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=WPC 2024= Field of Gemstone

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1/21/2024 11:15:58   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


 The world between worlds is motionless and silent. It waits in stillness for those who seek it, and for those who find themselves there by mere chance. Here it stays, ‘pon the edge of new lives, or final deaths. It remains untouched by the passage of time, the motion of life, or the noise of thoughts. The only hands that mold it are those of the Powers themselves.

One hand has built the city high and mighty, and the other once more demands that the towers would fall.



The Chequered City has never been so subdued. The skyline is ruled by bright marble towers alone, the lowest obsidian hovel barely able to peek above the walls. Where once the roads twisted and turned there are now naught but straight sidewalks and streets, meeting at neat intersections. A brave soul may be able to take a staircase to the top of a tall tower and, from a balcony, paint a clear picture of the City streets. And upon those streets stand the faceless denizens, moving about in a pantomime of a perfect, Orderly life.

Chaos rages beyond the walls. The black garden has done its best to remain wild, to remain free. Vines and thorns twist and contort in an ever-changing labyrinth, yet are never able to close off the entrance nor the exit. Dark tunnels dip deep within the earth, inviting a dive to an unknown destination. Yet each of these, too, has a way out. And any who enter these caves shall still find themselves upon the pristine checkered tiles of the City streets, no matter how lost they believe themselves to be.

Without the walls, Chaos. Within, Order. And still both City and Garden provide for the coming war. Automatons serve drink, vines bear fruit, and anywhere one may find rest. The rest one must have before War.

None can stay upon these perfect streets or this wild maze. This is not a haven nor a limbo; it is merely a passage. A place to stop, to prepare, and to journey through the gates, the doors, or whatever means is necessary to pass on to the next step.

For Pawns belong in one place alone.

The Battlefield.



Within nothing, three colors burst. Red ignites the void in heat, blue seeps below the noise in a chill, and green presses eagerly at the edges of infinity to reach beyond, to grasp at the unknown. The three coalesce, and they explode, crackling radiation enveloping the Pawns in a mass of noise and nonsense.

Red and blue and green roar as one, and the nothing flees. The void stretches and expands, growing like fungus along three paths until there is only the three. Simply the gaps between crackling sulfur, frigid maws, and charged energy.

And then, a new world, an entire realm birthed from the dying howls of a being that wished for nothing more than to be witnessed.

A fake sky of twinkling gems gazes down upon a yawning cavern. A cave with three corners, its walls jagged rock that shines in shades of crimson, cerulean, and vermilion. The world shudders, and from each corner bursts a massive gem. In turn, they shine, bathing the cave in an enraging heat, a bolstering cold, and the crackling freedom of energy. Then, as one, they wink out, awaiting the Pawns to call on their hues and witness their blessings.

Above each Pawn, a symbol flashes. A five-spoked circle. For some, the white of the spotlights, with straight and pristine lines. For others, the black of the surrounding darkness, etchings curved inwards in an endless spiral. The runes hovered above for but a moment, their presence made known to all, before quickly winking away

The false sky winks, a myriad of voices crying out in crimson, in cobalt, in viridian.

“Welcome to the Field of Crystal. No Good can shine upon you, no Evil can dull your hue. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in vibrancy.”

Post #: 1
1/24/2024 23:45:16   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 There’s a humming of a storm.

It whispers on the horizon, soft sparks snapping in the dark clouds, not quite enough to build to skyfire. It buzzes and sparks and hums, the sound rising and falling with each gust of chilly wind. The sky roils, tension surging across the empty expanse; vibrations that build and cascade and crescendo in equal measure until the resonance fills the plains. It shivers and sings and hums -

A loud snort startles her, green eyes snapping open. Her mind rings with broken concentration. Elysia sighs, fond, and grabs a sugar cube from her packs for Peaches, the buckskin mare prancing slightly at the proximity of thunder. Old enough to trust her rider - mostly - and young enough to complain about the situations Elysia puts her in. The woman holds out the treat, murmurs soft, nonsense words as the mare lips at her gloved palm. The rising wind tugs at Peaches’ mane, ruffles Elysia’s own spiked hair even as her eyes sweep across the steppe. Long grasses ripple and dance, waves of tawny and amber across an autumn-hued sea. No need to rush to warn her people of the storm. Nearly a week’s ride to the nearest village; twice as long to the trading post that marks the start of the mountains. Over a month’s journey from the tavern where she had met to swap stories with Micha. Even further since the last inn where she’d spent more than a single night’s rest.

Elysia no longer likes to stay still, not with so many storms to chase after. To dance with. To run from.

No longer can stay still, with the static a constant buzz in her veins, with a hum that never fades from her ears. With her uncle and cousins unable to spend much time in her presence, always shying away from the storm that echoes in her wake.

Horses, thankfully, have a higher tolerance.

Her ears hum, louder than the storm, and she shakes her head. Tries to tune out the noise in her mind to focus on that in the clouds. One sound fades; another grows. She frowns, pauses, her hand half raised to pat Peaches’ flank; tracks the flickers of lightning held in the belly of the sky. This storm builds itself oddly. The sparks never truly manifest, never fully fade. No origin, or at least not one that she can locate. No target, no echoing boom as skyfire strikes forth to find its mark. Merely a spiral, endlessly chasing itself in half-formed bolts and half-whispered reports.

It’s strange.

Elysia gives her mare one more firm pat; pulls off the bridle to hang it over the saddle horn. Peaches can barely stand to be in the same pasture as her rider’s own sky bolts - she’s not ready to gallop into a gale. Instead Elysia strides forward on foot, idly rolling her glaive up and over her shoulder. A few lengths forward and the sparkes surge. Images flicker in their wake, flashes of stone towers, of cobbled streets, of twisting vines. She stops, shutting her eyes against the storm, the buzzing in her ears forcing itself to the forefront now she’s without a distraction. Static whispers, curls away from her, and she forces her eyes back open to track the path of the storm by the clouds alone.

The mirage remains.

Strange.

Her mind hums.

With a hard shake, Elysia pushes the sound away - it hums - focusing on the storm unfurling across the side instead of that which curls about her mind. Hazy pictures unfold with it, flashes of neat houses, of dark hovels, of unbroken lines and razor sharp corners so different from the crooked doors and twisting streets of the cities she knows. Of one city she knew. She shifts, a half step backward, turning to follow the growing charge in the clouds - failing to notice how those clouds balloon about her. Soft, building static fills her ears, drowning out the growing rumbles, the howling wind, the soft laugh unheard beneath a storm that defies its nature. Elysia stumbles as the pressure drops. Eyes go wide and she turns, twists, diving earthwards in a struggle to get down before the bolt arrives -

Lightning strikes before she reaches the ground.

White-hot energy sears against her eyes, the bolt burning through the air and leaving only ozone in its wake. She tries to run - but she can’t feel her limbs. She tries to scream - but she can’t hear it over the resonating boom of thunder. She wants to panic - but there is no oxygen left in her lungs to fuel the fear. Only a single thought echoing in terrifying refrain. This energy that engulfs her is not her own; is not her Lord’s.

The storm roars, and she hears naught else. It crashes, and drowns out the ringing in her mind. It screams and sings and booms -

And then silence.

Elysia gasps in a breath, blinks again and again to clear the spots from her eyes. Her hand tightens - wood digs into her palm, anchors her, her glaive raising at her side. Around her there is only white. Ivory walls forming a perfect square. Ivory tiles forming a perfect street. Ivory towers forming a perfect skyline. All symmetrical. All even. All white. Her eyes slide shut involuntarily, counting her breaths. She tries to steady them, to slow her trembling. Even behind her eyelids, there is only white.

There is only silence.

She exhales, relaxing the crushing grip on her glaive as she reopens her eyes, mind quiet and still. The city about her holds its breath, awaiting her movement. It unfolds around her in a perfect grid, and the woman turns down the street that she knows, somehow, leads to the city’s edge. She’s never had a tempest form such a perfect mirage, a perfect silence in the eye of a thunderstorm, but it is not the type of magic that is built to last. Peaches will be waiting beyond the gate outside of the city, of this silent storm. Elysia cannot stay. But she savors the calm while it lasts.

One street passes, then two, her muted ears not even able to pick up the soft trade of her own feet - one benefit leather soles have over iron-clad hooves. The grand manors shrink to comfortable houses, then again to smaller hovels. She sees not another soul. The occasional obsidian tile peaks out amongst the marble now, ink splots that stand out starkly against the city, notes with almost a hint of a buzz from within this silent storm. She takes a final turn and hesitates at the high, alabaster bricks of the city wall.

The ebon gate set across from her swings open.

It hums.

Proud pillars brace the gate on either side, the first structures she has seen made of pure black alone. Onyx tiles interlace with ivory, growing in number until only a single line of white marble remains to carry her forward. The walls, once so straight and proud, warp inwards around her.

It hums.

Elysia gives herself another shake, a horse shivering to scare off an errant fly, and forces herself to approach. Her people need her, her plains need her. Peaches definitely needs her. She takes the last step across the threshold - and finds herself greeted by a roiling mass of vines, by briar thick with leaves and thorns. Ivy constantly shifts and sways, crawling across its own tendrils to move closer. Straining towards her.

It hums.

Strangling towards her.

It hums.

The vines grasp at her ankles, sharp thorns biting through leather into her skin - and she shrieks. The city breaks its spell of silence. Her mind rings and cries and hums as layer upon layer of ivy wraps around her. She swipes her glaive, desperate and uncoordinated, leaving trails of green ichor bleeding from shorn stems only to have a curling tendril wrench the weapon from her. Darkness swallows her vision, swallows her screams, swallows the final echoes of silence as pure noise roars around her -

Colors burst across the blackness. Bolts of red and blue and green strike about her, strike through her, warmth and cold and shock pressing in against her nerves. Elysia drowns the ringing in the roaring of the colors, their bellows surging to fill and form the space about her. Fire and ice and energy, splitting off from one another to solidify a new world in their wake, crimson and azure and viridian each coalescing into massive gems birthed from the land their magics had just wrought.

Elysia stands beneath a sky of stone, twinkling gems of garnet and sapphire and emerald forming twisting constellations that stretch to collide with walls of the same jeweled tones. Simple rock stretches out beneath her feet, smooth and unmarked. She pulls in a breath, startling at the glaive digging once more into her palm, at the strangers now standing across from her. Four others, sharing this cavern. Two marked with a swirling black spiral, the symbol flashing above the heads of a massive, dark-skinned man wearing a mask and little else and a weeping, black-clad man with watery torsos of women trailing in his wake. Two others marked with stark, straight white - the same symbol that echoes in her bones, that offers silence in the storm. A mountain of a woman with pure white robes and another lady scarcely any shorter in a pitch black coat, white hair fluttering in both of their wakes.

The air hums with power.

Her mind hums with static.

Elysia raises her glaive slowly as a cadence of voices call about her, steadying her heart in time with her forced-stable breaths. The Field of Crystal.

How alien.

How familiar.

Elysia jolts free of the ache of melancholy, hints of sorrow trailing a bittersweet memory, and runs. In a different world, in a different time, in a different arena, her body knew the rhythms of battle, and she falls easily into them once more. She darts right, drawing aside the black-coated woman. Her marked ally, however temporarily those last. But there are too many others, all too close for the horsewoman’s comfort. So she dives the few steps to her side, glaive swinging up in an arc, curved blade pointing to the sparkling ceiling of the cavern.

