech. There was something that almost urged him to force the duel to continue, if not just a few moments longer. Alas, prolonging a battle for one's own devices would be the highest disrespect not only to his teaching but to Vale herself. She deserved an honorable ending to the duel.

As he rotated his blade to finish the bout a hand had stopped him. The foxin grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and fierce eyes met his own. A desperate cry filled his mind,

“My Song will not end here!"

The words resonated with Ladd strangely, her song? What about a duel is a song? A duel could be seen as a dance if you viewed it rather artistically but he’s yet to hear it as a song. Curious, he would like to have asked in the future. But til then, he still had a duel to finish.

“Nor will my blade be stopped.”
Post #: 20
3/1/2024 13:55:35   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


The drumbeat of cannon fire cut through the field, the sound shaking the tiles and threatening to force the knights off their feet. The scales above shuddered and tilted, first towards Chaos, then towards Order. Two orbs dropped, one filled with dancing wisps of purple and orange, the other filled with bright, flashing bolts of yellow and blue. They broke in unison against the tiles, leaving open paths in their wake, destinations shrouded in clouded mist. The Powers spoke, hundreds of voices overlapping as one to echo their calls across the field.

Knight of Whispers. Though you show great cunning and wit, you have failed to grasp yourself amidst the ever-flowing tides of Chaos. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.

Knight of Storms. Though you shine and spark above your calling, you fail to capture the shine of Order. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.


The sound faded away, plunging the battlefield back into the din of war. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.

Post #: 21
3/1/2024 17:36:22   
Dragonknight315
Member

<I’m not strong enough...>

As the wraith threw herself at the paragon, Ephemera felt a cacophony assault her senses. A metallic clamor filled her ears, the sound coming from below; then, she felt it– a sharp blade pressed against her extended hair. As the wraith squeezed the paragon’s throat, Elysia cut through the animated strand. The hair disintegrated into fireless smoke, a dark wisp that mixed with the bloodied cloud that hung over the two.

<Failure.>

The wraith’s talons slammed against the paragon’s shoulders. The fur and leather tore in her grasp, but before Ephemera could seize the sweet flesh underneath, she reeled back. The wraith felt the current invading her as it traveled through her dead nerves. She gasped for air–

<I... I– I don’t want this.>

As the remnant tried to push to the surface, Ephemera gasp turned to a growl, the chorus spiraling inward.

<NO.>

<You are not strong enough!>

<You cannot surpass me!>

<You will never be satisfied unless you give in and fight!>


As the wraith steadied herself, another sound pierced through the red clouds. A second metallic hiss, much lighter than the first, followed by the sound of shuffling sand and clattering wood.

<Above... She’s running away.>

The wraith let out a heavy breath as she took a step forward. Much to her surprise, she found wood instead of sand beneath her bare feet.

<Her glaive... What would she do without it?>

A soft smile crept across Ephemera’s face as the ink poured from her roots. The mass twitched and shimmered, its shape growing longer and longer until at last her dark strands had returned to her. She reached down and took the glaive into her right hand. One lock spiraled around her arm, bracing Ephemera with its infernal strength.

<I shall return it to her.>

As the wraith held the glaive over her shoulder, she closed her eyes and listened. Amidst the clamor of the battlefield, Ephemera can hear it through the curtain of sand– the shuddering of the wooden mast, the paragon’s heavy breathing–

<There!>

Just before Ephemera released the glaive, her whole body froze.

<I am not my weapon.>

“What...” The wraith let out a whisper. She felt the darkness trembling within.

<I am not my failures> the burden spoke, the paragon’s voice rising above the chorus. Thunder and lightning echoed within the darkness.

<I am chosen, and I am so much more than that. More than you!>

A wind swept across the checkered battlefield. Quiet, soft, yet there was strength hidden in its passing. The wraith watched in awe as the cloud was swept away.

<Impossible.> the chorus whispered as one of its remembers broke free. Ephemera’s hand trembled as she looked up at the towering mast to meet the paragon’s gaze. Though the paragon remained silent, Ephemera could sense an unmistakable change in her. A newfound resolve in Elysia, her fetters cast aside– Behind the wraith, the red sands still poured covering the tiles beneath. But between her and the paragon, the realm was free of its presence.

