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[IC] The Hourglass Order Page 9

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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Force and Fury
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Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow

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B L A C K F L A G


♪














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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Medili
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Medili Connoisseur of Fine Pineapples

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L O R E N T I N E Q U E E N


♪

The original plans, loose as they were, had called for a measure of control. Whether the team sent to the Lorentine Queen decided to suppress the riot or embolden it, and prevent the theft of the Lyre or steal it themselves, they were supposed to be in control of the situation. Some had attempted to do so: Manfred stopped the ship's movement, preventing it to be taken ashore where other angry would-be rioters can be found aplenty. Leon used his fame and charming words to direct a drunken crowd toward the rioters onboard the boat with the intent to turn what would be a riot into a drunken brawl. Then there was Carmillia who in a way had both added to the chaos but also keeping things in control by setting the main doors leading to the indoor area aflame; which will temporarily hinder the rioters from spreading but also causing panic to those witnessing the burning doors.

And then there were those who had added mostly to the chaos or didn't prevent it from becoming worse. Dory, pressured by the situation and fearful of ruining the image she had managed to impressed upon the rioters onboard the boat, had ended up not only encouraging the crowd to partake of the aberrant offered by the Traveler's agent but also ingested some herself. And Zarra, with his predisposition toward engineering chaos and anarchy, had decided to mess with the machinery vital to the operation of the boat itself. The first was especially vital in determining whether the situation shall maintain a semblance of order or move toward the chaotic.

And with how things had turned out to be, it was no surprise then that the situation had indeed proceeded towards the latter conclusion.
The Riot

Dorothea Hohnstein (@Jasbraq)


The crowd of rioters, with Dory among their ranks, went into a frenzy. While the aberrant-induced madness itself lasted a mere half minute at most, it was regardless enough to spur the angry mob to action. They moved as a loose group, heading to the back of the ship. Many advanced through the sidewalks, while some were stopped by the doors that Carmillia had set aflame. It did not stop them for long. In their madness, flames did not scare them as they attempted to break down the door regardless with the clubs, machetes, and whatever they had in their hands. The obstacle was taken care of even faster due to the flames dissipating, the heat absorbed out of them by the action of a man drawing upon them. The rioters were soon through the doors. Fortunately for Carmillia, it still gave her the time she needed to put a good distance away from the rioters.

It didn't take much time after that for the crowd of rioters to meet with the crowd of drunken and hyped up revelers lured by the promise of a show by the one and only Leon Solaire, and when an angry crowd fueled by rage and aberrant madness crossed path with a drunken crowd fueled by alcohol and adrenaline...

The first sparks of conflict quickly happened as people roughly pushed at each other followed by words of curses and swearing thrown around. Then came the bottles to the heads and the kicking and punching. And thus in a rapid sequences of violence that spurred further violent, the chaos of the situation went into full gears, and soon enough people made use of their knives, clubs, broken bottles, and even guns in a brutal free-for-all where it was no longer clear who were allies and who were adversaries.

Dory, of course, was deeply involved in this all out brawl. Trapped within the chaotic fighting on one of the outdoor sidewalks of the boat, she were quite near to the railing. At this point, the madness caused by the aberrant had left her mind. Such was a small blessing however, as she then saw that a large tall man was rushing for her, roaring with anger while wielding what seemed to be a broken chair leg in his right hand that he intended to use to clobber her head with.

As for the Traveler agents, both the one who argued with Dory earlier and the one who extinguished the burning doors? None seemed to be present within the fighting.
The Lyre

Leon Solaire (@Jumbus) | Carmillia Carbonneau (@Animus) | Zarra Travendour (@BreathOfTheWoof) | Seung Eun-Ji


In another part of the boat still yet to be reached by the fighting between the rioters and the revelers, another fight was also brewing. One with significantly fewer participants yet potentially no less intense. Two strong-looking men stood in front of the trapdoor leading to the Cargo Hold. One was very tall, wearing an unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves folded back that revealed rippling muscles on his arms and torso. He seemed to have no weapon, perhaps believing he needed nothing else but his own body. The other was of average height, athletic and slender, a sheathed sword hanging from a belt on his hip.

Facing these two were the three mages that were chased by Leon and Eun-Ji. They seemed undaunted by the two guards that stood in their ways, as one of these mages took a step forward defiantly. This prompted a response as the sword-wielding guard held his left hand forward. "Halt." he firmly commanded. "This place is off limits, strangers. What business have you to be coming here?" Even as he spoke, his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to take out upon provocation. The tall muscular guard looked just as ready to spring into action, calm yet unyielding.

As this happened, Leon and Eun-Ji were watching from outside of the room, still yet undetected by the three mages and the two guards. Eun-Ji reached into her dress with her right hand, taking one of her hidden daggers in preparation for what seemed likely to be a situation that will soon turn violent.

And sure enough. Instead of answering the guard's question, the mages sprang into action. The one that seemed to be the leader of the team, a tall and skinny older man, reached out toward the swordsman, causing his opponent to scream in pain as flesh seemed to disintegrate from his outstretched left arm. It was very clearly blood magic, and the older man was drawing straight from the body of the guard. The tall muscular guard reacted in an instant, rushing forward toward the Blood Mage in a stance readied for a grapple in the Kastäng style. So fast was his reaction that he would have successfully grappled the Blood Mage if not for his allies. The muscular guard's rush suddenly slowed down as another of the mages drawn upon his momentum before then using it to enhance his own as he tackled the guard and wrestled him. At the same time, the last of the mages outwardly didn't seem to be doing much. In reality, she had used her Internal Chemical magic to disorient the muscled guard and weaken him, helping her Kinetic Mage ally.

The situation evidently proceeded quickly against the overwhelmed guards. Eun-Ji looked at Leon, intending to ask him of what course of action they should take. Suddenly however, a figure appeared in front of Leon and Eun-Ji. Zarra, still in his employee costume, holding a pipe.

If Eun-Ji had been a less disciplined fighter, she probably would have stabbed the dagger right into Zarra's neck out of reflex. As it happened, she stopped that reflex reaction as quickly as it emerged, instead simply snapping her gaze quickly toward Zarra. Her expression remained as neutral as ever as she then nodded and whispered quietly, mind focused on the task. "There are now three of us. Shall we move to help the guards now against those mages that very likely are here to steal the Lyre?" For Zarra's benefits, she pointed into the room at the one sided fighting that was happening within, hoping that the Perrench youth will be quick to understand the situation while ignoring the pipe he was holding.

As for Carmillia, her own trek toward the Cargo Hold was entirely free of complications, the distance she had managed to put between her and the brawl pretty much assured of that. She promptly arrived at the other end of the corridor where Leon, Eun-Ji, and now Zarra were in. Picking up her pace into a small run, she was just in time to involve herself in affecting whatever the team might decide to do to handle the Lyre situation.

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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Wolfieh
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Wolfieh eternally terrified / he/they

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LOCATION: Torragonese Desert
INTERACTIONS: Ayla @Ti, Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy

Kaspar watched the red-painted halassa charge unwittingly—or perhaps uncaringly—into the stone wall he’d constructed. That was as he expected, though he was surprised to see it crash to the ground so easily; it would seem the heads were not so well-armored as the shells. He watched the leg spasm, considering his options, when his attention was drawn by the screaming of Yalen’s opponent.

He did not expect to see such ruthless efficiency from the priest and watched the sludge of its eyes dribble down the beast’s cheeks as red mist drifted from the vacated eyesockets. It was not a pretty sight, though he swallowed the disgust that rose in his throat and stashed it away with his other carefully-kept emotions. The halassa was dead, and that mattered more than how it was done—though he would be sure to avoid Yalen’s bad side after seeing such well-directed power.

He heard Ayla retch, and his red eyes darted towards the performer, scanning her surroundings to make sure her distraction would not put her in danger. She straightened, though, returning to the task at hand, and the nobleman nodded at her resolution. She had yet to go for a kill-shot—though it’s not like Kaspar had either—but seemed to be disorienting the halassa, and certainly wouldn’t need intervention from someone who had yet to kill his own foe. He would keep an eye on her, in case things went suddenly awry, but trusted her to handle it for now.

It was Jocasta’s powerful shove that drew his attention next, puffs of sand spraying up with every impact of the great turtle on the loose ground. It was quite the powerful thing and seemed rather effective as the beast stopped struggling. “I-I'm sorry, That's one more down, b-but it took a lot out of me. I've got your backs, though! I'll...I'll scan in the distance for any more. Gods help us if there are!” He noted her nervousness, understanding it could be poison to one’s hope, and called back, ”Good idea! If there are, we’ll find a way to manage!” He hoped it would give some confidence to her, and anyone else in the group who might need it. That was the one thing Kaspar could truly impart—incorruptible faith in one’s self.

Zarina and Ysilla, too, seemed to be holding their own. The former moved gracefully with her sword, avoiding the beast’s maddened assault, and seemed to be closing in on a kill as she danced in time with Ayla’s song.

”Hold it there for a moment Ayla! I can help!”

Kaspar’s attention was drawn again to his friend, and he noted Yalen’s assistance; it was good to know who you could rely on for help, and he seemed to be as kind as one would hope of a priest. Moreso, it meant that the binder need not worry about Ayla’s combat until he’d truly finished his own. His gaze slid back to his turtle, twitching in the sand, and new plans formulated in his mind.

He needed a kill-shot, there was no way around it. His skill with chemical magic was not as strong as he’d like for this purpose—though a few ideas did come to pass—and binding magic was not suited to offense. Still, there were… options. He’d read about theories, and he knew that the premise was similar enough to what he was doing already.