Her focus narrows. She hums. One ally beside her, assumed enemies all around. A pluck at her mana, a tug at her own Energy, and a bolt of lightning cracks down from crystal to collide with the Stormcaller’s blade.

Her ears ring. Her mind hums.

For nearly ten years, Elysia has carried a storm within her heart.

Her storm will carry her through this day.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 2
1/25/2024 10:41:23   
kavyraya
Member
 

 In the stillness of the midnight hour, when the moon hung low in the ebony sky, a lone figure emerged from the shadows. Her silhouette danced upon crumbling brick walls, her white hair cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall of moonlight. Golden eyes pierced through the darkness, unyielding, untamed, and filled with a relentless determination that sent shivers down the spine of even the most formidable creatures of the night.

Dressed in a cloak as black as the abyss, she seemed herself a paradox, a timeless being whose existence bridged the gap between the ethereal and the mundane. Her very presence was an affront to the nocturnal horrors that prowled the realm of darkness, for she was their sworn adversary, their relentless pursuer.

In her hands, she wielded three silver stakes, intricately crafted to deliver the ultimate punishment in the face of malevolence. The stakes gleamed ominously, reflecting the pale glow of the moon, as though they too thirsted for the blood of the damned. They were a symbol of her duty, a testament to the countless battles she had waged, and a reminder of the countless lives she had saved.

Tonight, however, was not a mere battle, but a confrontation that had defined her existence as an alchemist, and a hunter. The vampire she pursued possessed a cunning intellect and an insatiable hunger that had left a trail of death and despair in its wake. But now, the hunter was close, so very close, to ending its wretched existence once and for all.

Between two dilapidated buildings, she cornered her prey, its feral eyes glinting with a mix of fear and defiance. It snarled, baring its razor-sharp fangs, its ancient body tense and ready to lunge. But the hunter did not flinch, did not falter. She had danced this deadly waltz too many times before; she knew its cursed steps all too well. With a graceful yet lethal movement, she unsheathed a stake from her belt, her hand blurred by the sheer agility and experience she possessed. The creature, sensing its doom approaching, lunged forward, but the hunter was a tempest. Her movements were fluid, commanding, as she sidestepped the deadly assault, and in a single, devastating motion, plunged the stake into the vampire's heart.

Silence enveloped the alley, broken only by the soft and ragged gasps escaping the vampire's lips. But the hunter, her golden eyes smouldering with an icy fire, did not flinch. She did not cherish her victory or savour the creature's final moments of unholy existence. Instead, her resolve transformed into something primal, pure, and relentless. She yearned to purge this world of the darkness that lurked within its forgotten corners, to restore the balance between the forces of life and death.

As the vampire clung to life, she stood tall, a monument of righteousness in the desolate abyss that once harboured hopelessness. With a swift and precise motion, she withdrew the stake from the creature's chest, ending its torment swiftly and painlessly. She knew the price all too well, the scars she carried upon her hands, the sacrifices she had made for the greater good.

Yet, as the creature started crumbling into a fine powdery mist, it began to swirl- as if Zephyr had picked up and sent its essence blowing against the hunter’s cloak. She took a wary step back . . . into nothingness. Sound and colour seemed to disintegrate as she fell back into a void, her golden eyes wide with shock, turning into sharp focus as she wrapped her arms around her body to cushion her from whatever fall she was about to take. Close your eyes, land on your feet. Her old bones would crack, but they would mend. Look, Val.

Blurs of colours rush by through her eyelids, and the pressure pops just as fast as her boots hit … the ground? She springs just as fast to her feet, but her hands scrabble around empty sheathes. Valeria seethes softly, and her golden eyes flicker towards the other shapes coming into focus.

Symbols. Same as hers. Others, not so much.

The night. It is far from over, Heliades. She could still hear her mentor’s voice in her head, no matter how many years have passed after his death.

The comfortable weight of her rifle bumps gently against her hip as she stands tall, her hand closing around one sphere, the liquid inside reacting to the motions, making it glow against the thousand gems strewn across what felt like a giant arena.

Far, far from over.
Post #: 3
1/25/2024 20:31:09   
nield
Creative!


 It was just another day. When he woke up, She was watching ahead, just like always and She was watching behind, also like always. He sighed- an inhalation and exhalation through his nose- and stood up. The ground was soaked from his tears, but his suit was bone-dry, as per usual. It had been a few months now, but still wasn’t something he had quite gotten used to, although he supposed it made sense, all things considered.

The forest was tranquil, thus he spent the day much as he usually did, practising the sword, a remnant from Before. When the tip of his blade entered Her vision every so often it took him off-guard and he tried to focus on it, but Her view remained steadfast. The constant yet irregular patter of tears hitting the ground interfered with his focus, but was not a massive detriment.

After some time however, the usual sounds of the forest were disrupted, a bird taking off here, a sharp crack there of a branch breaking. Is it another group for me? Can they not just leave me to myself? He knew there was no point in retreating, he left far too obvious a trail for that to be of any benefit, so he faced the direction noises arose from and waited.

Soon enough a brash voice hurling insults reached his ears. “You good-for-nothing louts! If we lose our bounty because of your screw-ups, I will have your heads!” ...Disgusting. Soon a small band of exhausted humans burst into view, sweat dripping down their faces. Behind them swaggered a fat Alerian, his jowls wobbling with each heaving step.

When they saw him, half the humans immediately began bawling their eyes out. The other half sank to their knees and weakly shook their heads. “No… That… We, we can’t…” they muttered. The Alerian however simply sneered. “Useless, every one of you. Should have known. But I am made of sterner stuff! I won’t fall to pieces because of one sad man!”

The Alerian swaggered forwards, roughly pushing the immobile humans aside. Cruel… Arrogant… But he doesn’t hold himself as an amateur and despite the current moon phase his bestial side isn’t showing at all. Not an easy foe. He raised his sword and readied himself.

Both men moved at the same time, the Alerian charging at a speed that belied his weight and drawing a blade in one smooth movement. The sounds of the blades clashing rang throughout the forest, disrupting the wildlife. The Alerian’s sneer morphed into a face of surprise however, as a whole wing of tears slammed into his face. The Alerian stepped back and turned away coughing and spluttering and– not one to pass up on such an opening– he swung his tear-covered blade and a sickening crack echoed as the blade landed on the back of the Alerian’s neck.

He underestimated Her gravely… this is the only fate that could have awaited him, he thought as the body crumpled in front of him. He turned and considered the humans, who had completely failed to pull themselves together. Not a threat. No need. He walked past them, lightly patting one on the head as he did so and disappeared into the forest.


It was just another day. When The Crying Man woke up, She was watching ahead, just like always and She was watching behind, also like always. He stretched and stood up. The ground was soaked from his tears, but his suit was bone-dry, as per usual, a phenomenon he had long grown used to.

The forest was tranquil, thus he spent the day much as he usually did, practising the sword, a remnant from Before. He had long since ceased being distracted when the tip of his blade entered Her vision every so often, the sound of tears impacting the muddy earth beneath him long since just another sound of the world.

Slowly, however, the sounds of the forest faded out, until stark silence was all that remained, even the sound of his never ending tears was gone. The Crying Man turned his body this way and that nervously, trying to discern what had occurred. She saw nothing and neither did She.

Although sight and sound had failed him, another sense rang the alarm loud and clear as The Crying Man felt vines wrapping around his legs. Though he tried to wrest himself from their grip, the vines held firm as they crawled up his legs. His blade proved little use. Perhaps if its edge were exposed it could have helped him, but it proved futile here. The vines continued up, encasing his torso before stopping.

Then the vines started to drag his body down. He sighed– an inhalation and exhalation through his nose– and stopped struggling. If this is to be my end then so be it. No point fighting against what I can’t control. He felt the earth open wide beneath him as he was dragged into the depths.

Then the earth snapped shut and all was black.


The Crying Man was unsure how much later it was that he regained consciousness. Sound had returned to the world, but he found himself in unfamiliar climes. Wild hedges of vine and thorn surrounded him and from sounds that he could hear, it seemed the hedges were moving with near constancy. Even as he stood there, Within Her sight the hedges moved to seal a path, as hedges in Her sight moved to reveal a new one.

He started walking along paths aimlessly. Not sure what I expected of the afterlife, but it certainly wasn’t this. Eventually the path behind him disappeared and all that lay before him was a path into the earth itself. Well, it would be rude to ignore an invitation, he thought and trudged downwards.

He walked for hours. Or perhaps it was mere minutes, this strange place seemed to rob him of his sense of time. Eventually he took another step and found himself before a small group of people. There were four of them and a symbol shone above each of their heads, a clean white, straight wheel for the three women while above the man’s– and his own, the most primal part of himself whispered– was a black, endlessly spiralling wheel.

Even as he began to think about what exactly all this meant, a cacophony of voices cried out. “Welcome to the Field of Crystal. No Good can shine upon you, no Evil can dull your hue. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in vibrancy.” So not the afterlife then, or we’d not be able to perish. A battlefield. Three versus two. Not good odds, not with two of the three adjacent to each other, while our two are interspersed with them. The first blow dictates the battle’s course. So deal with the one, then focus on the two. His mind set, The Crying Man moved toward the woman to his right, his blade ready to strike.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 4
1/25/2024 23:11:30   
Oddball
Member

Someday, you will pass these teachings onto the one you deem fit to succeed you.
When that time comes, you will be able to fall peacefully into the next world.

A mass of sirens wail overhead, the ear-piercing noise coalescing into a distorted cry for help as the thinning numbers of the city’s police force rush towards the location of the most recent victim. Distant sounds of gunfire are quickly overrun by an amalgamation of bestial screeching and the unmistakable sound of another group being slaughtered in their dozens.
These atrocities were becoming more common by the week and the thinning dregs of those who had kept their humanity were desperately trying to cling to whatever they had left. Be it family, companions, pets or even just material possessions, all things would eventually be eroded by the encroaching swarm.

And yet even a situation this dire could not cause the figure to stir from their seated position, calmly sipping from a cracked teacup as they watched the bar owner over the rim. A once vibrant and proud neon sign now hung in front of the door, sputtering and sparking. Its occasional spark of light only serves to reveal the figure’s piercing white eyes to the nervous bartender. He had been muttering to himself under his breath since the figure’s arrival, and their presence only seemed to cause him more grief as time passed. He so desperately wanted to ask them to leave, but this had been his first actual paying customer in weeks! Even with the horrific feeling in the pit of his stomach, the boss would’ve had his head for turning away another person.

“Just a matter of time, now.” Stated the figure, gently setting the cup down on the table that had been hastily cleaned after their arrival. The bartender cautiously watched as the large form of his customer slowly rose from their seat and began to make their way over to the door. And as he watched, he felt a churning in his stomach and the alien sensation of something crawling up through his body. With one last flicker, the neon sign fell, crashing against the ground in a near blinding array of sparks and Rita could only sigh as they turned their head back towards the bartender.

With a sudden, cut-off scream, the bartender’s head snapped back as his throat began to bulge. He desperately fought to move his gaze over to the figure, his eyes frantic and pleading, begging them to help him… Only for his last shred of resistance to fall as they stared back at him, cold and unflinching. Accompanied by a sound akin to something tearing, a thick black tendril forces its way through the bartender’s throat, swiping at the figure standing on the opposite end of the restaurant.