<... You’re right.> The remnant whispered, her voice rising with infectious resolve. <I am–>

“ENOUGH.” Ephemera closed her eyes as she cried out to the entire battlefield. Ink poured from mouth and spilt across her robe and the ground beneath her. She couldn’t stand to see the paragon’s eyes. It was anathema; the sight stung her very essence. Even now as the hope boiled in her veins, Ephemera wanted to excise it from her memory. Her grip tightened around the glaive–

<Failure!>

As she opened her eyes, Ephemera threw the glaive forward–

<I am the stormcaller–>

Ephemera’s soulless eyes went wide as a bolt of lightning raced through the air. It flowed through the glaive, the metal bridging the gap between them. Then, seeking her weakness, it leapt towards the metal in her hair.

The wraith wanted to howl, but as her whole body convulsed against her will, she silently slumped back and fell against the ground. Ephemera felt her whole being begin to fray as the essence split from her body. Her shoulder and chest ached in pain, the earlier injuries now reawakened from the intense shock. Black sludge poured oozed from beneath the wraith, smoke rising from the gore.

<Unforgivable...> The chorus muttered, their strength spent for the moment.

As the wraith regained control of her body, her hand slowly drifted towards the pin in her hair. As her talons touched the metal, Ayane let out a sigh of relief.

<That’s good. I was so worried–>

The smile on her face lasted for but a moment.

<I wouldn’t know what to do without it–>

The chorus seized the opportunity; it latched onto the remnant’s words. The wraith’s smile turned into a scowl, the ooze tearing and stretching as she lifted herself off the ground.

<She did it. She tried to destroy it.> Ayane’s gaze wandered up to where she last spied the paragon; in her place, the glaive was buried in the wooden mast. Looking down, her eyes fell upon the missing paragon. Elysia had collapsed against the bottom of the mass, seemingly exhausted– vulnerable.

Once again, the wraith’s body moved on its own. Her hair sunk below the wraith to prop her up. Ayane crawled on the ground like an animal as the red strings pulled her towards the Stormcaller.

<Finish this, and his gift will be safe. Do it, Ayane!>

As hundreds of voices echoed within her mind, Ayane raised her claw. Her head twitched back and forth, tears streaming down her face. But as the ill intent swelled within her heart, one voice dared to fight against the chorus.

<Do not listen to them!> The paragon’s voice shouted, the splintered burden indomitable as it held its own against the darkness. <Fight it, Ayane!>

But what was one voice in the face of hundreds?

As the twitching subsided, Ayane narrowed her eyes on Elysia’s neck, the flesh still bruised from their earlier struggle.

“Forgive me... I have no choice. I can’t–”

The wraith brought her claw down.

<Dismissed.>
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 22
3/4/2024 20:59:19   
  Starflame13
Moderator


Her pride unbroken… Elysia rides as Paragon.

Knight of Storms… rise, Elysia, and rule your tempest.


It aches. Faint bursts of fireworks scatter the blackness behind her eyelid only to fade into darkness again and again. It aches, dull pain sunk deep into her bones. Breaths come short, choppy, each one just enough to push air into her lungs before it rushes back out. Muscles throb, loose and motionless, their strength forgotten and swallowed by the dull press of constant, sweeping pain. Her head rings and aches and hums -

Cool tile presses against her cheek, stark contrast to the lines of warm blood dripping across her face. Lashes flutter, gets a single glimpse of a white expanse before darkness crowds back in. Fingers twitch, twinge, close slowly into a fist. Sharp flares of pain slip through the dull throb, tacky blood pooling about the gashes in her shoulder, on her thigh. Throat spasms slightly with each shallow breath, air forced unwillingly past the bruises blossoming against her neck. Each wound bites deep against the empty swell of her mana, static fallen silent in her soul. Elysia shifts, groans softly, stills.

She is silent.

Something shifts before her, the faint prickle of charge enough to raise the hair at the back of her neck. Faint trembles of movement through the air reach her, vibrations of weight dragged against stone shivering through her bones. Light flecks of pressure patter against her gloves, along her arms. Raindrops. Teardrops. Ephemera.