Kaspar reached his awareness out, feeling for the energies of the material that made up his halassa. His senses delved into its daze-opened maw and plunged down the throat until—there. Focusing on that space in its neck and the material energy he’d drawn, the boy began to cast. More stone, like that of his barriers, but within the cavity of its throat. He imagined the stone forming and expanding, pressing against the flesh until it ruptured the walls of the esophagus, and next the vital blood vessels that traversed the neck and perhaps the bones of its spine as well. When his senses told him that the damage had been done, Kaspar would switch once again to his drawing prowess.

Delicately, he pulled apart the stone he’d placed, leaving room for the creature to bleed within and removing direct evidence of what he’d done. It was unlikely anyone would inspect the bodies, as rife with scavengers as they would soon be, and he could find some half-excuses to justify his actions… But Kaspar knew they trod dangerously close to the line between Binding and Blood, repurposing matter as the former but damaging as the latter.

He pulled at the sand beneath his barrier, too, to bring the stone wall crashing down on the stunned—and likely dying—turtle. Perhaps that would deal the killing blow—he did not feel guilt or shame at his actions, but a pressing awareness of his moral standpoint. He had not drawn from the creature, though that too would be justified if it meant protecting human life, but he’d never killed something more than a plant with his magic, and it sat in his mind, relegated to later digestion.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by YummyYummy
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YummyYummy Ayyyyy

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Interacting with: Yalen @pantothenic, Jocasta @Force and Fury, Ysilla @Pirouette, Ayla @Ti, Kaspar @Wolfieh
Location: The Deserts of Torragon


That shell was indeed impenetrable by normal means. With every reverberation of her strikes throughout the large beast, Zarina could quickly determine the inefficiency of exploiting blatantly vulnerable spots where the Halassa couldn’t reach her with its oafish movement. It was about the extent of the experimentation she was ready to do, as the beast had displayed its entire potential in its attempt to get its ‘prey’. It was time to finish this.

As the beast rotated itself with its claws ceaselessly digging into the sand so it could face the much smaller Virangish girl, Zarina quick-stepped back to confront the beast head-on. At this point she had determined the length and speed of its neck-lunges and felt safe to handle this predictable, rabid monster. However before she could seize any sort of opportunity, Zarina would be reminded that many externalities could occur during a battle. One of them being a big ass Halassa literally flung like it was nothing and landed very close by, given she had purposely kept the alpha at the back so it wouldn’t impede the others.

Zarina blinked, her attention taken away as much as the crazed Halassa’s was. So much so that it attempted to bite in the direction where Jocasta’s victim had landed. Of course it was merely reacting to rather extreme stimulus and didn’t actually reach the repulsed beast, but it gave the Virangish dancer an opening. Regaining her focus, she propelled herself forward with the same simple technique used for her jump, but far more precise as it was barely ten metres in distance. There, she rested her palm onto the edge of the turtle’s beak, right where flesh started and the hard, jaw-bone stopped. With that contact, a wave of electricity unleashed into the beast. Definitely not enough to truly harm it or burn, but with how close it was to the head, it’d naturally stiffen its muscles momentarily and keep it still.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Zarina delivered the Coup de Grâce with a loud pant to go with the thrust of her blade. It was made to impale right through its eye, hilting the obsidian sword to the socket. This would not kill it, but the drawn kinetic energy from the most recent snap of the beak unleash through the thrust was the finisher. A precise shot of air going right through the skull’s opening and obliterating the brain. A technique seen among many mages to humanely slaughter creatures and a method Zarina was clearly versed in.

With only its limbs infrequently twitching, the instantaneous death was confirmed the moment the head just dropped. The executioner slowly drew her blade out, eyes closed during this brief act while her opposite hand rested upon the beast’s cheek to ease the removal of the blade. She sighed, the same hand on the cheek rose up to brush her own forehead and face. Zarina broke a sweat!

Feeling deserving of a reward, she reached out to the aether above her shoulder, expecting to grab a cup of delicious, black coffee, only to look somewhat like a fool. Her cup had been left with the jug, and given the action that had happened, was probably filled with sand. Again, she sighed, this time from her nostrils.

”Hold it there for a moment Ayla! I can help!”

”Eh?”

Then came the third sigh with her eyes rolling. They were still not finished. With a quick flick of her blade, she tried to swing off some blood from her blade before it dried and then went on to hop over the shell of her now dead target, blood still flowing out of that small stab she had made, ”Dreamer give me strength.” she whined to herself, her tone sarcastic but hushed enough to be easily missed by those not paying close attention to her.

A Halassa remained that appeared to be shared between Yalen and Ayla. Zarina was definitely too out of the way to notice what Jocasta may have done, but Kasper’s and Ysilla’s deeds were at least evident by their positioning compared to their ‘designated’ Halassa. Now that most of the threats were handled, it was time to clean up. Quickly. She hopped off the shell, and when she got closer to where her group stood their ground, she couldn’t help but notice just how … Familiar Kaspar’s choice of execution was. Definitely different from a Chemical mage’s approach, such as her mother, would do, yet it was also similar. She shook her head, redirecting her attention to the actually live turtle as the other seemed just about dead.

Zarina made her way to the confused Halassa, its state assessed as it resembled Ayla’s, Zarina’s friend, approach to disorientation. And from what could be determined, the Priest-boy was exacting some sort of magic. But it wasn’t finishing the job quick enough. At least not to a coffee-less Zarina’s standard anyway, ”What are you two baboons doing?” she called out with her thick accent, looking somewhat annoyed, while walking toward the dying Halassa’s at a brisk pace. Two minutes would turn to just five seconds as she gave the exact same treatment to the blue turtle as she did to the alpha: A zap to the head and a stab to the eye, causing the brain to explode by a concentrated blast of kinetic energy.

”I thought they taught you guys about mercy, mini-Padre.” she remarked while keeping her blade in the beast, and then slowly removed it the exact same way she had the first, ”Got something for this?” she turned her head toward the clergyman, her blade presented to him was coated with the Halassa’s blood and some liquefied brain-matter. Should he help, in spite of this odd ask, he would actually get a gracious ‘Much appreciated’ from Zarina.

When the blade was cleaned, whether by Yalen’s help or her compromising with something else, she then pointed toward Ayla with her Shamshir, ”And youuuu, kitty cat,” she lowered her chin a little with her brow raised, ”I gotta teach you how to fight. ¿Usar una espada?” Zarina grinned wide before sheathing her black blade and seizing her sandy cup along with her coffee jug. A long since cold coffee, which she’d present to Ayla the same way she presented her dirty weapon to Yalen, ”Could you warm this for me, please, love?” her tone softened, now that she was so close to getting her reward.

With warm coffee, she began to serve multiple metallic cups she could easily manipulate at short distances with her magnetic magic. There wasn’t that much coffee left, but it was still a treat to all, ”Alright, alright, good job you guys. Have a drink before you fall asleep on me. The desert’s a bitch like that.” she peered over at the chair-bound blonde, ”Even you, Jocasta. Jo’s alright? Drink up.” she spoke quickly, and definitely had a more dominating presence than Jocasta’s current persona. The cup of steaming coffee was levitating before the secretive tethered girl, waiting to be claimed. Given how tired she looked, it seemed reasonable for Zarina to insist on keeping Jocasta boosted.

Kaspar would get her attention for a good moment as the group briefly recuperated. They weren’t going to linger, but rushing was also a bad idea, ”Casper,” pronounced it strangely enough but clearly knew the name. She paused for a moment, staring between him and the Halassa he had finished off. A somewhat concerned squint remained on the deceased beast, ”Nice work.” she was uncharacteristically awkward there, but left it at that with a nod of approval and pursed lips.

”So. The settlement.” she posed the subject after taking a good sip of her beverage, ”We’ve agreed to talk to them first, yeah? Then let’s get moving before they’re all turtle shit.” the rest of the coffee was downed and the nearly empty jug shoved into her bag, still concealed behind her dark cloak, as she stood up. Her arms stretched up and prompted a light yawn, ”... It’s that way, right?” she pointed in the vaguely correct direction, though she did not have the sensory reach her tethered colleagues have, and the now passed twilight made it hard to actually see.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Jumbus
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Jumbus

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Eun-Ji @Medili, Carmilla @Animus, Zarra @BreathOfTheWoof


“Hmmm…” Leon pondered on the situation while he fidgeted with a number of marbles in his hand. He took in the scenery, the two groups were fighting outside the entrance to the cargo hold. It looked as though the guards were losing, and handily at that. This is the force they use to protect the lyre? How embarrassing.

But something more important had just kicked off. A considerable commotion could be heard from behind them. No doubt the rioters have stumbled across the drunken hooligans. That put Leon on a timer, he needed to complete his plan before that ended. It left a lot up to chance, Leon has neither the insight nor experience to judge how long such a fight would last. So that timer is shortened to ‘as soon as possible’.

“I have a plan to stop the rioters and protect the lyre. But I can’t fight here. If I can get into the cargo hold now, we can call this mission a success.” Leon presented this to his fellow students with confidence and certainty in his voice. Whether it was true or not was another matter entirely.

Leon threw his arm to the side tossing four marbles into the middle of the scrap. A moment of relative silence passed as the marbles bounced once, twice and then… As if he had perfected the timing, Leon stood up blocking Zarra and Eun-Ji’s sight as painfully bright light erupts from behind him with a high pitched noise to make the ears ring.

“Try to cover me, and good luck!” Leon gave a reassuring smile to the team. He then took off toward the trapdoor hoping that enough of the guards and mages were blinded and that Zarra and Eun-Ji could cover the rest.



