=EC 2021= Fountain Arena (Full Version)

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Starflame13 -> =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/24/2021 22:01:13)

The sun burst over the horizon, waves of blue rolling out after it to subsume the pinks and yellows and oranges of the dawn. Its golden rays slid across gilded armor and threw sparkling motes of light from the edges of shining weapons, both marking the fighters that moved amidst the throngs filling the streets of Bren. Shouts and laughter rose to a fevered pitch, growing louder with each newcomer that filtered into the enlivened city. From strangers to old friends, visiting dignitaries to lowly cutpurses, lone travelers to entire families - all within were drawn by the Arena’s call.

Under the excited babble hummed the siren song of power, drawing the crowd irresistibly onward. Onward, through the gleaming city gates, across twisted streets of shops and inns, past grimy alleyways and grand courtyards and the houses that stood between. Onward and over the final bridge, footsteps guided along the age-worn cobblestones of Supplicant’s Way. Onward, until the Complex itself stood before them: a looming gateway that swelled to fit the tide of hopefuls and spectators that surged towards it.

Here, the horde parted. Many streamed toward the stands, shoving and jostling against each other in the hopes of achieving better seating. The hopefuls instead found themselves alone. Whether by seasoned officials, finely honed instincts, or by unseen magic itself, the Arena tugged them forward to their fate - a destiny written in bloodshed and carnage. A chance for one to stand victorious. A hope, however slim, of earning the Boon.

All that stood in their path now was the arena itself - and the greatest fighters this world had to offer.

Curtains of cool mist draped themselves across the halls, trailing damp and delicate fingers over the passing competitors. Soft radiance dispersed through the vapor, originating from lambent orbs suspended along the ceiling and giving the uneven surfaces a wavering, mottled glow. Rivulets of silvery water flowed through deep chasms along the rough granite walls. The streamlets moved swiftly, tugged along by some unseen force as they pulsed forward and fed into a vast, silent wall of water that blocked the way forward.

Tranquility. Madness. Consequence. Continuance. The push and pull of the tides twisted all within Fountain.

With a hushed sigh, the cascade parted to allow passage into the arena beyond, water splashing around the hopefuls’ feet as they stepped forward. The lights of the hallway faded away along with the last faint rushings of the falls. Pinpricks of faint luminosity hung high overhead: a scattered myriad of unfamiliar constellations that pivoted above them in the crisp night air.

Then the moon flared to life above them, its brilliance reflecting off the dark pool below. It hung high in the sky, cratered face on full display to those below. Wisps of moonlight spread across the waters, reaching outwards until they caught upon the glittering veins of quartz in the smooth stone walls encircling the combatants. The shallow waters fell still beneath the moon’s gaze; not a single ripple dared to adorn them.

A faint tug pulled at those bathed in the glow, drawing them one step closer towards the celestial orb as it descended from the heavens. The black sky remained above, stars straining against the moon’s insistent brightness as it dwindled and fell, the gleaming reflection beneath extending its reach as the satellite came to rest scant feet above its mirrored image.

A quiet voice echoed out across the waters, carrying softly outwards from the center to those who stood within its grasp. “And so begins the Trail of Moonlight. Fight or Die, adventurers, but let the Elemental Championships begin!”



Anastira -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/25/2021 22:22:36)

Bren is amazing!

Wheeewhoop, viterbi thinks, spinning in dazzling brilliant circles of white light. There’s simply nothing like it in all the world, of that viterbi is sure. The music - oh, the music! A click-clack of hooves, the whispering murmuring landscape of voices rising around him - choruses of bell-like laughter, the peal of fifty different names being called out in syncopation, a harsh percussion of angrier voices, the slithering rasp of a pickpocket. A fool in motley dancing and jangling along the pavement; the door of an inn slamming shut as another whooshes open. Someone crying - oh, no, that’s not so good -

viterbi stops, thinking for a moment, sorting through his ROM, but the table-lookup seems to be failing him. Maybe the entries have been corrupted. In any case, they don’t tell him what to do. Sighing softly - but so high-pitched that the nearest puppy begins to bark angrily, tail wagging - viterbi backtracks three ticks of a digital clock, rising edge falling edge rising edge falling edge, retracing his memory. Ah, yes. Someone crying.

No crying!

Crying is bad, because it… because it’s… mellifluous, viterbi tries, but something tells him that’s not the right word. Where is his spotless ROM when he needs it? Of all times to start having problems! It never used to make mistakes. He backpedals furiously, trying again. No, the sound of crying is not mellifluous. It is...soporific? No, no, wrong again…

He stops focusing on the sound of the crying, just long enough to look around. viterbi is standing in the street. zeroooo one zero zero one The street! Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no....

A man spits down at him, whip cracking through the air. Cracking, yes, that is the right word, viterbi is getting better at this! “What in the devil’s seventh -”

But viterbi’s no longer looking at the man. Instead, he’s looking at the strange creature the man rides - hunched over like a little round bug, with spinning circles in place of legs, clunking ungainly across the cobblestones. viterbi stares up at it as it bears down on him. It’s hard to look away. It’s dazzling, maybe even more dazzling than viterbi (when he looks in a mirror, his reflection stares back so bright that he has to look away from the white-gold, or risk his poor lenses being burned, and where would he find replacements?). The strange creature seems very stiff. In fact, only the circular spinning legs seem to move at all. And there is a person inside of it, peeking out through big transparent lenses made of glass…

viterbi cocks its head. No, maybe this is more important than the sound of crying. This creature must be in danger, if it has a human living inside its brain and looking through its eyes. Maybe that’s why it can only move its legs. And even though its circle legs are moving, there are hooved creatures tied to the front, pulling it along down the street, so maybe even the legs are crippled, too!

He curls into a ball just as it passes over him, but not low enough, he swears he can feel it pass through him almost. Or maybe right above him. And then it’s past, hurtling down the street, and he picks himself up to stare as the people in the distance push and shove to get out of its path.

viterbi takes a step forward and starts running after it.

“Hoy, there!” comes a shout from viterbi’s right - a tall girl, or maybe a woman, viterbi could never figure out the difference (they look quite the same to him). She’s standing jauntily, one hip thrust towards the road (human body parts are easy to remember, each one’s only got one word for it), her hair tucked beneath a three-pointed hat. She’s got a black piece of cloth covering one eye. Maybe it helps her see better? viterbi tries covering one of his own eyes with his hand, but it doesn’t seem to help at all. If anything, it makes it worse!

“Hoy,” the girl says again, louder. “You there. Carriage driver!”

viterbi looks back. The strange circle-legged creature rolls to a stop, and the hooved creatures pulling it stop, too. The cruel man with his whip stares at the girl. Maybe the girl is going to save the creature now?

“You still think the eyepatch makes you cool, Motley?”

The girl cocks her head. “Not any cooler than that whip makes you.” Her uncovered eye squints dangerously. (viterbi tries imitating this, too, but all it does is make him see less than he saw before, so he stops.) “I may not be half-blind, coxswain, but I assure you if I take this off, you shan’t be pretty.”

He laughs. “Me, or you?”

“You,” she says, darkly. And then the man with the carriage - is that the name of the creature? - lets out another crack of his whip, and the creature trundles off down the street, with the girl staring after it. viterbi runs a quick search on the thing he’d called her. Motley. Like a jester? In motley. He looks back at the dancing fool, except the crowd’s so thick he can’t see the fool anymore. Just the people. Lots of people.

He looks off down the road again, but the carriage is too far away for him to help it. Bother.

“Oy,” the girl says, moving closer. viterbi titters and does a little twirl. Is she talking to him?

“Oy,” she says again, taking two steps closer. Her hand seems to flicker, almost like it’s glitching, and then viterbi realizes it’s made of metal, and hooked. “You’re a cute little thing, ain’t you?”

Bother. Bother bother bother. Leave me alooooneeee! viterbi tries very very hard to say, but what comes out is: veebee veebee veebe zerozeroonezeroone zerooneoneoneone veeebeee, and the girl just laughs and reaches out for him.

So viterbi jumps.

High. Higher than any three-foot robot should be able to jump. The girl lets out a startled squeak and jump-hops backwards, and he thinks she reaches for the eyepatch so, just in case, he looks away, because you never know - maybe taking it off helps her see super well and he wouldn’t want that - and then he spins away down the street as fast as he can go. m’aider m’aider m’aider he thinks as he goes (that’s how it’s supposed to be spelled, not mayday, his dictionary says so), and then there is the crying again -

The crying!

He hurtles towards a corner, faster than he ought to, but today he is reckless and full of reckless abandon. Today he is coming to fight in the Elemental Championships! And if he wins, he shall finally have a grandma. A grandma! Glory of glories. He has nothing to fear.

There is a wall.

He runs into it.

Ouch, he thinks, and squeaks, but what comes out is zerooooooo.

There’s another robot in the corner.

A robot! Like him! He takes a tentative step forward and does a twirl, but nothing happens. The robot is awake. He can sense it. He has good robot-sense, too, so he’d know. He does another twirl - still nothing. Maybe it’s not lively enough? He takes a few steps away and walks in a circle, and when the robot doesn’t react he walks the circle again, but this time he spins in place the whole time he’s doing it, like a little top. Or - what’s the word? Aha! - a gyroscope. Yes, it is a good word.

He’s forgotten all about the crying now. This trumps the crying by a million yards!

Is that a saying? viterbi has all of Poor Richard’s Almanack memorized, but he has discovered a strange tendency to try to come up with his own now. Like a game. Just the other day, he came up with the shy tortoise never sees the world, only his shell, and he felt very clever, until he realized no one would ever share in his cleverness, since it all comes out as zero one zero one one... and most people don’t seem to understand what that means. He knows people and animals all have different kinds of encoders, and even different kinds of people have different encoders - languages, they call them - but he thinks they must all be stuck with only one decoder, which puts them at quite a disadvantage. Yes...viterbi’s superiority comes solely from his knack with decoding.

Well, not quite. He has…other abilities, too. But he doesn’t like to think about those. Even though he may have to soon, in that arena.

Why did he sign up for this, again?

Ah, yes. Because of a grandma.

Reason enough.

He does one more loop-the-loop in front of the strange robot, spinning and singing veebee veebee veebee gleefully the whole time. The air is thicker around him than it was a moment before; his lenses are fogged up. He reaches up to wipe them clean -

And realizes there’s mist coming from the strange robot.

Oh no oh no oh no, viterbi thinks, and with one huge leap he jumps, and scampers away…



...only to find himself in the middle of a fountain!

A...fountain?

Truth be told, viterbi’s having a bit of trouble remembering how he got here. He’s so excited he keeps overwriting his memory. He remembers a lot of things all at once, but they all buzz together in his mind like excited butterflies. (That seems wrong. Is that a wrong saying?) But he does know that this fountain is really quite lovely. It seems to glow everywhere. There’s a sheet of water in front of him, and he reaches out to touch it. Ooooh! He hasn’t felt like that before! It makes him feel all tingly and a little...subdued, somehow. Almost sleepy. How strange…

He wiggles his hand and does a little dance. He really wants to give a little hop and a jump through it, to see what’s beyond, but a tiny little almost-human part of him (the part he’s been feeding fertilizer) holds him back. Wait, viterbi, that little part says, and inside his mind he buzzes and spins and jumps up and down, but he manages to keep his body dancing in place. Just a little step-step, waltz one-two-three, one shoulder up, one hip to the side, strike a pose.

And then the curtain opens.

Waaaaowwooooooh, viterbi squeals. There’s a huge pale white disk in the sky - he’s seen that before somewhere, but it’s always been useless before; it seems closer here - and little points of light all above - he can almost make out pictures up there, in the dots; he stops and spins in place, staring upwards, and makes out a face, an arm, and an axe. Misshapen, but they’re the best he can do with the dots they’ve given him. It’s almost like a puzzle! So pretty. Everything is dark and light at once. viterbi feels very, very confused.

Zero zero oneoneoneeee, viterbi gasps, in awe.

He feels himself pulled forward towards the big pale glowy thing in the center, and squeaks in frustration. NO! he tries yelling, but it comes out as a string of zeros instead. A voice radiates outward towards him, almost like a lullaby (it’s quiet, anyway, that’s what matters): And so begins the Trail of Moonlight. Fight or Die, adventurers, but let the Elemental Championships begin!

Die…? What’s this about dying? That doesn’t sound very nice. viterbi’s just here to play tug-of-war. Just in case, viterbi summons ROVA, each half of the shield emerging in a spark of energy and forming up along each arm. He titters wildly, staring at them. They are so pretty. He can’t remember the last time he used them.

He does another little spin - splosh - and looks down abruptly. What’s this? Water? At his feet? He gives a happy little squeal and sploshes again. How wonderful! When he looks around the arena, he can see five other friends have joined him. He spins happily. Maybe they will all play tug-of-war with him. That would be glorious! Unable to contain his excitement, viterbi gives a huge jump, falls back down - SPLOOSH - and begins bounding in huge jumps to the creature to his right. A girl, she looks like, so she might be -

Hugs! viterbi thinks, and if he could smile he would. HUGS!



Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/27/2021 22:53:09)

Each loud click of the black-as-night boots against the wooden floor pierced through the tavern’s quiet as they echoed off each wall. Jacklin did not notice as her mouth curled into a small smirk; there had always been something about that sound that brought her satisfaction. It reminded her of the authority she carried, and the new heights she’d reach if she succeeded here. Her stride was slow, confident, and oozing with flair. Even away from the Emperor’s Military, it wouldn’t do for a soon-to-be captain to be simple in presentation.

Yet there was no one in the room to impress, an oddity for what was supposed to be such an important town. Perhaps she was simply too early? She adjusted her hat and her suit as she approached the counter nonetheless, making both as immaculate as possible. She tapped on the counter lightly to draw the owner's attention, then inquired in an eloquent, practiced tone.

“Good day sir. I would like to register for the Elemental Championships.”

The tavern keeper, a young man with short blond hair, stopped cleaning his glasses to look over at her, an eyebrow raised. “Ma’am, you must be joking.”

The woman’s polished appearance faltered as his accusation shot into her and she stumbled ever so slightly, her lips curling to a frown as her eye twitched. She was quick to catch herself, straightening back up and whispering a mantra under her breath as her hand tapped her chest. When she replied, it was with utmost politeness and a strained smile. “I’m sorry?”

“The Grand Arena, and with it the final round, opens in 20 minutes.”

There was a brief moment of tension as the woman's mind raced to consider every implication of her unpunctuality. The professional facade then dropped entirely as she accepted she would not, in fact, be accomplishing what she came here for. “Sooooo. I’m late.”

The tavern keeper chuckled. “By quite a bit, yes.”

The woman sighed, then chuckled along, a low sound that quickly rose and became full, joyous laughter that rang through the tavern like a bell. “Fine then.”

A golden badge hit the table, spinning rapidly on its side. It was quickly covered by a 3-pointed, gold-trimmed hat. In a series of swift, practiced motions, the woman unbuttoned her jacket and dress shirt, slipping them off to reveal a dark tank top that barely covered a handful of sunburns, some actual burns, and swirling tattoos of smoke that spiraled along her arms. She casually tossed her discarded attire aside, where it fluttered down onto a barstool. She herself followed shortly after, spinning twice on the stool before tossing a handful of gold onto the counter, then leaning onto it herself and propping her head up with her arm.

“I need two bottles of Sparkling Moglinberry Juice, a plate of fried raven’s wings, and someone to talk with for the next two… no, make it three… hours.” She glanced up at the tavern keeper, who had already snatched two bottles off a shelf with a smirk and was sliding them across the counter to her with a flourish. Catching them in each hand, she smiled.

“You’ll do. I’m Jacklin Smoke, nice to meetcha.” With a flick of her wrist, a cloud of black smoke rolled off her arm and into her hand, coalescing into a bottle opener that she quickly used to pop open the bottle. “Cheers!”



“Hm that’s not quite how I remember it going.”

Jacklin scoffed as she tossed her hat and jacket to the accusatory tavern keeper. He caught them with a practiced motion, swiftly folding the desecrated jacket and setting it on a shelf.

“And how, dear Simon, did you see it from your side of the counter?”

“There was a lot more swearing involved.”

The woman laughed, the coins tossed from her hand barely hitting the counter before a plate of wings and an open bottle of juice slid before her. She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve gotten good at that. I saw you finally got that sign out front fixed, too.”

“You’ve been ordering the same thing every month you’ve come here. I’m just lucky you’re so consistent.”

A call rose up from the other end of the crowded tavern, and Simon quickly poured out a drink, smoothly handing the cup off to a waiter that whisked by. “As for the sign and the extra flair; today’s the day. I gotta pull out all the stops.”

“Well yeah, why do ya think I’m here?” Jacklin took a bite of one of her wings, followed by a long swig from her bottle. “Can’t have a repeat of last year. Only reason I’ve been pesterin’ you each month is cause I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Right. And not because of all those shameless comments you made that day about how ‘gorgeous’ I was.” Simon gestured to the folded jacket, which wasn’t quite as neat-and-tidy as it would have been if it still had sleeves. “At least they let you keep the uniform.”

“Nah, that’s my bro’s old one.” Jacklin took another swig of the bottle. “Damn this stuff’s always good. How many will ya give me when I win?”

“None, they’re too popular, and you’ve already drained a good portion of my stock.” Simon lowered another bottle and slid it down the counter to a waiting patron. “And he just gave you it? Does he - ”

“Know about the sleeves? Nah, not a clue. Don’t tell ‘im, either.”

Simon scoffed. “How could I? You keep saying you’ll introduce me, but you keep coming in alone!”

Jacklin finished her bottle and set it down, placing a few more coins alongside it as she stood up. “What can I say? He got busy after that promotion. I’ll bring ‘im here after I rub his face in my ” - She took a moment to strike an overly dramatic pose, her arms spread skyward and her face turned up in a broad, lopsided grin - “Glorious Victory!”

The sudden call drew the eyes of the variety of patrons at the tavern. Some cheered and applauded from barstools, while other would-be champions glared at her from the registration line, sizing her up and likely considering how quickly they could crush her brash confidence. She shot a self-indulgent smile back at them, eating up the attention of every kind.

