=WPC 2022= Field of Hunger

=WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (Full Version)

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Chewy905 -> =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/23/2022 12:07:44)
Silence waits in this world between worlds. A place for those lost in nowhere. A place for those trapped between the certainty of death and the freedom of life. A place where light and shadow intersect and dance, never once merging to gray. Time stops, the ticking drawing to a close. Space distorts, twisting about in an endless spiral of nothingness. And Fate gazes on; watching, waiting. Black and white spires stretching forever through a sunless skyline. Blank walls mark the dead ends of twisted alleys, staircases spiral up the sides of buildings and crossroads shift away, seeming to lead at once everywhere and nowhere. The Chequered City stands for those who strayed from their path; For those that sought it out, hoping for something more. For those called by the whims of higher powers and sent drifting. The only movement within is that of the ever-present automatons, at once everyone and no one. Here, the lost will find food. Here, the lost will find rest. For here, the lost will prepare to march away to War. But none will stay. None can ever stay. This is not a home, nor a sanctuary; merely the last safe refuge before those within find their gates, their doors, or simply fade from its streets to their journey beyond. For Pawns belong in one place alone. The Battlefield. A single light shines through the darkness, a single point of gleaming radiance. No sound accompanies its glow, the silence pressing in from all sides. All that is present in this void is the Pawn, left with naught but their feelings, their thoughts, their hunger. Stars blink to life one by one in the black. They hang, motionless, then at once sweep past, flying up and away. The darkness, the stars, the emptiness, all of it envelops those lost in this void as nothingness takes hold. And then: a new world, an entire realm, built upon the dying breath of a creature that craved and craved until their final rest. The stars had returned to wink down at the Pawns, their faint light revealing the flat glasslike floor beneath. An island in a sea of nothingness, its surface unmarred - for now. The floor shuddered as flesh formed within it - twisted and grotesque. From the amalgamation emerged a single, massive eye - emerald iris and black pupil darting about to take in each Pawn in turn. Its sight brought forth one emotion, an all-consuming desire in each that it looked upon.Sate your hunger. It shifted its gaze to the center, staring skyward at the glittering stars overhead as the storm of forced emotion dulled to but a whisper. Above each Pawn, a symbol flashed. A five-spoked circle. For some, the starkest of whites, with straight, pristine spokes. For others, the deepest of blacks, spokes curved inwards in a tumultuous spiral. The runes hovered above for a moment, their presence made known to all, before quickly winking out of existence. Thousands of voices echoed as one from beneath the sealed eye, clearing the last remnants of desire from the minds of the Pawns. “Welcome to the Field of Hunger. No Good can satiate you, no Evil can consume you. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in emptiness.”

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/25/2022 17:04:41)
The hyperdrive engine thrummed as it spooled down, ripping the ship jerkily from the immaterium back into real-space. The old junker didn't have all the fancy dampening that newer models did, but Gith was more than used to it, he'd braced well before the shift, as soon as he'd heard the magnetic coils slowed he had instinctively prepared and therefore kept his footing. Some of the newer crew had not been so lucky, caught up in some task or another and as soon as The Sarissa made the leap they were thrown halfway across the engine bay. Gith chuckled, it was always interesting to see new crew members get their space faring legs... A few minutes later klaxons sounded, lights flashed as a message came through over the intercom. "Alpha recovery team to launch bay one, Patch and Sparky run security!" An unusual request, Gith usually ran recovery with Gamma. (Granted Alpha and Gamma were thee only teams shipside, Captain just wanted it to sound like they had more crew) C.R.A.B hadn't been outfitted for security for a good long while, she'd been a bit moody ever since the Proton Core exceeded it's runtime and started becoming unstable. He'd not yet found a replacement in any of the salvage and he certainly didn't have the money for a brand new one stationside on his salary. It didn't seem quite right, and Gith couldn't quite let it go. He'd need to get to the bottom of this, and while running to the captain would probably get him nothing but a scolding for questioning orders there were other people around that would be in the know. Crossing through winding corridors over corrugated metal floors, past hissing steam pipes and flickering electric lights down to the engineering bay. Without even asking any questions his answer was clear as day. Scattered throughout the bay, taken apart into minute detail were all the bits of C.R.A.S.H; many of them charred, dented or broken. "Oye! Tough showin' out there, bossmang?" he asked as he sauntered up to Chief engineer Tapako, trying his best to suppress the smug tone in his voice. While he'd never say it out loud of course, he did harbor some resentment for the newer mech and it's pilot. "Em mal, berrata. She's a lot worse off than ever before. Descent took us through a gravity well, near crushed on touchdown, chubasa." The older mechanic explained, face lit up by welding sparks and made blurry by the smoke given off by the electrical fire. "Looks like it's your show. Te gowte ke? You ready to get back out there?" "Aah don't worry about me, bossmang. We're better than you and this scrap-heap anyway eh?" Gith joked, making an exaggerated tip of his non existent hat before scurrying off, leaving the old man to his work. Launch bay: Mission assignment Alpha Tango Kilo Prep time was over, the red planet was in view from the port side monitor screens. Only a few clicks out from the ship, the void of space and the scrap belt between them. The belt held little of value these days, most things already picked clean by other scrappers and what little use there was remaining not worth the work to gather. Planetside was a different story. Irradiated dust storms making it dangerous simply to stand on the surface, not to mention the various kinds of highly mutated wildlife from a long since past calamity that had left the world scarred and uninhabitable for most intelligent life. But that also meant there were precious artifacts from the beforetimes... Those were what Captain was after and with Alpha team geared up and ready to go there was little standing in his way of collecting them. Gith leaned back in his seat, alone in his Rapid Descent Pod, well, aside from C.R.A.B of course. The sleek minimalist metal pods designed to quickly and efficiently deliver payload down surfaceside without lingering in the harsh outer atmosphere for too long. Each one only containing enough power to make a safe, if somewhat jarring and shaky landing and then back into atmosphere where they would be collected by skyhook. These were reserved for the advance party, in this case Gith and Sparky running security, hopping down to secure a landing pad for Alpha and their larger collector. As the countdown began blaring over the intercom Gith ran through the final checks in his head one more time, not that he meant to of course but at this point it was more or less second nature to go through the mental checklist whenever nervousness crept in. It offered a sense of safety, security and calm. Auxiliary Fuel Pump — Off. Manual Controls — Free and correct. Instruments and Intercom — Checked and set. Landing Positional Spotlights — Checked. Altimeter — Set. Directional gyro — Set. Power Gauges — Checked. Reverse Thrusters — Set. Magnetos — Checked. Power Core Idle — Checked. Shoulder Harness — Fastened. Hydraulic Air-brake System — Off. A soft hiss of the airlock, the light clunk as the arm extended the pod out into open space and away from the safety of the ship. Then came the sudden jerk of acceleration, the hard burst of speed sending the pod hurtling down towards the planet. It only lasted for a few moments though, the acceleration that was... The trip itself would be a while yet, the massive ship couldn't get too close but rather needed to stay in orbit to maintain it's trajectory. But this time in between was always calm, silent... Serene in a way. He could take a deep breath, look out through the view port and simply enjoy the vast emptiness of space. Just a man alone with his giant mechanical crab without much care in the world, for there was nothing he could do but wait. As soon as the pod passed through atmosphere it would be a different story... But for now, all was calm. Until it wasn't. Klaxons blared, the small one man crew compartment flooded with flashing red lights as the sensor readouts filled every screen with rapidly passing nonsense! He couldn't make heads or tails of it, none of it made sense! Nothing made sense! Unclasping the shoulder harness with a pneumatic hiss he lept from his seat in the weightlessness of zero gravity, rushing over to the console! Nimble fingers tapping away, slamming command into command into the computer trying to get it to do something, *ANYTHING!* Finally, passing through an old logarithmic subroutine the readout flashed on the screen. TEMPORAL ANOMALY DETECTED! TEMPORAL ANOMALY DETECTED! Gith's heart sank, he tasted bile in his mouth and his whiskers drooped, mouth left hanging open in disbelief. How could this be possible? A simple gravity well had almost taken out C.R.A.S.H and chief engineer Tapako! How was he going to make it through a temporal anomaly? What even WAS a temporal anomaly anyway?! Something like that shouldn't exist! He slammed the control board with balled up fists, of course it was no use, rage wouldn't help anyone in this moment... No he needed to be calm, needed to think clearly. Right. He could do this. He had to. Ripping the security panel open he began to work on the systems! Auxiliary fuel pump - On! Manual Controls - Engaged! Reverse Thrusters - Online! Power Core - Maximum Output! "Come on, peshwangala! Work with me!" Palm slapped down the ignition, jets of white hot plasma shot out of the thrusters and rapidly slowed the descent! Trying with everything it had to break the freefall enough, output enough energy to stop before it was too late! . . . But it wasn't enough. Looking out through the view ports Gith saw... Nothing. The stars, the planets, the ship... All of them were just gone, as if wiped away from existence itself. Outside were only blackness, occasionally broken up by a chaotic swirling purple that seemed like no explainable phenomenon to the natural order of things. He sank to the floor, head thunked against the cold hard metallic walls of the small chamber he would now call home, likely for whatever short while was left. Staring up at the blackened ceiling of the chamber, defeated. There was nothing left he could do. He'd done everything... . . . But it hadn't been enough. Time passed. He lost track of how much. There was no sun, no moon, no artificially timed lights within the chamber. In fact, eventually as the reserve power drained, there were no lights at all. The only break from the pure blackness was the occasional streaks of odd colors flitting by outside of the viewports. He figured he could probably spool up C.R.A.B, connect it's power core to the internal systems of the Rapid Descent Pod but to what end? It wouldn't matter anyway. Just as everything seemed lost, all hope had left the crestfallen engineer... A voice, in the blackness. "Prove yourself worthy, Pawn, or perish in emptiness." It echoed around the chamber for a few moments, as if trapped between these metallic walls like Gith had been all this time. Then he felt something. Gravity! And with it came light... and the sensation of falling. Over sunless skylines a streak of fire, a star falling from the skies where none could have been seen before as it raced heedlessly towards the ground. No thrusters burned, no power core thrummed, no air breaks deployed. Just a thundering impact that sent a shock-wave through the nearest few blocks of the Chequered City as the pod made landfall. The crumpled heap of twisted brittle metal stood silent for a few moments, smoke rising from the fractured ground it was half embedded within. It seemed dead, dormant and still. Until it wasn't. The first sound showing any sounds of life a loud bang! The metallic hull denting outwards as if struck from within with tremendous force. Then came another, and yet another, until suddenly an entire section of the wall was flung several feet and skidded across the ground, sparks flew as metal met stone and eventually ground to a halt. In the breached opening shone two bright, blazing eyes, the creature that emerged gave a loud screeching hiss. From the pod emerged into the checkered city a hulking metal beast. The Combat Ready Artificial behemoth walked into the street to the whir of motors, loud clanking as hydraulic pistons forced metal clad limbs to move. It's large hydraulic claw dented from the impact against the reinforced hull of the pod from which it now emerged. It's searchlights swept back and forth over the narrow street upon which it had landed, trying to get some sense of where it was, what was going on and whether or not it was in any imminent danger. Gith breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever was going on, whatever that voice had been, he'd been saved... somehow. Although being dropped from near orbit without any means of breaking ones descent was certainly jarring, once he'd realized what was going on he'd quickly jumped into C.R.A.B and powered her up, the startup sequence seeming painfully slow when one was dropping at terminal velocity. The power core sprung to life with the telltale comforting hum, all around him sensors, lights, electrics and controls powered up. But most importantly so did the hydraulics. Rising up onto it's mechanical legs within the tight confines of the cargo compartment within the pod and, as it touched down hard, the legs absorbed most of the impact. Hydraulic fluid forced from pistons harshly back into the valve package, a main line bursting and sending a fine mist of oil into the compartment. A warning flashing on one of the operative screens within the tight cockpit but Gith didn't need it. The searing pain flashing through his mind let him know quickly something was wrong, and reacting instinctively. Quickly closing main shunts feeding to rear legs, staunching the bleeding of oil and allowing himself to retain partial mobility... C.R.A.B limped it's way out of what had nearly been the tomb of them both, supporting itself on the remaining functional legs as well as it's large claw. Gith glanced around the eerie streets following C.R.A.B's lights, it seemed mostly deserted with nary a sign of life. Then something moved in the corner of his vision. The damaged mech too slow to make any attempts at escape lacking most of it's propulsion system, Gith grit his teeth, couldn't risk it... The turret turned atop C.R.A.B's carapace with a whir, stopping with a harsh clunk with it's target in sight, aiming into the darkness as the searchlights couldn't follow due to it's limited mobility. The weapon's magnetic coils spooled up, metal starting to glow white hot as it loaded a slug into the chamber with an audible tachunk, seconds dragged on as the required energy was built up within the weapon until... Thumm! A whip-crack sounded as the projectile fired, a clunk of metal as it passed straight through whatever had moved and the heavy boom as it struck a wall a couple yards behind. A couple of moments of silence, no further motion. Target Neutralized. Opening the hatch Gith clambered out of the vehicle and, hand on his pistol he moved towards the target. Eyes adapting to the darkness as he inspected what had moved, how strange... A metal construct, whatever it was. He recognized some of the bits and bobs here and there, others completely alien to him, but it didn't matter much of course. Seconds later he was prying apart metal coverings to get to some of the mechanical bits beneath. This might just be what he needed... Those first few hours after landfall had been nerve-wracking. With the salvaged bits of the automaton as well as what he had been able to recover from the R.D.P he'd managed to get the hydraulic valves patched and back into working order, as well as a couple of spare parts for later field repairs stowed away into whatever crevice and compartment available to him. He would need them. For as he spent hours upon hours exploring street after street he gained more and more knowledge, coming unbidden to his mind or left as clues scrawled upon pillars and walls. Day never shifted to night, night never giving way to day. The city existed in some form of eternal twilight. The automatons did not attack them, merely ambled about as if locked into some unknowable programming for no specific purpose to do Gods only know what. What purpose he did learn of, however, was his own. What had saved him, it seemed, was some primordial force, choosing to rip him from the void to use as a pawn in some grand cosmic game which he couldn't even hope to comprehend. And it certainly wasn't mercy without cost either. To lose, to fall was to be lost once more, or perhaps worse... That more than anything drove him onwards now, the fear of returning to a place of pure darkness where nothing no longer mattered, just awaiting something, anything but which would never come. Death would be preferable. And all those things had brought him here. Standing atop C.R.A.B, arms folded in front of his chest before the large gate into the crucible that would see him saved or sent to ruin. The impossibly heavy doors swung open before him, into an inky blackness which even C.R.A.B's lights failed to pierce. Yet he knew he needed to go in there. To stride forth and conquer! With a familiar whir and hiss C.R.A.B began to move through that portal, the moment the threshold was passed it's lights powered down, useless within this arena it would seem. Gith cursed under his breath, but even that seemed crushed by the weight of that blackness. Void... Fear clawed at his heart, but within him something else clawed at him as well. Stars lit one by one, burning bright and allowing him to finally see. Though upon seeing he perhaps wondered for a moment if it was better not to. Standing within a large circular chamber certainly no more than a hundred feet across, it was hard to judge at a glance, seemed to be a couple of vaguely humanoid figures. Though his eyes were pulled from them as the entire floor seemed to move. Not their footing but something beneath and as it moved the colors of it suddenly made sense. The white, emerald and black... A massive eye! For a moment affixed upon each of them in turn, appraisingly. And as it fell upon him he knew what that other sensation was, one that now swelled to large and grotesque it dwarfed and diminished all thoughts of fear or concern. Hunger! Deep seated desires drawn to the forefront of his mind as these feelings swelled and roiled within his mind... Only to calm once more as it moved away. His duster flapped in a wind seemingly pulled from nowhere in particular, the sharp crack of it drawing his mind back to the here and now. This was a battlefield, and those who were lost in thought on such a field were the first to fall. Alert eyes scanning the surrounding area as symbols burned above the contestants, their allegiances made known to all, but could anyone truly have an allegiance to anyone but oneself when there had not been time to meet? To converse and conspire? Time would tell. For now he had to rely on the fact that the others would make at least the same assumptions as him, first target priority would not be your own. And by some curse of abominable luck he was caught between the only two that weren't! Quickly dashing from the top of C.R.A.B's carapace and jumping down the hatch located at the upper back of her large frame, taking note of the splintered corona of fractured but unbroken glass beneath her feet... Great, one more thing to worry about. A voice, or a thousand voices coalesced into one reverberating from the great eye beneath the glass floor. “Welcome to the Field of Hunger. No Good can satiate you, no Evil can consume you. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in emptiness.” Auxiliary Fuel Pump - Off. Manual controls - Locked. Instruments - Checked. Spotlights - Offline. Directional Gyro - Set. Magnetos - Checked. Power Core Idle - Checked. Shoulder Harness - Fastened. Hydraulic System - Checked and Set. Her legs took a few steps, rotating her massive body in either direction, letting Gith get a quick sweep of his surroundings, each leg touching down sending another bloom of cracks out onto the glass beneath C.R.A.B's feet. It seemed to be holding, but just. On his immediate left a resplendent armored figure nearly twice his own height with a floating halo above their head, strange, gaudy, superfluous. Gith quickly made some calculations, that one could be plenty of trouble... On his immediate right a strange knife-eared pale humanoid with red eyes, barely armored at all at a passing glance. While he seemed well muscled Gith of course knew muscles were no match for the superiority of steel. There were more people in the arena of course but there wasn't time to think too hard about them for the moment lest he loose track of the most immediate threats. The turret atop C.R.A.B's carapace spun, shifting from side to side unable to settle on a target. His voice rang out tinny and hollow through the speakers allowing him communication with the outside. "Na du suchok wit mi, mi peshangwala mal, chubasa! Don't even try it, I can draw a bead on each and every one of you!" He lied.

