=WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel

=WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (Full Version)

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Chewy905 -> =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/23/2021 23:26:35)
Where are you, when you are nowhere? Where are you, when death and life are one and the same, when the endless shadows engulf the ceaseless light, leaving naught but an eternity of gray? Where are you, when time and space cease to have meaning, and fate watches with baited breath? And what do you find there? Black and white stones stretch endlessly over the twists and turns of the Chequered City. Stairways climb to blank walls, alleyways curve into dead ends, paths that lead nowhere at one moment and everywhere the next. This is the city for the lost. The city for those pulled from their homes and sent adrift. The spires above, the slums below, and the eternal city between: all stand with eerie perfection, inhabited only by the silent, ever-moving automations that are at once no one and everyone. Within this city, strangers will find food, rest, equipment- whatever they truly need. A final offering to those that march off to War. An offering of anything… but a home. This city is not meant to house the chosen, but to guide them. To guide them to doors and gates, meant only for them to open. To guide them to shadows and pits, meant only for them to enter. To guide them to nothingness, where they find themselves stripped soundlessly from the city and brought to War. For Pawns only belong in one place. The Battlefield. Silence and darkness fall together. Complete, all consuming, leaving a final, all consuming nothingness as direction loses all meaning. No senses. No freedom. Only the endless embrace of oblivion. Until it was shattered by a terrifying scream. A dying voice filled with fear and joy, death and life that pierced through the nothingness. As it passed, the realms shifted, folding inwards until they suffocated all else before springing forth into a new world. Color drained away from the land and sky, leaving naught but an endless field of black and white and gray, expanding in every direction. At the edges of the pawns vision, they could just faintly make out ghostly forms flitting about with blades in hand. A battle of ferocious intensity waged around a circle of tense peace. Though the forms shout, no voices call out. Though their blades clash, no metal shrieks. Above each Pawn, a symbol flashed. A five-spoked circle. For some, the circle was white, with straight, pristine spokes. For others, the circle was black, the spokes curved inwards in a tumultuous spiral. The circles hovered above for a moment, their presence made known to all, before quickly winking out of existence. The Pawns steps in the grass beneath became smothered, muffled, leaving naught but the faintest whisper. An undertone that wormed its way into the minds of each Pawn that stood upon the field, its meaning clear even if its form was not. “Welcome to the Field of Silent Steel. No Good can bless your hand, no Evil can curse your name. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in silence.”

nield -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/27/2021 9:04:57)
At last it was done. He who bears the weight stood, breathing raggedly, staring down at the unmoving form on the ground. It wasn’t what he had wanted, but as the mountain burned around him, he reminded himself that he hadn’t had a choice. Bloody coughing and then a weak chuckle as the Shtaratahn grinned up at him. “It’s all over. No way for you to get off this hellscape. Gravity will be released.” He sighed. “You Shtaratahn, always doing what you believe is right. A pity you all get it so wrong so much of the time. You hunt your cousin species for a quirk of their biology entirely out of their control.” As he walked towards a large boulder he continued speaking. “And your race’s belief that mine somehow enslaves gravity, making it something it was never meant to be, is entirely mistaken. As pointless as it is to tell you, I still want you to know. Your belief that killing me would end my race is also fruitless. There is ever only one of us and when the current one dies, a new one simply comes into existence.” He climbed up on top of the boulder and laid his hand lightly on it, the boulder reacting instantly by raising into the sky at a steady pace. He glanced at the surrounding trees, all stretching a few hundred metres into the sky, blazing away. He understood why the Shtaratahn believed he was trapped, but would let that particular misconception speak for itself. For his part the crippled Shtaratahn on the ground counted the metres as the boulder climbed into the sky. When it passed a hundred and kept on going he cursed and could only wait as his life turned to ash, his goal a complete failure. “Master! Master weight bearer!” A voice rang out, echoing through the halls of the dojo, followed immediately by the echoing thuds of heavy footfalls. Heehoe looked up from his meditation as one of his students, an Alerian, skidded to a halt in front of him, agitation having caused some fur to break out. “What is it dear girl? Calm yourself, you’re beginning to transform.” She took a few deep breaths and the fur faded away. “There’s- a door.” He who bears the weight’s eyebrows arched into a quizzical expression. “A door? Why so much fuss about a door?” “Well, it wasn’t there before. And your name is on it. And a couple of symbols. And it’s in the middle of the courtyard.” Heehoe stood up, gathering the stones he’d had floating around him in one smooth motion and dropping them back into his satchel. He followed the Alerian, nodding his head to other students he passed, some Elfs, a Dveztil Katcha, a Vashtera receiving his blood infusion and an Aurk. Soon enough they came to the door, standing free in the center of the courtyard. There was an exactness to its dimensions that he found pleasing in some deep part of himself. Emblazoned on the door were three things; ‘He who bears the weight’ and two symbols; The first, a brilliant gleaming white wheel with five spokes that ran perfectly straight into the center where they met. The second, an abyssal black wheel that seemed to threaten to devour all light, with five curved black spokes that conglomerated into a blob. “What is it, Master?” his Alerian student asked. Heehoe just shook his head and hesitantly reached out and touched the door. Immediately the black circle shuddered and disappeared, the white wheel moving to take a position in the perfect center of the door, where it then extended out of the door. The text of his name changed, simply stating ‘You have been chosen’ “Chosen? Chosen for what?” he mused to himself. As if the door itself could hear him, the text shifted once again, this time reading ‘The war between Order and Chaos’. His eyebrows arched. “A war? I have no interest in fighting a war.” he shook his head and turned away from the door. His Vashteran student, finished receiving his infusion, walked over. “Master, I heard something strange in town the other day. Some members of a race I’m unfamiliar with were asking after an old man with orange skin and silver hair.” Heehoe sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Wild guess: They had light grey skin and four arms?” “You’re familiar with them then.” “The Shtaratahn… Their dogged commitment to whatever they’ve set their sights on would almost be admirable, were it not most always unrepentant murder for incorrect reasonings. Last they should have known, I died on a mountain in Mertraun decades ago. Yet now here they are, asking after me...“ He turned and stared at the door. “...I think I’m done being chased. My successor shall hopefully keep themself better hidden than I have.” “Master... “ He smiled at his students.and reached out his hand and patted the Alerian’s head. “Don’t be worried. I’ve lived a good long life. Dying in a war will be far preferable to bringing the Shtaratahn down on all your heads.” He turned back to the door and grabbed the wheel, turning it clockwise. The door slowly swung ‘open’ and in an instant both he and the door vanished, leaving his students bewildered. Heehoe blinked and suddenly he was inside of a building, the door still before him, swinging open. Beyond was a city of stark whites and consuming blacks, with architecture strict and structured one instant, sprawling and random the next. He walked around, a dizzying prospect when the city itself seemed uncertain where you would wind up next, soon coming across a humanoid stone creature. The thing noticed him and lurched toward him and he sighed. “This doesn’t seem like what I was brought here to fight… Begone with you.” Heehoe reached out his own hand to the entity’s and in that brief moment of contact, changed its gravitation, sending it directly away from him at the highest rate he could effect. The thing immediately began moving away, floundering as it could physically not find its footing. But Heehoe frowned, it was moving away at far too slow a rate. Then, far short of where it should have, it found its footing again and ground to a halt in quick manner. Calmly, Heehoe reached into his satchel and pulled out a stone, holding it in his palm. He affected its gravity, as hard as he could straight up and watched it carefully as it rose, exited his influence and fell, landing back in his hand. Then, he affected it again, down at the rate it seemed to be adhering to and it perfectly mimicked the previous action. He looked at the stone entity, which inclined its head, then wandered off. “I see. My capacity to affect an object’s gravity is vastly reduced in this realm. You were an object lesson.” He walked around a little more, before he came upon the door again, set into a building. This time the text on it read: ‘It is time’ Heehoe walked over to it and put his hand on the wheel, but before he could turn it, the door violently opened inward, dragging him with it and dumping him into a void. Down through the full of oblivion he fell, his relationship to gravity his only assurance that he was indeed falling and not just suspended in void. Then sound rang in tumultuous scream and a world sprang into existence beneath him. As though this new world were loathe to be filled, his descent slowed and he landed softly on the grass with nary a sound. Before him and to his left were a number of individuals and out the corners of his eyes he caught flashes of a grand battle; but no sounds. Considering that odd he pulled a couple stones out of his satchel and clacked them together; a muffled click-click his reward. As he pondered the muted nature of this world, even as colour and life drained from it, he ran his eyes over the nearby individuals: Closest, some manner of rat-person that one could have mistaken for an Alerian, if they didn’t know better. Beyond, an individual wearing full armour or… no, there was something off, a lack of presence beyond the armour itself that Heehoe could not resolve from that distance. Further there was some manner of wild woman, her appearance not conforming to that of any race he’d had personal experience with. Finally, directly opposite him was a young lady, perhaps an elf or one of the other more basic races… or even potentially one of the Scourge. Suddenly, above each person’s head flashed one of the wheels, the black one for the not-Alerian and the wild woman, the white one for the armoured one and the young lady. Heehoe glanced above his own head to see what he expected; The white wheel. So, our sides are set and made known… Three for Order, Two for Chaos, at a wager. He took his staff from his back and twirled it a couple of times before striding forth and calling out- though considering the muted nature of the world he didn’t expect his words to go past the rat person- “Tell me, would you be adverse to having your personal gravity changed?”

Anastira -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/28/2021 1:03:43)
deep are the rivers that run to the sea blue are the mountains that rise into the sky gray is the sky that frowns upon the clouds and red, red, red is the blood of our crimes This is a perfect silence. This is a perfect order. This is a perfect balance, white against black, yin against yang, the universe held in place, a galaxy balanced on a needle point. To Daiyu’s right, a set of stairs climbs like a stepped chessboard towards a faceless wall. To Daiyu’s left the path goes on, narrowing itself between alleyways and buildings and empty spaceless balconies that seem, in her head, to careen slantingly towards each other in an illusion of perspective. “Hongjun Laozu,” she cries, her voice echoing sharply against the blank walls. “Show yourself.” Her hand tightens around the grip of the guandao. Her anger is a dragon that curls itself around her throat, constricting. Her own voice comes back to her like a ripple in water, fainter each time, the sound of his name and her challenge like a taunt. You are weak, the echoes seem to say. Scared. You will fail. “Hongjun Laozu,” she cries again. Her voice seems to snap against itself like a whip. revenge, anger, bitterness, with time they are all the same, one and the same, a shifting chameleon that changes its shape no more: regret, regret, only regret There is a shift in the wind, a taste of rice fields and stepped mountains, of ink and parchment, of sweeping rivers singing past streets decked in red and gold. The faint sound of firecrackers coming from all around, caging her in. The soft sweet sound of a yangqin bubbling through the air, played by her silk-soft hands. She turns, the guandao flickering in the light of the sun that is unseeable, hidden behind the gray of the clouds. “Hongjun Laozu,” she says, but now her voice is lower and the Azure Dragon is poised to strike. “You have cursed me.” “For your own good,” the man says - is it him? Truly him? His simple clothing, his monk’s staff. He knows his name; he knows her curse. But this is a city of illusions, isn’t it? A city where the sun shines dimly but does not show its face, a city of dead ends and checkerboard streets. She is not a player; she is a pawn. “She was just a girl, Daiyu. A child. His daughter.” His eyes narrow, starkly white beneath the round bowl of his hat, pupil-less. “And your envy, your jealousy. It was too much. You were green with it.” “I do not belong here.” He smiles. It is not a bitter smile; it is fatherly, understanding, as though she’s a disobedient child. “Forgive me, Hua Daiyu, but I do not believe you have a choice.” “You sent me here,” Daiyu snaps. “You can take me back.” “I cannot take you back,” the monk says, “until you take yourself back.” He smiles, and his staff winks in the light as he raises it; she steps forward, her glaive flashing. The sunless sky is a great vast expanse overhead. The notes of the yangqin flutter in her mind, a song, a cacophony. She closes her eyes, feeling the checkerboard of the street beneath her. It is nothing, she tells herself, it is a game, a game of go. In her mind’s eye the street becomes bamboo and the lines of the checkerboard are stark against it, and she moves with the glaive swirling out around her; Hongjun Laozu moves to meet her, his white, white eyes flashing in the light against her own, pupil-less, black ones - A voice in her head - Hongjun Laozu’s, but his lips do not move and she is sure only she hears the words: Accept your punishment, creature of the wild. No, she thinks, as though she has a choice, as though her whims could change the balance of the world and turn the tide of yin against yang. But she does not have a choice; she has never had a choice. She knows that now, as the sound of the firecrackers splits her head open and red floods her vision, the world swirling around her, and Hongjun Laozu seems to multiply: there are hundreds of him, thousands, the city fills with them, the sky swirls like an endless inverted whirlpool and black and white twist together; she opens her mouth and closes her eyes and screams - And her scream is a murmur. She opens her eyes. This - this redefines colorless, the meaning of colorless. Monochrome, black and white and gray. There are ghosts wisping at the edges of the arena - Hongjun Laozu, she thinks, some pale incarnation of him multiplied over and over and fighting their own duplicates, like the ones in the city. The voice in her head is his, too, she believes it is - even though it is twisted and different and nearly unrecognizable. But she knows. All of this must be his doing. To see her suffer. Welcome to the Field of Silent Steel, Hongjun Laozu’s shadow voice whispers through her temples. Her horn seems to tingle at the sound of it, searing against her forehead. She shakes her head against it in anger, her jade lion’s mane rustling, the deafened sound of shards of rock bending and slithering against themselves. No Good can bless your hand, no Evil can curse your name. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in silence. Silence, Daiyu thinks. Would that really be so bad? She closes her eyes, feeling the anger slip away. Instead there is only the storm of her essence flowing inside her, a whirlwind, and the faint presence of her weapons. When she opens her eyes again the battlefield is in motion. She turns to the movement in her peripheral vision, slipping the Azure Dragon across her shoulder, reaching for her gong, counting the seconds, counting the milliseconds. Her hands slip along the smoothness of the longbow, her fingertips curling against the rough warmth of the mahogany. The Vermilion Bird stretches itself between arcing bow and taut string, its tail flaring like tendrils of flickering flame against her hand. Red, she thinks, and does not look at it. With her face turned to the sky, she nocks and lets loose, and the Bird, set free, hurtles towards the woman in the black longcoat. “You will regret this, Hongjun Laozu,” she hisses, sliding into a crouch, reaching for her dao. The butterfly swords slide easily into her hands, and the Tiger within prepares to fight.

