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RE: =EC 2023= Grand Arena

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8/28/2023 22:53:37   
deathlord45
Member

It took a little bit for a creature of Bjhonkcioucles’s size to get up to even a moderate speed, which also severely limited its ability to dodge as well. Ultimately its ungainly size being why the patchwork behemoth had focused on ranged attack spells and defensive magics.

A few mystic tricks don’t truly make up for a myriad of physical limits, though clever application of said tricks can work wonders

The chimera thought back on years of experience that had molded it from a banal experiment to proper world wanderer. The greatest hardships weren’t those who were of the same size or larger than the amalgamation but those who had been smaller and faster than it. Swift birds on both the land and in the sky, particularly the ones on the ground came to mind as Bjhonkcioucles narrowed in on Sterling’s movements.

The easiest way to deal with quick and acrobatic opponents is to cripple them or otherwise impede their ability to move about.

The behemoth could sense the water it had readied to manifest to defend itself from the dueling pair that it had to pass by on its way to chase down Sterling. A silent mental sigh of relief escaped the creature as it safely passed by the duo. Focusing in on Sterling Bjhonkcioucles shifted the mana originally dedicated for a wall into aquaballs ready to bring down the flitting dancer.

"Look, okay, so maybe you don't care for —"

“Honk!” [“Strike fast and true, Aquaball!”]

Blue light manifested, condensed and transformed and sailed forward towards a point on Sterling’s leg where his shield didn’t protect. The distance was still too great; the first aquaball had lost too much mass and force to seriously harm the skater. Though it still hit true and did plenty of damage or at least pain as Sterling had begun to hop step a bit.

It's a start, not a solid one but anything is better than nothing. Though I need to close the distance a bit more and realign the trajectory.

"Rude!"

“Honk!” [“You may see it as rudeness, I find it the greatest respect. Weight and force break stone, Aquaball!”]

This time Sterling had reacted to the sounds of Bjhonkcioucles speaking, though it seemed to be more of an instinctual act of self defense rather than true understanding of the behemoth’s words. The defensive reaction had likely protected the icy dancer from being even more hobbled and being put in a desperate situation.

Alright, better but not the best. Third tries the charm as the saying goes.

“Honk!” [“Knock back and shatter, Aquaball!”]

Flying harsh and true a third aquaball sailed off ready to strike Sterling hard either in the shield or in leg either being a good target at this distance. However, this time the dancer had been ready for attack and jumped over this aquaball.

Hahahaha. Oh this is gonna be fun, not only observant but also clever enough to utilize the newly acquired information.

If the chimera had the correct musculature it would be smiling at the new and exciting challenge that Sterling was now presenting to the behemoth. Something that the creature hadn’t had in a long time.

"Alright big guy. You want me? Come and get me."

I am going to make you regret such words of tempting fate.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 26
8/29/2023 22:38:34   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 “The kingdoms are poised for war. It is only a matter of time now. The scent of conflict taints the air; already the officials begin the process of stocking up for the army,” he says, his voice carrying a weight of foreboding.

They are in their living room; they have just returned from the town hall meeting. There is a look on his face that frightens her. He is usually so optimistic, yet the flickering candlelight seemed to reflect a dark cloud that hung over them.

“What will we do?” she whispers. Without even realizing it, she reaches out and grabs hold of his arm. His hand automatically closes over hers, but even his warm touch cannot dispel the cold deep in her heart.

His expression is grim but determined. “Survive,” he replies. “The harvest was already bad, even if I tried to raise everyone’s spirits. The threat of war only exacerbates our predicament.”

Chiyi’s heart would have constricted from these words, but they only once again re-confirm what she knew absolutely. War and famine; these looming threats steal her sleep and ever so surely sow and water the seeds of fear in her mind. She fears for all their lives, but most of all, even worse than the fear, is the helplessness. Helpless to do anything but to flounder as the movements of kings and empires sweep them aside. Aside, or even worse—

“They say the men will be drafted,” she whispers. There is a quiver in her voice that she hates fervently, but she cannot help herself. The very idea that he may be taken away to the front lines filled her with a dread that is almost suffocating. Taken away, and nothing she could do about it.

His eyes soften as they meet hers. His hand tenderly cups her cheek. “I know, I know,” he says, though the soothing balm of his voice barely makes a dent in her anxiety. “But we will find a way. We must.”

She feels her eyes sting and blinks furiously. She knows he feels the responsibility. Determination to protect their family.

“I can register in the army,” he continues, his voice barely audible. “It might be the only way to ensure there’s enough food at least for you.”

Her grip on his arm tightens further, such that both his and her knuckles turn white. “No,” she pleads. “Please, don’t go. If something happens—” her voice breaks off. “I could not bear it.”

“Chiyi,” he says, “do you trust me?”

He has asked her this before, but this time she is not sure she can answer.


Mooth's screech of rage tore through the air as she shredded Chiyi's cloak with savage fury. Little bits of tattered red fluttered to the ground, not unlike the falling leaves of autumn.

In that instant, Chiyi felt an unexpected pang of loss. The cloak had been a loyal companion, practically a part of her through the years. It held memories, older even than her trusty sword. Where her sword was Torment, her cloak could have been considered Comfort.

Cut away. Yes, but not for the first time …

But there was no time to dwell on sentimentality as reality snapped back into focus. The moment of reverie shredded as rapidly as her cloak as she realized what it revealed—

The moth-woman was winding up, poised to unleash a powerful kick with her deadly talons. Chiyi wasn’t sure how she would have reacted. Her heart pounded so loudly with exertion and adrenaline, it drowned out the rest of the world. But just as the tension reached its peak, the announcement came.

The pillar of Light behind Mooth flared, the statue of the warrior that was part of it raised her axe and cleaved it into two. The pillar exploded.

But through it all, the voice — or voices — announced with cold clarity.

“And so has favor been withdrawn from Mooth, Paragon of Light.”

And in the blink of an eye, Light had fallen.

The announcement seemed to catch Mooth off guard, because for a moment, she faltered, the wound-up kick fizzing out like a soaked firecracker.

But Chiyi did not hesitate. She thrust Torment forward, its blade slicing through the air. Impassive. Inexorable.

The weapon struck its mark with a horrible, sickeningly dull thud, and Mooth screeched again, though this time of pain. Blood spattered onto the crimson sands.

Chiyi yanked the Torment back, her breath catching in her throat. Her grip on Torment was awkward; she needed to make a move fast. Block or counter-strike? This was the moment of truth. Would Mooth retaliate, or ...?

A flap of Mooth’s wings sent a cloud of dust blowing into Chiyi's eyes, causing her to squint and momentarily lose sight. Instinctively, she maneuvered the blade so it was held vertically, serving as a makeshift shield. She braced—

The attack never came. Chiyi cautiously peeked out behind Torment.

Relief coursed through her, the tension releasing as her breath left her in a rush.

Mooth had fled. Chiyi did not pursue her. She knew the rules of the arena.

Dismissed.

So, the countdown was beginning. One by one, each combatant would be struck down, not necessarily by the weapons of the others, but by the judgment of the Lords that presided over the Championships.

Chiyi thrust Torment into the sand, its wooden handle gleaming with a mix of sand and sweat. A barely noticeable seed clicked against her teeth; in the midst of the battle's chaos, she had forgotten she was even chewing on one. She spat it out and popped a fresh wrathberry into her mouth, the burst of flavor a rejuvenating spark.

One down, Chiyi thought. As she dropped her hand down to Torment’s handle, she noticed she was trembling ever so slightly.

So close. So, so close. How many years had it been? Twenty? Thirty? Combing through every nook and cranny, searching, searching …Time dulled the pain but that was the key word: dulled. And a blunt, rusty knife hurt just as terribly as a sharp one. At least the sharp one made it quick, if not clean.

Torment’s cold metal against her fingers contrasted sharply with the fire on her tongue and the sun’s heat on her skin. Reassuring.

Do you trust me?

Chiyi wrapped her fingers around Torment’s handle and pulled it out of the sand. One down, but six remained.

Elodie, the frilly maid, was locked in combat with another equally frilly girl, the one called Parralia. A giant of a woman, the one called Vosta, dueled what seemed to be a knight clad in an otherworldly, shimmering armor, the one called Ezkeraz. Two pairs of deadly warriors, not really something Chiyi wanted to insert herself into.

As for the last pair …

Sterling, the now-Paragon of Ice, faced off against the goose-like monstrosity, the one called Bhjonk-something. Bhjonk-something honked loudly, a sound made incongruous by its size. As Chiyi watched, Bhjonk-something appeared to be somehow drawing water out of the air, manifesting a cloud of mist around its form. Not just for show either—it was also bombarding Sterling with balls of water. Or at least that was what the large splash marks in the sand seemed to imply.

Many years ago and almost every day after, Chiyi had learned that in battle, there was no time for thought. But the experience of almost a lifetime had taught her: if she wasn’t being stabbed at, she should think before she acted. So she thought, the gears of her mind spinning with wonderful agility unchanged since youth, well-worn by the years.

One one hand: they were all enemies in this arena. There could only be one victor. On that same hand—Chiyi wasn’t familiar with the elemental system—but she predicted that the two of them were on opposing elemental affinities.

On the other hand, they had helped each other before, more or less. The idea that had been torn to tatters not so many minutes ago seemed to draw itself together …

As a last joke, Chiyi thought wryly, together he really could be her “other hand.”

“Sterling,” Chiyi called out.

He didn't react, understandably so, as Bhjonk-something bellowed and loosed a stream of water at him with impressive accuracy.

“You don't seem to be doing so well,” Chiyi observed.

“Blrblrblrbrlblrbrlbrbl!” Sterling replied.

Well, that's not good.

“I will take that as a confirmation,” Chiyi said.

And so, from one battle straight to another.

Chiyi sheathed Torment, securing it to its harness on her back (she inwardly blessed the fact she'd had the harness and the cape separated). Without breaking stride, she dashed to the right, in the opposite direction of Sterling—but not before snatching up a fistful of red sand.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 27
8/29/2023 22:54:44   
Apocalypse
Member

The Crow Laugh feasted on the defender’s shoulder and freed a spurt of blood from its prison of flesh. Vosta’s hardened her gaze as Ezkeraz bounded backwards and out of her reach, his arm still attached to his body. Her eye traced the fork of crimson rivers trickling down his armored chest. Enough to force storm’s chosen to switch his blade to his uninjured arm, but not enough to render the limb useless. Nowhere near enough. The mother of the plains had claimed her arm from elbow to fingertip - Vosta would not relent until she had paid this failed successor in kind. She leveled the spear at Ezkeraz, scarlet tipped poised towards his heart. The warclad did not know if it would be more merciful to leave storm’s chosen with one eye or to take both and blind him to the horrors she would deliver unto him.

An aroma - fresh and fragrant - tickled her nose. Vosta risked a glance to the side and caught motion as the Pillar of Light moved, its statue cleaving the air before igniting in a brilliant nova. The warclad raised her arm to ward off the fierce light, and the voices of elders and ancients thrummed in her ear.

“And so has favor been withdrawn from Mooth, Paragon of Light. This Pillar of Light has fallen - and we now bear witness to her choice, and to her Lord’s dismay.”

Feed the crows. The light faded, and Vosta’s eye flicked over the smoldering crater to witness the chosen of light’s unceremonious end-

-and instead saw the winged figure still alive and whole.

The warclad froze. Chosen warriors from lands unknown had gathered to fight for the glory of their gods. Only blood and sacrifice could satisfy the cravings of the divine in their lavish indulgences. Ol’ Crow had taught her that harsh lesson on the Gilded Plains. He had already rained ruin and suffering upon her; body and spirit broken and laid bare before all. Whatever favor she once held had been rescinded long, long ago.

So how could her pillar still stand?

Against a lifetime of warring instinct, Vosta craned her neck back to the elven statue erected behind her. It gave no answer as it stared straight ahead, face stoic and hair aflutter on a breathless wind. The warclad wrenched her attention back to Ezkeraz to find him already sweeping forward, sunlight dancing off his silver blade. In unison, a small sphere glimmered at the edge of her vision. Years of intuition and muscle memory ignored it in-favor of the oncoming sword. Vosta raised The Crow Laugh to intercept the blow.

It met only air as the sword curved in its path to strike instead for the shimmering orb.

Blade shattered marble, and a streak of purple sprung forth to lash itself to the Jotnari’a arm. The chained tendril locked itself in place, and with it, the warclad’s limb. Vosta pulled against her binding, but the strangely warm tether refused to relent to her might. Silver flashed, and the warclad moved too slow to intercept the defender’s next blow. Steel split open flesh like a ripped seam from wrist to elbow. The Jotnari roared as stitches of pain wove themselves deep into her arm. She lurched her entire body to the right, muscles straining from calves to bicep in a desperate bid to break the binding. Yet still the astral tether clung to her.

Storm’s chosen visage brimmed with neither rage nor glee as he raised his sword again; only a sheer determination running rampant in his emerald eyes. Vosta growled, talons falling from their grip on the boar spear. Ezkeraz struck again, this time aiming to pierce her heart in a fatal blow-

-only for the blade to stop short, metal tip a hair’s breadth from penetrating her chest.

Blood and Bone clenched the defender’s forearm in-place, taloned hand large enough to close around it like a child’s. Vosta’s gaze bored into Ezkeraz as he pulled against her grasp to no avail. Storm’s chosen dreamed himself a warrior, yet he relied on petty sorceries to bridge the gap between himself and true glory. The Jotnari’s talons only tightened around the defender’s forearm, claws screeching against metal plate.