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/27/2022 20:16:06)
She was going to go hungry again. Nox slammed her sword into the leaf-covered earth and growled from deep in her throat. Heme cut her short, wrenching control of her vocals to snap at Nox with a terse voice. “I don’t know what you thought you could accomplish, hunting deer with a greatsword.” Her vibrant orange braids glowed in the last rays of light as Nox snapped her head to retaliate. “Well that’s about the last idea I’ve got, since yours all failed horribly!” Her tail, a mix of white and rust, flicked angrily through the air. “We failed because of you, Nox! I would have been perfectly happy as a bookkeeper, or a hunter, or even a housemaid, but you had to make things difficult!” “But I don’t want to be a housemaid or bookkeeper, Heme; hunter would’ve been fine if that jerk hadn’t-- ow!” Nox yelped as she swung her hand straight into her greatsword’s handle. A flock of sparrows took from their tree, alarmed by her exclamation. The deer had fled long ago; only a few brave chickadees stayed to watch the strange minotaur bicker with herself. “There you go again. Whatever prey was left, we just scared off. Have fun starving, Nox.” The minotaur let out a resigned sigh as both shoulders dropped. Shaking hands reached frantically behind her just as her legs buckled. Even the short drop to the ground made her vision swirl. “I don’t know how much longer we can do this, Nox. I think we have to go back.” “Nope. I’m not doing it. Those people don’t deserve even one hair off of our head.” The minotaur’s hooves clopped against the stone road as she spun around, earning stares and hurried steps from the few people passing through the alleyway. “There’s not much else we can do, Nox. At least we were taken care of there.” Again the minotaur stopped, reluctantly turning to retrace her steps towards the Sect. “Yeah, I guess…” Her face began to brighten as she thought about her home. “And we’ll get to see Hymna, and Leoni, and Taru, and-” the minotaur broke into a sprint. “But are they really still our friends?” Hooves skidded to a halt against hard brick. “We fought against their request. Is that the same as fully disobeying the Sect?” Left hand reached behind her head, feeling the smooth metal she’d worn since childhood. She paused for a moment to trace the three rays extending from the golden half-sun. Heme forgot what each ray was supposed to mean. Nox’s hand joined the left, fingers running along the curve of the waxing crescent moon. The Diurnal Cycle. The metal had grown heavier over the last couple months. Neither Heme nor Nox were strong enough to remove it. Nox’s hand dropped sharply from the headdress down to the sword handle on her back. “You’re right, screw them! Let’s march right up to their doors and show ‘em what we really think!” ”Nox, that’s not what I meant!” The minotaur paced erratically; sometimes running, sometimes halting as if she’d hit solid rock. Sometimes her voice carried; others, she held moments of long silence. Alleyways passed in an unnatural blur, red brick becoming dirt, then widening to an open plain before closing back in with monochrome pathways; shifting, responding to the mind too trapped it its own maze to even notice the labyrinth forming outside of it. Left hoof hit white; right hoof hit black. And so it went. White. Black. No gray. Never gray. It was fatigue that finally halted the argument and opened her oblivious eyes. White. Black. Towering spires, winding pathways, misshapen buildings and stairwells. Black. White. The minotaur’s stomach growled. Maybe there’s food here. There better be. White. Black. A deafening crash echoed in the distance, and the minotaur raced in its direction-- black, white, black, white-- but the ceaseless tangle of sharp corners and meaningless stairways left her out of breath with nothing to show for it. The minotaur huffed and slumped against the wall of a chequered building. And smelled food. White, black, white, black, the minotaur summoned the last of her strength and pushed herself from the building and raced down the street. She came to a screeching halt in front of a signless tavern. Two hands slammed into the thick double doors that sprung open to reveal a single long table, set for three. The minotaur paid the filled chair no mind as she sat hurriedly. Meats, pies, salads, bread. What was unreachable from one chair was reachable from another, and the minotaur moved between them at her leisure. Gods, how long has it been? Since our last meal? Four days and six hours, about. Four days even if you count that stale piece of jerky the kid threw us. The minotaur had never felt so full, even after equinox feasts. The entire time, the figure in the third chair sat unmoving. Around the fifth dish, the minotaur finally stole a glance at her. Quiche dribbled from her lips as her jaw dropped, and the fork in her hand clattered to the table. “Isn’t that-” “no one important.” Nox seemed unconvinced, but she didn’t fight when Heme began to move. The minotaur stood and crept closer to the motionless figure, crouching down to get a better glimpse at her face. “Glori!” Sister, what are you doing here? Did they abandon you, too? Heme, can’t you see? The blonde hair, the dark skin, the elven ears-- it was definitely Glori. Or… supposed to be Glori? "Of course I can, Nox, we have eyes. What kind of stupid question-” Did they abandon her because of me? No, look at her face. The way her lips sit, the shadow of her cheekbones. It’s not her. Heme leaned forward, until Glori’s nose nearly touched hers. Nox was right; something felt off. Heme pulled her arm to Glori’s face, placing a finger on one of Glori’s eyelids. It felt… cold, and as she pulled it back, it revealed the shining silver of an automaton. The minotaur shook her head, letting out a breath. Time to go? Time to go. Black. White. I hope wherever you are, Glori, that you’re safe. Twice more, she ran to the aid of figures that mimicked her Sect. A sister slumped under a staircase; white, black; a brother curled beside a building; black, white. Both cold; both fake. When she passed the fourth, she stopped looking. “We should go back, Nox.” The minotaur turned and glanced up at the sky that held neither sun nor moon. “We wronged the Diurnal Cycle. Perhaps if we ask forgiveness, they’ll reinstate us.” Silence surrounded her as she stood, transfixed by the sky. Nox finally snorted and pushed her steps onward. *“No, Heme. The Diurnal Cycle wronged us.”* White. Black. Never gray. The minotaur had not noticed the city’s brightness until it was stolen. Up a stairwell she had wandered, aimless, lost, indecisive. A single blink, and her surroundings were gone. “Nox, did you do something?” She spoke in a whisper, frantically glancing around for a hint of where they were. Nox raised her voice, “no, Heme, I don’t know what’s going on!” Sh, it could be an attack. Nox’s hand snapped behind her, pulling her greatsword out from its shaft on her back. Just in case... “Wait, I see a light.” A second flickered in the distance; then a third, and a fourth, until the once-black void became a sea of stars. It’s so pretty… like midnight out on the hill. In a moment, the light vanished, darkness once again filling the minotaur’s senses, threatening to consume both Day and Night in its suffocating grasp. Get us out of here, Heme! “Working on it…” The minotaur strained, her left fist clenched, as her leftside tattoos began to glow a pale orange. But her Day could not penetrate the crushing void. The minotaur’s breath released, eyes re-opened, as a foreign light began to beat on her eyelids. Her hooves rested on stable ground. Are we standing on glass? That seems like incredibly treacherous material to make a floor out of. *I guess that eye has to see us somehow… dang, that thing is really* creepy! Heme agreed. The unsettling eye seemed to bellow with a thousand voices through no mouths as it beckoned them to fight. Five. The minotaur smelled five others, some faint, some stronger. White. Black. “Let’s fight the crab.”** “Yes, instantly being squished is a wonderful way to prove ourselves worthy.” “You don’t have to say it like that! Fine, then, let me fight the guy with the violin.” “Something doesn’t feel right about him. Perhaps we should target that human over there.” There was one on the far side of the arena, shorter than the minotaur, that looked rather unassuming compared to the others-- though it was hard to make out much more than their silhouette. The minotaur groaned and huffed. “Come on, Heme, I just want to fight something! It’s been weeks since we’ve slung this thing around!” “Well fine then, you’ve got an arm. Start swinging already!” Never gray.

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/27/2022 20:44:05)
In the days of yore, a stranger visited a forge. His hair was a mane of fire, and his face twice as beautiful. He asked the dark elf toiling away at the anvil, “Hail, good smith. I seek the forgemaster. I desire a weapon above all others.” The smith put away the tools of the craft and turned to him. “That is I. A weapon above all others? A tall order, you ask.” The stranger’s mouth curled into a smile as his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yet such a task I ask. And I have the perfect gift for reward.” “Serihl, you do not understand.” The dark elf squinted through the fog of night. Through it cut a face as hard as iron, with eyes of violet and milky white burning with silent rage. The mists themselves seemed to part before the cold fury of her mountainous form. Clutching the wrapped spear tighter to his chest, Makyr stepped away from Serihl. “It will only bring ruin.” The back of his leg brushed against the balustrade separating him from the spill into the river below. Loose pebbles dropped from the bridge to plink through the water’s gentle surface. “I am its Maker; no others know it as well as I.” Deaf to his words, his vindictive hunter continued to cross the distance between them. Malice dripped with her every unspoken intention. It was true that Makyr had betrayed her; stolen the spoils that were hers by right of conquest. He adjusted his grip on the spear as it lurched in his hands, determined to slip from his grasp. Even with the blade covered, he could feel its cold whispers scratch at his mind ..free us… …cut her down… …I can help you … Makyr tore his eyes away from the cloak binding the spearhead, silencing the voices. He had his hands full enough with the fool seeking her own demise before him - he could hardly handle the devious lies of his own creation as well. Exhaling slowly, the dark elf slipped the hammer from its resting place on his belt. At least this child was always obedient. He crouched down low and counted the behemoth’s menacing footsteps. One… Two… Three. Without hesitation, Makyr hurled himself forward with all his strength. Serihl lashed out at him, but the dark elf dove beneath her vicious fist. He countered with his own hammer, smashing it into the side of her knee. A crippling blow, one that would buy him a heartbeat to- Makyr gasped as the air fled his lungs. Ignoring the pain, no, not even acknowledging it, Serihl had simply counterattacked. Her other hand drove into his side, the thin metal plate in his vest crunching beneath her inhuman might. Makyr could not scream, not even breathe as the blow lifted him off his feet and over the thin ledge of the bridge. Tumbling towards the water, Makyr’s only thought was to tighten his grasp, holding firm the hammer and the spear. He curled himself up like a babe as the murky waters swallowed him whole and swept him away… * Makyr gasped for air. He broke through the surface, the brisk air harsh yet sweet to his deprived lungs. Sputtering and coughing, the dark elf dragged himself over the stonework and prostrated himself upon the ground. He shuddered with cold. Sharp pain lanced through his side with every breath. But he was alive. And he had both the hammer and spear with him. The sound of footsteps approached, and his heart quickened. Of course Serihl had tracked him down. Expecting a moment’s reprieve was a fool's delusion. The smith tightened his grip on the hammer. He would draw her in, and this time he would strike not to maim but to kill - “W e l c o m e.” The stilted word took Makyr by surprise. His eyes shot upwards, stars blinding his vision from the sudden exertion. Once he shook his head free of them, the dark elf found himself gazing into a metallic face shaped in the crude form of a skull. “W e ‘ v e b e e n e x p e c t i n g y o u.” * Makyr sighed. The bed was far too soft for someone used to sleeping on hardened earth with rocks for pillows. If he stayed still for too long, he would sink right through it. He shifted to his side, wincing as the action sparked a white-hot pinprick in his cracked rib. It had steadily improved in the two weeks since the automaton found him crawling out of that fountain (a phenomenon Makyr did not yet understand). True to its word no harm had come to him in the Chequered City. The dark elf shifted again, biting his lip at the brief flash of pain. Taking a moment to breathe, Makyr reached and grabbed a piece of fruit from the platter the automaton, who the elf decided to call “Mask”, had brought to him. Like all of the other food Mask provided, it was foreign in taste and texture but was delicious in its own way. He took a crisp bite and chased it with a sip of moglinberry juice. It was all the wrong colors of what moglinberries should be, but it did its job in numbing the pain. All in all, he was making a quick and peaceful recovery in this city. Whatever this city was. The first couple of nights, Makyr had stayed awake to see if darkness ever fell on the city. The persisting grey skies determined otherwise. It did not brighten or dim, nor did the streets ebb and flow with the waves of crowds. A dreadful stagnation permeated this place. Being confined to a bed was terrible enough, but the lack of the sun’s journey across the sky only amplified the uneasy energy rising in him. Each day, he limped around the room, performed stretches and the most rudimentary of exercises, and managed to even out the dent in his metal plate. For what it was worth, Mask visited several times each day (or what seemed to pass for a day here) to deliver meals. The automaton was not good for conversation, but in isolation one needed to talk to someone, anyone lest their sanity slip. For this purpose, Mask excelled in spades. It even followed through on the dark elf’s request for reading material to help pass time. The hours were long, and the grey skies only made them longer. It was after he finished the fourth volume that the smith at last questioned Mask about them. “Mask.” The automaton set down the tray of discolored meal and inkly black juice. “H o w c a n I b e o f s e r v i c e ?” Makyr tapped the cover of the leather bound tome. “You’ve brought me these books, but they are all accounts of the same event. And each one mentions this city - the Chequered City.” “C o r r e c t.” He pursed his lips and tossed the book at the automaton’s feet. It flipped open to the last page, reading, More alive than the statue now standing amid the voidscape, unmoving as its singular glowing eye dimmed into nothingness. Raising his gaze to the automaton’s skull-like visage, Makyr continued. “Dare I presume to be one of these…’pawns’?” “Y o u h a v e b e e n c h o s e n.” Makyr closed his eyes and sighed. He had had enough of gods and higher powers. Enough of the whims of those who toyed with mortals for their own fancy. He still had his own failings for which to make amends. But the dark elf opened his eyes and glanced over to where the spear rested against the wall, cloak still wrapped around its cursed head. The Deep’s Calling was a devious weapon, but many of its brothers and sisters were far more sinister. Experience dictated that ignoring the divine only intensified the suffering of one’s trials. And the Unmakyr could not rest until his creations had been destroyed. Red eyes turned back to the lifeless mask before him. “Show me the way.” *** Makyr supposed it was fitting that Mask led him back to the fountain. It was quite ordinary by any standard. Fine brick work, perfectly symmetrical, with an unremarkable spout. Had the city held any sense of normalcy, the numerous crowds that passed this square would not look at it twice. But this city held no sense of normalcy, and no traveler trespassed in this square save for the automaton and Makyr himself. ...bring me with you… The whisper slithered into this mind. The smith unshouldered the spear and held it before him. Its shaft, decorated with pearls and living corral, fit his grip as perfectly as the day it had been forged. ...you need to win… ...I can help… ...together… Makyr’s hand reached out. ...just a little more… ...we’ll destroy the others… …until only we remain… In a fluid motion, the dark elf tore the cloak off of the spearhead. The obsidian blade gleamed in the empty square, its surface shimmering and rippling with light that was not there. The reflection gave Makyr not his face but a void that sunk down, down, down beyond what was fathomable, beyond what one could dream. It did not offer the world. It offered more. ...us alone, we- The whisper died as the spear fell to the ground with a clatter. The smith brandished the hammer from his belt and brought it down upon the spear, striking it true. Star met sea in a shrill cry again and again as the Unmakyr beat upon The Deep’s Calling. The whispers distorted to violent wails, yet he did not relent. There was no respite, no mercy in the onslaught. Only the fury of a man and the monster he created. The screams reached a deafening crescendo before falling silent altogether. When Makyr at last yielded, only glittering dust remained of the obsidian spearhead. Sweat dripping from his brow, the smith turned to Mask. The automaton made no indication that it had witnessed anything strange at all. “Good speaking with you, Mask.” And Makyr stepped into the fountain, the shallow waters swallowing him whole. *** The abyss was silent. The abyss was blackness. The abyss was eternal. The abyss was…comforting. But it came to an end as pricks of twilight bloomed into vision. The peace was broken by an erupting vision of color. Glass slid beneath his feet, and from within it bore down an eye of sickly emerald. Brimming with venom and yearning with hunger, the eye dared the smith to look away. The Unmakyr steeled himself and held its gaze until it flashed to another point on the glass platform. And then another. And another. The dark elf squinted as he struggled to make out the shapes of the other chosen. The metallic crustacean and the strange bard were the easiest to make out, but beyond them he could only identify a clash of silver and bronze, a bright pinpoint that caused his head to ache, and a drab blotch as the other selected pawns. As his gaze fell back upon the bard, a shiver crept up his spine. There was something...wrong about that one. Makyr shook his head to dispel the unease and to clear the spots dancing across his vision. He was fortunate that the galaxies surrounding them emitted softer light, but straining his sight now was asking for a premature death. The smith palmed his hammer. Points of luminance winked in and out of existence above each combatant, but he made no attempt to memorize the patterns - whatever it symbolized would be lost in the carnage. As ominous voices spurred them into action, Makyr made note of the various weapons, sharp in his mind against the blur of their wielders. He clicked his tongue - from a glance, it was a poor harvest. He turned his eyes towards the mechanical creature, noting its serrated blade and unorthodox projectile-hurler. Though even the most desolate crop had its prizes to reap. Makyr wrapped his fingers around the grip of the forgehammer and broke into a sprint just as the enemy finished spouting its toothless threat. Hesitation was death, and if this creature truly could could have slain them all, then it would have done so already. He swept inside on his path, putting more space between him and the edge as he wordlessly charged down his foe. But to claim your weapons or break them?