San Robin -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/28/2021 7:15:51)
After leaving his place of birth, Sam wandered around. Saw many places, stayed at many inns and (somehow) got kicked out of more of them because his horrible singing scared all the other guests away. According to Sam, this was a good life to lead. Because in the end he would never have to pay for his rooms, no matter how short his stay there was. The Innkeeper would be positively begging him to leave. Sam traveled around like this for months, dragging his guitar everywhere and honing his skills as he went. His knack for magic helped him figure out several “special effects” for his “Awesome shows”, although he at first didn’t pay much attention to the… destructive side effects that they carried. It was during one of these journeys that Sam stumbled upon the chequered city, he had no idea how he had arrived there, but then again, he never really had any idea how he found places he went to. He just did. It took him a while to find an inn, but once he did, there was another surprise for him: The Innkeeper kept a blank expression as he spoke, no shock or surprise towards the guitar wielding Furmann standing before him. All the innkeepers before him had stammered and sputtered until the pouch of Coin Sam carries with him was thrown on the counter, showing that he could pay for the room. But Sam didn’t care, it was a refreshing change of pace for him and in the end he was sure it would go as usual: he’d have a good night’s rest and then sing until he was asked to leave. The Perfect plan! However… that night, Sam had a strange dream. A figure appeared before him. It was a beautiful man, no… woman? Or… Skeleton!? Every time Sam blinked his eyes, the figure seemed to have shifted. 1 eye, 2 eyes, 5 eyes TOO MUCH CHANGE! Sam tried to figure out what he was dealing with when the figure started speaking. “Welcome, Sam. I’ve been waiting for you here in the chequered city.” Sam blinked his eyes in confusion, each blink, once again, the figure changed. “And who is you then!?” Sam snarled. “I no know weird thing like you!”. The figure smiled at Sam with all 3 of its mouths, a smile that only reached 3 of its eyes before it spoke. “We are the messenger of Chaos. I have been leading you since the start of your journey, preparing you for what’s coming soon.”. Sam didn’t get it, he was SURE he’d remember seeing a thing like this before and yet this messenger creature spoke to him as if they’d been traveling together forever! The messenger smiled again this time it was just 1. Big. smile. No eyes, no nose, just a smile. “You are confused, this pleases us. But listen to what I have to say now! Tomorrow there will be a tournament where the representatives of Chaos and Order will battle! YOU are one of the chosen ones to battle on the side of chaos!”. Sam blinked again, “And what if me no want to battle for you, huh?!” The messenger smiled a cold smile “I don’t remember giving you a choice. You WILL fight for Chaos! Tomorrow you will leave the inn and no matter where you will go, you will find yourself at the Arena! We will see you there.”, and just like that the dream faded. The next day, Sam woke up, still in a daze from that weird dream he had last night. Maybe a walk could help him clear his head? He picked up his guitar and left the inn. It wasn’t long before he found himself at a large structure, an arena. He was welcomed by a slight whisper “There you are… Now enter and fulfil your destiny!”. He had no idea how or why, but he found himself entering the building…. Ready to give the performance of his life! Welcome to the Field of Silent Steel. No Good can bless your hand, no Evil can curse your name. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in silence. A strange sensation, a quiet and pressing atmosphere, the embodiment of a whisper. It was nothing like the inside of a building. Surrounded by what seemed to be a battlefield. This must be a strong kind of magic. Sam looked around him and saw other people. Each with a strange symbol above their heads, Sam had never seen such a thing but somehow he knew that one of them was a symbol of Chaos. To his right was an old man and to his left a person in a suit of armor. Not much of an audience but it’ll do! The old man had turned to Sam and seemed to be yelling something about personal gravy. Sam wondered if the old man also brought potatoes to go with the gravy. But quickly abandoned the thought as he took a couple of steps forward, grabbed his guitar, struck a chord and yelled as loud as he could in the muffled atmosphere. “ME IS SMASHMOUSE AND I IS HERE TO ROCK!”

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/28/2021 16:57:08)
Occasionally, Dramiel wished that they had not been created with the ability to hear sound. Direct combat with one or two people was tolerable, but the cries and screams of their enemies eventually built up a feeling of dread. This particular fight involved around ten opposition soldiers, whose blood now stained the rotting wooden floor. Dramiel tugged on Vehement’s hilt, pulling it out of some poor fool’s body. The names never really mattered, it wasn’t the fighter’s place to worry about who they were killing. The specter’s helm shifted, turning to face another opposition soldier. The formerly brilliant blue armor stood tainted by the blood of the fallen. Ironically, only the glowing edges of the blade remained untouched. Unlike the human soldiers here, Dramiel was specifically created for the purpose of destruction. There was no emotion tied to their work, no abnormal feeling after ending ten unique strands of life. In some strange sense, Dramiel despised this lack of feedback. Even if it was a hatred for the endless slaughter, anything besides apathy would be a blessing. Another lifeless corpse fell to the ground as these absentminded thoughts passed through Dramiel’s consciousness. Another red stain on the flawless plating, joining hundreds of others. So many years of the same work would have broken any normal person, but the Vehement Specter was unable to crack. With an outstretched hand, Dramiel began to run towards the next soldier. With a sound akin to glass shattering, space was split in two. Diving forward towards their adversary, Dramiel was enveloped in the familiar blue maze. The training built into their mind moved their hands automatically, Vehement thrusting towards the space the soldier’s head would soon occupy. However, there was no familiar resistance as the movement ended. Something had changed in a way the specter couldn’t comprehend. Their sight focused, bringing them out of the sea of thought, and into an unfamiliar city. The specter never blinks, and yet seems to experience tiny breaks in consciousness as they slowly attempt to understand this new environment. The slate sky is broken by the climbing stone walls, seemingly curving in on itself. Dramiel looks down at their crouching body, where the ground is pure and unstained. Their attention is drawn to nearby movement, the source of which is an armor-clad being moving deeper into the city. After a moment, more figures appear around Dramiel, all moving in the same direction. They move with a distinct, robotic purpose, as if their thoughts are devoid of anything other than their goal. Some are pristine, fanciful suits with expensive swords at their side, while others are rusted and neglected. Dramiel stands, fixated on the countless figures moving with a soulless purpose. None give even a hint of acknowledgement to the only one not following their march, continuing towards their unknown destination. Dramiel looked between the towering stone pillars, their mind settling on an unfamiliar feeling. There was a strong tugging feeling, a powerful curiosity, to see what these figures were drawn to. They were unlike those who fought in the past, these were more similar to the specter than anything before. They emanated power, focus, and most of all, a determination to complete their unknown objective. Dramiel straightened up, and took a single step alongside them. As soon as they started to move in sync with the others, the stone walls began to shift. Seemingly moving in impossible directions, they slid into the ground, rotated, even changing size. The sudden change in perspective was disorienting, nearly causing a loss in balance, as the countless other figures began to move away. Their forms began to fade, becoming barely noticeable as they turned on one another. The very ground seemed to split apart as Dramiel was thrown backwards, striking the floor and shattering their stream of consciousness. When the static cleared, Dramiel was on one knee in an open field. The blood on their armor had long since faded, leaving the blue plates pristine. Looking up, it was clear they were not alone in this place. Strange fighters that looked nothing like the opposition army formed a semicircle, preparing for combat. The specter felt a vibration, faintly reminiscent of words, through the ground. Welcome to the Field of Silent Steel. No Good can bless your hand, no Evil can curse your name. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in silence. There were multiple questions that darted through their mind; Are the others similar to me? Did they receive the same message? What cursed realm have I even entered? However, Dramiel was familiar with the rules of the battlefield. Here, there would be no answers to those questions. There was only one question to be answered, asked by that mysterious voice: Are you worthy to survive the coming battle? A brilliant blue light shone as Dramiel reached to their right, although the familiar sound of shattering glass was missing. Nevertheless, the familiar form of Vehement was drawn from the split in reality. Holding its upper hilt with their right gauntlet, the specter stood. This battlefield held a goal to be reached, and Dramiel never wavers in the face of a challenge.

Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/29/2021 22:59:57)
“Alright everyone. Let’s all just… calm down, shall we?” Aurelia urged, motioning downwards placatingly. “Agreed,” growled the man that’d just kicked the door down. He didn’t look very calm. “Weapons down, arms up, and stay where you are. Don’t want your blood getting on my suit.” As though on cue, all of his accompanying men—all twenty-something of them—moved as one, circling the shadowborn and her crew. Would’ve been kinda cute, had every lackey not been aiming a gun at her head. It wouldn’t have been an understatement to say that they were in a spot of bother. There were four people in the room that hadn’t drawn their weapons. The first person was Aurelia herself, since she was trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated out of control. There was probably a joke somewhere about how her hands were her weapons, but they’d probably have shot her as soon as she said that. For both the threat and the terrible joke. The second one was the mister tall, dark, and handsome, standing at the head of his sharply dressed entourage. Every single one of his men was dressed in a spiffy, two-piece suit, though none of them came close to matching their leader’s crimson-coloured, three-piece ensemble, which looked sharp enough to cut through diamond. The dragons emblazoned on the arms were a bit tryhard, but she had to admit that it was a nice suit. As for the last two weaponless people, they were… in a situation behind her. And honestly? That ‘situation’ was really the only reason they weren’t all bleeding out from the get go. At least Tryhard seemed willing to chat a little. That meant there was some room for negotiations. If they were lucky, they might even be able to leave through the front door for once. “Look, let’s be reasonable,” Aurelia tried, with a slight grin.“I’m not looking to start a fight—” “That’s fine, ‘cause in a few moments, my men are going to shoot you, and you’re all going to die.” Promising start. “We just want to talk to the chairman.” That got a snarl out of him. “Looks like you wanna do a lot more than have a chat with my pa, considering your friend’s got his brother in a stranglehold.” ………... Oh. This just kept getting better and better. Sure, it made sense that the guy they’d made contact with would've had to be a big shot in the yakuza if he claimed to represent them, but uh… Well, just as Aurelia hadn’t expected the contact to start shouting and waving a sword around, she hadn’t expected him to be the chairman’s brother. She opened her mouth to come up with an excuse, but a loud CRACK, followed by a thud of a corpse, killed the words in the darkforged’s mouth. Bother. A sigh escaped her lips and she shared a glance with the man on her right. It was impossible to know what Shrike’s expression was behind his mask, but it didn’t take a genius to know what came next. “Bloody hell, Loake,” he grunted, before all hell broke loose. Energy surged across his free arm, lancing into the floorboards as the mobsters opened fire, signalling the end of negotiations. Lightning bolts danced around them, arcing up from the ground and striking down swatches of bullets, in a vivid spectacle of lights and sound. Aurelia wasted no time admiring the sight, sparing just a moment to squint against the unending flashes, before she took two steps forward. The Shattered Dream pulled her arm back, the air stilling and catching, her gauntlet thrumming, as she reached the pinnacle of her backswing. She locked eyes with Tryhard’s scowl, and shot him a wink, as she pulled her fist forward, shifting her weight across her body. His eyes just had time to narrow before the scowl swapped to a frown, when the air was split with a howl. There was a moment of stillness, as though someone had pressed the ‘slow’ button on reality. Bullets hovered, casings hung weightlessly, and lightning froze mid-strike, while a brilliant light filled the chamber. Then Aurelia’s fist reached the apex of her swing. A single pulse ran through the room, and then the ‘play’ button was pressed. Guns and men were blasted away in a storm of rubble and dust, bouncing off the stone walls and ceiling but a few unlucky fellows went out the windows. Despite the inn’s name translated to in Common, the ‘Daisougen Ryokan’ was not actually near, uh, ‘huge, grassy plains’. Three out of the establishment’s four sides gave you fantastic cliffside views, with the last side granting a great shot of ‘dusty, rocky plateau’, with a bonus serving of mountain trail. And unfortunately for those men, this was one of the cliff rooms. Their boss probably wouldn’t have been too thrilled about them going overboard, had he not been… Well, the divot in the floor was self explanatory. Aurelia coughed and then licked her lips, tasting copper as she shook out her smouldering right hand. She flexed her arm and rolled her elbow, before licking the fingers on the opposite side. It came back clean. At least something’d gone right today. “Nine out of ten, boss.” The voice that had spoken was heavily vocoded, but the jeering tone was undeniable. Aurelia turned around to stare at Loake, who tilted his head sideways inquisitively. She wagged her finger at him, then looked down towards the dead guy by his feet. It dawned on her that not only were they responsible for the death of the chairman’s brother now, but she’d probably just punched a hole through his son. Pretty sure that was as good as a declaration of war. She spun to Shrike. “We’re not bringing him next time.” Shrike said nothing and kept staring ahead, so she continued. “Seriously, I’d rather take my chances with the fishes if I was stuck on an island with him—” The masked merc shook his head, and gestured. Aurelia swivelled around, just in time to see Tryhard climb through the wall he’d demolished. Aside from a few scrapes and a split lip, the guy moved like he was fine. Although ‘fine’ couldn’t be said for his outfit. His jacket and shirt were torn now, revealing him to be, uh... well, both his clothing was just as ‘ripped’ as he was, in a sense. The shadowborn bit down her lip, hard, and blinked. Time for business, not sightseeing. She drew her swords in two swift motions and fell back into a fighting stance. Their sole, remaining foe scowled and cracked his knuckles, releasing a small burst of flame from his fists. That made nicknaming a mite easier. And then he spoke. “So... what do you lot want?” “Seriously?” Aurelia asked, raising an eyebrow yet again. “You’re asking that now? After all of—” She gestured around them, pointing to various spots in the demolished room. “That’s on you for now. Not me.” “You opened fire on us.” “Tch, do you see a gun on me? Nah, wasn’t me,” he said, adjusting the remains of his lapels. “That’s on my men. Not my fault they're a bunch of trigger happy morons, shooting without my orders. ‘Course, if they’d waited until I gave the word, some of them might not have gone cliff diving.” Aurelia said nothing, and resigned herself to frowning harder. “So, last chance… The hell do you all want?” “We… uh…” She paused, taking a breath before continuing. This was one helluva weird situation. “We just wanted to talk to the chai—” “Tch, I’m sorry, wasn’t I the one that just got punched through a wall? You’ve already said that,” The flameborn spat. “I mean why the hell are you here on the mountain. Decided to bring your pals sightseeing, maybe? Show’em around your homeland, mess up a few guardsmen and yakuza on the trip up. Package tour maybe, ending at the palace with a nice, ol’ execution when you pick a fight with Lady Kurouji herself?” Now it was Aurelia’s turn to scowl. “Close. ‘Public Execution’ wasn’t on offer. So we went with the next best thing.” “Which was?” “Tyrant slaying. Surprised you lot haven’t tried that yet.” That earned her a sneer. “Don’t make me laugh.” Honestly, Aurelia wasn’t sure if he could even smile, let alone laugh. “Well, fellas, I’d be lying if I said I had fun, but now it’s time for you to go.” Her mobster-conversation partner widened his stance and raised his fists into a boxer’s stance. The Shattered Dream did the same with her blades, just as Shrike drew a slew of daggers from thin air, and Loake… She cleared her throat. Loake looked up from the corpse he was stomping on and then drew a telescopic baton. “Say ‘hi’ to my uncle for me,” he quipped, and then the flameborn pulled his arm back. There was a rising hum as his fist started to glow. Oh, was all Aurelia managed before her vision turned red. Something struck her crossed blades, the force ripping them from her grip, and sending her flying out of the inn. The last thing she saw before she hit the cooking pot below— Wait, what? She landed—hindfirst—splashing into the steaming hot cauldron, which was full to the brim with broth. Nary a second had passed before Aurelia leapt up, knocking the pot over, and sprawling on to the monochrome floor, all the while screaming curses colourful enough to outshine a rainbow. Bleeding Realms and Raging Hells, that soup was hot, hot, ho— Aurelia stopped, her outburst abruptly halting. She reached back with her right gauntlet and rubbed it against her soaked trousers, wetting her fingers before licking them. Pretty good, but too much salt. She pulled herself up using the countertop, and then did her best to shuffle out of the kitchen, cringing with every step. Being soaked in soup was bad, but by the Gods… Her pants were sticking to her with every step. If there truly were different Realms of Hell in the afterlife, ‘broth-laden trousers and soupy-socks’ would undoubtedly be a punishment in the most horrific one. Bathhouse. She needed the bathhouse. After she dealt with Tryhard, she’d— Hold up. The paladin stopped and blinked, staring blankly at the particoloured tiles on the floor until a single thought dawned on her. You’re not on Tengamine anymore. It took Aurelia about twenty minutes to get out of the establishment she had literally dropped into. The building was bloody big. Huge enough that she could've been walking circles inside a shinobi’s trick house, for all she knew. She could’ve written a book based on her journey to find the exit, but there were a few notable unfortunate incidents. The first was that she only found the front door after she’d left. Seriously, that building must have consisted of… maybe fifty percent door and fifty percent everything else? Some of the rooms had been completely pointless, too. Seriously, one chamber had just been a two-by-two square, surrounded by four inward-opening doors. Around twenty minutes or so later, the paladin had resorted to using a window. Aurelia had felt a pang of guilt when she’d jumped through the pane of glass, but that guilt had quickly faded once she’d realised she had accidentally jumped from the first floor of the building. Thankfully, luck was with her, and she landed on her feet. First time for everything, especially in a new land. It was then that she realised how strange and… alien the city she’d arrived in was. Spires and towers of completely different eras and design principles pierced the skyline, whilst the buildings curved and made no practical sense. It was as though whoever had founded the city had just gone and grabbed whatever architects, builders, and DIY/carpenter-wannabes they could find and tasked them with just ‘making a city’, but with one, absolute Law of the Realm: Chequerboard was the new ‘black’, and thus, every single damn thing had to be chequerboard. No reds, greens, blues, browns, etc. allowed, nada. Non-conformity would probably have been met with the death penalty. Yeah. Yeah, that was probably what they’d’ve said. Seriously, whoever was in charge here had a chequerboard obsession on an unhealthy level. It made Aurelia seriously want out of this unfathomably strange city, but considering that she had to make her own exit a few moments ago made her think it wouldn’t be such an easy feat. What did RPG gamers usually call those? Real Time Attacks or something slightly less violent? Weirder still were the city’s citizens. They were… Well, not people, but not not people. Automatons or robots, maybe, but these ones constantly shifted and changed as Aurelia watched them, taking on the facial characteristics of… well, people, but not necessarily people she knew. Or not people she thought she knew. Eitherway, that wasn’t very many people. A few of them did flicker past vaguely familiar looking profiles; a tall, white-haired man, a blonde lady, a silvery haired kid were amongst those she could have possibly associated with a name. But as Aurelia approached them, their appearance would slowly change to someone else. If a child fell asleep whilst reading a character-search picture book. Initially, she’d been tempted to try and speak to one of the shapeshifters, but just looking at one for too long was enough to make her head throb. The crowd eventually thinned out, as the city’s residents went… home? Maintenance areas…… Or to the bar? Whatever. Aurelia had been tempted to follow one, but she doubted that they’d’ve led her to the exit. Once she was alone, there were two choices open to her. She could either go further along the seemingly endless main street, or wander into one of the city’s multitude of alleyways and add to its Missing Persons statistic. And to be frank, neither of them seemed particularly attractive. The darkforged huffed and leant against the wall, only for it to collapse into a flight of stairs, nearly taking her down with them. She glared at them for several seconds, before attempting to draw her blades, only to find that they were missing. Well, at least that was an easy fix. More mobsters had shown up just after Aurelia had been sent off the cliffside, so Gladius Shrike and Kovac Loake hadn’t had time to consider their leader’s status. The latter was currently engaged in a punch out with the gangster’s leader, somewhere behind Shrike, who was busy fending off the reinforcements. Up until then, he had had them on the defensive, with the aid of Fallen Beauty’s absurdly heavy blade. All was good, until the sword vanished out of his hands. He stared at it his recently vacated hand, before cursing as a mobster tackled him The chamber at the bottom was just as suss as their entrance had suggested, and checked as the city above it. Square and featureless, its only illumination came from a trio of dim lights set into the ceiling. As soon as her boots touched the black-and-white tiles, they retracted from where they’d come, leaving her without a way out. Well, wasn’t that just fantastic. “Oh, well, now! Look who it is!” Aurelia gave a small jump as the comment boomed from all around her, reverberating around the chamber. The slight shock was quickly replaced by a seething coldness once she recognised it. “Arturius,” she breathed, gripping her blades tightly. The voice continued conversationally. “How’re you doing, kid? Haven’t seen you much since I… well, stabbed in the chest and left you for dead. Seems like you’re doing pretty well for yourself, huh? Really need to do a better job next time, maybe I’ll, uh… use your skull as a cup, or keep your heart in a box, or something. Insurance, you know?” The darkforged gritted her teeth. “Where are you? Show yourself!” “Ugh, listen to yourself. Whenever you self-proclaimed Hero-types get pissed enough, you drop all pretense at being ‘affable’ or ‘jovial’. It’s so hard to get some ‘banter’ nowadays. And don’t get me started on originality, I mean, seriously? ‘Show yourself, where are you, come down and face me’,” Arturius mimicked, before bursting into laughter. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, sorry, what was that? Oh, yeah. Where am I currently? Right—” “—here,” he finished, from right behind her. Aurelia pivoted on her heel with a shout, lashing out with both blades. The monochrome caricature of Arturius just smiled and stepped to the side, before slamming a gauntlet into her gut. The shadowborn was sent flying, until she crunched into the far side wall, katanas clattering down beside her. Arturius approached her slowly as she coughed out her lungs, each of his armoured footsteps resonating like thunderclaps. “Always were an eager one, weren’t you? But don’t you have some other… priorities before you come gunning for me?” He motioned with his right hand and the chamber’s roof came off, revealing a large rectangular building, topped by a large, sky-piercing spire. Aurelia just scowled at him as her coughing slowed. “Tengamine Castle, home to the Tyrant of the Mountain. Say, pumpkin, tell me. Who’s really got more to answer for? Me, who’s gone and… well, I thought I’d killed you, but I guess I stuffed up. Didn’t take, huh? Or her.” Arturius gestured again, and the image changed, focusing on the room at the spire’s tip. A purple-haired girl stood on the platform there, flanked by two guards. Shion Kurouji, the Tyrant of the Mountain. Aurelia held her tongue and just continued glaring a hole through his head. Her infuriating host sighed. “Right, silent-when-angry type. We’ll, uh… Try to do this differently next time. If there is a next time. Ciao, pumpkin.” He winked, lifted his boot, and stomped, hard on her head. Aurelia came to in a grass field, crouched down on one knee. Her waking was much faster than it should have been, nor was there a post-stomp headache like she’d been expecting. Thankfully, Arturius was nowhere to be seen. The shadowborn breathed in deeply, feeling much, much calmer than she’d been in. Being trapped in a small, monochromatic room was already a pretty bad experience, but being stuck there with your murderer was a whole new experience that most people wouldn’t ever have displeasure of knowing. She’d honestly rather take the deserted island with Loake anyday. Granted, a black and white grass field whilst surrounded by warring spectres was still a bit… lacking for her tastes, but it was an improvement. Baby steps, baby steps. A symbol pulsed above her, followed by a sharp pain that almost forced her down again, as a voice spoke to her. One word stood out to her and Aurelia managed a grin. Perish, huh? Been there, wouldn’t recommend it. The Shattered Dream raised her blades and dashed, making straight for the lion-faced yokai on her right.

