RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena

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Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (10/6/2014 6:56:47)
Kriege gathered himself, focusing on his breathing and stilling the jagged beating of his heart. His dark eyes shifted and the Vastaa paused, his gaze arrested by the sight of Makelyth battling the Chosen of Light. The valiant rodent met the screaming charge of the human-Kaarme prince, his scintillating weapons rising in defense as Makelyth’s sword swept in. Though the gallant Light combatant was an enemy, the ice bear was not without some measure of empathy. He esteemed the diminutive competitor for his heart, for his willingness to do battle against opponents so much larger than he. As such, like many of the spectators in the stands, Kriege inhaled a sharp breath of shock as Makelyth’s blade sheared through the little rodent’s limb, sending it flying in a bloody spurt of strange hue and stranger scent. The Chosen of Light took his revenge though, whipping his body about, swarming over Fire’s Chosen and retaliating. Whatever action the rodent might have taken, the polar goliath could not see. It was undeniably effective, however, for the scaled prince toppled to the ground, ridden down by Light’s Chosen. The refulgent rodent was, for now, finishing up with Makelyth. Kriege would have to deal with Connor before considering means of dealing with the gallant burrowing rodent. In a way it was a shame, for the Vastaa was coming to respect the plucky Chosen of Energy almost as much as the Chosen of Light. Connor’s voice rang out, drawing the ice bear’s attention back to Energy’s Chosen. His opponent looked ragged, but there was still fight in him, or bravado at least. The man’s good arm cocked back to throw, and Kriege shifted in response, his grip tightening on the gauntlet that he had removed a few moments ago. Charged with more of the favored electricity, Connor’s remaining knife soared through the air, spinning end over end in the Vastaa’s direction. As a rule, Vastaa were hardly given to ranged combat. Still, Kriege’s response to the thrown knife was simple and direct. Stepping slightly to the side, the armored behemoth side-armed the now empty gauntlet at the approaching dagger. The projectiles sailed on intersecting courses, clashing together with a metallic ring. It was perhaps inevitable that as the ice bear dropped down to all fours, hurling himself into a charge, that Connor drew another knife from his belt. The Chosen of Energy had but one arm left. Dagger or no dagger, Kriege would not be denied a splash of crimson this time. His prey was wounded, and the Vastaa intended to crush the man beneath his feet.. The ice bear lowered his shoulder, snarling as he charged, intending to drive the spikes of his right pauldron into Connor’s stomach.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (10/7/2014 17:23:45)
The simple task of taking its first step towards the remnant pair of the grand championships pierced was unsteady, causing the construct to waver slightly. Long-suppressed diagnostic knowledge flooded the remaining relays within its cogitation matrix and tension wires practically sang with the effort to keep itself upright. The loss of its tail had been a staggering thing, corrupting its balance nearly as much as the final wrenching blow from Makelyth had warped its skeletal tungsten superstructure the threw its weight off of alignment. By its second step, ponderously mechanical in its lack of grace, the F.E.R.R.E.T. was forced to admit certain truths of its condition. Only in withdrawing would it be able to make the trek back to the Menagerie before total loss of function would rob the Lightsplitter forever more the force of animation. To fight on would condemn it to eventually fall upon the sands as naught but a mechanical curiosity, collected to fuel the scrap heap of the forge masters in Bren. So be it. It is what the Calling demands. One by one, the F.E.R.R.E.T. dismissed the diagnostic warnings in its thought-patterns. With each step it closed another alarm relay. The thorough scorching by the dragonkin’s fire had left it black, but had also ruined the emitters that safely vented photonic charge into the shimmer field pattern. Kissed by fire and quenched by blood, its hind-paws had curled and provided unsteady support to stand upon. The loss of its left arm had taken with it the majority of its remaining weaponry, and the photonic conduits within were building power to threaten overload for lack of use or expression. With careful movements, the Lightsplitter slid its remaining blade free of its fore-paw, then grasped it much the way a biped might. Held as a sword by a bipedal warrior, it brought it to lay gently on the fur just beneath the hole reaved in its side. A soft hiss betrayed the ignition of light through the blade, and the ragged edge was cut clean. The ball joint of the shoulder dropped away, dragging a few last bits of shredded machinery from its internals with it as the F.E.R.R.E.T. evened the wound. For all of that, the F.E.R.R.E.T. had no concept of pain. Jade luminesced from its eyes as glittering teardrops trailed down its cheek, only to evanesce into the air rather than evaporate. Photonic energy seeking outlet and escape even with its blade active. It stared at its remaining blade, only now noticing how even the crystalline structure had denatured. The lance of light beyond the tip no longer cohered as far, no longer doubled its length, but instead reached out only an inch into the space beyond the crystal. Instead, the edge of the shaped prism was suffused with white light and the flashing tinge of argent fury. Such could still cut true, the flap of scale and flesh had given way to slice deep into the spongy mass of meat and bone of Makelyth’s spine, but now that act felt far more foolish for the Lightsplitter’s accumulated degradation. A knife through the air, and then a clash as a gauntlet was tossed ever so flippantly into it by Kriege as the Lightsplitter glanced back up along its path. The Vastaa thundered down onto all four paws. The wee blackened body of the approaching F.E.R.R.E.T. was too easily overlooked for its agonizingly slow advance. Still it trundled closer, moving to take hold of opportunity. There would be a clash, there would be a spray of blood from either Vastaa or Human, and then there would be a flash as the F.E.R.R.E.T. would cleave the survivor.