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/27/2022 23:26:43)
82,032,481… 82,032,482… 82,032,483… Uuuuuuuhhhhh, This game is boring now. Lune groaned to themselves. The dark sea of nothingness they floated in didn’t offer much entertainment. Seeing the cosmos flux as stars died was fun for a few years but drifting for so long has made most stars look dull even from so close. They haven’t seen those stars in a very long time either. Making small little games and songs for themselves was their only pastime. Lune had been rocketing through space since the end of their last performance, a grand spectacle with hundreds of admirers listening. The audience screamed, gripped their heads, and wretched. Such a beautiful finale for their first and only major concert. This was a distant memory now but a powerful one at that. All that was left for Lune was the cosmos they were shunted to. For the first hundred or so years Lune often saw interesting little galaxies, swirling clouds of space dust, and other astronomical wonders; They are far beyond that now. The colorful nebulas are all gone. Just a black abyss devoid of anything and everything. Bored with their newest game they drifted silently for a while, clutching onto the case of their violin, their only possession. A sleek rectangular case that they hadn’t opened for years. They didn’t know how long they stayed quiet. It could have been a minute, possibly months, or maybe years. Time had lost its meaning. In this nothingness, Lune yelled out, a soundless call, I want to see a city again! A crowd of people, an audience! An audience to play for; An audience that would live and die for my music as they did... Lune closed their eyes and let out a deep long sigh. As they opened them, their view was filled by a large checkered city. Lune stumbled on the flat smooth tiles of the city, not prepared for the gravity of where they found themselves. Hands on the ground, they stared on the glossy floor for a second, getting their bearings. Breathing in, Lune tasted stale air for the first time. Its dryness coated their mouth. A smile crept onto their face and Lune let out an exasperated breath, they could hear themselves again. They sat up and traced their hand across the ground. It glided across smoothly, not a speck of dust to be found on it. First, puff escaped from their nose, then a giggle, soon after they howled in laughter. The sunless skyline would seem dreary to anyone else but to Lune, it couldn’t have been more beautiful at this moment. Springing off the ground, they bounded towards the city. A city means an audience! “This won’t do… These are no good,” Lune flicked the head of an automaton, “They barely react at all! No more than a rock...” The statue stiffly cranked its head back when Lune’s finger hit but it was a clear imitation. A mock of a person, far from the audience Lune desired. The tall stone statue fixed its cold gaze on Lune, expectantly but emptily. It watched but never acted. Lune crossed their arms and gave the stone simulacrum a last look, “What is your purpose?” Lune mumbled. Without hesitation, the sound of rock raking against stone came from its elbow as the statue pointed down the street. Taken aback, Lune looks down the long narrow street but saw nothing other than more empty buildings and checkered tiles. The city itself was interesting to them and a break in the monotony of that abyss but it lacked something. The checkered pattern along with automatons would make it a great stage but without an audience, what was the point? Frustrated, Lune used an alley to go to the street over. They searched for something other than a mindless rock that stared at them. To their surprise, the next street was perfectly symmetrical, a near mirror of the last. With one robot that stood in the same place arm stretched pointing down the path. The next street was a mirror of the previous and so was the one after that. Each had the same features, a single statue that held its watch with an arm stretched. They would switch which side of the street they were on each time as would the checkered pattern. Lune played a little game for a short while, darting between streets and trying to notice any differences from the last. Eventually, curiosity took hold, Lune heeded the automaton and continued down the path. Each step down the path made the surrounding city blur, the white and black tiles muddied together into a brilliant gray. It was hard to tell where one building started and the next ended. In this confused mesh, Lune felt connected to it and continued deeper into the path. Soon after, the city ceased and Lune was surrounded in the gray haze. Lune felt lost, yet knew exactly where to walk. In this nothingness, each step felt guided by the next. There was a purpose behind this abyss of gray. A destination to find near the end. Lune stopped, they had found it, they were standing right on it. The end of the path. Lune smiled to themselves and blinked long and slowly. When they opened their eyes, they found themselves in an arena. A stage for them to play. Lune first noticed was the glass floor, In the center of the stadium below them, a massive eye watched. This didn’t upset Lune in the slightest. In space it felt as though they were being watched, now they could see them back. Clasping their hands together they surveyed the arena. They jittered in excitement, People! So many people! They’re perfect! Their hands tightened around the violin case. As if going down a line they looked each of them up. Their mind was racing with thoughts and questions like an endless stream, “They are all so different! So unique! Why does that one look silver but they painted half of themselves gold? Or are they gold and painted half of themselves silver? I need to ask which came first. I want to see them all dance! Is that a crab? WHY IS IT SO LARGE?! I nee-” They became silent. Their eyes widened on a familiar figure. A knight with the largest sword Lune has ever seen, wearing bright marble heavy plated armor. From the way they stood to the way the light reflected off their armor, Lune has only seen one such Justicar and their heart raced with the excitement of seeing an old friend. Beaming bright, Lune raised their hand waving and yelled out across the arena, “DALHIE! I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you doing here you dummy?!” Their voice was full of genuine glee at seeing Dalphia after so long. Dalhie whipped their head around to face them, they flinched and roared back "You DARE taunt me with your vile words, even after the havoc you have already wrought!? Take one more step and I will rend you apart, hellspawn!" Lune steps forward beaming brighter than ever They're so excited to see me! "You were always my favorite audience member, Dalhie! Luckily for you, I have a new, never before heard playset and you're here for the debut!" Lune unlatches their case and takes out their violin. A stainless metal instrument that doesn’t have a single scratch or dent. Along with its bow, made of a similar material but sharpened on the back of its length. Lune calls out to everyone in the arena, “Thank you, one and all for being here today for this very performance, now allow me to start the night off with an overture as we all settle down.” Lune stands straight and rests the bow on the violin. They felt as if every moment they spent in that dark abyss was preparing them for this very moment. A second passed as they stood still. Sharply inhaling, they played the first note of their overture. A sickeningly confused tone coated the arena. It was just as Lune imagined, the perfect beginning to what would be their magnum opus.

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/27/2022 23:36:26)
Most visitors to the Capital of the Protector first comment on the extravagant architecture, noting the almost absurd amount of silver-trimmed marble covering the skyline. Wide, imposing structures made of nothing but expensive and impractical stone are often cited as “wasteful”, or occasionally “gaudy” by the (slightly) more respectful ambassadors. One can only guess how appalled such visitors would be if they happened to witness the inside of the Justicar’s citadel, making the aforementioned buildings seem to be made of construction paper. Pillars of blackened quartz line the edges of the hexagonal building, supporting a series of steel-plated ramparts atop the roof. The walls themselves are broken up by cobalt reinforcements, the metal beams each etched with a unique, fanciful design. Despite being a military structure, the interior is decorated with a copious number of red, silken carpets atop pristine checkered tiles. Chandeliers of pure silver hang from the arches along the ceiling, providing the only light in this rather dim building. It was within this citadel that Dahlia, the fifteenth Justicar, stood in wait. The meeting hall held several rows of spectator’s benches (meticulously carved from mahogany and inlaid with silver) and a single, massive judge’s seat at the opposite end of the room. Though the seating could have held over 30 people, not a single bench was occupied as Dahlia remained standing in the middle of the open floor. The warm orange glow of the candles cast long, ominous shadows across her face, left without a helmet to cover it. Despite the fact that her judge had not arrived yet, the Seraph stood unmoving, eyes perfectly fixated on the entrance to the hall. Perfectly clean wings adorned the back of her armor while the glowing halo remained the only source of pure white light. However, despite the commanding presence of her figure, nothing other than unrest found its way into Dahlia’s mind. After what seemed like hours of stillness within the vacant meeting hall, the heavy wooden doors finally parted. Without even sparing a glance at the entrance, Dahlia knelt respectfully and bowed her head as an imposing, dark-robed figure stepped into the chamber. A heavy silken outfit completely covered his form from head to toe, though one could still feel the pressure of his piercing gaze through the metallic faceplate. A series of elaborate gold-engraved designs along the front of his outfit reflected the light of the hall, making it seem as if the robes themselves were glowing. Even as Dahlia’s eyes remained glued to the carpet beneath her knee, she broke the perfect silence with a greeting. “My humble greetings, High Apostolic Judge. I am honored to be in your presence today, as I hope-” The figure’s halo tilted slightly as he let out an exasperated sigh, slowly making his way to the large chair at the front of the room. Dahlia’s words were quickly cut off by his own, somehow projected perfectly through his mask. “Good morning Dahlia... Please just call me by name for now, I honestly can’t be bothered with the pleasantries at the moment.” His exhausted tone quickly sapped much of the regal atmosphere from the room, though Dahlia remained in her stoic, respectful posture for the most part. However, despite her best efforts to hide it, a quick flick of her wings gave away a hint of her surprise. “Yes- of course Karael.” She hastily cleared her throat as she looked up to the Apostolic Judge sitting down before her, though she continued to rest on one knee. “I assure you I seek only to appease The Lord Protector, and you as well, with my words.” “I can assure you that your tone does nothing to help my opinion of you, though I guess there’s no point in asking you to stop. You Justicars can be the strangest sometimes....” Karael trailed off as he produced a small folder from his robes, setting it on the desk separating the two of them. “Now let’s get this taken care of on time, if you don’t mind.” The armored Seraph shifted her weight slightly as the Judge began sifting through a set of paper retrieved from his folder. Another painfully long minute passed as he organized his desk, Dahlia never rising from her place in the center of the hall. The number of unoccupied chairs created a painfully empty aura, slowly beginning to eat away at the corner of the Seraph’s mind. Finally, just as the gnawing emptiness was starting to gain traction, Karael sat up straight and spoke. “Right then. So it does indeed appear like you managed to mess up once again. And The Lord Protector didn’t seem to think too highly of your case here... It’s a tad impressive, honestly. This first brand you received, could you explain that situation to me?” Dahlia’s eye twitched at the harsh words of the Judge, though it seemed to go unnoticed. “Of course, High Judge. The high number of dissidents in the city of Placid required an authoritative force, which I, fifteenth Justicar Dahlia, was placed in charge of. You may remember that the annexation of that city was... rough back at the start of the war. Resistance groups were able to mount an effective revolt after nine days of occupation, eventually leading to the fifth armored legion arriving from the front lines.” The Seraph spoke as if reading from a history book, effortlessly reciting fine details without even glancing away from her sole listener. Her recollection was nearly uncanny, as if the events had not just been burned into her skin, but her mind as well. “The verdict concluded that incompetent leadership, alongside a lack of proper response was to blame for the utter failure at-” Karael, who had remained quiet as he compared her story to his notes, loudly tapped the table with his gloved hand. “Right, right, I don’t need you repeating the paper word for word. Simple enough, performed the job poorly, the army had to come back to fix it all. This second branding seems much more interesting, two hundred dead alongside five hundred exorcisms?” Though his emotionless mask hid the Judge’s expression, the slight lapse in his contempt signified his surprise well enough. Dahlia, on the other hand, felt her patience waning. Almost subconsciously, her jaw tightened as a hint of a frown appeared on her face, Her rigid posture falling slightly as it became increasingly clear that the Judge didn’t particularly care for her presentation. A noticeable silence hung in the air for a moment as the Justicar hesitated on her response, the otherwise empty room doing nothing to quell the tension. “High Judge, you must understand... That event was far worse than the soldiers report-” Her words caught in her throat, expecting a series of harsh words in response to her sudden shift in tone. Though, as she looked up once more, Karael was simply waiting for her to continue, resting his masked face on his arm. “That thing I met at that town was truly the spawn of damnation.” She continued, regaining some of her earlier composure. “Nothing more than a mass of scrap, invoking the use of forbidden arts. No amount of aggression would end the horrid sounds it emitted, nor force it to return to whatever pit it crawled out of.” A drop of hatred seeped into Dahlia’s words, her face contorting slightly as her eyes returned to the carpet below. “It only seemed content with the chaos it caused once the other Justicars began to arrive, and I swear on my devotion to the Lord Protector that I could see the malice behind it’s visage.” Karael tilted his head as Dahlia finished her description, waiting to see if she had anything else to say. When it became evident that she did not, the Judge sighed once again and returned his gaze to the papers on the desk. “Interesting that you choose to swear on your devotion, when it seems to me that a lack of it was responsible for your failure to take care of the situation.” Dahlia’s gaze shot up, her face a mix of surprise and anger. “Karael, I dare not lie in your presence! This agent of chaos was far beyond-” “Beyond the will of the Lord Protector?” He punctuated his words with a wilting glare, clear even through the plate obscuring his face. Any amount of compassion in his voice had completely evaporated, leaving only scorn behind. “Surely you must understand what it would mean to finish that sentence. You pledge your life to hold the divine power of the most powerful being in existence, yet claim that something mundane could surpass it?” The Justicar’s mouth hung open, unable to formulate a response to his accusation. “Your silence does nothing but condemn you, Dahlia. Even worse, the most recent incident seems to have been a similar fault of your belief.” Attempting to bring some sense of stability to her case, Dahlia took the first opportunity to speak once more. “That Fallen is poorly understood by us, supremely proficient in his unholy abilities-” “Then what excuse could you possibly have? The only issue I see is a lack of faith in your gifts, Justicar.” “His gifts are from powers beyond the veil, beyond our comprehension! They surpass mine in every way, even-” In an instant, both Justicar and Judge froze. Speech halted, even the flickering of the candlelight seemed to cease in the moment that followed. Karael’s gaze fixated completely on Dahlia, boring directly into her. A deathly burning sensation began to rise in her chest, as if her soul wished to jump from her body. When the Judge finally spoke, his voice carried a near infinite weight, conveying the same disappointment one would feel from a father who had finally given up. “I warned you about this, Justicar. Your own words condemn you, make your true feelings clear to me and the Lord himself. You are unfit for this place, this role, and most importantly, the honor which was so gracefully bestowed upon you.” He slammed the folder shut, the impact of which brought movement back to the candlelight. “You speak the words of a heretic, Seraph. This judgment is concluded.” Dahlia, Seraph of Light, I find it regrettable that your devotion be found lacking Wrapped in a tight blanket of suffering, she found herself hurting not from the third brand, but from the growing hole in her soul. The words of the Lord Protector rang clear in her mind just as they always did, though the world faded to a blazing orange as pain overtook her senses. The blessings of my generosity have no use for those who squander them. A weak soul proves an unhealthy housing for my sanctification. Strength seeped from her limbs, pooling in her torso. A reservoir of pain, regret, and rage burning through her body, arms turning to paper as she desperately tried to gasp for air. Your suffering will not be swift, your recompense will not come without trial. Feathers faded to flame, burning away with a golden shimmer of light. A tiny hint of a response reached the Seraph’s mind, but she was too far gone to care. But... Your soul holds a glimmer of hope. I find your devotion notable, even if misplaced. Her mind fragmented for a second, struggling to comprehend. Never before had the Lord Protector shown a hint of reconsideration, much less had she expected it to be directed at her. You are unworthy of the Justicars, but you will be given a single chance as an agent of my will. I will be watching you, and you will fight for me without fault, given more of a chance than most. My power will not be shut off to you, but do remember that all things come at a price. In absence of unwavering devotion, you must find something else to fill the hole. The words left an impression on her deeper than anything before, carving themselves into her soul with burning conviction. The flame of suffering within her chest began to coalesce into something more coherent, an unshakable desire to fulfill her duty. Though she could not speak, her acceptance reached him nonetheless. Good, my child. Complete this trial, and your devotion shall be reassessed. The name of Dahlia will be left behind just as your sins will, take this title from me as you are sent to destroy those who would oppose me. Be known as Ephemera, fading as the heretic’s conviction. Short-lived as a lapse in belief, limited as the blessings I offer to you. Ephemera’s pain fully settled at the end of his words, though her eyes remained shut. As consciousness faded to a drifting sleep, she could do nothing but smile at the compassion shown to her. Brought to the battlefield by His will alone, Ephemera had no choice but to take what was given to her. Armor, weapon, and body intact, she still felt a distinct gap in her body. The Justicar’s blessings, the strength and power given by His generosity, remained stripped from her body. She dared not complain, certain that The Lord Protector would be watching her, and conceded to take in where she had ended up. An island in space, suspended over the endless black was the only platform in sight. Not entirely unlike popular depictions of the space beyond the veil, the not-quite-darkness invoked a distinct feeling of unease. Though, as she thought, such a feeling seemed rather familiar- “DALHIE! I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you doing here you dummy?!” A sudden break in the silence grated against her ears, drawing a noticeable flinch from her armored form. Who would be sick enough to use a previous name like that, especially right after her untimely judgment? The shadow of terror grazed the bottom of Ephemera’s conciousness, though it was quickly dispelled by a wave of raw anger. Sure enough, as she turned to the source of the voice, a reflective metal carapace greeted her. Beneath her helmet, eyes narrowed at the creature, crudely gesturing to gain her attention. The same horror, the same being that had led to her second brand. An affront to the Lord, to the world as a whole, had no right to be addressing her so casually. “You DARE taunt me with your vile words, even after the havoc you have already wrought!?” With much more effort than she was used to exerting, her massive blade rose to point at the offending being. “Take one more step and I will rend you apart, hellspawn!” She nearly spat the words out, unable to hide her anger at the manifestation of her living nightmare. I won’t let you best me again. "You were always my favorite audience member, Dalhie! Luckily for you-” The taunting words were cut off by a blinding white flash, a jarring force nearly knocking her over. Her claymore fell, striking the ground but failing to wrench itself from her hand. As the Seraph’s ears struggled to overcome the sharp ringing enveloping them, Ephemera spun to face the direction the blow had come from. Standing much closer than the first assailant was a slightly short human, unassuming in stature, slightly surprised at her hostile gaze. A tiny blade rested in his hand, the fact that he even considered aggressing on her bordering on laughable. Another, separate wave of hatred welled up in her soul, overwhelming her memory of the metallic heretic. With a grunt, she raised her blade towards the smaller human, intent on exacting revenge for his attack. “You know not what you have invoked, commoner. I will sanctify your sins, even if it ends with your death.” Her words dripping with conceit, it seemed that one would meet their end before even seeing the rest of the arena.