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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by jasbraq
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jasbraq The Youngest Elder

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Dorothea Hohnstein
von Albesatz-Danzau


Dorothea started to sober up and started to realize what she had done, although she did not have much time to think about that right now as a tall man came towards her with the intent to clobber her with a self-made club. Instinctually she grabbed her pistol but found out it was still unloaded.

Now in an even tighter spot, the woman used the barrel of the gun to conjure a blinding flash towards the man, Disorienting him enough for her to dodge his swing. This gave her the chance to strike him on the side with the grip of her pistol to try and knock him out for a small while.

Taking a small breath before fully noticing the situation she was in, and in turn Carmillia was in. There was no sight of her, she might have been roughed up pretty badly. “Carmillia?... Carmillia! Do you hear me?” Dory yelled out, trying her hardest to find her friend.

She didn’t die in the riot, right?... But what if she abandoned me when I needed her? That would never happen, right? Dorothea felt truly alone, surrounded by fighting countrymen. The person who challenged her was nowhere in sight either. Have I really been played by everyone? Is this how it’s meant to be? To be stuck in a brawl? The woman tried her hardest to dodge most of the attacks coming her way through either using the condensed flashes or with pushing, she did not wish to seriously injure anyone.

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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Force and Fury
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Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow

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Manfred Hohenfelter von Meckelin-Thandau


Manfred had made it no more than a handful of yards, when he paused at the top of the steps. The ship's towering twin stacks let out a mighty puff of white smoke and then it died down to a trickle. From below came the sounds of shouting and clamour.

Dami damn it! He shouted inwardly. "Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße" he muttered under his breath. The Kerreman gritted his teeth and turned on his heel, marching back towards where he could get a better view. He could hear breaking glass and see the glow of fire reflected on the water's surface. This was why you didn't send children to do the work of soldiers, even if they were talented children. Manfred knew himself for half a child as well and even he was not so unwise. Either the old man has lost it or else he is doing this for a reason.

Making it to the forward railing, not so far from where the second mate, helmsman, and an unfortunate seaman slept by the pilothouse, Manfred peered over. Their plans had called for a measure of order and teamwork. Instead, there was naught but chaos and Dorothea was in the midst of it. With a growing panic that he tamped down on with the practiced mindset of a soldier, he scanned the scene below for her. Of Carmillia, he saw nothing. She had either pitched overboard or else abandoned Dorothea at her first sign of need. Zarra, too, had gone gallivanting off on his own self-appointed errand. Perrench schwein-hunde! he cursed at them. Dami-damned slimy, unreliable people!

His eyes found her: lost, scared, and alone in the surging mob. That vile agent of the Traveler's had outmaneuvered her. Under pressure, she'd consumed an aberration. Dory... He knew how much his had meant to her. He knew about her dreams but now she was part of a nightmare. She was giving it her best, though. He saw a flash erupt from Dory's hands and then she clubbed her disoriented foe on the temple and he spilled into the water. Manfred rushed to the side railing, closest to where she was, grabbed it, and checked that nothing would fall from him as he leapt over.

"Not proceeding as you'd expected?" inquired a voice. The former soldier froze. He had just swept the area there was nobody -

Everything was still. It was... like somebody had stopped the forward march of time itself. It was not only people; it was everything: the flash of Dory's magic, the flicker of the fires, the lapping of the waves. But not him. Manfred whirled in the direction of the speaker, eyes wide, hands going instinctively for his weapons. "What are you?" he asked.

The figure was a woman in a dark, hooded cloak. She was seated on a bollard. "Nobody you know," she assured him, her voice not the least bit assuring. He could feel the pinch of chemical magic in his mind. He had trained to recognize it but he also knew that someone capable of time-stopping magic could easily have hidden her deed. She wanted him to know. "You hide your true face," he growled.

"A necessary precaution," said the mysterious woman, "for my enemies are many."

A cold prickle worked its way up and down Manfred's body. Such power and secrecy, many enemies... His mind did not want to accept its own conclusions. "And you recognize me for one, Traveler."

He could not see her eyes, but he could see the soft smile on her lips. "I recognize you for many things, Manfred Hohenfelter: lost but too afraid to admit it, dutiful but with no one to serve, good but unable or perhaps unwilling to see the path to justice."

"You are the archdemon Zathra here to tempt me, like Dami in the wilderness!"

She regarded him steadily and said nothing for a moment. "I do not need to tempt what I could kill. Not that I shall do such a thing. There has been far too much death already; far too much of those with power misusing it against those without."

He was about to issue an angry retort but it would've done him no good. His way out of this was not to oppose the monster, but to appease it. He remained silent and nodded slightly.

"I know you for a good man: one who has seen the senseless slaughter that results when one person holds the effortless power of life and death over a great many others. How can he resist when he knows himself better? How can there be equality when, in truth, there is not?" She shook her head sadly and he listened. After a moment he replied. "There cannot," he admitted quietly.

"And yet I am a villain for trying to share the power that was placed within this world for us? For trying to empower the common people so that they might not be mere fodder for those who hoard the Gods' Gift?" Her voice rose and she unknitted her fingers.

"That power is unholy," Manfred retorted, finding his conviction once more. "Unnatural! It is not of this world and it turns people mad when they touch it!"

"Does it now?"

"One need only look below," he snarled, twisting to regard the frozen scenes of violence below. "That is madness!" he finished, twisting back to regard her but, instead of a grown woman, he was now face to face with a young boy. He recognized that boy from somewhere. Where, he could not precisely say.

The boy frowned. "That is the problem. As things stand now, most people cannot cleanly handle the power that comes from without. Its effects are temporary, yet dangerous nonetheless." His feet dangled as he talked and, momentarily, he hopped off of the bollard and half-turned. "I... wanna change that," he continued. "You don't know how much the church lies." He shook his head in annoyance and his eyes met Manfred's again. "The things that they say about 'aberrations'." He made his fingers into air quotes.

"The church is the word of the gods," Manfred replied with a coldness more certain than he felt. "Are you questioning the gods?"

"No, for the love of Shune," retorted the boy. "I'm questioning the people who make up that church. Did not Ahn-Dami give us free will? Do not we have choice? Who is to say that same choice does not corrupt the will of the gods? Who's to say your beloved priests and bishops - users of the Gift all, from families of wealth and privilege all - are telling you the truth?"

That gave Manfred pause, for he had long known that people in positions of power lied. His own family lied. Jurgen lied about the woman he had raped. Father had lied to his soldiers about the war. Mother had lied to him about Nina - dear Nina - and then his sister had disappeared. "Then what are they lying about?" he challenged.

"Everything," the boy snorted derisively, "but most of all, the 'threat' that their 'aberrations' present." He walked right up to Manfred and gazed up at him, expression implacable. "What we're doing down there -" he gestured "- it's imperfect, though your friends have made it look worse, but you can absorb that power safely: in small amounts, weeks apart, and it will work. It'll make you stronger." The boy turned abruptly and skipped away, leaning against the rail on his tiptoes. For a moment, he seemed so like a boy and so little like The Traveler that Manfred nearly forgot who he was. "But the real solution," he continued, "is in the hold of this ship or... one part of it, I guess."

"The Lyre?"

The boy grinned mischievously. "Old Hugo didn't tell you why it was so important," he teased, "and unlike those Rednitz fools who just want it for status, he knows what it can do."

"And I suppose you'll tell me?"

"Yup!" the boy replied, and Manfred waited. The Traveler's expression grew impish for a moment before he relented. "You see how just that tiny bit's affected them down there?"

Manfred glanced that way again and when he looked back and opened his mouth to speak, he was speaking to Nina. "You are not her!" he roared. "Don't take her face! You have no right to!"

He blinked and the Traveler was an old man with a long beard. "Apologies if that was jarring, but I have met her and she believes me. Search your feelings. You know your sister. You know her heart."

"Say your piece, sorcerer."

The old man let out a snort. "I cannot let you and your group succeed." He shook his head regretfully. "That artifact can reconcile the without and the within. In layman's terms, it and its peers can remove the taint of madness from aberrations. With those, we can change this world for the better. We can bring The Gift to all of those who deserve it."

"And each holy artifact can do this? How do you know?"

"I have already said enough. I do not like to kill but, for such a greater good, I would scarce hesitate. That is why I need to know whether I must risk my loyal friends or whether I can trust you and your people to make the right decisions."

Manfred's heart was hammering. He could feel it within his chest. This truly was the Traveler. There truly was something to the artifacts, or so it appeared. He would test that later. "I cannot speak for others," he warned.

"I will speak with them in time," replied the old man.

"The artifact is safe so long as it is in my hands," Manfred promised, though he truly had no other viable choice. "I will put your theory to the test," he amended, "and if it should turn out not to be -"

"I would expect nothing less," the old man interrupted. "In fact, I would encourage it. Just... be careful who you call an ally or a friend." He nodded sagely. "Now, I believe, you were in the middle of being a hero," he concluded. "I would rescue the girl and head for the hold as quickly as possible. There's a hidden access near one of the wheels, not far from where she's standing. It'll take you to the engine room."

How can he know all these things? Manfred wondered, his sense of unreality ebbing and flowing with each sentence in their exchange. Now, he understood, the unsettling encounter was about to be over. He would be left with much to think about and little time to think. "One last question..." he began, and the Traveler twisted and nodded. In truth, Manfred felt stupid asking it, but he had come this far down the rabbit hole of reality and it was now burning in his mind. "Are you... a God?"

The old man merely chuckled. "Only to some," he replied. Then, there was a flash of darkness and Manfred found himself standing not one yard from Dorothea. She turned and regarded him, startled. "Yes, I snuck up on you," he assured her. "Easy to lose me in the press of this madness."