nield -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/30/2021 20:26:30)
No response from the rat person, although Heehoe couldn’t tell if the creature was simply ignoring him or hadn’t heard, after all, the muted nature of this world could increase over distances for all he knew. But then the thing stepped forward, pulling out an instrument and shouting at the top of its lungs, which came through clear enough, albeit not so loud as it would doubtless have liked. A rejoinder to battle? Or perhaps it intends to just play music? Or could it be...? Hmm… What did that voice call us earlier? Ah yes, pawns. We are no champions, but throwaway playthings. Then I may be assuaged that this is no Deity that stands before me. But this realm… I cannot be assured that its music may not have supernatural qualities. Better not to let it get started. Grabbing a couple of stones from his satchel, he affected their gravity whilst held in his hand, imparting them with the full 2Gs he could, directly at the rat being, before hurling them in the same direction. Then he himself followed, thrusting his staff, at the instrument rather than its holder.

Anastira -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/31/2021 5:11:26)
Daiyu faces the enemy directly, this long-coated human with her white katanas and her shining violet hair. The grass is an angry rasp beneath Daiyu’s knees, tongued by an unseen wind. She breathes in time with her heartbeat, a rhythm like a wardrum, feeling the bloodsong rise white-hot against her throat, kindling in her chest. Yi. Èr. San. Sì, she thinks, and on that word, the character arcing through her mind like water and retracing itself into a different one - sì and si, the same word with a different song, the number four curdling into the word death - the bird collides with the woman. The first time Daiyu summoned the Vermilion Bird, she recalls, her breath stopped in her throat. The world around her became nothing. Time: nothing. Space: nothing. Sound: nothing. Silence, too - nothing. Dissipated. She was a huntress staring down her target. She dove and the world blurred past. The bird was all around her, aflame. The color red, cursed to her, suddenly became her. She was made of it; it was all she was. She was inside of it. Now, though, she is on the outside looking in, and the bird flickers away from her so fast it looks less like an animal and more a sprinting bolt of flame. She grounds herself - the feeling of the grass beneath her knees, the agile balance of the tiger’s claws in her hands, the anchoring weight of the longbow dipping from her back to the ground. Like a ribbon, the bird rises into the air and sweeps itself around and dives, a streak. A distraction. The woman pauses. Daiyu closes her eyes and feels the brink of the duality - the Bird plunging through the air like a knife, the Tiger stretching its sinuous muscles, claws digging into the ground. freedom, wind, air, the sound of battle dim, deafened, there is heat too, rising like heat and I rise with it, an invisible thermal, a cloud, floating Do as I say, Daiyu thinks. I am you Her hands tighten around the grips of the butterfly swords, her nails long and sharpened and dark as black jade. She shifts her weight forward, balances towards the edge of her toes, ready - and then she splits. It is like this every time: falling off a cliff, spiraling, her consciousness cut in three, only one tied to reality. One a master, the other two slaves. She can feel these pieces of her breaking off, cutting away. If she tries hard enough, she can barely sense enough of the real, the master, to feel the heaviness of the Turtle’s hammers and the Dragon’s glaive at her belt and slung across her back. She has tried summoning the Dragon and the Turtle, too, all four of them at once, but her mind split in so many different ways, there was a pain like dying but worse, she was sheared away from herself and she knows, she knows she will never be brave enough to try it again. She lets the real fade into the distance, an outsider watching from somewhere very far away, and feels the Bird. From her place in the grass she watches the Bird dive, and from within the Bird she controls its motion, even though she can’t feel her target, only the dizzying vague sensations of herself as her own weapon, slicing through the air; wind whistling past, a faint vertigo. Usually, she thinks there would be a screaming quality to the wind, a roar, a deafening, but here there is only an echo of the real thing, diminished almost into unbeing. Something catches her eye in the edge of her peripheral - rocks flying through the air, a silver-haired man at the edge of the battlefield - and her focus flickers, she snaps back to herself, to the Tiger, split only two ways now and not three, the Bird continuing its dive without her consciousness. Hongjun Laozu, she thinks. But why? So obvious? Her lips draw back into a snarl and for a moment she forgets the violet-haired woman in her longcoat and the Bird flickering ribbon-like through the air; for a moment she only sees red, blood, death, si, the face of Hongjun Laozu rippling through her mind like a curse, and the hatred boils up inside her and she thinks: I am done with these appetizers. I am done with your tricks. I will wash you away in the Yangtze and burn you until even the Huanghe cannot put out these flames. You are mine. You will pay. The Tiger tingles at her fingertips, waiting to pounce, its head turned towards Hongjun Laozu even as the Bird continues its dive, flickers past or through or against the woman in the longcoat - Daiyu does not see - and darts back up towards the sky, swivels for another approach. His hair is long and silver and his skin reminds her strangely of an unripe mandarin, and, no, she does not remember Hongjun Laozu throwing rocks. But he is a monk. He has many tricks. And the way he dresses, the arrogance - It must be the same man. I will kill you, she thinks. A distant flicker, a distraction in her consciousness. The Bird winks out of existence, exploding in a shower of ribboned flames, red and orange dancing and twisting through the air and vanishing all at once. Her lips draw back against her teeth again, her fangs glinting pale ghostly green, her eyes smoldering a deep angry black. The Tiger crouches, ready, digging itself into the ground, its muscles tensed. At the last moment, as the woman in the longcoat draws near, Daiyu lunges forward, the blades flashing. I am a hunter, she thinks, as the Tiger draws out in front of her, its eyes no longer on Hongjun Laozu and his flying rocks. grass underfoot, muscles tensing, flesh, smell, scent You are my prey.

San Robin -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (1/31/2021 19:29:22)
He never would’ve guessed that his very first performance for an audience would be a fight rather than a concert. But yet… here he was, surrounded by strange people, a disembodied voice instead of a presenter and an old man yelling something about personal gravy instead of a bassist. The world was a weird place, Sam didn’t know much, but he knew that for a fact. His performance was about to begin! He took a deep breath and slammed a power chord, enjoying the dampened sound as he saw the shockwave spreading out from his guitar. He was about to sing “It ain’t no joke I’d like to buy the world a-” when, “OOMPH, UGH!” 2 stones hit him in rapid succession, if it weren’t for the shockwave and his sturdy leather jacket, that would’ve been really bad! Gasping for air, Sam looked around to see who threw those stones, it’s then that he saw Old Man Gravy, while he looked slightly bothered by the shockwave he was running right at him with his staff in hand, ready to strike! “Oh Swiss! Usually humans only get angry after 1 song or so, this was WAY too quick! Me have to react, have to block!” THUNK The sound of a staff hitting his precious guitar, in his reflex, Sam had lifted his guitar just in time. Sam eyed the old man, still struggling with the force behind the blow. Old man Gravy looked stronger up close! What’s an old man’s deal being that fit?! But despite the imminent danger of an attacking old man, Sam had to ask him… “Why you say Personal Gravy? Is you cooking?”

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/1/2021 16:51:33)
As the spectral rift closed, a silent breeze swept across the field. The muted grass flowed over Dramiel’s boots as the battlefield began to move. The specter watched the other four carefully, trying to determine their goals. To the left, the strange-looking lion creature and human paladin moved towards one another, their intent clear. A sudden vibration drew Dramiel’s gaze to the opposite side, where a curious man had begun to play an unfamiliar instrument. Strangely, this created a powerful sound, in stark contrast to the silent rift Dramiel had created not even a second before. Clearly there was some sort of force affecting the sound in this area, but this thought was quickly discarded as the man apparently issued a challenge to the others. It occurred to Dramiel that these fighters were likely in possession of weapons and abilities that had never been seen in the empire, further evidenced by their foreign appearances. This sort of situation had been planned for, however, as the magical programming dictated a defensive and opportunistic approach to combat. Seconds after the sound began to fade, the furthest figure began to fling a few spherical projectiles at the musician. He was an older man, dressed in a brown robe that resembled the clothing of empire scholars. Normally the academics were not known for their combat abilities, and yet this figure seemed more than eager to swiftly move towards the musician. Dramiel moved their left gauntlet to Vehement’s lower hilt, pointing the edge towards the two fighters as they began to clash. A sensation flashed through the Specter’s consciousness, a sharp and light feeling. Anticipation. It had been a long time since Dramiel had needed to use Vehement as anything more than a tool, a long time since they had been able to experience the true art of combat. Pushing away distractions was trivial, the artificial consciousness was built for such a purpose after all. As they focused, the color drained from their vision, the backdrop of the city faded, the grass began to form into a single mass. Only the two figures in front of Dramiel remained perfectly clear. The Specter bent its knees, moving into a sprint directly towards the musician. As the distance closed, Vehement moved to the side, nearly dragging across the ground because of its length. In a split second, Dramiel moved the gleaming sword forward, letting the momentum keep it airborne as the left gauntlet took a moment to point towards their target. A brilliant blue flashed in space, the familiar maze shattering into existence right in front of Dramiel. The left gauntlet returned to Vehement, fluidly continuing the ‘lifting’ motion that was momentarily interrupted by the summoning motion. As they collided with the rift, there was a wrenching sensation as their very being was torn away and moved to a different location. In that moment, a haze appeared next to the musician, followed by the form of Dramiel. As the motion completed, Vehement was already raised in preparation for a strike. With only a few feet between them, the sword began to descend, gleaming in the faint light of the city.

nield -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/2/2021 17:43:45)
Heehoe grimaced inwardly. “I didn’t say gravy at all. I asked if you’d be adverse to having your personal gravity altered.” He noticed the armoured one approaching at speed beyond the rat person, before suddenly they were right on top, swinging their sword. They were fighting for the same side, but that didn’t mean they were necessarily allies and they had been commanded to prove themselves. The two of them falling on the not-Alerian would only prove one thing in Heehoe’s mind: That they were a craven pair. He pulled his staff back and twirled it around his body, pushing its gravity to 2Gs going to his right and brought it that way against the falling sword, knocking it aside of its fatal descent, then he hopped back a short distance, removing gravity from his staff and eyeing the two before him warily, reaching his off-hand into his satchel, ready to let some stones fly.

Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/2/2021 19:31:54)
The yokai took aim with its bow and fired, loosing a giant, flaming bird on Aurelia. That drew a grin from her. You knew a day had already peaked in weirdness when a flaming bird-of-prey was considered standard fare, though that may’ve been less about Aurelia’s day being weird, and more a statement about her life. Or was it lives? She hadn’t given the matter much thought, actually. Granted, being attacked by a yokai’s oversized budgerigar was much prefera— Gosh, that thing was fast. Her grin shifted into a snarl, as the darkforged drove her left foot into the ground, and flung both Mandates skywards. The interlocked blades hummed—not sang—up to their mark, striking the phoenix’s outstretched talons with a muffled thump. Denied of its prey, the bird screeched once and flew up towards the monochrome grey sky. Mmm, as fun as it was for her the Divine Twins to shut up for once in their god-forsaken existence, this… ‘audio problem’ was going to be… well, a problem, oddly enough. Especially if she was gonna get animal spirits sicced on her. Aurelia traced the bird’s flight with her eyes, stealing a hurried glance towards its master while it looped around. Luckily, Lionface had gotten distracted with its next piece of prey—a staff-wielding, rock-throwing jiisan—instead of gunning straight for her. Although if the yokai was anything like half of the ones from folktales, chances were that it wasn’t a complete savage. So it mightn’t try to eat them, though that was hardly any reassurance. Not when the list of the potential deaths included things like ‘being pulled into the toilet’. Hopefully, it was just some... misunderstood freak of nature, that wanted to kill them in a more traditional fashion. She spun on her heel and sprinted for the beastwoman again, shooting it a grin when it turned back to face her. Regardless of what it was, what mattered was whether it could talk and whether she’d be able to attempt to negotiate, before it—or its pet—tried to… to do whatever. Speaking of which, how long had it been? Spot check. Aurelia snuck a gaze behind her, and sure enough, the firebird had just finished wheeling around and was diving at her, right on her six. Normally, she’d trust her ears for this task, but her only prize would probably be a pair of hot red talons in the back of her skull. There wasn’t really any choice but to rely on her timing to judge the right time to spring. Which would be about... now. She stomped her right foot, hard, and then twisted, kicking off on its converse twin. Her left sword arced up, a purring streak of gold coalescing with the lioness’ incandescent hawk. A flash of flame and a muffled shriek were her prizes, drawing a satisfied smirk from the paladin. She landed, right boot thudding into muted grass, as Aurelia whirled to face the glorified chicken’s summoner— —who now had a tiger. Oh, come o— Then the two were upon her, before her smile had even begun to fade. It was a bit difficult to tell where catwoman and holographic deathmachine merged, but luckily for the shadowborn, defending from one sufficed was enough. Divine swords met snarling blades as Aurelia braced herself, intercepting her foes’ strike head-on. There was a softened clack and she gritted her teeth, as her arms shook and knees shuddered, heels digging into the earth. So this was what it was like to be on the other end of a weight advantage. The Shattered Dream glared at the circus’ ringmaster, her violet eyes locking with its smoky grey orbs. If you were hiding a sodding tiger in your back pocket, why in the Hells wouldn’t you lead with it? With no undue effort, Aurelia shoved back with a grunt, trying to buy herself room. The felines’ recovered all too quickly, however, and immediately countered with a rapid thrust. A left-handed parry denied their claim to her throat, earning her another powerful jolt. Seriously, less than fifteen seconds and the crazy cat lady was already trying for the kill. She’d seen actual lions with more bloody chill. An outward flick of her left sent the pair’s assailing arm wide. Stepping in, the darkforged swung her right blade skywards, the blazing sword calling for the beastwoman’s flank.

Anastira -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/3/2021 6:46:28)
In Daiyu’s hands the blades drive forward, cutting a path through the air, and the Tiger lunges with her, superimposed with its claws and its body reaching out in front of her, its spectral fur half shimmering in the monochrome dimness of the Field. The Tiger seems to draw the darkness in on itself and invert it, a brilliant streak of white; the darkness of the Field spills in thin lines across its body, its rippling muscles, its long black claws. Through its sapphire-cut eyes Daiyu sees the parry coming, two crystalline blades as white as the Tiger itself crossed in defiance. Not today, those blades seem to sing through the relative quiet, through the blinding darkness, not today. Her butterfly’s swords contact a millisecond after the Tiger’s claws. A jolt through the Tiger and an echo of it in her own body. She feels herself fall back with the Tiger against the grass, swings again, blocked again. Frustration. She blinks and splits again, feels herself snapping into two, anger flowing outwards through her as she pushes on her Tiger, ignoring the blade that comes slicing towards her flank. The Tiger crouches again, sways easily to one side, rising up on its hind legs to rear above the woman; and as it rears up Daiyu reaches to sheath the butterfly swords, dropping to the ground. She plunges to the side, to her own left, her hands halfway to the sheaths - Not fast enough. A streak of pain, a lightning flash, and Daiyu feels cold blood trickling across the smoothness of her skin. She can feel the strangeness of it, a crevasse opening on her own body, and she jolts away from it, the butterfly swords dropping the last of the distance into their sheaths. If she waited a moment, counted to san, maybe she would reach for the glaive, but her questing hands find the rough hardened chain of the meteor hammers instead, and without thinking she pulls them from their place over her shoulders, the spiked spheres twisting and whirling over her head, humming angrily. In front of her the Black Tortoise appears, hulking, its shell fading into the blackness that is the arena, a shadow against the raging form of the Tiger. Instinctively she moves opposite to the Tiger, to the woman’s right, slipping sideways to flank and dropping low to the ground, into a deep, wide-splayed crouch. The meteor hammers whistle through the air, a muted song, a deadly tango. The Black Tortoise looms, a great unmoving bulk in the path of the woman’s blade. Daiyu swings the meteor hammers forward, ducking beneath them, one great spiked sphere twisting through the air towards the woman’s head. The Tiger rears down at this moment, the Tortoise in front of the woman, its dark hulk blending into the landscape, Daiyu lunging across it with the meteor hammers, the Tiger feinting right as Daiyu sidesteps to the left; the Tiger reaching out with snarling claws as Daiyu undercuts the blade, the chain screaming mutely in her hands. The Tiger’s claws ricochet against one of the swords and Daiyu feels it deep inside, an unearthly jolt that seems to syncopate against the rhythm of the meteor hammers spinning in her hands. She sucks in a breath. Yi, èr... On the third beat she lets go, the meteor hammers swirling away from her, out of control, spinning towards the blade - The woman in the longcoat presses up with her arm to block the hammers - but they wrap themselves around the blade, viselike, and in their grip the blade is torn away from the woman, goes spinning through the air and ricochets against the ground silently, lies still in the grass. There it seems almost to smolder, glowing gold, a constant candle flame. The air tastes sharp against Daiyu’s tongue. The Tiger reaches forward as the luminous blade spins into the dark, the Tiger’s claws snapping through space, pulls the second blade away from the woman. Daiyu lets herself smile, her fangs flashing in the dark. “You are a fool,” Daiyu hisses, not knowing if the woman can hear her. “You are not my enemy.” She whips her head to the side - there he is, Hongjun Laozu with his twirling staff and his oversized pebbles, his silhouette moving darkly in her peripheral vision. That is my enemy. I will not leave until he is dead. She licks her lips, feels her tongue curl around the long vicious curve of her fangs. He will be delicious, she is sure. Not as tender as the children, but there is something decadent in feasting on the blood and soul of a sworn enemy. “I am here for the monk,” Daiyu hisses, turning her attention back to the disarmed woman, her Tiger prowling next to her side, the Tortoise immovable in front of her. She is already reaching for the butterfly swords again, her hands seeking the familiar weight of their hilts, and the Tiger flicks its tail angrily, swiping side to side, the tip brushing Daiyu’s leg. “You and I - there is no point to us fighting. This is just a distraction for me. It makes me impatient - and angry.” Her lips curl back further, more a snarl than a smile now, something primal and animal and fierce. “I don’t want to be angry.” She turns - And the woman is upon her.

San Robin -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/5/2021 16:17:56)
Soon after Sam staved off a sturdy stabby staff another strong seeming soul smashed into the struggle! Just as Old Man Gravy explained something about personal gravity or… gravytee? Gravytree? Sam couldn’t even start racking his brain around what he was being asked. When the armored one smashed into battle. Old man Gravy knocked the attack aside and quickly jumped back. Sam didn’t hesitate to do the same, tightly gripping his axe guitar, infusing it with wind energy and smashing it between his two adversaries in an attempt to create some distance. “I no know who or what you is! Or why you’s attacking, but WELCOME TO MY PERFORMANCE!” Striking a pose, he prepared to strum his guitar once more “Me call this one! ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD!” and with a strum he made his guitar flash with a brightness aching to sunlight. The perfect opportunity! HIT THE ENEMY WHILE THEY CANNOT SEE! Sam raised up his axe guitar and slammed it towards the new opponent!

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/6/2021 1:08:47)
For a moment, the very passage of time seemed to falter. The armored specter stood above the leather-clad musician, their massive longsword held over their head. Halfway through its swing, a blue trail was left behind as if Vehement was cutting through the night sky. A faint blue mist had begun to fall, highlighting the blue trim of the armor. Dramiel had executed this exact same strike countless times, the sudden movement tended to catch people off guard. On the opposite side of the musician, the robed man had begun to move his staff in a similar curve. In this split second, the atmosphere seemed almost tranquil. Each fighter moved of their own accord, entirely focused on the target in front of them. Dramiel, in their state of complete focus, failed to see the incoming strike before it was far too late. Out of their peripheral haze, the robed man’s staff moved faster than any normal strike could. Vehement was effortlessly knocked aside, as the other two quickly acknowledged the specter’s intrusion. Dramiel’s consciousness was confused for a moment, having difficulty understanding how the scholar was able to deflect such a perfect killing blow. These fighters were certainly unlike those in the empire, significantly faster than anyone they had ever seen before. Dramiel was pulled back to reality by the muted words being spoken by the musician. The words seemed to be directed at them, although Dramiel made a habit of ignoring the speech of an enemy. What could not be ignored, however, was the shockingly loud explosion of sound from the instrument he carried. Compared to the muted atmosphere of the battlefield, the music was deafening. Dramiel watched as a blinding light was released from the instrument, temporarily overloading their mind. Although they may not have the same biological weaknesses as a human, the arcane workings of Dramiel’s brain struggled to cope with the sudden change in stimulus. By the time their vision began to clear, the familiar reflection of a moving blade was startlingly clear in the haze of reality. Instinctively, their left gauntlet left Vehement’s hilt and moved to intercept the incoming strike. In a subtle flash of blue light, the blue maze of energy began to expand from Dramiel’s arm. While their defensive abilities were considerable, the musician had caused quite the diversion with his clever trick. The shield was barely able to move in front of Dramiel’s chest before the axe collided with it, slightly slowing as it shattered the glowing field of energy. As the blade collided with Dramiel’s arm, they felt a jarring sensation of pain that had grown far too unfamiliar. The plating crumpled under the weight of the blow, successfully deflecting it but not without significant damage. Several small cracks appeared under the blade, spiraling across the regal armor. As Dramiel recoiled from the hit, a blue haze remained behind where they had been struck. If the animated armor were to suffer a direct blow from an enemy, the training program dictated an immediate recalculation of the assailant’s danger level. Dramiel realized their severe underestimation of the musician as the blue tint of ectoplasm leaked from their arm. This fighter was clearly dangerous, and far more so than they had guessed. In addition, they were too close at the moment. An axe such as his was far better suited to this range than Vehement was. Dramiel stepped forward as the musician followed through on their strike, smashing their shoulder into him in an attempt to knock him back slightly. As he stumbled slightly backwards, the specter took the chance to move to a defensive stance. They held Vehement near the waist, prepared to parry an incoming attack.

nield -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/6/2021 9:24:56)
Heehoe braced himself as a wind gust generated by the rat person hitting the ground with his instrument barreled into him, pushing him a few feet. Wasting no time making the best of the opening I gave him. A combatant then, in surety. The odd creature began shouting about his performance, Or not? Then a great burst of light from the instrument assailed him and Heehoe howled as his vision exploded into starbursts. Even without sight, he was not entirely without defences. Returning natural gravity to it, he began spinning his staff in front of him. But no attacks came his way whilst he was blinded. He did however hear a dull thunk that managed to reach him through the muted world. As slowly his vision returned he could resolve the image of the armoured one having fallen back into a defensive stance, its arm leaking a blue substance. He took a moment to glance over at the wild woman and the young lady, who were locked in combat. I’m ill-needed over there. That young lady though… I find myself filled with… He shook his head, banishing his thoughts. Let the matter lie old man, focus on what’s in front of you. He grabbed out two of his river rocks and one of the basalt rocks, Imbuing them all with different gravities towards the armoured one such that they would reach at staggered intervals, to whom he then let them fly. Without missing a beat from that he took a javelin stance with his staff, imbuing it with full gravity AWAY from the rat person and hurled it at him, immediately running after it. The Not-Alerian was not prepared and the staff struck it on the head, bouncing off and accelerating back towards Heehoe, who leapt into the air, his body twisting as he went. One hand lightly grasped the staff, removing its gravity and he swung as he twirled. As the staff reached the apex of its height he imbued it with double normal gravity, bringing it down with force towards the rat person’s head.

Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/6/2021 14:10:19)
A crimson seam on the lioness’ pelt was all her swipe netted her. Which was fine, really. Aurelia had plenty more attempts left in her, and she wasn't completely set on disemboweling her dance partner yet. The shadowborn didn’t quite have the same sentiment for the lady’s stripey friend, however, who had split off and flanked her from the left. A quick backstep had prevented it from mauling her mid strike, but now she was stuck with a predatory cat on each side—a giant, snarling beast on her left, and a bipedal hybrid-type, leering from the right. Two-on-one, eh? They weren’t bad odds, but the damn tiger counted as, like, five, and its master was pulling out another flippin’ armament. Another weapon probably meant that another little beasty was coming out, didn’t it? It wasn’t like there was any obvious ‘hocus-pocus’ before each summoning, not to mention that Fuzz Face was swapping through them like they were going out of style. If the trend continued, then the next one was probably going to be even bigger. Like a bear, or a… rhino? Regardless, the maths was gonna look pretty bleak if the kitty pulled another critter out. Aurelia grimaced, just as the yokai’s partner decided it was time to have another shot at her. The orange cuss blurred forward as she inverted her sword, fending off the swipe with a skyward arc. She hissed as recoil shot up her arm, rolling her shoulder once to loosen it. Things weren’t going to get far with her subbing for the proverbial piggy in the middle, especially if the mangy little cuss just kept throwing animals at her. Though that was going to change in a moment, judging by the orb she was spinning overhead. Fantastic. More garbage to deal with. At least metal balls couldn’t screech and snarl at her. And turtles weren’t known for being overly aggressive. … Turtle? She’d barely begun her double take when the yokai threw its whirling payload, straight at Aurelia’s face. Teeth gritted, the paladin stepped forward and swung, intent on striking the spinning mass down. There was a muted thuk of steel striking quartz, before the Mandate was ripped from her hand, trapped in the chain’s embrace. Aurelia drew a sharp breath. Damn. That was definitely gonna be a problem. But it could be worse. At least a turtle—or was that a tortoise—wasn’t the most threatening animal in the world. A mite scaly for her liking, but relatively harmless, especially compared to her other stripey problem. As though on cue, the aforementioned lunged at her, taking a fancy to her juicy flank. Aurelia flicked her wrist to block, but the tiger’s attack struck her armoured glove, knocking her other blade from her grip. Everything seemed to slow for the paladin, as she watched her sword drop from her hand. Her lionheaded foe was speaking to her now, launching into an unsought—and very unexpected—monologue, to which she only paid half a mind. Despite the many fights that Aurelia had been in, there’d been less than a handful in which she’d been robbed of both Mandates. Sure, she’d dropped both swords on occasion, if there’d been an opportune moment to nail someone in the mouth, but they were for different reasons. She wasn’t really used to the concept of being disarmed, and she certainly didn’t appreciate it. And considering that she’d left the Mountain for a military stint many years ago, when she’d just come of age? That was a damn lot of fights in the data pool, meaning that it was a noteworthy achievement. Sure, it was bloody annoying and... but man, did it add to the rush. She was definitely gonna get the yokai back for that one. A faint, muffled whine filled the air around her, as a dull ache pulsed through the Imperator’s bones. Light shone from the Sacred Lance, its luminance growing with the din. Her gauntlet shuddered, golden cracks flashing once, and Aurelia’s lips split with a vicious grin. Her blackened fist closed and a maelstrom bloomed from it, as magic surged through her limbs. The shadowborn ducked downwards, and pushed off her right, dashing through the opening on her opposite side. Her left boot dug into the grass, bearing the brunt of her weight, before Aurelia kicked off once more, circling her foes from their right. With borrowed grace, she ran, sprinting past the shimmering tiger, alongside the dueling phantoms, until she had rounded past her mane-bearing target. Surprise, kitten. There was another pulse through the air as she opened her left gauntlet, the magic releasing with a hiss. In contrast, her right hand shot in with its fingers closed, delivering a well earned haymaker to the beastmaster’s stupid face. At that moment, almost nothing could’ve topped the feel of her armour-clad fist striking… fur? Bit crunchy for fur. Still, it wouldn’t do to ruin the moment by getting her nose bitten off. The Shattered Dream skipped back, putting a few paces between her and the dazed catwoman, just as the Spear’s magical feedback hit her. Aurelia fought down a gag and breathed deeply, as her head throbbed and her heart kicked it up a notch. Hopefully she wouldn’t be feeling that again any time soon. If only she were so lucky. Aurelia coughed and adjusted her collar ribbon, before straightening up and addressing her ongoing assault crime. “Well, it speaks! Who would’ve thought?” Aurelia started, before pausing to lick her lips. Ugh, her mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on coins again. Unperturbed, she continued. “To be completely honest, I was thinking of letting you go with just a bit of dental work. But now we’re gonna play for keeps.” Aurelia winked and shot the lioness a brilliant, toothy smile. The darkforged widened her stance and raised her fists, settling into a classic ‘ready’ pose… but not before firing off a quick, right-handed bird of her own. Hopefully the savage understood the, uh… intricacies of the gesture. “Make your peace, then come at me, you flea-ridden throw rug.”

Anastira -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/7/2021 2:07:58)
Pain. This is what Daiyu knows: an agony that seems to split her face open, the cold wet blackness of her own blood crawling across the semi-stone of her fur, crevasses slit in her own skin. And pieces of her crumbling off like chips, settling like dust on the ground. The woman’s voice comes to her muffled, almost garbled: ”Well, it speaks! Who would’ve thought?” - insolent wench, treating her like some sarcastic plaything. The grass feels hard and unruly beneath Daiyu. She can feel it scraping at her fur, along her arms; her eyes land on the Tortoise in front of her, the meteor hammers wrapped around the woman’s sword on the ground, the Tiger prowling uselessly behind the woman, too stupid to track her visually in her sprint towards Daiyu. She lets out a growl, a snarl that parts against her chipped-jade fangs and spits itself towards her long-coated enemy. ”To be completely honest,” the woman says - is that a smile, or is Daiyu imagining it? - ”I was thinking of letting you go with just a bit of dental work. Dental - what’s that? A word she doesn’t recognize. It feels strange on her tongue. ”But now we’re gonna play for keeps.” Play for keeps. Daiyu doesn’t know the term, doesn’t understand the meaning, but what does it matter? This, she understands: the woman will die. She must die. Before, she was a distraction, a potential ally, but now - now, she has become Daiyu’s first appetizer of the day. The woman winks, and now, yes, now she is definitely smiling. The words she speaks - make your peace, then come at me, you flea-ridden throw rug - such bravado, such confidence. Daiyu vows - this will be your undoing. Your final mistake. She can feel it building inside her already, hot boiling rage, distilled and intensified into one heady rush of pure emotion. Not yet, she tells it, pushing it down, her mane bristling. Not now. She needs time. Buy herself time. Make the long-coated woman show her cards first. Any tricks she has - Daiyu will find them all, eke them out. Daiyu lunges forward - but not at the woman. Instead, she reaches the Tortoise in one leap and kicks it, hard, sending it sailing through the air at the woman, and as she does she hears the voice of someone very ancient and very wise: It is bad luck to kick turtles, you know, but she does not care, and the Tortoise flies through the air with its head retracted into its shell. From this angle it might as well be child’s play, a young boy’s ball to play catch with, if it weren’t so huge and so spiked and so black. “My name is Daiyu,” she hisses as she calls the Tiger to her, just in front of her, and the Tortoise connects with the woman’s leg and comes sailing back towards Daiyu. “If there’s an afterlife, and if anyone cares enough about your miserable being to ask you who killed you - tell them it was Hua Daiyu, the menace of the spring, child of the moon, goddess of the Lunar New Year.” It’s a good speech, she thinks. If not for the Tortoise sailing between them like some strange kind of sport, it might even seem foreboding. But somehow the image of the Tortoise in the air takes the edge off ever so slightly. She snorts angrily through her nose, sneaks a glance at the Tiger. I’m sorry, she thinks, even though it has no emotions, no feelings, no brain. And then she pulls the Azure Dragon from her back, spins the glaive in her hands, balances forward and leaps - and calls the Dragon towards the long-coated woman as the Tortoise thuds to the ground. Watches as the Dragon beelines for the woman and snakes itself around her, glittering blue, its wings flapping with great wafts of air, its tail curling like a constrictor around the woman’s torso, its claws bearing into her arms. Its jaws open wide, fangs bared, and it growls at her, a muted roar. She smiles again, the predatory smile of a woman ready to eat, and watches as the woman grapples with the Dragon helplessly. Blood runs down her face, still, cold as ice and black as obsidian, but she ignores it, her hands firm around the length of the glaive. The grass rustles gently beneath her feet and the wind of the Dragon’s wings feels like a gentle autumn breeze kissing her face, and she kneels, crouching in the ground, her eyes narrowed - Just in case, she tells herself, but there is something deeper, something she would rather not admit. This woman may be doomed - but Daiyu respects her. The Dragon’s tail twists in place and Daiyu is motionless, the silence unending.

San Robin -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/9/2021 16:13:33)
The blow connected! Slicing through the armor a little bit, revealing a strange kind of goo flowing out of the newly made cut. What could that stuff be? Sam’s natural curiosity made him pause for just a bit too long when SMASH he was shouldered by the armored person! As he stumbled back and prepared his axe for another attack, he saw the armored person back away a little into more of a defensive stance. What could Sam do against such a well-armored opponent? He did have the one move, but it would hit him as well! Not a good idea! Maybe another elemental slash? Maybe he could heat up that armor with his fire? His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a staff to the head. Old Man Gravy had regained his sight and had thrown his staff right at Sam! While not as powerful as he expected, it still packed quite a punch! And just for a while, Sam’s thoughts were CLEAR, “Oh dear, I’m in quite a situation it seems! Not 1 but 2 adversaries! How exciting!” Old Man Gravy had leaped and now came down faster than should naturally be possible bringing down his staff, an intent to kill?! Should he block it? No… Best to DODGE! Sam jumped out of the way, just in time for Old man Gravy to whiz by, missing him by a hair. What to do? A battle between 3 people. He would have to use all his strategic wit to think of the best course of actio- And just like that Sam was back to his old self, his moment of clarity over just as it had begun! “2 PEOPLE HERE TO HEAR ME SIGN?! ALRIGHT!” Sam pumped his fist in the air, grabbed his axe guitar firmly and started strumming and singing “HEY NOW YOU’S AN ALLSTAR! GET YOU GAME OOOOOOOOOOON!”. While dampened to nothing more than a regular conversational volume, the singing was as usual… quite the horrible experience.

nield -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/10/2021 4:36:28)
The rat person dodged aside at the last second, intelligence gleaming in his eyes. Heehoe sprung forward with his momentum, rolling along the ground and coming up, his eyes locked with the Not-Alerian’s, whose intelligence snapped away as he grabbed his instrument, began to play, Then began to sing. It was the worst thing he had ever heard in his life. A discordant, atonal wailing that made him wax nostalgic for the horrific caterwauling of a Niqxzlqotl murdered. Heehoe clamped his hands to his ears, but even that and the muted world were not enough, the shrieking still pierced through. He dug his hands both into his satchel, grabbing full handfuls of rocks and hurled them un-aided at the ‘musician’.

Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/10/2021 22:15:12)
If looks could kill, then the yokai’s glare could’ve easily offed three people. Aurelia licked her lips in anticipation, her grin widening. There was just something about a good fight that really got her blood pumping. That savage glee was somewhat dampened when the lion lady kicked the turtle at her. To be honest, she’d expected either the yokai, the tiger, or both to engage her again. The darkforged hadn’t been expecting the turtle, of all things, to come careening at her. A small part of her was curious to know whether the turtle had expected or was used to this, but the rest reacted accordingly. Setting her pity aside for the moment, the Shattered Dream shifted her weight to her left foot, before pulling her right leg back. Blackened shell met umbral plate with a muffled crack as Aurelia whipped her boot forward, and returned the reptile back to its sender. It was like they were about to start a game of kickball, but with an extra serving of animal abuse. Not exactly the most admirable way to treat one’s partner. Images of her own team flashed before her, but Aurelia waved the stray thoughts away. Shrike and Loake were big boys, afterall. They could take care of themselves. Besides, this was fun. A good fight was a great time, as she always used to— The Imperator caught herself and frowned, smile shrinking and brow knitting together. Even after all these years, she hadn’t gotten a handle on herself. Priorities. She had to get out of here, and back to the other two. Where was ‘here’ though? How would she do that? Well, take out Ms. Daiyu—a name she’d gotten literally from the lion’s mouth, along with a whole heap of edgy garbage— and then find a way back to Shrike and Loake, even if that meant cutting her way through all the other combatants. So she’d be able to have her fun regardless, but no more stuffing around. Might as well follow the yokai’s lead. Her knee shot up, crunching into the yokai’s pass. The turtle thudded down, spinning briefly on the ground. Aurelia took a step back, preparing to launch the timid reptile, just as the yokai’s newest pet materialised, freezing her mid motion. Thick, leathery wings. A mouth lined with vicious, jagged teeth. Glaring, sapphire eyes. And scales. Lots and lots of horrible, godforsaken scales. A twisting, serpentine mass of gnashing fangs and azure scales streamed towards her, bearing down on the shadowborn warrior. Her right hand reached for her saya, gripping the mouth as Aurelia focused, and called its paired blade home. She really should’ve just gone for the kill in their first fight. One clean cut, right at the lion’s neck. With utter contempt for the gauntlet that rose to block it, the azure drake roared as it smashed into the paladin’s chest, forcing the wind from her lungs. Aurelia gagged and dropped, and the darkness came rushing in. She gagged and dropped to her knees, vision blurring as she tried not to throw up. A grey katana clattered to the golden earth beside her, its blade snapped in two. One word echoed in her thoughts, as the woman knelt there, struggling to breathe. How? Arturius approached, inspecting the gauntlet that had robbed her breath. The sword that had wrecked her own hovered behind him, basking in the divine light that shone from high, illuminating the fields around them. “I know what you’re wondering,” he said, casually, rubbing his plated knuckles. “‘Why’s Mister Arturius got two of the Elemental Crowns? How’s that possible? Shouldn’t that be illegal?’ Well kid, as much as we both love the sound of my voice, I don’t really have the time to tell you a bedtime story. But I will say that I really couldn’t’ve done it without your sis. Seriously, props to her.” The shadowborn’s breath caught again, and she glared at him, meeting Arturius’ golden eyes. “Oh, sorry. Did that touch a nerve?” He asked, feigning innocence. Her left hand flew over to her right wrist, finding the sword pendant looped around it. She pulled once and it snapped, before dissolving into dust. There was the sound of splintering glass, as a white sword sprung into the woman’s hand. Arturius’ response was to laugh as she lunged at him. “Yep, seems I stomped all over it! Sorry about that, Taiyane.” His giant blade appeared in his hand and he swung it, aiming for the shadowborn’s head. Taiyane parried the blow in a single motion, quartz blade succeeding where its predecessor had failed. “Don’t you dare lie about my sister,” she snarled, as she lay into the despicable man with a flurry of deft swipes. “Shion would never—“ Arturius tsked, before pushing her back with a mighty shove. “Alright, genius, then you and your pair of braincells can answer me this. If your sis didn’t help me get it, then how’d I—” Taiyane was beside him before he’d finished his sentence. With a furious scream, the shadowborn lunged, plunging her blade forward— —into empty space. “Nice try. Though maybe in your next life, try not to shout before you jump a guy, yeah?” She spat a curse and made to turn, as Arturius' fist knocked her sword to the side. His golden blade plunged into her chest, and the shadowborn shattered. By the time Aurelia’s breathing had steadied and her vision had cleared, the beast was all around her. Twisting and curling—squeezing, its coils attempting to crush the life from her. Countless rows of innumerable, cerulean disks, wreathing her from neck to toe. She could almost feel them on her—the hundreds of azure plates, scraping and tearing into her. Biting into her burnt skin. But despite this, the paladin gritted her teeth and held. Her right leg was grounded, but its partner remained firmly planted, which was enough to keep her upright. The dragon snarled and snapped at Aurelia, kept at bay by the blackened gauntlet cusping its neck. It was only by some strange twist of fate—otherwise known as instinctual struggling and grappling—that the inside of the monster’s mouth hadn’t been the first thing she’d come back to. The real miracle, however, was that the sapphire horror had been stupid enough to leave her right arm free. Her joints popped and bones creaked as she felt its hold tighten, coils of diamond constricting her waist and chest, the beast trying to crack and splinter her bones. Aurelia bit back a cry and tensed, forcing herself to steady. Her heart thudded in her chest, in sync with the throbbing in her head, as the pressure grew on her ribs. But she wasn’t gonna falter—not here, not ever. Her burning eyes locked on to the drake’s revolting, skyblue globes. It glared at the shadowborn and roared— And then Aurelia struck, smashing her fist into its jaw. A second punch came on the heels of the first, succeeded by a brain rattling third and fourth. Aurelia snarled as its coils loosened, and she pulled back her arm for the coup de grace. Her grip loosened and she focused, calling for the blade at her side. The quartz sword appeared, startling bright in contrast to her darkened plate, and the winged snake snarled at her. The Shattered Dream barred her teeth and roared back, then thrust the Mandate forth— —ramming it home, straight into the roof of its mouth. Immediately, she felt the dragon reel back, releasing her, and wrenching the katana from her hand. She stumbled back and fell, landing on her hindquarters, as the beast writhed and screamed. It shuddered one last time before shattering into dozens of cobalt motes, which were whisked rapidly into the monochrome grey sky. Sorry, had she just slain a dragon, or a pissed firework? Aurelia pulled herself off the grass, grimacing as she tried not to stumble. Lords knew she’d be feeling on the morrow—bruises on top of burns did not get along together. Still, anything was better than her and scales. A particularly repulsive memory flashed before her, and the darkforged shivered, before glaring and stomping on the fleeing turtle. “Not so fast, little guy,” she murmured, as it ducked into safety. The Imperator sent her gaze up and locked eyes with Daiyu, then let the grin appear on her face as she settled back into her ready stance. “Come on then,” Aurelia laughed, nodding to where the dragon had fallen. “Show me what you’ve got. See if you can top that lightshow when you pass, won’t ya?”

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/10/2021 23:57:06)
Despite the flashing sensation of pain firing through Dramiel’s arm, this clash was exhilarating to them. If the specter had a mouth, it would have been smiling as they repositioned several meters away. The eerie silence returned, prompting Dramiel to return to their focused stance. There was a profound feeling of disappointment as they retreated rather than pressing in for another attack, but this musician was not one the specter was willing to underestimate. Luckily, it appeared the old scholar was more than willing to capitalize on the opportunity. While the musician was focused on Dramiel, the third fighter made a quick series of attacks. Dodging the blows, he was forced to retreat a few steps once more. Dramiel, now more wary of their adversaries, took a second or two to watch the fight unfold. The older man was certainly using some strange ability to augment their offensive capabilities, but the exact method of doing so was unclear. Even more curious was the musician, who was able to attack and defend effortlessly despite their weapon being nearly alien in its design. As he dodged a downward strike from the scholar, he again began to speak. The strange weapon vibrated with a strange energy, causing Dramiel’s armor to shake slightly. In an instant, the silent atmosphere was shattered by the sound of the ‘instrument’. Earlier the musician had played short bursts of sound, but this instance was long and drawn out. The sudden onslaught of music was accompanied by a loud vocal addition, sharp and coarse in comparison to the clashing of steel. Dramiel wasn’t one to understand the art of music, but even they could predict that this singing wasn’t exactly ‘good’. The sound crashed into them like a wave, nearly knocking them off balance as spots swam in their vision. It cut into the specter’s mind like a blade, the unwelcome experience evoking a slight feeling of dread. As the disorientation wore off, their gaze refocused on the musician. Off to the side, the old man was approaching. He appeared to be affected just as much by the music, looking to be preparing an attack. Both enemy fighters occupied, Dramiel planned to take advantage of the situation. Dropping into a low sprint, they quickly covered the 15 feet between them and the musician, using the momentum to swing Vehement in a wide arc. This type of attack was frequently used against groups of enemies in an attempt to neutralize multiple in a single strike. The edge of the blade glowed a bright blue as the swing combined with Dramiel’s speed, the edge moving directly towards the legs of both the musician and the scholar.

Anastira -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/12/2021 1:02:29)
Daiyu roars. The sound reverberates through Daiyu’s body, throwing itself against her throat, billowing between her fangs - and emerging from the Dragon’s maw, displaced. She feels herself flash between her own body and the Dragon’s - the woman’s eyes burning with determination, with an unabating will to survive - jaws opened wide, unhinged; fangs dripping with mist. She can feel her body, powerful, as it locks around the slender frame of the woman. Her muscles clench with a perfect ache, stretching and contracting, her tail ringing itself around the woman’s waist and torso, her claws scrabbling against the grass. Her wings are vast behind her, beating at the air: she can feel them like enormous extensions of herself, the exquisite twist and pull of the muscles of her shoulder blades, the familiar, foreign twinge of exertion as her wings move against the silence and the dark. The wind of their motion cradles her like a current, flowing around her constantly, rhythmic, poetry in action. A flash of motion. The Dragon plunges its head forward, jaw opening wide, fangs splitting through the air. A fist collides with the Dragon’s jaw, brain-shatteringly strong, an earthquake that roils through the air and through the Dragon’s body, and Daiyu feels it, braces herself, her muscles screaming. Another fist and the Dragon pulls its head back to let out a roar, but not fast enough, the fist is already coming around again to strike and I must not let go, and a fourth - four, four strikes, the unlucky number, omen of death. Daiyu recoils into herself, snapping away - a feeling like cascading through the air of another dimension, sent sprawling in a place that is intangible and incorporeal, her connection to the Dragon shaken by an invisible earthquake, the glaive tilting in her hands. Be strong, she tells the Dragon, as if it is a separate being and not just an extension of her own mind, her own body, but she is somewhere halfway in between, not quite anchored to herself, not anchored to the Dragon either. Daiyu snaps back to herself so fully and so violently that the world seems to keel around her and in the darkness, in this strange artificial almost-night, she anchors on the first thing she notices: a visual anchor, the glowing quartz sword in the air, I thought I disarmed her, and the Dragon - A piercing, lightning pain, so brilliant her eyes flash with it and she takes a full step back, down into a lunge, something primal beginning to unlock itself and come loose within. The grass whispers beneath her feet and she runs her tongue along the cut-edge glass of her fangs. For an instant she is the Dragon in its last moments: the sword shining in the darkness, screaming up silently towards the Dragon’s maw, open as it lurches down towards the woman’s head; the sword spearing itself up through the roof of the Dragon’s mouth, the palate splitting open, stone and mist cracking with a sharp shearing sound only Daiyu hears. Her mind splitting itself in two, elastic, snapping back into one so forcefully it resonates as a thunderclap inside her head. No, she thinks. Not the Dragon. Her mind, suspended within the Dragon, watches as the Dragon scatters into mist, into a dust of stone and light, swept away by an invisible wind. In her hands, the glaive feels somehow heavier. The woman in front of her shivers, turns towards the Tortoise - her foot moves for it and Daiyu pushes it, forces it away as the woman’s foot collides with its black shell. You, she thinks. The Tortoise. Stupid, useless, slow, and yet it’s here and her Dragon - gone. So fast. She hisses between her teeth, the anger rising inside like a storm, pulling her down into its depths. She sees red. Go, she thinks at it, vengeful. Go away. The Tortoise dissipates - It is bad luck to kick a turtle. Hongjun Laozu’s voice in her head, tempered by her memories. She walks in the wilderness and the grass beneath her feet is soft, gentle between her claws; the scent of it sings to her, verdant and lush, the smell of rain and dirt and life, fresh and ever-changing. Hongjun Laozu’s hand rests on her shoulder, a gentle weight against her jade fur, his fingers smoothing her pelt over and over in rhythmic strokes. Only the meanest of men do it. A turtle has no ill will; it simply lives its life. It sustains itself on the land and bothers no one. It does not even fight back - it has no fangs, no claws, simply its shell, a shelter and a shield. A turtle is a creature of peace. She growls, a low deep growl that, she knows, Hongjun Laozu will hear as a purr. He laughs. His hair is silver and long and when he looks at her from under his wide-brimmed hat, his eyes twinkle with the laughter of the stars and a million years. Yes. She kicked the turtle anyhow, despite my warning. She was young and childish and stupid, too young to understand. She thought life was a game. She caught fireflies in her hands, stole silk from the silkworms. She looked upon the spirits of our ancestors flying through the night sky, drawn to our light, and she called them moths without seeing the souls inside, trapped in the moth’s bodies. She chased butterflies without understanding their flight. She hounded at grasshoppers and made them jump, and laughed when they were frightened. She stared at the bulge-eyed cicadas and ridiculed their faces. He turns to look at her, his long beard swaying, the smile lines at the edges of his eyes creased. You are a thing of nature, and humans do not understand nature. They do not understand the shanshui, no matter how much they may sit on mountaintops repeating proverbs or trying to capture the shallowest piece of its beauty on a piece of canvas. The humans cannot respect you, just as the girl did not love the firefly or the silkworm, the moth or the butterfly, the grasshopper or the cicada. And if they cannot respect you, they cannot love you. But I have as much soul as they do, she thinks, frustrated. I am as much a person - I know that, Hongjun Laozu tells her. But they do not. They can only be scared or amused by the wilderness. And you, Hua Daiyu - they are scared of you. Scared of me, she thinks. I will make them scared, if that is what they really want. It is not what they want. It is their nature. They are blind. She turns toward him and glares, opens her mouth wide and roars until her the sound deafens even her own ears, her fangs glinting in the moonlight, but what’s the use? Deep down, she knows he is right. This thing, this humanity, it is an alternate reality - a world whose door is locked to things like her. Creatures. She roars at the grass, at the trees, and they bend towards her in regret, but she knows they cannot make it better. She dances through the night with the fireflies, rests her head on the trees watching the silkworms, bows to the moths. Chases the butterflies laughingly and plays catch-me-if-you-can with the grasshoppers. She even watches the cicadas transform, enchanted by their vanishing act: disappearing into the trees as children and reemerging as adults. And now I will transform, too, she tells herself. Around her, the Field of Silent Steel seems to echo with her thoughts, with Hongjun Laozu’s voice, and with her roiling hatred. She raises the glaive and rushes headfirst at the long-coated woman, uncaring. The woman’s blade comes for her head. Daiyu twists away. Steel splits flesh; her stone-fur bleeds black. The cloud on her mind deepens, pulling her down with it. There is more pain than she has ever remembered, all concentrated into one horrible moment; she feels a flicker, the tug of a mind split five ways. And then she changes.