TripleChaos -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/27/2022 23:58:14)
Kynes clicked his tongue. He shook his head and turned away from the construct he had been staring at, disappointed it had nothing to say. Instead of showing any sign it even noticed him, it simply continued to sweep the street with its broom. It resembled a person, though its clothes, hair, even its skin were all pure white. Its motions were fluid, yet still rigid. Moving in such a perfectly human way, repeated exactly, over, and over, and over again. Kynes wanted to avoid it, but it appeared at the cross of every street he had walked. If he didn’t know from the ache in his feet that he had been using them, he would’ve believed that he hadn’t been going anywhere at all. Each time, the construct was standing under a black streetlight that didn’t shine, at a place where the road split into three. Each time, perfectly the same, repeated exactly, over, and over… Kynes found a white bench and allowed himself to rest before he lost his senses, going in circles like that. It was as if straight lines were only suggestions, and every path to anywhere only leads nowhere. This place didn’t make sense. It was clearly a city, but there were spires piercing the sky and buildings that no sane person could live in. Thinking harder only confused Kynes more, so he took a deep breath to compose himself, and returned to the thoughts he could grasp… When he first woke up in this strange place, not a single thing had any color to it, not even a shade of grey. It took a short time for him to realize his eyes weren’t failing him, and that everything here was either black or white. He only noticed it when— “When you saw me, in all my glory” At the other end of the bench Kynes was sitting on, there was now a figure trying its best to look like a man. Except their pale skin looked just a little too perfect, and the bright halo above their head told anyone who could see them that they were far from being human. “Not that anyone can see me to begin with. At least while I am still accompanying you, that is. You would become flustered at the thought of all the obligations I have had to stall to take care of you” Those last affectionate words broke the cheery personality they had been keeping up. It was something about the way they had to force out those words in particular more carefully than the rest; Their sing-song voice going flat as the words left their lips; The scowl they gave in his direction… Kynes shut his eyes for a brief moment. I need to focus. There has to be some reason I’m here, and some way to get back. I don’t need to spare any thoughts for them right now— A pair of shining amber eyes bore into his own. In the space in front of him that angel now stood, looming over him with a lifeless gaze just inches from his face. “Did your parents ever teach you how impolite it is to ignore a person when they speak to you?” Kynes abruptly stood up and pushed past the angel. His hand could only wave through them like fog, but they still stepped out of the way to let him pass by. He didn’t turn around when he stopped a few paces away. “Y’know, I’d think that in all your glory you’d know most people don’t appreciate having their mind read.” “Ha! Such a phenomenal sense of humor! An irreplicable wit, repeating my own words. I can only aspire to emulate such a nuanced talent.” “And I can only say I’m fortunate I don’t understand half the words that you spit out.” They let out a scoff. “Angels do not spit, and perhaps you should read a book if you wish to expand your vocabulary. If it would please you, I have one on hand, penned by a certain Dante…” They continued to speak, even as Kynes began to walk away, returning to his work of exploring the streets in the hopes of finding one that led somewhere new. They didn’t stop talking when Kynes left them at the bench, and they still didn’t stop when their voice grew to nothing but a dull buzz in his ears. At least they haven’t shown up at every one of these corners. Kynes realized his mistake and tensed up, expecting that angel to show himself again and pester him more. Again under the streetlight the construct stood, still oblivious to Kynes coming to a halt. The two of them. Alone. Kynes let go of the breath he had been holding. They probably are too busy feeling full of themselves, thinking how much better they are, not getting the last word. At least now he didn’t have to waste any time ignoring them. What am I even doing here?. Talking with that angel again had made him forget what he had been worrying about. Looking up, he noticed that one of the few distinctive buildings in the distance seemed to have grown closer. A stadium by the looks of it. It hadn’t felt like he had been getting anywhere at all, but maybe wandering around has been bringing him closer to where he needs to be. Kynes carefully touched the rough leather of his sword’s hilt and fastened its sheath to his waist. Facing the crossroads once more, he marched onwards. Behind him, the construct continued to sweep under the streetlight. Kynes stood on a glass floor, feeling disoriented. His mind was a haze, and he couldn’t quite recall how he got into this arena. After he had fixed his gaze on this place, walking became effortless. Before he realized it, he was standing before its entrance, walking through its halls and down its staircases. Suddenly it had grown dark, until stars of light flew up high and revealed a different place. His confusion was brief, and he was able to take in this new space. The transparent floor was suspended above a dark void. He was about to look up until the void started to move. Some incomprehensible being stirred below, and a massive eye spanning most of the arena appeared. Kynes locked eyes with the thing underneath the floor. An overwhelming craving consumed his mind in an instant. Without thinking he ripped his sword from its sheath and jerked his head back and forth, looking for an opponent. The sensation shortly passed when it broke eye contact, but his knuckles grew white as he continued to clutch his sword. Now that Kynes could take his eyes off that thing, he took a moment to observe the rest of the arena. He could have sworn that there was no one else here at first, though he could only be sure because he knew he wouldn’t have missed the giant crab across from him on the other end. Between himself and that crustacean, however, was another person, wearing a massive set of armor and wielding an equally massive sword. They seemed to be distracted by someone, since the two of them seemed to be having a conversation with each other. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Kynes began channeling a flare upon his free hand as he walked closer to the armored person, clearly a woman by the voice she was using to shout at some poor fool. “Take one more step and I will rend you apart, hellspawn!” Ah, wait a moment, they seem like quite a zealot. Maybe I shouldn’t make them too angry? These were the thoughts that crossed Kynes’ mind just before the edge of the flare brushed against her helmet and erupted with a vibrant outburst of color. The impact shocked her, but she still maintained her footing. As she slowly turned towards Kynes, he could feel the hate from beneath her helmet. “You know not what you have invoked, commoner. I will sanctify your sins, even if it ends with your death.” Before Kynes could feel any kind of regret, a nauseous feeling enveloped the arena, as that person far away began their repulsive concert.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/29/2022 17:02:35)
It seemed suddenly things started happening all at once. Of course he shouldn’t have expected anything else, he wouldn’t have been the only one to get the idea to move as soon as the bell sounded. Well, the metaphorical bell, there wasn’t any actual bell around here as far as he knew. Past the pale hammer wielding elf someone yelled across the arena, C.R.A.B’s mechanical eyes swiveling to put them on screen. As soon as he got a better look at the bard his stomach felt like it turned, geez something just wasn’t quite right with that one huh? Just looking at them made him feel his fur stand on end and his skin crawl. They didn’t seem to be a direct threat regardless but the yelled conversation was interesting. It seemed they were addressing the knight to Gith’s left, curiously turning the cameras to the other side just in time to catch as a ball of bright light burst against the armored person’s helmet, likely female judging by her voice but then again he could be wrong, their language sounded so strange to him. More importantly perhaps was the person past the supposed Paladin, looked mostly human and had taken a cheap shot when the armored one’s back was turned… Now that was Gith’s kind of person, he’d make note of that for later but for now he was already delaying far too much, as when the camera’s recentered he found the elf dashing towards him! F-fast! Comparative to C.R.A.B’s rather lumbering gait at least. Power core output - 25%, Idle He shook his head to try and pull himself together, too many things were happening, he needed to focus. Within moments he’d made a couple of calculations, if one were to presume that the loose structures of these teams were at least remotely adhered to he’d have a better chance being anywhere but here, and so he moved. Crab’s body turns with a heavy hiss-clunk, hiss-clunk every time one of the spindly metallic limbs were forced to move, turning the center of her body towards the elf. The claw made a full rotation, opening and closing it's jaws with a metallic clank as bare steel moved against bare steel, the paint of the mating surfaces long since rubbed off from repeated motions and leaving them bare. Not that C.R.A.B had much of a paint job to begin with, simply a matte black with red trims, though in many places the raw steel was shining through, blasted by sandstorms and various collisions and never since repainted. He gave a light smirk, the person would probably assume he’d be coming straight for them in a counter charge… But forward had never been C.R.A.B’s fastest direction. Through a quirk of it’s design that hadn’t really been intended, it made the pistons do less work and at greater output to move sideways, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Power core output - 50% As quickly as she could manage, C.R.A.B scuttled towards the center of the arena. By all accounts she wasn’t fast- but perhaps faster than one might expect a huge metal crab to be. Leaving behind in her wake a trail of cracked but unshattered glass. Each heavy limb touching down at a fine point and then as weight shifted onto it the floor beneath gave just enough for it to fracture. Each new vaguely circular shape entirely unique in it’s design, like gigantic snowflakes upon a pristine lake… At least it wasn’t weak enough to give way beneath them, that would have made this whole thing rather difficult to traverse. Though… The glass did give him another idea. He’d started heading towards the center because he figured that would give him an edge, after all his team outnumbered the others two to one and surely the Minotaur wouldn’t just run in swinging at a giant crab just because it was big right? He was making a whole lot of assumptions but really it was all he could do with what extremely limited information he had at hand. Though the closer he got to the center of the arena the more he heard that truly disturbing music coming from the strange bard. It grated at his nerves so he took a moment to swing one of C.R.A.B’s mechanical eyes towards them, the other keeping tabs on the elf, granted it was hard for Gith to look at two screens at once but they didn’t know that. In fact he wasn’t sure if any of them had even seen him dash over her carapace before, they might just think it was only the huge crab and had missed the small Rat man… He regretted looking almost immediately, the person’s visage seemed to grow hazy even from the brief look at the screen. What even were they! They looked human enough but it was extremely hard to make out. ”Oye, Gimbo! ‘Dis is a battlefield not a concert hall! Would you stop with the racket?!” he yelled through the speakers, even if they didn’t understand the language the derogatory nature of the word was clear from the tone. Thankfully for Gith a lot of the sound was dampened both by the loud sounds of C.R.A.B in motion, the hum of the power core, as well as being encased within her metallic body but it was still quite grating! Getting much closer would likely be ill advised if they were going to keep this up. Turning his attention back to the elf… He was much closer now! Catching up at an alarming rate… ”Forcing my hand, chuba! Stop or ‘tis gonna turn ugly!” Of course, before he’d even spoken those words he’d set to spooling up the rail gun, it’s turret swiveled and with a heavy clunk it zeroed in on The Unmakyr. Target Locked - Magnetic Array at 0% Power Core Output - 65% The magnetic coils of the weapon began to spool up, a strange high pitched whine starting to resound from it's magnetic coils as they began to charge, a thunk as it loaded it’s first projectile into the chamber. . . And then Gith executed the second part of his plan. This was all about buying time, all about gaining himself those precious extra seconds before it was too late. Having taken note of how the glass seemed to fracture under C.R.A.B’s weight he figured it was breakable. Perhaps he could even make a hole down to that wretched eye beneath! Somehow he doubted it but it couldn’t hurt to try. C.R.A.B’s left arm raised high, the huge metal claw spun with a whirr to face the thicker part downwards and with a massive Crash! it slammed down into the glass floor, shattering it into thousands of sharp shards. He made note that the claw did not sink very far, beneath the surface layer there seemed to be something far tougher and harder than on top, but this was still good enough. Anyone without metal feet would think twice about walking over fractured glass several inches deep. Once he’d broken through he swiped the claw sideways, it stopped and started with heavy jerky motions as hydraulics fought against the material’s resistance to breaking, then when a chunk broke suddenly gave a burst of speed until it stopped against the next tough unshattered section. The force of the swing having skidded the large mech sideways, leaving deep score marks underneath her feet in the glass but it had made a wide crescent moon of broken ground between it and The Unmakyr. Stood upon the center of green iris, he would have liked to get further but he wouldn’t make it, the elf was on an intercept trajectory and would catch him long before he could make it all the way to the center of the arena. C.R.A.B planted her feet. Better to make a stand. The Rail gun heated up and began to glow. Going slowly from dormant to cherry red, up to a glowing blue. Power Core Output - 80% Magnetic Array at 70% . . . 80% . . . 90% Magnetic Array at 100% The weapon finally glowing white hot, seemingly vibrating slightly with the amount of energy stored within it’s coils. ”Last chance, not one more step, chuba!” He warned, though he had no intention of keeping to his word. The moment after he’d spoken the rail gun fired with the loud percussive Thumm~! sending it’s steel projectile hurtling through the air at terrifying speed towards Unmakyr, to be hit directly by that weapon without armor would surely be a death sentence to most but the toughest creatures around… But of course with it’s long, loud and visible wind-up he would have had plenty of time to prepare for the worst!

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/31/2022 19:45:06)
*What in Orou* is that noise?** The minotaur’s ears lowered and her muscles tensed as music began to echo through the battlefield. It was unlike anything the minotaur had heard before-- a slow, almost macabre melody that seemed to sing of dangers soon to come. It’s the creature with the violin. What kind of tricks must someone have, to dare bring a musical instrument into a battle? The minotaur directed her eyes towards the creature and strained in an attempt to focus on its form. I blame you for our nearsightedness. Hey! We both know your eye is worse. It’s not worse, mine’s just better in the dark! Shush. Are you going to start fighting, or should I take over? Battle had begun around them; the large metallic creature was facing off against a slim humanoid form brandishing a hammer, while a firework-like explosion thrust the two far-off combatants into a duel. Despite their distance, the minotaur could catch light shining off of one’s heavy metallic armor. A paladin, perhaps? Look, if you want me to go, you gotta stop distracting me. I’m smacking this guy’s violin bridge into the bridge of his nose. Worry about the paladin after this cursed music stops. Nox felt a growing sense of unease surrounding the creature and the overture. She wanted desperately to shut him up for good. She charged towards the bard, hooves opening up cracks in the glass beneath her. The closer she got to the creature, the harder it was to truly focus on it. It wasn’t much more than a blob in her eyes, with features like it was 500 feet away, even as she stepped within melee range of it. She should be looking elsewhere, anywhere else, anywhere that would relieve her eyes of the strain and ache they felt. "You want to join the performance! Luckily for you, audience participation is always encouraged!" Their voice was… jarringly human. High-pitched and upbeat, a stark contrast to the haunting solo that flowed from their fingers. Is it… a human, with some kind of distortion magic? I don’t care, frankly. If anything, the voice makes it worse. Nox bellowed and Nycthemeron erupted with dark, shimmering smoke. She swept her greatsword upwards towards the creature’s body. I don’t care what this thing is. I’m shutting it up for good. “With each strike must come consideration. Perhaps it will be a husband, or a mother, that would fall by your blade. This must be remembered always, lest reasoning devolve into heartless bloodshed. There must be compassion, even in war. A paladin’s skills, a paladin’s weapons, are only tools with which they defend the sanctity of the Cycle. They must kill no more than necessary.” -- From ”A Paladin’s Role in the Diurnal Cycle” Nox’s weapon swung through thin air, furthest tip still at least two feet from the musician’s face. Nox, that was about the worst swing I think you’ve ever made. This damned music is throwing me off my game, Heme! You try swinging at something you can’t focus on over all this! “I’m really curious, Which side came first, the silver or the gold? You gotta tell me!" Nox scowled and extinguished her sword. What a weird question. “I did. All things started in darkness.” She lowered her sword, head flicking to the side. “No, Helia was the firstborn, Dio was two minutes late. So Day came first. ”First emerged the great Helia, and to her was given the sun, that which feeds and nourishes all living things.” -- From ”The Great Chariot: Core Teachings of the Church of Helia” “Oh, so you’re Helia now?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ”Well let me just bow down and- oh right, we only have one body. And I’m pretty sure I had it first.” ”Nox, you’re being ridiculous. They asked a question; I’m simply using what we know to extrapolate an answer for them.” ”But doesn’t the Cycle teach that-- hey, you’re trying to distract me!” Nox turned towards the creature, who had backed up a few steps and seemed to be eagerly listening to their argument. I’m not letting a creepy blob like you humiliate me in the middle of a battle! Nox pulled her sword up and yelled once more to fill it with Night’s energy. Her silver eye cleaned with deathly anger as she swung her sword horizontally and stepped forward to gain the length she’d missed last time. The pit in her stomach only grew the closer she got. We have no idea what this guy can do… this better work. If not, we’re moving on. Regardless of what you want, Nox. We’ll do better against an enemy we can see.