Still alive.

Slowly, deliberately, Elysia forces her eye open just a crack. Through the dark haze still flickering with echoing bolts, she can just make out the weeping Knight. Her black eyes are fixed on Elysia’s limp form, filled with warring emotion. Rage drowns to grief and horror which fade to a hard, desperate hunger. Tears flood down her face all the same, the girl struggling, shaking, arm trembling as the Knight of Sacrifice slowly raises an Chaos-stained hand. Her lips move, forming unheard words. Forgive me.

Elysia tenses her muscles, slowly, as the girl wrestles with some internal force. Against something else inside her, its voice driving Ephemera forward. Ink flickers along her arms, a faint imprint of ropes, of chains, binding something to her. The Stormcaller’s eyes go distant even as the claw raises an inch further. She recognizes Ephemera’s desperation, now. She’s seen it before, from a cursed woman upon crimson sands long ago.

From a Champion.

The claw falls.

The world explodes.

And a voice, deeper than any other, presses its words through her soul.

Knight of Storms. Though you shine and spark above your calling, you fail to capture the shine of Order. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.

Elysia exhales even as Ephemera freezes, shock and fear and fury flickering through the black eyes still fixed on the Stormcaller’s throat. Still warring with herself even as Elysia relaxes in one moment of soft, quiet understanding.

The woman shoves herself upright, using her good arm to twist gently away from the claw hanging motionless in the air before her. Ephemera remains kneeling, gaze wide and unseeing even as her prey slips away. Elysia regards her enemy, the report of cannon fire slowly echoing across her mind as it fades from the battlefield. She could fall back, now, and Ephemera would not be able to follow her. Could leave, and drag herself to the portal of singing skyfire that sings to her soul from beyond the pair. But…

What had Micha said, upon the crimson sands? The wildcat has spoken to a woman driven far more mad than the one beside Elysia now, had spoken words of reassurance that had tipped the scales of a mental struggle, had brought the Paragon of Light back to herself. Elysia cannot remember how Micha had made Lucia listen. But she remembers the words.

The Knight of Storms leans forward, the claw snicking free over her shoulder, and pulls the Knight of Sacrifice into a firm, hard embrace.

“It hurts.” Her voice is loud, almost alien in her ears as it quiets the last of the ringing. “It hurts, I know it hurts. Carrying something that you hate. I’ve seen it. But whatever you are fighting, it is still part of you. It is you.” She pulls back, grips the girl’s shoulders. Barely a prickle of static remains at her fingertips, but enough to make sure that Ephemera listens. “If you do not face it, if you do not hold it, you cannot control it. It controls you.” She squeezes, once, smiles - and lets go. Falls back to fetch against the mast behind her, firm wood against her spine all that keeps her upright. “It is your choice, Ephemera. Go and make it.”

Green eye turns away from the girl, now streaked with her own blood. Ephemera’s battle will continue. Elysia has no part of it anymore. Her gaze falls on the Knight of Whispers, the feather in the new cavalier hat fluttering slightly as the woman slowly nears to approach her own portal. Elysia goes to rise - and her leg buckles under the weight, forcing the woman to catch herself against the mast with a pained gasp. Vale pauses beside her, body slanted towards Ephemera before turning towards the Stormcaller, lips moving in some sort of question.

The world about her remains silent. She swallows, looks up into lavender eyes, and speaks.

“I can’t hear you.” Her own voice is muffled to her ears, the shape of the words forming but not the pitch, not the tone. Vale’s ears flick in surprise as the wildcat startles, at her voice or her words she doesn’t know. Elysia extends a hand upward, wincing, and manages a strained smile. “But I can see you.”

Vale’s face splits into a wide grin, and the Knight of Whispers reaches down to grasp Elsyia’s hand firmly. She tugs, then pitches forward - and Elysia throws her other arm up to catch the wildcat by her shoulders, steadying her. She’s about to let go, to gesture Vale on and to crawl herself over to the portal when the other woman kneels, pulls Elysia’s arm about her shoulders, throws her full weight into getting the Stormcaller upright. The two sway, stagger - Elysia grips Vale’s arm, and they steady. “Thank you.”