“You play warrior.”

Vosta rose to her full height.

“I am war.”

Pivoting in a spray of scarlet snow, Vosta whipped the defender off his feet. At the end of her makeshift pirouette, she relinquished her grip to send the paragon soaring towards the center of the colosseum. The warclad tore her gaze away from Ezkeraz before he crashed to the ground and towards the tendril relentlessly binding her. She lashed out with violent talons and slashed the tether to ribbons. The remnants dissipated to dust before they could join the sea of scarlet. Vosta flexed the fingers of her wounded arm. Only the first two touched her palm on command. The Jotnari shifted her grip to lead with Blood and Bone. She had fought with far worse than a few disobedient fingers.

What of you, Ol’ Crow?

Vosta allowed herself one last glance at the Pillar of Wind. The elf looked past her, looked through her with an expression inscrutable to the Jotnari. And what of you, Windborne? She narrowed her eye at the Crow God’s favored child. What else do you hold from me? What is left for you to take?

With Wind’s Pillar still standing strong behind her, the last warclad of the Jotnari rushed out into the crimson snow to seek her answers.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 28
8/30/2023 21:04:58   
Dragonknight315
Member

The servant felt a sense of dread wash over her as she raced towards the ground. It stemmed not from the promise of impact; she had long conquered that fear. No, its true source came from nothing else but the magical girl. As the servant dived towards her rival and prey, Elodie watched as Parralia’s shadow moved. It defied the imposed restraints of the midday sun, twisting and contorting as it wrapped around the magical girl and her battle-axe. It coated her like a second skin and then–

The arena howled, demanding the paragons’ attention as a pulse of pure light swept across the sands. Yet the light would not touch the magical girl as her shadow billowed out, drowning the magical girl and her surroundings in a black darker than night.

<Now you show your true colors...>

With her descent obscured, the servant closed her eyes and fell head-first into the darkness. In the cold darkness, she felt her fingers touch hot sand. She felt the vibrations tear through her arms and her core, yet she pushed back against the world, demanding her safety as she rolled forward.

Through sheer force of will, the servant had survived her daredevil maneuver. It came with a price however; as Elodie redirected her momentum forward, there was an audible snap. The servant did not need her sight to know what had happened; the steel of her arm-blades was left behind.

As the servant staggered up, a voice called out to her.

“Okay, Miss Elodie. We can play.”

The paragon’s words reverberated throughout the fog as though it came from every direction. The servant bit her lip in frustration. Her bones ached in protest, her weapon of choice was now useless– and now, she was right in the center of her rival’s domain. A soft giggle swept through the lightless space, but Elodie remained silent save for her heavy breath. Elodie could feel the fog seeping into her essence. Clutching the pouch in her hand, Elodie raised her arms in a defensive stance. But her body seemed heavy, sluggish, as if it took constant effort just to support her own weight.

The servant’s mind raced ahead of her body. The dark influence that washed over her was eerily familiar. Elodie scoured her thoughts for any information she could find until finally her mind was turned inside out.

“... This isn’t typical magic. It’s demon magic.”

The darkness answered her spoken thoughts. “Devil, actually.”

The servant felt a hard knock on her chest. Completely blindsided, the servant gasped for air as she stumbled back, falling out of the shadow and onto her back. Her grip loosened, and the pouch of caltrops fell out of reach.

As the servant gathered herself, she saw as the paragon stepped out from the darkness with her axe in hand. Three onyx blades orbited her form; it was as if the weapons were forged from the very darkness behind her.

The irony was not lost on Elodie. She had shown the magical girl mercy, yet she neglected the paragon’s own strengths. Parralia was greater in stature and likely just as athletic as Elodie, a fact made more apparent as the magical girl towered over her. But she would not make the same mistake again.

The servant’s first instinct regarded the swords. Separate from the magical girl’s form, Elodie thought that she could wield them against their owner. But as the servant raised her hand and attempted to reach out with her mind, Elodie found no purchase. Just as she suspected, they were made of pure shadow, a manifestation of the paragon’s “devil magic.”

<If I can’t manipulate it directly, perhaps I can sever it at the source.>

The servant shifted her focus entirely towards the magical girl. As Parralia brought her axe down, she rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being cut in half. Jumping to her feet, the servant tucked her hands into her apron and brandished a pair of brass knuckles.

With her intent focused like a needle, the servant reached out with her mind towards Parralia’s. She raised her fists and stepped back, desperately trying to stay just barely out of Parralia’s reach until she could complete the connection.

<One way or another, I’ll get through to you.>
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 29
8/30/2023 22:03:16   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Sterling dearly wished he had been able to spot Bella in the stands by this point, though being ignorant of her position had one fringe benefit: He couldn't catch her glaring at him, or wincing, or both at the sheer arrogance of taunting Bjhonkcioucles to charge at him. Frankly, it wasn't on his own list of bright ideas, given the chimera outmassed him a dozen times over. The idea had potential as a plan though, and he would argue that till the sun went down if need be. Bella was sure to offer several dozen shortfalls within the same span of heartbeats. Possibly work herself into a proper tizzy over it.

'When was the last time Bella and I had a fight, anyway? Was it when I left, or afterwards, when she found out I was involved in a bit of larceny?'

Sterling forestalled a full trip down memory lane — the current scrap with the chimera certainly held pointed priority — but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth all the same. Sure, others might think him cocky, confident, or crazy for the expression; he just couldn't help feeling his spirit perk up at the opportunity to verbally spar with Bella later. Sterling had no doubts he would survive to have such an argument. Just that making up afterwards was a very delightful prospect.

Overhead, the chorus drowned out both crowd and combatants for a single lasting moment as they announced the first to fall. Light had withdrawn their favor, removing one relative unknown from the field, to Sterling's inner delight.

Nothing like the prospect of thinning competition to realign the mind with the body! Sterling shivered as a new rush of adrenaline spread the unnatural chill within him, bringing to the fore his collection of bruises and knicks. The sting along his ankle hadn't yet morphed fully from throbbing pain into the numb prickling of pins and needles, nor had the razor slice along his tail ceased streaming fresh scarlet upon the sands. Nothing too major, but…'Ughhh. Fine, gotta be smart, not flashy.'

Sterling eyed the Goosemera warily. The dreadful thing wasn't taking his verbal bait, keeping to a steady approach that shook the sands beneath his feet. Watched the graceful curve of avian neck arch as Bhjonk took a breath and moisture shimmered around the beast. After three straight orbs of pure wet, Sterling had an inkling as to the timing for further such blasts. The water would gather near the mouth, and then there would be a terrible —

"Sterling." 'That's not it…Chiyi?' It was a marvel to be addressed, but her dalliance with Light had obviously ended.

"Honk!" There it was, the terrible screaming nonsense that preceded the oversized sling bullet. Sterling pushed gingerly off with his left foot, unpleasant as it was to do, and pivoted hard to his right. Drawing some of the grace of a pirouette as his tail inscribed an arc into the sand to neatly dodge the Aquaball.

Only it hadn't been an Aquaball. The chimera might look the part of a lumbering, single-minded beast, but once again it was proving to have far cannier intelligence behind its gimlet eyes.

Sterling finished his rotation just in time for a cascade of pressurized water to hit him full on with cannonade force. He didn't leave his feet so much as crumple backwards in jarring fashion, blindly struggling to roll with the impact as water soaked Sterling and sand. His cane dug a foot-long trench before Sterling reluctantly let his favored tool go — dropped, it was something he could retrieve. If the shaft snapped for the sixth time? Sterling didn't want a repeat of the Solomon job, he couldn't afford to lose his cool and his weapon. The chimera's height gave the hydrospray a punishing downwards angle, at least initially, but what aggravated Sterling was how persistent and sustained it was. 'Falling down. Again. Bloody…'

“You don't seem to be doing so well.” The calm side commentary from Chiyi was barely audible over the rush of water surrounding him.

'Ya think?' It would have been a perfectly pithy retort, but the gallons upon gallons of water were not speech-friendly. The burbling gargle that instead pushed past abused lips played more to the tune of the utterly incomprehensible. If only he could have lifted his shield and spoke with any measure of clarity. Or clearly heard whatever reply his former ally offered.

He rolled a second time, gathering his feet under him as the pressure continued to mount, though the angle subtly changed the further he was pushed back. Sterling capitalized immediately, pushing concentration into Ice Skating to force those ethereal skates to reform beneath him. There was no stopping his current hosing, but he could twist the pounding momentum into working for him through pure physics.

Bjhonkcioucles maintained the punishing hydrospray, unaware of the cogs turning in Sterling's mind nor of the skates that bit into the sands beneath him. The young man twisted his upper body against the pressure, jostling his shield into position to absorb the punishment. With a sigh of relief the forceful blast propelled him backward in a boost of pure, blessed speed. Speed and some severely needed separation from the chimeric threat, enough so that he could take a deep breath. Bellowing loud, and proud, even though he was blinking rapidly like a half-drowned Drakel.

"Don't you think it's a touch early to celebrate my victory? You need to flavor it like Fizzy Moglinberry juice next time!"

Post edited to remove specific content. ~Starflame13

< Message edited by Starflame13 -- 8/30/2023 23:28:57 >
AQ  Post #: 30
8/31/2023 10:07:38   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 The tang of brine - a salty sea breeze from some long-forgotten ocean - washed across the Arena in gentle waves. Moisture clung in the air, heavy droplets dampening skin and cloth to cling to every surface. The rivulets coalesced upon the Pillar of Water, slim tendrils carving fresh scars into the salt figure standing upon it. The drakel closed its eyes, tears spilling down its cheek as it raised its snout to the heavens and let out a deep, mournful cry. Veins of water grew to rivers that carved away at it, bits and pieces swept up in the deluge until entire limbs broke free and plummeted to the sands below. With a final swell, the statue imploded inwards, collapsing upon itself and tumbling downwards in roiling waves of salt-stained sea.

"And so has favor been withdrawn from Bjhonkcioucles, Paragon of Water." A great cacophony cried forth, the calls of birds and beasts coming from human throats to sound out their message. "The Pillar of Water has fallen - and we now bear witness to its choice, and to its Lord's grief." A single dune of ivory lay amongst the crimsons sands, flecks of salt still pulling at the moisture within their grasp.

AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 31
8/31/2023 21:26:35   
Oddball
Member

…So how exactly were they supposed to “Play” anyway? It’s not like Parralia had magic vision to see through her own fog or anything akin to that kind of ability. Definitely worth adding to the grocery list of ‘Things I, Parralia Anita, may need in the future.” though. Besides, seeing in the dark would be a great help during her nightly skirmishes! Would definitely be better than her current approach of tossing a flare into a pitch-black room and hoping there’s no infected that rely on sight in there.

It was roughly about this long into her usual unfocused thoughts that her brain would remind her that something important was going on, but there was no voice this time. She had her reasons to keep her mind occupied on weird or mundane topics and it was simply that she had to.

She didn’t want her shadow getting any ideas while they were blanketed by darkness, is all.

She overheard a voice calling out to both competitors and spectators alike, but its words were muffled at best and indecipherable at worst. She’d just have to figure out what it was when she stopped hiding, that sounded like the best course of action.

”Just gotta listen out, Miss Elodie could be anywhere.”

How exactly was she supposed to figure out where the maid was anyway? She couldn’t blindly swing her axe around in hopes she randomly caught her, exerting herself like that in the fog was the closest thing to a death sentence she could think of. She had to save every bit of energy she could hold onto, before her own magic rendered her incapable of facing the mountainous task ahead of her.

She just needed a way to locate her target! Something impossibly convenient… Yeah, like she had the luck for something like that to happe-

”This isn’t typical magic. It’s demon magic.”

I believe this is what they call ‘tempting fate.’

A nearby voice absentmindedly spoke their thoughts out to the darkness, alerting Parralia to their location. Just within kicking range, excellent. Mustering up the energy to strike at her foe would prove more difficult than it should… at least that confirmed the fog was doing its job.

But before any of that, she had to correct something. The source of her magic wouldn’t take kindly to being called a demon, after all.

“Devil, actually.”

Giving Elodie no time to react, Parralia willed her leg upwards before she thrust it forwards. Her foot connected with the Maid’s torso with a horrific thud. Successful surprise attack! At least this should give her a bit of an advantage, there’s not too many people capable of just shrugging off a shot to the chest like that.

With her axe pointed towards the ground, Parralia slowly made her way towards the servant. It had long since passed the time she could safely stay inside of her fog, and each footstep felt heavier than the last.

In a flash, she was back in front of that mirror.

The magical girl slammed her fist against her forehead in a violent attempt to rid herself of her visions, an act that granted her a sickening, echoed laugh in response.

She willed her legs to keep going -she would not be tormented by this pretender’s presence for a second longer. Just a couple more steps and she would be free.

Oh, to see the sun again.

Finding the edges of her fog, Parralia flicked two fingers upwards as she confidently stepped into the light. Small pieces of the residual fog seemed to follow her for a brief moment before fashioning themselves into blades.

Just remember. Others cannot see you suffering. You are Hope, a shining beacon for all who need you.

She dashed forwards and brought her axe down towards the Maid, who deftly avoided the strike with a swift roll to the side. She seemed to fish something out from inside of her apron, but Parralia was too focused on stabilizing her magic to humour a glance over to what it was.