Simon chuckled as he handed Jacklin her hat and jacket. “I know we’ve talked about it plenty over the year, but you’re sure you want to go through with this? It sounds like you got the better end of the deal, and the Championships aren’t some joyride.”

“I lost, Simon.” Jacklin replied as she flipped her hat onto her head and slipped into her oversized suit. “And I lost for a dumb reason. Jack already isn’t letting me live it down. As for the Championships...” She flicked her wrist, twirling a puff of smoke into a quill pen as she stepped up to the registrar line. “I wouldn’t have chosen ‘em for this if they were easy; there’s no fun in that. Maybe I’ll even earn a scar to match that new one my bro’s been toutin.”

She shot a smile and a wink at Simon as he hurriedly cleaned away her half-eaten plate and empty bottle. Her singsong voice chased after him as the line moved forward. “Last chance for a bet with me, Si! I’ll make it simple for you and only put my pride on the line.”

Simon rolled his eyes at her, a good-natured smirk on his face. “No chance, Smoke. We both know your pride is back with your own jacket.”



The curtain of mist cascaded along Jacklin’s bare forearms, tickling at her shimmering tattoos in a cool caress. She straightened her hat as she took slow, steady steps down the glowing halls, admiring the glittering waterfalls that flanked her path. Her fingers reached out to stop the flow of water, but it simply slid down her arm and dripped off her elbow to the stone below.

“A current unstoppable.” She whispered, as a small smile played across her face. “Just like me.”

The wall of water before her parted with a gentle sigh, and she sighed along, enjoying the brief respite before she would let the fires of combat take hold. Jacklin leapt through the gate, and was overjoyed to hear the splash of water as her greaves slammed down. She spun once, then again, her eyes darting from star to star above but failing to recognize a single one.

And then the moon flared to life.

“And though my sun be not in the sky, thy glorious moon reflects mine splendor.”

Instantly - instinctively - Jacklin’s legs slammed together, her body growing rigid as her left arm slipped behind her back and her right hand rose to block out her sight. The pale light seemed to almost burn at her arms, exposed and unprotected by the cloth cut away. A whisper left her lips, automatic, reverent; “May we be worthy of thine luminescence even in the darkest of nights.”

Slowly - unsurely - Jacklin relaxed her posture and lowered her hand to gaze at the glorious orb. She took a single step towards it, its celestial pull drowning out every ripple her wild dance had created and plunging the surface into stillness. Jacklin nodded gently, answering a silent question from the faceless globe. I will win my worth once more.

As a quiet voice declared the Trial’s beginning, Jacklin’s eyes swept across the room, taking in the other figures that basked in the glow of His light.

To her left, nobody. No, wait. Somebody short; an odd being giving off a storm of sparks and lacking the extremities of a human, as if a child had scrawled a stick figure into life. Jacklin scrunched her eyes in a confused glare. She had… absolutely no idea what to do about that.

But to her right was a sight far more familiar. The dark trim and pauldrons of a jacket of the military akin to her own, though she did not recognize the rank nor the exact make. His cap was not nearly as nice as hers, but the horns that poked out of the sides were a nice touch.

There were other foes to examine in this moonlit room, but the opportunity to dance with a soldier from a foreign, unknown military was not one to pass up. This was what she was trained for, after all. She tapped unconsciously at her bare arm, noting the cleanliness of this man’s own uniform. He clearly had class and style. Hopefully his attitude wouldn’t disappoint.

Anticipation in her eyes twinkled like the stars above as she slipped into a more traditional salute and called out to the stranger. There was a strain to her voice - an anxious energy driving her orderly, polite request to tumble out at a more rapid pace than she intended as she struggled to keep her posture from waning under her vigor.

“I, Jacklin Elizabeth Smoke, Ex-Skirmisher of the Radiant Empire’s Military, request your name, your title, and a duel.”

A tick rose in the back of her mind, a desire to propose a bet with this esteemed soldier. Perhaps even to jokingly request a position within his own army, were she to best him. But before she could make such an offer, the loud splashing of something bounding through the pond echoed from behind her. Jacklin flashed the stranger an apologetic smile and a wink as she slipped out of her salute, spreading her arms wide and shutting out the visible world in focus.

In the pale light of the ever-watching moon, the night-touched tattoos of smoke shimmered across her skin, ready to come to life with artistry and beauty.



Synthe_ -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/28/2021 0:43:45)

quote:

> Chap 2 Sec 1 of the Specialist Infantry Guidelines
” -uniforms will be distributed by the unit’s logistics office, to be used when outside of a combat zone. Your uniform will display your unit and rank, and must be kept in a pristine, presentable condition at all times. Your uniform is an extension of the homeland’s pride and influence and you must reflect that in your treatment of it. Any infractions relating to uniform misconduct will be handled by your direct superior, to be reviewed on a case-by-case basis- ”




Cassius absolutely despised meetings. The seemingly endless topics that had nothing to do with him made him wish that he had never rejoined the military. It may have been the only thing he missed about his time in the Holy Army, although the difference had more to do with being an infantryman rather than a commander. Instead, he spent his time vaguely listening to whoever was speaking, while various thoughts occupied the other parts of his consciousness. Somehow, none of the other adjacent officers suspected that their Fallen superior was not entirely focused, though their minds may have been drifting as well. On the desk in front of him, a single snowflake formed. Cassius watched as it grew to around a centimeter wide, before mentally commanding it towards himself. It took a slow, winding path down the table, tracing the edge of his clipboard and dipping under his pen. The words in the back of his mind blended together into a single drone, seconds turning to minutes, the snowflake slowly fading before him.

’...is why we will be sending Lt. Colonel Cassius. Hopefully they will be able to secure a boon in our interests.’

In an instant, Cassius’ thoughts returned his focus to the forefront, like a stack of cards being straightened. He had somehow missed the General taking over, and now he had quite literally no idea what the current topic was. He was halfway through opening his mouth to formulate an explanation when the General thankfully continued speaking. ‘The Eastern Front has calmed down significantly in the passing months, meaning we are free to send a competent fighter to these Elemental Championships’. The final words from his mouth were accompanied by a pointed stare at Cassius, presumably gauging his reaction.

Oh. Of course. Cassius’ stomach seemed to grow a tad colder at his statement. He had heard of this event obviously, but had never even once considered leaving his home in the Glass City. A chance to fight new and interesting people did indeed sound interesting, dare he say appealing, but the thought of abandoning his battalion concerned him. Hiding his expression beneath a stern appearance, he responded;

‘General Hellagur, Sir, do you believe me the most worthy to undertake this task? I am here to serve the homeland as best as I can, but do you think I am more useful in the competition than in the field?’

The General closed his eyes for a moment, his features losing a bit of their characteristic tension. ‘Our intelligence believes we are in for a considerable break on the east side. At the very least, there will be no conflict in the coming weeks, leaving you without assignment. Rather than leave you in the north, where your particular skillset would find difficulty, I find this to be a preferable decision.’

Cassius sighed internally. He had to consider himself lucky to be worthy of an explanation, not that it made it any less daunting. The moment of exasperation was quickly cut short, efficiently halted by his training. After all, it wasn’t his place to be questioning the orders of the General, much less when he had good reason for them. This mere second of consideration felt far longer as the eyes of his fellow officers stared at him expectantly. Bowing his head slightly forward out of respect, Cassius responded with a grin on his face.

‘I am honored by your decision to send me to fight in the Elemental Championships. With your blessing, I will eliminate the competition and secure the prize for the homeland.’ Moving to salute his superior, his earlier hesitation was nothing more than a fading memory.



While the differences between Bren and the homeland were numerous, none were more unsettling than the heat. Not that Cassius found it difficult to regulate his temperature, but he hated how everything he touched felt so unnervingly warm. Thankfully, the surrounding hills evoked at least some degree of familiarity, their imposing presence not too different from the snowy peaks back home. The lively streets and market stalls were certainly a familiar picture to Cassius, though the unpleasantly chaotic atmosphere was even more pronounced here. Besides, a sharply-dressed Fallen military officer was far beyond an unusual sight, drawing a bit too much attention for his liking.

It was for this reason that Cassius instead stood at the edge of a raised patio, overlooking the main market square. There were far fewer people milling around this architectural afterthought, mostly using it as a shortcut from one side of the city to the other. Anyone who did stick around was far too busy to wonder why a conspicuous military officer was choosing to stand at attention despite the numerous free benches. From his vantage point, he was free to observe the people moving around below. Notably, the guards in this area seemed to be far more numerous and well-armored than the ones he was used to. Cassius quickly wrote the discrepancy off as a result of magically-inclined individuals being rarer in this area, though there were at least a handful of mages passing through.

Cassius had been standing at the edge of this patio for almost two hours, now moving on to checking the average equipment of the combat-ready individuals. Hopefully the knowledge would at least give him an idea of what sort of fighters he would be up against in the arena, though there seemed to be almost too many to keep track of. Glancing over the crowd, there also seemed to be numerous members of militaries besides his own. A group of officers talking by a fountain were dressed in bright red dress uniforms, their short-cut hair covered by similarly colored berets. The group was clearly enjoying the event festivities, gathered around a set of conspicuous bottles. A slight frown formed on Cassius’ face, coloring his otherwise blank expression. While the soldiers back home were certainly allowed time to enjoy themselves, he would never dream of doing so while in uniform. It seemed like few of those in Bren shared the same sentiment, a similar picture now showing up in other gathering spots in the square. Cassius mentally sighed to himself, somewhat displeased with the figures below. Perhaps it is a bit closed-minded to compare this land to my own... he surmised, continuing to survey the scene below when a particular individual suddenly drew his attention.

Hm
Are the sleeves of that uniform...
Torn off..?

For a moment, Cassius’ thoughts seemed to freeze in place. His firm, refined stance shifted an almost unnoticeable amount as his concentration faltered. The emotion he felt was not rage, in fact it was far from it. Rather, a thin smile crept across his face as the railing beneath his hands grew ever so slightly colder. Mmmm... The signs have begun to piece themselves together. Perhaps I was wrong in my assumption that these people are simply forgetful, far too generous of a guess on my part. Not one of these soldiers would go without reprimand back home. Clearly it must be either the citizen or country who cares so little about presentation, allowing these soldiers to be seen this way in public. This is beneath my notice.. His smile shifting to a more relaxed expression, Cassius backed up from the railing while straightening his jacket sleeves. Turning around, he began the short walk to the arena, the only evidence of his presence the thin layer of frost remaining on the guardrail.



The walk towards the battleground was a familiar one, one Cassius had walked numerous times before. Long gone were the times where excitement and apprehension would take hold, now those emotions were nothing but distractions pushed to the back. The hall was a dim, rocky passage, far more familiar than the rest of Bren’s architecture. The only sounds remaining were the click of his boots and the constant flowing of water. His hands clasped behind his back, the Fallen Soldier approached the gate, the wall of liquid refusing entry to the Arena until the time came. In these minutes of waiting, Cassius uttered no words, no reassurance, no distraction. All he did was close his eyes and recite a silent prayer, calling back to his homeland. In a way, this distinctly alien passage was calming, keeping his attention focused and driven on the task ahead.

With a deep hiss, the cascade of water before him split in two. The battlefield beyond, a writhing mass of stars and mist, reached his eyes for the first time. Bathing him in a comfortable, cool, light was the moon, observing from the center of the ring. His gaze fixed on the pale orb, Cassius began to venture forwards into the Arena. The click of metal against stone was replaced with the usual crunching of his boots on ice, the water beneath frozen before he even set foot on it. The siren glow drew him forwards, tugging at something far deeper than instinct. Taking in the sheer power of the scene before him, he finished his prayer, requesting the blessing of judgement for the coming battle. At the final word he stilled, finally looking down at the other fighters before him.

Turning to his right, a curious glance revealed an incredibly foreign creature. Legs of a giant spider formed together with the scales of a dragon, completing a massive body that reached high above Cassius’ halo. A misshapen head protruded from the front, glaring around at the various other fighters. The intimidating fiend reminded him of various legends of his homeland, malformed abominations of the northern mountains who would descend to destroy entire villages at a time.

Turning around to the other direction, Cassius found a far more person-sized figure before him. A distinctly formal cap covered a head of deep red hair, and-

Oh, well that’s almost too cruel to be funny

As life sometimes leads to coincidental fates, this arena had somehow led Cassius back to a familiar sight. The one standing to his left wore a military jacket of the incorrect size, the sleeves defiled at the elbow. Cassius tilted his head forward ever so slightly, a small smile escaping his firm expression.

Indeed, this will make for quite the amusing course of events

Seeming to notice his attention, the other soldier turned to face him. A pair of fierce golden eyes snapped to him, clearly taking note of his outfit. The desecrated jacket over her shoulders lagged in the air behind her as she stepped through the water, armored greaves leaving a distinct clink in the air. After a moment, her posture stiffened, hand going to her cap in a formal salute. The elbow was a bit too low, her balance slightly off center, nonetheless it still drew a slight nod from Cassius.

“I, Jacklin Elizabeth Smoke, Ex-Skirmisher of the Radiant Empire’s Military, request your name, your title, and a duel.”

The words echoed through the chamber, drawing a raised eyebrow from the Fallen soldier. Once more, his thoughts halted, taking a moment to process the challenge that had just been given to him. This soldier, after renouncing her own country, thinks she has the right to challenge one of my stature? The arrogant thought stabbed through Cassius’ mind, momentarially taking his attention away from the request. Well, I suppose it’s only standard for a fight to the death. Fair enough.... With a deft, deliberate motion, Cassius drew Reckoner. The blackened blade bled mist to the ice beneath him, obscuring his legs below his jacket. Perhaps a bit too dramatic... he thought to himself, swinging his blade diagonally downwards in a traditional show of force.

“Lieutenant Colonel Cassius Pallu, overseer of the 1st Hallowed Assault Battalion. At first I judged you as nothing more than careless, but I cannot deny your respect for a foreign officer. I accept your proposition, and may you be blessed with the opportunity to prove me wrong.”

His voice seemed to cause the room itself to grow slightly colder, the harsh wording marking his words with a freezing edge as he returned Reckoner to its sheath. His eyes narrowed alongside his widening smile, the world growing still in anticipation.

I pray that this one does not disappoint me.



nield -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/28/2021 10:02:44)

It had an itch. A maddening itch caused by flaky scales just beneath its good eye, but the thing that drove it was deaf to its silent pleas for this tiny respite. Instead they lurched ever onwards, driven by eight legs working in steady, consistent effort towards some distant, unknowable goal. Within its gut, as his arms moved with smooth purpose, Mizzleteran Fevartarang Moshtolordedge Sentestiar gol Ventaran Kolor the 37th hummed to himself excitedly. “Just a few more days and then I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted…”

“So, this is Bren. Smaller than I would have imagined.” Mizzleteran muttered to himself, gazing down at the city from atop the dragon’s shoulder, the thing’s eye fixed forward in the same dead stare as always. He lightly swung himself around and looked directly into its eye, as his mouth twitched into a ‘smile’, exposing his fangs. “Consider yourself lucky I don’t take that from you. You’ll get to see my great victory.” He scampered down its arm and retreated once more into the safety of its bowels, carefully moving the camouflage silk back into place, leaving a tiny hole exposed so he could see where they were going.

Walking through Bren, there were two types of people: The tourists, who screamed and panicked at the sight of his pet walking the streets and the locals, who had seen so many varied individuals come through over the years that they did not even bat an eye at this one. Leaving the peephole open had been the right idea; The grand cacophony of a city in full swing destroyed his ability to properly interpret sounds from his cockpit.

Very little about the city itself caught his attention, however, as they went his eyes found themself drawn to an impromptu demonstration; A pair of women, dancing ever faster and faster, both erratic and rhythmic, whilst a nearby group played music. The sight captivated him. “They are obviously amateurs, their footwork needs work and their coordination with one another is lacking… But all the same, quite beautiful.” The ensemble seemed to choose that precise moment to notice his pet and he made a face to himself, assuming they would scatter.

They did not run from it. Their eyes fell upon its eye and the cold look therein seemed to inspire them to increase their pace. The players’ hands became blurs, the dancers’ legs mere phantasms. It didn’t think it had ever been quite so disinterested in what lay before its gaze ever in its life. And its itch was back, which was of far more concern. Mizzleteran eventually tore his eyes from the display, thrumming and plucking at silk, much as the musicians did their instruments and they began to move.

Signing up for the Championships had been a simple affair, he simply walked his pet up to the booth and provided his own details, name and element and he was succinctly informed that a notice board would list which competitor was in which arena the day of the competition. So he waited, patiently, as the notice board was set up in the morning by a pair of men who ignored his pet’s existence. He ran his eyes over the board and scowled. “The nerve! Not only is my name misspelt, but only the first of my names is present! Such abhorrent rudeness!” He muttered darkly to himself all the while as he journeyed to the Fountain Arena.

Running water. The sound was so prevalent, even through the rhythmic click-clack of the spider’s legs moving through the hall which seemed barely wide enough to allow its entry. At the end of the hall there was a veil of water and he withdrew, covering the peephole and restoring his security. It had certainly been a risk that others might have noticed the opening, even being only a couple centimetres wide, but he’d needed it then. Now he needed his safety. There was a change in the hallway’s sound just then, which seemed to be the veil parting.

As he drove his pet forward, splashing into water he closed his eyes and focused on what the spider was hearing. To the left, a soft crinkle-crack that could either be glass shards pressing on one another, or the soft crackle of spreading ice, to the right, a sort of subtle… grinding? That he couldn’t properly identify. There were other sounds in each direction, but too far away for real clarity. “At least two in either direction…” He moved with purpose and the dragon’s head carefully swung first to the left, then to the right, an exaggerated show of ‘examining’ its surroundings. Then a voice invaded, soft and gentle, yet somehow penetrating directly to his own sensory hairs, announcing the Trial of Moonlight.

More sounds came from the left and the person in that direction shifted, he assumed, to address whatever was causing those sounds, certainly, that individual was responding. “Already individual challenges? Well that just won’t do at all. You all will show me respect.” The moon. It had fallen and now hung there, a bright orb suspended above a pool that softly ebbed and flowed. That, it admitted in the recesses of its own mind, WAS beautiful. It wished it could have simply gazed on it for an age, but the thing that lived inside it did what it did and it reared up, its back arching as air was brought into its lungs.