"It is madness!" she near-shouted, "total madness! Dami, I should've never touched that gods-damned aberration!" He kept his newfound perspective to himself for the time being, for it wouldn't help. Instead, he knew something that would. Manfred took Dorothea by the hand and pulled. "I'm very glad you're alright," he said simply. "Come with me. I know a way out of this."
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Pirouette
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Pirouette Stories Yet Untold

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Ysilla Al-Nader



Conflict was such a prominent feature in stories that you would be scarce to find a performance without one taking shape in some form. Physical conflict was an easy way to display the narrative device but it was not a limited method by any means. Ysilla understood that and while those stories had their charm, she loved stories that didn't feature physical conflict, stories such has Hassum's Climb and Last Flower in Yu's Garden. The former dealing with Hassum making one last offering at the top of a holy mountain. He wasn't dying but moving on with his life, setting out for a new land and moving past the hinted at trauma. The latter was more solemn with a drought killing all but one flower in a garden. Yu was willing to do whatever she could to preserve that last flower. Not once did they have to physically fight and end a life. It was more about cherishing it.

Although physical conflict was not her in her palette, she nevertheless familiarized herself with the act though she distanced herself as best as she could. She isolated herself and remained a distance away from her walk while the others did their performances. She did hers, stalling for a time as Hoopoe carried Khamsei around one of the Halassa. The porcelain jester's continious laugh egging the rabid beast to an even further madness, she mused. The creatures jaw snapped in the air missing the pair of puppets flying around. This one was 'hers', she continued to entertain the idea of companions' stories beginning here with this test.

She could give her puppets half a mind, leading the creature away as she glanced over at the others. They were all succeeding or in the process of doing so in their own unique way that melded with their character. A study for later because she did not want to tarry long.

Turning her full attention back to her Halassa. She finally gave the creature it was so hoping for. Hoopoe swooped towards the snapping jaw, releasing the laughing puppet to dive bomb towards the creature's mouth. In the enraged state, it thought nothing of snapping its mouth around the small figure that presented itself. It was almost swallowed nearly whole save for the left wrist of Khamsei which was caught by the jaw of the snapping turtle. Ysilla winced at the sudden strain her body felt as she maintained the thin repulsive field around her puppet. It might have been more prudent to let Khamsei lose his hand to punish him for his foolishness of throwing his arms up in excitement but he couldn't be fully blamed. Not yet, anyway.

The Halassa opened its jaw again and lifted its head, plunging Khamsei down its throat. Even though Ysilla couldn't see her puppet anymore, she could sense where it was like a magnetic pull towards her creation. She didn't wait long after the swallow before Ysilla concentrated, her hands twisting and fingers curling around an imaginary orb in between her hands. It was a way for her to concentrate as the magnetic field around Khamsei intensified, and the puppet inside reached out stopping himself in the Halassa's throat. If the creature felt this agitation, it made no sign of it as it pursued Hoopoe who continued to drone around it.

The field around Khamsei continued to grow in strength but the Halassa would feel no change until Ysilla believed she had enough magnetic strength stored. The magnetic charge based around the Halassa's neck would be given the opposite charge of Khamsei's and him, bearing such incredible magnetic charge, would repulse the flesh around himself. The end result was near instantaneous and messy.

The Halassa's neck exploded in a violent decapitation, showering blood in the nearby area and sending the head flying. Khamsei pulled Hoopoe towards him through the shower but both were protected from the mess as drops of the creature's blood hit and illuminated the thin layer of magnetic repulsion both had. The puppets collided but the Ysilla dropped the intensity of her channeled magnetic field so the two, after crashing together quickly spun out of their impact and back to Hoopoe carrying Khamsei back, this time returning to Ysilla.

Ysilla lifted her hat and threw open her cloak as Khamsei was released to fall into a cling on the creator's waist while Hoopoe came to roost on her head. Both were quickly concealed as Ysilla replaced her hat and closed her cloak after Khamsei crawled around to her back once more.

The puppeteer would return to her now congregating party to the offer of coffee by her sister. Quietly refusing the offer with a lifted hand, she tucked herself in her cloak again. Though she showed no sign of it, she was quietly lamenting the waste of life aberration could cause. Such a shame that it had to be this way but it was better a creature than the more valuable life of a sentient being like her companions...

Oh well, the Writer may favor Tragedy now but in time, Ysilla may be able to deny even that.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Force and Fury
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Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow

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J O C A S T A R E

Plenty of decapitations here, Jocasta mused to herself. How macabre. She wasn't particularly surprised that these were all little killers despite their subtle and not so subtle assertions to the contrary. After all, what was she?

I am what the Refuge made me, she knew, and the things I have become since, but there was nothing before: only vague memories of hide and seek, climbing pistachio trees, and frolicking on a rocky beach with friends whose faces she could not remember. For that wound, the Chemical Mage who had taken those memories paid with his life. It was but a trick of internal chemical and magnetic magic: overstimulate the heart and provoke a heart attack. He noticed her tampering, but it was too late. He couldn't fight it off by then. He couldn't even form words. So it was that Jocasta sat there while the others battled, her face telling the story of a near-panicked girl sweeping the distance for energies, while she ripped the life out of an evil man. It was revenge a decade in the making and yet it did not satisfy the girl. She worked to keep a scowl from her face. You still lived past fifty, she knew. I didn't get to watch it, she thought. You didn't know it was me. She consoled herself with the notion that at least he would not erase everything that made up any other little children like he had erased her or whoever she had been before.

Next, Jocasta knew, she would have to set upon Mirabel, the Tan-Zeno, for she was strong in The Gift and would escape once she recognized this for the attack that it was. Already, the girl could feel the energy of three bodies scrambling. She could feel Mirabel's brain pumping out cortisol and adrenaline. You're next, you bitch. She had already decided to save Gutierrez for last. The more that he suffered, the better. Al-Qorrah was unfortunate to be there, but there was nobody innocent who ran a Tethered Refuge.

"Could you warm this for me, please?" Jocasta snapped out of her bloodlust just as Mirabel may have felt the first pinch. She'd wasted time being unusually subtle. Six Halassa were dead. Bitch and Creep were not, sadly: the former to go on being as presumptuous as ever, the latter as arrogant. The sour look that some part of Jocasta demanded did not show on her face. She would finish her work later, even if all five of these others stood against her. As for Esparza, it would appear to all but the most trained that the anxious old man had simply suffered a heart attack. Besides, out here in the desert, with aberration-mad beasts running amok, the other caretakers would not continue their mission while carrying the body. They would return to the Refuge and she would see them there. A wave of... something cold and uneasy washed through Jocasta. She could not picture, in her mind's eye, being back there. Secretly, she wished for Triste, or even Benedetto. His constant slings and barbs would keep her mind busy.

Jocasta put hands to wheels, resisting the near-instinct to let herself float. At least the ground beneath her was rocky and she started to move. Then she found more of that Gods-awful drink shoved in her face. What was with Bitch and consuming the stuff? Fuck it, Jocasta relented, time to kill her with kindness. "Oh Zamira," she chirped, "r-really, you're too kind! How can I refuse?" With a quick bit of chemical manipulation, she muted the signals from her taste buds to her brain and took a hearty sip. She let it linger in her mouth for a moment, checking for poisons and psychotropic effects. Satisfied that the drink was no threat, she swallowed. "Ahhh, I know I shouldn't be... be drinking this," she sighed, "because it excites my temperament ever so... so much, but that really hits the spot." She smiled warmly. "I can already feel the energy flowing back into me. Tha-Thank you." At that, compliments towards the vile drink abounded, and they all got down to the work of filling themselves with it.

"So. The settlement,” Zarina remarked after a blessed few seconds of not having to hear her voice. "We’ve agreed to talk to them first, yeah? Then let’s get moving before they’re all turtle shit.”

They're already far worse than that, you self-important imbecile. As if to reinforce Jocasta's impression, the Virangishwoman yawned and stretched. "... It’s that way, right?” She pointed in a direction that was... just wrong enough that Jocasta was tempted to let her walk off in it.

"Uh... uh, yes!" the Tethered girl replied after a moment. "Th-this way!" She pointed in a slightly different direction. "I'm... I'm sure Yalen senses it too. We've, uh, quite the range. Perhaps he'd be a b-better choice to um... lead the way," she squeaked. "Th-that is, if you're alright with it, of course!" With a start, she turned to the priest. "Dami forgive me, I'm so t-terribly sorry for just assuming."

Yalen merely pointed at himself in response with a look of puzzlement. "Me? Er, yes, of course. I'd be happy to." He closed his eyes for a moment. "Someone must have felt the portal open. I can sense them out there. A group of four or five. They must be part of the garrison."

Three now, Jocasta thought, learning another valuable piece of information about her teammate. "Thank you," she mewed, "and sorry. I... I suppose we should get going." And that was that. With a few more words exchanged, they set off for the Refuge, or 'settlement' as Bitch put it, or 'garrison' as Idiot put it. At least Slut knows when to keep her mouth shut, Jocasta decided with some satisfaction, though the Torragonese kept stealing yearning glances at Creep's cloak. Sucker was... furtive, probably wondering if anyone had noticed or would condemn him for his use of Blood Magic. Ironically, that had actually served to increase the tiny shred of respect that Jocasta held for him. Now, if you could just learn to use it without shame, she thought, but the notion soon faded from her mind.

It was tough going for the Tethered girl as the terrain alternated between stone and sand. There was a growing chill in the air and a pesky wind that continued to whip dust into the group's eyes. The blonde was forced to use a continuous amount of energy to both move herself and keep her eyes clear. More than one of the others noticed and tried to take advantage of her shield, and so, with a little peep of exertion and doe eyes darting about, she expanded it to cover them all, drawing from the residual heat in the sand to warm herself as she went and... for some reason, Slut as well. It wasn't generosity, empathy, or anything like that, of course. She just couldn't deal with any more of the girl's telegraphed gazes at her teammate's cloak.