She watched as the servant shifted back, hands brought up in front of her in some kind of unarmed combat stance… Oh Elodie was wearing brass knuckles! That’s what she grabbed.

Hold on, why would she have those in the first place? Or the knives… Or the armblades… Or those strangely piercing eyes that were locked onto her, were they always like that?

What kinda’ Maid was this?

Questions for after! If there was an after for her, anyway.

“Miss Elodie!” The girl started, swinging her axe up to point towards the maid.

“Catch.” With a surge of magic, the gem crackled with shadowed energy before a blast was shot towards Elodie, with Parralia not too far behind it, axe trailing behind her. She knew she was getting reckless with her magic and a quick glance down towards her shadow confirmed that she was getting close to overloading. How could she tell? Well, it was a subtle change that only she could see, but her shadow would warble uncontrollably, getting worse as she used her magic without ample rest.

The invisible eyes of her mirrored self watched her through her shadow just like they always did, ready to pounce if she swallowed her heart in darkness…

Now she just had to figure out where the second pair were coming from.
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 32
8/31/2023 23:20:16   
TripleChaos
Member

Ezkeraz brings his sword down, cutting deep into her arm. The giant gives a roar and tries to pull away from the glowing chain holding her fast. Ezkeraz senses the opportunity–I need this more than you–for a killing blow and prepares to seize it. His eyes glint with determination as he levels his blade and thrusts toward her heart.

The blade only just nicks her leather as it comes to a stop in front of her chest. Her other arm had caught his own before his strike landed, the glossy prosthetic now imprinting the shape of its talons onto his bracer as she clamps on it. Ezkeraz struggles to pull back even an inch in her grip as she rises and gives a curt declaration.

“You play warrior.” A fury envelopes the giant’s gaze. “I am war.”

She pivots on her foot and lifts Ezkeraz off of his feet. Spinning around once, she throws him into the air closer to the arena’s center. The pull of the ground does not allow him to fly far before he slams into the ground, rolling once, twice, three times before settling on the hot sand. Ezkeraz lies still for only a moment before stifling a groan and wincing at all the new bruises he’s collected. He’s thankful he can still move at least.

Ezkeraz rises to his feet, faltering once as the aches of crashing into the ground and tumbling across the sand, for a second time now, continue to sting. He looks back at the giant and sees that they had shattered the tether before it faded. With her spear in only one hand now, she turns her gaze away from her own pillar to Ezkeraz and rushes toward him.

He–can’t bear the force of another hit like before–swaps to grip his sword loosely with his left hand and pulls out another marble, the third of five. He allows himself a deep breath before throwing it far into the air at the charging giant. In the same motion, he raises his left hand and jerks back his right as a flash of light envelops them for an instant. His wounded arm flares with pain as he suddenly holds back the weight of his bow before releasing an arrow to chase the orb he had thrown.

The arrow glances off the side of the marble and spins wildly away, but the blow is enough to crack open the marble. Its purple light shoots toward the giant again, aimed at her shoulder where it would be harder to swipe with her taloned hand.

But before it can collide with her, she brings her spear up in front of the beam and blocks it just beneath the spearpoint. Her charge unimpeded, the giant’s face is a cold glare. As she continues to come closer, Ezkeraz swipes another arrow from his quiver and aims at her arm with the prosthetic, at the shoulder that still has its flesh. Blood continues to trickle from his own shoulder, and he struggles to keep his aim steady until he releases the tension and launches the arrow toward the giant.
Post #: 33
9/2/2023 22:04:29   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 In the darkest hours of night, Chiyi finds herself alone, her world cloaked in shadows that seem to devour the very essence of her being. She sits by the window, a lone candle casting feeble, flickering light, unable to dispel the oppressive darkness that engulfs her.

Beyond the window, the world is silent. The distant echoes of once-vibrant streets have faded into the void, leaving only eerie silence in their wake. There is no news from the front lines except for scant, fearful whispers of battles in places she has only even barely heard of, much less visited.

Guiyang. Nanchang. Kunming. Each distant conflict is a dagger thrust into her heart, anguish intensified by unfamiliarity.

The cupboards are nearly bare, and the meager scraps of food have dwindled to nothing more than a cruel illusion of sustenance. The rice jar, once brimming with life-sustaining grains, stands empty and abandoned. Desperation claws at her insides, gnawing at her resolve, but worry drowns out hunger. She has heard of others resorting to unspeakable acts to feed their families, but she is determined not to succumb to such depths.

In this desolate moment, Chiyi clings to the last thread of hope, the fragile belief that her husband will return unharmed. She prays to the ancestors, to the spirits of the land, and to every deity she can name, but her words feel hollow in the silence of her empty home.

A strange feeling boils in her stomach, leaving a vile taste in the back of her throat. Anger. Anger at the world, anger at kings and kingdoms that care nothing for its peoples except for pawns to be thrown into the grinder of war. It feels foreign, alien. She cups her mouth, nauseated, as it abruptly fades into a yawning, aching nothingness.

As she gazes up at the heavens, seeking solace in the timeless embrace of the stars, she finds only cold, indifferent silence. The constellations, once her companions on countless nights with her husband, now offer no guidance. They are distant, unfeeling, and unresponsive. Only her memories and the chilling silence of the night are her companions here.


Like some cruel twist of fate, the plan was rather short-lived. The effigies upon the Pillar of Water gave a mournful cry that chilled the bone, and the statue collapsed upon itself, melting into oceanic waves—an incongruous sight to see in the middle of a desert. With that, the announcement came.

“And so favor has been withdrawn from Bjhonkcioucles, Paragon of Water.”

Not even more than a minute after the previous one.

That was fast.

Before either her or Sterling could react, the beast lumbered off without so much as a parting screech. Chiyi tensed, thinking for a moment it might fire off a last water blast, but that did not happen.

Light and Water had fallen. Five opponents remained. One in particular …

“So … we meet again,” Chiyi said softly.

In the bright light, Sterling’s illuminated form was truly grotesque. Iridescent scales made even shinier by all the water soaking him through, a bowed and stooped posture, broken teeth, a bald head with no garish wig to hide. His tail flicked back and forth. Chiyi herself probably looked no better—her white hair was a mess, her skin covered in a fine dusting of sand, her cloak gone, revealing the stump of her missing arm.

“Must we fight?” Glancing at the remaining two pairs of fighters across the arena, Chiyi answered her own question. “Yes … there cannot be two tigers in the same mountain. If we fight now, one of us will die. If—” she gestured to the remaining two pairs of fighters “—we fight them, there is no certainty we can make it.”

At “no certainty,” Chiyi looked up into the sky, her intent clear. Death was not necessary as proof of victory or defeat; only the judgment of the powers that be mattered, as it was so evidenced by the two exits just now.

“And even if we do,” she breathed, “then we will fight anyway. So, what will it be … old friend?”

Sterling met her gaze with an unreadable expression, though she thought she saw the ghost of a shadow pass over his otherwise strangely bright eyes.

“Friends …” he muttered. The word did feel odd now that Chiyi had spoken it, and if she felt so then it must have felt doubly so for Sterling.

“Look,” Sterling began,“that’s a strong term. You got my respect, as a fellow Doll - a fightin’ one at that.” He bit at one of the loosened straps around his chest, tugging on it, and methodically worked on the others. At the same time he continued to speak, though the sound of tongue and leather on top of broken teeth made for a hideous slurring. “I can pfink of a few spradtlimgs who’b like da meeb ya. Bigm sbord and all.”

Chiyi's brow furrowed as she listened, her gaze never leaving Sterling's form. Lately, she had gotten more practice at the language than she ever had in some several years, but she barely caught a word of his accent.

Sterling worked the straps free and with admirable dexterity, slipped it over his head. The shield-like thing covering his left shoulder slipped free, revealing the twinkle of the interlinked chain armor worn by the average Eastern military along with some sort of padded cloth. No arm was in sight, the sleeve pinned shut.

“Phah!” He spit into the sand, clearing his mouth of the taste of leather. “Anywho. Yeah, respect means I’m not about to kill you. But I can’t let ya walk all over me either.”

And I, you.

“So. Yeah. Guess we ought ya hash things out, though let’s make it a private affair. Someone else comes knockin’, we crush’ em Twilight style. Agreed?”

Even if the slew of words were hard to make out through the accent, she did, however, catch the tone.

To which she merely inclined her head. “Yes,” she responded simply.

Ah, the Twilight …

Chiyi frowned. “Wait … where is that weapon of yours? The … the cane.” The memory of the twilight gloom came to her, a fluttering impression, but it was there. In the shadows, the faint gleam of something long and sharp. “The cane. Pick it up.”

She glared at the pillars that surrounded them all. Eight reduced to six. Two who did not fall, but were dismissed like dogs.

And within her, she felt a burning hatred, rising, bubbling like a heated cauldron, so intense that it eclipsed the cloudless sky. A very familiar hatred, birthed years ago. “They are watching,” she hissed.

Sterling circled to his fallen cane and retrieved it. Chiyi took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. Soon …

Soon.

“And now,” she said softly. Her eyes opened, glinting as red as the arena sands. “We fight.”

There was no need for a signal.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 34
9/2/2023 22:48:37   
Apocalypse
Member

Coarse grains shifted beneath the Jotnari’s boots, each step a battle in her hounding of storm’s chosen. Had this duel come to pass on soil or compacted snow, Vosta would have already fallen upon the paragon and torn him apart with spear and talon. Instead, this colosseum favored Ezkeraz, gifting him ample time to gather his wits and prepare his defenses. The warclad followed his blade as it flew from one hand to the other, freeing the first to procure another glimmering marble. A snort escaped Vosta. A petty sorcerer possessing but a single trick in his arsenal. The Jotnari switched her grip to hold The Crow Laugh before her as she charged. Show me. Sorrow-filled eyes born amidst lightning flared in her mind. Show me why you deserve to stand in her shadow.

Vosta’s gaze followed the small sphere as the defender pitched it forwards. The marble glinted in the sun’s unyielding rays like a sparkling dewdrop. She shifted her gaze back to the defender just as a burst of snow-white light enveloped him. The warclad moved to turn her face away from the sudden illumination but stopped herself short. Bright, yet not harsh and over as soon as it began. Not a diversion. She narrowed her eye at storm’s chosen and with him, the bow usurping his sword’s place. An expression of his living weapon. Ezkeraz leveled the bow and took aim. Vosta’s amber eye traced the arrow’s intended path.

Her face remained still as stone even as a hint of ego sparked within her chest. Singular in nature.

Predictable.

Ezkeraz released his shot, the missile whistling over the crimson dunes. Vosta raised The Crow Laugh just as arrow shattered marble in a cloud of sparks. Another chained tendril lashed out from a realm beyond and wound through the air in its hunt for the Jotnari. But this time, tether met not with flesh but ironthorn as her spear intercepted the arcane assault. The Crow Laugh stuck fast in the air as if clasped in the clutches of a true giant of old. Immovable. Her mind brimmed with satisfaction even as her heart curdled with disgust. No other way existed. A trap requires both bait and sacrifice to be sprung. The notion did little to quell the quiver in Vosta’s chest as she relinquished her father’s favored blade.

So there was something left after all, Ol’ Crow.

Water droplets apparated from the aether to cling to Vosta’s skin as she closed the distance between herself and storm's chosen. The sting of brine assaulted her nose, and the din of a legion resounded in her ear to denounce the beastly amalgamation. Her eye flicked to its pillar where the weredrake weeped rivers of salt before dissolving into a ivory puddle amidst a scarlet sea.

A bitter laugh escaped the Jotnari’s throat. Did the Drowned Kraken speak first, and you must wait your turn like a child? She returned her attention to the armorclad figure who still had yet to grace her with his speech. He nocked another arrow., a grimace breaking through the defender’s resolve as he pulled back the string. Or do you seek to see Thunder Jackal’s own rip victory away from me?

Silence endured as the Crow God's answer.

Blood boiled within her, fueling her sprint with a burst of speed over the uncanny snow. Vosta reached for the hilt of the Jarlman, lilac-drenched fingers fumbling with the knife and failing to draw it free. String thrummed as Ezkeraz loosed his arrow. Her right shoulder flared with a shock of seething splinters. Vosta gasped, tears welling in her vision from steel burrowing through flesh down to the bone. The warclad cursed herself for falling for the storm’s chosen tactics - no matter how she denied it, he was hunting her as a beast and succeeding.

Vosta exhaled. If he wished to hunt a beast, then so be it.

A howl, guttural and raw, washed across the colosseum as Vosta abandoned any thought of freeing the Jarlman. She threw all of her weight and might forward in a final bound to cross the remaining gap between her and the defender. Blood and Bone lashed out, five violet daggers cutting across the sky to strike and tear at his neck and helm. Trembling fingers opened as she readied a palm strike to drive the defender’s nose up into his skull. Victory and revenge lay entwined together within her reach. Heart and head pounding, giantish spilled from her lips.

”For you, dear father, I hunt!"
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 35
9/3/2023 20:45:13   
Dragonknight315
Member

In many ways, everything was made of strings– or so Lord Durando once told the young maid. People, places, even reality itself. Elodie never had a reason to doubt her master and his many enlightened truths. But even if it wasn’t entirely accurate, she found the idea useful. A powerful but simple visualization– that’s all the servant needed.