“If only you had waited just a few more seconds.” Turning their body to face the coming threat, Rita quickly brought their prosthetic arm up and caught the appendage mere inches away from their face. Wriggle as it may, its chances of escape were impossibly low, the Nun had it firmly in their grasp and could not be convinced to let go.


“Judging from your size, you must have been festering inside that man for quite some time. A pity, then, that I chose to come to this establishment today, hm?”

Tightening their grip on the tendril, a mix of a squeal and a hiss comes from a little further down allowing Rita to pinpoint exactly where the parasite was. Procuring a knife from inside of their sleeve, Rita quickly thrusts the weapon into where the noises were coming from. What followed was a horrific screeching, like someone had distorted the sound of a balloon slowly being drained of its air, and the smell of rot. The appendage that had struck at Rita quickly began to decay, going limp for a few seconds before it began to decompose into a thick sludge.

All that remained was the parasite, squirming on the end of Rita’s knife, small whip-like limbs made of bone flailed frantically as it searched for anything new to latch onto. This one was roughly 7 inches in length, and looked similar to a millipede with a spotted white and red carapace.

“A stage Three… and at the end of its cycle too. A few more days and you would have matured into quite the problem. Lucky that the Children alerted me to your presence.”

With their other hand, Rita grabs what would be the parasite's head, and squeezes it tightly, not letting go until they could feel a small “pop.” Confirming that the parasite had stopped moving, Rita pulls the knife out and drops the creature onto the floor, stomping on it for good measure. A successful hunt such as this one would typically be followed by a relaxing night in, letting Rita shy away from their duties for just a brief moment.

But alas, there was still work to be done this night.

So, as Rita stepped outside, they took one last look at the sign that had fallen and quietly muttered a prayer for the soul that had been lost.

“Be free from this cursed land. May you find peace in the next.”



The walk back to the church was a quiet one and it left Rita with a substantial amount of time to reflect back on the day. Perhaps, if they had acted immediately, the bartender may have had a chance to live. Then again, a stage Three is almost a guaranteed death sentence, and very few people have survived a parasite at that level. It wasn’t uncommon for Rita to get lost in a spiral of second guessing their actions, as any human would in a situation like theirs.

It was getting increasingly difficult to present themself as this cold and unfeeling drone when their heart still ached at the sight of the remains of an infectee.

Those would have to be worries for another time, Rita was almost home and their expression would only serve to worry the Children. As the grand building came into view, Rita noticed a figure sat in front of the doors, looking out over towards the singular road into the heart of the city. Upon seeing the nun, the figure suddenly shot up to their feet, quickly throwing something off to the side and brushing themself off.

“Mi, you didn’t have to wait.” Approaching the eldest of the Children in their care, Rita let off a warm smile towards the young adult, who would only respond by averting her gaze.

“Well, you said you would be back a while ago.. The kids were getting restless. So I said I’d go looking for you…But got stopped by the Guard.”
She’d conveniently leave out that she was also incredibly worried, Rita didn’t need to know that.

“Well. You can attribute my tardiness to them as well. They've set up a checkpoint nearby and all that pass through need to prove that they’re free of infection.”

“What, is the nun from the church not exempt from the rule?”

“We can just be glad that they’re serious about their jobs. Come, I still have to prepare food for when the Children wake up… And you need to be rid of that smell of smoke that’s clinging to your clothes.”

The inside of the church wasn’t anything typically different from the average layout of a church. Rows of pews sat unused for centuries, but they were surprisingly clean despite this. Rita couldn’t help but smile at the sigh every time, they had mentioned to the Children that cleaning wasn’t required of them, but the nun’s words would fall on deaf ears every time. Sat at the very back of the room was a statue of the Crafting Goddess. Her name had been lost to time, and Rita was the only one with knowledge of her final moments. Understandably, the nun wasn’t willing to share the story with the Children, only telling them that it was a special secret that wasn’t to be told to anyone.

“Will you be expecting visitors tonight, Rita?” The Child referred to as “Mi” spoke up as the pair made their way through the church, causing the nun to pause for a brief moment before turning with a soft shake of the head.

“All three of the parasites were hunted in a single night. The one behind their placements is sure to be looking to enact revenge. But they cannot be hasty in the approach. We shall be safe for the time being.”

With a quick nod of the head, Mi had disappeared into one of the side rooms and was likely to stay there for the night. With a quiet ‘Goodnight’, Rita moved towards the church’s kitchen, preparing for the delicate process of making something that everyone would eat.



“Sister Rita! Are you going to tell us a story!?”

“Yeah, yeah! We wanna hear about your travels some more.”

“Of course, Children. Let me regale you with a tale from my past.”



Rita awoke to find themself in an unfamiliar room. Gone were the comforting and recognizable stone walls of the church, replaced with a singular brilliant white brick. As Rita willed themself out of the bed, they noticed a figure standing on the opposite side of the room with their back turned to the nun.

“Who are you?” The nun called out, frowning slightly when all they got was a soft laugh in response.

“It hasn’t been that long, Rita. Have you forgotten my appearance already?”

A familiar voice rang out, echoing across the endless expanse. The figure didn’t turn to look at Rita, but they knew who it belonged to.

“You…But you’re-”

“Dead? Yep. Bizarre as to how I’m here, right?”

Rita stayed silent, finding her gaze locked on the back of their former Goddess. They had so many questions they wanted to ask.. But none of the words could form.

“Our time together has to be brief, they won’t let me stay for very long. A grand battle awaits you, Rita. Do me proud.”

And as quickly as she had appeared, the form of the Crafting Goddess disappeared, taking the light with her as the room was suddenly dropped into darkness.

A battle? For what reason? And with who?

These were questions that were going to be answered very shortly, Rita wasn’t aware of it yet. They took a few steps forwards, moving through the endless expanse with an air of caution surrounding them. Was the person who had greeted them really the Goddess? It wasn’t too likely, she had been dead for a long time.



Had minutes passed?

Hours?

..Days?

Time seemed to move at a strangely accelerated pace here. Rita had no concrete evidence to prove this, it was simply a gut feeling.

Hearing a sudden noise behind them, Rita quickly spun on the spot, only to find themself in a completely new location…With extra company this time.

5 figures, including themself, all stood in a compact circle in the center of a large cave. Was this the battle their Goddess had described to them previously? No matter, the symbols posted above the heads of each participant clued them all in to which side they would belong to. Black and White, Chaos and Order…What strange things to be fighting for.

“Welcome to the Field of Crystal. No Good can shine upon you, no Evil can dull your hue. Prove yourself worthy, Pawns, or perish in vibrancy.”

Worthy? Rita had been deemed worthy by a Goddess already, a second shouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, right?

Taking a few steps backwards, Rita decided to survey the chaos unfolding on the battlefield, rather than get stuck in the midst of it. The suit wearing individual beside them seemed to have had a similar train of thought and was now slowly approaching them with blade drawn.

“So be it, if these powers wish to see us prove ourselves worthy, then let us give them a show they’ll never forget.”


AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 5
1/26/2024 20:56:58   
Sylphe
Member

quote:

We sing for Mother Mountain, for it was her roar that parted the seas and gave us the lands we call our home.

It was Her song that spun her flames into a great feathered spirit that lights the sun.

The vengeful dark sea spilled into the sky after her, fangs sharp and open - and so the Mountain bound it in smoke so it may always need light of others to be.

- Callers of the Dawn


The mountain hung in silence. Soft, stifling ashfall left layer upon layer of gray on the many paths and even more precarious crevices. Within the chilled caldera rested a statue with its hands crossed upon its chest, face blank in solemn meditation, layers of ash burying it year after year after year, until nothing but tips of shoulders and head remained, its closed eyes ever turned towards the sky.

The darkness of his dreams was so warm and heavy. A single mote of ember sailed among the deep, lost until it reached and illuminated a slowly opening palm. Its heat seared through his skin, through his dreams. It spoke in temperatures and stings. Of great battles. Of vicious opponents. Of death.

His claws snapped shut around the ember. The darkness tightened its hold, and he sunk deeper and deeper - into a strange weightlessness he’d never felt before. Then the ember erupted in oppressive, bright red. A wave of heat, almost a breath of home. The ink spilled under the vampire’s skin, awakening to tendrils of black smoke.

Blue, and another old friend coiled itself around the inside of his arms, ever struggling to break free like a vicious wave, snapping at all it could and even more it could not.

Green, and the phoenix spread its wings atop his shoulder blades, remaining silent if not for the gentle glowing lights dancing atop his back.

Then, they roared as one - and he spotted the markings of the warriors to fight among the light-blessed crystals when his mind calms from the shrieking onslaught. Outnumbered. Good.

Before even the first breath, there’s movement. A child rushing to the aid of another. His arm swipes, missing her by a mere breath.

Imprecise. Slow.

But that matters not, not right now, not to him. He leaps after her. All too many things happen too fast, with a glaive’s arc, a glint and a flash made of thousands of little lights. And yet, he can’t help but grin even as the lightning lashes at his skin, tears at his mask.

No, this one is brave. This one is a guardian.

He called out, his voice accented strangely, yet full and joyous.

“Skyfire-child! It is a privilege!”

Margul’s grin widened as he ordered the serpent out, felt it shred at his mind from the inside. Veins flared with the blue hue of brimstone as the vampire emerged from the glittering lightning. He flung out two strikes at the guardian, both towards their chest at a haphazard rhythm. A heavy, animal huff struggled past his bared teeth.

“To have me break all of your bones!”
DF  Post #: 6
1/28/2024 15:19:47   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 Lighting arcs and sparks and snaps, splintering off from the spine of her blade in crackling tendrils. A man shouts behind her; false thunder booms from the side. Elysia does not risk the distraction, but she hears no screams from the woman. Hopefully silence means a living ally, but she knows better than to count on extra help all the same.

After all, the mountain woman will have her own enemies soon enough.

Her mind buzzes, the wake of a storm, and she stumbles. Slides on the too-smooth stone, nothing like the rough and ragged grounds of her home, before steadying. A breath of respite all that she allows herself before turning back to the smaller of the white-haired women. Green eyes briefly catch a hint of golden ones as the other woman turns, sunlight blooming in her palm. The Stormcaller shifts back, startled by the glowing orb her ally holds in their hands. Light born and blessed. How strange to find that here.

How achingly familiar.

Shouts - hums - pull her back to this battlefield. Elysia twists away from the Sun-Blessed, eyes searching for prey - and is met with a mouth of grinning canines, a mask of obsidian black. One dark fist flies wildly past her. The other cracks into her side, drives air from her lungs, lifts and throws her back. Wood slips through her hand, slides, stops as she tightens the last second to catch the shaft. Instinct flicks her wrist and forearm, sweeping the curve of the blade in her wake. The room spins about her, crimson and cobalt and evergreen painting streaks across her vision. She slams back-first into the floor, cracks her head against the stone. Something else roars to her side; sunlight explodes, flares, paints streaks of white against the spots flashing in Elysia’s sight. The Sun-Blessed’s orb.

It rings and booms and hums.

She snarls - hums - struggles to refocus on the noise beyond the pounding in her skull, the pounding of the stone. Heavy steps shake the ground in their charge, and Elysia discerns them just in time to roll aside. The masked man barrels past, roaring thunder, drops of blood scattering like raindrops in his wake. Her ribs twinge, throb - at least one cracks. Sharp pain lasts a moment before it dulls into buzzing static, the constant presence - the hum - within her veins.