The pair of injured warriors limp slowly, awkwardly towards the pair of portals. Vale’s is full of the curls of the dusk, but Elysia’s… Elysia’s holds the storm. The two pause between them, and the Stormcaller pauses long enough to give Vale a last squeeze in soft, silent thanks. She extends her other hand to the gateway, its door filled with skyfire twining about itself in an endless, patternless dance.

She hums. A voice echoes, almost in response - a mental reverberation that fits the bearing of the wildcat now at her back.

*Live freely, Elysia.*

She is not a Champion. She doesn’t need to be. Doesn’t need to carry the mantle of Knight; doesn’t even need to be recognized as Paragon.

She is the Stormcaller. She will carry Energy in her heart, and carry its song into the world.

That is enough for her.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 23
3/5/2024 13:00:37   
Dragonknight315
Member

"Knight of Whispers–"
"Knight of Storms–"

"Dismissed."

As the powers that be announced their judgment, their words fell on deaf ears. While the rest of the battlefield trembled in fear and reverence, Ayane focused on her obsession. The whole world seemed to fade away as she swiped her claw at the paragon. It found no purchase, however; mere inches from her prey’s flesh, her claw froze as if caught in the very air.

<What?–>

Ayane bared her teeth and pushed in. The darkness crept from the corner of her eyes, her vision narrowed to a pinprick. The wraith had to seize the moment and finish the paragon, but for all her efforts, her claw would. Not. Move.

As the frustration boiled in Ayane’s veins, she could hear the defiant burden echoing in her soul.

<Ayane– Ayane, listen!>

The wraith’s eyes went wide. As her vision returned to her, Ayane could see her wicked talon primed to strike Elysia.

<... What– What was I doing?!>

The wraith’s mouth dropped in pure horror. Her whole body trembled as the realization hit her.

<This... this isn’t right– This isn’t me!>

Ayane felt the guilt and regret swelling her throat. But for all her misgivings, she could tear her eyes from Elysia’s neck. She could not pull her talons away.

<Do it.> the chorus whispered, its voice grim, comforting, compelling. It would be so easy to submit.

<Finish her–>

<But–>


Lost in her living nightmare, Ayane did not notice as Elysia stirred beneath the mast. The stormcaller moved like her namesake, quickly rising to slip past Ayane’s guard. The wraith flinched as she felt the paragon’s arms wrapping around her. Ayane was at her mercy.

“It hurts...”

Ayane let out a gasp as the storm in her mind fell silent. The wraith turned her head, and as she looked into the paragon’s eyes, she found the most unexpected thing–

Compassion.

“It hurts. I know it hurts–” Elysia continued. “Carrying something that you hate. I’ve seen it. But whatever you are fighting, it is still part of you. It is you.

Ayane bit her lip as the paragon placed her hands on the wraith’s shoulders. Though her grip was fairly gentle, even the barest touch caused Ayane’s nerves to shudder. She was just so sore.

A trickle of static brushed against Ayane’s skin. The paragon demanded her attention. “If you do not face it, if you do not hold it, you cannot control it. It controls you.

With a smile, Elysia let go of the wraith and fell back against the wooden mast.

“It’s your choice, Ephemera. Go and make it.”

Her words left the wraith stunned. By the time she gathered enough of herself to even consider thanking Elysia or returning the gesture, the paragon was gone from the mast. Ayane peered around, only to find her and the kith in the distance. Too far away, the opportunity had passed. There was so much Ayane wanted to say. But one thought rose above the others.

<Ephemera... That’s not my name.>

Ayane...

Much to the wraith’s surprise, she heard a voice answer her thoughts.

<Vale?>

As Ayane focused her eyes, she could see the outline of the kitsune amidst the glow of the portal.

<Win.>

<... I will. Promise.>


Without another word, Vale stepped through the portal, and Ayane was left alone. Still kneeling on the cold checkered tile, she looked down at her claws, to her undead flesh.

<You’re the one who can’t let go, Ayane.>

She was a wraith– a being of pure memory, composed of nothing but fear and agony. For centuries this is all she has known.