The thought-needle slipped between Parralia’s guard, diving through her subconsciousness. It carried a string, one of Elodie’s own making. The physical distance between her and the servant was small. On a subjective level? The two were infinitely apart, their souls separated into their own worlds by a vast, near infinite divide. But with her string in place, the two connected– mind to mind, soul to soul, and the divide seemed far easier to cross.

<... Shadow. Grief. She stands in front of a mirror, refusing it–>

Immediately, the servant sensed it. Just as Elodie had surmised, the paragon had made a deal with a demon– a devil, she corrected herself. It was woven into the fabric of Parralia’s essence. Yet, it was kept at bay, overshadowed by Parralia’s own force of will. Her power, like the servant’s, came from within.

<Hope. Overflowing hope. She resolves to... Save– save what?>

“... Elodie!”

The servant focused her gaze as the magical girl called out to her, her words pulling Elodie back to reality. As she looked into her eyes, the servant felt as if she were staring at her own reflection.

The two paragons were now one. As Elodie looked into the magical girl’s heart, their thoughts were her thoughts.

<Catch.>

“Catch!”

The magical girl raised her axe, and out came a bolt of pure darkness. It shot across the sands, and Elodie braced for impact as it slammed into her guard. The fabric around her sleeves turned to ash, exposing the metal gauntlets underneath. But otherwise, the bolt was surprisingly ineffective.

Elodie could feel the fear bubbling in the back of her mind. It belonged to the magical girl:

<Control. Maintain control.>

It was now or never. The magical girl was struggling– with what was unknown. But Elodie sensed her opportunity; if she was to win, the servant needed to take every advantage possible.

<Control. Maintain control.>

Elodie focused, her thoughts blending in with her opponent’s. The connection could not convey everything to the servant. The string was only so thick, and she could only concentrate so much. It didn’t help that her rival’s mind was like a tempest, erratic and ever shifting. She sifted through the ‘buts’ and ‘maybes’ and ‘tomorrows’ and all the stray gossip until she finally found something akin to a plan.

As the servant rushed towards the paragon, she leaned into the connection and felt the vibrations in her soul. The instincts took on the rhythm, and it provided a path forward. As Elodie closed in, the magical girl beckoned her black swords forward. Living extensions of their master’s will, they slashed through the air. Like a frantic dance, the servant pushed forward, ducking and weaving between the strikes until at last she was right upon the magical girl.

As the paragon readied their axe in retort, the servant reached out and plucked the string, her voice echoing through the connection like a siren. A distraction, and her last warning:

<Here, for you–>

In that moment of opportunity, the servant gripped the metal and threw her fist straight at the paragon’s face.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 36
9/3/2023 21:31:04   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 The spray began to slacken, cutting away the momentum as Sterling slid backwards, but it wasn't just distance from the source that led to the reprieve. There was a cacophony of critter cries beyond the drumming cascade of water: Bjhonkcioucles was deemed unworthy to continue as a combatant. The news flooded Sterling's features with brief relief at such a bad match-up being removed from the field. But the connotations weren't exactly pleasant either, and Sterling shivered for more than just the chill within him.

He was soaked through, which amplified both the creeping cold and the irritating flare of pain from his slashed tail. Water may have slid off his iridescent scales, but it clung to skin and marinated the linen of his gambeson with unwelcome weight. Whether Bjhonkcioucles decided to go out in animalistic fervor or Chiyi suddenly turned on him… the prospects were not exceptional. 'Bella probably is none too pleased either. She's going to give me an earful over this poor showing so far.'

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden lumbering stomps of a dejected Bjhonkcioucles deciding to turn tail and quit the field. Which avoided one of his two concerns nicely! Right before the other dashed any hopes of further jolly collaboration quite thoroughly. Chiyi's voice was incredibly soft, at least compared to most commentary so far. “So … we meet again."

Sterling looked Chiyi over as she talked, noting how messy she looked compared to the cultured visage whom he first met in Twilight. Hair a right mess — something he was grateful for being wig-less at the moment — and her clothes rumpled and mussed up something fierce. Her own stump was exposed, showcasing her Doll status was born of circumstance rather than birth. 'Poor thing, you've something in common with Bella there.' It had the signs of being particularly messy, given the hatchwork of scar tissue. But to Chiyi's credit, she didn't show even a hint of embarrassment with it on display.

“Must we fight?” Her attention didn't linger on Sterling, glancing around the arena towards the other engaged pairings. Honestly, he would rather avoid it until it must be so…yet she didn't really give him that option. “Yes … there cannot be two tigers in the same mountain. If we fight now, one of us will die. If—” she gestured towards the ladies playing the part of magical miscreants, then further beyond towards the unbridled ferocity that was Vosta's engagement with Ezkeraz. Met with a frown of consideration that grew deeper at the latter pairing. “—we fight them, there is no certainty we can make it.”

Sterling sighed as Chiyi spoke, straightening up and rolling his shoulders with a pop. He could see the pattern in the words she was weaving, and he wasn't much thrilled by it. So he took advantage of her current gregariousness to prepare himself. His damp gambeson might be a boon, but he needed to counteract the extra weight — and it wasn't difficult to realize that the heater shield would be of little use should she draw that greatsword of hers. Deft fingers worried at the uppermost strap around his neck as she continued to prattle.

“And even if we do,” Chiyi began to admit as softly as breathing, “then we will fight anyway. So, what will it be … old friend?” That term was unexpected. Ally? Maybe. Temporary partner, sure.

Friend? Now that was bold.

Sterling paused in his ministrations, raising a hairless brow and eying her carefully. "Friends…" He couldn't give it more emphasis than a mutter, but he mustered a sense of bravado and weaponized it to give his following words some gravitas. “Look,” Sterling began as he finished loosening the strap around his neck.

“That’s a strong term. You got my respect, as a fellow Doll - a fightin’ one at that.” He shifted his grip, adjusting the loosened strap to his mouth and biting down. A frank necessity to get the others loosened as well, even if it muffled his voice. It made for a bit of a hideous slur, though he grinned around the leather in amusement. “I can pfink of a few spradtlimgs who’b like da meeb ya. Bigm sbord and all.”

Sterling shivered and wriggled free of the last straps, twisting his flank shield off and condemning it to be forgotten on the sands. If he had ever practiced using the thing like a buckler, he might have been able to use the thing as more than just a tripping hazard. But that had never been a part of his style, though his center of balance had immediately shifted without its reassuring presence as a counterweight. He spat towards his left, hiding the split-second correction of balance behind clearing his mouth of wet dog from the soggy leather.

"Phah! Anywho. Yeah, respect means I’m not about to kill you. But I can’t let ya walk all over me either.” Especially since you're probably out to be selfish and serve yourself. Waste of a Boon if you are, but I'll not insult you to your face. Yet. "So. Yeah. Guess we ought ya hash things out, though let’s make it a private affair. Someone else comes knockin’, we crush’ em Twilight style. Agreed?"

Bravado had its place, but so did loyalty and trust. Sterling was taking a bit of a risk, but they both recognized the threat of the unconventional and the ferocious. Respective of the other pairs still out for each other's throats. It felt safe enough to hazard, and his luck was rewarded by her shared understanding of the offer. A swift incline of the head, followed by the monosyllabic "Yes" that should have started the fireworks anew.

Instead, Chiyi surprised him again. In what appeared to be a frown of concern rather than displeasure, she decided to bring up his weaponless state rather than burst into a rush at him. "Wait … where is that weapon of yours? The … the cane.” Her eyes had been sharp to recognize his weapon for what it truly was, Sterling would give her that. Though he continued to stare at her warily all the same as she offered: “The cane. Pick it up.”

'Now this? Never would have expected this bit of chivalric honor. Or is this honor among thieves, and I've just been thinking too highly of her?' Sterling wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, so he circled around to where the chimera had given him that difficult choice of dropping his weapon. Dripping a trail along the sands, a few droplets of diluted scarlet mixed with personal rainwater. “They are watching,” Chiyi had hissed, and Sterling reluctantly agreed on that point. 'Bella is, yeah. And probably that bear too, but what worries me most is the Arena itself. Will this chivalry cost you? Will accepting it cost me?'

Never taking his eyes off of her, nor releasing the tension in his frame, he remained wary even as she closed her eyes. Something about Chiyi's posture worried at his mind and his mood, an unearthly feeling of unease despite her honorable intentions. He didn't even stoop to pick it up, instead nudging the toe of a Soul Sole under the shaft and lifting it up with a jerked kick to catch in his hand. There was such ample opportunity for tricks, even then… but she had held her ground and her stance wonderfully. Far too politely for this bloodsport. “And now,” she said softly. Her eyes opened, glinting as red as the arena sands. “We fight.”

The pair both exploded into motion towards each other, though her advance began a hair's-breadth before his own by virtue of calling the signal. Which could have been a concern, but Sterling was out to prove he was the fastest — and the savviest scrapper. Sterling had noticed her carefully clenched fist, and recalled how much sand had been whirling around her and Mooth when he spied on them earlier. So as Chiyi began to dash, he simply stepped onto ethereal skates. She put the effort into pumping her legs while he slid forward. And as she moved to lunge low, no doubt planning to blind him with sand, he hopped upwards and lifted his left leg high.

From there, Sterling brought foot and skate downwards to counter her feint with one of his own: the punishing threat of a descending axe kick, complete with gleaming icicle blade. What she didn't know could work in his favor, and she failed to call his bluff. The skate couldn't harm a soul, not even a gnat, but Chiyi flinched all the same. It was a beautiful moment that had Sterling's spirit soar, banishing the unease for a bright moment. She could have taken advantage of his newly vulnerable flank, but his improvised skirmisher style could work against her.

Sterling shimmered in the air as he turned, light glinting off of scale and clinging moisture. He kept his momentum, landing on his feet rather than on skates and dropping with gravity in a twist. Sand peppered his back from an unseen toss — 'Gotta be more unpredictable than that!' — but Sterling hadn't turned just to evade being blinded. Aberration he may be, but Sterling was more than capable of using every limb to its fullest in a scrap. His tail scythed through air and sand, slinging droplets of blood and water at Chiyi. Two could play at the blinding game…though his improv worked even better than expected.

Sterling felt the whiplike thud of his tail smacking into Chiyi's arm, and the crawl of raw incandescent heat trail above his spine. She must have redoubled her lunge with one of those fiery tricks of hers. His smile grew broad, as he thumbed the catch to release the speartip of his cane.

Tooth, claw, tail and spear. Gotta keep up, Chiyi.
AQ  Post #: 37
9/3/2023 23:01:26   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 ...

…

… Where are you?

The stars, particularly one, waver slightly.


No words were exchanged.

Chiyi moved with fierce resolve, her eyes locked on Sterling as she crouched low and lunged forward, aiming to slip inside his guard before he could react. She had seen what had happened when he got moving, though that was when he wasn’t targeting her.

Sterling, ever the agile adversary, stepped forward while seemingly gliding at the same time —step-glided?— with deceptive grace, rapidly closing the distance between them.

At the last second, he hopped, and quite suddenly he was above her.

The eagle and the snake.

The height advantage he held allowed him to execute an axe kick that descended with daunting speed. But Chiyi's keen eyes caught the telltale signs of Sterling's movement, and she jerked back just in time, although that ground her momentum to a halt. Even then, the wind from his boot sent the little hairs on her skin standing on end, the presence of the skate-blade on his foot added an unpredictable twist to his attack. It practically grazed her eyelashes.

Fortunately, Chiyi was not one to be easily thrown off balance. Even as her joints screamed from the awkward positioning and exertion, she seized the moment, launching a puff of sand from her fist, creating a temporary screen. Curses! she swore. Even calculated, it was a split second too early— she also wasn’t sure if he had been expecting it either. But a distraction was a distraction, even if one expected it, and she used the moment of respite to push off from the ground, continuing her attack.

Erzhi!

Her Two Fingers ignited like the twin fangs of a fire serpent, and she lashed out, aiming directly for Sterling's throat.

But Sterling was no novice in this dance of combat. Swift as the wind, he pivoted with an almost fluid motion that contrasted bizarrely with his misshapen form and smacked Chiyi's arm aside with his tail. The twin trails of fire that followed their clash created a mesmerizing spectacle amidst the chaos of the duel.

The tail-strike threw her aside, the twin fires of the Two Fingers extinguishing in the same moment. But Chiyi, her fiery intent unquenched, rode the momentum of the swipe and launched herself off the ground completely. Her body spun gracefully, culminating in a flying roundhouse kick, a move that would have proven devastating if it had struck its target.

But Sterling, equally skilled and demonstrating an uncanny prescience, remained close to the ground. He positioned himself low, squatting and leaning forward, his cane held perpendicular to the sandy arena floor—

—in the back of her mind, she faintly registered a sound, a sound that sent adrenaline surging through her veins even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it—a slight—

Click.

As Chiyi's kick whiffed past him, she caught a glimpse of the deployed blade. Sterling’s cane had suddenly transformed into a smooth metal stake, its blade glinting in the sunlight like a crane’s beak ready to gut a fish.

Not like this.

In a split second, she threw herself backward, willingly grounding herself as her boots met the sand once more. Just as swiftly, Sterling sent the spiked cane hissing forward, eager for blood.