Then, there were lights in the far distance and she knew them for the sanctuary. Clear in her mind's eye was that night, six years ago, when she'd glanced back over her shoulder at them a dozen times, with growing conviction that she had made the right choice and growing fear that it would kill her.

Yet, there was something else too, and she exchanged a glance with Yalen - Idiot. Three human bodies and a fast-cooling corpse, the energies in it changing: Tan-Zeno, Binder, and Rapist. They were hurrying back to the safety of the for-once aptly named Refuge. Further, Jocasta stretched her senses and she could feel swift shapes moving above: a pair of Froabases pounding the air with their wings, kinetic energy swirling about. The stout thirty-foot dragons liked hunting at dusk, often aided by their version of The Gift. They avoided cities, but would regularly pick humans off if they journeyed solo or in small groups. The sonic rasp of their echolocation caused her to flinch momentarily. They were either hunting or...

Almost simultaneously, the Froabases arced up and away and that struck Jocasta as wrong. One of the caretakers from the Refuge turned to look back at the fast-gaining group and shouted something unintelligible, waving them forward but not stopping. Jocasta delved into the kinetic and sharpened the distant voice. "Arena!" they were shouting, "Arena Malvada!" ...Evil Sand, Jocasta translated with a start. She reached out with her senses and there it was, near the edge of her range, approaching exactly from due east, perpendicular to their path: the gargantuan collection of energies that could only denote a Royal Sand Wyrm... and it was a big one.

One of her idiot teammates was shouting for the caretakers to slow down. Another was asking if they needed help. It would be easier to let these fools die, but she needed them, in a manner of speaking. Jocasta was not entirely ready to waltz into that Refuge and not just murder every caretaker in sight. The face that she was forced to wear for them might be the only thing that would hold her back. She took a deep breath. "Sand Wyrm!" she screamed, making sure that everyone heard her. "East of here! It's... it's coming up fast!"

The caretakers would make it if they dropped Esparza's body. They'd make it with time to spare. The foundations of the Refuge were solid stone and ran deep underground to bedrock. Jocasta's peers were... a fifty-fifty proposition. Anyone who could boost their speed with Kinetic magic stood a good chance. Anyone who could lift themselves at least one hundred feet clear of the sand might live. Or, they could fight it. The Refuge was so tantalizingly close. Jocasta never thought that she'd actually be happy to see one of the accursed places, but its presence was now a comforting thing and a grim reminder of the sheer hostility of the High Desert. Separating herself from her wheeled-chair, she raised it alongside her as she rose smoothly into the air. Then, the Tethered was flying, letting gravity tug at her and then drawing from that same energy to lift herself back up in a continuous loop. She glanced down at the ground and her five peers. She glanced ahead at the Refuge and its stoic walls. "Hurry," the caretakers were shouting at the students in Torragonese, "Run! Use your magic!" She glanced East at a distinctive growing furrow in the sand. Jocasta Re had killed many people and many things in her life, but she had never even thought to kill a Sand Wyrm.


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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Animus
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Animus I live in Singapore.

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Carmillia Carbonneau


Place: Cargo Hold, Feskan Riverboat Gambling House
Interactions: Leon Solaire @Jumbus, Zarra @BreathOfTheWoof, Eun-Ji @Medili


Carmillia could hear the clash of battle as she headed to the cargo hold. It seemed that Leon's drunken mass of fans had met Dorothea's little riot. Leon truly is what you'd call a wild card, she thought. Her gamble in Dorothea might have failed but Leon's own actions had unknowingly saved her. His fans would buy her ample time, making up for the fact that the fire clearly hadn't held long. Powered up by an aberration, it was unlikely for the Feskan girl to get into any serious hurt against drunken rabble. Otherwise the blame would have fallen onto her for leaving Dorothea behind.

Carmillia reached the corridor that housed the cargo hold moments later, greeted by the sight of three of her teammates, Leon, Eun-ji and Zarra. They were peeking into one of the rooms. Even at distance, Carmillia could pick up the sounds of fighting. Probably the guards clashing with the Traveler's agents.

From the looks of things, they were planning their next course of action. Carmillia accelerated herself with the aid of kinetic magic to join up with them but Leon had other plans.

“I have a plan to stop the rioters and protect the lyre. But I can’t fight here. If I can get into the cargo hold now, we can call this mission a success,” he had declared out loud.

Whether or not Leon had caught sight of her hurtling towards them, the showman had no intention of waiting. A flash of light exploded from within the room, lighting up the doorway—and with that, Leon was gone. Though she would have preferred convincing Leon of her plan to keep the Lyre for themselves before he actually got his hands on it, it beat having it in the possessions of the Traveler's agents.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Medili
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Medili Connoisseur of Fine Pineapples

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Attack of Opportunity

Lorentine Queen, Main Deck, Outside of Cargo Hold | Nighttime
Leon@Jumbus | Carmillia@Animus | Zarra@BreathOfTheWoof


He did it again. The third time now. Eun-Ji quickly learned that Leon Solaire was a man who can be depended on when it came to quickly making a decision and acting on said decision. It also meant that he tended to proceed with whatever his plan was without actually allowing his teammates to voice their opinion about it, and such impulsiveness can be as equally dangerous as being indecisive. The one saving grace in the situation was the fact that Eun-Ji had seen Leon pulled the same move before during their sparring match, and thus she knew what those marbles will cause before it even happens.

She briefly looked at Zarra, which seemed to still be confused by the general situation, and said simply to him: "It is time to fight, Mr. Travendour. I suggest using the opportunity that I will shortly create for us."

Both the guards who were fighting for their dear lives and the mages who were preoccupied with attempting to snuff those lives out were caught by surprise as the light and high pitched noise blinded and disoriented them. "Arggh, my eyes! My ears!" shouted the Kinetic mage as he was forced to release his grapple on the muscular guard, resorting to covering his face as he hunkered down at one corner of the room while waiting for the blindness to go away. It was too late for him to attempt to deafen the noise.

The Internal Chemical mage fared somewhat better. Though she too was forced to stop her assault on the muscular guard, she quickly shifted to using Telekinesis on a nearby table which she remembered about, moving and shifting it so that it lied on its side to cover her as she hunkered down behind it, trying to recover.

As for the two guards, the swordsman fell to the ground screaming in pain, his left arm a mangled mess. Either out of an instinct for self-preservation or due to training, he pulled out his sword with his right hand as if to protect himself with it, though he remained on the floor as he wrestled with the agonizing pain, blindness, and disorientation. The muscular wrestler, still affected by the Internal Chemical magic subjected onto him, struggled and failed to get back up. Being blinded, deafened, and weakened, he remained on the floor. Both guards then, were for the moment alive but effectively rendered incapable.

As for the Blood Mage, the most dangerous of the bunch, he received the full attention of the Lotus Sentry agent exactly for that very reason. Eun-Ji knew he was the priority target. Remaining where she were, she drew from the light and sound around herself, Zarra, and by extension Carmillia that was coming from behind them as soon as Leon's marbles exploded to protect their sights and hearing while also obtaining energy. Making full use of her capability at Free Casting, her hand prepared to throw her dagger even as she cast Sonic Blast to significantly amplify the high pitched sound to a higher extreme with the intention of knocking out all that were present within the room, or at the very least stunning them even further. And this amplification was centered, of course, very near to the Blood Mage's ears. To top it off, the dagger flew from her hand, aimed at the Blood Mage's head.

The Blood Mage attempted to protect himself just as his comrades did. Yet like them, he had no way of knowing what kind of attack might came for him. Thus, he created a mighty, thick shield with the Sign of the Ram to defend himself. This deflected the dagger that Eun-Ji threw at him but did little to protect him from the Sonic Blast. He fell to the ground roughly, a pained grimace on his face.

Leon was through to the Cargo Hold without much trouble. The guards and mages were disoriented even before Eun-Ji escalated their pain further with the Sonic Blast, allowing him to slip through them quickly. As he opened the trapdoor and went in to the Cargo Hold, he would hear the noise behind him significantly amplified by Eun-Ji's spell.

As for Carmillia and Zarra, protected from the light and the sound, they were then in position to fully take advantage of the situation with both the guards and the mages disoriented. Additionally however, they can also hear multiple hurried footsteps coming from behind them...
Dory@Jasbraq | Manfred@Force and Fury


Reunited with Manfred, Dory were able to extract herself from the dangerous brawl raging throughout the front and middle part of the Main Deck. The Kerreman Magusjaeger were not only intimidating but also knew his way out of a violent situation; especially one that were nowhere as threatening as a true battlefield. Those few still brave and foolish enough to get in their way were quickly dealt with; a little bit of pain was often sufficient to deter such attackers, being that they were in the end nothing more than civilians fueled by adrenaline. Even those that wielded guns were only using it to shot at nearby threats or attackers, not aiming their dangerous armament at particular targets with purpose in their mind.

And thus, Manfred led the woman that he had started to care for deeply away from the brawl, at a faster pace than the rate upon which the chaos was spreading. He fully knew where they needed to go, heading straight for the Cargo Hold with Dory closely behind him. As they drew near to their destination they came upon the sight of two individuals, a woman and a man, moving hurriedly in front of them. And further beyond these two, they can see the familiar figures of Carmillia, Zarra, and Eun-Ji standing at the doorway of the room with the trapdoor to the Cargo Hold.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by BreathOfTheWoof
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BreathOfTheWoof Arbiter of Creation

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Lorentine Queen, Main Deck, Outside of Cargo Hold | Nighttime
Leon@Jumbus | Carmillia@Animus | Eun-Ji@Medili


Zarra had paid little mind to Eunji's commands, instead only watching the chaos unfold. However, he gets a glint of something he didn't like. He saw a man with missing arm, no hand in site, and a man staring over with almost sadistic pride. Zarra knew immediately what was up, a bloodmage.