<Whatever you are fighting, it’s a part of you. If you do not face it, do not hold it, you cannot control it.>

“Is... is it really possible?”

The wraith’s voice quivered as she considered the thought, her mind spiraling inward. The chorus held its peace; it was waiting for her reply.

<... There’s no other option.>

The wraith slowly brought her claw to her shoulder, her whole body shaking as she pressed her talon’s tips against her bare flesh.

<I have to try–>

A shriek escaped Ayane’s stained lips as she clawed her arm. She raked it across her skin from shoulder to wrist in one solid swipe. As the ink poured from her wound, Ayane could hear her own thoughts out loud as the presence invaded her mind.

<I was so afraid–>

The chorus roared in her ears as the black ichor wrapped around her from her head to her feet. The ink had swallowed her whole.

<–that I was doomed from the start. That all of this suffering would be meaningless.>

As Ayane plunged herself into the abyss, her corpse rose to its feet.

<There was no one left to call for. Nothing left to look forward to. I was so afraid to lose everything that I clung to whatever promised me another day, another chance.>

She crossed over the threshold, past the point of no return. Her burden now one with the chorus, Ayane’s voice echoed from within.

<My soul turned outward, easing my burden by forcing it upon others, sustaining myself with their pain. I wanted to– I needed to–>

The ink hardened on the wraith’s skin, encasing her like prison–

<But not anymore. I will not be afraid!>

–like a chrysalis. The ink shattered like glass, the pieces melting into puddles across the checkered floor. As Ayane gathered herself, she heard someone familiar call out to her.

"We hath found ourselves face to face once more.”

<The duelist...>

The wraith took a deep breath. When she turned to face Ladd, she was whole.

Blood flowed through Ayane’s veins, her skin flush red with life. Once stained with earth and gore, her shrine maiden clothes were clean, untattered. Snow-white robes flowed into frilled crimson sleeves. Ayane’s night-colored hair was pulled back into a perfectly kept ponytail. Two long locks framed her face, her stoney eyes now a brilliant silver. It was as if she had never known a day of hardship.

As a second wind coursed through her entire being, Ayane knew the truth. It was a temporary illusion. Once it was over, her soul would be forfeit. Even so, it felt as though her prayers were finally answered.

<This life is a fleeting moment, an Ephemera– She is me, but I must not become her.>

Smoke still clung to the two strands that brushed Ayane’s cheek. Ink dripped from her wounded arm, trickling down her pitch-dark talons as they peered out from beneath her sleeves. But the rope was gone from Ayane’s wrists. She was unbound; she was finally herself.

“Ephemera–”

“–That’s not my name.” Ayane’s voice shot out across the checkered tile as she interrupted the duelist. Her next words were sharp and measured.

“My name is Ayane.”

“My pardon. Ayane–” As the duelist corrected himself, Ayane’s silver eyes fell upon his chest and took in his wounds. Singed black and stained with blood, his suffering was plain to see. Yet Ladd brandished his true weapon, his smile, as he pulled out one of his gloves. Ayane could not help but grin in return.

<Ever true to yourself, Ladd Nisent. If only I had found myself sooner.>

The duelist tossed his glove, its white fabric stained red from the open wound on his palm, and it fell at Ayane’s feet.

“The gods may watch our steps but I'd seek this duel without their gaze."

“Yes...” Ayane closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t have agree more.

“Listen, Ladd.”

The smile fell from Ayane’s face, her voice now solemn. “I don’t have much time left. I wish we didn’t have to do this. Both of us deserve better–”

The shadows flicked around Ayane as she touched her claw to the flower in her hair. “But I must see this to the end.”

<For my sake. For his sake–>

Ladd raised his rapier, equally eager to settle this once and for all. “I shan’t have it any other way.”

Ayane gave a nod and beckoned the duelist forward. Inside, the chorus rose together as one voice, her voice–

<Good. Hold nothing back.>
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 24
3/5/2024 13:44:56   
markthematey
Member

Knight of Whispers.” The divine words of the Ruler of Order were never heard but felt. They reverberated through Ladd’s body and brought the world to a brief standstill. He dreaded the next words to come as if he already knew what they were going to say.