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/31/2022 19:45:56)
”In exchange, my gift for thee,” said the stranger to the smith with a smile. From his robes he produced a hammer with metal woven of stolen starlight and a form forged in the heart of the night sky’s eternal void. Seeing the hammer, the smith fell to the ground, overwhelmed with awe. Seeing the smith fall, the stranger stepped forward and set the hammer upon the anvil. The touch of stardust upon iron sang out in a harmonious choir. The stranger’s lips curled even higher into that devious smile. “Shall I expect it complete in seven day’s time?” “Seven?” For the first time the smith grinned back, matching the stranger’s own. “For you, it shall be done in three.” The battlefield churned into motion with the strange bard calling out to the armored one named Dahlia. Good, the dark elf thought to himself as he charged. With the next two nearest combatants preoccupied with each other, Makyr focused on the hulking colossus now turning towards him. His gaze followed the claw that snapped open and closed, its intimidating size lessened by the exposed steel and crude design. Makry’s nostrils flared as he followed the length of the limb to the body before settling on a joint within one of its legs. A singular critical blow to hamper its movement, followed by the dismantling of its weaponry- A beacon of light stole the smith’s attention. His eyes flicked to the drab soldier and the bright blaze coalescing in his hand. Before Makyr could avert his gaze, it shot forth as a comet and detonated against Dahlia’s armor. Prismatic radiance burst forth from the explosion, and a lance of agony tore through his forehead. He cried out, skidding to a halt as his eyes burned and stars blanketed his vision. Hesitation is death, move. Swallowing the pain, Makyr blinked through the tears blurring the battlefield. Too slow. The interference had bought the colossal combatant time to mount its defense. With a resounding crash, it swiped its claw against the glass and ruptured a crescent of transparent shards between itself and the smith. To avoid it, he would have to go around… ...or would he? A spark ignited in Makyr’s chest, spurring his charge with renewed purpose. He could make it. A single bound would carry him over the chromatic debris and straight into melee with the machination. The Unmakyr’s pulse quickened in concert with the bard’s opening symphony as he stowed his hammer. Strike as lightning, crash as thunder. His eyes fell to the mounted ballistae swiveling towards him, coils glowing with animosity. As its hum intensified, the machination called out to him, “Last chance, not one more step, chuba!” Makyr hurled himself leftwards before the enemy’s threat finished. His instincts proved true as the mounted ballistae fired without waiting for a response. The scorching metal rocketed past his shoulder, the sheer heat burning a patch of bronze on the elf’s pale skin. But the urge driving him forwards drowned the flicker within his heart. The Unmakyr sneered. My turn. With the bard’s haunting melody running rampant in his veins, the smith propelled himself up and over the broken glass. Twisting his body, Makyr pirouetted through the air and closed his eyes. In the black of his vision bloomed an image of the savage saw held within the colossus’s grasp. By your own weapon, be undone. The crimson striations on his chest crawled over his skin, flowing over one another in a writhing mass. In one instant, an incomprehensible disarray of red - in the next, a perfect image of the machination’s brutish weapon. And in a flash of starlight, it materialized in his hands. A barbaric tool not meant for duels and honor but destruction and evisceration. The dark elf’s eyes surged with fury. It weighed far too much to be wielded like a proper blade, but Makyr’s momentum shouldered much of the work for this blow. Pale fingers flew across its surface as if born to play its tune. Bladed teeth roared to life as he descended upon his foe. The Unmakyr joined with a bellow of his own as the serrated saw struck for the colossus’s front leg. “As you have sewn, now you must reap!”

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/31/2022 23:17:37)
The overture played out as a slow desperate song. A reminder of uncertainty for the future and the great beyond. Each movement of the bow dragged, making the notes play for far too long before slowly dying. A song Lune spent careful time composing during their venture through space. Each movement had its meaning, a piece like no other. It’s just as I’d imagined it would be, they mused to themselves in glee. Peering around, the arena had come alive. Dalhie seemed as energetic as ever, turned towards a relatively normal person. The crab was flaring to life as well, facing down a pale figure in the distance. No fair, I’ve come all this way to play for them and they’re all too busy to listen, I’ll just have to bring the music to them~ Lune’s thoughts were interrupted. The sound of glass cracking could be heard behind Lune. A set of heavy footsteps quickly approached. Whilst continuing to play, Lune pivoted to turn and face it. The part-silver, part-gold lady was charging towards them. She looked split down the center. Like two separate people glued together perfectly, complete opposites in every way. Large horns and bull-like features made Lune only more interested in them. Her ears twitched and eyes glared at them as Lune played the next bar. She seemed interested in their music! "You want to join the performance! Luckily for you, audience participation is always encouraged!" Lune beamed brightly as the bull woman came upon them. A dark blue smoke enveloped the blade right before she attacked. She unleashed fierce swing towards their torso but it was off by a few feet. Lune gingerly hopped back a step and it whiffed cleanly. Lune kept playing despite the attempted strike, “You’re so excited to meet me, well I’m more than happy to meet you.” She seemed distracted with herself after missing, Lune doesn’t think she heard them. Lune looked at her. Unable to contain their wonder about her, they questioned, “I’m really curious, Which side came first, the silver or the gold? You gotta tell me!" The woman paused and the blue mist evaporated, Lune awaited eagerly for their response. A hilarious exchange came next, the bull person arguing with themselves back and forth. Lune giggled to themselves, She’s a funny one, unique through and through. She talked about some Helia, Dio, and Cycle Lune had never heard of before. Something about darkness before light as well. Lune took a few steps back, quizically blinking at her, still wanting an answer. Mid-argument she cut herself off. “But doesn’t the Cycle teach that-- hey, you’re trying to distract me!” Her glare snapped back on Lune. She yells enraged and the mist coated her blade again. Her face contorted in anger as she approached once more. With a large step forward to make up for the lost distance before, the bull woman swung a terrific heavy strike. The blade had missed Lune just by a hair. They had retreated before the swing started but the extra step the bull lady took almost made it connect. This is just like the game I’d play with those people in the towns! Lune reminisced, They would try to tag me over and over with swords until they gave up… They really were sore losers though, some would just pass out, others would scream when they lost, or just curl up in a ball. They were no fun after a bit, but at least they listened to my music before they stopped moving completely. Pacing a few more steps back, Lune stopped playing and rested their bow arm. A feeling crept into them. A small sensation. A desire they’ve felt for a long time now emerged. The urge to play their songs, to show off their years of work. A hunger to perform. They didn’t want such a fascinating person, their audience, to end up the same as the rest, not right now at least. She still needed to listen to the rest of Lune’s repertoire! “Bull lady, you said that darkness came first,” Lune paused, trying to grab their attention once more, “But I don’t think it matters if dark came first or light did. None of that matters in the deep abyss of space, there’s always something bigger that’s watching I’ve learned!” Lune grandly raised their arms. Studying their reaction, Lune nodded to themselves, you have their attention now, no better time give them what they came for. Lune straightened their posture, they extended a hand towards the lady. With a dramatic flair, they spoke like a stage magician addressing the crowd, ”You seem in the mood for a show. The stage is set, so let's move on to the main event!” Quickly yet gently raising their arms, Lune started their symphony, in all its wicked glory.

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/31/2022 23:46:30)
While the Lord Protector was indeed capable of granting any number of fanciful gifts upon his servants, a handful of miracles were beyond even him. As is written in the scripture that any good Seraph knows by heart; A broken limb may be restructured by his hands, but a lack of devotion is incorrigible. Those with particularly strong wills, particularly those aligned with the Lord’s ideals, are highly sought after to be his soldiers. Ephemera was one of these subjects, chosen for her decisive actions and commitment. However, there remains one issue with this trait. Unshakable will begins to crack when faced with a lack of faith. Such failing conviction happened to plague her once or twice when faced with a seemingly insurmountable force, though she tried her best to forget those missteps just as the Lord Protector did. And so, when the sound of sickly, contorted music rested upon her ears, years of suffering and dread immediately began to claw their way to the surface. The tune itself was certainly unfamiliar to the Seraph, but the dark cloud creeping into the edges of her vision was unmistakable. As the base of her skull began to buzz, her focus on the insignificant human before her was interrupted. That thing* hasn’t changed one bit...* Ephemera didn’t even need to look to confirm her suspicions, as the metallic demon had clearly begun to make his presence known to everyone. Visions of chaos and death intruded into her mind, slowly beginning to erode at her conviction once more. As she found herself slipping into that pit of insanity, those frozen memories of hell, an unfamiliar handhold allowed her to reach back into reality. Last time, you were able to best me. Because of my own weakness, I failed my duty and was exiled. This time is different. The Lord himself has dictated my arrival here, chosen ME to be the one to meet you once again. I was destined to arrive here, and destined to succeed where I once failed. Here in this space between worlds, Ephemera’s will did not shatter as it did in the past. Pushing her old fears aside, the Seraph refocused on her quarry. If a creature coming directly from the underworld could be no match for her, neither could a lowly creature such as him. Her head lowered, gauntlets tight across the hilt of her blade, she began to step forward. With every footfall, the sound of metal upon glass seemed to force the sickly music further into the background. While it would never truly escape her notice, the least she could do was focus on the task at hand. However, a small issue quickly became apparent. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs straining much more than they had in the past. With her blessings stripped, the weight of her equipment dragged her down significantly more than expected. Though she managed not to stumble with surprise at the sudden difficulty, her brow furrowed beneath the helmet. An unspoken frustration, quickly pushed aside in favor of the fervor of battle. Momentum grew as delay between footfalls lessened, the weight now serving to assist the Seraph’s movement. After a few seconds of effort, Ephemera reached a very respectable speed for someone wearing full plate. It seemed that the human had not expected her rapid advance, as he was busy looking off to his side. Though he spoke words, they hardly registered in her mind. Not a thought was spared for the human declared as her enemy, her conviction solid as she began to lift her blade. From her right side, both hands tugged at the impossibly heavy hilt, causing the edge to lift over her head. The point remained aimed towards the reflective floor, both hands reaching their highest just above her halo. With all the momentum of her sprint behind it, the massive claymore tipped over into a powerful overhand strike. Gauntlets nearly glued to the leather of the handle, Ephemera pulled down with all her might. The unfortunate human looked up just in time to recognize the rapidly descending sword, eyes widening with a hint of surprise. It seemed he was just in time, however, as he nearly threw himself to the side, blade narrowly missing his torso. A deafening crack exploded outwards as she struck the ground, the glass rupturing instantly where the human had been standing not a second earlier. Her arms were overcome with a stinging pain, the shock of striking a solid object taking its toll. Where solid ground once stood, a cloud of reflective shards leapt into the air. The fine mist of glass nearly reached her waist, the full force of her strike sending them skyward. Even in the dim, stagnant light of the arena, a multitude of colors reached Ephemera’s vision, reflecting off millions of mirrored fragments. The Seraph grunted as she realized she was looking at a sizable crater, rather than a corpse. For a moment, she wondered if her quarry had disintegrated into nothing with the power of her strike, but the dull color of the sword itself reminded her that the blade was nothing compared to what it once was. A significant effort was required to pull it from the newly-formed fissure permeating the glass floor, only pulling free after the third attempt. Unfortunately for Ephemera, her helmet obscured Kynes as he scrambled to his feet, deciding to take advantage of her occupation with the buried sword. With the sword finally wrested from it’s glass prison, the Seraph’s footing was disrupted for a moment. In that same moment, the distinct screech of metal upon metal reached Ephemera’s ears. Twisting towards the source of the sound, her widened eyes came to rest upon the human, his shortsword bouncing off of the heavy plates covering her torso. Only then did the sensation of pain reach her mind, the flaring, bright red mist that crept into her peripherals. Thankfully her blurred vision returned to normal with the realization that she hadn’t sustained any serious damage. With a quick step back to regain her footing, Ephemera steadied herself and got a much better look at her quarry. Breathing heavily from physical exertion, his steady gaze flicked between the different plates of her armor, seeming to eventually fixate on her glowing halo. As the glass fragments between them began to settle, her opponent finally opened his mouth to speak. "Why does every angel I meet have to be such a pain..." he said, taking a step back. Her mouth tightened into a tentative grin, somehow unoffended by his comment. “I am always willing to make it painless.”

TripleChaos -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (1/31/2022 23:58:13)
Terror. Dread. Fear. These were the feelings that overwhelmed all the rest. The terror those people instilled in him, indifferent faces looking only to take from those who couldn’t refuse. The dread of knowing you may never see your family again; Of never hearing your mother’s gentle laugh or your father’s gruff lecturing; Of never getting to say goodbye. The fear of dying in a land you’ve never trod upon, fighting people you’ve never known, all for the sake of those who will never care about you… Dying alone… … Fear was what should have possessed him; faltering hands and a trembling in the heart. Kynes should have been scared out of his mind, at the sight of that angel’s sword stretching taller than herself and with those unholy sounds coming from that person at the arena’s center. But his hands were steady. Instead, the brooch hidden beneath his shirt grew warm, and he felt something deep within his chest, something unfamiliar to him. The faintest of sensations, but one that made his blood boil: Bloodlust. Kynes had this revelation in the instant the music started. If it can even be called music. The noise had distracted that angel as well, but she returned her attention to him. With deliberate steps, she began to march closer. He stood his ground and brought his sword in front of him, his dim reflection obscured beneath spots of rust. Bringing his hand just above its hilt, he felt the tingle of magic surge upon his fingertips. Recalling the hours of training drilled into him, he felt the cold iron of the blade with his three fingers. Quickly tracing the line of runes that glitter like the furthest stars in the night sky, a shimmering light enveloped the blade. The magic sheen mirrored the shape of the sword, but perfected its mistakes. The chip on one edge couldn’t be seen on the razor-sharp blade, and all of its wear was shrouded by the light. To think, with a proper sword, this magic would be enough to turn a master swordsman into the incarnation of a war god. Swiftly finishing the first trace, Kynes brought his hand back to the hilt to begin another– A voice to his right made him almost jump when it startled him. “–took a bit of time to get here, but it appears as if I have already missed something important. It is rather hard to get a good look, but I would reckon she is quite upset. Is there something about these halos that aggravate you?” Making sure to finish tracing the sword, Kynes shot a glance at the voice to his right, “I’ll show you each and every part of you that aggravates me after–”, but the angel wasn’t there. Before he could even look back that other angel was upon him. He only barely had enough time to scramble out of the way before the gigantic sword crashed down onto the glass floor where he had been standing. Calling it a floor now wouldn’t really be fitting. Kynes didn’t see how she gained so much speed with all her armor, but her sword carried all of that momentum. The moment it struck the floor, webs of cracks stretched out, almost reaching the wall behind Kynes. The sound brought a single, perfect note to the arena, a pure ringing compared to whatever that fellow in the center was making with their instrument. The sword continued to break through the floor, shattering the glass into smaller and smaller fragments. The air sparkled as shards flew. Kynes was quite lucky that none of the larger shards hit him, and that the ones that did were small enough to glance off his clothes. Seeing an opportunity after such a strong attack, he dashed forward to counterattack. While she would be lifting her sword, he would stab at her exposed flank, and with some luck, he might be able to do enough damage to– The gleaming tip of his sword struck true, hitting exactly where he was aiming… and then bounced off, as if he had just tried to stab a wall. A brief moment later, the second layer on his sword vanished in a glittering mist. … Kynes took a cautious step back, even as his fervor compelled him to charge ahead. “Why does every angel I meet have to be such a pain.” She turned towards Kynes slowly. Now that she was closer, he could see through the visor on her helmet. The eyes underneath revealed nothing, keeping an unbroken stare. They spoke, without a hint of emotion. “I am always willing to make it painless.”