Then that air was released. A mighty roar, reverberating off the placid orb hanging in the arena’s centre and rippling the pool that lay beneath it. When the air grew still and silent once more, a savage grin was brought to its face as its voice belted out: “Come at me! Any of you, all of you! I care not! I will savage you each in turn!” It hated when the thing put words in its mouth. “Well then, now it begins.”



Anastira -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/29/2021 1:31:24)

As viterbi runs, he sings a song in his head, and it goes something like this: one two three, one two three, look, I’m dancing! It’s a beautiful day, a beautiful life, and as for dancing - well, why not? He loves the way it feels. In his mind he can hear a celeste tinkling with a little ethereal sound, a xylophone and strings and woodwinds jazzy and syncopated, and so his feet are jazzy and syncopated too: a little hop and a skip, a one-two-three in time with the words in his head.

With a little joyful titter, viterbi clinks both of his shield-halves into one and raises them above his head like an umbrella, stamping his feet so the water splashes up to his waist. Siiiiinging in the rain, I’m siiiiinging - This time he hums to it, too, oneeee-zero-one, one zeeeeero - now if only he could tap dance -

Oh, what a wonderful world it is! Oh, happy day!

The canopy of the universe is laid at his feet, the pale orb of the supersized Moon staring up at him from below, the speckling stars spread like a net of diamonds cast wide against a black velvet curtain. In the mirror of the water, reflected into the darkness, he thinks he has never shone half so bright, nor half so happily. Every little dancing step of his feet seems to bring a little more joy into life. He bends down and tries to drink the water, to see how it tastes, but of course…

He can’t drink, because he isn’t human. (Yet.)

A little wilted, but no less discouraged, viterbi straightens up, turning in a quick circle to check his surroundings. The girl to his right, the one he’d meant to hug, seems to be ignoring him. He feels a swell of emotion and searches for the right word: agony? No, no. Too strong. Perhaps… betrayal. Yes. She is offering her hugs to someone else, and that’s not fair, or nice.

viterbi puts his hands on his hips (with the shield still in one) and stomps his foot. Loudly.

“I, Jacklin Elizabeth Smoke,” he hears the girl say, “Ex-Skirmisher of the Radiant Empire’s Military, request your name, your title, and a duel.”

Harrumph, he thinks to himself. Bah humbug! Oh, dickens. (That seems wrong. How does that word work, again?) And I, he thinks sullenly, viterbi-oh-four, ex-robot of the flabbergastingly supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Earth, request your milk, your cookies, and most of all your hugs. Some people! They waste so much time adding redundancy instead of just communicating efficiently what they want.

For example: want a hug? Run towards someone with your arms wide open. (Preferably not while holding weapons.) No words necessary.

Works every time!

viterbi catches another look at himself in the water. He does look bright today - almost too bright. He really must stick out in this dark arena, especially as short as he is. Nobody else seems quite so small. Kid, you’re gonna be a star, viterbi quotes at his reflection, blinking very seriously into the water, marveling at his own glow. Maybe he is a star. A literal one.

He shakes his head abruptly, a little one-two, and his inner soundtrack changes: Let’s go flyyy a kite, ah yes, perfect, and he takes a huge bound as the chorus soars through his ROM, jumps straight into the air, towards the Moon...and towards the creature standing behind it. Tall and hooded, almost blending into the darkness, barely revealed by the glow of the Moon and the constellations. (This time viterbi sees the shape of a waddling duck-billed platypus, a brilliant quetzal, and a tasselled wobbegong in the stars.)

As he gets closer and closer, the Moon grows larger and larger, and he thinks: Ah, yes, I could climb that, two big jumps with a running start, but then he looks at the hooded figure, and thinks: maybe that will give me a warm hug? He is feeling a little cold, anyway.

Then he stops. The water is getting deeper, and he is short. Better to go around, maybe.

So he loops around the Moon, splitting his shield back onto each arm and running for the hooded thing as fast as he can, and launches himself, screaming -

veebee veebee veebeeee!

He even does a little dance in the air. In case the creature needs more encouragement.

Hugs!



Sylphe -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/29/2021 19:40:45)

It was hard to see the sun.

It was somewhere up there, though where, that he couldn’t tell. Maybe hanging low, just above the horizon. It was clouded by ash and flame, bits of ember raining down.

He didn’t know what time of day it was.

A smoking wisp landed a breath away from his cloak, too close for comfort. In an attempt to fight the chill, he huddled in his cloak, and stared straight ahead, where the black railing gave way to a gray and orange sky.

Bare feet on the black, obsidian floor. Embedded with patterns so old pieces of glass had to chip off at times, scarily sharp.

He stood on the edge, shivering, and attempted to speak. It’s hard with a dry throat, it’s harder with smoke.

“Peregrine.”

“We can’t stay here any longer.”



Milo attempted to close his eyes as much as he could. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that doesn’t really work against insistent rays of sunlight tickling one’s eyes. Even if there was no choice but to wake up, he still made sure the sun knew he wasn’t happy about its advances, his pale eyes squinting in its direction.

It was a nice morning, he had to admit. Peregrine’s scales were so deep black they made for a nice mirror, reflecting all of that blue and gold light. Ah.

Scales.

Milo reached up to his face. Yep. All of them pressed into it, because as per usual, he just spent hours facedown on them.

He was still busy staring out at the sun, enjoying the precious moment where there was nothing on his mind. Just the currents of air Peregrine also thoroughly enjoyed, just the slight discomfort of having woken up moments ago, the slight sting in his eyes.

It took him a moment to notice that there’s a dragon’s head watching him.

“What? I’m perfectly awake. Look at me.”

Note to self, don’t yawn when convincing someone else that you didn’t just wake up.

The dragon’s body rumbled. Milo always considered draconic laughs a little dangerous. Just a tone lower, just a bit shorter, and you have yourself a growl. Misinterpreting in that case would be the last bad idea you’d have.

Thankfully, he knew Peregrine for long enough to understand him. And that sound said, among other things, Sure you are.

“You should watch the road instead of me, Pry.” The mage faced the dragon with a little sleepy smile.

The dragon made a show of staring forward, then down, then in the other directions. No road to watch, no rocks to avoid. Clean, empty air miles up, and meters down. Sadly when he turned back to Milo for the joke’s punchline, the mage missed it. He was intently watching the below. The many oak tree crowns and hills they encountered before he fell asleep had started receding. Less and less trees, different, sharper kinds of grass.

The air felt a little different, though he couldn’t exactly tell why.

In any case, they must have gotten much closer to Bren overnight.

“Pry, I need you to drop me here.”

Another draconic laugh.

“NOT LITERALLLYYYYYYYYYY-!”

Milo howled, hugging the wyvern’s thin neck as it plunged straight down like a rock, wings stuck to its body. They raked through the sky like an arrow, with disregard to both Milo’s screaming and the changing of temperatures leaving the safe cold currents. The hot desert air hit Milo like a tidal wave, his hair and hood wild, torn at by the winds. Somewhere there, the screaming had changed, terrified to excited, and Peregrine responded in kind, with a loud, piercing roar as the ground got closer and closer.

The ground.

Milo forced himself to open his eyes, and saw it close in. Sand and leaves alike, deserted hills and barely any sign of life, but a path. A path to Bren, a path probably walked. The hot, rushing wind tore the words right away from him, and the dragon was too deep in the joy of descent to care.

Enough!

He called out with his inner voice, felt it ring in the dragon’s mind. And just then, it opened its wings and stopped its descent.

Milo was still hugging the dragon’s neck, maybe a little too tightly.

I don’t want anyone to see us.

Peregrine didn’t respond, now circling above the road Milo saw, letting the wind carry them downwards in a gentle spiral. There was still ways to go, but he recognized that road. A road to Bren, not used anymore in favour of better, straighter ones. But a road doesn’t stop being a road, especially when it leads to where this one did.

Milo couldn't help but think about just how pleasant wyvern landings are, their wings flapping just before their feet softly touch the ground, and a little after. Though if there was one part of it he particularly didn't like, it was the wyvern then setting its wings down to use them as front legs, which meant a very nice split second feeling of vertigo, almost like riding a firebreathing camel. Milo couldn't help but get a little twinge of discomfort despite having been through so, so many landings with Peregrine.

The first thing he did after climbing down was take the dragon’s snoot in his hands.

“I’m sorry. You know how it is, and I do love your flying. I just don’t want to draw too much attention.”

The dragon’s eyes were black, and so deep it took quite some effort to find the slitted pupils in there.

“I’m going to have to walk the rest of the way on my own, Pry.”

Peregrine whined.

"You can still follow me, you know." Milo said, a little puzzled. "I want you to watch still." The mage grinned, but there seemed to be a bit of a disconnect from that energy in Peregrine. Sighing, Milo pressed his forehead into theirs, and messed with their fins like one would with a dog’s ears. And scritches, lots of scritches.

“I’ll be okay, don’t worry. I’m not alone.”

Milo reached under his robe, and there was a faint click. Then he turned his attention to the dragon’s saddle.

From a distance, this was what one would expect from a dragonrider’s saddle. Comfy, made of leather and fabric, most likely. Little strings of colourful thread on the sides, maybe. But up close, it felt oddly warm and living to the touch.

For a moment, nothing happened, and there was just a man staring at a saddle, but then Milo moved his arms as if tearing an invisible sheet, and all of the saddle tore clean apart and off the dragon's back. Leather into thin threads, threads into flesh, flesh into blood, and the droplets coalesced into a glimmering orb. It hovered above the dragon for a moment, almost indecisively.

Milo relaxed his arms, and stared at the orb for a moment, until realization hit.

"I'm sorry for sitting on you."

Milo moved back a bit of his robe, revealing a bracelet with an open phial under his shoulder, and beckoned the orb to fill it, which it did.

"You're going to give that feeling to a lot of adversaries soon."

The blood inside swirled and glittered until it settled on one appearance, that of a particularly radiant ruby. He seemed a little calmer now, and turned his eyes towards Peregrine. The dragon halted his speaking by picking up Milo’s hood with its teeth, and pulling it over the mage’s head. Who’d want to get heatstroke before even reaching the murder arena?

Milo gave him a soft laugh, and pat the dragon for one last time, for a while.

“I'll see you there, Pry. Make a big show. Let them know a dragon arrived to Bren."

The mage stepped back, giving the dragon space to take off, already knowing the pain of being hit by one of those muscular wings. That flap of wings and jump packed enough power to nearly send Milo back if he wasn’t prepared. It whipped up a cold gust in the insistent heat, and Milo scrambled to hold his hood so it stayed on his head. A wild roar echoed through the space as Peregrine cried, sounding like a particularly scaly sea bird, a black dot already disappearing in the sky.

I didn't mean make a big show RIGHT NOW!

Milo yelled back without words at the dot growing farther every second. It replied with another cry.



Walking through the bustling streets of Bren just before the championships held a strange energy. From a glance, it appeared just like any other city during the tourist season. Musicians on the streets, playing long after the sun had set. Stands left and right, decorated with lights, large emblems sporting the symbols of the Lords. Colourful flags strewn above the streets, dancing in the wind.

But something was off. Just by a breath, just a little off center, to the left. This was not a normal ploy to get money out of people passing through to see the events. Of course it was that, too, Milo realized as he stopped by a vendor offering, among many things, plushies of the previous champion. Fluffy, with buttons for eyes, this little mouse fighter even had a tiny estoc for scale. Someone put so much love into this, Milo thought as he checked more shelves of this particular store. He knew nothing about the competition’s winners, he realized.

It came to him then, and didn’t sit exactly well with him, why it all felt so odd. They were celebrating bloodshed. Deaths were common, and not too far from the ways of old. It was not a thought he wanted to give too much ground, especially now that he was a part. He looked over the shelves of this particular store, gaze trailing over a few more toys. He recognized a very angry teddy bear, and a doll that looked like a lady with a wolf tail. Was that a werewolf?

That was just mean.

Then he landed on a stack of little fairies, and his heart stung. They looked almost like living flames, doubtless with some magic inside them. He turned to walk away, but caught one last glimpse, and soon one of the little Embers on a string hung around in his pocket. Maybe if he hung it somewhere, it’d give off little shimmers. That must have been the idea behind it.

Looming on the edges of the streets less walked for a time, Milo had to wonder how long had it been since he enjoyed being in the crowd. By now, they made him nervous, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring from one side to another, as if any of the many people in Bren recognized him, specifically, among the many other pale, black robed mages. It made the blood in his arms prickle, want to jump out and hide. A false sense of comfort befell Milo when he reached streets that were more or less empty. False, because he soon noticed it was because of a dragon that made a perch on a cotton candy machine.

A very familiar dragon, in fact. The mage froze, and planned to slowly back away from the alley, only to notice someone wandering a little too close.

Oh no. No, no. No.

Now, Peregrine was a darling. Peregrine was a sweetheart. But a dragon is a dragon, and there are certain rules you do not cross. Much like dealing with cats, though this cat had claws the size of daggers and a burning breath. One of such rules was to not take from the hoard, however stupid the hoard of the moment might be. Milo tried - he really tried, to reach Peregrine from his spot. But the dragon’s soul and mind were like a hardened, hungry diamond, angry and ablaze and searing. All of that, for a fluffy cloud.

And just a moment before Peregrine would give chase to the little windy-gusty-cotton-candy-stealy elf-dwarf, Milo yelled, though that was a yell not audible to anyone other but Peregrine. The dragon froze, as expected, but now the burning black coals were turned towards him.

We didn’t agree on eating people!

Milo held his gaze as he slowly stepped between Peregrine and the candy-stealer, as his dragon insisted xe was called. The dragon spoke without words, with nudges and feelings, and all of them felt like black metal to the mage. That they didn’t agree on anything, that this was his hoard, that xe had no right to steal, that xe was a vile, VILE VILLAIN, and deserved to be burned to crisp and caramelised, preferably with the entire stand and maybe actually the entirety of Bren.

It was an accident. I saw it. If it was on purpose, then yes, I’d let you.

Peregrine was not convinced, but just before he’d let loose another onslaught of ash and coal singed thoughts, Milo came up with an ace in the hole.

Look at xem! How small xe is. Do you think xe’d challenge a dragon? Much less you?

Peregrine gave the entity behind Milo a thorough stare, irises squished into thin slits. And Milo himself felt like he was sweating an entire sea and a few bonus buckets on top of that. He could feel the wheels in the dragon’s head turn, and hoped it was in the right direction and not towards doom itself.

And then a prideful glint crawled into the dragon’s eyes, and he huffed, arching his neck so that all of his glinting spines and scales would be on full display to both Milo and the offender. Then, graciously, Peregrine backed off, sitting on the ground behind Milo.

Milo breathed out a sigh of relief, and then turned towards the vile villain. He nearly missed xyr words.

Is this thing yours…

All of that good work and it’d be done and down the gutter if Peregrine heard. Thankfully, he didn’t, currently too busy pulling more cotton candy out of the machine. That was going to be one massive draconic stomach ache later on that Milo refused to be there for.

Now, for the answer, he wondered what was worse. Admit to being a dragonrider when he’d hoped to stay undercover as long as he possibly could, or try to pretend that he didn’t just calm a whole dragon from attacking just by staring it down?

“...Yes.” He finally spoke, thinking about how to try to get himself out, and realizing there really was not a way.

There’s definitely people that saw you. It’s over. They know. They all know.

“Are… you okay?” He instead asked, worried. After all, Pery was known for causing quite the shock to many people with how forward he could be to those he deemed thieves. But xe sounded so cheerful. That was honestly remarkable. He liked that kind of optimism, especially after narrowly escaping becoming lunch.

Name…

Milo hesitated for a moment. It was almost as if he went through a few, before choosing the main one he went by these days. The one he wrote down on the registration papers.

“Call me Milo.” He finally decided, and offered Pie his hand in return. He blinked, taken a little aback by just how strong and energetic xyr handshake was. He sure didn’t like his hand thrown around like that, and his grip was a little tighter than it needed to be, but there really was no ill will behind it.

“Nice to meet you, Milo! She’s a cutie over there.”

Oh, Milo had to laugh a little, especially to the way Peregrine’s eyes widened right there. “His name is Peregrine.” He corrected Pie, gently, and just hoped that xe’d catch on. “And he is not cute at all. He is fearsome.” The dragon piped up at his words, and if it had any way to smile like a human, it probably would. With how much Milo was grinning though, those words weren’t the praise they appeared to be. His only luck was that he wasn’t facing the dragon right now. For someone this nervous about other people, he sure liked to live on the edge.

Milo quickly put his hand up to stop Pie after xe offered him the cotton candy. “No, you have it, you deserve it after that scare. I don’t really like cotton candy all that much. But, thank you.” His eyes trailed to the frankly terrified vendor behind the counter. How long was she there? He gave her an apologetic look and the quietest of apologies.

It’s not really all that true, is it?

How can you not like something you’ve never had?

It’s all sugar! It’s pure sugar. That can’t be good.

“C’mon, breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you gotta eat up!” Said Pie, certainly not helping the internal crusade Milo currently lead for his own wellbeing. A fight he was quickly losing, pale eyes darting to the candy more than he’d like to admit. “You can take an extra one to eat later in the stands.”

Well if it’s the last breakfast…

Yes. It’s going to be, because that’ll kill you faster than what’s planned for today.

“Well, can’t argue with breakfast.” Landing his final say in the conversation entirely in his head, Milo victoriously reached for the fluffy, pastel bad decision he rightfully earned, and realized that frankly, he didn’t expect to get to this point. He was painfully aware of the fact that he looked like a crow with a lollipop. Like a violently pink flamingo, marching its way through a derelict graveyard. Pie’s stifled giggle was absolutely justified, and he could barely contain his own. “I won't be watching though, I’m afraid.” Milo continued, his voice losing some of its warmth, becoming quieter, his eyes absent just for a moment. “Not one for big crowds.”


“Oh, well, I’ll be there if you want to watch me. I’ve got some pretty good tricks up my sleeve.”