Though you show great cunning and wit, you have failed to grasp yourself amidst the ever-flowing tides of Chaos.

He held his breath but by now it was all but inevitable.

You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.

Twice now, the deities who watched had cut his duel short. His heart was racing near moments but now it had been forced into submission. Quiet of heart and still of mind, Ladd had become the Order of Champion whilst Vale stood defeated.

Vale’s pull on his collar lost all force as her fingers slipped and went limp. Ladd caught only a glimpse of her lavender eyes. They speak of sorrow and shame. She had chosen her path.

Inexplicably, something new tugged at his heart. The sight of the crestfallen Foxen caused Ladd’s heart to quicken, but not like it had done before. His breath felt short; was he forgetting something? He had won the duel as per the rules and she had admitted defeat. Where was the catharsis of winning? The satisfaction of a well-fought battle?

Ladd turned to the bloodied blade that rested just behind him. Sheathing his own, he picked it off the floor. Yes, in moments like these, it is best to follow tradition. How could he forget? If you disarm an opponent, returning the blade is a simple kindness that will end the bout with you as the victor.

Turning back, Vale looked even more languished than before. Her head and ears drooped low and her tail curled around her legs slightly.

He quickly presented the blade to the vulpe, but when she didn’t take it, he nearly forced it into her hand. Yes yes, with this sign of respect all shall be fixed. Ladd was certain.

But Vale’s demeanor didn’t change, and Ladd’s irregular heart only quickened. What does this mean–What does this mean–What does this mean–What does this mean His thoughts overflowed with confusion.

Ladd quickly came to a conclusion in the little time he had. He wanted to duel her again. In all of his training and dueling, he had never asked for a “re-duel” of sorts. That would be disrespectful to challenge someone who had already lost.

He wracked his mind for some sort of formality, but couldn’t think of one. No one had ever asked him for a second duel, and he had no reason to challenge someone he already bested. If he couldn’t think of a precedent to follow, he would simply make his own.

Ladd took off his hat, glancing at the large white feather. This hat was a treasured gift, and Ladd would have been downtrodden if it was stolen. But without a second thought, Ladd firmly placed it on her head.

“Twas an incredible duel.” Ladd beamed brightly. To Ladd, this tradition wouldn’t be one he would be keen on repeating. This was a promise, a promise he hoped he wouldn’t break as he had before.

“I await for our blades to cross once more.”

Vale’s demeanor shifted quickly. It went from confusion to sharing the smile Ladd almost had on. She quickly grabbed his hand and placed it on her forehead

Ladd nearly froze–this is a strange dueling tradition. He was sure there were plenty of forms he’d yet to learn, but this must come from a far far-off land. Yet his irregular heart seemed to quiet.

“I think I found a third option, in defeat.” Vale’s tail flicked side to side while she awaited a response.

Ladd smiled. Death or shame? Ladd avoided them his entire life, but if there was another path, hopefully he could find it as well. He knew this was wishful thinking. Shame was all that awaited him in defeat–shame on himself, shame on each foe he’d bested, and shame on the one who gave him the passion to fight. But if Vale found something else, who was he to deny her this?

“Then follow it with all your heart.”

Vale returned a smile with an intent unknown to Ladd. He almost regretted he hadn’t trained in the duel of words known as conversation. It surely would have come in handy here.

“Until we meet again, Ladd.” Vale tipped the hat towards Ladd. He stared at her for a second, not knowing how much he missed seeing someone else wear that brimmed-feather hat. A warm feeling washed over him. Yes, until we meet again, Vale.

But before Ladd planned another competition, he had one final challenge to fulfill.

Looking across the checkered battlefield he found his last opponent standing in the distance, distracted with the other defeated competitor.

Ladd started to jog over but the first step reminded him how far ignoring his wound would take him. As his diaphragm expanded with each breath his chest would voice its complaints in a sharp pain that split down his sternum. Turning caused his ribs to leak more and more blood causing him to become slightly lightheaded. He dreaded the thought but Ladd didn’t know if he could complete this final contest.