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/2/2022 13:46:01)
Gith watched as the elven warrior dashed to the side, narrowly avoiding the slug fired from C.R.A.B’s rail gun. The projectile struck the ground behind him and sent up a shower of shattered glass as it burrowed down into the surface of the floor. Sabe… The next few moments all happened rather fast, rather than strafe around the field of broken glass he’d created like Gith had expected the elf leapt into the air and in a strange display spun himself towards the hulking metal behemoth. One moment without a weapon, the next the sound of spinning steel filled the air. The mechanic would recognize that sound anywhere, after all he’d spent painstaking hours re-sharpening teeth, changing out parts and maintaining motors in that very same weapon. He somehow stole it from me? was the initial thought crossing Gith’s mind, a quick glance proved that wasn’t correct, his saw was still attached, bolted to C.R.A.B’s arm… A copy? He didn’t get too much time to think about it as moments after steel clashed with steel, serrated teeth sinking into one of the mech’s knee, a sickening mechanical crunch as black oil sprayed from the joint. Much of the behemoth’s weight supported by that leg causing that large mechanical beast to list and tip forward, part of it’s large body crashing into the floor with a heavy thud, the cockpit shaking violently, throwing Gith around within, banging roughly against the side. Though the physical bruising was a much lesser concern than the spike of pain shooting through his mind as the neural link sent feedback from the warning sirens directly into his brain. He’d just have to grit and bear it for now, that elf was still far too close. To hesitate now would spell disaster for C.R.A.B and himself both. Throwing her arm down, rather than using the saw C.R.A.B was forced to support herself upon it to take the weight off of the damaged leg. Power Core Output - 95% The loud whine of servos straining, fulfilling tasks they were never made for underlining the sudden lull in the eerie music on the other side of the eye. A brief reprieve in the dissonant otherworldly discord from the infernal bard. A small comfort. C.R.A.B’s glowing red lenses swiveled to look down on the elf before her, Gith’s voice ringing out hollow and tinny through the speaker grill at her front. ”That the best you got, gimbo?” he tried his best to keep the pain and shock from his voice, hoping to keep it from wavering. "Think you can defeat me with my own weapons ah?" he hacked a coughing laugh just as another horrible symphony started to flow from the strange bard. The Great eye, ever watchful starting to work it’s influence upon his mind and soul as well, standing this close to the epicenter. Within him is frustration was mounting at that annoying music, all while the eye stoked a fire to his ambition. A deep seated hunger for something better. For himself, for his people. Maybe if he could just win this thing, if he could just manage to make it through he would be rewarded, be granted passage back to where he'd been ripped from and do something for the betterment of his kind. These things amalgamating into sheer, utter hatred and fury. Power Core Output - 100% Too damn slow. Power Core Override Power Core Output - 110% Warning! - Overheat Imminent Forcing the machine over capacity he managed to push it just a little harder, just move a little faster. She turned with a horrible grinding sound as the giant claw pulled back and swiped at the elf, catching him early in the arms arch. The collision slamming into the elf who raised the copy of the machine's saw between himself and the mechanical claw, the serrated teeth sending sparks flying as metal collided with high speed metal, dampening the initial impact. Though as the hydraulics pulled to the side, driving through the slam it picked up speed. Pulling The Unmakyr along with it's entire acceleration until it came to an abrupt stop as the pistons reached their maximum extension, jerking the entire body of C.R.A.B forcefully into the rotation. The glass floor disappeared from under The Unmakyr's feet, the force of the crab's hydraulic arm sending him airborne in an arch towards the infuriating fiddle player! "Won't you just shut up, gimbosa!" he shouted towards the musician, swiveling C.R.A.B's cameras towards that direction he finally noted not only had he sent the elven smith over that way but the strange half-and-half minotaur had closed in as well, seemingly trying (and failing) to hit the ephemeral bard. C.R.A.B hobbled to turn it's body that way, crippled by it's damaged leg, smoke starting to billow from it's exhaust vents as the internal systems began to overheat. Sabe! He couldn't keep this up, he'd risk damaging too many systems beyond repair if he kept running them over capacity. His hand reaching up, flipping a few physical switches within the cockpit. Auxiliary Fuel Pump - On Hydraulic System - Offline Power Core Output - 0% Instruments - Offline Directional Gyro - Offline Rerouting Auxiliary Power Magnetic Array at 0% Rerouting the power from the auxiliary system entirely into the rail gun he took aim at the trio, shifting from one target to the other, not able to pick out a priority target; and C.R.A.B was for the moment, a sitting duck.

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/3/2022 23:31:00)
The stranger took his leave, a scowl stealing the place of his smile. “I thought to make a challenge for seven days, and instead was made an offer of three!” he said unto himself. “I cannot let the smith hang this one over me.” Through the long day and longer night, the stranger watched the forge from afar. All that time the fire remained lit, and the hammer rang out. The second day mimicked the first, and as the sun set, the stranger was struck with inspiration. “The smith promised three days, but spoke nothing of nights! I shall call on the morrow and demand for the weapon, for surely two nights of work is worth one day. That is what the smith deserves for taking the hammer and still daring to make a fool of me.” Content with his ploy, he retired for the evening. A devious smile dotted his face as he slept, dreaming of tomorrow’s joy. Bladed teeth struck true and sank deep into steel. The shriek of splintering metal pierced the air as a fusillade of sparks spit from the colossus’s wound. The dark elf strained to hold tight to the replica, eyes clenched shut against the blinding stars pelting his face. In spite of his efforts, sunbursts flashed through his closed eyelids. The Unmakyr grit his teeth. A final push... With a final cry of man and machine, the saw tore free, and Makyr tumbled forwards at the sudden lack of resistance. He hissed with every haphazard step to regain his balance. So unwieldy, so uncouth. Planting his feet firm, the smith grunted and hefted the replication in his grip. Once more, to breach and raze. Casting caution to the void, he pivoted on his heel to lay his enemy down low. But his foe recovered quicker than he. A metallic leg, large and cumbersome, lashed out in a sweeping arc. Cursing himself for his folly, Makyr raised the replica to block the oncoming blow. Steel screamed against steel, but this time the colossus came out the victor. The limb drove the handle of the saw into Makyr’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs and launching him off of his feet. The replica clattered against the broken shards below as Makyr soared through the air. In that moment of pain, like ropes constricted around his lungs, the elf held no thought or inclination. Instead, his mind was filled with… …music? Makyr twisted to roll with the fall, jarring his shoulder hard against the glass. He careened to a halt just short of the bard and his instrument clashing with the enemy of two colors. As he rose to a knee, a wave of nausea washed over him and Makyr fought the urge to retch. The music…red eyes glared at its player whose body seemed to ebb and flow with the melody itself. A permeating chill settled in his veins. Another bout of vertigo followed. Makyr gagged, the taste of bile burning his throat. The smith stole a glance back to the center of the arena. And the arena stole a glance back at him. He’s trying to free it. I need to get away, I need to- *-end him!* Fury conquered vigilance, and Makyr spurred himself forward. Brandishing his hammer once more, the Unmakyr held out his free hand and focused on the steel set in the bard’s bow. Marring beauty with violence and cruel intent. In a shimmer of silver, a perfect imitation of the blade emerged from the ether within his grasp. “He means to release it!” he shouted in a fervor. Sweeping low, Makyr slipped between the bard and his dancing partner, twirling as he did so. One knee landed on the glass to propel the motion as Makyr lashed out with the bladed bow. A hiss escaped through clenched teeth as the bard’s leg distorted in his vision, avoiding the blow. Not accepting this defeat, he continued with the motion, this time striking at the one bespeckled with bronze and silver. The edge of his hammer caught the guard of her blade, and with a simple twist he broke her grip. Too careless to secure her own. With the momentum, Makyr swung his arm around to send the greatsword hurtling at the musician’s chest and end his wicked symphony.

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/4/2022 21:11:47)
Her second attack was closer, but close wouldn’t do her any good. Infernal bard! Is this a game to you? Even under threat of attack, the bard continued to play, and his eerie melody invaded the minotaur’s ears to make her dizzy. their notes crescendoed, and the minotaur felt chills crawl down her spine. Before, it had been unease and a distracting blur, but something in the music was different now. Something was wrong. Let’s go, Nox. But if we don’t stop him now-- The minotaur’s surroundings felt acutely sinister. There was nothing beneath her but glass. Easily breakable glass. And beneath that; nothing. An endless drop and a bulbous eye that seemed to shake with excitement as it watched combatants tear each other apart. He’s simply a musician. I’m leaving; pity you have to come with me. The minotaur’s right side faded, soft azure glow fading as gold started from her left-side face tattoos and rippled its way down her form. A flick of her wrist, and a dagger swirled into existence in her palm, bright as a ray of pure sunlight. Distraction enough to allow our escape, I hope. She barely glanced at the hellish bard as she flung the sun ray towards it; it was simply to turn its attention, not to harm, and enable her retreat. So it was a pleasant surprise when she heard a light chink cutting into the otherwise unaccompanied melody. Are you showing off? No. I wasn’t even looking at him. But something was certainly looking at her. Well… nice shot. The minotaur dismissed the shining dagger and watched it out of the corner of her eye as it faded into the arena’s light. The minotaur wasn’t sure exactly where she was going-- the other paladin was all the way across the arena, but she needed to find a better opponent, to find somewhere she could fight without this twisting in her stomach. Clunk. Uh… you wanted a new opponent? Beside the minotaur, on glass cracked from his impact, was an elf. His skin and hair were as white as the clouds the minotaur often watched float across the midday sky. In the light of the stars, and the eerie brightness coming from the watchful eye, he almost seemed to glow. What did he… The minotaur glanced in the direction the elf had flown from. Ah, yes. The crab must have thrown him. It seemed unmoving now, so it wasn’t an immediate threat. Shall we see what this elf is all about? “He means to release it!” *The eye.* “Kyran’s fatal flaw was merely ignorance. He followed the commands of one he did not understand. The demon Gilaram, if released, would have enough power to challenge even gods. It would shatter the fundamental laws of this universe; to break the Cycles which sustain and protect each and every one of us. Thus, without knowing, Kyran became an urgent threat to the Cycle; to us, and thus, to Orou. And so he was silenced.” -- An excerpt from “Reflections,” 2nd edition. Of course that’s what the bard was doing. That’s why such a bizarre creature would carry nothing but a violin into battle. If he means to release the creature below us, we need to-- Release his head from his body. Bluntly. Yes. The minotaur turned once more, tracing back the few steps she’d retreated earlier. We’ll help the elf; we can assess his own threat after we stop this summon. But as she moved, in one fluid motion, the elf swung his hammer to hook right around the minotaur’s greatsword. The minotaur reacted too slowly, and the sword was ripped from her grasp, hurtling towards the bard. ”HEY!” The Minotaur’s eyes flared, anger surging at the newcomer. ”How DARE you!” "This paper officially certifies that ( ) has completed final examination and been given a Nychthemeron great sword on the 1st day of the new year. Please work with your Sect Commander to engrave your weapon with a personal marking and record it in the provided space. This paper serves as proof of your ownership of the weapon. This recipient vows to use this sword for the protection of themselves, their Sect, and the Cycles of Orou. This recipient understands that the Sect Mother and Sect Commander have the authority to revoke this recipient’s title and weapon should this recipient breach their vows. May Orou guide you." -- A copy of the Diurnal Cycle’s Initial Paladin certification papers. The recipient’s name and subsequent signature have been blurred by water damage. Calm down, you can summon it back. He TOOK my Nychthemeron! You can’t tell me to calm down! With a huff, Nox’s azure flashed for just a moment as black smoke shot from her nose. It moved quickly, obscuring the area around her with a thickness that burnt the back of her throat as she inhaled. Squinting eyes watched the small, shining particles as they floated through the air. Like little stars in the night sky. Darn it, Nox! We’re in the middle of battle, we have to remember our training! Heme formed a dagger once more and gripped it tight in her hand. The minotaur took a couple steps back and turned her ears upwards to listen for the movement of her enemies. This wasn’t the plan! Nox was always the emotional one, of course, but… she wasn’t normally this bad. I heard that! So will you tell me what’s wrong with you, then? *Nothing’s wrong* with me, the music’s just freaking me out.** It wasn’t a lie, but… there was an itch, a tickle at her emotions. Like something was missing, and she needed to find out what it was. That… yes, I feel it too. But we have to focus, and now I can’t see! She kept her dagger ready in her hand, aware of the fatigue beginning to drain the longer she held onto it.

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/4/2022 23:04:57)
Just as Ephemera had begun to push it out of her mind, the music changed. Out of the corner of her vision, blood-red wisps of energy began to descend from the gray sky, though they vanished if she ever tried to look directly at them. A conglomeration of harsh, repulsive notes clashed with the Seraph’s thoughts, threatening to overpower them entirely. A firm focus on her opponent was enough to suppress the initial rush of fear and desperation, but the unmistakable gaze of the beyond never seemed to take its eyes off of her. In the perfectly clear hall of the divine, none can hide the deepness of their sin The unassuming man had a sort of tint to his form, a highlight that Ephemera swore she could recognize, even if her eyes saw nothing of the sort. A sickly mist falling from his soul, reflecting off the glass despite no such fog existing in the first place. This human held a transgression, some rejection of the celestials scarring his very being. The Seraph’s squinted, her conviction muddled by a hint of confusion. Even the most ordinary of mortals finds themselves in need of repentance. Her claymore made a fierce, angry screech against the glass as she dragged it in the wake of her steps. Herald of the Divine, Unshakable Bulwark, Lord Protector. Be it by your grace that I may cleanse these heretics from your sight. Bowing her head in silent prayer, her steps finally stopped just before her quarry. Bringing a hand over her chest, filling her words with all the conviction her soul could hold, Ephemera thought for a moment that she could feel the eyes of the Lord upon her. Show me why I gave you a second chance. In a single motion, her left foot took a single step forward, the force of her movement sending a hairline fracture outward from the plated boot. In the same motion, the power of a hundred years of training threw the blade outwards, a horizontal swing from right to left. The reach of her weapon could be quite deceptive, as several now-deceased adversaries had quickly discovered. Unfortunately, it seemed this human was proving to be particularly nimble, as he carefully backed just out of reach. Grunting with frustration, Ephemera pivoted on her foot, following up her slash by spinning in a full circle. Miniscule shards of glass made a sickening crunching sound as her full weight was put upon her left side. Though taught to be impractical in most weapons classes, the flamboyant spin served to maintain the momentum behind her blade. Her opponent too far to make a proper counterattack, her claymore was thrust directly towards him as the spin finished, not too dissimilar from a fencer. Such an incredibly heavy sword would generally be far too unbalanced for a strike like this, but the maintained force from her earlier slash kept it aloft as it struck its mark. Unfortunately for Ephemera, her movements were far slower than they once were. Weakened muscles and muddled reactions made for a sluggish follow-through that left ample time for Kynes to deflect her strike. The weight of the claymore was never ‘easy’ to toss around either, highlighted by the stinging pain that began to creep into her shoulders. So convinced that her attack would leave her adversary bleeding on the ground, a profound uncertainty began to well in her core, only amplified by the horrific music coloring the entire field. As heavy breaths punctuated her unmoving gaze, Ephemera felt the familiar attention of the Lord upon her once more. Though her eyes remained focused on her opponent, she let the weight of her sword rest upon the ground as she offered a silent prayer. Lord Protector, if this trial was meant for me to see the yawning void where competence once resided, I indeed find myself lacking. The moment stretched as she awaited a response. His attention remained unbroken, as if He expected her to say more. You begin to see, but you have yet to understand. The simplest of adversaries makes himself a challenge, my hindered abilities proving insufficient. He carries marks from beyond the veil, I need- She caught herself, moments away from saying that which she didn’t, and couldn’t truly believe. I cannot fulfill your will without your strength as well. A mortal could not hope to match your abilities. I give nothing without an offering. Show me your devotion, Ephemera. His second response came with no delay, the force behind His command nearly knocking her off balance. While the raw pressure of his words was nearly suffocating, who was she to refuse Him? Especially after she had been shown such a generous mercy, the thought of refusal never even crossed her mind. O Herald of the Divine, I find myself needing a hint of your strength to overcome this trial. In the past, fear and pain may have been enough to steer me off of your path, but no amount of suffering can sway me now. I offer this devotion to you, in hopes that I may carry out your will. She felt a jolt of energy strike through her as she wordlessly offered her prayer. The gaze from above focused until it was searing hot, inspecting her soul for any hint of regret. These words are accepted. As the human finally began to approach, seemingly finished with his preparation, a faint pillar of light descended from the heavens. Ephemera watched as it slowly reached towards her, shining through the light fog as a spotlight from above. The instant it touched her, the flickering pain in her right shoulder vanished. Searing light flowed through her veins, burning away the weakness that coated her right arm. The stream of unending power overflowed, piercing through the gaps in her armor as blinding spears of light. Her entire arm seemed to cry out, muscles tightening and lifting her blade without a hint of protest. Scorching white dots reflected off of the glass below, the thousands of shards beneath her feet lighting up with divine light. As the holy vigor permeated through Ephemera’s body, it brought with it a blanket of torment. Where the soothing cool of divine energy spread, millions of white-hot pinpricks soon followed. To her, it felt as if her limbs were burning away with power. Growing more painful by the second, it quickly seemed that her skin was melting off the bone, though her sight did not agree with that thought. She fell to the ground, barely supporting herself on one knee as she struggled to think through the overwhelming anguish. The sound of footfalls on glass brought her spinning mind back to the forefront, looking up to see her opponent readying his weapon to strike at her. In a single, powerful motion, Ephemera lept directly towards the approaching human. Even as her limbs screamed at her in protest, the burning pain had seared her mind away to nothing but focus, any and all distractions pushed away by the incessant agony covering her body. With a shout, the Seraph let all of her pain flow free as her armored boot connected with the human’s chest. Though he was a tad sturdier than expected, his body quickly gave way and rose into the air. With a sickening crash, he finally landed several meters away from the initial point of impact. She quickly followed in his path, though stinging pain made it difficult to sprint quickly. As he looked up from his glowing sword, Ephemera was already nearly upon him. Legs burning with conviction, she could have sworn she was melting the glass behind her. As she closed the final distance, her newly-empowered arm lifted the claymore to her side, nearly effortless compared to her earlier attempt. She swung the blade in a devastating overhand arc directly at the prone human, all the weight behind her steps transferred to this singular strike. Despite her noticeably faster execution, Kynes was barely able to raise his own weapon from where he lay, held sideways directly in the path of her attack. The two swords clashed with cataclysmic force, a powerful shockwave causing the tiny shards of glass around them to scatter. Though her ears were already stricken with searing pain, the force with which the two impacted nearly deafened Ephemera, noticeable only because the sickening music in the background ceased for a moment. The floor which Kynes lay upon shattered instantly, a series of fissures appearing along the ground beneath the two of them. Seeming to fall a few inches, the infinite cracks along the floor quickly gave way and broke into a sea of deadly glitter. Though the battlefield had been reshaped into a small crater, the human laying in the center of it appeared nearly untouched by the force of her strike.