What little pain her storm does not kill, she ignores.

Elysia pushes herself to her feet as the man - he hums - turns. His motions narrow, refine, wildness fleeing even as static surges. Another storm, another source. Red energy coalesces in his palms; lighting birthed from lifeblood rather than skyfire blooms a breath later. A storm - it hums - so similar and alien as his javelin takes flight, the buzz of static in the air leading it somewhere beyond her, beyond the Sun-Blessed.

A cursed storm. A cursed caller.

It hums.

No screams from either the mountain woman or the weeping man. They must be distracting each other. Good. Elysia dismisses them, raises her glaive. The aftereffects of red flicker across her gaze; she narrows green eyes, focuses on the dark figure through the lingering storm. Her own lighting flashes just as bright, but she hesitates to throw another bolt at the man who so casually calls his own. Eyes flick to her side, take note of the cavern. Perhaps a different storm can help.

He so graciously hurled her towards the once-charged crystal, after all.

Elysia braces, twirls her glaive; strikes in reverse. Steel-capped ash cracks into veridian, and the crystal bursts, blazes, hums to life. The air sparks and shivers and jumps, static-filled ozone in every breath. Energy crackles across her skin, stinging, the pricks akin to a lover’s caress. The only one the Stormcaller knows. Flickers of green dance in the corners of her eyes, bathing her peripheral vision in shimmering, glittering, emerald hues. Her gaze stays centered on the man before her.

The air - her mind - hums.

The Stormcaller charges; static builds with every step. Sparks spur her forward. She races, a gallop in her pace, as if borrowing Peaches’ speed instead of her own. A wall of force crashing forward blade-first.

Thankfully the cursed man is a larger than usual target for jousting.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 7
1/28/2024 20:32:01   
kavyraya
Member
 

 For a moment, Valeria was stunned as lightning split into her ally’s blade, temporarily illuminating the cavern’s many jewels above. In that split second, she caught sight of her ally, holding lightning sparks in such a melancholic expression, anguished– beautiful. The storm arced into the blade, enveloping it in a breathtaking display of power. It was a sight to behold, a moment frozen in time. Valeria’s eyes widened as she admired the sheer beauty of the lightning dancing upon the blade. It was almost mesmerising, evoking a deep desire within her to understand and recreate such a phenomenon through her alchemical knowledge.

However, just as Valeria’s thoughts wandered, a figure suddenly appeared on the periphery of her vision. Vampire! It was rushing towards the silver-haired hunter's vulnerable ally, a dark fist connecting to their delicate frame. Valeria can only flinch as her ally flew across the floor, but it made her realise the imminent threat, her instincts taking over.

She moved with fluid grace, although her mind was racing fast to assess the situation. Time seemed to slow as she lunged forward, her muscles straining, propelling her towards her target. She knew that noise only created distractions, so she wasted no time before hurling the sunfire sphere towards the encroaching vampire, hoping to momentarily disorient him.

The sunfire sphere burst in a white hot flash. Both Valeria and the vampire were temporarily blinded, their senses overwhelmed. Although momentarily disoriented, she didn’t hesitate.

Step here, step right, Val. When you fight, you must always think of it as a dance. But with us, one wrong step and you don’t just lose your life, you lose everyone else’s.

Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but … she felt her mentor, her friend, her lover’s hand curl around her own as she reached for Sto. Taquina. The warmth on the gun’s grip, it was different from her training, yet so familiar that it almost choked her in surprise. She hadn’t heard his voice in years, yet she heard it oh so clearly now.

Breathe, Val. You know what to do.

Her left hand closed around her handgun’s grip and the relapse was gone just as fast as it appeared. Valeria released a soft puff of breath before she also slipped one of her adamantine knuckles into her right hand, its metal comforting and warm to her touch. The creature would soon recover, maybe even twice as fast, and she needed to strike first while she still had the element of surprise.

A new wave of tremors passed through her body– but here she couldn’t afford to lose track of her new quarry. The floor was smooth enough for Valeria to keep her balance, but with her eyes closed, she listened intently, her nose scrunching at the cloying scent of blood and undead, her fingers clenching around the comforting curve of her handgun, anticipating the precise moment to open her eyes and aim just as an invisible static took to the air once again.
Post #: 8
1/29/2024 16:50:05   
nield
Creative!


 As he walked towards his foe, The Crying Man considered her carefully. She was abnormally tall and garbed in trappings of faith. I wonder… What God do you believe in? His instincts tingled looking at her, telling him this was no simple foe. She spoke, steeling her resolve. Behind him, She saw as the smaller of the two opponents ran to the larger and called lightning down. He shifted his facing slightly so that She was looking right at that and saw as lightning webbed toward him.

But there was naught he needed to do to prepare, as She automatically moved in the way, spreading her arms. There was a booming as the lightning detonated against Her form and the view She provided him winked out in an instant. How many times? Even were I to have ten more hands I could not count the number of times you have saved me on all my fingers…

His foe ahead had raised her arm, which sprang open revealing a small axe– a tomahawk, he thought– which leapt into her hand and she threw it forth… but not at him. She had reformed swiftly– What did you look like?– and gave him insight as the thrown weapon sailed toward his one ally in this strange battlefield.

Engaging at range while an enemy closes into melee range? What’s your game? I would expect even the most amateur fighter to know that’s a bad idea… Well, if a trap’s your game I cannot merely stand still. I’ll trip it. The Crying Man moved in, keeping his blade low before bringing it up swiftly in a swing towards her face and the woman moved her arm to block it, a metallic clang ringing out.

The tomahawk had been thrown, but not discarded, as behind him She saw as the axe sailed back through the air, borne by unknown means. The woman took a step backward and caught it in her hand. She saw as his ally turned towards them, energy crackling in his hand, before being thrown forth, a spear of energy sailing with malevolent intent.

However its intended target had little desire to be struck down by a bolt of energetic anger and quickly stepped to her right as the projectile howled past. The Crying Man stepped immediately into its wake, his sword moving. Simultaneously, She also moved, sending one of Her wings hurtling towards their foe, blade and wing moving in different directions in a pincer attack as the air came alive with the slight hum of electricity.

What were your names?
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 9
1/29/2024 22:57:22   
Oddball
Member

Rita. Are you prepared for this? This path is without branches, it shall only lead you to strife and ruin.”
“...I am, my Goddess.”

The unmistakable sound of crackling lightning ripped Rita’s attention away from the approaching foe, a light panic setting into their bones as the potential of losing functions made itself perfectly known…

Which is why Rita had suggested that defensive upgrade in the first place.

With a small grunt, the Nun thrust their prosthetic arm in front of them, silently willing the small orb that lay in the back of the hand to execute its use. With a small near-inaudible beep, the attachment fires out of Rita’s hand, moving a few feet forwards before expanding to cover a large portion of Rita’s body.

Almost instantly afterwards, the Lightning that had come from one of Rita’s allies crashed against the defensive barrier. The forces of the two crashing together causes a half-second long display of brilliant colours as the orb works its magic. Rita would have to count the seconds now, the one who crafted this for them hadn’t thought of adding a way for them to know when the barrier was ready to be deployed again.

Quite the oversight, looking back.

As their gaze was still locked towards the location, Rita also bore witness to their other opponents’ crazed act, powering through the electric web through what appeared to be nothing but sheer determination…Or, maybe there was some insanity mixed within. Nevertheless, Rita had encountered types like him before. Frenzied and bloodthirsty were just two of their major traits, but they were the ones Rita remembered the most.

Still, that’s one thing the parasites helped the citizens with. Most of the Children of the Night had starved to death, met an untimely end, or had been unwilling carriers of the plague. Knowing this, Rita’s target had changed. The man closing on them could wait just a little longer to have Rita’s attention back towards them, they could not suffer to allow a vampire to live whilst they still drew breath.

With a sudden whirring, sections of Rita’s prosthetic arm began to shift. Certain parts would fold in on themselves, while others would rotate and slide to temporarily latch on to other parts of Rita’s arm. With most of their forearm exposed, a folded weapon closely resembling an axe presented itself, trembling softly before it violently burst forth into their hand.

Holding the weapon again always brought forth a sense of calm for Rita, it had been their companion for as far back as their memory would allow them to remember.

”And once more, it will do the Goddess’ work.”

With the thin, orange, wire wrapped around the hoop at the bottom of the tomahawk, Rita took a heavy step forwards before launching the axe towards the vampire. They could not afford to watch to see if the weapon connected with the intended target, as Rita’s attention was forced back towards the Crying Man, the nun managing to lift their arm up in time to intercept an incoming attack.

A tug on the wire born from their wrist alerted Rita that their tomahawk had been moved with force, and a quick glance over would confirm that their other adversary had tossed the weapon aside, presumably after tearing it out of his back judging from the wound.

Stepping backwards, Rita rotated their wrist a little, just enough to wrap a small amount of the wire around their hands and pulled, forcing the weapon back into their hand.

Once again, Rita’s brain clocked in on the sound of electricity. This time it was coming from the Vampire, who held a javelin crackling with energy. And when it was thrown their way, Rita had to avoid it, even if doing so meant taking a strike from the Crying Man.

A sudden shock of static rippled through their body as they went to take a step to avoid the incoming projectile and Rita’s heart just about stopped at the sudden intrusion. How fortunate for them, that this shock did not seem strong enough to be lethal.

”Come now, Rita. Surely this isn’t too much for someone of your caliber?”

Willing themself to take that step, Rita narrowly dodges the lightning javelin, feeling it gently brush against their cheek as they take a step to the right. Their current opponent seeked to turn this into an opportunity, and stepped with the nun mid-swing as the ghostly figure of a woman parrelled his movement, creating a pincer attack made of blade and wing.

A clever maneuver, but Rita was never out of options.

Moving the Tomahawk up to intercept the blade, Rita’s other hand finally unveils itself from under their sleeve, a long, white knife grasped in their hand as the nun moves to block the attack from the wing, hoping to lessen the impact of the incoming torrent of water.

“A unique style of combat…I will enjoy learning from you.”
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 10
1/31/2024 9:58:49   
Sylphe
Member

quote:

And the Mountain knew her children needed rest, as much as she needed stillness.
An eruption and flame weather themselves out. A cold sea in the sky drowns out all that lives.

Every dusk and dawn, the spirits of the mountain change roles.

Every dusk, the fanged moon brings about the night, devouring the sun.

Every dawn, the winged sun slays the last tendrils of his night.

- Callers of the Dawn


The lights cast dappled shadows at the edges of his mind. Muddled, muffled, as if above a water’s surface. Same as his feet as they pushed him off the rocky floor, and same as the dull, distant pain that dared strike him in the shoulder. Same as the distant pounding heat in his arms. Against all that, the target in front of him felt agonizingly clear and red. Margul groaned as his first strike missed the child of sky-fire. The second, was a promise delivered and bones broken - and the brave warrior careening through the air.

You’re fragile, He gritted through his teeth. No sound came out other than a contemptuous hiss. The serpent’s wrath wouldn’t let any of his words through. He leapt after her, knee scraping against the hard stone floor in a rough landing. It did not matter. His fists opened, claws breaking out of his nails like snaketooth as he meant to shred his prey with the twin bites.