No time to back away. With cat-like reflexes, Chiyi leaped and twisted her body in midair, narrowly avoiding the deadly point of Sterling's cane. Even then, she felt the metal spike’s chill as it grazed her clothes. She landed hard in the sandy arena, her body protesting from the impact. Before she could regain her balance, Sterling continued his relentless assault.

Rolling with precision, Chiyi evaded the rapid stabs that followed, her movements a blur of agility. She knew, or rather simply felt that she needed the perfect opening to turn the tide. It came in the form of a perfectly timed spin on the ground. With controlled finesse, she executed a swift kick, knocking Sterling's cane aside just in the nick of time. Grains of sand ground painfully into her back, coupled with the sheathed Headhuntress’s Torment making the positioning awkward. Sand slipped into the frayed cloth and into her undergarments, flying everywhere as wildly as a dust devil as Chiyi whirled back onto her feet, looking for all the world like a vengeful, pale and bloodied ghost of ages old.

Take care of yourself out there.

Indeed, that is the plan. Chiyi gritted her teeth—

—which clicked against the stone-like seed of the wrathberry.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 38
9/4/2023 13:14:46   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 A faint sting of ozone, of the hint of warning before a storm, gave scant warning of the suddenly-charged air within the Arena. Hair stood on end as the audience shifted in their seats, each movement accompanied by the uncomfortable prickling of static. Sparks danced along the length of the Pillar of Energy, the roiling crown of lightning sending tendrils of blue-white energy dancing across the limbs of the woman upon it. She stretched, muscles and scars on full display, then let loose a great, earth-shaking roar. A streak of sky-fire answered her call, striking down from the heavens to her outstretched palm with an almighty crash. Vision cleared to reveal the pillar and woman were no more, their presence erased by the fury of the tempest.

"And so has favor been withdrawn from Ezkeraz, Paragon of Energy." The voices whispered across the sands, quiet in the wake of the storm like wind rustling through the plains. "The Pillar of Energy has fallen - and we now bear witness to his choice, and to his Lord's rage." Molten sand cooled to shimmering glass, the smooth expanse reflecting the crackle of an unseen storm.

AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 39
9/4/2023 22:10:28   
Oddball
Member

Parralia let off a silent sigh as Elodie lifted her arms to guard the bolt instead of ducking out of the way of it. Now she was aware of the magic’s inability to do any real damage. She’d have to be crafty with her uses of the spell going forwards… If ‘crafty’ was even an option with a simple spell like that one.

Wait, no, what was it that her friend would always say to her? Something about small spells and big impacts. Yeah that sounded right! How it applied here was anyone’s guess, but dammit she’d try anyway.


Focus you daft girl

…Sometimes her inner voice was too mean. Maybe they could talk it out once things were over? It got pretty tiring being yelled at by her brain. She couldn’t exactly help her erratic way of thinking, it was basically her only defense against the horrors afflicted by her magic. It helped her concentrate on keeping things under control, oddly enough.

The irony was definitely not lost on the Magical girl.

She observed as the Servant rushed forwards to meet her halfway, clearly concocting some sort of plan to try and bash her face in with those metal gauntlets no doubt. Well she wasn’t having it! She didn’t avoid permanent rock-damage only to go ahead and contract permanent metal-damage in its place.

Time for the ol’ keep away tactic. Always gets ‘em.

With a mental command, Parralia sent out one of her blades to meet the maid in her place. Unfortunately for the magical girl, the strike missed its mark as Elodie expertly ducked out of the way. Not to worry, she still had plenty of space to try again with a different sword. With a second command, the sword behind her suddenly shot forwards, the magical girl hoping that this one would catch the servant by surprise.

It did not.

Elodie had easily dodged this strike as well and now she was directly in front of the half-bewildered half-impressed magical girl. The operative had managed to escape the sting of her blades too, what was with these fighters and their uncanny abilities to avoid her? Downright rude is what it was-

FOCUS.

”Stop yelling at m-”

With a sudden chill running down her spine, a familiar, yet new, voice echoed in her brain. Parralia’s eyes widened at the sudden revelation as her brain filled in the gaps. That second pair of eyes… they were hers

Here, for you.

And with that statement providing ample distraction, Parralia was incapable of raising her weapon in time to defend herself, and was left wide open for the Maid to capitalize on the small window she had made. Something she seemed all too eager to do, if the incoming fist was anything to do with it.

Oh for-

A sickening crunch wiped the magical girl’s thoughts clean as cold metal met flesh and bone. Its effects were almost instantaneous, as Parralia felt herself slipping into unconsciousness from the heavy blow.

…Was this it? Was this how far she went?

let me in

A voice… her own voice. But where was it coming from?

Let. Me. In.

It growled at her, the mental projection of Parralia flinching in response to the harsh tone. Maybe she could nap just for a little bit? Let her shadow do some of the heavy lifting for once… she was tired.

Parralia’s eyes had only closed for a fraction of a second before they snapped open. What was once a brilliant shining Red now replaced with inky pools of shadow that seemed to stare into, and through, Elodie.

“You are in our head, Miss Elodie. Leave.”

With her chilling taunt, Parralia pulled one of her blades back, cutting the maid across her side as it returned to its wielder. Of course, her shadow blades weren’t capable of causing physical damage… but phantom pains were just as effective in a good percentage of situations.

As the sword rushed back to Parralia’s side, she snatched the weapon out of the air, gripping its blade tightly as she stepped to Elodie’s left. In one swift movement, she jammed the sword into the Maid’s shadow. Not wanting to waste any time watching the magic take hold, Parralia stepped back in front of Elodie, an unsettling smile plastered across her face as she quietly mimicked the girl’s words from earlier.

“Here. For you.”

With a soft chuckle, Parralia brought her fist across towards Elodie’s jaw
With this, she could pay the maid back for her earlier transgressions.
With this, they’d be even.
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 40
9/4/2023 23:00:28   
TripleChaos
Member

Ezkeraz’s arrow pierces the air, striking deep into the giant’s shoulder. She had dropped the spear that his magic had tethered to continue her charge, and had nothing to block with. As his arrow plants itself in her flesh, she lets out a gasp. A few tears only have a moment to well in her eyes before she lets out a primal howl.

She bounds forward another step and lashes out, unarmed but no less dangerous. The sickly purple of her prosthetic arm hardly even glows as the sun shines upon it, raised into the air. Ezkeraz looks up to see the sky torn by those talons descending upon him, and can only raise his bow to try and hinder her attack.

The giant yells out a battle cry as her talons connect, splintering his bow in two and ripping his helmet off his head. Ezkeraz raises his arms by reflex to protect his head as he retreats a step, expecting another swipe with those fierce talons. Instead, the giant’s other arm whirls toward him and her open palm squarely strikes his bracers. The force of her blow strains the metal plates covering his wrists and pushes him back. Ezkeraz feels his strength abandon his legs as he loses his balance, falling on his back.

Again, Ezkeraz lies in the sand.

This time, he does not rise to his feet. Discarding his urgency, he turns his head to the side and sees his sword. The blade buried in the sand, the handle calling out to him. He needs to stand, he needs to fight, he needs...

In the corner of his eye, he can see someone moving on top of the pillar near where he had entered the arena. Something bright dances across their form before they let out a roar. Ezkeraz can hardly hear it over the thumping of his heart in his ears, but the flash of light that follows still blinds him all the same. When he can see again, that person and the pillar are both gone. Goosebumps tickle his skin as he feels the announcer speak, ignorant of their words yet knowing all the same what they say.

He lost his chance at a boon, the miracle he needs.

He needs, he needed...

...

What was it he needed?

A heavy calm blanketed him. A moment passed before he realized he was alone, more alone than he ever felt in his life. He couldn’t hear any voice besides his own in his thoughts, and he hadn’t for a short while. Was he the last of himself remaining? Had they already left, or had the last of their blood spilled upon these sands? For what?

Ezkeraz felt blood trace down his cheek as he struggled to stand. He rolled and urged his legs to bend while he held himself up with his good arm, planted firmly on the dusty turf of the arena. The giant stood near him, waiting. Abiding by some rule of the arena, or perhaps her own honor, she did not attack him.

Ezkeraz walked a few paces, slow yet trying to hide his weariness. Before him he saw his sword still stabbing the sand, the handle toward his hand. It had been ignored since the start of this contest, and by his eyes it was crying out to join the fray. He felt the familiar leather on his fingers as he gripped it. Rending it from the sand he turned—

—and heard the giant scoff, muttering something he couldn’t understand, as he walked toward the arena’s exit.

No desperate struggle here was worth anything if he had nothing to gain from it. His anger from before had been knocked out of him, and he was too tired to get angry again with the soreness that covered him all over. Even if he got treated after leaving, he would probably need to rest for a whole day to sleep off this exhaustion.

And then... Ezkeraz crossed the gate to the arena and heard it begin to fall shut behind him. There was no telling how he could possibly escape from the prison he was trapped in. But he was here in Bren now, somehow. Outside the bounds of his prison.

If it weren’t for all the bruises that covered him and the wound still bleeding on his shoulder he would laugh at himself; for what a fool he’d been, focusing on having something else fix his problems for him. If he couldn’t earn a miracle, then he’ll just have to make a substitute himself. As long as he had time in this city, he could find some way, some countermeasure to break the spell binding him. And when he did, then he felt he would be able to return, and he would be able to deal with him. No matter how long it took.

…

Though, he had no idea how he would manage to do that on his own, and hardly a clue where to start. Ezkeraz let out a deep sigh, barely holding onto the will to keep from falling over right there. At least Bren didn’t seem like a bad city. He didn’t think he would mind if it took him a long time.
Post #: 41
9/6/2023 22:40:52   
Apocalypse
Member

The defender’s bow splintered beneath her talons' wrath. Blood and Bone screeched against steel before ripping the paragon’s helm from his head. Fragments of wood still drifted in the air when the warclad drove her arm palm upwards into the waiting bracers of her foe. The force of the blow sent Ezkeraz staggering back and unleashed hellish lightning from the Jotnari’s wrist to her elbow. Vosta screamed and clutched her forearm with taloned fingers as if by applying enough pressure, she could knit the wound back together. Her cry burned dry and hoarse in her throat as a galaxy of stars threaded her vision. Not yet, she told herself through harsh breaths as a cold sweat drenched her. Vosta raised her eye to where Ezkeraz lay sprawled on the snow. His head turned to the sword just out of his reach. The warclad staggered forward a step. Not while he still draws breath.

The scent of the storm washed through the colosseum. Vosta stopped in her tracks, grimacing as needles of energy prickled at Blood and Bone. A discomfort just shy of pain yet absolute in its pervasion of her missing limb. She clenched tighter on her forearm, gasping for air before yanking her flesh free of the talons’ grip. Telltale scratches just deep enough to dribble droplets of violet ichor tarnished her pale skin.

C-C-C-C-CRACK

A fulmination of the storm’s own hatred cast the warclad’s shadow far and wide over the snow. No spear in hand denoted the figure as jarl or warclad. No hint of giant’s majesty prevailed through its form; just a silhouette, bowed and broken beneath an unseen burden. It lasted for but a heartbeat yet the image seared itself into Vosta’s mind as the unseen chorus delivered another divine decree. She chanced a glance behind her toward the Pillar of Energy - naught remained but the scarring of glass upon the crimson snowscape.

The mother of the plains could no longer witness her.

Vosta turned back to Ezkeraz. The once chosen of the storm had yet to climb back to his feet. Stand up. The drip of blood on snow brokered the silence between them. The defender no longer bore the favor of Thunder Jackal. Now he stood as her equal. Two faithful spurned by their gods in their hour of need. For the rest of their lives, they would wear that disgrace like a second skin, ill-fitting yet enduring. Her nostrils flared.

Stand up.

Ezkeraz stood.

And Ezkeraz retreated.

He trudged towards the portal of his escape, misplaced bravado failing to hide his fatigue. “Dressed as warrior. Playing sorcerer.” Vosta spit, green phlegm and violet blood defiling the scarlet snow. “Yet nothing but a whelp clad in steel and lies.” The warclad's shoulders tensed, her legs preparing her to pounce upon Ezkeraz’s turned back. What the warclad would give to sink her talons into that exposed neck! To carve through flesh, burrow through bone, and rend his life in a single stroke. Vosta’s breath fell shorter and harsher with each passing moment, the thought lingering in her mind and beckoning her into barbarity. Thunder Jackal had abandoned Ezkeraz - was it not her right by conquest to claim the spoils?

Vosta wrenched her gaze from storm’s fallen. This colosseum…it was more than a place. It was a temple. It was a faith. It was a god. All three woven into one singular entity that could demand the presence of no less than a pantheon of deities to entertain its most primal desires. No…I am to be denied yet again. The warclad’s eye flicked to the elven statue of wind, its visage as resolute and strong as ever. It would be next to fall. Ol’ Crow had strung her on long enough, forcing her to let the last glimmer of vengeance slip between her fingers. The Jotnari traced her steps back to where The Crow Laugh lay sullen among the scarlet. Vosta stooped low and plucked the spear from its resting place. Red snow and redder blood caked the blade. Vosta gently blew on the spear tip before wiping two fingers across it to reveal the giantish runes hidden beneath. “From the skies…” Ol’ Crow would dismiss her at last. A Jotnari traveling so far and wide only to be renounced without any accomplishment to her name - refused even the glory of dying in valiant bloodshed. She could kneel to bring this story to its end and be done with the farce of her calling once and for all.

Vosta let out a slow breath.

The Crow Laugh waited for her answer.