TripleChaos -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/4/2022 23:43:12)
The ironclad angel stood before the crater of glass they had made, with shards sticking out at odd angles, bringing the faintest of colors to the arena as they scattered light. Her sword was still in perfect condition, despite the damage it had just wrought. Painless, you say? Just as Kynes had started to feel the thrill of the fight burn in his chest, music filled his ears. This time, it didn’t make his anxiety grow. Instead, his knees buckled at the weight of dread that suddenly rested upon his shoulders. Shadows danced at the edge of his vision. He could feel more eyes than before fixed on him… So many eyes… Nothing should sound like that. It’s more than that… Nothing should be able to make such sounds. It’s as if there's something else… What are they… What is it doing? Kynes didn’t tear his eyes off the foe in front of him, even as his polluted emotions compelled him to find what was causing this horrid noise. The angel in front of him was unfazed by the noise. That, or she was hiding it better than Kynes was. Before Kynes had a chance to even consider touching his sword, the angel in front of him cracked the ground as she stepped forward and tried to sever him in half with a sideways slice. Already prepared to backpedal after seeing what she had done with her sword, Kynes barely evaded it. Its frightening size meant that if he had been even a moment late, the blow would have connected and he’d have to find out on the floor of this arena if he could escape death’s clutches a second time. Immediately after swinging it, she spun her sword in a full circle and lunged with its tip aimed for Kynes’ heart. Clutching his hilt with both hands and bringing it up to his torso, he deflected the sword with the magic that folded over his own, only barely diverting the strike to his right. He stumbled back once again, as the magic vanished from his sword. If he hadn’t traced it before, it surely would have split into pieces from the force. Even still, his arms still tingled with numbness. Taking labored breaths after failing to land a hit, she fell to one knee. What is she doing? Despite his confusion, Kynes instinctively brought his hand to his sword. It was already coated in two layers of magic, so this third layer was going to be a challenge. If this angel in front of him was giving him an opening to try, he was going to seize it. Kynes brought his fingers above the sword’s guard. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow as his hand pulled along the blade, as if he were dragging a heavy weight. The moment his hand left its peak, both edges began to glow more brightly than before, as if the magic itself was excited. As Kynes lurched forward to try again to pierce her armor, a pillar of light from the dark sky above fell upon the angel. In an instant, her right arm burst with light. The rest of her armor looked as if it was protecting the sun, as more light bled out of the few gaps it had. A familiar voice behind him spoke up. “Ah, I believe I understand what sort of being they are now.” Before Kynes even had a chance to talk back to the other angel, the one in front of him let out a cry and moved like lightning. In a single motion, rising from the ground and lifting her foot, she planted her boot into his gut with impossible strength. Kynes felt his consciousness slip away, only to be brought back when he hit the ground. He flew a dozen feet into the air and then slid another dozen as he tumbled across the glass. His stomach felt like a spike was driven through it. He only knew there wasn’t a hole there because of how much pain blossomed from it. Kynes waited for a release. An end to the agony that overwhelmed him. ...I never wanted this. I never wanted to fight. What made me think I could fight a knight donning full armor? Why did I even come here? I just want to get home... … Stand … A voice rang in his head. He couldn’t hear what it said, but his hand moved to the brooch at his chest without thinking. The tip of his finger touched the smooth surface of the blood-red gem set within it. It burned like a forge, and the shock forced his eyes open. Above him, the angel that had been following him since that day stood. They were poised as if to offer a hand to lift him back to his feet. Except they did no such thing. They only bent over his form, with a pair of amber eyes that never blinked and never ceased to burn a hole through Kynes’ soul. Behind this angel the other one drew closer, closing in to finish him off. Fight Kynes looked at his sword, which stopped glowing as brightly. He must have lost his third trace when he was rolling. He brought his hand to his sword, as he held it above him as he laid on the glass. That angel was clearly sprinting towards him, but she somehow felt slow. As if the rush had gone to his head and everything felt like molasses. He dragged his fingers along the runes that already shined with magic. He had just done it before, but tracing the sword with a third layer again felt like he was pulling the world as his arm flared with pain. She drew closer still. He clenched his teeth as his arm continued to scream out in agony, its muscles on the verge of giving out. She stopped in front of him, bringing her sword down in an arc to make another crater. Sprawled on the ground, he couldn’t move out of the way. Just before destruction was upon him, his hand flew off the tip of the sword and the magic was formed. As soon as his hand left he brought it back to grab the end. The instant he braced the blade over his head the angel’s gigantic sword struck. The glass beneath Kynes cracked and splintered into countless fissures. His arms held firm, even as they felt as if they were about to crack and shatter like the floor beneath him. The impact rang throughout the arena, drowning out the disturbing music for a blessed moment and forcing apart our clashing swords. He couldn’t see her face, but her eyes were baffled that he was in one piece. Honestly, he was surprised too, as pain racked his entire body. But as he returned to his senses, his knuckles grew white around his sword’s grip, still covered in two layers of magic. His mind was no longer clouded, as the faint feeling that had been lingering grew. Deep within his chest, a craving for battle surged.

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/5/2022 23:13:16)
“What should the symphony sound like?” Lune had asked this question countless times. What feelings it should invoke and how they would react all drifted in their mind as they floated in space. It took many years for them to craft it. The symphony held Lune’s memories of all the years they spent wandering etched into it. The wonder of the great beyond as well as its loneliness. It all coalesced into the masterwork they created. It was jagged, it jumped between high and lows quickly, it was disjointed. It seemed to reject itself yet call to something greater, something unknown to everyone but always watching. Lune quickly lost themselves in its melody, caught in a fervor, a hunger, to perform to their fullest. This overwhelming feeling quickly drowned out their focus on the arena around them. The minotaur flicked their hand, Lune hardly noticed as they were captivated by their playing. This was their moment, a chance to truly impress the audience. CRACK~~ A splintering pain carved through Lune’s torso, followed by a sensation they’d never felt before. A bright dagger spun away but had hit directly and heavily. A crack formed and spread like a web across their side. It had been so long since they’d felt pain. Tiny fragments of Lune fractured and fell away from where the dagger impacted. Where the shards left came some new, Lune had melted before but this was different. A pit of festering heat concentrated in the wound like it was burning away. Lune stopped playing just for a second and winced. Such a reaction from only the beginning despite the pain, Lune was delighted, that must mean it’s as perfect as I imagined it would be. Lune immediately began playing again, their passion ablaze. They heard a thud to their side. A bright being stumbled to a halt after being flung. A new listener! I wonder what they will think, Lune mused to themselves. A pair of pale red eyes glared at them, their gazes locked on each other for just a moment before the new figure wretched. I’ve seen that response plenty of times before but it’s always nice to see it once more, satisfied Lune noticed a bow form in the newcomer's hand. Its slender form and sleek ridge mirrored Lune’s instrument. They regained their footing and shouted raggedly "He means to release it!” What does he mean by that? I’m much more interested in that bow though. “Hey there! What instrument do you pla-” The chalk-white figure swept low as if it were a dance and swung the bow at Lune’s legs. Like the minotaur’s before, it was as if they weren’t even aiming for Lune. Confused, Lune continued playing but stepped back from the elf as he continued his smooth movement towards the half-and-half minotaur. For a second their weapons clashed but with a quick twist the minotaur was disarmed. The elf continued to twirl and flung the greatsword at Lune. Lune had never seen such a graceful and quick skirmish before. Caught off guard, Lune raised their violin arm to block the massive weapon whirling towards them. The heavy weapon rammed into them and sent the violin flying away, a large crack rippled throughout Lune’s arm. Their entire arm pulsed with fresh pain, the feeling of their arm splitting apart from itself wracked their mind. Lune’s music had stopped. Lune stood frozen for just a second, as a cloud of black smoke enveloped them. With their vision obscured a thought came to them. If they were willing to attack, to kill me for playing my song… they must adore it. If it had invoked nothing from them, I would have failed but no no no… This is just as I wanted A sickly smile stretched across their face. Lune tested their arm— it was damaged but it wouldn’t fall apart quite yet. Their violin was lost in the mist, the thick veil that coated their vision. I’ll start playing again soon, my audience, but I should return their excitement, should I not? Flipping their grip on the bow, Lune brandished the bladed edge, ready to share in the audience's enthusiasm.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/6/2022 13:31:07)
Magnetic Array at 10% Gith’s heart was racing in his chest, the longer he sat within the motionless crab the worse it was going to get… But that infernal music, whatever it was doing, whatever it was trying to draw into this world… It needed to be stopped. With limited power to draw from, power core cooling down and auxiliary diesel generator thrumming within her body he couldn’t do much more than keep her steady and funnel that power to cameras and the heavy weapon array. He watched as the elf he’d sent flying crashed into the ground, quickly righted himself and got into the fray with the two creatures. Truly he was a fearsome combatant, Gith couldn’t help but have some manner of respect for him, going from bad situation to worse and not skipping a beat… Magnetic Array at 50% Had the charging of that weapon always felt so agonizingly slow? Surely he’d built it to be faster! Something about this place was contorting his creation! He was better than this! He’d always been better than this!! That hunger grew within him… Something was not right, something was very much not right. Too many things that he could not understand, to many assaults upon his mind that the physical could not account for. No manner of engineering could hope to stave of the cruel music… But he could end it! The weapon atop C.R.A.B’s carapace starting to thrumm with contained power, the heated glow from it’s magnetic coils spreading over the metallic shielding above. It was truly getting hot in here by now, with the power core venting heat and the rail gun charging above, the engineer was beginning to sweat, but it was definitely all because of the heat, no fear or anxiety was getting to him, no despair from that hauntingly disturbing music! At least… That’s what he was trying to tell himself. Magnetic Array at 100% The coils finished their spooling, across the battlefield the developments had moved fast all while Gith sat motionless, sweat matting the fur upon his forehead all while he waited, watched, and waited… The elven smith had seemingly wrenched a blade from the strange minotaur. Target Locked The rail gun zeroed in upon it’s mark and just as the shot was about to leave the barrel… Smoke?! A black mist falling over the trio of combatants clashing within it’s circumference… His target obscured and with no way of tracking it’s movements he’d lost his chance. No, no he couldn’t just waste the opportunity. He had to take the chance, had to hope against hope that nothing had moved, that he hadn’t accidentally shifted her aim in the sudden panic of possibly loosing his opportunity to take it out! Now or never… Thumm! the weapon fired, cutting a spiral pattern into the black fog obscuring his prey as searing hot magnetically propelled metal slashed into it’s midst! He didn’t have time to stop and wait for the cloud to disperse either, he just had to hope the shell fired into that blackness had found it’s mark and struck true. He couldn’t waste this opportunity! With those three unable to see clearly and the two on the other side seemingly locked into some form of single combat for the time being, he might not get a better chance than this. With a pneumatic hiss the hatch flung open, gas dampeners pushing up the heavy steel door as he hopped up and out of the cockpit. His duster swaying behind him as he skidded across her carapace. On his way he quickly twisted the manual lock and opened one of the vent grates for more rapid cooling of the power core, though not stopping until he came to her damaged front leg. Aah what has he done to you, setara mali, my little star? he thought as he skipped over the raised leg, a quick flick of his wrist pulling the plasma torch into his hand. He’d fix the mechanical connection first, the hosing was a lesser problem. Skipping nimbly from carapace down onto the leg he hooked his knees around the appendage, hung upside down from it’s metallic casing and flicked his goggles up to shield his eyes. Welding sparks shot in every direction, making a bright corona of light around his position… He could only hope everyone else would be occupied enough to not notice, to not do anything about it for the time being while he conducted his repairs… This did feel an awful lot like painting a giant target upon his back. With a couple of taps of his hammer and honestly more weld than sheet metal he’d made the connection somewhat workable once more. Holstering his plasma torch once more he pulled out a steel coupling to attach to the severed tubing that had painted the glass below him black with C.R.A.B’s lifeblood. Hopefully he’d staunched the bleeding before too much was losts. Cleaning up the cut with a knife before crimping the metal coupling onto both ends of the severed tube to make it whole once more. In an ideal scenario he would have preferred to run the hydraulic pump at low pressure to check for leaks and the like but… Well, there was no time! How many times have we been here? Just a quick patch for now, it will do fine until we can make something more permanent. Just another… And another… It seemed poor C.R.A.B was more patches than whole at this point. They’d been together for a long time. Ever since he’d escaped the capital ship and made his way to the first junker he’d hopped on board with. Sure she hadn’t been much to look at in those first months, but her creation had proven his worth to the captain and he’d let her finish her with whatever he salvaged that they didn’t need to sell. Over the years she’d been expanded upon, developed and improved with every new mission… He shook his head, this was no time to reminisce! No time to lose himself in the past! Focus, chuba! He finished his repairs and swung himself back up onto her leg, moving to hop back up onto her carapace… Just a short dash and he’d be back inside.

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/6/2022 23:08:41)
On the dawn of the third day, the stranger set out at first light. As he approached, he saw no light of the forge, nor heard any ring of the hammer. “Ah!” the stranger thought to himself, brimming with glee. “The smith must have worked to exhaustion and fallen asleep. I need not have concerned myself with any scheme.” Arriving at the door, he let himself in and threw his arms wide. “Good smith, I have come to collect my boon! A weapon above all others, as we agreed.” “As we agreed,” came the reply. The smith stepped away from the anvil, holding a sword in a shimmering sheath of brightest emerald and gold. “You’ve finished?” The stranger faltered. “But you asked for three days!” “I did,” said the smith, stepping forward. “Two days to create and hone. The third to confirm its perfection.” The elf offered the blade to the stranger with a devious smile. “But since you are here, you may take the first swing yourself.” With a clang, both greatsword and violin careened across the glassy floor, bringing the melody to its end. Makyr breathed a sigh of relief as his vertigo ebbed away. Even with the strong woman enveloping the trio in a dark cloud, the elf could not help but fall back with ease. He rose to his full height, arms by his side and contemplating his next foe. Red eyes peered through the smoke, darting between the bard who had yet to recover his instrument and the titan of a woman armed with- A clap of thunder. An explosion of agony. Makyr fell to the ground, white-hot lightning coursing through his chest. He convulsed, choking on his own breaths as pressure squeezed his lungs tight and stars flickered across his vision. “Gah-AHG!” Quivering fingers scrambled at the drawstrings on his vest to no avail. Something warm and wet soaked into the fabric. Makyr clenched his eyes shut, blocking out the smoke and stars but giving life to a thousand pinpricks of light. They sharpened into focus, each and every one of them a weapon of familiar design. The blades danced above him in a tantalizing fashion, so beautiful - so dangerous - and yet just out of reach. ..not yet… One by one they winked out of existence, each one giving a playful goodbye as they escaped him once more. Not yet... The smith gripped his hammer tight. “Not yet!” With a shout, the Unmakyr cut through the drawstrings, relieving himself of the pressure crushing his lungs. He shuddered and gasped, taking in fresh gulps of air. Not yet, not here. Not until my penance complete. He glanced down at the smoking crater in his vest. The metal plate beneath had caved in over his heart, leaving a hideous bruise of red against his pale skin. Droplets of crimson spilled in dribbles from where the steel had cut him. The smith clenched his teeth as the wound pulsed with pinpricks, biting back the bile still spoiling his tongue. A glancing blow - anything more would have pierced through and left him for dead. And yet I remain. Makyr jumped to his feet, ignoring the twang in his chest and throbbing in his shoulder. He could not let this stop him - his pilgrimage was far from done. Stifling a cough, the dark elf glanced through the smoke and spotted the outline of a figure. Equal to him in height, but with far more muscle to her frame. The one of silver and gold. He bolted toward her before he knew why, his thoughts racing to rationalize the choice. The music had died; the bard’s symphony brought to a close. The colossus remained too far away to approach without exposing himself to these two foes. She remained the most immediate threat, and that is why he needed to cut her down. …wasn’t it? “I have committed a thousand sins in my time.” Gritting his teeth, the dark elf lunged towards her. The bladed bow in his hand sang through the air towards the dagger held in her gilded hand - the same technique he had used to disarm her not moments ago. But this time, a feint. “A thousand transgressions I must amend.” The Unmakyr snarled as he pulled back the bow at the last second and instead swung the hammer with all his might, his shoulder screaming in protest. The starlit steel crashed towards the golden crown woven in her hair. He would not make the same mistake twice: a swift death would be the only mercy granted in this void amongst the stars. “Who are you to foil my atonement!”