And then the dawn came down, the phoenix opening her wings, blinding, stinging.

It wasn’t even a bestial roar that left him, it had far more panic that he’d care to admit. It was too soon, too much colour and light after that long, comforting darkness. The loudness of the light didn’t hide the cause of this ounslaught - as his wrath waned and the serpent retreated, the noise was no longer so distant.

How long had it been ash-dark?

“Tokoa,”

Whichever divinities invited him to do their bloody deeds for them smiled upon him after all. His very own sun-warrior to fight. Margul rose back to his full height, hopelessly blind still. But he still turned his gaze towards the direction the sudden burst of light came from.

“Sun warrior! I sense your eagerness. One moment.”

More things became less muddled, less muffled as the waves of madness settled. A smirk cracked its way up on his maw. The blood in his shoulder, the weapon he tore out blood and sharp throbs disregarded - it was an invitation for yet another scuffle.

And who was he to not answer their request?

Heat sparked in the vampire’s heart. Behind his blind eyes, he thought of warmth. The warm blood of enemies and allies alike, the lanterns lighting the nights of his people, the mountain’s hearth. Tendrils of lighting coiled into his palm like snakes as he shaped them into a jagged form of a spear, the Mountain’s most sacred of heralds, and by at large, the most fun and scorching. He pulled his arm back and hurled the bolt to shred through the air with a wild clap of thunder.

It is up to you now, Margul thought as he twisted his body back to meet the prior two opponents. Gold light dappled with black in his eyes, with movement just at the edges, though he was not sure if it was truly there, or just a trick of half-blind eyes reaching for straws. Weather or perish, I give these choices to you.

A warmth danced in his chest, in his veins, far from the sensation of strength exerted from lightning lighting anew. Blind eyes opened wide as the feeling of a thousand little zaps washed over him like a clumsy wave.

How long had it been since raised up hair and tickles of static chased pilgrims away from his mountain, all while he laughed?

He’d spotted just the last shadow of Skyfire-child and her weapon before they were too close. His arm came down too slowly, and his claws and her glaive shed sparks. This time, the pain was slicing and deep, But even as he grimaced and ground his teeth to withstand having his arm sliced into, he figured that was well worth not getting glaive-staked right into the heart. His arm snapped against the other warrior’s wrist and glaive with crushing strength. His eyes cleared just enough to see the same half blind look in theirs. They must have charged him impaired themselves.

“I like your guts, child. No- not a child, a warrior.”

In an absolute contrast to what was about to happen, the vampire quickly bowed his masked head in respect.

“When you’ve gathered your breath, I want to hear your name!”

Roar it with your thunder!

The serpent's tattoo coiled restlessly around his arm, constricting, helping hold it together despite the cut. With a breath of exertion, the vampire leaned into the glittery, viridian strength of the crystal. Borrowing the little speed it offered to injured muscles, he attempted to fling the warrior into the other fighter. She was not as much of a mere shadow anymore, not even in his motion. A glint of golden eyes was all he caught of her so far, but no matter - his fight with sunlight had never truly ended, nor did it ever truly begin.


Death. Rebirth, and Death again. He never saw more of it than the oranges and reds, felt only a fraction of its warmth before he faded, ash falling from her wings.
DF  Post #: 11
2/1/2024 9:27:20   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 Lighting arcs across the sky, painting streaks of white against swirling black. Strike after strike they flash. They do not fade. Skyfire crisscrosses again and again and again, a web of burning light stretching out above her. She watches; dark clouds shift, slowly lighten, slide away to a dusk-lit sky. She watches; icy torrential rains pound into her, slowly lighten, turn to drizzle then to mist then to nothing at all. She watches; skies clear - the weave of lightning, of magic, of Energy, remains. The storm moves out of her sight and senses.

Still it hums.

The Stormcaller strikes across the stone-smooth floor. Her target turns, fast, uncoordinated, swipes a clawed hand at her glaive to deflect its path through his heart. Metal sparks sing - hum - and Elysia twists, turns the shaft in hand to catch the man’s arm with the last inch of curved blade. Crimson blood spurts forth, interlacing with the emerald sparks still weaving in her vision. Iron reaches her through the scent of ozone, a single drop burns as it lands against her cheek. Fangs glint before her widening eyes. Too close -

Energy hums in her muscles, her mind. Elysia cannot twist, cannot redirect, cannot force her straining muscles to change course in the storm as the cursed man’s hand closes around her wrist, around her glaive. Her bones creak - hum - and she gasps in pain. A deep voice booms, plunks of words rippling to aggravate the ringing in her mind, fanged maw twisting in a grin. “...a warrior - hums - your breath - hums - your name!”

His last words roar, pierce through the buzzing veil, through her narrowed eye confusion. He wants what? The woman shifts her balance, leans back and away, enough space to hopefully duck his next blow sure to come - and instead he whips her glaive around, dark fingers clenched just beneath the curved steel. Her muscles scream; she clings to her own weapon even as she hurtles in its wake. Curtains of flickering green part around her, interlaced with red and blue and - gold?

The Sun-Blessed.

He’s using her to block her ally even as the black-coated woman darts close, pale flashes of gold flickering along her fist. Elysia cannot brace, cannot find purchase, cannot redirect herself, caught as she is in another’s storm. If she rides this current, they are lost.

It hums.

Fingers loosen, wood slips, and the Stormcaller releases her glaive, metal cap smacking against her fingers with a last jolt of static as the man twirls it away from her. She follows the path no longer, muscles loose as she hurtles aside, crashes once more into the stone. Her head rings - hums - spots in her vision burning veridian tracks across the corners of her eyes, stealing the edges of her sight. Scattered noises pierce through her own echoing head - the Sun-Blessed driving into the cursed man. May her light purify his curse, since she very much doubts he’ll be able to turn that one into a blessing instead.

Not every fighter has the makings of a champion.

But lying here injured, motionless… How can she claim to be different?

Elysia snarls, jerks herself into motion. She shoves at the floor, motions almost wild in her haste to regain her feet, regain control. Eyes fall - hum - upon the mountain woman, figure half obscured by flickering green. She fights three on one; the weeping man’s watery, half-formed ghosts gliding about him, one striking out with its wings in tandem with his sword. The Stormcaller stills, slows against her will. Her mind almost quiet as she watches the man weep softly.

What sorrow must he suffer, for ghosts to haunt him by his tears?

The mountain woman’s blades sing out, a long knife striking towards the wing, a short ax connecting with the blade in a clear, ringing note.

It HUMS.

The Stormcaller jolts, hums, arm snapping out as green sparks trail the wake of her fingers; trail the path to her target. Lighting springs to her palm, spikes forward with a snap, a crackle, a hum to leap straight towards the weeping man. She cannot hesitate, not in the arena. Not against an enemy with such strange magic.

If he’s lucky, she’ll at least be able to kill him quickly. Death will be a different misery.

Hands fall to her knives - heavy blade drawn easily in her right, balanced blade fumbling as her wrist twinges in her left. A quick glance shows swelling about her wrist, blossoming bruises that sink deep beneath the skin. Static buzzes - hums - hides the flares of agony with prickles of Energy. She can ignore it enough to function. For now.

Elysia leaves the cursed man to the Sun-Blessed, instead glides forward, circling wide as her momentum spins her faster, sparks her forward. Muscle and bone throbs, dull, in time to the throbbing in her skull, the pulsing veridian of the air about her. Circles until she comes opposite the mountain woman, framing the man and his ghosts between them.

She is tired of the ghosts of one fight forever humming in her head.

She will not suffer more from here.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 12
2/2/2024 6:27:43   
kavyraya
Member
 

 Valeria's eyes flew open once she felt the bullets in her gun click into place, her silver strands of hair falling across her face as she gasped for breath. An overwhelming sensation of pain and loss washed over her, hitting her like a tidal wave crashing against jagged rocks. The image of him, his face twisted in agony, flashed before her eyes. She remembered the taste of his blood on her lips, the sound of his final breath escaping his lungs.

It’s not your fault, Val. It was never your fault.

Fighting back tears, she forced herself to focus on the present, knowing that dwelling on the past would only weaken her. But as she snapped out of the painful memory, she became aware of something startling.

But it is, isn’t it?

Her own screams reverberated in the arena just as she saw her thunderclad ally fly across her vision, and to her horror, she realised her body had acted on instinct, launching itself towards the hulking vampire without any plan whatsoever.

The arena was dimly lit in faint green, its uneven stone walls reflecting glimmers of viridian and black. Shadows danced across her battlefield, adding to the eeriness of the moment. Valeria knew she needed to regain control of the fight before her unchecked impulsiveness became her downfall, but in her mind, she could still see her beloved, his face etched in her memory like a ghost. This realisation fueled her, blinded her in an explosive determination to avenge him, pushing her to push harder and fight with every ounce of strength she possessed.

If it weren’t for your need for experimentation, he would still be alive. He would still be fighting with you, for you.

It was too late to pull back now, as she landed a solid blow on the vampire's face, enough to send it reeling backwards in what Valeria hoped was still in a disoriented state.
Post #: 13
2/2/2024 8:13:14   
nield
Creative!


 Within his memories, their faces were shrouded in shadows, their voices indistinct. “You feeling okay, _______?” Their voices descended into a static of unintelligible sounds when they spoke his name as did his when he spoke theirs. ”I’m alright _________, _______, you don’t have to worry about me.”

He shook his head and brought himself back to the present as his blade met his foe’s tomahawk, the crisp sound of metal on metal no less muted for the fact his sword was shrouded in tears. Her wing crashed against his enemy's other arm, knife outstretched. As his instincts had warned, this was no push-over, she had blocked Her wing competently and spoke to him.

“A unique style of combat… I will enjoy learning from you.” The kind of statement you expect at least some answer to… I apologise for not giving you a real reply. He raised his chin to draw attention to the horrendous mass of scar tissue that was his throat. Then behind, She saw as the lightning-caller enemy stretched her arm out toward him and a bolt of lighting formed into her hand and leapt forth.

As the javelin of lightning flew through the air towards him, She moved to intercept, as She always did. But The Crying Man felt an odd feeling come over him; The breath through his nose came irregular and fast and his heart began to pound against his chest. What is this…? Before he could identify the feeling, the javelin crashed into Her form and detonated, vaporising Her and the first Block in his mind.

Annabelle! NO!


”Annabelle! You can’t keep doing this, can’t keep throwing yourself into harm’s way like this!” The wondrous, vexatious woman before him looked up at him with a small, triumphant smile on her plain, breathtaking face. “You worry too much _______. After all, I can just do this.” She lifted her arm, a grievous wound down the forearm. Conventional wisdom inferring she would never use it again, but before his eyes, the wound knitted itself back together, shortly seeming as if it had never sustained injury to begin with.

He sighed, a deep, rippling exhale out his mouth that saw his entire head slump forward. “Just because you can use magic unfettered doesn’t mean you’re immortal.” She reached out to stroke his cheek, a mischievous smile on her face. “Awww, my hero’s worried. But isn’t that your job, _______? To come strike down all who hassle your dearest love and make sure I’m just fine?”

He turned away flustered and she laughed, light and bright. Then her face settled into a serious expression. “More importantly, how’s the Niqxzlqotl? They were hounding it pretty hard before we got there.” “Sleeping for now, wounds don’t seem too bad. Stopped spouting fire from the new wounds so I think that’s a step in the right direction.” “Then come here and hold me, my love. We survived another day.”