Of course. Yes. Well, if I see you there, I’ll be sure to- Oh!

Milo’s eyes widened as he saw Pie unload an arsenal of dangerous steel plated boomerangery, and a belt heavy with various tools. He caught a fleeting wish to show his skills and weapons, in some sense of warrior camaraderie, perhaps to make a new friend and to figure out what exactly xyr profession is. But it was quickly stomped. He was not going to be pulling blood magic out on the streets of Bren, in front of a distressed cotton candy vendor.

You’ve already shown the dragon.

Plenty of time for that in the arena.

“I’ll try my best to make it there to see, Pie.” He made sure to enunciate the Pie. Maybe he was a little too amused by the pun. He couldn’t hide the twitch in the corners of his mouth, he had to turn it into a full smile. Sadly much like most things in his life, it didn’t last long. The clock tower nearby rang with its many bells, and both Milo and Peregrine turned towards it. He had an odd feeling that’s where Peregrine perched at least once before he arrived to Bren. How would that even feel? Was the dragon knocked off every fifteen minutes with a ring of the bells?

One thing was for certain though, time was running short, and even with the cotton candy in each hand and a glass fairy in a pocket like a proper tourist, it caused and invisible serpent to coil around his chest. His temporary companion had about the same opinion about things.

“Crap, I gotta get going. Wish my luck, Milo!”

“Of course.” The mage was still very much lost in thought, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t give xem a proper goodbye. With cotton candy in hand.

And then the invisible serpent jumped, and so did the entire Milo, because Peregrine snapped down with the speed of an apex predator and decimated the entire extra cotton candy in one bite. With the stick.

Please wish me luck too.



“A bunny?”

“There’s two stars, up there! Do you see them?”

“I do! You’re right. That is a bunny. And that one over there could be its eye.”

No matter that the constellation was a vastly different one, according to scholars and books. What did their opinion matter? Now it was a bunny, and that one was a fearsome sea dragon, and that one over there, known as Cassiopeia to the astronomers since the dawn of their discipline? That was a ship with a particularly brilliant mast, with sailors defending themselves from the sea serpent’s thundering breath.



Lost in the shapes above the Fountain, Milo could soon see patterns of his own. It was somehow freeing to not know any of them. Maybe he could name things that nobody has named before, that no astronomer had gotten to yet.

Make up his own stories.

That one with the five stars in a jagged line up there, that was now Rampart, the grumpy hedgehog, who got so tired of carrying apples he cushioned his spines with pillows. That one over by the center, faint in light, close to the moon. That was now Liabda, the Golden Princess, cursed by a witch to roam the seas as a glittering dolphin, forever avoiding hunters, punished for her own greed.

And the large one, shaped like a hook, scythe, a horse’s head, maybe? That could be the arena’s own fearsome sea monster.

Milo breathed in the chilly night air, and slowly returned from the stars to the competitors in front of him. The two spots immediate to his left and right were vacant. He was cast out. Or maybe under a spotlight.

So this was it, then. Such a beautiful arena for what was about to follow.

Not letting his eyes leave the others, however far they were, Milo reached under his cloak. With a faint click, he opened the vial, and as his hand emerged again, it was followed by a stream of blood. The sorcerer allowed himself to keep his eyes off the adversaries, only for a moment, to smile at the orb that formed in front of him.

He didn’t expect the heaviness around his heart to ebb as he looked into its ever shifting depths, he didn’t expect excitement to start flooding in just as another, much larger orb descended from the heavens.

It’s been ages since a voice sneaked into his mind rather than the other way around, and he was taken a little aback, it felt like blue and silver silk with hidden sharp edges. A sort of voice he’s never felt before.

Fight or die…

Dying wasn’t on the plan tonight. Milo took off, and gestured for the orb to follow. The sphere turned into a stream that circled his arm as he did. How cruel of the fate to have his closest adversaries a child and a dragon.

Damn it, Milo thought as he saw the hulking behemoth he was running towards.

Out of the two, he’d much rather fight the dragon.

“Show me your savagery!”

Milo called out as he conjured wickedly sharp crystals from his orb. The prickles flared up, threatening a wildfire.

“See if it matches up to mine, dragon!”

And with a throw of his arm the shards tore through the air, aiming at the dragon’s face, hopefully the eyes. It was because of this aim towards the dragon’s head that he didn’t notice that it looked-

N-

He caught something. A sound, and a glint too bright in the moonlit shade of Fountain. He turned towards the oncoming threat only to see it… bounce?

Bounce high up, with an excited whir, a melodic hum. Seeing them mid-jump with arms outstretched, opening themselves up for a strike, defenseless, yet joyful. Against the backdrop of the moon, it reminded him of…



Of a child being thrown up in the air, way higher than any responsible parent should. Of a girl giggling and flailing around before he caught her, making her land safely in his arms. He pulled her close and twirled with her, as if trying to protect her from the world. Who cares he couldn’t see for a moment, having watched her even with the blinding sun behind her.



The memory cut through, it came, it went. But Milo did catch the robot, hugging them almost protectively before the rest of him caught up. He teetered back, taken aback by the weight of their small body, and tried to regain his balance. The orb was as confused as he was for those few beats, bouncing as Milo was trying to find his steps and thoughts.

On instinct, had to be that, I-

I-

By all accounts, you should be dead. What were you thinking?

Not now. Do not lose sight of what’s important.



Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/30/2021 23:40:55)

Three sounds, to be picked out of the darkness of her shut-out world.

The heat begins at her feet and travels up her legs, driving out the chill of the cool moonlit room. It rushes through her chest and down her arms, the sudden furnace within her almost blowing out her concentration. But she cannot let it. Not yet.

A Soldier - a Skirmisher - cannot strike, cannot dance, until the stage has been set. And this dance cannot be done alone.

First, the echoing splashes of a heavy stomp in the water behind, followed by fast, bounding steps in another direction. The small-thing, choosing another foe. It hardly matters why.

She takes a deep breath as smoke builds in her lungs, scorching at the sides of her throat. She stifles out her need to choke, the feeling familiar yet always oh so unpleasant. She must endure. She must be patient.

Yes. Patience. That always was the hardest part for her.

Second, a monstrous roar of a challenge from across the room. Jacklin smirked in her blackness, remembering the overly-muscled warriors of the Emperor’s Slaying Squads. Their talent was far beyond hers when it came to hunting monsters, and the oversized weaponry they used lacked the artistry of her own. Were she one of them, this beast would be a grand confrontation - a phenomenal trophy to claim and present at home to the cheers of the crowds. But she was not a Slayer. She was a Skirmisher. And she had a different partner in mind.

It floods up through her head, driving her shut eyes to tears. She exhales once, not even a half breath, through her nose. The two puffs of black cloud disappear as quickly as they touch the air.

And the third, the only sound that mattered to her. A cold chill of a voice, serious and straight, raging at her words with a scornful challenge. “May you be blessed with the opportunity to prove me wrong.”

Jacklin smiled, tears in her shut eyes, fire burning in her soul, smoke devouring her self.

Blackness Within, Blackness Without. Jacklin Elizabeth Smoke, you may begin.

Jacklin exhaled sharply, every ounce of breath leaving her lungs, every inch of her tattooed arms billowing a shadowy cloud that rushed away from her. As the last bit of air left her lungs, she stumbled a single step forward, an inner chill replacing the heat that had encompassed her only moments before. A quick tap of her finger at her side plunged the cloudy wall that now encircled her form into complete darkness, leaving her alone once more. Involuntarily, she shivered at the cold, relieved when it was pushed away by heat that rushed through her with haste.

“Oh dear, Lieutenant Colonel.” She called out happily, biting back a comment about two-word ranks being far too long to say smoothly.

Her left hand extends into the darkness, a single finger twirling the wisps into a frenzy. It is not alive, but to her it might as well be. She does not mold it, or force it, she simply asks; her will calling out in a singsong voice. “Dance with me, my smoke. Dance for me. Dance straight, then curve. Dance along the string, grasp your hands, and take a bow.”

“Were you my own superior, perhaps I would take offense, or desperately rush forwards, vying for your approval.” A small ring of nostalgic joy slipped into her voice at the thought of her old seniors.

Her right hand extends next, though this time there is far less to do. A twirl of two fingers is all it takes to coax a shaft into being, fletches sprouting up from its tail as a simple point tops its head.

Jacklin spun the arrow along her fingers as she dipped her knee into the shallow water, the blackened bow in her hand driving heat into her palm. She notched her quarrel and finished her taunt into the darkness, hoping the soldier beyond the smoke would respond in kind, be it with words or arrows of his own.

“But you’re not. And I don’t need to impress you. So if you really desire to see how attentive I can be...” Her lips curved to a smile unwittingly. “Let’s make a bet. We can decide what’s on the line once our swords are at our throats.”

She drew the arrow back, the string growing tense beneath her quivering fingers as she swept along the smoke, waiting for a reply. 'Whadda ya say?‘

There was a brief silence, likely a moment of contemplation, before the icy voice pierced through the quiet. “Hmph. Your confidence is admirable, however misplaced it may be. Let's see if you can keep up your end of the deal.”

There.

As her hand opened and the arrow plunged into the cloud towards the source of the voice, Jacklin heard another sound; an odd crackling, like shattered glass pulling together once more.

Not that it would matter, whatever it was.

“Ignite.”

Even through the black of her cloud, Jacklin could make out the repetitive, blinding flashes of her arrow, shattering forwards into five trails of white firecrackers that burst, their ear-piercing cracks echoing across the moonlit room. She did not know for certain if poor Cassius’ eyes had survived the beautiful sight, but there was a quick way to find out. An unnecessarily fanciful flick of her wrist brought clarity to her cloudy ring, and she rushed forwards alongside it, the bow in her hand beginning to straighten and elongate with each splash of her greaves against the watery floor as she spun the weapon in her grip.

The stack of coins jingling as it hits a table.

The firm handshake of a man with everything to lose.

The cling of two glasses raised in a friendly, competitive toast.

The glint in her brother’s eye, the warm smile on his face, as he accepted the largest bet she’d ever make with no guarantee of a payout.

And now the icy cold voice of a foreign Lieutenant Colonel, requesting proof of a challenge before he even agrees to play.


Her voice left her lips in a joyous shout as everything around her began to fade away, leaving only the two wagering soldiers awash in the moon's glorious light.

“Let’s begin, Cassius!”



Synthe_ -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/31/2021 3:03:19)

quote:

1st Chapter of the Specialist Recruit Handbook
> “The most dangerous battlefield is an unfamiliar one. This simple fact is the basis of the specialist division, bringing that unfamiliarity to every enemy that opposes us. We each have many tools that allow us to manipulate combat in our own way, and your first step should always be to analyze how to fully utilize those tools. Keep the enemy in optimal engagement distance, and never give them even a single chance to adapt.”


Cassius’ eyes focused on the soldier before him, expression betraying no hint of his thoughts. It seemed that Jacklin, as she called herself, was not exactly pleased with his response. A negative reaction was certainly not surprising, instead only a tinge of disappointment passed behind Cassius’ thoughts as his adversary shut her eyes, averting their gaze.

At least this one hasn’t shown even an ounce of fear, that’s certainly refreshing.

Without warning, snaking tendrils of slate-colored fog rushed from her body. The thoughts in Cassius’ mind instantly froze, his attention snapping to Jacklin’s quickly vanishing form. Tension gripping the back of his neck, every bit of training screamed at him to distance himself. However, none of those thoughts meant anything. Right now, Cassius was observing his opponent, his focus entirely on this unfamiliar ability. The cloud rose into the air, far enough that he had to look past his halo to glimpse the top. The pillar left an imposing shadow on the wall to his left, the uneven stone shielded from the moon’s light. His eyes returning to the center, he could just barely make out Jacklin, her eyes screwed closed.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the pillar changed from slate to obsidian. The other soldier disappeared, now hidden behind her sanctuary of smoke. Finally tipping his danger sense, Cassius unfolded his arms and bent his knees slightly. From behind the darkened curtain, a lively, crackling voice sounded.

“Oh dear, Lieutenant Colonel. Were you my own superior, perhaps I would take offense, or desperately rush forwards, vying for your approval.”

The rejection caught him off guard, tilting his head back a fraction of an inch. He had guessed this soldier to be fickle, chasing after the military for nothing more than excitement or visceral glory. This statement ran completely counterpoint to his assumption, shattering his mental image in an instant.

“But you’re not. And I don’t need to impress you. So if you really desire to see how attentive I can be... Let’s make a bet. We can decide what’s on the line once our swords are at our throats.”

A frown spread across Cassius’ face. This amount of confidence was unusual, an unfamiliar response that caused a momentary pause in his thoughts. Even more strange was the inclusion of a threat, completely alien in his line of work. Back home, soldiers like her would find themselves too far away or too dead before being able to even dream of threatening a specialist. However, Bren was not his homeland, and he was without his battalion. Still, his unbreakable concentration held his confidence up, leaving him with nothing more than surprise at Jacklin’s words.

You.... Truly have earned my full attention. Your words are brave, perhaps even naive, but this does nothing but prove yourself worthy of a fair fight.

Cassius opened his mouth, calling out to the foreign soldier. Making no attempt to hide his surprise at her earlier response, the least he could do was throw in a bit of a challenge of his own. “Hmph. Your confidence is admirable, however misplaced it may be. Let's see if you can keep up your end of the deal.”

With the challenge sealed in their exchange, the world grew silent. Cassius’ vision sharpened, his body falling still. The field of battle was about to erupt, and he would need all his focus to ensure victory. His mind now clear as a field of ice, the Fallen’s thoughts became short and analytical, in stark contrast to his earlier musings.

Unmoving opponent, fifty feet of separation. Obscured, likely a ranged threat.

Out of habit, Cassius raised his right hand to the shadowy water before him. A warmth reached out to him, in a space between his senses. The heat of the water called, begging to be released from its prison. The emotion grated against his mind, his core seeming to stretch out from his body. With a sharp inhale, the two connected, the warmth rushing into his veins. Pulling the energy itself from the water, blackened crystals of ice began to lift from the void. A muted sound similar to glass rippled across the water, disturbing its pristine surface. In a moment, a rectangular, shield-sized plate was held aloft between the two soldiers, hovering a foot in front of Cassius.

Not a second after the shield was formed, a set of bright lines erupted from the smoke pillar. While the moon glowed a soft, comforting light, these projectiles instead flashed a searing white, engulfing his eyes in luminous fire.

quote:

The eldritch red glow of a nearby detonation. The commander’s final thoughts flashing across his face before growing still. Moments later, the mind-shattering crack echoing through the ravaged bunker.


Momentarily ripped from his hardened concentration, Cassius found himself crouched on the ground, his shield moved in the path of the explosion. Curiously, both himself and the ice were left without a scratch, though a painful ringing plagued his ears. From the hazy beyond, the bright sound of Jacklin’s voice reached him:

“Let’s begin, Cassius!”

In an instant, he was standing once more, eyes locked on his adversary. Transparent smoke radiating in her wake, she was now rapidly closing the distance between the two. Cassius’ lips contorted into a scowl, cursing himself for giving up control of the situation. With a flick of his mind, the icy shield accelerated towards the approaching skirmisher. Leaving his mental grip, it curved towards her legs, the moon unexpectedly tugging it slightly to the right. Not even waiting for the impact, Cassius raised a second object from the water, a featureless longsword forming beneath the void. Point towards her chest, the blade shot across the shadowy water, fortunately more accurately than the first projectile.

Not a single thought crossed his frozen consciousness as the echo of shattered ice rang across the room.



nield -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (7/31/2021 11:17:10)

He held his eyes closed, focusing all his attention to what the spider was feeling and hearing. Its fore legs were in deeper water than those at the back and he tsked to himself. “I suppose I should have expected this from an arena named ‘Fountain’ but all the same…” There also seemed to be a gentle pull on both spider and dragon, subtly pulling them towards the arena’s centre, though he had no idea what could be causing that.

The people to his left seemed by and large to be ignoring him, simply calling out to each other. But that was fine, as from the other direction he received a response. “Hmmm, male, judging by the amplitude of the vocals… and that sizzle-snap… he’s using fire? Well, that won’t go particularly well for him now will it?” His face split into a smile as he turned the dragon to face that direction.

It wanted to simply gaze on the moon, but it doubted the thing knew the moon was even there, as it had made no sound as it fell. A memory flashed through its mind. The thing was standing on its shoulders, holding itself steady by its one remaining horn as it frantically moved its eye this way and that. “Well my pet, I hadn’t seen the harm in letting you have just this, but that last group, you were able to communicate to them that something wasn’t right about your condition. I couldn’t suborn your eye, working parasite silk into the ocular nerve poses far too many risks for little reward. But all the same, I think you should look only where I want you to.” It had said, a grin on its face as its scalpel descended.

Straight ahead. That was the only place it had looked in over two centuries. But the thing was not so good with exact locations over anything more than a few metres, so currently its sight was set a little to the left of the man who thought he was addressing it. A small thing had barrelled into the man and he was squeezing it to himself. Quite the odd choice in a building dedicated to murder. The man had pulled some pieces from an orb hovering by him and sent them at its face and all it could do was see them come.

He was ready for whatever ineffectual attack the fire user would send his pet’s way, ready to interpret sounds and react. He was not prepared for a series of small explosions to rage forth from the other direction, overwhelming the spider’s hairs and drowning out all other noise. Mizzleteran panicked, running his hands over this thread and that, plucking and thrumming. The spider reared back, taking a few steps, as the dragon’s head lurched over to the left, towards the ones who were ignoring him.

He made a snap decision: While he could focus on the one who had answered his challenge, the fact that someone in the arena could overwhelm the spider’s hearing at any time was simply too great a threat. So he got to work and the spider’s legs moved, first rotating so it faced them, then moved as fast as it could through the water towards the glass/ice individual. “It is perhaps poor form to immediately turn away from the one combatant who actually answered my challenge… but he wouldn’t be able to give us a proper fight anyway.”



Sylphe -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/1/2021 16:58:48)

“The Lords are testing me!” barked a vulture of iridescent feather into the ears of a dying man, his blood so close and lifeless it stained their sheen. A single sharp, crimson blade poked out of his back.