He has known about them for a long time, he is aware of the bad and the good they can do. But this man, who is taking joy in bringing about one of the greatest ways of suffering, it sickens Zarra. It takes Zarra a few seconds to really process the situation, and in that time, Eunji had made her first move, knocking the mage over and leaving them prone. The blond student doesn't even take into consideration that these are Traveler agents, not that he'd care from the apparent disgusted look on his face, just because you mentally allegiance yourself with a revolutionist doesn't mean you have to tolerate actual psychopaths.

Zarra sees his opportunity, and strikes. He takes the pipe, which is still rather hot, and puts his fingers onto the tip, leaving a visible red burn on them, he logically winces, but nonetheless sharpens the pipe into a javelin, using wind magic, he spins and hovers the metal spear above his hand. He carefully lines up his shot above the still sprawled binder. Finally, using his 3rd but final proficient magic, he magnetizes himself and the makeshift weapon with the same magnetic pole. He then slams his palm straight into the world's most basic ballista, spending all his mana amplifying the launch speed of the projectile

Normally Zarra would not be a very good shot with such an attack, within the hot mist of the whole room and the inconsistent lighting giving little in the way of depth perception. But with the bloodmage completely out of commission, there was little to account for. With a very violent pop that can only come from the loosening of bone and muscle, the sadist feels his entire body go limp. He has a giant tube of metal sticking out of his neck, the sharpened tip bloodied and holding a piece of flesh still left. The mage's entire body shuts down as Zarra has incidentally severed his vertebrae with the assault. The world goes black for the Traveler Agent as his last thoughts dawning that his cruelty was likely his undoing.

Despite knowing exactly that was gonna happen, Zarra is a little spooked how brutal that was. He looks at the kinetic and internal chemist mage, not really with intimidation, but more of a "holy crap, do we all want to have such a fate" kind of stare. Before the other combatants react, Zarra realizes how much of a mistake it was to just now leave himself open like this, and reactively shifts away as chaos immediately ensues, a butterfly effect of his own devising.
Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by Force and Fury
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Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow

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B L A C K F L A G


♪




The Battle by the Docks
The horror from Wvysen's grisly death hadn't come close to fading when the Atomic mage next launched himself at Ingrid and engaged her in a brutal, close-quarters, atomic brawl. Meanwhile, Nerio and Desmond found themselves momentarily on the back foot as Trypano and Ismette hurried to catch up with the others. They were too late to do much for Onarr, who was grabbed by the enemy kinetic mage and hurled out over the sea, colliding with its surface in a mighty splash. Meanwhile, Amelia - the putative Segonese Princess - noticed that nobody seemed to be targeting her with deadly strikes. She correctly surmised that the mysterious enemies were trying to capture her alive and intervened in the nick of time to save Ingrid from being melted by the sadistic Atomic Mage's Infernal Majesty.

Meanwhile, each of the others found themselves heavily engaged in combat. Recovering, Onarr found himself in a one on one duel and on the run: dodging, weaving, and making use of his small size to be an elusive target. Desmond, facing off against a Chemical Mage, used his years of experience as a mercenary, his intuition, and not a bit of luck to coordinate with Nerio and take the dangerous enemy down. Trypano, hard pressed by both the enemy Binder and a persistent Magnetic Mage, found herself cornered and facing her end at the hands of the latter just as she was about to deal a fatal blow of her own. Intervening with the fabled Temporal Magic of the yasoi as the last moment, Ismette was able to buy her partner time to escape, finish off the binder, and take the offensive against the Magnetic Mage with a grisly and creative attack.

Things were to take a turn for the worst, however, as the enemy Arcane illusionist, who'd remained hidden up to that point, chose that very moment to appear behind Ingrid as she prepared to launch a big counterattack on the Atomic Mage. Only Amelia's warning and quick reflexes saved the Eskandishwoman from a fatal wound, but she crumpled to the ground, stabbed and bleeding out. The enemy leader took advantage of the princess' distraction to grab her and knock her unconscious with a chemical spell before rocketing off to make his escape.

Left alone to die, the Magnetic attacker threw everything that he had at Trypano, who tried doing double duty both healing the badly wounded Ingrid as well as fighting him off. Meanwhile, drawing inspiration from the histories, Onarr hit upon a new tactic in his solo duel with the Kineticist, and he wasn't the only one. Desmond leapt into action against the fleeing Atomic Mage, attempting to knock him out of the sky with a trick bullet.

The group met with mixed success. As Ismette jumped back into the fight following her exhausting Temporal attack, she was able to turn the ground beneath the Magnetic attacker into corrosive sludge, forcing him to throw himself to the side. Trypano, free to heal Ingrid, got her up to peak health through the power of Binding Magic, and the Eskandishwoman proved the validity of that tactic by calling down the massive pillar of fire that she had originally been saving for the Atomic Mage onto the Magneticist instead. He ceased to exist. The same could not be said for the Atomic Mage, who was able to sense the unusual shape of and energy signature of Desmond's bullet and counter it. Meanwhile, Onarr, who'd been carefully gathering his energy and distracting his attacker with banter, prepared to unleash his final gambit.

It all came together in a final flurry, as Benedetto, who'd been missing up to this point for reasons unknown (apparently having a bit too much fun in a brothel), rocketed up out of nowhere and savagely attacked the team's escaping enemy. Having given no thought to the unconscious Amelia's safety, he delivered a brutal and ultimately fatal beating. Thankfully, with some quick thinking, Trypano was able to use Gift of the Frog to save he falling girl's life. She almost had to do the same for Desmond as the final enemy, the Arcanist, mounted a final, vengeful sneak attack against him. He was prepared for it, however, and using his experience with martial arts, was able to take her down and put a bullet through her head. Onarr's finale was more of a mixed bag as he used a powerful magnetic technique to cause a littoral explosion beneath his overconfident adversary. While it met with grisly success, he was severely impacted himself and there is every danger that he may not be able to make it back to the team without assistance.

Now returned and victorious, the sadistic Benedetto flaunts his win over the most powerful enemy and mocks Wvysen's death, flippantly inquiring as to what the group should do next. Indeed, there are many things calling to their attention but, as they have seen before, splitting up can be dangerous. Onarr is still missing following his battle and his whereabouts only roughly known. Penny, too, is missing, and her situation is yet another mystery hanging over the group's head. Finally, Princess Amelia has fallen onto a great, soft cushion and whether she is yet conscious and whether her former captors will make another play for her remains to be seen. Hers is the knowledge of the crew that has been harassing trade and perhaps the artifact that the team is there to recover. What should they do next and how should they do it?
Hidden 3 yrs ago → 2 yrs ago Post by Ti
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Ti Bruja

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Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy, Kaspar @Wolfieh
Event: Hugo's task | Location: Torragonese Desert.




With the Halassa situation taken care of, she had a moment to simply lean backwards upon the sand and take a breath of air. Whoosh! The adrenaline was pumping non-stop, it was worse than the excitement she felt at even her most pressuring of performances, nothing could have prepared for that kind of experience. She tries to recollect her memories of these past moments, just trying to work out for herself what has happened between her time in the Paradigms study to now. What she could really do now was go for a nice long sleep, in a great big comfy bed, lots of pillows… instead, she is laying down upon the cold open desert. She tries to figure out why the Paradigm would send them on a class trip like this and not even provide them with basic supplies or necessities, where are the waterskins? Just thinking about water made her very thirsty, especially as the sand has dried out the balm upon her lips, she has no idea of what she looks like, but she probably looks like a bedraggled sand creature. She lets out a great big grunt of exhaustion, as she forces herself back upon her feet, brushing herself down as much as she can in an environment like this.

Ayla frowns as Zaz continues to stare in her direction expectantly, she knows how the Virangi got impatient. She thought that she did good to direct the Halassa away from Jocasta and herself, clever use of her abilities, but the forthright dancer already found criticism in her actions, referring to her as a ‘Baboon’ and in the next breath a ‘Kitty Cat’. “¿Usar una espada? - Use a sword?”, she hears her speak in native Torragonese. The question reminded her of an old phrase she remembered by her old Avincian professor, “Calamus gladio fortior”, deciding at that moment to put her own spin on things, “Tibia gladio fortior- The Flute is mightier than the Sword'". She knew there would be some disagreement from this, deciding that heating the jug would placate her for now, besides, a hot coffee wouldn’t go amiss around now as she starts to feel that coolness seeping into her bones, gracefully accepting the drink. Meanwhile, watching Ysilla working herself back under that cloak and huddling up underneath it only placed emphasis on the current affairs. A nice, warm, hot bed… already dreaming of warmer times.

Already being next to Jocasta, it made sense to follow her lead. Instinctively, she was going to start pushing upon the rollerchair like she did with her friend Maura back in Varrahasta with the pair always seeming to be found by themselves together due to their frailty. This caught her by surprise as it started to move upon her own and seeing Jocasta journey upon the sand. She could find aspects of Maura in Jocasta, the way she is always so polite and considerate of others. She also noticed some of the more self-humiliation aspects too, how Maura used to belittle herself in front of others in order not to evoke negative feelings, recalling how others used to prey on her more frail appearance when they felt threatened by her as they reminded her that she was a ‘cripple’, as if this meant she was undeserving, some implying she is punished by the gods. She could sense the pride in Jocasta, the way she is not reliant on others, a fierce independence underneath that humble presenting exterior. This made her question her own role in the past, did Maura allow Ayla to support her… for Ayla’s benefit? That is a troubling question, and she felt guilty. Perhaps she can try to be a better person, starting with the girl in front of her.