Apocalypse -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (11/8/2014 20:56:14)
A swift flick from the bear's wrist sent the helmet into the path of the oncoming projectile. Metal struck metal in a raucous cacophony, and sparks leapt from one surface to another in a cavort of dancing lights. Just one more attack rendered useless against the might of the behemoth. Kriege growled as charged forward, the sharp spikes of his pauldron poised to strike Connor's heart. The gunslinger still held a Bowie in hand, but even when charged it was not enough to halt a giant in its tracks. No, there was only weapon left in his arsenal that held an inkling of a chance of saving Connor from the bear's onslaught. The knife slipped through leather-clad fingers as his grip slackened, the small blade landing in the crimson sand with a soft thud. The outlaw backpedaled away from the charge, though not enough to to take him out of Kriege's path. But Connor was not fighting for space; he was fighting for time. Enough time to reach down and pluck the last bang bulb from his side. Another bound brought Kriege closer to Connor, leaving only one more vault before the beast would be on top of him. It was all-or-nothing now; one final gamble to determine the fate of the two combatants. As the bear entered into the last stride of his gait, Connor raised the bang bulb, his outstretched arm placing it the same distance from the man's scowl as it did from the beast's maw. It was not made of glass, but it shattered like it was when Connor crushed the bang bulb in his palm. A hundred thousand volts poured out, blue bolts enveloped the outlaw, and the world went white... He awoke to a searing pain in his chest and the sensation of burning blades pressing into his skin all over his body. Connor almost did not register the weight of Kriege on top of him until the beast stirred to rise to his paws. The last burst of energy had affected the bear's aim, but this only meant that Connor had been slashed instead of skewered. He coughed as the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth before straining to reach underneath him for his last Bowie. Muscles ached as they contracted, muscles screamed as they stretched, but he would die not without a knife in his hands. No man would let himself be killed while a means to protect himself was within grasp. And grasped he did, tugging the blade free from its resting place and out into the air and sand of the arena. The bear loomed over him, loomed over the gunslinger's bleeding, broken form. What a sad excuse for Energy's Chosen, thought Connor as he grimaced in pain. He must be pretty pissed. He could not see his electrical burns, but he could certainly feel them. The air was rampant with the rancid odors of burnt leather, flesh, and hair. Every breath was a struggle, and every movement made it more difficult not to let a groan escape from his lips. Kriege was silent as he stared at him, whether from pity or some other reason Connor could not tell. But Connor would not be pitied by an enemy. "Do it," the outlaw said. His words came out in rasps but the fight in them was still there. "Do it. Otherwise I'll plunge this knife down your gullet." He raised his knife as high as he could, the muscles straining and burning with every movement. Connor could have sworn that Kriege nodded his head in acknowledgement, before lifting his paw. "That's more like it," said Connor as he plumped his head back on the sand with eyes closed and a hint of a smile etched across his face. And with a single swing it was over, the Chosen of Energy no more.

Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (11/20/2014 23:52:30)
Kriege loped over the sands; massive paws pistoned as the Vastaa forced his scorched and aching frame into the charge through force of will and stubborn endurance. This would be the last charge. The ice bear knew enough to acknowledge that, as he bore down on Connor. He was not a cub anymore, and the lightning of Energy’s Chosen was a force such as he had never encountered. Though it was but a fraction of the power of nature’s fury, even that fraction had added to the scars marking a lifetime of combat across Kriege’s hide. The armored behemoth closed, and Crackshot’s knife slipped from his fingers, as though he was too weak to keep possession of his last defense. Glittering in the light, arcing with lightning, the weapon fell. Energy snapped and hissed, grounding out impotently in the sands of the Arena floor. That was when the Vastaa realized something was very wrong. He had not known Connor long, but it was said that the best way to know a man was to fight him. The Chosen of Energy had proven himself to be tenacious, clever, and brave. Those were traits that Kriege respected, traits that would even allow him to dismiss his opponent’s ridiculous choice of wardrobe. Connor was not a man to cast aside a defense, not while he could still do battle. Surrender was not in his repertoire. His suspicion was confirmed as Crackshot’s good hand dipped to his waist. The polar goliath’s heart leaped into his throat as his dark eyes discerned the cursedly familiar shape of another lightning vial. For a fraction of a second the Vastaa checked his charge, a momentary loss of momentum, just long enough to recognize that this was the point of no return. If he reached Energy’s Chosen before the man could throw the bulb, victory was there to be taken. If he could not, he was very likely dead. There was no more time for thinking. Kriege hurled himself forward, and then realized that he had underestimated Connor, and his resolve. In his desperation, the Vastaa’s opponent simply crushed the fragile glass construction in his hand. It was unexpected, but there was a certain cold logic to the action, an acceptance, an acknowledgement, on Crackshot’s part of the fact that this would be the end of their battle, one way or another. The world dissolved in a raging roar of riotous blue light. The sound swallowed the surge of sound from the crowd, and Kriege’s reflexive snarl of pain, in a great swell of noise that asserted its dominance by overwhelming any other source of sound in the Arena. Muscles locked, spasmed, clenched, and the Vastaa fell, feeling something beneath him. It hurt. Xyv as his witness, nothing had ever hurt like this before. Every nerve ending in his body howled in agony. His nostrils were filled with the scents of burnt hair and charred flesh. Alternating bands of heat and cold shuddered through him, and blood leaked freely from wounds torn open by the seizures. He lay where he fell, unable to move but for the twitches racking his body, unable to think but for the pain washing through his mind. ”Get up, love. You aren’t done yet…” The polar goliath groaned breathlessly, fighting hard to simply open his eyes. He was distantly aware of something shifting in the sands beneath him. It was Connor, he realized distantly, in some part of his mind that wasn’t busy screaming input and pain from yet another serious electrocution. Kriege had fallen on the Chosen of Energy. The ice bear huffed, growling and scrabbling, getting all four paws beneath himself, though they throbbed in rebellious agony, and heaved himself upright. Bones creaked as he loomed upright, feeling as though they were made of brittle glass, more of Crackshot’s flimsy lightning-vials ready to shatter. Kriege looked down at the broken form of his opponent, bloody foam and slaver dripping from his jaws as he looked down at the man. He had bitten his tongue, again, but if he looked bad, Energy’s Chosen looked worse. Connor’s skin was charred and cracked, meat left too long on the fire. Most of his hair was burnt away, and his face was clenched in a rictus grin of manic pain. Despite it all, the man had a blade in hand, doing his level best to menace the ice bear with it. “Do it.” Kriege’s remaining ear twitched. Whether it was a motion of surprise at Connor’s words, or simply another tremor resulting from the last shock, was open to question. “Do it. Otherwise I’ll plunge this knife down your gullet.” They stared at one another for a second that stretched and stretched, until finally the Vastaa inclined his head to Crackshot. His right paw rose, descended. Energy’s Chosen went out with a smile. Kriege understood. Dropping to all fours with a heavy grunt of pain, the armored behemoth’s maw opened, closing around Crackshot’s still throat. Biting and wrenching with the power of jaws and neck, the Vastaa tore out the dead man’s throat. Kriege was a bear of his word, and he had told the Chosen of Energy it would end this way. He thought that Connor would have understood. Rising, the giant bear spat blood, looking around the Arena slowly, searching for the Chosen of Light. The fight was over now. He knew that somehow, just as he knew that there was one last thing to do, before the end.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (11/21/2014 0:11:02)