The Lords are testing me, thought Milo, pulling a sparkling, flowing child away from his chest.



When will they be done? asked a man freezing in a sea of flame, with nothing to hold on to.



You should have died right here.

Cut through. Incinerated. Charred, torn.

Milo’s eyes stared up where, by all means, he should have met his punishment for losing his course, for being blinded with a memory and not paying attention. But the beast was turning away, with complete disregard to a challenge answered. He should have been grateful, he knew. He should have been grateful that he was given another chance.

Milo didn’t like his thoughts at times like those. He especially didn’t like them as he now stared at the elemental child in his hands, the skin on his forearms growing crystalline scales as the orb depleted.

Coward.

Hypocrite.

Arrogant.

Milo’s eyes flicked towards the dragon, and then back at the creature. His heart raced and heaved. In a sea of bad choices, how do you discern the worse from the worst? He steeled himself, and spoke gently to the child. Perhaps he saw the whole thing as a game, seeing he liked to hum, hop around and hug dangerous strangers. Maybe then, he could offer a new spin to the game?

“Would you like to fly like a kite? I’d like you to hug that dragon, can you do that for me?”

Milo looked right into the eyes of the elemental, hoping for some sort of understanding. Perhaps some sort of forgiveness for what he was about to do?

Well past the point of that.

A familiar stab took to his heart as Milo took off in a run, wishing for the fire that the abomination so eagerly turned towards to stay for a few more beats, just enough for him to close the distance. Be it any other day, any day where there was not so much at stake, any other day where he’d have time. But not here, not today, not under the moon’s light and not above the pools soon to be turned red. Quickly, Milo pulled the robot in an embrace for the last time, before grabbing them with one hand.

Do not-

A voice would ring in the mind of the abomination, skipping any sensory hairs or ears or feelers like an inconsiderate guest. It invaded its three-fold, brown and squirming, skittering minds, as if from within themselves.

“I’m sorry, little one.”

And in the final few moments Milo had before his fingers would be completely encased in crystal, he used his momentum to fling Viterbi with all of his strength, right at the back of the dragon’s neck. The prickles flared and burned, almost a feeling of quills struggling to tear out and break their crystalline shell.

-Turn your back on me!

Milo hissed, and his blades stabbed the air and hopefully scale. Jagged crystals of blood, swirling crimson and deep dark, attempting to plunge into the creature’s tail around its middle.



Anastira -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/2/2021 1:35:47)

Cradled as he is, viterbi forgets everything except how good it feels to be hugged. Perhaps, he thinks, this is how it feels to be loved, to have a family. He leans his head down against the creature’s shoulder and lets out a long buzz of contentment. He knows this feeling. He remembers it well: a tiny human his size, her hair curly and tangled, playing a ukulele as they sat on the warm white sand, waves lapping at their feet, her pulling him back every time the water came too close. Palm trees swaying in a salty ocean breeze that sweeps over them and tugs and plays at her curls - and viterbi wishing it’d play with him too. Humming “Aloha Oe” as a sea turtle sunbathes next to viterbi’s foot, his metal growing hot in the sun.

All of a sudden, he flies through the air.

His first thought is that maybe the hooded creature is playing catch with him, but the longer he stares at the figure the more he realizes he’s not going to come back down, the trajectory is wrong; his ALU takes over and he understands, in a flash, what is happening. He is being thrown at someone. He twists midair and sees a great ugly thing, it doesn’t look normal, even viterbi shudders at it (and he tries not to be judgmental about ugliness - beauty is on the inside, anyway). He lets out a long shriek and goes back to humming “Aloha Oe”, his fingers wiggling out the rhythm of the ukulele’s accompaniment.

As he flies through the air, his ROM flashes backward in time, piecing together his memories from the past minute, and the things he had initially missed snap suddenly into place:

The hooded creature spoke to him.

He’d been so happy being hugged, he’d totally missed it, but the more he thinks about it, the more his current flight of fancy makes sense. Would you like to fly like a kite? I’d like you to hug that dragon, can you do that for me?

viterbi lets out a shriek of delight. He’s not being abandoned, and that was a hug! He just has to help the hugger now.

I’m sorry, little one.

No, don’t be sorry, viterbi thinks, but then his thoughts darken. He’s been asked to hug the dragon. But something about this...dragon... doesn’t seem that huggable. Is it too mean of him to be ready to defend himself? Or even take some peremptory action? Because, really, viterbi doesn’t feel all that comfortable hugging this dragon. No, not comfortable at all. He remembers a story from the little girl on the beach, a dragon with rainbow scales frolicking in the sea, but this dragon seems very different. This dragon seems wrong.

I don’t want to be mean, viterbi thinks, but to be quite honest he feels like he’s shaking midair, that thing looks so unfriendly. Almost without thinking, he summons Catastrophic Behavior - One glittering with 0s in his right hand and Zero flashing with 1s in his left. I’m mean I’m mean I’m mean - nothing to be done about it, too late to stop now. The backsides of RO and VA flash with numbers, an unending scroll of probabilities and likelihoods, and viterbi shouts, panicked, “MAXIMUM LIST LENGTH!” and they come to a stop, and he breathes a momentary sigh of relief -

And then he collides with the dragon.

The dragon reaches out to swipe at him, turning slightly, and viterbi tries to dodge, curling up midair before he lands; he thinks he feels something rake against him, but he’s not sure, it could just be his imagination. ALOHA OEEEEE - he sings in his head, louder than he should, and then his scythes are buried deep in the dragon, One a little deeper than Zero, and the guilt and shame washes over him like a tidal wave. He tugs backward with all his might, shaking. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorryyyyy - topples off the dragon, sploshing heavily onto the ground.

Shivering in shame, viterbi glitches away One and Zero, and summons Trellis Code, curling into a ball and cowering inside of it, rolling himself doggedly a few feet away from the dragon. He looks up to find his friend the hugger, but he’s so disoriented he can hardly think - disoriented enough his thoughts dissipate into ones and zeros and he can’t even remember how to say maximum list length.

For a few frantic seconds, he huddles among the water, closing his eyes and trying to drown out his thoughts with the palm trees and the little girl and “Aloha Oe”, humming softly to himself and shuddering. And then he begins to roll himself again, as stealthily as possible, trembling the whole time. He turns in a slow circle, humming faster and faster, cowering from the dragon in front of him.

I don’t think the mean dragon is here to play tug-of-war.

He claps ROVA together into one shield on his right arm and raises it high, above his head, in case the dragon decides to strike again and manages to break through Trellis Code; and then he wonders how best to make eye contact.



Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/2/2021 23:48:46)

A mirthful laugh rang out as Jacklin leapt into the air. She twirled the newly formed spear in her hands, coaxing the smoke into the finishing touches of the intricately designed weapon before plunging it downwards into the icy shield. Though she had planned to push off the buckler and launch herself skywards in a glorious flight, the shield instead shattered, shards of ice blasting backwards with an ear-shattering crack as the spearpoint split it to pieces. Her eyes widened as she rapidly adjusted her movements to prepare for a smooth landing, then shot back up to monitor her foe.

The lower threat had been dispatched, but -

To me, dear smoke. Spin around immediately, and defend my heart.

The spear collapsed and spread like a drop of ink, the shield forming so quickly that Jacklin had naught a chance to paint any details upon the blank circle. She swung it with all her might, catching the longsword less than a foot from her chest and knocking it aside, the reverberations of the impact firing up her arm. She grit her teeth, biting down a curse as she toppled from the air and landed with a graceless splash. Jacklin rolled once, sliding up onto one knee with a hand on her hat to keep it above the waterline. Inches in front of her, a second frozen sword pierced the water and shattered, scattering a layer of ice across where a lesser Skirmisher would have fallen. She breathed a sigh of relief, taking note of how utterly superficial the man’s artistry was. He had a similar gift to her own; the ability to create works of art out of naught but the cold water. Yet he failed to add even a hint of flair to his pieces! Where was the soul? The passion for his craft? Was he truly a soldier with naught a hint of either?

The shield in her hand was growing cold, a deadly layer of frost spreading from where it had deflected the heart-seeking longsword. Quickly, Jacklin coaxed more smoke to the featureless thing, etching a scowling face and a sea of stars onto its surface. The frost actually looked quite nice, when used properly. What potential Cassius was wasting!

Jacklin glanced up at the soldier, seeing his features harden in annoyance. She smirked as she called out a taunt. “What’s wrong, underestimating me?” She gestured at her shield with one hand. “You really should put more effort into your craft. Damned things seem to break so easily, and don’t even look good while they’re doin it.”

Behind him, the abominable creature was barreling forwards, insectile legs whipping the waters into a frenzy. Whether he noticed the approaching monstrosity or not, she could not tell.

Stupid, mindless beast is coming to interrupt our match!

She pushed aside her bubbling anger and studied the beast carefully, eyes dancing across it as she grasped at her memories for any weaknesses she may be able to exploit. Her eyes fell on its crimson scales.

She was familiar with dragons: monstrous creatures that had stolen His Glorious Light eons ago. The Slayers would oft complain of the tedium the monster’s fireproof scales created, a danger that required more careful planning - and larger weaponry - than Jacklin had.

But those dragons lacked the hair-covered legs of a spider, and she had never seen a spider fail to burn to ashes when touched by flame.

“Cassius, behind you!”

Leaping to her feet as she called out, Jacklin spun once, then twice, stretching the shield out in one arm while she built momentum.

I was never great at discus throwing, but…

The buckler shot through the air, arcing around Cassius as the tug of the gorgeous moon pulled it aside and aimed it directly between the spider-beast’s legs.

A whisper escaped Jacklin’s lips - a single command.

Three.


Jacklin dipped her hand into the smoke as she rushed towards Cassius once more, whirling the wisps into a shield identical to the one that was flying towards the beast. Each step she took brought another icy weapon hurtling her way, the moon’s pull guiding them towards her and driving her into deeper water as she rotated away from her foe. The air around her was getting colder, her heavy breaths starting to form small, chilled puffs that left her lips. As the cold tickled at her bare arms, she silently thanked His Excellency for the waterproof greaves that kept the splashing water from freezing her poor legs to death.

The thrown shield had decided to take on an air of individuality, now shaking with anticipation and fading to a gray as it continued its flight.


Two.


Knocking aside another frozen blade, Jacklin continued her speedy advance, rearing back her arm as her mind raced to decide on her next work of art. The waterlogged jacket was weighing her down, and the cool air was chilling her to the bone. She considered discarding it, but the scorn her brother would bring upon her from losing it entirely would be far worse than his reaction to seeing how lovingly she had removed the sleeves.

As she approached ever closer, her smoke passed through Cassius harmlessly, bringing them both into its ring. Above his head she could make out a quaint little halo formed of blackened ice. How strange; just how did the man keep it suspended there? She shivered, though whether from the ever-colder air or from unease at the faux-angelic feature she knew not.

The souring aegis passed directly between the dragon’s spidery legs, vibrating with intense abandon and white as a star.


One.


Jacklin finished closing the distance, near enough to Cassius to see the determination in his eyes. Within them she could just barely make out a hint of unease - perhaps the poor Lieutenant Colonel was already losing his grip. With a quick wink and a faux-coy smile, Jacklin shot her arm forwards in a hardy punch aimed at the Lieutenant Colonel’s nose. If she struck, she hoped a broken nose wouldn’t look too bad on him. If he stepped aside, she already had her next weapon in mind, ready to mold the smoke into a form worthy of piercing the man’s back. If he did something else… well, she’d deal with that if it happened.

Beneath the abominable amalgam, the shield burst. Raging white flame flooded in every direction, eagerly reaching out to devour each leg of the insect and roaring upwards to feast on its underbelly.



Synthe_ -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/3/2021 21:45:09)

quote:

> Chap 6 Sec 11 of the Specialist Infantry Guidelines
All infantry-based units will be accompanied by a medical dispatch, either a division-sized complement or a smaller squad in special operations. Wounded soldiers should be brought to a safe position, where medical officers will move the individual to safety. Our enemy is known to disregard the conventions of support soldiers, so ensuring a safe retreat route is required. Be vigilant for hostile shock troopers, as they may strike at any time...


The skirmisher moved through the air in a red blur, as if she herself were made of smoke. Cassius stood with his arm outstretched, features marred with displeasure. The speed of her movements was rapidly becoming an issue, the moon’s pull certainly not helping his barrage either.

She insults the quality of my craft, while demeaning their purpose. Our creations are but tools for the slaughter, nothing more. If you could see the things I have... you would know that the featureless dagger brings an end just as effectively. The battlefield brings me no pleasure, there is no reason to enjoy forging my instruments of death.

He does not speak this aloud, instead keeping his judgements to himself. Combat was not the place for ideological matters, that was saved for the diplomats and their resolutions. Cassius was a soldier, forged to carry out the will of his homeland, not to argue it. Even if he did decide to speak, he would never get the chance to finish as the ice beneath began to rumble.

He had already begun to turn when Jacklin called out her warning, tearing his focus away from the skirmisher. A curse caught itself in his throat as he saw the source of the disturbance, the misshapen dragon barreling towards them. His head seemed to fill with static as every warning in his body set off at once, his position rapidly losing its tactical appeal. Scratching at the back of his frozen thoughts, a single memory clawed its way to the surface.

quote:

We absolutely cannot send anyone to open an escape route, regardless of you ‘volunteering’. The retreat has already been ordered and you need to get your squad-

…

I do not want to hear ANY justification for this. The captain lost control of his battlefield, and at the present moment nothing else matters. Unfortunately for us, this war does not grant us the luxury of covering for the mistakes of others...


It took only a moment, his discipline kicking in and breaking the freezing fear holding him in place. With what seemed like monumental effort, Cassius turned and backed towards his entrance tunnel, beginning to bring his two angles of defense closer together. Unfortunately, it appeared Jacklin was keen on taking the advantageous side of the situation, already set in a sprint towards him. The fallen’s expression stiffened, instinct guiding his actions. A stiff determination pushed out any vestiges of fear, refusing to meet the same fate as his predecessor.

Once more, the water solidified in an instant, forming together with a sickly crackling whine. A pristine longsword raised itself from the water, lancing towards the approaching skirmisher. Without missing a beat, Cassius followed it with a short scimitar, trailed by the water falling from its newly-formed surface. The glowing moon pulled them along their path, forcing Jacklin off her original approach. A tiny smile crossed his face, each new projectile pushing his adversary towards deeper waters.

I hope you don’t mind the water, but I can’t have you getting any convenient flanks...

Despite his efforts, Jacklin grew ever closer. Although he was no longer precariously positioned between the two enemies, the skirmisher was now nearly close enough to strike. While no ice had hit its mark quite yet, she certainly seemed to be feeling the chill taking hold. Even if only momentarily, the slowed movements and miniscule shiver betrayed her struggle. For Cassius as well, the early effects of fatigue had begun to surface. Faint tingles stung down his spine, the water’s energy not quite jumping at him as it once did. Each coming breath seemed to demand a hint of effort, slowly but surely etching away at his focus.

Two blinks later, the smoke pillar passed through his position. He could now see her clearly, dark, flowing tattoos covering her arms in place of the ruined jacket. A tinge of silver hair peeked out from under her dress cap, overshadowed by the savage grin currently directed at his face. For any other soldier in his battalion, the current situation would be considered far beyond cause for alarm. Allowing a hostile melee specialist this close, let alone in striking distance, would certainly earn a stern lecture if one was lucky enough to survive the experience. Despite this, Cassius remained standing still without so much as flinching. Even as her fist swung towards his face, the only betrayal of uncertainty was a tiny twitch of his mouth.

For Cassius, this moment was what he had been waiting for. The moment his adversary, skilled as she was, passed into his chill.... The battle had already been decided. At this moment, his perception seemed to freeze, the start of a devious grin staining his face.

You may believe you have grasped the advantage...

But you are on my battlefield.

In this cold, I have full control.

May your overconfidence bring you a cold and painless death.

There, as time seemed to stand still, the water beneath them began to crack. In an instant, a vicious spike of black ice rose from the void, moving directly for Jacklin’s exposed chest. The fallen’s grin spread further, his wicked stare waiting to see what expression she would make as she died. The battle was already won, and all he needed to do was finish his strike.

No...

quote:

The face of a younger Cassius, not yet stricken by war, looked over the angel before him. Reckoner, before he knew it as such, rested in his right hand. His arm shook as he tried to raise it, his emotions faltering as he looked to his superior.

“You know we can’t take prisoners Cassius. These are the people that took everything from us, stole our hopes of a safe and happy life in the city. Now follow your orders.”

Turning back, the pitch-black sword rose once more. For a moment, the shaking edge stilled, beginning to fall towards the angel. There, in that moment between the decision and the consequence, the prisoner looked up, locking eyes with Cassius.

That face would remain in his dreams forever


Not again...

The icy spear slowed, a momentary stop betraying his hesitation. Tearing his gaze away from Jacklin’s eyes, the frozen steps of time began to move forward once more. Her arm extending, the incoming punch finally passed through the final layer of cold, crashing into his face. First, a splitting pain, the sparks of pain long forgotten overwhelming his senses. Following it was a distinct disbelief, a complete confusion at the sensation of taking a hit after so many years. Freezing crimson flowed down his face as he stumbled backwards, falling to one knee.

For Jacklin, it seemed the sudden appearance of the ice spike had gone unnoticed until the punch had already connected. Had Cassius remained determined to remove her from the arena, she may have found it nearly impossible to escape a mortal wound. However, the momentary hesitation in his strike left a window of escape, albeit quite small. Vigilance flashed in her eyes as she noticed the darkened spear growing beneath her, instantly tearing her body to the left with the force of fiery determination. Narrowly missing her chest, the ice blade instead left a sizable gash on the side of her torso. The lines of smoke suddenly broken by a vibrant red, Jacklin fell to the water below.



nield -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/4/2021 3:32:24)

He had made a mistake. The challenger ran at them, tell-tale splish-splashes and sounds came into proper focus. One became two, fire became electricity. The man muttered to his companion and Mizzleteran frowned. “Hug? You can’t be serious…” but before he could take even a moment to think on it-
Invasion


A voice careened into their minds with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. The spider, with no mind to speak of, gave no reaction. Mizzleteran bit his lip and screamed back within his own mind ”Stay out of my head!” While the dragon, in the recesses of its own mind, simply harrumphed and muttered darkly to itself, ”As if I have any choice.” Then that moment’s distraction gave way to many occurrences happening all at once.