As he walked forward, Ladd peeled off the glove from his broken hand. The first two fingers stuck crooked and slightly bent inwards. In a vain attempt, Ladd placed the glove into his ribs. The flow slowed slightly but inadvertently his now bare hand was covered in blood. His energy flowed through his hand, infusing itself into the blood that coated his hand.

Ladd’s master had always taught him how to balance himself. The body is a tool for the mind, to follow its commands. The mind is a tool for the soul, to lead with determination. The Soul a tool for the body, to reinvigorate where the body thought it should have failed. Both Ladd and his master knew that he would never truly find this balance. His concentration can no longer be reached and his body is failing him but his heart, his soul still burn brightly.

If the other two won’t complete this battle then with his spirit alone he will fight. To do any less will be shameful. Shame wasn’t an option.

The figure of Ephemera showed she too had a fair share of wounds. From burns to ink that draped her clothing. An inkling of relief sprouted in Ladd's chest but he quickly snuffed it out. In any other moment, Ladd would have looked at himself with disgust. If he was a better duelist he would have avoided his wounds in the first place but those thoughts were easily filtered out by the discomfort of his own body moving. He would consider it an even battlefield if only to ease his mind.

As he got closer, Ephemera changed. The ink that covered her dress shifted and her robes turned to a pure white. Her decaying flesh regained its color. Bit by bit, Ephemera looked as if she was coming back to life from her ghoulish state. It was as if it was an entirely different person in front of him.

Ladd paused and attempted to take a stance, the posture was weak and pained. Ladd would have been reprimanded if he could see him now.

"We hath found ourselves face to face once more.”

For the first time, Ladd found it harder and harder to maintain his smile but he forced himself to. A duelist who smiles even in the worst of moments. That is the man Ladd aimed to keep alive. If he couldn’t be here himself, Ladd would make sure his spirit lives through him.

“Ephemera–” Ladd words were sharply cut off.

“That’s not my name.” her words had a trace of venom in them but they softened quickly as she found her voice, “My name is Ayane.”

So it wasn’t the same person who stood in front of Ladd. He would eventually need to finish his duel with Ephemera then but Ladd still needed to properly challenge this new foe. His body may be on the edge of failing and his mind hazy but his soul was roiling with energy.

“My pardon. Ayane…” He paused as he took his crooked hand and fiddled with the latch on his pouch. The once effortless movement became hassled and he took out a glove.

The pure white brilliance was immediately squandered as the blood from his hand soaked into it. It spread through the fibers becoming tainted forever more. To throw this at an opponent, a chosen champion no less, would be a disrespect that he would not have someone suffer.

Instead, he tossed it towards Ayane’s feet. A challenge but one of respect.

“The gods may watch our steps but I'd seek this duel without their gaze." He spoke the truth from his heart. In front of him, he saw a warrior. One that's braved challenges that Ladd could never conquer. Challenges that would cause one's very own heart to crumble and be lost to themselves.

“Yes...Listen, Ladd.” Ayane responded to awaiting ears. Ladd knew the challenge couldn’t be denied at this point. The gods watched too eagerly, if their chosen champion denied the challenge they wouldn’t have been here in the first place.

“I don’t have much time left. I wish we didn’t have to do this. Both of us deserve better,” Ayane continued but this confused Ladd slightly. Of course he wanted to fight here. He had all the reason to fight and none to not. Did he?

Ladd never considered any other path and he didn’t have a reason to stop now. If he fought he felt something and if he didn’t he was left empty. That alone was a reason to fight, that alone was the only reason he would ever need.

A second reason tugged in the back of his mind. His hazy mind had trouble quieting it as quickly. He knew this reason very well, it led him down the path he had taken. It commanded his spirit more harshly than any other. It shattered the promise he made to his dying master.

“But I must see this to the end.” Ayane finished. Her shadows swirled around her and her claws extended. Her weapons were primed and the duel was accepted formally.

This was what Ladd knew. A duel of wit and skill that would enwrap both of their hearts in a contest of determination. A formal challenge, an accepted duel, one victor and one defeated. The thought of anything else made Ladd’s heart uncertain and frightful. Uncertainty leads to shame that not even death can atone for.

Pointing his Rapier forward and preparing his stance, Ladd spoke with no uncertain words.

“I shan’t have it any other way.”
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