Finality The air grew thick with corded tension made palpable with every baited breath, each clenched fist and nervous tic amidst the crowds. The great bounds of Kriege menaced Connor with the promise of impalement, and for each bound the Lightsplitter could manage only a halting, stuttered step. It saw the bowie knife slide from slackened fingers, saw how the sands swallowed the charged blade with the softest of rasping sighs. It saw the knife tumble, one last gesture of acknowledgement for the end rushing upon him. Nearby, so close and yet as barred as any other, they grew ever more proud. Defiance So too did the Lightsplitter see that same hand, fingers fluid and quick with life, darting up Connor’s form and snatching at his belt. The Crackshot had not advanced so far against his adversaries as to meekly accept an ending as certain or inevitable. Onyx eyes glittered with the rise of the bang bulb, and the F.E.R.R.E.T. knew the same dread which the gunslinger must have been feeling. Whereas Kriege was too dedicated to a charge to change directions, much less manage to escape the area being so close, the Lightsplitter simply was too immobile. That Connor had begun to backpedal mattered not at all, such a play for precious seconds still left even the construct in the vast swatch such devices ravaged. Its whiskers twitched in dismay as it watched, unchecked in its own halting advance despite the promise of doom in such a small vial. They watched, and they too knew despair. Resolve A step, a bound, and the twinkling of broken glass...and Connor’s act of defiance threw the world into a special slice of chaos. Coruscating cerulean tendrils lashed out from the vial, coating both Kriege and Connor in their violent arcs as they sought to ground themselves like their natural counterparts. But there was so much fury, and the split-second of hope died as a single questing tendril shot clear of the shrinking space between the larger competitors. Drawn like a moth to a flame, the magical energies twisted to bridge the gap and latch onto the ferretine construct. Tortured metal warped beyond tolerance practically screamed while arcs of electricity danced along the living artifice, hopping from strand to strand in a merry chain of destruction. The Lightsplitter writhed and spasmed, sharp screeching audible as portions of its frame and innards were arc-welded together then wrenched free. The jade-inlays of its left eye heated unevenly against the onyx that surrounded it, and where it had once light had wept from the socket came the sharp cracks of stone. Ground dust fell in the place of tears, and the F.E.R.R.E.T. bowed forward as its skeleton became increasingly fused by the torrents of Energy. Just as swiftly, the bang bulb’s fury has finished its ravagement. The Lightsplitter slowly slumped forward, jerking its forelimb at the last second to fall against its sword, refusing to fall quite to the sands. It stared at the pair, not spared by the tender biological mercy of unconsciousness. Even as it felt and knew it had been rendered nigh useless and non-functional by even the least effort of one of Connor’s lethal tricks - it watched on. Somehow, it knew that things were already finished. That the fight had been concluded even before that last act of human resolve. So too, did they know, and grew silent alongside the crowd. Echoes Those that had watched the F.E.R.R.E.T. rather than the dynamic pair suddenly understood how harshly Connor’s sheer aspect had countered the construct. How thoroughly the Lightsplitter had the odds stacked against it. Just as it did, they watched on, following its gaze to the collapsed heap of Kriege and Connor. With two eyes they witnessed the spectacle, with ears they strained to hear the Crackshot’s last words, and with voices they raised the great mix of cheer and dismay as Kriege enacted the cost for such defiance by the man. Then the ursine champion worked his way to his feet. The Lightplitter had not heard Connor’s last words, nor had its remaining hazy vision given it the full impact of the honor afforded to Energy’s fallen champion in the manner of dispatch. With sword hilt braced against its savaged chest, craning its snout to observe was almost beyond what little remained to it. It saw the rise of the great beast to stand once more, and so the construct gathered its remaining energy and traded a portion of its remaining function - now measuring a mere span of minutes at best - to open its mouth wide. What voice it had was lost, and yet still it acted to hiss its own defiance toward Kriege. They yearned to reveal themselves, and grew impatient to act. Clarity The pair of competitors had known, those who had chosen had known, but the onlookers had yet to be made aware. The grand arena had yet to reflect what had been decided...or rather, it had done so subtly, such that Connor’s last act overwhelmed the attentions of all. They had missed how the Pillar of Energy grew silent of its hum. That the orbs, those nodes within the shaft of power, slowed and stilled. This, however, would come as no surprise to any given Connor’s fate upon the arena sands. What would surprise was how both the veils of shifting light and the coating of frost upon the glacial spikes both seemed to continually grow in vibrancy. Ever more intense with each passing second. Unrelenting and uncompromising to the other remaining Pillar. They continued to build, and then the silent conflict broke, each pillar resuming the steady presence undimmed and unbowed. That most rare of events, one that had not occurred in so long as to be considered apocryphal to the masses - a tie. The pillars could not lie, and if there was any doubt, such was dispelled as the protections took their cue and began to unravel. Gates reappeared, connected to their normal outlets within the arena complex, and the mystic barriers faded so that the crowd might send signs of their favor to the champions. With that same sign, they put waiting aside, and chose, at last, to act.

Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (12/1/2014 20:38:54)
Kriege huffed, his dark eyed gaze settling on Light’s Chosen. The little rodent’s lips were peeled back from needle-sharp teeth, an expression that was all hissing challenge, despite the lack of audible noise. He grunted, smiling fractionally, though the blood staining his teeth and muzzle made the expression rather alarming. The Vastaa liked the little creature. He had a Vastaa’s heart. The armored behemoth had had his doubts from time to time during the competition, but the Finals had cleared those up. He moved forward at a slow, two-legged shuffle. The Vastaa paused for a moment, bending down and scraping his claws through the sand. Rising stiffly, Kriege turned the fallen weapon over in his hands, blunt claws delicately manipulating the spinning cylinder of one of Connor’s lighting-slinging contraptions. It was an interesting construct, to say the least, and Ojen would have found it fascinating. For a few moments, the ice bear considered taking the weapon with him, but ultimately discarded the notion. It was useless to him, and the Vastaa had never been one for trophies, sentimentality, nor nostalgia for battles past. The weapon fell to the sand again, and Kriege moved on, stumping over to where the little rodent stood and sitting heavily. “We have come very far this day, yes?” The armored ice bear asked, glancing at the Chosen of Light as he spoke. This close to the creature, he could see how injured it was. It was an odd thing, a rodent of metal, though that metal was warped and wrenched as if from heat and stress. Kriege had never been accused of being particularly bright, but even he could connect the damage he was seeing with Connor’s lightning. “He was a good foe.” The Vastaa added, unconcerned with the lack of any reply from the little creature. “I had my doubts, in the beginning,” he paused a moment, and then continued, allowing, “and in the middle as well, but the end…” Kriege huffed, nodding. The conversation, if it could even be called such, was meditative. The polar behemoth was distantly aware that he was going into shock from the blood loss. It seemed unimportant. That was a bad sign. The repeated shocks seemed to have jarred something loose in his head, and his limbs still felt delicate, as though they were only tenuously linked to himself. He sat next to the silent Chosen of Light, focusing his dark eyes on the woman coming towards him. She was pretty enough, in the human way, a slender, red-haired thing in a gown of white. Then again, Kriege had yet to meet a human he didn't think was a bit on the scrawny side. As a while, they were a small race. The woman drew nearer, moving gracefully over the sand, reaching up and tucking a stray strand of hair back behind an ear. She halted, and there were several moments of mutual consideration, broken at last by the Vastaa. “If you are supposed to be a final challenge, you will forgive me for not being impressed.” The woman smiled, reaching down to her waist, a movement depressingly familiar to Kriege from his battle against Energy’s Chosen, producing a surprisingly similar, if larger, vial. “Nothing so dramatic, Kriege.” The ice bear recognized the woman’s voice as that of the announcer who had introduced the Chosen. “Drink, it will help.” Reaching for the proffered vial, the Vastaa examined it, popping the cork out with a claw. “You know my name, might I have yours?” He glanced towards the unmoving Chosen of Light. “Do I share it with my companion here?” “Clara, and I’m afraid it only works on organics.” Kriege tilted his head slightly to one side, pondering the woman’s words. He had no idea what an organic was, or how the comment meant anything regarding the Chosen of Light. The Vastaa understood the meaning, if not the message. Whatever was in the vial would work for him, but not the little rodent. The armored behemoth spat blood, and then upended the vial, drinking it down in a long pull. The taste was vile, but as luck would have it, there was a rather interesting sight to distract him from the foul brew.

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (12/1/2014 20:40:46)
Saturation They acted. In ones and twos they had begun not just to infiltrate the arena complex, but finally reach the edges of the gates and the very sands of the arena proper. Their speed and cunning in circumventing the barriers as they shuddered and fell was far from insignificant. Time, however, lent to Kriege the opportunity for a private moment with the primarch of the Lightsplitter model line. The broken, fading construct could merely watch the approach of the gargantuan ursine. It's jaws, set in the manner of a hissing challenger, had locked open. The one working eye scanned Kriege's visage, waiting for a spiteful blow that would turn its remaining lifespan of mere minutes into an abruptly terminal cessation. But Kriege had his honor, and both competitors had reached that same innate knowledge that the competition, as bloody as it had been this year, had reached its conclusion without the need for a final exchange. The words of Kriege took time to process, agonizing seconds as the words resolved into concepts that the construct could understand. More battle damage, fused relays from Connor's final strike, leaving it feeling dull and slow on top of nearly paralyzed. Whirr, click, click...clunk. It tried to rise from how it was braced against the hilt of its broken blade, and only succeeded in making clear the limits of its shoulder as it slammed back down upon it. Lockjaw claimed its mouth, leaving it slack-jawed once the tension from attempting to hiss wore out from the internal structure. With neither a means of locomotion nor communication available to it, for a brief moment it almost wished Kriege had taken the more contemptuous option and ended it. It slumped forward, sliding off the braced blade towards the sands, content to lay there for its last moments… Rising from beneath the Lightsplitter, the first of the business finally made their appearance, and refused to let their champion lay ignobly. The sands themselves momentarily looked as if they rose to meet the falling F.E.R.R.E.T. before the grains slipped and slid along dun-colored fur. Cultivated tans and ruddy browns matched the pattern where the Lightsplitter was dazzling silver and stark black fur, and a bladed tail lay half-buried beneath their bodies. Not only had the first Sandstrider buried and burrowed its way unseen to its brethren, but it was also the first Sandstrider. A fellow