The Crying Man reeled from memories, buried deep and unremembered. How could I have forgotten? Oh Annabelle, how could I just let you throw yourself into the path like always? In the midst of this reverie he found his opponent’s heel planted squarely in his chest, which promptly exploded, forcing the air from his lungs and his body to the ground. Ah, that’s right; This is a battlefield, where a moment’s hesitation is death. You should have cleaved my neck.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 14
2/2/2024 22:20:30   
Oddball
Member

”What happened next, Sister Rita!?”
“Yeah, yeah! What happened next”
“Come on you two, stop hassling Rita.”

The nun chuckled softly at the twins sat at their feet, leaning their large frame down to gently place their hands against the duo’s heads before softly giving the pair a quick pat.


“I will continue the story after you’ve both eaten. Okay?”
“‘Kaay”

With a synched response, the twins scrambled to stand up as they rushed towards the kitchen, eager to eat as quickly as possible.

A sigh brought Rita’s attention to the figure at their side, finding Mi staring back up at them.

One less used to this world may have found themself unnerved at Mi’s gaze, the lack of colour in the girl’s eyes combined with her short stature made her adept at sneaking up on unexpecting people.

Fitting for one blessed by the night.

“You spoil those two too much.”

“Perhaps. But they don’t get to be children for very long in a world such as this one.”

A sad smile left the nun as they watched the twins run off, waiting for a brief few moments before beginning to follow behind.

“So let us allow them this one joy, just for a moment.”



Rita would not expect a response from the man, this was a battlefield after all. But a quick movement of the chin would make Rita aware of why they wouldn’t receive a response. A mess of scar tissue where one's throat would be was presented to the nun for just a brief second before the Crying Man’s attention was ripped away from Rita.

One of the two ghostly, watered, figures moved to block an incoming Lightning strike from Rita’s ally, but a being made of water would fare worse against electricity than even Rita themself..

The bolt itself seemed to stun the suited man for a moment and Rita decided this would be a good moment to tag their ally into this fight. With a heavy step, Rita thrust their foot forwards, their heel colliding with the intended target’s chest. With a nonverbal command, the explosive charge hidden within the heel ignites, adding a little extra oomph to the force behind the kick.

With the Crying Man downed, and their ally fast approaching, Rita turned to face Elysia with a quick nod.

“Together, then. We relieve this one of his misery.”
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 15
2/4/2024 9:21:55   
Sylphe
Member

quote:

So it has been, so shall it be forevermore as sure as the mountain stands.

- Callers of the Dawn


The young huntress sat cross legged, crushing glistening cobalt scales in her mortar. He added the volcanic ash, next. It glittered with fire that was almost golden amidst its grey grains, reflecting light when it met what remained of the scales.

"I can't believe you beat the whole serpent yourself."

"You underestimate me, warrior. It is a grave mistake to make."

"Okay, but did you really tear its fangs out and slay it with them, or is that-?"

He gave her the sunniest grin in his arsenal, and she sighed with all the drama a proper beast hunter ought. It was part of the discipline, after all. There was no need to waste her energy in distrust. If he was speaking the truth, then the scale and ash would breathe their power into her ink.

"So you came here to hunt Her? And you've been fighting since?"

"Yes."

She looked up and away from his outstretched arm to meet his eyes, glistening ink almost eager to part with the bone needle she held.

"So neither of you bumheads wants to stand down?"

The room grew colder in his mind, despite her laughter. His eyes lead him out towards the mountain. The islanders were almost too eager to accept a new figure in their stories with their gifts of fruit and blood.

The mere thought of standing down, of leaving felt foreign. Like leaving his bones behind. His smile grew cold, his voice a confused whisper.

"...I don't think we can, anymore."



He did not spot her closing in, only heard her anguished shriek. A flash of silver and a searing, staticky sting ripped through his senses. White spots danced in and out of his eyes as the hulking vampire stumbled back, claws of his bare feet skidding across the black stone with disconcerting screeches of their own. Through the spots in his eyes he saw the Tokoa leap for another strike. He caught the sight of her golden eyes before it came down in another wave of silver tinged, thrumming pain. Their expression was a flash, but even through the dizziness, even through the sharpness - it awakened a long slumbering pain within.

Followers of the sun, his faithful of the moon. His friends. He knew them young, knew their children, their children’s little ones, too. He remembered them playing on his mount’s steep slopes, knew their rites by song.

The moment he looked away, they were bones upon bones ready to bury.

Eternity had not been kind.

He clamped his fangs closed on his sympathy and the quiver in his throat.

Unfortunately, despair makes you a poor fighter and an even poorer hunter.

“Enough.”

Margul’s strike was quick and vicious. His forehead crashed against hers, with all of his hulking strength. He felt a crack run through his mind, not knowing, not caring if it were ironwood, his skull or hers. His mind throbbed with dull, confused pain, and yet as he caught her eyes again, as absent as his own, that smile only grew deeper.

Here, that far from the mountain - with every drip of sacred blood that left his wounds and every pang of the pounding headache, they shook his body and rattled the ink like no flame of the phoenix had for a long time.

Dying here would mean no momentary touch of oblivion, would it?

His opponent certainly seemed to either not get the message or get it a little too much, as her forehead crashed against his this time. Through the mask dulled some of the strike it pulled apart the threads of wounds his inky phoenix was struggling to heal, making them sting anew. His heart buzzed with anticipation, with confusion, with joy as the despair was chased into dark corners.

You would headbutt me?!

You! With your skull made of paper!

A loud guffaw left the vampire’s chest. It made the sting worse, for sure, made his body move way more than it wished to, but oh by the Mountain’s hallowed lightning! Either incredibly sassy or incredibly stupid, and he was onboard with both! If the Tokoa wished so badly to break his mask and the skull behind it, then she’ll have her fill to try!

But as he was about to take the mask of cracked ironwood off his face to show her the honor, he felt something sour on his tongue. Her blood, caught on the mask. Her blood, hanging in the air, hardly noticeable before. He must have thought it the oxygen tang from the green crystal.

Margul’s smile grew into a toothed frown as he threw the mask away, sending it off with a wooden and glassy clack against the rock a step or two away. Antelope horns came out of hiding from behind the mask’s crown of obsidian, as did the stub of a horn still growing on his forehead.

“You who despair. Who earned my honor - my horns and mane.”

There was a touch of regality even as his snarl built and his brows furrowed. The moon, the stars, the ever dark sky weren’t his only domains. His was the stillness of a volcano at rest. His was the blood that poured hot in its rivers, granted to every living thing.

To stand before me, blood tasting like sour milk and mercury.

While the rest of the vampire started to struggle, he shifted his focus to his feet planted firmly on the ground, felt the basalt-blessed ink within. Firm like the volcano’s foundations, staying even after all else was burnt away. His legs hadn’t gotten their fair share of fighting. His knee flew out to hopefully land a hit against the strange-blooded’s stomach, too fast for his control within the viridian lights. His very own static cascaded down his arms as he spoke, too quiet a tone belying veins sparking with growing heat.

“What have you done to your blood?”



Death, rebirth, death. The calm never lasted. A momentary blip out, and then his legs lead him back to the edge of the caldera, cold air rustling in his hair, rising moon by his side. Some days, clouds. Other seasons, ash.

She waited, all the thousands of their days. The colours of the phoenix’s feathers fading out like the last wisps of evening light.

Most days, bloodshed followed. Most days, they tore themselves to shreds. Some nights though, he remembered. Some nights, they talked.
DF  Post #: 16
2/5/2024 0:04:20   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 She travels, always moving. Always riding. Always listening to the thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump of her mount’s steadying hooves. She keeps her focus on its repeating rhythm. It gives her an anchor as she journeys from hunt to hunt, village to village, storm to storm. But even Peaches can’t keep going forever - nor would Elysia ride the horse into the ground just for her own comfort. In the stillness of her camp, Energy finds her, envelops her, embraces her. She is loved by the storm. She loves the storm.

But it hums.

Lightning sizzles - hums - as it strikes water, one of the ghosts moving to intercept the blow. It explodes into a burst of vapor, the report of thunder ricocheting back at Elysia with a loud crack. She lurches, shakes her head against the surge of static, sees the man stumble. His tears fall faster, thick drops of rain within a storm. Beyond, the mountain woman darts in, striking into the open with a kick aimed at the man’s chest -

It connects. It explodes.

Vibrations send green sparks spiraling out from the contact, whizzing past in Elysia’s vision as the sound roars - hums - past. The Stormcaller staggers back a step, away from the flash, the noise, the hum. Hands tighten on her daggers as she forces a breath, forces her eyes back to the combat, forces her focus to the forms of her enemy and ally wavering in the spill of shimmering static. It hums. The man crashes to the ground; the mountain woman nods sharply over his fallen body. She speaks, Elysia sees her lips move, but cannot hear her. It hums. She shakes her head, a futile attempt to clear it, nods once in return. The second ghost circles about as the man rolls, the first slowly refills with tears as it shifts away. Time to strike, while the trio are disoriented. She exhales, calls - it hums - static sparking- it hums - bolt curling - it hums - the storm - it HUMS.

Elysia snarls, snaps her eyes shut, grip lost on her lighting as her veins throb in time to the storm in her mind. Hands tighten until her bones creak - hum - on the hilts of her blades. Dull aches throb - hum - muffled pain worming its way through the cracks in her mind. She can’t focus, can’t strike, can’t… it hums. The woman stills, thoughts drowned as the charged air shifts and dances and hums around her. She cannot find her own mind. Green eyes reopen, scour the ceiling for clouds to track the patterns - and find only stone and crystal.

It hums.

A flare of light, a beautiful sunset of reds and golds, breaks through her mind enough for focus, the woman turning desperately in search of the source. The mountain woman’s knife glows, white-hot, bright enough to burn. Loud enough to sing forth its own storm. It hums - another chord on top of the static, the blood-lightning, her sky-fire - a series of cascading tempests swirl about her; threaten to drown her. Too many storms. Too many sounds. Too many hums. Elysia stomps, hard, muffled leather on stone a loud thump that does more to rattle the sounds in her mind than drown them out. It will have to be enough.

The man of sorrows struggles upright, turns towards her, his winged, watery ghost gliding about at his side. The other ghost is nearly re-formed, her body now between him and the mountain woman.

She is the Stormcaller. She will not be afraid of some water.

With a shout, a hum, she darts forward, smaller blade held close against her side. Regret sweeps through her as she closes in, but she hums, keeps moving. If she is to survive, he must die. Her long blade arcs in front of her, sharpened side aimed straight for the man’s scared throat.

It hums - she shivers - hums - swallows the grief - hums -

ENOUGH!!!
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 17
2/5/2024 22:03:19   
kavyraya
Member
 

 Her boots barely grazed the ground as she propelled herself towards the vampire. Gravity, reflexes, and a good deal of doing whatever her body just felt like doing in the moment, she landed a devastating punch, the force connecting right on his chin. There was a resounding crack, and the vampire’s head snapped back, disoriented by the immense impact.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. All your fault.

Not giving her opponent a moment to recover, Valeria landed– albeit crookedly, and swung back again for another powerful blow, her adamantine knuckle reacting with a fizzing noise as the vampire staggered back.