"Ayla", she turns to see Yalen addressing her abruptly, tiling her head in curiosity as she looks towards the boy. "I'm sorry about earlier. I should have finished the beast quicker, but I was afraid to resort to arcane magic again. Causing harm to others is... not easy for me.". She found this question to be unexpected, taking a moment to think and consider her words as the blond boy tried his best to match the pace as they moved behind Jocasta. She did not even know how to approach a question like this,due to this being her first time she experienced real combat. “We have a saying for Halassa in Torraganese, ‘Lento pero seguro’, Slow but safe. These… Aberrations defy their base nature.”. She had no real words for the boy's hesitation when it came to using his gift to end life, as this is not a path she has crossed yet, having relied on others like him to do this on her behalf, “Death did not linger” She noticed how he grew silent, seemingly to ponder upon her words.

As the social butterfly, she reached out to the others. She looked towards Kaspar as he was hanging back from the others, noticing the glances from his direction. She smiles back towards him, “Shame there wasn’t an opportunity to study them more closely”, she makes reference to the boy's sketchbook he carries around with him, “When the circumstance is right, you should find the opportunity”. She gave a warm smile as he was gently disturbed from his thoughts, responding, “Perhaps I will. Their shells had quite intriguing patterns on them, I may try to sketch them from memory. Surely you might find a subject in them, too?”. Kaspar’s attention quickly disappeared to that of the long legged Virangish girl when she spoke. Perhaps that she was more his type, she mused.

Ayla found herself silent with only Ysilla with company. She was reminded of another expression when she was being disciplined in her Avincian class, “Wise men speak when they have something to say, fools speak because they have to say something”. As she gazed up towards the other Virangish girl, she could only consider her to be the wisest of them all. She tries to imagine the thoughts going through the woman’s head, Ysilla mentally picking out the right woods to recreate the Halassa. She directs her words towards her, “We have the Snakewood in Torragon, its pattern would be ideal for the puppet”. She noticed the smile appearing upon those features, that damned smile, Ysilla seemingly taking notice of her words, “Snakewood has a beautiful distinctive pattern, strong in body, when carved could create a good defensive puppet”. Whilst she received no reply, she knew her words were heard, recalling the numerous times Ysilla could quote her to the breath.

As others continue to be paired up for their conversations, she pulls out her flute. She recalls some of the melody that Jocasta was humming as she tries to create it, putting on her own Torragonese flair to the music. Though the coldness did bite at her fingers, missing the odd key as she shivers a little through the playing, doing her best to entertain her companions through their walk beneath the clear starry night. She saw how Jocasta’s little face glowed up as she smiled towards her, "O-oh! That's my song!" she chirped. "How I wish I could play the flauta as I do the harpsichord". She was sure the girl wasn’t oblivious to her errors or improvisation, especially as the song was unfamiliar to her, attempting to improvise. She cannot help but glance upon Ysilla’s cloak, wishing she was as fortunate as the chill permananted the air. She turns towards Jocasta. “Been attempting to follow the harmony of your humming, is this a tune of your homeland?” she asks with curiosity, as she continues to play again with a more faithful rendition. There was a very evident shift in tone as girls responded in return "I think it is,". Jocasta shrugged slightly, taking a moment to wait as the wind passed them, "Though I don't... don't really know," she finished belatedly. "It was from... my childhood but...I don't remember it. They er-erase you when you arrive at a Refuge. They say it's so you won't miss the family that left you there”. It seemed that around this moment, there appeared to be a warmth, sensing Jocasta using her gift, as she began to feel it wrap around her. She looks towards the girl, a little surprised, but very kindly, a blush appearing upon her cheeks as it seemed Jocasta was accepting of her company and friendship.

Ayla had listened to Jocasta with her heart as she spoke, allowing the girl to speak freely of her vulnerability around the trauma she experienced. Part of her feels warm, the way this girl feels secure enough to share, and this makes her feel close. She placed a hand upon Jocasta’s shoulder, a reassuring touch, the presence of another who cares, listening, and is wanting to share an understanding and listening ear. “Sounds like it must have taken a lot of courage”. She wondered if Jocasta really knew what she feels herself at times, wearing multiple masks from being vulnerable, being strong, being petty, being generous, competing diametric opposites which she could only imagine how exhausting this must be. Even in these moments,where the girl is vulnerable herself, she also reaches out with her magic to comfort Ayla in return. It seems Jocasta wanted somewhere to belong, a place to call home. "I-I didn't exactly have much choice. Th-the first couple years at San S-Sofia were... were even nice. That's the side they'll show us when we get there". She could tell Jocasta wasn’t used to being touched, feeling as the girl visibly jumped as her fingers laid gently upon her, removing them after a light cherishing moment. “We're a t-team, though, and we have a m-mission.So I don't want you w-worrying about me. I don't need protection”.

Ayla couldn’t stop smiling as the girl was opening out, like a Halassa climbing out of her shell, and being brave. It is okay, you are with friends now she thought. She considers her words, drawing back to rely on her own family's words in a moment like this. “Lions protect the lion pride. Supporting each other. They are fierce, proud, and strong, No one has ever heard of a weak lion”. She leans over to provide a thank-you peck upon the girl's cheek, “Thank you. Glad you’re part of my lion pride”.



The bitter sweet moments spent together seemed to disappear as quickly as they appeared, as they came upon the others seeming to come and greet them... except they weren’t. She could make out the muffled cries in Torragonese, as she felt a shiver run straight through her body like a frosty lightning bolt, "Arena Malvada! - Evil Sand". It is not many moments she made the sign of the Pentad, but this is one of them. There are many old Torragonese myths and even a bizarre ancient religion around a creature known to her as Shal-Desierto - Thing of the Desert.

"Sand Wyrm!" she heard Jocasta scream, "East of here! It's... it's coming up fast!". She could feel the vibrations in the soft sand, but it wasn’t heading towards them, it was heading towards the refuge, they wouldn’t make it. “Jocasta, stop! You won’t make it… !", she pauses for a moment, watching the others hesitantly, “Wait! You’ll die, trust me…”, as she tries to recollect her thoughts as she thinks about the old myths and legends, desperately searching for something she could use, feeling like a lost cause. Ayla ends up getting distracted in memories of a children's game she played when she was younger, Dança-Alsahra.

Dança-Alsahra was a relatively simple game where one kid, usually Maura, played as Shai-Desierto, whilst the others danced around. Maura would give out a big roar, and turn around as the others danced around wildly. Upon hearing the roar, everyone had to immediately stop. Often it was the kids falling over or not stopping that were ‘caught and eaten’, then Maura would turn back around again, as the survivors danced around again. The goal was to be the last dancer standing, or get through the rounds as exhaustion grew as the dancers were being ‘chased’. Like a spark of inspiration, it hit her, excitedly shouting to the others in Torragonese, “Dança-Alsahra, Dança-Alsahra!”.

Ayla didn’t have time to explain to the others, time is clearly something they do not have, as Shai-Desierto was roaring. They needed dancers, or at least a great big blundering one to give out vibrations. How to communicate this with the others, all she had was… sound. Sound! She rummages through her handbag as she pulls it out, the tool of their survival, the tool of their freedom, the solution to their problems… a tuning fork.

With her tactician's mind, she creates the plan in her mind, and directs orders. “Binding Magic. Kaspar, Ysilla, need this bigger, at least 100 times bigger. Right now. Use everything.” She holds out the tuning fork, allowing them to have a glimpse of its very simple design to recreate, expanding upon the plan as they start. “We need a thumper, a blundering dancer, a distraction. Shai-Desierto likes vibrations, heat, and magic. Give it to him.” As the shape is starting to form, “Yalen, this has to be red hot.”, then returning to look towards Zaz and Jocaster. “Once formed, use all your kinetic energy to send it as far as you can towards those Halassa corpses.” As the instructions appear to be received and made clear, she finishes up with the most important step of all. “Stop absolutely everything, not even a breath.”

There was a step in the plan not shared, but it wasn’t necessary, it was her role. There was a particular reason she picked this tool, and as a musician and a sonic mage, it was only natural. Ayla drew in deeply, the raging sands provided all the kinetic energy she could ever need. Picking the precise moment, she cast her own spell, humming the sounding word "Ruído!" a loud clap of her hands with the final syllable, the concentration of mana and sound causes the giant tuning fork to reverberate, vibrate wildly, as it is cast across the sands.

The thumper is now loose, free waltz through the night as Shai-Desierto hungers. She made one last hand-gesture, commanding each and everyone of them to stop completely, not even a breath, not even a step, and not even a spell. Silence has now fallen upon the class. Hopefully not for the last.




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Hidden 3 yrs ago Post by A Lowly Wretch
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A Lowly Wretch The Listless Loiterer

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She looked down at the tool, seeing as the arcanist had, in her final bid, used drawing to destroy her scalpel. It was petty to say the least. It seemed while they were effective as a greyborn they were sub-par as a mage if the most creative final assault on them amounted to so little. Within a second Trypano formed a tiny titanium bead between her finger tips, growing it out into a shape functionally similar to her last tool. The metal was like flowing water, pooling in the air into a steady form as she shaped it into being. With this new tool she was back to peak effectiveness. Perhaps if she were more sentimental then losing a trusty scalpel might've been more impactful. As it was the craftmanship on the last one though elegant was no more effective than a basic scalpel, let alone this one.