“...we hunt.”

Fingers and talons alike gripped the spear tight as the warclad rose to her feet. She carried the spear of her father - Jarl Vostadt, the last head of the Crowcallers. It craved for blood. Vosta’s gaze fell to the two lowfolk women locked in combat. The Crow Laugh would have its fill.

A trickle of lilac blood marking her wake, Vosta prowled towards her next prey. Blood and Bone slipped the bolas hanging from her waist. The devilskin - Parralia - spun her dark magic to pin an onyx blade into her opponent’s shadow. Parralia, the one who had ambushed Vosta to save a false sovereign as if the gods abided by rules of honor. Such lowfolk naivety - the gods were the most ruthless of them all. Amber eye blazed as Vosta hurled the bolas towards the devilskin, blood rushing at the thought of the strings wrapping themselves around her slender neck. Without hesitation, Vosta reached to her side and produced a Carrion Quill. The world swayed beneath her feet as she pulled her arm back. The Jotnari bit her tongue and clenched her eye shut against the shift. One breath, two.

She did not need a third.

The warclad opened her eye and lashed her arm out forward. At the pinnacle of its reach, the quill seemed to leap from her talons of its own accord. The bladed feather streaked across the colosseum, sundering the air with naught but a delicate whistle. All of its ferocity targeted the heart of the so-called shackled savior, Elodie.

Vosta shifted The Crow Laugh to both hands and broke into a sprint over scarlet snowdrifts. Ol’ Crow could revoke his favor, but he would be damned if he thought the Jotnari would not slake her thirst for blood.

The last memory of her father, eyes wide and wild on the Gilded Plains, flitted across her mind.

Blood enough for two.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 42
9/7/2023 20:32:20   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Sterling remained crouched low against the sands as he whirled around, smoothing away microdunes as he kept his cane low. The heated whoosh from unseen flames made the prospect of rising rather distasteful, but that wasn't the only aspect racing through his mind. His inner savvy pressured him to hide the glint of his deployed blade amidst the sands, while his unconventional style craved defying expectations. Staying low was a choice when lacking a second arm to push up with. But Sterling's cane was more than enough aid to keep him braced, keep him safe from retaliation.

In this instance, simply by being beneath a scything kick launched from Chiyi. Sterling's tail twitched at the breeze of the missed blow and the steel tips of his Sole Souls dug into the sands for purchase. Knuckles crushed sand as he pushed off the ground, abusing his altered center of gravity by being a tailed aberration to launch up and thrust at Chiyi's airborne midsection. Only to discover Chiyi had grace equal to a feline in how she twisted around the haft. 'Cats ought be jealous of you,' his hindbrain thought, given she managed not only to avoid being skewered but hadn't even been pinked!

The next few seconds were fraught with freneticism. Sterling adopted fencer-like stature as he repeatedly thrust the blade-tipped cane at an evasive Chiyi. Deaf to the peal of thunder, his attention narrowed to razor's edge solely upon skewering his foe and ending the fight. Though she had landed hard, his spearpoint blade dug shallow furrow after furrow like a chicken pecking the sands for food. Despite that hellacious blade on her back, Chiyi's reflexes were fast as she rolled and writhed on the ground. His speed pit against classical signs of desperation, but Sterling knew she could be better. Knew she was better.

A Fighting Doll had to be.

That drive to be better was a source of long argument with Bella, albeit more at the hows than the whys. She never saw the purpose behind a then-younger Sterling throwing himself into fights with firecracker speed. Or why he accepted the dues of repeated punches to the face, of broken teeth and torn skin, in that pursuit to be better. Didn't matter if most of those early fights came from distracting bullies away from more fragile Dolls — but it stood him in good stead here on the sands. He felt the ebb and flow of his openings, watched as Chiyi twisted and turned. Knew as his heart sank further and further in unease that she would soon invert the pressure, though he had little choice but to press forward with stab after stab.

Chiyi spun on the sands, suddenly bracing her weight on shoulders and back to lash out with her heel against the haft of his cane. Knocking his thrust more than just wide. Forcing him to check his momentum as he held on dearly to his weapon. It was a well-controlled strike, steeped in experience well beyond Sterling's years, and it had him growling in frustration.

Sterling twisted his wrist as his arm went wide, spearpoint bobbing serpentine as it remained pointed at his foe. Chiyi had forced him to take a step back, gave herself the chance to dance the dunes and rise to her feet, and bought herself a moment of respite. Breath whistled through his broken teeth as he took equal advantage, but his eyes never left Chiyi's arm. If he had to, he would tackle Chiyi to the ground before he would let her draw that monstrous blade of hers.


Not once did it waver. Not once did the hand quest for the hilt. Chiyi leaned down, slow and deliberate just outside of reach, to grasp a fresh handful of sand and invited him in. 'You aren't that foolish —' the thought was a wary compliment, — 'what are you playing at?

Even in a moment's peace, Sterling was a combatant of momentum and inertia. He whipped his tail around, curling the tip with tender care around his cane and lifting it free of his hand. Arm and tail mirrored each other as they crossed from side to side, though flexing against the weight reignited a measure of fresh pain from the earlier slash. A burden he bore with moderate grace until he regained his grip low on the haft, only betraying it with a mild grimace. The grip intentionally shortened his reach in favor of the steel-shod beak of a handle, and while she might recall a slim measure of earlier hook tactics, he was betting she was short on experience against picks.

There was a chance Sterling could bait her into committing to the obvious rather than a layered plan, it just relied on more weaponized bravado. A chance he leaned into as his expression slid from grimace to feral grin, complete with the click of his tongue against intact molars. "Tch, you’re better than trying that again." He tilted his head to one side, digging for a superior air while preparing to lean into the sandy trap with calculated positioning.

Sterling let his words sink in for just a single chilled heartbeat. Then drove towards Chiyi with the terrible suddenness of pristine ice giving way underfoot. Arm whipping round as he angled his entire body forward, steel-shod handle inscribing the beginnings of a broad, glittering arc through the baking arena air. He'd happily trade his cane to shatter her knee, though in truth his aim was more meant to hook her leg. To cast her back down to the sands and drive the fight clean out of her, even as she exploded towards him with her own fiery intent.
AQ  Post #: 43
9/7/2023 21:29:31   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 The sky rumbles ominously. Rain beats down like a merciless torrent, each drop a sharp reminder of nature's indifference to human suffering. Thunder rolls across the sky, a primal drumbeat that echoes through her very soul, shaking the very foundation of her existence.

The village is in a panic … or it would be, if everyone who lived in it still had the energy. The granaries are almost entirely depleted. The armies that march by demand supplies on pain of death, and the village dares not deny them. Of course, this is not to say they are fools enough to hand over everything. But those supplies can only last so long.

News has stopped coming, as have merchants and peddlers. She is blind and deaf to what is happening in the front. She sits in the darkness; the candle wax is too valuable to waste. The hunger that gnaws at her belly like a ravenous beast, the empty cupboards, and the barren fields that stretch as far as the eye could see. The world has turned gray and desolate, devoid of hope.

She shuts her eyes tight. The hunger, as strong as it might be, is nothing compared to the fear — no, it is more than fear now. Like fermented soybeans, it has grown and settled into something akin to an existential dread. She tries to shut it out.

Nervously, she twists a lock of hair in her trembling hands. Amazingly, the strands slip through her fingers like fine silk, a stark contrast to the harshness of her reality.

The sky briefly lights up in the night, and she looks down. Her hair, once as dark as the night, has turned almost as white as her hands.


With the arena momentarily still, Chiyi took a precious moment to catch her breath. The kick hadn’t exactly thrown Sterling wide off, but it did at least seem to give him cause to be wary. No matter how hardened a woman was to battle, she always found her heart beating more rapidly, her wrist trembling against her will.

The sudden thunderclap made her flinch as the Pillar of Energy collapsed with one last, defiant roar.

“And so favor has been withdrawn from Ezkeraz, Paragon of Energy.”

And so another was removed by the will of the powers that be. The tang of ozone, faint but penetrating, invaded Chiyi’s nose, giving rise to an upsurge of a familiar … nay, remembered fear. A haunting fear she had known intimately during the dark days when war loomed large. It was a fear of the unknown, of an uncertain future, and of battles that held no promises.

Focus.

The relentless heat of the sun beat down upon her, the relentless oppressiveness of the desert arena that bore down on her shoulders anchored her firmly back to earth. Sweat trickled through the roots of her disheveled white hair, stinging her eyes as it mixed with the fine grains of sand that clung to her skin.

Forget about everything. Only the now.

Chiyi pressed her palm against her temple. She was not a helpless woman waiting in dread for something to happen. She was here. Now.

And so, she took a moment to plan. Her red eyes flickered as possibilities flipped through her mind like towers of shuffling mah-jongg tiles.

Chiyi now had a fairly good idea of what Sterling would be like up close, especially if she took initiative. She might as well try to grab hold of a crane with her bare hands, or for that matter, a wolf. Far too dangerous for even a hunter with both hands, much less for herself.

Chiyi flexed her arm, methodically testing each of her fingers. Sterling’s tail was quite powerful, a major advantage that tilted the odds of close combat in his favor despite both their statuses as cripples.

She rolled the seed around inside her mouth. It was smooth and dry now, even the last drops of moisture licked clean. But Chiyi dared not spit it out just yet. If even she had forgotten about it in the chaos, then chances were …

A simple potshot with the wrathberry seed would not be enough to take Sterling down. At least not at this range. She would need to get close to make sure, and to do that …

An invisible tremor passed through her shoulders. Well, she was no stranger to that either.

Plans were a sad thing, when you thought about it, Chiyi thought wistfully. Feeble attempts to control the tide of the universe. Lots of thinking and talking and affirming, all ways to convince yourself you had thought of everything. But in the end, there was always something beyond your grasp, something unforeseen that could sweep away even the most meticulously laid plans. One sudden bout of torrential rain was all it would take to wash away the crops.

But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t plant a seed anyway. In her mind, the plan, or whatever this was, grew and branched in various paths, each one a possibility, a potential future.

She hoped it would have time to blossom before it was inevitably trimmed by the relentless scythe of fate.

Plant a seed.

Deliberately, Chiyi bent down and scooped up a fresh handful of sand, in plain view. She straightened and met his eyes. A clear invitation for Sterling to approach.

Sterling handled his cane lazily, and for a moment Chiyi narrowed her eyes— what was—?

His whipping tail suddenly wrapped around the cane, plucking it neatly out of his one hand. It swung around his body with a sort of grotesque grace, back into his waiting hand. Now Chiyi noticed the beaky ornament on the other end. She was no longer looking at a pointed metal stake.

It was now a hook.

Sterling grinned, a gesture made all the more revolting by his broken teeth. “Tch,” he tutted, “you’re better than trying that again.”

Now, while Chiyi had never found the phenomenon of time stretching in the midst of combat, the opposite held true for the moments of stillness before everything exploded into violence.

Two experienced, expert, yet crippled killers stood stock still as their minds raged invisibly, analyzing every vector of attack.

One beat.

Two.

And now … we garden.

Index, middle, and ring fingers convulsed with anticipation, and the tension exploded. The surrounding world dropped away as every fiber of Chiyi’s mind fell into combat instinct.

Sterling bounded forward, right foot first, as he glided peculiarly over the sand as though it were sheer as ice. At the same moment, Chiyi lunged forward, her arm wound up ostensibly to lash out an arc of sand. The meager distance between them closed in the blink of an eye.

Her crimson eyes practically blazed with blood-red, pupils contracted into pinpricks, alive for every minute movement.

His leg—right—wide—

A sweep! Chiyi countered—instead of throwing sand, she clenched her fist and threw a punch, aimed right at Sterling’s face—

He countered! Sterling jerked back—

His wrist—hook—readjust—

The hooked cane twitched like the neck and beak of a malevolent vulture, reaching up eagerly to gouge at her arm.

Chiyi yanked her arm back, gritting her teeth at the sudden jar in momentum—she opened her hand and sand billowed out like a flower heavy with pollen—fingers pressed together and held straight like a knife, she snaked it under and around the cane’s beak—

Sand released—

Hand in position—

Close up, face to face—

All three conditions met.

Time to spring the trap.

Got you.

She spat the seed into Sterling’s face—

At the same time, with her forearm wound around Sterling’s cane, she raised three fingers.

Sanzhi!
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 44
9/7/2023 22:46:15   
Dragonknight315
Member

The sensation was exquisite. As the servant struck the magical girl’s jaw, she felt it echo throughout her entire being. The resistance that traveled through her arm, the audible sound of bone cracking– but most of all, the defeated gasp of her enemy.

<... Was this it?>

A clean, decisive blow. Elodie let out a heavy breath of satisfaction as she watched Parralia’s eyes lose focus. In her mind, the servant felt the psychic cord grow slack, the anchor on the other end fading away. Suddenly, the words of the swordswoman echoed in her mind.

“There can only be one who walks away with hope in this battle...”

The two paragons had brought all they had to bear. In the end, the magical girl was found wanting. As the light faded from the paragon’s eyes, the servant deemed it necessary to give her a proper goodbye.

“Goodnight, Parralia...”

But just as the paragon gently closed her eyes, they slammed wide open, their dark-red color now drowned in a lightless abyss. The servant felt a shiver run through her body as the mind-cord was pulled taut. A new presence demanded her attention:

“You’re in our head, Mrs. Elodie. Leave.”