The man parted from his companion, a crackling sound about his arm that Mizzleteran couldn’t identify. It was not unlike the sound of ice but its amplitudes were off. His companion squealed to itself, then joy gave way to fear and panic as Mizzleteran grit his teeth, arms flying across many threads, to deal with multiple threats. The spider had very little capacity to turn on the spot, so he didn’t even try for that, having the dragon swipe back, the sensation of contact flowed through his cockpit and then-
PAIN


The sensation flooded his threads and two arms stopped to take stock of the damage: Two points of impact, one slightly more severe than the other, neither impacting anything important. The man was there, thrusting his arm forth towards… The dragon’s tail? Mizzleteran smirked and set that exact appendage to work. It twisted, its sharp blade lined up with the man’s eyes and thrust. Tail and arm collided, coming to a standstill, grinding against one another.

From the front, the telltale whistling of an object careening through the air, as the entity on the dragon’s back heaved, tearing its weapons from their makeshift sheathe. He was ready for it to make another attack, but it fell to the water and seemed to curl up, rolling this way and that as the flying object passed beneath the spider’s legs, leading to a whump and then a great Whoosh! as flames raged forth, covering the spider’s entire underside in white, spraying out between its legs, sending the man stumbling back and causing great bursts of steam where it slammed into the pool below.

Mizzleteran scowled as more pain sensations flowed through his threads. Though the spider was resistant to heat, it didn’t do quite so well with direct fire. “I should have done this sooner…” he muttered, his hands flowing. The spider’s legs splayed out as it flopped down into the pool, causing a large splash of water to radiate out. It had lost some sensory hairs, but not enough to adversely impact hearing. “Here, let me return the favour.” The dragon’s back arched as lung switchover occurred. At the same time the dragon’s arm raised, its muscles tightening as he pulled it completely straight, its claws pointed straight down. Then flames belched forth from the dragon’s maw, heading for the two in front of him as the arm descended on the combatant curled up in the water. “You all aren’t the only ones who can assault multiple fronts at once.”



Sylphe -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/5/2021 18:51:00)

“Thou fool! Knowethsth thou not that a dragon’s tail is a weapon like no other?” Two wooden sticks nailed together snapped out at a small toy knight. One of the sticks, the fearsome tail, turned to topple the knight over. A menacing beast roared in the boy’s mind, with scales hard as diamond, eyes full of fury, black and burning.

There, in the attic, he had his makeshift observatory. The air was colder and it felt deep blue just like the clouds and skies outside. It was nicer to breathe, even if he was not allowed up there. All of the dust up there was not good for his breathing and skin burns, or so he’d been told.

But the stars were always reward enough. And maybe, just maybe, the sweet heat of rebellion.



The Vulture laughed. A wild, cacophonous caw that bounced off the rocks and sizzled in the heat. In front of it, a dragon. A living, breathing dragon.

“Smaller than I imagined you’d be.”

There, in the mortar between black and brown jagged peaks, the air smelled of sulfur, and everything gave off a soft, red glow. All the ash up there was not good for its breathing, but those problems were far behind the Vulture now.



Milo’s blades shot up just in time. He had been worried, a single silver flash of anxiety flashed through his mind. What if he’s not going to make it? What if this time, the crystal blades won’t form on time? A lot of things could happen in a moment.

A robot, flying through the air like a shooting star. Burning bright under all of those distant stars. He only caught a blurry glimpse. A dragon tail with a spike so sharp it could rend flesh, coming at him with a speed he was only lucky to match. They came to an impasse, with the point halting just between Milo’s eyes. A feeling of dread, of a close encounter, buzzed in his forehead, red and bright.

He stared at the point, cross eyed, for less than a second. But then he caught a whiff of smoke, and the pale ones regained their focus. Unwillingly so, almost. His arms seemed to falter for a short moment. He wanted to tear at the tail, this way and that, to sever anything that might make it a threat.





A child, cradling a fearsome stick dragon, fast asleep and not hearing the voices calling out. Woken by the gray and choking smoke, by the heat.




He knew where they were. He knew the nerves and bones and lifeblood of any living creature, especially dragons. But this time it was hard to focus. The dragon’s blood trickled down his blades, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off those small red droplets. To any other, they’d be indistinguishable from anything similar, anything that also bound its air to rust and iron and ended up red. But to Milo, it was amber and warm and burning with flames. Every drop of dragon blood that fell aside was wasted.

The prickles within him knew, they sensed it as well as he did. It would be so easy to pull the droplets in.



Featherless wings torn, gleaming wings charred. It felt it, it felt the dragon’s blood as it surged within its own. It was the flame now. It had nothing to fear.



A flash overwhelmed his senses. A burning, white hot flash. Milo stumbled back, knowing he tore his blades out of the creature, remembering, hazily, that he used them to try and protect his eyes.

A momentary inferno, and then a splash. A fume of steam, making the cold, damp air of Fountain heavily hot and so full Milo couldn’t breathe.



Opening the door only to be hit by a blast of heat, he covered his eyes and stumbled backwards. A view of flames, swallowing the staircase. A running start to the window, to the stars shining with their cold white light.

A remembrance, a realization, that the attic is so, so far up from the ground. He struggled as the world blurred, brown eyes losing their vibrancy.



He forced himself to open his eyes. It was a downside of pale skin and pale eyes to not take well to fire, to light. Bright spots danced in his vision, and it felt as if he’d been burned. Not just on the skin, in the eyes, those that teared up and struggled to see even as the haze started dissipating. But a silhouette, a silhouette was enough for the mage. And that silhouette was striking at something below.

Two and two put together, and a scary connection was made. Something within Milo flared worse than the prickles, and urged him forward. There was one and only thing he’d imagine small enough for the dragon to have to swipe that low. A few steps closer, and the dread became justified.

Forgive me the expletives, Peregrine.

Milo’s inner voice shouted, reverbating in the skull or skulls or exoskeletons of this creature.

OVER HERE, YOU BIG LIZARD!





He wanted to reach out for them, the stars, the darkness. They were so hopelessly far above the ground. They would not come down for him.
Things scarcely did.

So in one desperate motion, he swiped, and tore a hole into the clear nightblue sky.





Milo leapt while the drake’s back was arched, as it prepared to shower others with its fiery fury. He stabbed with both of his blades, hoping to strike the back of the beast's neck, as long as it was. It wasn't exactly easy to tell where it gave way to its back. But with how crowded it was there, with scales and those glorious wings, he was glad to harm and draw attention away from the shining robot. The wings... He could not help but notice just how rigid they were. How frozen and cold they appeared. Had the dragon even tried to spread them? Milo couldn't remember. But another part of its anatomy, he could. The tail. The danger came to him, nagged at the back of his mind. But the rush ran to his head and pushed any and all other thoughts out. Blood, amber and burning, blades sliding through scale and flesh, prickle and sting like growing feathers, the Vulture had nothing to fear.

The Vulture?

I’m not-

Milo came to, eyes widening. His eyes focused on the robot, as much blinking as they had to do to handle being open for this long.

Get away from that thing!

He called out to the robot, hoping there were any nerves or any of their mechanical, elemental equivalent to reach. He didn’t have time to center, and realized too late that he projected the thought into everyone nearby.




And the sky bled, and so did he, and they understood each other then.

They found the boy in ash and rubble, lightly singed, but breathing. They found the boy stained with writhing, shifting, star tinged black. He brought it closer, and it listened, turning into a warm, glistening orb.



Anastira -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/6/2021 0:30:54)

One moment, viterbi is huddled safely (question mark?) on the floor of the arena, the water cool around him and Trellis Code wrapped around him like a baby in a blanket; and the next, there is a sharp flicker of wrongness. And he realizes that indeed, he was right to call it safety with a question mark, because clearly he was not so safe after all. He closes his eyes and squeezes them tight shut, as tight as he can; if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist, if I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist, it doesn’t exist -

If only he hadn’t hugged the dragon…

He knows if he looked, he’d see claws sprouting from him. Through Trellis Code and ROVA. Even I can’t avoid all errors, he thinks very sadly, because of all things, he is engineered as an anti-error living machine. He coughs softly. When he opens his mouth, water comes in, cool and clear. Refreshing. Though there is a slight tang of something, salty almost...not like saltwater, but - oh, no, viterbi thinks, spitting it out as fast as he can. His eyes flash open at the taste. Blood…

The claw is still in him, inside him, impaling his little bright body in the water, and as he looks around he can see himself bleeding, oh no no no, tiny glowing threads of luminescence unknitting themselves from his figure and spilling out into the water around him, shards of frozen electricity, gelatinous screws and chips of plate that are metal and yet not metal. He shudders violently, a sharp hard movement that jerks him from head to toe, and where the claws pierce him another, thicker rope of glowing life untangles itself into the water. He reaches for it, to hold it, to bring it back to himself, but then he looks at his hands, and he has no fingers…

With a long, soft, high-pitched sigh - zeeeeero - viterbi lets his head fall back against the water, his eyes closing, and Trellis Code and ROVA both vanish, winking into nonexistence. The water laps gently around him. So tired. So easy to just sleep. Right here, right now. He begins to sing a lullaby very softly, something about a baby and a tree branch breaking, and the baby falling. Does the baby die? He wonders. He knows without looking that his ROM will not have the answer to this particular question.

What a strange feeling. Is he about to die? Is this what dying is? Is he even capable of dying?

He wants to cry. Why can’t he cry? Why can’t he just be human for once? To be soft and warm, to be able to hold someone with hands that have fingers. To have a heart. Oh, he would give anything to feel pain; to feel the blood leaking out of him, to feel the pierce of the claws. He would give anything to feel real pain instead of this artificial replacement, a strange glitching in his body that tells him he’s being hurt.

He doesn’t want to be told. He wants to know. He wants to feel.

He wants to know what real pain is, he wants to cry, he wants to know heartbreak, he wants to know love. He wants it to rip him to shreds, he wants to die from how horrible it feels, because if he dies of the pain at least he will know it was real. At least he will know he is real. Something more than an artificial intelligence with an artificial body and...and an artificial heart.

He wants to be a he, and not an it.

But if it is destroyed now, if it is left as a bunch of pieces and parts on this arena with its electricity dissipating into the water and its energy-life, whatever it is now, flowing across the arena floor, it will never know what it is like to be alive. They will rebuild it, maybe, but if its memory is corrupted it will cease to be viterbi. It will be blank. Faceless. It will never ever get its chance. It will never be like the little child with her pretty brown hair, running barefoot across the sand, her laughter tinkling above the sweeping sound of the ocean and the waves and the ukulele playing “Aloha Oe”. No!

No! viterbi screams, and summons One and Zero all at once, driving them into the claw as hard as it can manage. I will not! The claw comes up, rising into the air, pulling viterbi with it. viterbi makes the line-of-sight, screeches out its tirade, ready to make a parity check. I will not! The claw smashes down and viterbi lets out an ooof!. The water splashes all around. viterbi waits. The parity check should be complete, but nothing is happening, the claws still pierce it cruelly all the way through its little body - I will not! The claw rises up again and viterbi wriggles back and forth fitfully, pulling the scythes from the claw and getting ready to plunge them back in. I will not! The water and the floor comes up again, hard, but this time -

This time there is no claw!

ooof! viterbi gasps, and scrambles free, holding its stomach with the wrist that wields Zero. Its wrist comes away sticky, and glowing even more brightly than usual - too brightly. viterbi shields its eyes for a moment, whimpering.

No, no, no, don’t be scared. Defend! Defend!

And figure out why the parity check didn’t work. Eyes, eyes, eyes. Are there more eyes? Maybe the spider part has separate eyes.

With a frustrated veeebeeee, viterbi begins to bounce up and down in a circle around the dragon, as high as it can go. Searching for the eyes. As it goes it sings let’s go flyyyy a kite (with a little ooof each time it hits the water) and smiles, and feels a little more whole.

Wheeee!



Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/6/2021 21:43:10)

She was cold.

So, so cold.

Crystals of ice tickled at her skin as they spread from the wound where Cassius’ blade had handily pierced her. Disturbed waters lapped angrily at her hands, her legs, her chest, freezing against her skin and binding her to the earth. She was so used to the heat, so used to the fire that roared within her, everlasting. A gift of His light, driving her ever-forward, even while she served Him no longer.

What would she be when it left?

Small movements. Small movements. Forget the flair, the flash, the fanciful flourishes. I need to stay warm. Stay alive. Stay discreet. At least until I can do something worthwhile.

Carefully, painfully, slowly, Jacklin tapped at the wound. It had already frozen over, preventing any more precious warm crimson from staining the waters. She pulled her hand back faster than she intended, the hungry cold of the ice already trying to devour her finger. The frost was spreading; the same blessing that stopped her from bleeding out now threatening to kill her without mercy. She had to move, had to break the chilling grip as soon as she could.

But not yet. Not. Yet.

At the edge of her blurred, half-submerged vision, she could see Cassius. He was advancing slowly, creeping through the water just as his ice crept up her skin. Come closer, dear Cassius. Come closer. She extended her hand out, carefully, painfully, slowly. It dipped into her smoke, and she pressed her will into the wisps.

“Dance with me, my smoke. Dance for me. Today we dance a favorite of mine. Long and thin, sturdy and strong. Empty at one end and at the other - a weight. Heavy, powerful, and enough to make anyone move. But not yet. Take your form in mind, and wait.”

Her eyes shut in focus, Jacklin didn’t see what Cassius was planning to do to her. Perhaps he meant only to watch as his magic froze her to death. Perhaps he would skewer her again, and leave her staked up to die. It didn’t matter what his intention was.

Their bet wasn’t finished.

The crackling of ice reached her submerged ear.

And she roared.

Water scattered in every direction as Jacklin pushed herself up with explosive force, a battle-cry echoing out of her freezing lungs. Inchlings of frost tore away tiny bits of skin as she freed herself from her growing prison. As her arm swung across, water dripping off it, the warhammer surged to life, smoke swirling a blank slab into being and extending it out far beyond her own reach. Cassius stumbled back, his face for once painted in worry as ice rose to his command in a faceless frozen shield.

But she would have none of it.

Retreat.

Where there was once a heavy slab of steel there became naught but the last vestiges of a wisp, the weapon now lacking its glorious figurehead. The empty shaft aligned with the shield for but a moment before whipping through empty air.

And return.

Past the icy wall, the wisps colluded to a head once more, new etchings upon it depicting two soldiers with their blades locked against one another. There was a sickening crack as steel met steel, and the lieutenant colonel’s form soared.

Yet Jacklin had no time to rest, no time to watch.

She calls out, her mind grasping at every last wisp she can. “Defend me”. She cries. “Become impenetrable, so that my flesh be marred not by the mindless.”

She knew not if she would be blocking claw or flame as she spun the sun-etched tower shield, only that the beast was upon her. Fire roared to meet her, breaking against her ward and flowing across its edges. She smiled, sweat dripping down her brow as the heat beared down on her, His gifts invigorating her soul and melting away the last of Cassius’ icy grip even while her skin began to burn. Right as she felt the shield’s handle become hot, the glorious fire of the beast about to overwhelm her defenses, it all ceased. She stumbled back and barely stopped herself from dropping to one knee, finally able to catch her breath as the thoughtless dragon turned its attention to the others. She touched her hand to her wound and brought it back red - with the soldier’s generous bandage removed, blood flowed freely.

Jacklin had seen the Battle-Medics deal with such wounds before. This… this was going to suck.

She slipped off a glove and shoved it into her mouth. The taste was unpleasant, but she would endure.

Her hand, unsteady, uncertain for the first time in a long time, twirls the heated shield away. Many, many wisps retreat back to the cloud, until there is but a single handle and a single black blade, glowing hot with the gift of the dragon’s breath.

She was on fire.

She bit down hard, her teeth meeting leather as tears welled in her eyes, forced shut by torrid agony. The scent of burning flesh assaulted Jacklin’s senses and brought bile to her throat. She could not recall a single blade, a single flame, a single damned moment that hurt as much as this. Every bit of her will, every ounce of strength focused on keeping the metal to her flesh, keeping herself from leaping away or tossing the blade into the pool.

And then there was nothing. She pulled the blade off and blinked away her tears, forcing a smile as she spit the teeth-scarred leather into dark waters. She was sure she had done it wrong, and infection or malpractice would catch up with her eventually, but for now there was naught but the remnants of searing pain and a sealed wound. A little less than a year ago, Jack had come back from the Sunless Lands with a hefty scar across his chest, boasting of his victory over his sister’s challenge. She had fussed over him then, wondering what pain she had subjected him to when they had made that bet. At least now she could likely match it. She smiled, lightly tracing a hand along the wound in pride. Maybe he’d fuss over her, too. Perhaps he was even worried for her right now, hoping she’d come back home safe. She doubted it, though.

There had never been any doubt that they would both return from their challenges.

With a whispered word, Jacklin turned away from the dragon and its foes, tossing the bloodstained tool far over her head and detonating it loudly above the group in an intricate painting of the sun, dyed in black and gold.

“That is my final gift.” Jacklin croaked out, pain holding back her boast. “If you want to interrupt again, place some coins on the table.”

Cassius was looking no better than herself, his surroundings frozen over in a crude, chaotic manner, a layer of ice covering his chestplate in a mirror of her own fiery actions. As the Skirmisher stumbled unevenly towards his kneeling form, she reached into the smoke and called forth an empty handle. With every step the weapon shifted. A sword. A spear. A scythe. Each blade carved with an image of the two soldiers trading blows, though Jacklin always had the upper hand.

“Get up, Lieutenant Colonel. We’re not done, and you’ve won all of my attention.”



nield -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/7/2021 20:06:52)

The threads tell him everything he needs to know and he grins. The annoying little thing that had ‘hugged’ his pet with a pair of blades now found itself impaled on that same pet’s formidable natural weaponry. Well, I suppose it’s incorrect to think of them as natural weaponry. he admitted in the quiet of his mind. That quiet was soon interrupted by the voice that slammed into his mind again, but this time he paid it no heed and gave it no response. He would not be drawn.