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/8/2022 19:36:25)
Twin clangs signaled the abrupt end to the bard’s symphony; a cymbal player who came in too early. One must be the violin, and the other was surely her greatsword. Thank Orou. Perhaps we can excuse that elf for his… unfortunate tactics. With the music ended, the Minotaur’s sense of unease fled instantly. Now she could focus; now, when she glanced at the ever-watchful eye, it faced away from her and rested securely underneath its glass walls. Nox grumbled. He’s lucky I can get it back. She swung her arm around in the smoke, azure tattoos beginning to glow once more. Heme kept her dagger out, waiting-- it strained them both, to cast two spells at once, but returning Nythemeron to her took too much time. She’d rather strain than be without a weapon at all. I always hated being without a weapon. ”When outside the battlefield, though vigilance is always helpful, a paladin must put their fighting experience aside and fulfill the roles bestowed upon them as priests and priestesses. Ministering, housekeeping, and participating in rituals are just as important as a paladin’s warrior duties. Weapons need only be worn by the highest level commanders. Remember, Orou is the God of balance and the Cycles; war is not a pleasure, simply a tool used when he is threatened.” Excerpt from chapter 1 of ”Compromise, Compassion, and Piety: Emboldening Orou’s Values On and Off the Battlefield.” As her greatsword began to pulse into existence, the minotaur’s ears flinched at a sound like a thunderclap that came from her left. The minotaur watched a smooth, straight line shoot through her smoke, leaving it thin and curling behind it. Some sort of projectile; a fast one. Like the arrows we saw at the Pass. Those had been fast, too, and filled with starfire. Oh. Yes, you’re right. I suppose it is. They didn’t seem to have many memories, but Heme could vaguely see it now that Nox had described it. They’d been fighting Dio’s followers, then; a break-off group trying to bring eternal night. I’m glad it wasn’t aimed our way. The minotaur heard someone hacking and groaning from the other side. The elf must have been badly hurt. ”Patient arrived with acute respiratory distress and severe lacerations on her forelegs. Further examination of throat and lungs revealed high levels of smoke and toxic fluids. Patient is possibly a soldier from the recent Dionen raids in nearby Alkan. Patient’s armor is unique, but unfamiliar to me. Only identifying information includes several instances of initials ZH on various parts of clothing/armor. Recommend immediate transfer to respiratory department.” Triage papers from Renca Emergency Hospital. The top right contains a date approximately eight weeks ago. ZH… why did I read that document… Shh, footsteps. Light and haphazard; the wounded elf. The Minotaur glanced to her side, making out the staggering silhouette of the elf as he charged towards her. Back for more, huh? He seemed battered, probably from whatever shot the minotaur had heard. Blood seeped from a wound in his chest. This time, she waited for him to come to her, training kicking in and honing her plans. Injury will make him slow and predictable. He will provide us with an opening. She gripped her glowing dagger, ready for a clean slash. It seems like ending him now might be a blessing for him. I’d feel bad if he hadn’t already insulted us. Sure enough, his strike was predictable; a reach with his bow meant to disarm her knife. Poor man doesn’t realize I can just make another. She raised her arm, dodging the strike with ease and preparing to wedge her knife into his breastbone. One swipe was all she needed-- Heme’s forearm erupted in agony as the elf’s hammer slammed into her. Her dagger dissipated as the minotaur howled and dropped to one knee. He feinted? No way he could do something that fast with his injuries! The minotaur struggled to manage her breathing as the world grew fuzzy around her. She twitched her fingers, moving as little as possible to avoid enraging the new wound. In her hand, she conjured an orb like a miniature sun. It’s definitely broken. Take this. Wait, you’re the one to use that, that’s Day magic. I can’t reach, Nox. It needs to touch the injury. Wait I don’t even know if I can, Heme, what if I— TAKE IT! The Minotaur lurched, greatsword clanging to the ground as she swung her arm over to take the ball of sunlight into her right hand. It was… warm, but it didn’t hurt. We’ve done this before. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re Night, I’m Day; we’d never let you touch my sunlight if we could help it. White. Black. But… it felt right. Like an old sword form she’d practiced a thousand times. Maybe if she could just… Don’t you DARE push your magic into that thing. Her arm pulsed once more, her vision blurred. A timer; a reminder. The minotaur gritted her teeth and slammed the sunbulb into her forearm. Instantly, the warmth in her hand transferred into her arm, a comforting hold that covered and dimmed the throbbing that had consumed her senses moments before. The minotaur breathed a sigh of relief. Thank you. But that doesn’t actually heal you, remember? Fear crept into the back of her mind as she glanced at the bone that now twisted unnaturally. That arm is still… Basically shattered. Yes. She swung her arm hesitantly, testing what she could move and what she couldn’t. It’ll be fine. We’ll just have to be fast. The minotaur took a deep breath to collect herself and adjust to the warmth that flowed through her arm. Alright. Time to beat the crap out of the person that shattered your arm. I think for once I appreciate your simple mind. Hey, it comes in handy. The Minotaur rose from her kneel, greatsword in hand once more, and let adrenaline and muscle memory take over as she launched herself towards the elf. A swipe upwards would be her best shot; the sword grew heavy in her hand as her muscles tired. “I have nothing to do with your sins,” the Minotaur called. “You must come to terms with those yourself!” What after? What about OUR sins? The Sect seemed fresh on her mind despite the battle before her. She wanted desperately-- to survive this battle, to return to and reject her Sect in the same breath… to fill the fissure that seemed to widen within her with each step. I don’t have any more answers than you do, Heme.

Synthe_ -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/8/2022 22:52:11)
Despite the shattered glass absorbing much of the force from Ephemera’s attack, a powerful wave of recoil shot up her arms as the blade rebounded off of Kynes’s defense. Stumbling backwards, she nearly tripped over the sea of brittle fragments but was barely able to hold her balance. Her arms still felt as though they were vibrating, rivers of liquid fire leaking out from her bones. Growing pain merely compounded the anguish she was already experiencing, vision blacking out as her ears filled with static. The burning along her entire body was worse than anything she had experienced before, as if each individual cell of her body was trying to rip away from her. A sea of boiling blood lay just underneath her skin, each moment threatening to burst from within. Her bones felt like white-hot irons, searing everything surrounding them to the point of unfeeling. Devoting all her energy to prevent herself from crying out, the Seraph fell to one knee, resting her blade flat on the cracked ground. As the ferocious heat quickly drove every other thought out of her mind, Ephemera’s failing sight gave way to a vision. Instead of the endless gray sky of the battlefield, a sea of blood red clouds stretched far past the horizon. The circular glass platform was replaced by a solid chunk of blackened rock, it’s smooth surface only broken up by occasional hairline fractures. Before her stood a Justicar, though not one she recognized. They wore an ancient style of armor, with plates far more bulky and unwieldy compared to her own. Brilliant gold trim sat upon a reflective black coating, making it seem like the armor was carved from obsidian. The figure looked over their shoulder, wordlessly staring her down from behind their helmet. After a moment, Ephemera was forced to shield her eyes as a brilliant flash of light broke through the sinister clouds, casting a column of energy upon the two of them. Even through her armor, she could feel her skin begin to burn as she desperately tried to pull away from the blazing glow. Curiously, the unknown figure did not react the same, instead stepping forward and facing directly towards the rift in the clouds. Confusion overtook Ephemera’s muddled thoughts as she shouted to the stranger, though it felt as though she was trying to speak through a hurricane. ”Justicar! Do you not fear agony!? How can you stand tall amidst such anguish..?” The figure turned, taking a step towards her. Despite their hidden face, Ephemera could feel a calming gaze match her own. As she looked on, eyes wide with uncertainty, a black gauntleted hand reached down. An offering, just like one that would be given to a fellow soldier. The sheer confidence of their movements and kindness of their gesture was infectious, banishing the particularly loud doubts from Ephemera’s mind, lifting a bit of the weight from her limbs. *”There is no need to fear the light of the Father, lost one. Your blessing has done it’s work. It is time to let go, even if it means returning to dullness once again.”* Their words cut through the fog with the same power as the light overhead, ringing in her mind just as clear as the Lord himself. In that moment, Ephemera seemed to understand, letting go of the power she hadn’t realized she was desperately grasping hold of. Though her arm began to weaken, losing that brilliant glow she had become accustomed to, it took with it the searing pain that had occupied her mind. Reaching towards the stranger’s hand with her own, shreds of sanity began to recolor themselves as burning static drained from her ears. However, just as she was about to grasp their gauntlet, the talons of agony released themselves from her eyes, and vision came flooding back. The crimson clouds vanished, stone faded to glass, and the obsidian Justicar was replaced by Kynes, blade reaching for her heart. Without the haze of agony to color her judgment, Ephemera began to move in a single breath. Instinct from a hundred years of combat screamed at the back of her mind, hyperfocusing on the insignificant mortal that dared attempt to end her life. There was no time to raise her sword, and her armor was far too heavy to permit a dodge. Despite that, her left hand was already raised, ready to accept the offering of the phantom Justicar. Perfectly in position to catch the opposing weapon before it even reached her. Ephemera’s hand shot towards the sword, fingers curling around it’s glowing edge in the blink of an eye. The dissonance of steel grating against metal resonated along her arm as she wrenched the blade away, redirecting it from the intended target. However, though unfettered by pain, her limbs were still not what they once were. Unable to fully push it away, the blade instead made contact with Ephemera’s right shoulder, piercing through the metal in a flash of off-white energy. The Seraph shouted in pain as the sword sank further into the rift in her armor, gauntleted hand still firmly wrapped around the base of the blade. A single sharp tendril of flame shot along her arm, and though it was nothing compared to the agony she had just experienced it still caused nearly every muscle in her body to stiffen. Warm, slick crimson coated the inside of her ruined pauldron, painting her shirt with blood that had not seen the light of day in years. Yet she still held firm, moving until her face was held within an inch of the human’s. “You Missed.” She hissed through clenched teeth, voice dripping with hatred. Somehow the human’s confidence seemed to match her own, retorting with equal resentment. “You angels are heartless anyway.” A hint of a smile crept across Ephemera’s face, even as pain permeated through her torso. Invite the judgment of the Lord Protector will you..? I will do my duty to deliver his wrath personally.

TripleChaos -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/8/2022 23:28:36)
Still alive amidst a small sea of broken glass, Kynes carefully used his free hand to lift himself to his knees, holding his glimmering sword in the other. Kynes fixed his gaze on his opponent, preparing to dodge her next devastating attack. Instead, she was kneeling again. This time, no light enveloped her. The massive sword she held rested upon its reflection in the glass as she held herself steady with her sword arm. Kynes knew that his magic hadn’t been the cause, since that would have stunned himself as well. That burst of speed… she must have been hoping to kill me before she had to endure the recoil. Kynes rose from the rubble, grateful his boots were tough enough to stand on the shards. He only realized he had been deafened by the crash of their blades when he started to hear the unholy music again. As his hearing came back to him he also began to hear the words of that good-for-nothing. “–Outstanding! An astonishing turn of events! I am amazed you managed to put on such a performance. Perhaps you should allow for yourself a moment’s rest, to appreciate any mortal wounds you must have sustained after–” Kynes didn’t listen to the rest of what they had to say. He walked towards the kneeling angel only a few paces away. She still seemed to be in a daze, her visor pointed at her reflection staring back from beneath the glass. Not willing to give up another opportunity, Kynes readied his sword once more and brought his other hand to the blade. Each step forward was accompanied by harsh panting. He could feel something jagged scrapping against his lungs. No number of choked breaths made the spots of light leave his eyes. Yet he stood. Much of the strength had been sapped from his limbs. The weight of dragging his hand along the blade was less than it was just seconds before, but proved more exhausting as he struggled to imbue the sword with magic. Yet still the sword beamed as his hand slid off the end. Despite the state he was in, Kynes’ thoughts were clear, focused. The only sensation he could feel was the burning hot fury from the crimson brooch. Beyond the point where pain should have paralyzed him, beyond even being able to breathe, Kynes was spurred to act by the blaze from the jewel set within. Within… He still feels the faint impression of… someone within the brooch, but the fire it fills his chest with overwhelms it. Or maybe they’re the same… These thoughts are an echo in the back of his mind, as he stands before the sunken angel. Not a moment passed as Kynes leveled the sword, pointed towards her chest. With a silent intensity revealing none of the rage he contained, he pushed the sword forward with both hands, aiming to pierce her heart in a single strike. When fighting for your life, it becomes easy to focus on nothing except the danger you’re facing. Small details can go unnoticed. It’s easy for a soldier to disregard their allies falling beside them; To miss arrows flying by close enough to graze exposed skin; To ignore a rising fist right before them. The angel’s head darted up. Kynes failed to see her move while dazed, reaching out with her left hand as if to meet another’s grasp. Before Kyne’s sword could reach its mark, her hand whipped across her chest to divert the attack, only just slow enough to fall short of deflecting it entirely. Though no longer fatal, the gleaming blade landed square on her right shoulder and dug into her armor. With the runed sword thoroughly planted within her torso, the magic surrounding it began to dissipate. The third layer with a flash of light, followed by the second vanishing, and finally the first, leaving the blade dim and worn once more. Blood seeped from the wound and put a new red coating on the blade, but the angel’s grip on the blade was firm. She leaned forward, until their eyes could meet clearly through her visor. She spoke, with hatred layered over her words instead of pain. “You missed.” Kynes didn’t cower hearing such confident words. Though much more terse, this angel had the same arrogance as the one that followed him. The same vain sense of superiority, as if being some god’s dog made them better than every other thing their god created. Kynes spat out a response. “You angels are heartless anyway.”

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Field of Hunger (2/9/2022 23:09:50)
Smog swelled around Lune, blotting out their sight. The black wisps of air flowed through Lune but they did not feel anything of it. They’d never felt the cool wind on their “skin” or taken a deep breath to simply breathe. They repeated the motions as if it was their nature but never understood why. Why breathe if you didn’t need the air? Why blink if your eyes never got dry? Lune acted like a person, a performer but to what end? For Lune themselves, they never noticed these questions. Everyone breathed not because they needed to but because everyone else did. If they stopped breathing it wasn’t a big problem to Lune. Plenty of things didn’t breathe. The only bad part is that things that didn’t breathe didn’t react to their music. Fortunately, the people in the smoke had already heard their music and now could join Lune in a game. This game was an old one but it was one of their favorites. A game they had played many times before, They’re hiding in this cloud, and I’m seeking them. Lune curled their fingers around the bow, with their left arm dangling loosely. Lune stood still, listening closely for a sign. A second passed… Then another… A flash shot passed Lune, a booming reverb followed nearly instantly after. The smoke parted in a tunnel from where the bolt traveled. A deep shout of pain and gagged breath came from down its path. Now, it’s no fun if you make the game too easy Lune pouted to themselves. Tink tink tink~ Lune trotted quietly to the voice, their feet making soft spurts of sound with each step on the glass. Using the smoke of cover they ventured forward, towards the unsuspecting player of this little game. As they approached, each stride grew quicker than the last, Lune’s emotions started to stir and excitement brewed in their chest. The composure Lune pride themselves on seemed to be slipping, something was gnawing at the back of their head. A craving deep within had grown larger and larger with every step. The eagerness to meet people again and the opportunity of performing, all had churned together with something else. For the first time, Lune felt their concentration slip, if only just for a second. Lune looked stopped once more, they were close, the first part of the game was nearly over. A scuffle, just feet away. Lune bounded forward. The smoke parted revealing the elf breaking away from an injured minotaur, Lune prowling behind the chalk-white elven figure. Lune’s thoughts blurred together, their performer visage was lost in it. A smile forced itself on Lune’s face as their eye’s widened. ”I found you” In three steps, Lune was upon them. Contorting their body, Lune swung the backside of the bow at the elf. Lune studied his face, watching his countenance quickly change. The bow sliced through his arm. A splurt of red came from the wound and smeared on the bow. A wicked snarl plastered on the elf’s face. A grim satisfaction rose within Lune perfect Lune continued the attack. Torquing their body, Lune swung their broken fist at his jaw. The elegance normally found in Lune’s movement was nearly gone. They moved like a possessed marionette, raggedly but sharply. Lune expectantly awaited a sickening crunch for when it connected but the white and scarlet figure had managed to dodge just before impact. Lune was far from disappointed, Now we can just play a little longer. Lune’s sickly smile still painted across their face. Their arm dropped limp once more and locked eyes with their new pal. “You never did answer, what instrument do you play?”

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