primarch of the model lines, and the one good eye of the champion did not mistake the respect shown by that gesture. A pair of shoulders dug into its sides, keeping it atop the makeshift bracing of the Sandstrider Primarch. With shimmer and blur the next pair had made their way relatively unseen in the tumultuous chaos of victory celebrations by the crowd and the frayed states of those on the sands. By shining crest and pits of shade, not only had one of its descendants appeared to lend its aid but also one of their opposite number amidst the Shadestalkers had taken up the honor of caring for their own. The realization that one had suddenly become four was not lost on the crowd, who with growing disquiet undercutting their cheers, watched on as the four became yet more. Gaudy and flamboyant, Firebrands cavorted and frolicked around the edges of the Arena sands, the great lashes of multicolored flame scorching sand in their wake as they played in good cheer. Sparkleapers and the Zephyrkin raced in concentric circles, digging out a pattern in the sand with glittering trails of deadly arcs and the breezy passage of pure speed. Compared to their more energetic brethren, the growing ranks of Lightsplitters, Shadestalkers, and Sandstriders almost lazily grew in number. Forever damp, the Wavegliders made their way in slow steps, already somber and filled with sorrow for the cost to their Champion. Undercutting the play and the sorrow came sharp cracks, an intentionally martial cadence of breaking ice, as the slowest of the elemental models strode into the arena. These Glacierbourne, more so than any other model present, moved with intention and deliberation, their bulk of layered ice growing from their fur in protective layers of ablative armor. This armor was so thick relative to their frames that their joints had been reinforced, and each step brought a new beat to their march, leaving small shards behind to melt away on the sands. Damaged and derelict though it was, the Champion’s remaining eye grew wide, straining against its limits as the presence of its fellows continued to grow. They were the protectors of the Menagerie, and of all of the clockwork kind that came even before them. What were they doing, abandoning their post en masse and being here of all places? What were they thinking, still streaming in several F.E.R.R.E.T.s at a time!? As if answering their distressed primarch of the Light, a great chittering clamor of voices grew as if a distant conversation could be heard regardless of the din. The words made themselves felt, tickling at the back of every being’s mind, and with it a foreign sense of pride tinged with sorrow made itself equally noticed to all. In very specific pairs, the first of the non-elemental varieties strode in, outwardly unassuming as both Herald and Jester were visually. “We discovered! We were Called! We came! We saw! We are here, kin of the Creator.” Next a wave of peace and warmth, as slight as a dying hearth but as comforting as a warm meal in the depths of winter. The radiant effect eased away small aches and pains, and softly gnawed away at larger ills and injuries with patient determination. The smaller, more diminutive models of the Den Mothers, petite but charged with the soothing and healing aura that worked on both machine and flesh, demurely took their place amidst the growing ranks. Flanking these peaceful and pacifistic models were F.E.R.R.E.T.s that were twice the size of the others, the great Wardens whose role was at the forefront of every massed assault, and to act as protectors of the Den Mothers from all other threats. Telekinetic generators took up most of the additional mass, allowing them to lift great blades equal in size to their own selves above them. Curiously, upon these blades each Warden carried a burden wrapped in either canvas or waxed burlap, and they seemed rather careful with their burdens as they took position.

Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (12/4/2014 21:20:45)
For a moment, only a moment, but no less significant for the short duration, Kriege felt a flash of doubt. It was not concerning the outcome of the battle, for the great ice bear knew with a certainty that went down to his bones that the battle had been decided, and a judgement rendered. No, the Vastaa’s uncertainty was a product of the sudden appearance of another of the rodents, followed by another, and yet another, until the sands felt rather busy with the swarm of glittering and flashing rodents. Whatever the burrowing creatures were, it was obvious to Kriege that they were related to the Chosen of Light. It was just as obvious that the brave creature was dying. The extensive damage that he had suffered left no other conclusion short of Xyv’s intervention. If his compatriot’s relatives chose to seek vengeance on him for the damage done to Light’s Chosen… It was not a particularly cheering thought. Kriege huffed, shaking his head as he rose, dismissing the thought, and noting as he did so that he felt markedly better. It must have been whatever was in Clara’s vial. His limbs had a leaden tiredness to them, but it was better than the glassy brittleness he had been feeling a few minutes ago, more akin to the aftereffects of a hard day of work. The Chosen of Light’s relatives showed no sign of hostility toward him, and seemed more focused upon the little rodent than upon himself and Clara, or even the assembled crowd that stared in open surprise at the sudden swarm of streamlined shapes. He spat a last mouthful of blood, clearing the lingering taste of iron and the vial’s contents, and then shuffled in Clara’s direction, looming over the woman. She looked up at him calmly, apparently not the least discomfited or disturbed by the massive Vastaa, despite the liberal coating of blood about the armored ice bear’s muzzle and throat. Clara. apparently. was also too polite to mention the stench of burnt fur that lingered about Kriege. “This isn't how things go, generally.” The Vastaa snorted a short laugh. “This has not struck me as a ‘general’ sort of place.” Clara smiled, inclining her head slightly. “Perhaps you have the right of that, Champion.” She turned as the polar goliath stepped past her lightly. “Where are you going?” “I am clearing the stage.” He replied. Kriege had a feeling. It was far from a certainty, but in the same way he knew that the battle had ended, he knew something was coming. He stopped, turning to look back towards the other Champion as Clara moved back beside him. “You’ll want to watch what comes next.”