It can see the little one out of the corner of its eye. It struggles feebly in the water around the gaping wound its errant arm has caused. It wants to close its eye and weep, but as always, it cannot do as it wishes. It does not wish to weep because the little one is dying at its claw though. It wishes to weep because it was not its brain that drove its claw to the little one’s death. As that voice intrudes one more, calling it a big lizard, it remembers how it came to this, even as its vision shifts as the spider stands.


Humans. Prodding and pressing, muttering and praying.

It takes a breath and they celebrate, christening it A.S.D.A.R - Autonomous Soldier, Dragonoid for the Annihilation of Resfregal.

It tears from the bonds that bind it and it annihilates just as they wanted.

Resfregal falls, but its creators’ nation fell first.

It relishes in every man, woman and child, every building to fall before it.

It’s legs are crushed and lifeblood escapes the mortal wound on its face. He calls it a failure and leaves it where it lies, saying it can suffer as it caused others to suffer.

The thing crawls out of a bush, followed by a riding spider.

The thing grins, scalpels in hand.


It is done. Done with living. Once it had considered the thing’s treatment of it as a blessing in disguise: The thing had made it immortal, made it only need to eat every few weeks and even replaced its destroyed legs, so if it could just get free of the thing’s control… But now it knows better. Watching the lifeblood of whatever the little one is pooling out around its claw drives it home, even as that claw is raised to the sky, the little one’s blades sheathed in it. The little one locks eyes with it and seems to shout something and it feels its brain being meddled with… but nothing happens. Then the little one is slammed back down, more of that precious lifeblood seeping into the waters around them, reinforcing its thoughts: Even if the thing is killed, it will not gain an iota of the control it has struggled for centuries to attain.

So it reaches out to the man, mentally. “You. Human.” It waits briefly, but gets no response. “Human. Do not ignore me. I intend to aid you.” but still it receives not the slightest of acknowledgements and it rages mentally, shouting at the man, calling him all sorts of names, even as he clambors up its back but no response is forthcoming and it realises: “One-way telepathy. What an absurdly worthless capability to be imbued with.”

Mizzleteran snarls quietly to himself. The annoying thing refuses to die, the man is crawling on his pet’s back, having shoved his arm through its wing-joint, shearing the accursed thing’s entire right wing off. As for the glorious jet of flame he had the dragon loose? The loud one seemed to have blocked it entirely. Then there’s a shifting in the dragon’s tactile sensations and his mind pauses for a brief instant. What was that? The arm’s bringing the annoying thing down again and… it’s gone! The annoying thing seemed to have simply slipped off the dragon’s claw.

Impossible! There’s no way it got free on its own! How- but he can’t focus on that thought-train anymore, as the spider’s hearing is once again overwhelmed. Mizzleteran grits his teeth, even as other noises begin to filter through again. The annoying thing is bouncing around, making noises as it goes. “How?!” he growls darkly to himself. “It was dying! I know it!” Then a set of sounds hits the spider’s hairs and flow through his threads-
The loud one, talking to ‘Lieutenant-Colonel’:
”We’re not done and you’ve won ALL of my attention”


He clenches his free hands, scowling. How DARE she?! Everything I am doing and I’m not even worth an iota of her attention?! Let’s see how you like another flame- But even as his arms fly to bring hot death on her, he realises he cannot. Having only just used its fire breath, he can’t force the dragon to do it again without frying its insides, himself included. In a brief instant, he forgets himself. Each of his six hands tightly grip fistfuls of threads, causing the spider and dragon to spasm and jerk and he shouts at the top of his lungs:

”What does it take to earn the damned respect I am due here?!”


Then in an instant he remembers. Where he is. Where he is. What he is doing. He grits his teeth, relaxing his arms and ceasing his pet’s spasms. “Well, I’ve already gone and revealed myself. May as well go for broke.” Even as two sets of arms command the dragon’s tail and the arm that hadn’t impaled the annoying thing to both go for the man on his pet’s back, the third commands the dragon to speak: “If you really think you can just turn your back on me and my pet, just because it has its hands full with these two, go right ahead. But don’t be surprised if things get a little hotter than you can handle!” Having said what he wanted, his arms flew to different threads, causing the dragon’s claw to shoot out, attempting to impale the annoying thing again.



Synthe_ -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/8/2021 21:45:01)

quote:

>Military History Lecture by Dr. Shepard, yr1499
Despite the apparent brutal nature of the current war, there are a sole few agreements between us and the oppressors. Other countries tend to rely too much on their conventions and regulations, leaving themselves vulnerable to a single decision to break the rules. We have no such weakness, as our fight is for our freedom, but there are lows we will not stoop to. First and foremost, our ground forces will never utilize incendiary weapons...


As the blur in his vision slowly began to subside, a fierce hatred boiled over inside Cassius. Somewhere deep in his core, the stoic, unrelenting guise began to split in two, an infernal fire threatening to melt it entirely. He looked up, the frozen ground beneath him groaning in protest. Jacklin’s form reflected off the water between them, the smoke around her seeming to slow as the ice began to spread from her wound. Coughing, he wiped the crimson from his face, pushing himself up with shaking arms. As he crawled towards his adversary, a wild expression of anger colored his features, a fresh river of red falling from his shattered nose.

You should be dead. I had all the cards in my hand and I failed to follow through with them... The ruthless Cassius Pallu hesitates to end a single soldier, the Frozen Harbinger pauses an inch from victory?!

He seemed to notice how uncontrolled his emotions had become, pulling his thoughts back to a refined focus with a banishing wave of his hand.

The decisions of my past have long since departed at this point. I refuse to allow their ghosts to haunt me. I have personally brought hundreds to a standstill, forever frozen in the mountains.
How could you be any different....?

As the distance between the two closed, the unnatural crack of forming ice rippled across the tranquil lake. The icy hilt of a dagger rose from the water beside him, a single mental pull sending it to his hand. Even his glove couldn’t resist the chill, the sensation washing his skin in a comforting wave. Finally reaching Jacklin’s body, he could now see her eyes held shut, face contorted in pain. After only a moment, however, he broke his gaze away, instead deciding to focus on the moon before him. With a single, decisive motion, he raised his blade to strike.

The crackling of fire reached his ringing ears.

The skirmisher rose in an explosion of energy, her smoke flowing in a renewed frenzy. His expression split by pure shock, Cassius stumbled back to his feet. He found himself unable to turn away as those golden eyes met his, burning with determination. In an instant, the ice had come to his aid, forming a barrier between them, but Jacklin did not hesitate in her assault. The silhouette of a smoky hammer raced towards him, leaving a wave of heat in its path. When it reached his defence, Cassius tensed, expecting the familiar crack of ice meeting steel. However, that sound never came, an empty stillness filling the air instead. As quickly as it came, the silence was replaced by the wrenching of plate metal, the sound of armor resisting a strike. Alongside that curious sound came an unfamiliar sensation, the ground leaving his boots behind as the wind rushed against deafened ears. Opening his eyes, the stars above seemed slightly closer than usual...

The water froze beneath him as he landed, the shock of contact seeming to resonate through his very soul. As his senses returned, he tried to sit up, but was restrained by the fierce burning of pain tearing through his chest. The metal covering him had nearly shattered, bent inwards by the force of Jacklin’s strike. A glowing orange reflected in the steel plate, the dragon-creature from earlier letting out a terrible gout of flame. Groaning on his uneven landing platform, Cassius could feel what was almost certainly the shards of several broken ribs beneath his chestpiece. The bent metal burned against his uniform, the heat of the blow threatening to sap away the rest of his energy.

I cannot be finished yet. The homeland awaits my return...

With a second push, he lifted himself from the ground, pain spearing his chest as he rose to a kneel. Ice cracked as it formed across his chestpiece; a temporary attempt at keeping the meager heat from burning him away. The silvery metal turned dark, encased in a freezing cage and returning the chill to his body. Although he was able to rise from his uncomfortable landing, the fatigue had begun to weigh on Cassius. His shoulders rested a little lower, the brim of his cap starting to hide his eyes. The usual stillness of his core had begun to buzz, the energy from numerous icings piling up faster than he could handle. He shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the prickly sensation of heat running through him. Much more of this, and his mind would start to slip.

From where he came, Jacklin had begun to approach. In her hand rested a simple handle, spewing forth a chimera of weapons. The disorienting shifting of her blades continued as she took one step after another, shaky legs parting the water before her. With a darkened glare, she opened her mouth to speak to him.

“Get up, Lieutenant Colonel. We’re not done, and you’ve won all of my attention.”

The curious comment normally would have angered him, inciting a cool fury at one daring to order him around. However, it instead brought a vicious smile to his face. A sort of unnatural respect seemed to have grown out of their trading of blows, a respect which Cassius found himself sharing. The grin remained frozen to his face as he rose, his long coat curling around his legs once more.

“At first you sickened me, followed by dismissal and hatred. You have since burned those frivolous emotions away, and I am left with nothing but curiosity. Your country would be lucky to have one as skilled as you, so is it them who is undeserving of respect?”

A fickle smile, her expression marred with a hint of disappointment.
“It is precisely because I respect ‘em that I’m here today.”

His head tilted, hands clasping behind his back. A profound uncertainty overtook him, his mind frozen on the apparent contradiction before him. The opposing soldier seemed so familiar on the surface, but their duel continued to prove just how different she was. He could nearly see her fighting style and determination mirrored in his own, but the person beneath appeared so utterly alien.

“I may not be able to understand your reasoning, but you have begun to show me that our differences do not equate to inferiority. You, unlike most I fight, are not beneath my notice.”

A deafening roar from the dragon-creature shook the water beneath, words unable to say as much as the unbroken gaze between them. Another step forward from the skirmisher, a slight bow from the lieutenant colonel’s head. The duel remained unfinished, but the game had certainly changed.

From the water before him, several jagged crystals rose from the void. Forming a small barrier, his frozen platform found itself separated from the formless sea. Only reaching as high as his hip, the thin obstacles were no more than a challenge to his adversary, her mobility no doubt able to overcome them. With another visceral crack, a lengthy halberd rose from the water beside him. A flick of his mind catapulted the polearm towards Jacklin in a deadly arc, a fine mist trailing behind as it spun through the air.



Sylphe -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/8/2021 23:30:29)

“This right here, this is no ordinary darkness.”

Under the glass cover, the black orb felt even more black than the lightless room of a mage’s tower. It was almost as if one went blind when they looked into its center - that black, with a stray star crossing. Milo didn’t like the way the old mage looked into it.

“I think I’ve figured that out already.”

Instead of blindness, he saw something else in the other’s eyes. Even if they had that telltale glow of dark magic that obscured them. They spoke of hunger. Milo reached out towards the glass, and the darkness jerked towards him, its surface shifting and flowing like the waves of a blackwater lake. The other stood unmoving, with just a little smile, before turning his gaze towards his own.

“That night, you freed the lifeblood of Chaos, the primal, the universe itself!”

Freed?

Something about that wording made his stomach tingle and turn. Freed… hurt, rather. A wound is a wound.

Milo often wondered if that was the reason why he brought his attention towards healing. It was a strange intuition he had whenever the orb was close. Of the inner workings, of connections. Of threads, wound together in a braid, of how everything made a whole. It made it easy to tell a nerve from a vessel, it made it easier to lead his hand while everything he was looking at felt so familiar.

The man blinked, slowly, and the young man noticed it was for the first time in a while. He reached out for the blackness, perhaps only to move it, but Milo was quicker, removing the cover and watching as the blackness moved through the air, following the threads of his thoughts, and rested in front of his heart.

“Thank you for your service. I take it I don’t need to pay you any more than I already have?”

The man appeared lost in thought, nodding, barely noticing that Milo was already taking his leave. His orb and a few droplets of blood, dancing in unison. He rose up.

“You are a physician, yes?”

Sensing some kind of blackmail, Milo’s brows furrowed. But the mage had none of that in mind, instead gesturing for the other to wait a little longer.

“I ask only for a free checkup for an old man. And perhaps, some tea? I might have some knowledge to share. Someone as talented as you ought not to stay with just a scalpel and herbs.”




The Vulture was a soarer of worlds. The Vulture was the weaver, without fingers and needles. The Vulture was the life of the skies and earths, and the Vulture was

And the Vulture soared

And the Vulture was

And the Vulture was not.

The Vulture was a slip-up, the Vulture was a jerk towards the nothing as it cleaved an entire wing of a dragon clean off. It lost its balance, and its entire body shuddered as it had nothing to hold on to. The pooling, bright orange of burning amber blood, the prickling, spiky hunger, the desire to take flight like a moth against the moon and the torn open night. It all gave way to a far less than graceful fall against the rocky, flooded ground.

There was no blood. There was no blood in the wing as it sailed down from under him. His thoughts, they tried to make sense of any of it. There was blood, then there wasn’t. Was it his own? There was a dragon, then there was a wing that didn’t bleed.

There was a tail and there was a claw. That Milo remembered just as the latter tore into his back with a power no amount of cloth or skin could stop. The horrid shredding sound only changed to a silver clink as talon hit silver. Blur, pain, numbness and a sting. An attempt to retaliate with a blood blade that was too clumsy and late, the strained and torn muscles begging for him to stop.

For a moment, time felt slower. And then, time ceased to be entirely as the hit and the splash of cold, black water enveloped everything.

Wake up, Starchild. You’ll drown.

He came to a burning within his ribs. To coughing, to spasms.

Burning water where it wasn’t supposed to be. The Vulture did not need to breathe.

The Vulture did not bleed, Milo thought as he held himself up above water with quite some effort. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to center. His gaze, still blurry, not the sharp sights of a bird of prey. His fingers, digging into the rocky ground. No sight of feathers anywhere, just fingers. And his bones as heavy as they were could not be hollow.

He was a fool for thinking none of that would return. He was a fool for thinking time would make his body forget. Make his mind forget. His soul, his heart.

Milo coughed one final time before kneeling and taking a look at what was going on, arms around his body. The beast, it left him to die, to drown. That was no honorable opponent, Milo decided. They were not for turning away. They were not for interrupting, he realized as an image of a black sun crawled through his mind, uninvited. They were not for attacking a child.

A child.

Milo’s heart picked up.

His teeth gritted, he reached into one of his pockets, fingers clasped around the glass fairy for just a moment. The robot rolled around the beast in circles. He remembered, somewhere between the colours and brights and burns, a claw coming down.

You deserve no respect.

Somewhere among feathers black and purple and green, He found a memory of shaking. Of a spasm, of a shout. A voice not from the dragon’s graceful maw.

A pet, he called it. His pet?

A voice of something that lives within, a voice of a parasite.

Where was his own parasite?

Shakily, Milo got up, every muscle straining as he did. And from the waters below, droplets rose, like rain defying gravity. Black, then crimson, then black with its own little shooting stars. The rain turned into a downpour, streaks of red and black climbing into the wound across his shoulder and back.

It wasn’t enough, of course, he thought as his steps forward became stable. The parasite had to know about him by now. The pain in his back turned from a sharp, cold air hating sting into a dull, pulsing ache. Didn’t hurt any less, and the shoulder felt awfully stiff. But it would work. Maybe not for flight. But for fighting, yes.

Especially if it wasn’t him who’d do all the fighting.

A smaller orb pulsed between his arms. The black core was now much more visible, swirling within the crimson tides like a snake. Pale eyes shot up to see the spider legs, much less elegant from this up close.

He would not make the same mistake again. His hand let go of the fairy. It was undamaged, somehow. Both from his grip, and from the fall. The things magic can do. The things glass and crystal can resist. Two hands snapped forward to conjure a crystalline wall just in time for the spider’s impact.

Milo closed his eyes.



“Blood for blood, the first rule of Hemomancy. For it is a magick old and vicious, it carries a price.”

“I’m going to assume that’s not something you can loophole?”

“Oh, no. Not this one. It’s so deeply set in its nature you may even find it where you wouldn’t expect.”



The impact came, and the shield relented under the spider’s intense weight. It shattered into a small nova of sharp, ruby points of glass, raining in every direction. It shred and tore whatever was in its way. The spider that broke it, and the Milo the impact knocked away. He felt them graze and strike against his skin, scratching and cutting. Thankfully, none of them had hit his eyes, though one struck dangerously close, just under one precious orb.

Sometimes, one has to take a bit of a leap of faith, he concluded. That’s why he was here, after all.

“Oof-”

A splash, this one deeper, and a wet mage wondering if he could have the skill to repair an eye. It was a fun thing to wonder about as he made a barrel roll through the water. The roll itself, less fun. A jagged blade of crystal dug into the ground and stopped his tumble, and Milo pulled himself back up. The crystal lost its sheen and dissolved into blood. Blood faintly tugged at by the moon, lazily floating towards it before it dispersed completely. A deja vu struck Milo as he ran at the creature from the front. The start of the fight once more. A way to find another approach.

The deep black sea snake within the orb curled into a swirling ouroboros as Milo took out blood to create two blades. One cracked mid-creation, its blade splitting into several sharp shards. Milo called, both inside and out, voices overlaying, and a shudder ran down his back as his inner voice went shrill and resonant, the call of a bird.

“You deserve no respect, you dishonorable parasite.”


Respect is not won by begging. Respect is not won by cowards!

One hand sent the shards flying, this time meant to puncture the dragon’s stomach - he knew enough about parasites to know that's where they liked to hide, be it the heart, the lungs, the guts. And then a blade above his other arm, primed to strike. He felt a tug in his arm, and it was not from the moon.

He only hoped the little one was okay.



Starflame13 -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/9/2021 19:04:14)

For one brief moment, all movement stopped. For one mere second, all noise ceased.

The moon turned dark.

A crackling of arcane energy reverberated throughout the watery expanse, ricocheting of the stone walls that enclosed the Fountain. Displeasure resonated from these energies as they coalesced into a single piercing beam of light, a kaleidoscope of colors that focused down on the monstrous pet and its pilot within. In that instant of stillness, Mizzleteran was enveloped, his effects snuffed and dispersed, his personage and pet instantaneously immolated. Neither web nor scale remained to mark his passing.