Anastira -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/13/2021 23:44:47)
Freedom: that is what this is. A cicada pupating, hatching, seventeen years of changing flashing past in an instant. Grass beneath her claws, fire in her veins. She tastes. Smells. Air in her lungs, burning - ripe. Her body swells and grows, her anger breaking free, the once-river of black blood turning molten red, seeming to shrink as she becomes bigger. Words are lost to her; thoughts dissipate. There is only being. Feeling. Fighting. Rage. The Azure Dragon appears first above her shoulder, its wings great frothing mists of blue, its eyes like jagged slivers of sapphire ice, wilder and more primal than when it attacked the woman moments ago. The Tortoise is at her feet, great and black and spiked, its shell gleaming even in the dimness. The Tiger rears up in front, its claws flashing, nearly dwarfed by its mistress. The Vermillion Bird wheels above with great shrieks that cut through the muted silence, sharp and high, streaking in sudden erratic plunging dives, a tongue of flame flickering through the air. The horn on Daiyu’s forehead burns with feeling. She is red. Her tail lashes behind her in magnificent strokes, her claws as long as a hand. The face of Hongjun Laozu flashes through her rabid mind and vanishes. Grass. Air - sharp, heavy, sweet. Woman - in front. Grass spiked beneath. Balance back, lunge - leap. Wind and sky and ground and spirit sail past. Two glowing swords rise through the dark - swatted away with claw. Woman disarmed. No. Not now. Will not lose. Tiny woman. Prey. Spirits lagging behind. Daiyu prowls down and launches herself back, away from the cutting sword that seeks to find her flesh, her mane swirling around her like fire and her tail swooping back and forth, the spirits still wheeling around her aimlessly, a canopy of colors. Lowers her head - and charges, her jaw open wide, her fangs dripping, her horn gleaming with all the power of her heritage. The woman is not ready. Daiyu can tell she isn’t from the way she does not move fast enough. The horn buries itself in the woman’s stomach and the woman sails through the air. Make her fly. Daiyu shakes her head fiercely, her horning tingling, gleaming in the darkness, the blood rushing through her like a thundering tide as she lunges - Daiyu is not ready. Daiyu is not watching. She thinks only of the taste of blood and the shearing of flesh, the woman in front of her turned from enemy into prey, and the thought of it fills her with a bloodlust so strong she sees red. The world in front of her narrows down to one point, the place where her horn tore into the woman’s body, and she does not see. She does not see. She is blind, not because of the dark but because of herself - A flash of light, a glowing fist hurtling at her - an inverted cone of brilliance. The earth-shattering force of it scatters the spirits - sends Daiyu flying. Her claws scrabble at the ground; grass rips between them and catches in her fur. She is closer to the other combatants now, people she had forgotten existed, silver-haired Hongjun Laozu himself, but her mind sees only the long-coated woman, and hatred, hatred, black hatred, blackest hatred. Her tail sweeps side to side as she finally, finally slows to a stop, long ruts in the ground where her claws have torn against the dirt and grass. In this place leeched of color, she is brilliant, vibrant red with her spirits like beacons around her, a lighthouse in the night. Come, she thinks. Attack. The whole world could attack her and she would not be afraid. She paws again and lets out a roar so deep, so loud, so majestic that even the silence cannot make it go away; a roar that reverberates through the air like thunder. The Vermilion Bird wheels, screeches, plunges towards the ground in a death-dive. The White Tiger lunges at an invisible foe, claws tearing at the air. The Black Tortoise looms in front of Daiyu, immovable. The Azure Dragon ripples in a spiral, coiling itself around and around as it spins through the air. Firefly, silkworm, moth, butterfly, grasshopper, cicada. What does it matter if the world understands her? Nature is not understandable, and she is a thing of nature. Primal. Elegant. Terrible. Invincible. And this will not be the end.

Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2021= Field of Silent Steel (2/13/2021 23:59:49)
A final word was spoken from the shadows, and the mobster rose from his knees. Two heavily armed guards joined him on his way out, though that didn’t stop the dastard from smirking at Shrike on the way out. The mercenary ignored him—he was a professional, afterall—and simply waited in silence, crouched next to Loake. The sound of the trio’s footsteps soon faded into the distance, and it was then that the voice—a woman’s voice—addressed them with a single word. He glanced at Loake, who tilted his head. Neither of them understood the dialect that the natives spoke; they’d relied on Aurelia for translation and local knowledge. Seconds ticked by and nothing happened, yet Shrike could feel the stares on them intensify. There were more people around the room—guards or servants, most likely. Watching them, waiting for the order to take the two of them down. Who knew how many weapons were trained at them in the darkness? A dozen? Two dozen? And then the voice spoke again, but in Common Standard this time. “Come forward,” she said. Commanded, even. Shrike obliged and moved forward into the solitary light that shone from the ceiling. There was a brief pause before Loake joined him, standing in the middle of the room. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had outsiders on our mountain. And even longer since we’ve hosted them in this castle,” the unseen woman told them, speaking as though she was talking about the weather. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” “Where I’m from, we usually start with our name first,” Shrike replied. That comment drew a reaction. Five pairs of angrily glowing eyes appeared around the room, locking on to the slit of Shrike’s mask. The hitman ignored them, and kept his gaze on the shadows in front of him, where their host was. He’d never been very good at succumbing to intimidation. A personal failing. “Very well,” the woman said, a hint of amusement creeping into her tone. “Then let’s start with that. My name is Shion Kurouji. And you fine gentlemen are?” Shion Kurouji. That sounded about right. “I’m Gladius Shrike. The one with the broken voicebox is Kovac Loake,” he stated, indiciating with a thumb. “And we’re here to kill you.” Aurelia’s smile widened as the lioness bounded towards her, with crescent blade in hand. The Shattered Dream reached across her body, her right hand grasping her left saya, her left arm outstretched, as though to meet Daiyu’s charge. The darkforged focused on the sheathe, her mind calling out for its absent, chain-wrapped partner. Only a moment passed before the Mandate returned, heralded by a weight appearing on her side. With a single motion, Aurelia drew the katana and slashed, intent on taking the feline’s head. “Close your eyes, kitten.” That one blow would’ve ended their bout, had the yokai not anticipated the attack and twisted to the side. The dodge wasn’t exactly the cleanest show of agility, however—not by a long shot. A flick of Aurelia’s wrist and the howling blade bit in, carving a dark furrow into Daiyu’s side. A quick twist freed her sword, as momentum pulled the two fighters apart. It wasn’t exactly what she was going for, but a wound like would usually be a mortal one. Not many people would be fighting fit after having their sides opened up, but then again, most people weren’t half-lions, or yokai, or whatever Daiyu was. Aurelia considered the black ichor caking her quartz blade, flipping it over. Hmmm… honestly, the term ‘yokai’ was probably broad enough to encompass her anyway. The Imperator recalled her remaining blade and drew it, then turned to check on her bestial foe. She’d expected to see the half-cat sprawled over, bleeding enough to feed a table of four Vamps. Not a hellfire-red lion, surrounded by four glowing spectres. Bloody Hells, this day just kept getting better and better. And then the beast moved, bounding forward towards her. Aurelia grinned audaciously before moving up to meet her foe’s charge. Her eyes were drawn towards the four beastial spirits that lagged behind it—the spirits of the creatures she’d vanquished, or that Daiyu had banished, by the looks of it. Still with her, through thick and thin, huh? Not quite the same dynamic for her own group, considering that they usually just did their own jobs. It’d been surprising enough when Shrike had told her that they were coming with her. Those’d pretty much been his exact words. ”We’re coming with you,” he’d said, in that simple, matter-of-fact way of his. ”This isn’t business of any kind though. It’s entirely personal,” had been her own hesitant response. ”Yeah, we figured. You can shout us drinks once we’re done.” Granted, Shrike and Loake couldn’t actually eat or drink, so a meal probably wasn’t going to work. Eh, she could work something out with them. Assuming the two of them were still in one piece. All the more reason to end this as quickly as possible. The lion-beast lunged, closing the last few paces between them in the one leap. It was at that moment that Aurelia realised how bloody huge the monster was. It was… well, big. Such a simple word definitely didn’t do the creature justice, but all she knew was that it was too big to attack head on. And it was far too late to learn that. There wasn’t even time to curse. Aurelia gritted her teeth and planted her left foot, quartz blades locked to catch the beast’s lunge. The same maneuver had worked adequately against the tiger a bit earlier, but this cat was a couple of scales larger and heavier. Crimson claws crunched into the divine swords, ripping them from the shadowborn’s grip. She bit back a hiss as the lion ducked forward, its horn gleaming brilliantly in the monotone light. The fingers on her left hand barely had time to flex, before the spike buried itself in her gut. The next thing Aurelia knew, she was airborne. Not to quite ‘send me to the stars’, but more like ‘sprawling across the ground’. She tumbled once, rolled twice, and bounced across the monochrome earth, until she threw her left gauntlet out. Plated fingers dug into the earth, carving furrows into the blackened soil. The darkforged’s legs splayed out as she slowed, grinding her to a gradual stop, a few units from the phantasmal battle beyond the clearing. That’d been too close. But she wasn’t quite out of the fire yet—the beast was still coming for her. Despite the burning in her gut, Aurelia coughed out a laugh. The sensation brought a burning to her eyes, but she forced herself to look up. The Shattered Dream locked eyes with the vermillion lion, shooting it a vicious smile as it lunged, and she drew her right arm back. The air pressure shifted, as her right fist blazed gold. “Sayonara,” Aurelia whispered. And with a roar, she punched.

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