Ronin Of Dreams -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (7/16/2017 21:34:09)
Machination The cavalcade stilled as the last of F.E.R.R.E.T.-kind took their positions around the failing patriarch of the Lightsplitter model line. The first three generations closed ranks in tight concentric circles and laid themselves prone in its honor, laying the Fallen in the positions of honor they too were accorded. They even maintained gaps for the brethren that were never born, lost in the passing of forebears. As the trio of support beneath it shifted gently to let it see the whole of all, the Lightsplitter’s hazy sight picked out details greater still. The latest generations had made a single, much larger circle around the rank and file of their forebears. Intermingling cast and clan in one vast show of solidarity, but its sight was pulled higher to the walls. To the stands. They stood. Silent. Unnoticed by the crowd, if only by the spectacle on the stands before them. Statuesque for the rocky hunks of chiseled fur patterns. The wolves of the Hematite Pack bore witness with perked ears and onyx eyes. Shadows danced like inverted spotlights. The Lightsplitter could not raise its head further, but the way they shifted told it the truth. At play with the wind beneath their wings, long overhead of the Arena’s sands, the Fire Lizards had taken their accustomed position in the skies to watch and listen. Elsewhere a sole ocelot, brassy furred and acting casually disinterested as felines often do, perched upon a vacated seat to peer at its little cousin. And yet still, there were more. Once again, the words of the assembled Heralds whispered within heads. “We came. We all* came.” The entirety of the Clockwork Menagerie had made the trek from the lakeside vista of Hadin Gan’Kar to show at the Grand Arena in Bren. Satisfying Hadin’s wish for the F.E.R.R.E.T.s to protect all of the clockwork kind as he travelled the world with Connen-Nuete, their older brother. The Second Son, following Talo-Toecan’s example to use their magical ability to Transcend the shackles of a clockwork construct and evolve into shapeshifting biomechanicals. Abilities that the rest of the Clockwork Menagerie lacked... Transcendence* The Lightsplitter could slowly feel its inner workings seizing up, the vibrational rhythms set in its clockwork heart inset with ever lengthening pauses. It did not worry. The mingled pride and sorrow flowing from its brethren had the patriarch in a happy state of mind in contrast to the sorry state of its form. It did not need to put its thoughts into words, it simply Breathed. And so it was. As wishes go, it was perhaps unorthodox. The Breath of True Life flowed from the Lightsplitter’s lungs, washing over the rank and file of its ferretine brethren. They rose with it, heads craning around at new and unusual sensations as the Transcendence came upon them. Latched tightly on the fragments of Hadin’s soul implanted within each of them, fractions of fractions of a true soul, and spun them into a Wholeness of Being. The wave filtered out further still, rising up on thermals of air to blanket the crowd and affect each and every member of the Clockwork Menagerie. Even the shrouds of the Fallen shuddered with the Breath of Life. Once. Then the Fallen passed on into the afterlife, whatever afterlife would await them. For in Living even for the briefest of moments, they could now experience a true Death. And so, too, was the imperfect Silence amidst the crowd then thoroughly broken. Overhead the Fire Lizards, with scales of bronze and brass and gold, crooned and hummed a high pitched exaltation in celebration. Amidst the crowd the wolves howled in sonorous hymnals. All the while the music of the elements danced as whispers in the minds of all present as the ferrets joined their kin in a song translated into thought and emotion by Heralds and Jesters. A whisker twitched on the Lightsplitter Patriarch's frame. The ghostly hint of a smile even as a verdant jade tear slipped from his eye. In time the change of transition would bring the rest flesh and blood. Time he no longer had. Gently the Lightsplitter slipped free of the grasp of the rest, to join the rest of the Fallen on a new journey. To celebrate in the afterlife that awaited them all. In the last moments of the Lightsplitter’s consciousness, a final mental touch graced all present. Distant and soft, of paired voices brimming with pride. Talo-Toecan and Connen-Nuete, the elder brothers of all the clockwork kin, reaching out despite the great distances. “Hail the Third Son. Our Brother. Lucar-Narash, the Lightbringer. Rest now, brother. Rest in victory.”