But then it was just a moment too late. Valeria barely recuperated, barely blinked when the sound of skulls colliding echoes through the air, creating a gruesome symphony of agony.

Upon impact, an excruciating pain reverberated through Valeria’s head, intensifying with each passing moment. An explosion of agony radiated through her entire body as searing pain surged through their temples and orbits, momentarily blinding her, as if her eyes had been shaken loose from their sockets.

You and your damned experiments, Valcove! You killed my son, my son!

Where did that memory come from again? A metallic taste fills her mouth as her forehead starts to bleed, adding insult to injury. The sharp sting of broken skin, accompanied by the sting of salty, human sweat mingling with open wounds, only further amplified the torment. His mother. Someone who loved you too, once. Until you killed her only son.

It did not, will not stop her there.

Valeria may have staggered for a moment, blood trickling down her forehead, her body starting to strain and cry out for a respite. But she grit her teeth, dug her nails deep into his shoulders, using the leverage to forcefully headbutt the vampire right back. The impact was bone-rattling, causing the vampire to stumble backward, a mix of shock and disbelief etched across his face as more blood sprayed into the air and on its lips– hers.

From that, her breath rattled in her chest. A hollow sound, not one of victory, but of tiredness. Why was I still fighting? What is there left to fight for?

Time seemed to slow down as her fate hung in the balance. Valeria managed to see the kick propelled by the vampire towards her body, gaining speed and power with each passing moment. In that colossal instant, a collision between sheer brute strength and unwavering resilience was about to unfold.

It wasn’t your fault, Val. It’s fine, just … fetch the medic quick, alright? Tears aren’t going to help us now…

With resounding impact, the mighty foot found its mark. Like a thunderous crash, the blow sent shockwaves through Valeria’s body, reverberating through every fibre and nerve. The immense energy from the strike instantly overwhelmed her, causing the air to explode out of her lungs in a guttural gasp.

The torrential force propelled Valeria backward, as if she had been launched by a powerful catapult. The sheer strength of the kick sent her soaring, her body suspended momentarily in mid-air, before gravity took its inevitable hold, twirling her through the air, her limbs waving and flailing. The force of the impact, combined with her own momentum, turned her into a helpless projectile. Unable to regain control, her body continued its involuntary flight through the air, seeming almost weightless against the backdrop of the battlefield.

“Clay- Clay, stop moving- stop talking-!” Her hands, shaking pale and red, trying to staunch the wounds on his chest.
“It’s alright, Val… You’ll be alright…”
“No!” She was screaming. “Not without you!”
“You can. You will.”

As her surroundings blurred into a whirlwind of movement, Valeria eventually met the unyielding ground. The impact resonated with an earth-shattering thud as dirt, gems and debris were sent airborne in a small explosion. The sheer power behind the vampire's kick had sent Valeria crashing away, leaving her sprawled on the ground, momentarily incapacitated, her breath caught in her throat, her body wracked with pain, and her senses dulled by the intensity of the received blow.
Post #: 18
2/6/2024 17:39:10   
nield
Creative!


 ”Get up, _____a_!” Sounds of a distant memory echoed into the present as The Crying Man rolled over, with Her revolving around him while Annabelle’s image continued to reform. Aye, up I’ll get. I’ll keep you safe, Annabelle.

The sparks of static on his ruined skin caused him no small discomfort as he staggered up onto one knee but he forced that feeling away to focus on the battle. She sees as the lightning caller dithers, her attention not properly on him. He heard a humming behind him as he shakily ascended to both feet, but found himself forced to focus on only one as the woman before him moved in, one blade by her side and the other sweeping towards his head.

Naught for it but a gamble. I’ll have to hope your reticence to actually cause me harm continues. He brought his own blade up, noticing that while his movements were a little faster than usual they were also somewhat sloppy. The crisp sound of metal clashing once more rang out as the two blades met. Straightforward, almost desperate. What ails you, poor woman?

But another was moving immediately. She brought her claw down in a savage sweep and The Crying Man could see out the corner of Her vision as the lightning caller’s eye widened and turned her head as Her claw raked down her face, the woman crying out in pain.

Then pain burned through The Crying Man’s own body as a blade entered his back. Were he capable of it he’d have screamed, but not even the merest whimper escaped him. Ah, to pierce Annabelle… you weren’t reticent at all. I’m sorry, Annabelle. He felt as the blade was withdrawn and then swiped across his back, which failed to score through the Mourning Wear. Yet the pain that radiated as he shifted and moved was less that he’d have thought. Ah, you pierced her, but was that the extent of your resolve? This is no grave wound.

Annabelle’s image finally reformed, giving him vision to watch the backstabber dance away, but his focus was wrenched away, as the lightning caller lunged in, determination shining through her claw-ruined face. Ah, this really is the exact situation I wanted to avoid… She continued the attack, wing descending towards the lightning caller, as he readied his sword to parry her.
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 19
2/7/2024 21:12:12   
Oddball
Member

A curt nod was roughly all Rita was expecting from their ally, so it came at no surprise to them that that was the response. The battlefield was hardly a place for striking up conversation, especially in a situation as alien as the current one. Their ally’s gaze looked unfocused, clouded over by an internal strife as dangerous as this fight for their lives.

All I can do is pray. Pray that you overcome this hardship.

Their adversary had mostly risen to his feet by this point, the small window Rita had created was rapidly closing and they had to strike now.

Seeing as their ally was managing to hold the sorrowed man’s attention well enough, Rita bounced the idea of a literal backstab in their head for a brief moment. It certainly wasn’t the most chivalrous of plans, nor was Rita typically fond of attacks such as this one… But their life was on the line. Sometimes, you simply have to play dirty if you wish to see tomorrow’s dawn.

Using their ally’s sudden cry of pain to mask their approach, Rita took a heavy step towards the Crying Man, The Righteous held firmly within their grasp.

”This seal. It is the seal of The Spirit. It is what binds me to you, it is what marks you as my successor. It is your most powerful tool. Please use it wisely.”

With a silent apology to the Goddess, the nun whispered their prayer, pulling the knife inwards before mimicking a cut across one of the symbols that littered their robes. A brief second passed before the knife suddenly sparked aglow, brilliant mixes of golds and reds dance along the blade as the symbol burns away.

With the opponent occupied, and without protection, Rita’s strike aimed true. Following a blurred streak of red, the nun plunged the white-hot knife into the back of the Crying Man, who could not let out even a whimper at the sudden influx of pain. Ripping the knife from the Man’s back, Rita could only pause for a moment at the lack of a proper wound.

This… Sorrowful being, is human? I see. If these were better circumstances, mayhaps I could have helped him.

With a quick, ineffective, slash across the Man’s back, Rita quickly took a couple of steps backwards, moving out of range of the freshly reconstructed ghostly visage. The sneak attack was a one and done option, then, as this protector spirit would not allow Rita access to strike again so easily.

“...In that case.”

A sudden loud crashing pulled Rita’s attention to the opposite end of the battlefield, their other ally seemed to be faring poorly against the larger opponent, and Rita now had a choice to make…

As if they could do anything but help.

“I leave him in your hands, Warrior of Lightning. Be safe. The Goddess goes with you.”

With a quiet word to their close ally, Rita turned to face their other target, who stood tall while their ally lay flat against the ground, clearly wounded and currently incapacitated. With their grip tightening around their axe, the nun took a deep breath…

And with all of their might, tossed the tomahawk towards the Vampire.



”Time for bed, children. The hour will soon be upon us.”
“But… but Sister Rita!”
“You both know the rules. Into your rooms, before they arrive.”

Sulking, the twins slowly shifted towards the back of the room, making one last pleasing glance towards Rita and sighing in tandem when they didn’t relent.

With a click the door behind them locked, leaving just the pair of Rita, and Mi, in the main room.

“How many do you think they’ll be sending this time?”

“Enough to entertain us for the evening… Hopefully.”

“Same plan as always, Rita?”

“Indeed. Let us greet these unwanted guests with the vigor they deserve.”
AQ DF AQW Epic  Post #: 20
2/8/2024 9:19:46   
Sylphe
Member

quote:

Like us our Mother sleeps, so like us she dies.
At the end of all things, when the night shadows the sun and the toothed moon leaps
She will roar once more, clearing the soot-dark sky: and the dawn will come again.

Callers of the Dawn



No more words were said. No more sounds made, but the heavy crack of bone and tinge of static as his knee met her stomach.

But his skull pulsed like resounding thunder. His breath rattled over his lungs as Margul sped into a run after the sun-warrior. One foot in front, teeth grinding against the strain in his muscles. Another launched him into a leap as his blood grew into searing intensity and lightning danced over his arms, and over the still-open cut on his arm. The thunder grew into a howl inside and outside. He spotted her amidst the rubble, stunned and fragile, good for one last strike.

That stillness was all too achingly and abruptly familiar as it hit the forefront of his mind.

A smattering of ash and black rock where she fell. Red light upon stone as the sky grew dark, her sun but a last golden ring peeking through the darkness. He walked the dawn unharmed, drinking the joy in.

The greatest hunt a child of night could accomplish was skewering the sun.

He guided the lightning into his palms as he did then, its trails leaving glowing afterthoughts behind his eyes. The sharp point formed - downwards, a single strike from the heavens down like skyfire, a sacrifice.

“The Mountain responds to ME!” He howled as he ran the crimson feathers through, as he heard her song abruptly stop. She sailed to the ground, no laughter, none of her usual quips and curses within its tones.

The cycle took its last stuttering breath.

And then, silence remained.

His hands gripped the storm even tighter. His teeth gnashed so deeply he’d almost cut his tongue on them. His eyes grew heavy with pesky tears. Despair made poor fighters. Poor hunters. With a frustrated roar, the vampire tore his lightning away. His shoulder screamed in pain as he landed above her, skin of knees and feet shredded by the rock and crystal upon impact. His eyes flicked to the side. They caught a warrior, fending for life and glory alone against two, and falling short of his struggle.

His roar turned into words, just barely.

Your hunt does not end this day.

“HOLD-”

With another breath strained with exertion Margul hurled the newborn lightning towards the blue crystal in the distance - betting all on that single short memory of determination and stalwartness under its blue light.

“OUT!”

May it help you- stand on your feet longer than it helps them.

Breathless, the vampire dropped onto the Tokoa. Claw bearing hand by her throat, his other on her wrist. It was no longer by strength or his burnt out blood that he hoped she would stay there. He counted on his weight alone to carry him through. Cold, blue light rushed over the horned man like a frigid wave, yet all he could think of was the last golden light dispersing and fading. The sun’s burn forever leaving the vampire’s shoulders, along with its warmth.

His claws dug in, just enough to break the skin.

He spat blood, still warm breath escaping his mouth in a small cloud. The phoenix’s feathers stirred as their ink traveled down his arms, momentarily split into two birds in flight, dodging the serpent’s coils as they rode the winds under his skin. Ink trailed down his fingers into the huntress’ wounds, gifting the phoenix’s golden warmth and her wings’s embrace to tend to her injuries.

“Not yet. Not yet. Speak to me.”

Only silence and rising smoke in response.

Remains of ink dripped down his claws, glittering gold.

With a final defeated exhale the warrior rose up. There were no wings to spread over his back now, nothing to soothe the crack and strain that made it harder to pull himself back up. Though the snarl and furrow of the brow spoke in the huntress’ direction, they were not only hers to have.

“You are not done. Get. Up.”