The silvery moonlight creeped out across the trembling waters once more, a single island of dry, bare stone the only reminder of the former competitor.



Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/9/2021 22:50:03)

“It is precisely because I respect ‘em that I’m here today.”

Was that really true? Jacklin’s eyes glanced briefly at the moon. True respect would have been reciting all of His rites before dueling beneath His reflected light. True respect would have been continuing to serve her homeland, rather than tossing her position aside in a paltry bet with her brother.

Her smile widened. No. That was true respect in the words of her superiors. In the words of priests and commanders. In the words of those that had only met His Majesty in formality, as a superior and a ruler. His light was watching her, His fire was burning in her soul.

And it was His word that had finalized the Sibling’s little game.

After all, every bet needed a third-party to watch over it, and who better than a friend of the two?

She looked across the waters at Cassius as he acknowledged her, his hands clasped behind his back, an uncharacteristic smile painting his features. He was almost like her brother, in a way, though her brother had far more flair. A thought crossed her mind. An absurd idea, created to bring playful embarrassment to whichever of the soldiers lost their little duel. Were Jacklin to lose to him, the Emperor would surely love to meet the man that toppled her. And were she to best him, she could already imagine the glare he'd give her as she introduced herself to his own superior's.

The dragon behind her roared once more, drawing her thoughts away before she could set the stakes and eliciting a roll of her eyes. Seemed the damned thing could speak, and wasn’t so mindless after all. But bets could not be made with those too rage-filled to begin with courtesy and tact. Perhaps the thing would have been worth her time if it had led with speech rather than fire and claw, but as it stood she simply couldn’t be bothered to face a foe that couldn’t fall to flame nor blade without even a dime on the line. Even still, her hand sloppily dipped into the black cloud, ready to weave a small solution to the annoyance...

And then the light died.

For a brief moment, she panicked. Why had His light left so suddenly? Were the lords so displeased at her refusal that they would take His light from her? To her relief, the blazing moon returned in fury as quickly as it had left, the brightness almost overwhelming her vision despite her turned back. She spared a quick glance, just enough to realize the dragon was no more before crackling ice pulled her back to the true game.

From Cassius’ newly fortified landing came a halberd, catapulting through the air to seek her head. She spun her handle, twirling the smoke into an identical polearm, then swung. A gasp and a curse rolled from her lips as her sealed wound burned at her side, the pain making her parry sloppy. Frozen blade just barely kissed her shoulder, splitting her suit and driving in the cold before the icy halberd soared past and careened into the water.

As she looked at the distance between them, and the water that lapped at Cassius’ perch, another, equally absurd idea crossed her mind. While stationed at Lake Ash, the other Skirmishers - in a fit of boredom - had searched desperately for a way to pass the time. Those with shields had found a particularly fun method, up until the captains had admonished them for ending the day sopping wet…

Dance to a shield, but be light, be long, and be free. For today, I will dance upon you, and together we will soar.

With the light, thin shield in hand, Jacklin took off towards the moon, swirling more smoke into a second small, steel marble and tossing it towards the center of the pool. With a wide grin plastered on her face, Jacklin whispered a command and pushed the growing cold in her shoulder, the growing pain in her side, out of her mind.

Three.


Jacklin broke off from her straight sprint and curled around towards Cassius once more. With a self-indulgent twirl of her halberd, she tossed the shield onto the water, watching happily as it slid smoothly along the surface. Behind her, an icy weapon crashed into the water. It seemed Cassius had not expected such a sudden retreat, and had undershot.

Two.


She leapt aboard the aegis, sliding forwards quickly along the dark pool’s face. Keeping balance was trickier than she had expected, and without a strong current or wave, she would lose speed sooner rather than later. Of course, she’d have that fixed in but a moment.

One.


The explosion at the heart of the arena rocketed outwards, casting a small wave in every direction as the water rushed to escape the fiery blast. Jacklin cried out in joy as it slammed into her “board” and propelled her towards her foe at breakneck speed, her unsteady footing barely able to keep her from toppling over immediately. She wound back her halberd and prepared to swing, one eye on Cassius and his frozen blade while the other scanned the waters beneath.

She would not fall to the same trick twice.



Anastira -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/11/2021 0:20:51)

It is still bouncing, still singing, when suddenly -

Stillness. Silence. viterbi tries to chirrup, but it feels as though its voice box is not working. It tries to move, but it feels frozen in place - in awe, or anticipation, or because of magic, it cannot tell. The rippling moonlight across the water is thrown suddenly into shadow, doused in darkness, extinguished. Even the faint murmuring sound of the water seems gone, snatched away into nothingness. The moon itself blinks out like a candle snuffed between an invisible thumb and forefinger.

A sudden crackling casts itself across the still-life arena, a bolt of energy. To viterbi, the energy seems to shimmer like oil on water, a painter’s canvas of colors, infinite threads wrapped into one. It blinks.

When it opens its eyes again, the great spider-dragon is gone.

With a little high-pitched gasp, viterbi continues its careening bounce forward, screaming, momentum carrying it forward across the dry piece of floor where the dragon-monster used to be…right into the hooded hugger. Without thinking, viterbi opens its arms for another hug, only - it’s going too fast, much too fast, on the down-swing of its arcing bounce, and instead it karooms into the hooded figure with a surprised zeeero?. For a moment, viterbi’s body compresses strangely, gelatinous and not quite solid, and then it bounces back like a spring, thrown towards the duelers nearby.

viterbi squeaks again, staring. The woman who hadn’t hugged it is...viterbi searches its ROM. Yes, he’s seen this before, he’s sure of it! On the beach with the little curly-haired girl and the ukulele. “Aloha Oe.” He searches. No, not snorkeling. Surfing! Ah, yes. Surfing.

The woman who hadn’t hugged him is surfing.

That looks fun, he thinks, and he says it, too, but of course it just comes out as ones and zeros. He wants to surf! He turns to the hooded figure and slaps himself on the chest with one fingerless hand (it becomes more of a poke than a slap, really), me, and then he tries pointing at the surfing woman (fingerlessly), her, and then he dances from one foot to the other, waving his hands in the air: surf. Just in case that isn’t clear enough, he does it again, and ends by putting both of his hands together on top of where his heart would be, wiggling back and forth for emphasis. Please!

He looks back over at the shield and grins a wide, brilliant smile. (It would be a wide, brilliant smile, anyway, if his mouth could move. Instead, his eyes just get impossibly big.) I’m gonna take the shield! He just needs to distract her. Shouldn’t be hard.

And, on cue, his hooded friend must have done something, because the surfing girl turns to look at viterbi, and at that moment he strikes:

Parity check! he thinks, and he tries to say checkmate for the fun of it, but of course his mouth only shapes ones and zeros. Wanna play a game? he says, his mouth buzzing with all the ones and zeros coming out of it at once. It’s a quote from - oh, never mind. Doesn’t matter! We’re going to play a game.

He takes a few huge bounds forward as the girl - woman? girl? - stares at him. He can feel the excitement building to new levels, unforeseen, unimagined. A new toy! He’s so focused on the idea of surfing that he almost doesn’t notice the wall of black smoke that erupts suddenly, so dark and foreboding he feels a huge shudder of disgust shake his poor little body, and he skids to an abrupt stop, the water splashing angrily around him -

In his panic, he reaches into the fabric of his reality and draws it in on himself, deleting his space, warping light, making himself invisible; as though somehow it will hide him from the grasping blackness that surrounds the point where the surfer used to be. For a moment he stands there, not quite realizing what he’s done, panicked at the fact that he can’t even see his own hands. For a moment, he feels sheer and utter hysteria, and his energy crackles louder and more anguished than ever before. And then, he thinks, this is the perfect time for a battle cry.

He reaches down into his ROM, searching. He has so many good ones, it’s impossible to choose: Vive le France! or God save the Queen or remember the Alamo! or even you shall not pass!

But - no. He knows the perfect one.

He has chosen.

Standing there, invisible, stock-still and crackling with energy, preparing to release his scythes upon the world and bring down the arena in an act of complete world domination, viterbi releases his first battle cry - the first phrase he has ever uttered that is not one, zero, or MAXIMUM LIST LENGTH.

There in the waters of the Fountain, viterbi screams solemnly, for the world to hear:

I BITE MY THUMB AT THEE.



Sylphe -> RE: =EC 2021= Fountain Arena (8/12/2021 11:54:06)

“The second rule of Hemomancy - The essence of something living is unbreakably tethered to its being.”

“You can just say blood, you know.”

“Oh, no. You’ll find soon enough that blood is merely a medium. Those come in many forms and colours, but all of them carry the life of a being. To have their life in your hands is to control them, shape them as you see fit.”



It’s easy to forget about judgement. Under the moon’s pallid, soothing light. Over the shimmering pool, in the chilly night air, dotted by so many new stars. But there came a moment where all of that went silent. For a moment, the moon went dark. A cold shade fell on the arena, and the Golden Princess and Grumpy Hedgehog hid away in fear.

Milo saw his shards strike true, their razor edge just starting to dig into scale. Starting to, as they were not allowed to cut any further. Suspended up in the air with all of the water droplets whipped up by Milo’s run and the blood that was not yet formed into a blade, for what couldn’t have been longer than just a second, and yet it felt much longer. How couldn’t it? How do you fit a complete pause of everything into one second? How do you fit countless thundering energies coming together into a single pillar of every colour imaginable? How do you fit all of that coming down on the parasite and incinerating it into one second? His orb howled with them, he felt it burn in his hands, he felt all of the marks it ever made on him flare up and freeze. Whatever had struck down was just as old as whatever he wounded that evening he found the orb, and it was angry.

The pressure let up, the stillness let him go. Moonlight veiled them once again. And that half-breath that had been halted in his throat came out as a choked gasp. There was no time to think about what had just happened.

The message was clear.

He wasn’t allowed to take another breath. Not out of awe, even if he still had plenty of that. But suddenly, he had a repeat of the start of the fight once again. Except this time, the robot was screaming, and so was Milo. It came at him, feeling somewhere between liquid and solid. Suddenly, Milo realized just how many shield shards have dug into him without him even realizing. The kind of shard that’s so hard to see, and in some cases even invisible, that small. And yet, when anything around them moves, it feels like a thousand burning pins. Milo landed, thankfully not backfirst into the water, with gritted teeth and a tear under his eye. An eye he nearly tried to wipe by instinct, but stopped himself. Who knew how many more shards could hide within the fabric of his now soaked cloak.

So he blinked, and looked at the fighter that had impacted him. On accident, he sensed. And yet, without the dragon and with the gods watching, there weren’t that many targets to run one’s blades through in a fight to prove dedication.



Her lifelight was so small it almost missed her. A firefly, with its tiny green dot.

A mere child, resisting the Vulture’s call to ruin. It watched on as she cried, huddled in blankets and abandoned. An unfamiliar rage rose in its chest. Who was its mother? To run to save herself and leave a child behind, leave it for the Bird to swallow. Was it an offering? Was it carelessness? Did she think it- did she think he would have issues with taking its life and blood? The Vulture’s clawed feet scratched the ground as it came closer and drew one of its fabled quill blades, sharp enough to cut between the threads of space.



Was this the dedication the gods desired?



The child looked at it, and for a brief moment her cries ceased. He set himself down to her level, taking it as nothing but curiosity over this small light before culling, but… then she grabbed at the bird’s skull, or at least attempted to. Understanding, he picked her up, bringing her to his bleached, sharp beak. But she was not scared at all, grabbing at it with her grubby human paws. And even as his razor red blade rested inches away from her skin, The Vulture realized that he could not move it any closer. In frustration, The Vulture spread its wings and cried, cried loudly. The child did not hear any of it.



The small robot was waddling at him with his hands, making noises, frantically pointing. He followed his gaze to the fighters, and understood. There was a way, after all. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but… Milo smiled, and felt all of the scratches and tears on his face make their presence known. He wasn’t here to sightsee, and neither was anyone else. And with the blast just then, he felt a growing sense of urgency, of impending. They were watching, and with their patiences thinned, it might be the last chance to win their favor.

And that was a chance he was not going to lose. A proper show, even if he’d have to breathe smoke and flame.

It wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.

One hand on the glass fairy, Milo turned towards the duelists. The small robot was still pointing. How could he draw the attention of two that have been locked in their dance of ice and fire ever since the moment the moon descended? Who didn’t get disturbed by a flame breathing abomination, and not even when it was incinerated?

Milo closed his eyes as he felt his heart burn with memories of feather, of soaring, of crying loud into the endless night. They weren’t good memories, no. Thinking of them made his skin crawl. But it might be the last time he ever feels them. He learned by his own fiery heart that a good insult against one’s coat, of feather or otherwise, is a good way to get your squabbling mouth sliced open.

This is how he goes down? His chest moved as he stifled a laugh and finally drew a proper breath. A voice shot across the watery waste, right into the minds of the two duelists, sharp and clear.

MY, I THINK YOU PICKED THE WRONG DOOR. THE INVADING A HELPLESS COUNTRY PARADE IS OVER THERE.

Yup. They were now both looking at him in a stillness that was much like the one right before the parasite met its warranted death. Except this time, instead of awe, Milo felt what he’d call almost childish excitement at having riled someone up.

OH, MY BAD. WERE YOU TWO GOING TO A COSTUME PARTY? I THINK YOU’RE PRETTY ON POINT. LOVING ALL THE FAKE INSIGNIA.

He smiled, awkwardly, and shrugged, making his own little moment where everything was suspended in a moment of very displeased energies.

I hope that was enough, Little One.

Milo realized, running, that he never asked for the little robot’s name. Yet somehow, even without speaking, there was a bond forged between them. It stung and it burned to think about. He didn’t look back at how he was doing. He couldn’t.

You’re not taking this seriously enough, Croaked an insistent thought. A joke? An insult?

You do not deserve to joke after everything you’ve done.

Perhaps it was his own way of seriousness, he reasoned. To draw attention in any way he could. To insult, to not form an attachment again. To not make friends, to make foes. Because making friends when one needs to fight results in one dying. He had to focus.

Do you really think you’ll die?

Focus.

Milo plunged his hand into the orb, the last shared warmth between them feeling like a sanctuary as the chill started creeping in. Out came a bubble, and with a few circles of his hand a skilled potter might make, he wound a sharp disc. It spun, just like the cosmic serpent within his orb.

Run. Run, don’t give them the chance to grow. The way the water opens under you, the way the air gets colder with each breath you take, the way the

Do you really think I’ll let you die?

Milo shuddered, feeling almost as if something crawled, as the blood holding his wounds stitched was shaking under the bird’s voice in his own head. He felt lighter, almost as if night black quills were about to sprout. So he gripped onto the disc, felt every disturbance in the glassy material to ground himself. And he sent it flying, spinning into the chilly air. A single crystal remained in his hand. He must have held on to it too hard.

“Shatter.”

He gritted through his teeth, focusing on how that felt so he wouldn’t have to think about great wings, fiery wings, black wings on which stars danced. So he didn’t have to think about talons that cut between the threads of everything. The disc broke into pieces as it flew, each of them continuing on whatever path the spin had chosen for them, into the blackout of smoke. He could not see through it, and all there was in blackness were silver strands of moonlight. But so wouldn’t they.

He ran right towards the cloud of smoke, his heart racing. It was the shards in the cloak, it was the freezing water in the cloak that felt so sharp. It wasn’t anything growing, it wasn’t wings, it wasn’t. He ran, even as he felt the stars descending around him in a great silver rain. He flew again, across the great expanse of space. Vulture, the carrion, the devourer, the cursespeaker, the taker, the weaver.

Milo tore at his freezing cloak and cast it aside, and nearly howled in pain as all the shards stabbed into his skin, and as the arm barely held by blood magic strained. But he was back. He was back in Fountain, nevermind the tongue he just bit handling that scream to not be noticed. With a fluid motion, he moved the shard to his face, ordered it to crystallize. He knew full well that once it took a form, it would not change to another, not with ease. He hoped that it would block some of the smoke from entering his lungs anyway.

His eyes couldn’t get that luxury. Milo ran into the smoke, and for a moment, everything became black and gray and heavy, and his heart raced at its scent.

But he couldn’t let himself succumb to his breath shortening, to the sting the smoke made in his eyes. When he emerged, eyes bloodshot and protective shard fast decaying, he didn’t hesitate before making a strike against the frozen one. His hand struck the orb, making a splash in the other’s direction, a splash that crystallized fast into a blade. A few tiny, sputtering clouds left Milo with his breath.

My wings are better, rectangular man. He mused, despite having none.

For a moment, with that smoke in his lungs, he thought about how Peregrine must feel. Smoke in his lungs always. Watching from the stands, watching his rider about to impale themselves on icy spikes, all to appease the gods.

But there was no other way. He had tried enough of them.



As evil as its reputation, it was never the magic of death. Always a life’s lover, difficult and hurtful, but a partner nonetheless.

There was no life in her left as he cradled her to his chest, feeling as if his heart had broken. And for the colourful tangle of thoughts that his mind was, dripping with all the colours of iridescence dipped black, he could not figure out if it was because of how dark and empty every single thread that made her up felt, or if that was just how grief felt.

The Vulture had never felt such things. The Vulture was done for.

With all the power in the world, there was nothing it could do. Nothing he could do. With every step away from the burning tower ember rained down, and the feathers took flame one by one, black with their only glow being the flame that swallowed them from their tips, leaving nothing but ash in his wake.

Claws, scratching the obsidian floor. Toes, now feeling the insignia carved in and the sharp edges he could not before.

He stood there, at the edge, staring over the railing into the smoke tinted orange, with the sun hanging low but nowhere to be seen. The ash from the feathers, the scales from the claws, the bone and iron of the skull that had just cracked, it all waited in the heavy air before joining together as glittering and bloody wisps, blobs and bubbles. A form of a mouse, a rat, clinging to his shoulders before climbing down into his arms, to be with their friend for one last time.

Somewhere below, a shadow cut through the haze.

Milo took a deep breath, and felt the smoke burn his lungs again, for the first time in years.

“Peregrine.”

He coughed.

“We can’t stay here any longer."



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