Kellehendros -> RE: =EC 2014= Finals Arena (7/23/2017 17:03:23)
As it turned out, Kriege was correct in his prediction. The myriad relatives of the Chosen of Light lined up in an impressive array, with the sort of precision that might have been the envy of many a Basilli general. His remaining ear twitched slightly as the strange, disembodied voices from the gathering reached him, but the Vastaa remained respectfully silent as he watched the assemblage conduct what he could only conclude to be some manner of death ritual, a last viewing for the valiant rodent before Xyv enfolded the creature in her dark shroud. The great ice bear shifted his weight slightly as a the little burrower seemed to swell, and then give a slow exhalation. And it was an exhalation, a shiver that raced its way through the creature’s wrecked frame as though it had never experienced the sensation before. Strangely, the Vastaa could feel the breath: a wave of energy that brushed over his awareness, like and yet unlike Crackshot’s electricity. There was a moment of soft, tingling contact, and then the wave parted around Kriege, passing him by and seeking out other targets. Next to the armored goliath, Clara stirred, perhaps feeling the feather-light touch of the exhalation, though it had no apparent effect upon her either. The woman turned away and moved to meet a second woman, accepting a pair of wooden boxes from her before returning to Kriege’s side. Whatever manner of ritual the dying Chosen of Light had enacted, it filtered through its relatives, and the multitude raised a hue and cry in their odd incorporeal voices. They were joined a moment later by two other voices, distinctly different from the mass of rodents. “Hail the Third Son. Our Brother. Lucar-Narash, the Lightbringer. Rest now, brother. Rest in victory.” Kriege clenched his bare paw into a fist, clashing it against his armored chest. His ursine head lifted and a shattering roar bellowed forth in response, cutting through the rising cries of praise and exultation from the watching crowd. Lucar-Narash the Lightbringer, Connor McCoy the Crackshot… Not a bad day’s work for an old bear, eh Shen Lan? He smiled with the tired pride of a job well done, turning away to find a gate that would take him from these incarnadine sands, only to be drawn up short by Clara. The woman stood before him, an easy smile on her face. “Before you go, the crowd will want to see you crowned, Champion.” In reply, the Vastaa’s sole surviving ear flicked, and something like amusement filtered into his tone. “I did not come for the crowd’s amusement.” “But you gave them a show nonetheless. They’ll be lifting tankards to the Reaver and the Lightbringer across Bren.” Clara rejoined, offering one of the boxes to Kriege. “Your victory will mark you, but the Architect offers this as well.” Reaching out, Kriege lifted the lid of the box with one blunt claw as he took it from the woman. Within, resting on a bed of ice blue silk, was a black iron torc. The polar goliath drew the item from its resting place, taking a moment to appreciate the workmanship. It was wrought all of a piece, a smooth curve of metal incised with a subtle pattern like spreading frost. “Well made indeed,” the Vastaa rumbled, and yet… somehow the piece felt incomplete. There were six regularly spaced holes in the body of the torc, as though waiting for some final element that had never been placed within, and at the bottom was an arrangement of four stylized claws, curving around another object that seemed to be missing. After a moment of thought, the armored ice bear discarded the box and looked at Clara. “Open the other one.” The woman blinked, looking slightly confused. “This is for the Lightbringer, Kriege.” In reply, the Vastaa pointedly glanced at the plethora of of rodents, even now gathering up their dead and swarming away. “Trust me when I say that Lucar will not object.” After a moment of indecision, Clara nodded and offered up the second box. Kriege opened it as well, and a soft sigh escaped from the ursine man’s ruined lips. “Ah… yes.” With careful dexterity that seemed almost at odds with his usual displays of brute force, the Vastaa lifted the small necklace from its white silk pillow. He wove the adornment carefully together with the torc, faintly luminous strands like wires running between the cabochon gems that fitted into the slots in the black iron, two each faint yellow citrine, quiet blue sapphire, and blushing red ruby. And down between the ursine claws at the end of the torc he slid a single radiant diamond. The gemstone clicked into place with a satisfying feeling of completion, and Kriege smiled, seeing the expression faintly echoed on Clara’s face as well. “What will you do now?” The Vastaa glanced up, fitting the torc around his neck carefully and ignoring the raucous cheering of the crowd. His gaze slid up, beyond Clara, eyes far away. “Now… Now I go and find my wish.” She frowned slightly, confused. “The Boon? Have you made your wish?” Kriege touched the torc lightly. “A long time ago.” He started the long walk to the gate set in the wall of the Arena. “For one last, grand adventure before these old bones take their final rest.” A smile played over his face, and his voice fell slightly. “For the sort of death friends would commend you for, when you meet them again on the other side.” The Vastaa went north, the scent of adventure leading him on.

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