<... The demon!>

As the shadow spoke, Elodie gasped for air as she felt something in her chest. With a small gesture, the magical girl invoked her dark magic, and Elodie watched as one of the shadow blades emerged from her chest. Though it left no visible wounds on her physical body, it left phantom scars on the servant’s very existence. It wasn’t “painful”; it was something else. It was the absence of pain. The absence of life, and of warmth, and joy, and everything. It gnawed at her mind, and the cord seemed to fray.

In the servant’s moment of weakness, her rival reclaimed her shadow blade. The dark warrior took the sword and lunged forward. She plunged the blade down into the servant’s shadow. It seemed to melt into the darkness, and Elodie felt that same bleak feeling wash over her.

<Stay. Down!>

Eager to reclaim her victory, the servant’s instincts took over. But as she tried to respond, her legs refused to move. Where once she was frozen in shock, now it was if she was literally frozen in place.

<... No!>

With vengeance in her heart, the demon-possessed girl pulled her arm back.

“Here, for you.”

The servant brought her hand up in a desperate attempt to avoid the paragon’s rebuke, but it was of no use. History repeated itself as one paragon struck the other, except now Elodie was on the receiving end as the magical girl returned her gift. Her eyes shot up into her skull as streaks of pain swept through her jaw.

It was too much. The servant was unable to hold on, and the cord finally snapped– and with it, so did Elodie.

Elodie’s legs buckled underneath her as she staggered back and fell to her knees. Clutching her jaw, her hand was shaking; her whole body convulsed from the psychic whiplash. She forced out a curse as the taste of blood filled her mouth. Her heart pounded in her skull, each beat more agonizing than the last.

When the servant could finally open her eyes, they were drawn to her shadow. Though the sun hung in the air above her, the servant’s shadow was in front of her. Foul magic festered in the darkness as the remnant sword melted into her shadow.

Then, her shadow began to move.

<... What?>

As if it held a will of its own, Elodie watched as the darkness rose from the sands. It twisted and contorted until the silhouette was beyond anything recognizable. Yet Elodie knew the truth; it was her shadow after all.

<What corruption is this? What have you done?!>

A new terror entered the servant’s heart as her gaze shifted towards her arms. Everything told her not to look, as if it would make her nightmares a reality, but she simply had to.

Suddenly, there was a scream; the servant’s twisted shadow cried out in agony. As Elodie looked down to her arm, she realized– she was screaming.

Red blood turned to black ink as the liquid flowed from the servant’s right shoulder. Embedded within was a sharpened feather.

<A quill?...>

Her thoughts converged on the magical girl. At first, the servant thought it came from her, another manifestation of her magic perhaps. And yet, the sensation was unmistakably different. As the servant tried to move, that empty feeling was missing. Instead, she felt the feather’s tip cut into her flesh. Another inch or two over, and it would have struck her heart. This had to have come from another assailant.

Elodie’s eyes felt heavy as she lifted her gaze. At first, she saw Parralia; the paragon was stuck, bound in place by something wrapped around her neck. But as the magical girl fought against her restraints, the sound of white noise filled the servant’s thoughts. Suddenly, reality shifted. The magic was not struggling; she was laughing. The cords of rope turned into ashen snakes as the paragon’s shadow coiled around her form. Elodie felt the weight of their many-eyed gaze and her maddening laughter.

<... This is not real!>

The servant pushed back against the hallucination as she wrapped her right hand around the quill. The pain flooded her mind, but it anchored her to reality. Her vision sharpened, and the servant let out a cry, her voice cracking as she wrenched the quill from her flesh.

The snake-mantle flickered in and out between instants, revealing a disjointed glimpse of reality. On the opposing side of Parralia, the servant saw another paragon. A towering goliath with a spear in her hands.

<... This was your doing.>

A glimpse was all the servant needed. Elodie traced her fingers across the blooded quill as slowly rose to her feet. The servant could feel the world closing in around her, yet she held firm in her resolve.

<I am here, and you cannot take that away from me!>

Grasping the quill, the servant held her will in her hands. With all her might, she flung it back at the goliath, its edge whistling through the air as it sailed towards their throat.
AQ DF AQW  Post #: 45
9/8/2023 19:31:01   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 The reek of decay crept across the Arena; the bright crimson of the sands dulled to grey in a sudden gloom. Dark fog roiled across the ground, a wave of black that muffled the cheers and excitement of the crowds. Tendrils of shadow crawled forth from the Pillar of Darkness, grasping greedily at the color and vitality of the world around them. The scarlet of the musician's scarf and gloves faded away, his curved blade rusting in an instant as it fell from his fingertips. A low note, of sorrow and lament, escaped from his throat to wind its way through the remaining combatants. From its edges inward, the pillar crumbled. Obsidian disintegrated bit by bit by bit as if eaten away by the ever hungry maw of time. Flakes drifted downwards as the remnants of the statue let loose a final shudder - and collapsed.

"And so has favor been withdrawn from Parralia Anita, Paragon of Darkness." The voices rang out clear and strong like the tolling of a great bell. "The Pillar of Darkness has fallen - and we now bear witness to her choice, and to her Lord's despair." Inky blackness spread outwards in a pool amongst the sands, a single grey glove left abandoned within its center.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 46
9/8/2023 22:50:33   
Oddball
Member

Parralia couldn’t help but let her smile turn wicked as her blow connected with the Maid’s lower jaw, forcing her combat partner to stagger backwards before dropping to her knees. Now was the time, she only had to lower her axe with a little force to end this one… Then that Giant would be next in line for retribution. She still had to pay her back from Sky, after all.

Parralia’s grip tightened around Starlight as her body inched closer to her prey, heavy footstep following heavy footstep causing a dull thud to echo in her brain like a metronome.

No… this? Was wrong. This wasn’t her…

”Fight back.”

Her friend’s voice perked up in the back of her mind, jolting the sleeping Parralia awake.

There she stood, in front of that damned mirror again. Her shadow’s smug reflection bore a hole through her heart. It never made any attempt to communicate with Parralia, but she understood why it was looking at her like that.

She had let it take control… Even if it were for just that brief moment, she had let her guard down and allowed her magic to take the reins. Now that she was awake, she could feel the darkness clawing at her soul, her very essence begging to be twisted further by her borrowed magics.

“I… am Hope.”

She quietly murmured to herself, slowly raising her gaze off of the floor to face her shadow.

“You… are just a mistake. A side-effect. Another obstacle for me to overcome…”

Parralia’s internal strife was interrupted by a sharp pain around her neck, the force of which pulled her back to reality.

What kind of situation had her shadow got her into in its brief possession of her body!? Why was she slowly being choked out by a pair of bolas? Questions for later. She had to escape and piece together what was going on. Easier said than done, really, do you understand how difficult something like a pair of bolas were to escape from?

Struggling as she might, Parralia could feel her mind slipping away from her. At this rate, she’d be unable to hold her magic at bay and her worst fears would become reality… And she really didn’t want to enter that form again… Not ever.

Her gaze slowly moved to Elodie, her fight partner, knelt down on the ground in a panicked state. Parralia wished she could extend some words of encouragement to her rival, to try and bring a little hope back into her world. But all she could do was struggle out a choked cough as she pulled against the restraints tied around her neck.

Come on, Parralia, think! You’ve prevailed during worse situations than this! Find a way to push ahead.

…Danger route?

Danger route.

Grabbing her axe, she held it firm with a steady hand. She just needed surgical precision with her cut and she’d be okay! Simple enough, right? With one fell sweep she cuts the bolas loose from her neck, wincing in pain as she catches her throat and leaves a small cut up her neck.
She’d deal with the fallout later, now she was free to fire back at the perpetrator! Something that Elodie seemed to have already beaten her to the punch to, throwing a strangely familiar looking quill towards a hulking giant of a-

The Giant!

So it was them who had thrown the blasted neck trap at her? After all this time on opposite ends of the arena she had finally decided to come finish what was started in the Sky arena?

Then let her come! Parralia was itching to properly face the Jotnari.

And then, as she began to step forwards, a strange gloom spread across the sands. Silence fell as the pillar Parralia represented began to crumble. While she hadn’t acknowledged any of the previous dismissals of paragons, she was fully aware of what the precursor was.

So she stood, staring blankly at her collapsing pillar as a tear fell from her face, staining the dry expanse below her. Quickly, she rubbed at her eye with the back of her hand, laughing with an obvious hurt layering it.

”And so favor has been withdrawn from Parralia Anita, Paragon of Darkness.”

“And my story ends..”

With a long sigh, Parralia lets her weapon fall out of her hands, her axe-turned-staff disappearing with a short, dim burst of stars.

She looks between the two closest to her, giving a polite curtsy towards Elodie, and an awkward smile towards Vosta.

“Thank you. Thank you both, for a wonderful experience.”

She raises her hand in the air, pointing up towards the sky as she clears her throat.

“Magia Spes. Your one and only Hope incarnate! I pray I dazzled you all well enough” The roar of the crowd left a smile on her face as she dropped her transformation, reverting back to her normal clothes.

And with her head held high, the Magical Girl exited the arena, not allowing any responses to her sudden declaration. Maybe she’d bump into any of the fighters from today again? It was very likely if she stuck around for a few more days…Her friend wouldn’t mind working for a few extra days, right?

She could only Hope.

And she was full of that.
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 47
9/10/2023 21:39:36   
Ronin Of Dreams
Still Watching...


 Adrenaline crashed through his system like glaciers calving into polar seas, a massive upswell that had Sterling in a state of hyper focus. His eye caught how Chiyi's hand formed into a fist, clutching sand tight. She had bought into the bait, in her own direct fashion. Be better. Sterling exhaled between parted teeth. He had left himself precious room to maneuver, and the width of his sweeping blow was perfect to avoid taking the approaching fist in the face. Planting his lead foot to check his momentum, the soaked scrapper pivoted his wrist to smoothly shift the beaked handle from low to high. Her arm would be thrice as valuable as her knee.

Chiyi was just as in tune with the moment. Her own realization was a beautiful thing to witness, from one scrapper to another. Sand blossomed between them as she released the payload, more dropped than thrown as she redirected her own arm. A complex motion that let her catch the haft on her forearm, but Sterling's attention was swiftly distracted from her manipulation of his favored tool.

She spat in his face.

It was a crude and cheeky thing, seeing her lips purse tight and her cheeks puff the moment prior to her surprise payload. Spitting? Sterling had believed her to be a somewhat cultured fighter, not someone to draw from the sneaky, filthy, desperate playbook of pit fighters. His estimation of her rose — the sand would be more effective to blind — but even drowning in adrenaline he failed to catch sight of the true payload. The simple seed of her favored wrathberry shot through the air, passing through his gap-toothed grin to strike against intact molars deeper in; enamel shattered, the shock and impact yanking Sterling's head back. Fragments of tooth shredded tender flesh, conspiring with the seed to further bruise the tortured cheek in failing to burst through, threatening to choke him in fresh waves of blood and dentin.

Pain exploded along the left side of his face, white-hot fury spreading in questing tendrils of lightning. Sterling's eyes flared open wide as he choked on a scream — too much blood and saliva flooding into his mouth. Soaking his tongue in metallic hues with the merest hint of bile. It was infuriating, but it lacked a key aspect of a well thrown punch to the face. A wealth of pain without that snap of the head that rattled the brain, that flipped the switch of consciousness? Pain was a constant friend throughout his history. Stoked the drive to survive, a drive that ran far deeper than the exposed glacier peak.

Chiyi had layered more moves than Sterling, out-thought his innovations. Fire erupted from the ground, cutting in the space between the pair in a rush of heat. The haft of his cane immediately began to smolder where it was entrapped between the two. Lacquer began to bubble along the length, and his grip protested against the infernal heat with utter immediacy.

'Sterling!' A whisper of soft concern in Bella's sweet tones, which had cut through the darkness several nights prior. 'Stay whole.' Whole. Bella knew safety was impossible. She knew more than he ever wanted to admit. How he tended to let himself go by bits and pieces in the middle of a scrap.

'Be better.'

Clarity of purpose settled across Sterling's mind, though it didn't push the pain aside so much as it channeled the fury. His eyes watered and his mouth continued to fill with a viscous mix of fluid pain, though he pursed his lips shut and didn't swallow. Purpose meant pursuit. Meant stepping forward in sheer defiance of wit, reason, and hindbrain fears. It meant assault and returning an equal share to sender.

'Be better.'

As he pulled his cane back towards himself, Sterling stepped forward and passed through fire and flame. The earlier chimeric deluge came in handy after all: the sheer damp protecting the bulk of his body from Three Fingers' raw heat while tears preserved his eyes. Skin along his cheeks and scalp reddened, the edges of scales blackened, but the scrapper did not linger. Step after step, Sterling strode into Chiyi's space beyond the flames, a faintly steaming specter of relentless determination. Punctuated by the scything motion of his tail scything even faster through the flames, sparing his exposed limb from further damage. Leaving him with only mild burns that were drops in the bucket of agony compared to the fresh deformity to his dentistry.

Be better? 'I'll show you better.' Better than the cur who took claim of the mantle that shrouded his movement with every waking moment up until the finals. Sterling knew that as an immutable fact deep in his bones, in his soul, deaf as he was to the cries of the chorus in his pain-soaked fury. Better than the witch before him, and he'd prove that too, one strike at a time.