He was promised the best warriors. Ones that didn’t break. Greatest of hunts.

Ones that would not seep through his fingers like dust on the wind.

Rrrrrrrghhh.

He did not notice something silver and fast tear first through his pain-shook vision and then through his basalt blessed back. A shock of pain followed, and he could not stop the pained animal hiss in time. Margul’s head snapped towards the fighter coming to collect her dues, his eyes bright red and fangs wild to match.

A familiar gleam blinked back up in his eyes, but its joy lagged behind. The great warrior he craved, the one that so valiantly held her own against his ally, came to face him head on.

Then- let me give you a battle you won’t forget.

His teeth crooked into a grin. As easy as breathing. Every dawn. Every dusk. No matter that its warmth long since faded.

His thoughts ran ahead of him, chasing instincts. They snapped closed around the tomahawk’s wire and his inkstained fingers followed. With a raspy roar, Margul leaned on his weight once more. Just a little more strength.

Blue, brimstone fire erupted out of his veins as he yanked the pious woman towards him. The wound on his back tore further, the old strikes opened with the phoenix aiding another. It did not matter. There was only them, and the Serpent gladly devoured all else. His eyes, glistening, met her mid flight.

“COME.”
DF  Post #: 21
2/9/2024 9:41:40   
kavyraya
Member
 

 Valeria's heart pounded in her chest as the dim air grew cold around her. She gripped her adamantine knuckle in her hand tightly, while her other grasped at air– at nothing, and she gritted her teeth at just how feeble she was already feeling. Her instincts warned her of danger, and yet she could only squint through the cerulean glow for the vampire.

The blue crystal that she was now noticing overpowered the once vibrant green hue. As the crystal pulsed, the temperature dropped, sending a shiver down Valeria's spine. The ominous atmosphere hinted at an imminent clash between the forces of good and evil. Before she could react, a towering figure emerged from the shadows. It was the vampire, its pale skin glistening under the glow. Valeria's eyes widened, realizing the grave danger she faced. With a swift movement, the vampire lunged forward, grasping her fragile frame in its monstrous hand.

Valeria felt her breath being squeezed from her lungs, the weight of the vampire pressing down upon her. Panic threatened to consume her, her memories all but her own, painful to remember, worse even to forget. And yet, and yet, she refused to let this be her final struggle.

Just as despair began to set in, a searing pain seared across Valeria's skin. A tattoo, in the shape of a phoenix, started to weave and brand itself onto her arm, into her chest, leaving a searing sensation up her neck, eliciting a cry of anguish. As her cry echoed through the night, Valeria's consciousness was whisked away to another memory.

In this sudden vision, she found herself standing in a lush meadow, bathed in warm sunlight. Her significant other, Claymore, stood beside her, his gentle gaze filled with gentleness. The memory played out before her eyes so vividly it brought tears to her eyes.

Valeria, Clay’s voice echoed through her mind, Did you really think you would die like this?

Woken up by the painful imprint and the memory she was sure was not hers, Valeria locked eyes with the vampire that held her captive, defiance gleaming in her stare. Gathering every ounce of strength left within her, she fought against her captor's grip, daring to defy its superior strength.

In a moment of desperation, Valeria's eyes caught sight of an ally lurking in the shadows. Instinctively, she squirmed, wriggling her body in an attempt to escape the vampire's vice-like hold. The vampire growled, and she heard its words– her brow furrowed in confusion, yet when it took its attention elsewhere with its grip momentarily loosening, it provided her with a glimmer of hope. Seizing the opportunity, Valeria moved, slipping free from the vampire's grasp.

Clay. Or Not-Clay. Whoever this is, she quietly seethed as she slowly unsheathed Sto. Loreno from her boot, -Better not be playing with me. This battle was far from over, and she would fight until her last breath.
Post #: 22
2/9/2024 21:16:42   
  Starflame13
Moderator


 Wind howls. Thunder booms. Rain drums.

The storm hums.

A clang of metal upon metal rings out. Elysia gasps, leans into the sound, grasps desperately at the wavering note. The man’s tears continue to fall, their gentle patter swallowed as drops fly from the blade, stain the leather of her gloves. Green eyes raise to meet his small, sad smile. Sorrow sweeps across her, a tide of grief that swells as she watches the rain fall and fall and fall…

The pure tone fades. Her focus wavers.

It hums.

Sharp movement breaks through the emerald haze. Translucent claws glint, green light refracting across her face even as she twists, dives back - too slow. Elysia screams as talons rake across her face, tear jagged lines through her flesh. Water drenches the wound, a deluge of razor-sharp needles that throb hum sting scream. Salt burns tracks through the deep gouges across her cheek; crimson tears fling themselves through veridian sparks as she staggers back, flings her head aside, presses the back of her hand to her ruined face. Pain stabs and roars and hums -

Head rises. Remaining eye fixes on the weeping man. Elysia hums. No more pity. Her eye narrows, pulling his figure into focus, discarding the thickening fog in the corners of her vision. Status swells within her, sharp plunks striking against the maelstrom of her mana as it surges, as it hums, dulling the worst of the sharp, burning agony. She hums, loud, strong, reverberations shaking her throat as waves of sound break across her back. Let her tempest grow, let it block out all others. Let her drown to her own storm before she bows to others.

She hums.

Latent energy fades from the cavern. Clear, blue light breaks forth, casts the man before her in hues of cobalt and indigo. Her breathing slows, steadies as a chill blankets her shoulders. Ice creeps into her veins, words find cracks in her narrowing focus. The mountain woman, speaking as she turns away to help their other ally, as Elysia had turned to help her. “...Warrior - hum - be safe…”

How strange that enemy and ally alike call her warrior.

Best she live up to that.

Blood-stained hand falls from her face, fingers tightening on her daggers. Her destroyed eye socket throbs as the crimson flood continues to weep. The Stormcaller exhales. Hums. Lunges, daggers extended towards the weeping man. His form wavers, in and out of depth of her gaze, narrowing into focus as she nears. His sword readies at his front, a wing widens to his side -

The same response to the same attack. Elysia blinks, once. Shuts out the world for a single moment. Feels sand under her feet and shivering in her soul. A different battlefield. A different opponent. A fight only for glory, with a storm at her beck and call. She fought too aloof, too averse, too predictable to win then.

She must fight differently now.

Elysia ducks, low, trails blood in her wake. Passes under the outstretched wing and leaves herself exposed to the weeping sword. She plunges her heavy dagger into the winged torso as it flickers by, staggers slightly under a hard thwack from a dulled blade at her side. Throws her second dagger, blind, at the man’s back as she stumbles out of reach. Water ripples as the other ghost moves to intercept, taking the steel like it once took her lighting.

Darkness lingers in her vision; frost creeps over her skin. The Stormcaller raises her fist skyward, blood streaming down her face, lets her feet carry her forward without prompting as her glinting knuckles point at the unseen sky.

She hums.

And calls her storm to her.
AQ DF MQ AQW  Post #: 23
2/10/2024 18:59:10   
nield
Creative!


 The expected assault does not come. On the heels of the backstabber calling to her to be safe and leaving him in her hands, the lightning caller darts underneath The Crying Man’s blade as he swings, the edge cracking against her side. Her wing sweeps just over his opponent as she sinks a dagger into Her chest. A pointless endeavour, that will…

His thoughts trail off as an unpleasant feeling settles into his stomach like an iron ball. But he is not given the luxury of self-reflection as the lightning caller continues her mad dash, getting past Her before She can move around him, so She returns to her neutral state. Annabelle’s image spots as she throws another dagger at him and moves to intercept, the blade slowed by her body enough for him to sidestep it.

He turns to face her, the two images rotating around his body as he does so and She sees as the woman raises a bloodied fist to the sky and calls down the lightning. The feeling in his stomach intensifies and he identifies it: Dread. Why? Annabelle’s image starts to move as She sees the lightning slam into the caller’s fist and fractures out into a half-dozen bolts, all snaking through the air towards him.

He raises his sword, unwilling to let it go. Three bolts slam into Annabelle’s image and her view of his face winks out amidst the crackling. One bolt snaked around the image to slam into his sword, the blade conducting the storm straight into his hand, which burns as if alight, but he manages to keep his hold, albeit barely.

But his feeling of dread comes to a head as the final two bolts find an unlikely target: Her. Her vision winks out just as quick as that of Annabelle’s image as the rogue pair of bolts blow Her body apart and as Her wings crash to the ground, the second Block in his mind crashes apart too.

...Jicella…


At first the Niqxzlqotl seemed completely disinterested in them, the great catlike creature with magnificent wings of flame simply ignoring them. “Annabelle, I’m worried the poor creature isn’t all there after what it’s been through.” “All we can do is our best, _r___a_.”

Slowly, the creature began to show an interest in him, watching as he practised the sword, though pointedly pretending it wasn’t whenever he looked over at it. After a time it was comfortable enough to communicate with them, after a fashion, since the creature couldn’t talk. When asked if it had a name, the Niqxzlqotl simply shook its head. When asked its gender, it pointed a paw at Annabelle.

“It’s good to see the Niqxzlqotl’s getting better, isn’t it Annabelle?” “Hmmm…” “? What’s wrong?” “...Nothing. At least, I hope not…”

Baffled by that exchange and unable to get more out of Annabelle, there was nothing he could do other than to continue life as normal. The Niqxzlqotl continued to watch him, but after a time she no longer turned away when he glanced her way. Then slowly she followed him around as he did various things.

After a while the three had gotten used to their new dynamic, though he noticed Annabelle and the Niqxzlqotl seemed to not get along particularly well, they weren’t at each other’s throats so he thought things couldn’t be that bad.

Then on a day just like any other, while the Niqxzlqotl was watching him as she always did, her wings grew larger and flame engulfed her form. Alarmed, he called for Annabelle. By the time she arrived the flames had died down and where the large cat had been, was now a nude woman with wings of flame.

He turned away from her, embarrassment turning his face red. “You can look now, __e____,” Annabelle said after a short time and when he looked back the attractive woman was now wearing black pants and a black, backless top. A small smile came onto her face as he found himself staring at her. Suddenly a chill ran across his spine as he felt an inexplicable sense of danger. Clearing his throat, he stammered out “So, uhh, what do we call you?”

The woman frowned at that. “I thought I told you, I don’t have a name.” “Well that’s… That just won’t do. We’re going to need some way to refer to you… Ah, you know what, I’ve got it.”

“Your name will be Jicella. Jicella Ariella.”


Jicella… why did I dread remembering you? Just what happened?
AQ DF MQ AQW Epic  Post #: 24
2/11/2024 0:00:46   
  Chewy905

Chromatic ArchKnight of RP


 The cavern shook, a howl permeating its crystal layers and witnessing the Pawns' struggles within. Crystals began to creep up from the ground, tasting, exploring the forms of those within, climbing up their bodies and sealing their movements. They were sharp, relentless, forming at faster and faster speeds until each Pawn was closed within a crystal mold of themselves, unable to even wrestle against their fate.

And then, at once, it broke. The crystal tombs and the colored gems both fell away as vitrified glass, leaving an empty gate at the center of the battlefield, through it the spires of the Chequered City. A safe passage home. Though not for all, as several competitors had vanished within their crystalline sarcophagi.

The Powers had chosen. The War had begun.

And the Gemstone’s were witnessed no more.

Post #: 25
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