Sterling drew on his speed, snapping a steel-shod kick with his left foot at Chiyi's frame. Back again to play and counterplay; he felt the sole of her foot catch his shin, stopping the effort well short of connecting true. But that was fair, expected even, as his foot dropped to the sand, and he continued to press in on his dancing foe.

She hopped as he advanced, switching her stance dynamically before delivering a scything kick of her own. He took the blow against his thigh as he bounded forward, knee raising high before stepping deeper inside her guard. Cane pressed against his chest as he dipped on his haunches ever so close. One might say nearly…face-to-face.

Sterling's nostrils flared as he inhaled and vaulted into Chiyi, left knee rising. The silvered glint of steel edge near his knee caught the eye…and true to form Chiyi saw that coming. She left her feet as her hand slapped against his knee. But had she anticipated cold revenge? His inner streetfighter was dying to find out as he pumped his entire breath through his pursed lips, spewing the contents of his mouth in scarlet mist flecked with bits of yellowed ivory into her face. A vile mixture, and one more potent than sand.

Lacking sight hardly hindered her performance. Chiyi twisted, using the momentum of the block to stabilize her body parallel to the ground and deliver her counter kick. Her foot scythed through the air, the ankle of her boot connecting with the left side of his neck. Static filled Sterling's awareness with the impact, his body rendered completely slack for long fractions of a second. An eternity in combat, but the blow hadn't landed clean. Had Chiyi struck the back of his neck with such an impact, that might have killed him outright. He'd seen fighters drop dead from such a blow, something to do with severed spines or outright shock; Sterling's addled mind couldn't recall the exact details.

Sterling had more pressing concerns as he fell forward. His vision swam as the sands came into muddled focus, the static haze vanishing almost as swiftly as it had arrived. Muscles twitched and transformed the fall onto a roll against his good shoulder. One became several as he scurried for distance on pure instinct; fighting to bring his spoiled sense of balance back to heel, and for purchase against the haze of pain.

He rose shakily, standing thanks to using his cane — three points of balance served admirably to steady himself — as a cane. "Bhe bettah, eh?" Sterling spat a fresh offering of blood debt to the sands, tinged with acrid bile as he struggled to quell another bout of nausea. Beatings. Bloody beatings, even here. It was a struggle to be better, when his competition was just that good. Yet the themes remained the same, remained familiar. Sterling glanced at Chiyi, saw the messy state she was in as she applied a tourniquet to her arm…and let her be for that precious moment. A decision against the judgment of both inner skirmisher and scrapper alike, but an abeyance granted by the sheer pain wracking him…and a desire to be better.

Sterling smiled, fluids dripping from his lips, as he shunted cold back beneath his feet and reformed the skates anew. He could be better and still be prepared for the next exchange.
AQ  Post #: 48
9/10/2023 22:28:41   
ChaosRipjaw
How We Roll Winner
Jun15


 The stench of decay is strong. The sun, previously showing a few hopeful rays, had retreated.

Dread grips her. Whispers surround her. Shapes and forms materialize from the mist, only to dissolve back into nothingness as she drew nearer.

Distant voices fill the air, their words carried by the wind but remaining just out of reach, like half-forgotten memories. Her heart races as she follows the path, an inexplicable sense of urgency propelling her forward.

“A tragedy—”
“What will she say?”
“To think it would end like this is just—”

Her throat constricts. No. It could not be. She would not accept it.

She rounds the corner to the village square, where everyone is gathered. She should be relieved; at last some suppliers have arrived. But instead she only feels as though something has been ripped from within her. For she knows full well, the white cloth does not store rice or grain.

Some people gasp as she comes forward. She must seem like a ghost.

“Where is he?” she whispers.


Three gashes of fire sliced tore the air asunder. Sterling disappeared behind the shield’s forks, though if their previous clashes were any indication, it wouldn’t hold him back for long.

The force of the Three Fingers forced Chiyi backward as it always did, though whether it was in its nature, psychological, or some ingrained force of habit, she had never been sure.

Unfortunately, her attempt to weave along the cane turned out to be her undoing. She dexterously snaked her arm back—but not quickly enough. The cane's hook snagged the flesh right above the crook of her elbow. One horrible moment of resistance, and then the flesh gave way, sending blood spurting from the wound.

Chiyi gasped; the pain was sudden and swift.

Sterling, undeterred, pushed through the wall of fire of the Three Fingers, and aimed for a front snap kick with his left foot. Faint streams of steam trailed from his clothes, and he looked for all the world like how she imagined the tales of the Mist Hunter.

Chiyi might have been gutted by the bladed skates right then and there (except they weren’t there anymore, she barely noted) but she was no stranger to the red haze of pain. Mental or otherwise. Instinctively, she responded with a kick of her own. The ball of her foot collided with his shin, stopping Sterling's kick dead in its tracks.

Faintly, through the sole of her boot she registered something hard covering his shin—armor? No matter. The attack jerked her awareness back to earth. The mist of pain dissolved, burned away by once-resting wrath.

Chiyi countered with a switch kick, a blur of red and white as she jumped slightly to swiftly swap leg positions.

With equal speed, Sterling continued to step closer in, absorbing her kick on the outer thigh of his raised right leg. His momentum didn’t waver in the slightest. He swiftly planted his right foot into the ground; firmly anchored, which fueled a lunge with a rising left knee, a blow that would knock the lunch out of her if it hit—

Thud.

Chiyi blocked the knee with her hand, leaping up at the same time—

As she did, he spat a mouthful of blood and teeth. Her earlier seed spit must have done far more damage than she had anticipated, though how much exactly was a question for a different time. The foul scent of iron and disgusting teeth perforated the dry hot air. Blood mixed with spittle splattered against her face.

Argh!

The world instantly turned to darkness as Chiyi shut her eyes reflexively. But she managed to twist her body, lifting herself off the ground, and snapped out a kick. The ankle of her boot caught Sterling on the side of his neck, throwing him face first into the sand, though he reached out with his one hand and dropped into a roll. Due to his stooped posture, her foot got caught briefly—very brief, but enough that she didn’t regain her balance in time.

Chiyi crashed hard into the ground, her breath escaping her in a sharp, harsh gasp. Her arm shot out to support herself to stand, but she winced. Suddenly, the weight of the Headhuntress’s Torment really did seem like a torment, weighing down on her with what might as well be the weight of all of heaven.

Blood streamed out of her arm in rivulets, dripping and reddening the sand. Was it just her or did the arena seem to tremble in delight?

No wonder it is red.

Chiyi's vision blurred briefly as she shook her head, trying to clear it of the pain surging from her wounded arm.

First blood.

Admittedly, Chiyi was rather surprised she had managed to make it this far without so much as a single injury.

Red crept into her vision again. Pain, pain, pain—

No.

Chiyi flexed her arm, trying to staunch the blood flow. Thinking fast, she grabbed the hem of her robes with a trembling hand. With no other arm, she used her one remaining tool: her teeth. Savagely, she tore off a long strip of cloth, then propped her arm on a knee, raising it slightly so blood wouldn’t rush out and drain her to a husk. Her hand grabbed one end of the makeshift bandage and her teeth the other. A few beats later and she had a bandage—or more appropriately, a tourniquet tied tightly above the elbow, turning her already pale forearm so white it practically glowed in the sun. The white cloth had already turned blood-red.

Chiyi pressed her palm against her forehead. Feeling something sticky, she pulled it away.

Dried, sticky blood. That’s right, she thought hazily. Sterling’s blood. The red that persisted in her vision wasn’t a trick of the mind then. Chiyi slicked the blood off, making even more of a mess than it was before. Sand and blood all over her face and hair and skin. Chiyi blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her eyes. She used a fingertip and swiped against the corners of her eyes; something wet trailed down her nose and cheek in response.

Such wicked karma. Was she doing worse than she had been all those years ago?

No.

She just had to last a little longer.

Gingerly, Chiyi fished in her little pouch for another wrathberry. She bent down and sucked it out of her palm. She gasped and almost choked; its fire was almost overwhelming now.

NO.

Chiyi clenched her teeth and flexed her bleeding arm. This would not be enough to stop her. Nowhere near enough. She had endured, not just far greater, but the maximum any ordinary person would ever have to take.

Just a little longer.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 49
9/10/2023 22:40:12   
Apocalypse
Member

Bolas and quill both struck true, binding the devilskin’s throat and piercing the shackled savior’s shoulder. A poor performance from the warclad: Vosta had slain enemies twice Elodie’s size with a single Carrion Quill before. Jarl Vostadt called the use of a second bladed feather an exercise in wastefulness. On hunts, her father would slay his prey with The Crow Laugh should he miss his mark. Spear rattling in her hand, the Jotnari bridged the gap dividing her from the lowfolk. The rhythm of war beat soundly within her chest. One more. Each pounding of the drums propelled her forward. Grant me strength to take one more.

While Parralia fought against her restraints, the shackled savior recovered from her stupor. Glazed eyes grew sharp with focus as they fell upon Vosta. They fluctuated between all the hues of the dawning sky and dusking mountain, yet no matter the shade swelled with unyielding tenacity. Her spirit perservered. A slight grin tugged at the corner of Vosta’s lips. Good. The chosen of the Crumbling Titan would serve where Thunder Jackal’s had not.

The shackled savior tore the quill free from her arm, and a thrill sprouted from deep within Vosta’s gut. It spurred the warclad forward, the shrill cry of the lowfolk a siren song luring her in. With fury seething in her eyes , Elodie whipped the quill back at the warclad. Vosta presented her strong side forward and jerked on her cloak near the nape of her neck. The curtain of feathers cascaded over her shoulder to intercept its sharpened brethren with an ear-piercing clang. Vosta choked as renewed agony erupted in her wounded shoulder. She stumbled forward several steps before slamming down onto a knee, shuddering for breath. The Cloak of Crows had protected her from the quill’s wrath, but in doing so ensnared itself on the fallen defender’s arrow. Each jostle of her form caused the arrowhead to shred more of her flesh. Vosta clawed at her neck and released the clasp holding the cloak in place. A gasp escaped her as the cloak fell forward, snagging all of its weight on the arrow’s shaft and forcing the tip to rip through her skin in its liberation. White-hot fire burned bright in the fresh laceration. On your feet! The warclad sucked in a harsh breath, her body refusing to obey. For jarl and clan!

The stench of rotting corpses stung her nose. Vosta looked skyward, expecting to see a murder of carrion crows descending upon a barbarous banquet. Instead, she caught a glimpse of Skulking Panther’s monument consumed by tentacles of inky-black. The statue let out a single melodic note before disintegrating into the aether.

"And so has favor been withdrawn from Parralia Anita, Paragon of Darkness."The Pillar of Darkness has fallen - and we now bear witness to her choice, and to her Lord's despair."

Vosta remained kneeling, her heaving chest drawing still.

Impossible.

It was impossible.

Unless-

Vosta’s pounding heart leaped into her throat.

-Ol’ Crow had never forsaken her.

Vosta saw but did not hear Parralia’s departure. For a fleeting moment, all of the din surrounding her fell silent. Memories of old churned over and over in her mind. The Gilded Plains, the visions of Crowspeaker Junral, the dreams of Jarl Vostadt…not false pledges but promises made in earnest. Ol’ Crow led the Crowcallers down the mountain to wage war in his name not because he betrayed their faith, but because he held faith in them. The Gilded Plains had been host to a contest of believers - not of Jotnari and lowfolk, but of Jackal and Crow. Vosta let her gaze fall to the Pillar of Wind. The elven warrior stood obstinate. Absolute.

All these years later, even after Vosta had abandoned her clan and shrugged off the yoke of leadership, Grandfather Crow’s faith in her endured.

Vosta ver Vostadteir, She who Sunders the Sky.

The warclad clenched her eye shut. In the isolation of her blindness she witnessed a figure prevailing where the Pillar of Wind once stood - a silhouette of undulating feathers darker than black and sharper than the cruelest blade.

When Vosta next spoke, she swore Grandfather Crow’s voice joined hers.

"K R O D O T T I R"

The Crow-Daughter opened her eye. Parralia was already gone. Elodie had climbed to her feet, the wound on her shoulder bleeding far less than it should have. Good. She would have more to shed. Vosta lowered her gaze to the amethyst prosthetic. But not with you. She reached over with her mortal arm and twisted Blood and Bone. The warclad bit the inside of her cheek and swallowed the hateful stings writhing up her arm. With a soft thud, Blood and Bone landed in the scarlet sea, The Crow Laugh still in its taloned grasp. She filled her lungs, the warm air somehow biting cold. “Grandfather Crow.”

The Crow-Daughter rose to her feet.

“Fly with me.”

Warmth flooded her entire being, permeating her chest and spreading like wildfire to her limbs. Vosta arched her back and howled to the heavens. A maelstrom of feathers burgeoned from the stump of her scarred arm. Their swirling mass thrashed and swarmed until the Krodottir manifested into being. A cackling laugh split the warclad’s ear, and only when she turned to the shackled savior did she realize it was her own.

A wide smile split Vosta’s face. “Grandfather Crow!”

In a flash, the Crow-Daughter snatched her cloak from the crimson snow and threw the billowing mantle at Elodie - a momentary distraction to blind her foe. Vosta bounded forwards and thrust the Krodottir towards the woman’s chest. Her pulse quickened as visions of claws sinking into soft flesh and cracking bone engulfed her mind.

“As you speak, I breathe!”
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 50
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