Luckily despite tunneling through the dirt it seemed her journey ended in an underground water pocket, washing most of the dirt that was on her off for the most part. She drew apart the mud with careful, surgical precision, replacing any epidermal tissue lost in the process as she went. It took little time until only her costume was splotched with dirt and mud stains. She wasn't about to attempt to draw the independent elements for fear of destroying the articles in the process. She could afford to be muddy more than she could afford to be naked, especially in this crowd. There were far too many individuals who'd create way too many problems if that were to occur. It wasn't like she could just leave them on the island either, a very sticky situation.

_
She walked in measured stride towards the group, showing no indication of her emotions if there were any. There was no reaction to Benedetto's comment regarding their dead comrade nor to their death itself. Her air was one of cold function, a steely mind operating behind a porcelain mask.

"We'll need a couple people to go rescue Onarr from that kinetic mage out past the shore, provided he still lives." She offered instruction to the group in general, leaving the specifics up to them. She strode with purpose up to the cushion she created for the princess, stepping up onto the soft material and leaning past it's edge to see her prone form resting in peaceful unconsciousness. She reached out into her body, scanning for damage and continued chemical imbalance which she promptly rectified.

"Ingrid, do check for continued radioactivity in the princess. Due to her proximity to the atomic mage I want to make sure she isn't experiencing continued affects as a result of exposure. Once she's awake we can discuss what she knows regarding the crew for The Maria Nera's plans for her and the holy item." She leaned up after laying down her assessment, looking back over at Ismette and Benedetto.

"Given the destruction we've drawn more than our fair share of attention from the majority of the island. Perhaps you and Benedetto should go de-incentivize any gathering pirate crews from interfering further in our work."

While it was likely that this could be a problem seeing as how them bringing so much destruction wasn't likely to endear them to the locals the truth of the matter was that it was better for them to keep benedetto separated from the princess for the most part. He seemed unstable and that could prove a liability, especially if he attempts to ply his charms to her. Ismette was picked largely as a means of keeping Benedetto in check or otherwise mitigating the escalation of their conflict. They had dispatched a fair number of mages already but there was the possibility that there remained a few more who had remained neutral towards them. Only the slightest apologetic look peaked through her cold expression as she mainly looked over in Ismette's direction when addressing the two as she was basically asking her to take on one of the less desirable tasks available to them currently.


Interacting with - @Force and Fury,@Th3King0fChaos,@dragonpiece & @Bork Lazer
Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Th3King0fChaos
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Th3King0fChaos The Weird

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Location: Isla d'Amato near the water
Interactions: Trypano @A Lowly Wretch, Ingrid @dragonpiece, Amelea, Nerio, Benedetto, and Ismet'ych'lahin'dichora @Force and Fury




Desmond rose from his crouching position as he saw the bullet pass through the mage's skull and began to fade away. Desmond gave them a quick thought before he moved on, Desmond doesn't like to kill, he does because it's all he knows. Kill or be Killed, that was the situation, that was his life, and still, it is the thing that follows him. He can't change that, not today, but at least he can live to see tomorrow.

Desmond made his way to the group again, they seemed to have been gathering near the princess. Upon a quick glance she seemed to be breathing, her joints seem to be in the right directions, and her neck seems limp but not flimsy, Desmond thinks she'll make it. Yet almost like an old wound reopening Benedetto appeared and proceeded to spew bile. Desmond was fine with his attitude, he was already going to pay him back for threatening him, yet him mocking the dead…Desmond snapped out at him in a low and angered tone, "Shut the fuck up". His face was much different from the one he normally shows, no smile was there, no happy or slightly smirking face, just eyes that look as if they held every bit of scorn they could.

Desmond's eyes locked with Benedetto's as he said this, he was not going to let him disrespect the dead, especially someone from their side. Banter, jabs, and insults at your enemies as you fight them? That is fair game to Desmond, but the moment they are dead you leave them, to bring them up and mock them only brings them back and causes ill omens to all those around them. Desmond lived by this, the only time the dead are brought up is when you speak good of them, are in remembrance of them, or when you are to regale of them.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Jumbus
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Jumbus

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... and the Traveller

@Force and Fury

Not interacting with but in the arc:
Eun-Ji @Medili, Carmilla @Animus, Zarra @BreathOfTheWoof, Dory @Jasbraq


Leon stumbled upon landing down in the cargo hold. He felt disoriented and dizzy to such a degree he needed to lean on a nearby crate. Were his marbles that noisy? Noisy was an understatement when his ears were still violently ringing. But no it couldn’t have been and from the looks of things, it couldn’t have been the Traveller’s agents. Could it have been a friendly fire?

He shook the concept out of his head, this was no time to dwell on the thought. Time was ticking and he didn’t need his hearing to carry out the plan. Mustering some strength and biting down on his teeth, Leon pushed himself up off the crate and took in the dark and lifeless hold.

It was hardly surprising this place was locked up tight, not so much as a rat could be seen scurrying around in the shadows. Not that he would be able to hear it. ringing The only signs of movement were tiny drops of water near the side walls. As Leon watched another fall from the ceiling he expected to hear it gently splash at the bottom. ringing. He snickered quietly, for what reason would he need to hear a droplet land.

Leon popped the lid off a nearby barrel with a more reserved sway than his regular galavanting and held it as if it were a seasoned dance partner in a waltz around the ship. While doing so, Leon was channelling a great deal of binding magic into the wooden disk. There was row after row of painfully generic crates and barrels in this place as was to be expected. But Leon knew not to search all of them, why would anyone keep a lyre of the gods in such a boring place. No, it would certainly be in some ornate packaging.

While the dance continued, the barrel top’s wood became more refined and the circular shape gradually moulded into an arc. It was a simple plan really, Leon intended to make a counterfeit copy of the lyre and hand that off to the rowdy mob. The Traveller’s agents would chase it in the hopes they could stop it from being destroyed, only to find out it was already too late and the broken shard of the ‘lyre’ was all that remained. Leon smiled content with his plan.

But wait, what would his team think when they see him throw their objective to the wolves. Leon simply chuckled to himself, it all sounded quite amusing really.

“Ah-ha!” In the sea of dull browns and even duller browns, a cloth of white poked over the top. The lyre was hidden, but not well hidden. Of course, Leon was chosen by fate to hold such an artefact so he expected to find it no matter how much they tucked it away.

“A bit mundane once you see it in person, isn’t it?” said a voice.

Maybe it was that Leon’s ears had recovered faster than he realised, or perhaps it was that the only noises he had to reference before were the ringing and the muted fighting above. But this voice arrived into Leon’s perception clear as day causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end. He paused right before he was about to take off the cloth covering the lyre’s cage and looked around behind him.

“Who’s there? It is rude to address someone from the shadows. Not even bothering to say hello no less.” Leon could keep a visible composure despite how creeped out the situation made him feel. He was so certain he would be alone in here.

“Well then, you have my apologies.” A small, dark-skinned woman stepped out of the shadows. Her hands glowed with arcane energy, providing a degree of light. “Now,” she continued, unbothered, “are you going to steal that holy artifact or not?”

Leon picked up the white cloth and flicked it in the figure’s general direction, unveiling the lyre in the process. With a growing smile and a chuckle he replied. “Of course I am. The question is, who are you and why haven’t you stopped me yet? It takes quite a mage to simply appear out of nowhere.”

She smiled back, and it was neither threatening nor jovial. “I’ll take your compliment in the spirit it was intended, Mr. Solaire: the spirit in which you intend all of your various compliments. As for who I am?” She shrugged. “Some of my friends are just outside, but don’t worry: nobody will be bothering us.” It was about then that Leon noticed the cloth he’d thrown, frozen in midair, so perfectly still that it would’ve taken a profound control over kinetic magic to render it so. Were he especially perceptive, he may have noticed that the rat which had been scurrying across the floor when their exchange began was now completely still, in midstep.

Leon had turned away for a moment to take in the sight of the lyre and begin changing his counterfeit’s colour, a speciality of his. But upon turning back he saw what had transpired, everything suspended as if frozen in time and the figure had changed in appearance. ”Ah…” Leon was no fool and could put two and two together. “Hugo, I presume.” He paused thinking about it for just a bit longer. “Wait, no. The Traveller.” Mildly flustered by the mistake, he regained his composure soon after.

“This whole show is quite impressive, but it doesn’t answer my question. Why am I still holding the lyre?”

An elderly man in a bard’s getup smiled back at him. “As a performer, I think you’d know why.” The Traveler threw out his arms. “The best shows - the ones they come back to see - don’t just give them what they want right away, do they?” He tilted his head and grinned like a puckish old grandfather. “You make them wait for it! You make them work for it. That way, once you give it to them, they’ll value it that much more.” The smile fell away from his face to be replaced by a thoughtful expression. “But I suppose I do owe you a resolution. Pardon my imposition, but I’d like to answer it with a question: Why do you suppose this dusty old instrument is so valuable? Why do the Rednitz want it? Why does old Hugo want it? Why do you?”

Leon smiled toward the Traveller, the now elderly man was speaking his language. ”I’m glad you see it that way. Because you’ll have to wait on this lyre for a while longer yet.” Leon took the lyre out of the cage now holding two identical-looking objects in each hand, well identical without a magnifying glass that is. Or touching the strings, Leon still had yet to learn how to change the material properties so the strings were just incredibly thin wooden strips that looked like string.

“The Rednitz want it for the same reason anyone else unexceptional wants it. They want to put it behind a cage as something to stare at because they believe that will bring them prestige. That being the case, I have done a pretty good job at duplicating the lyre. Don’t you think?”

There was a sizzle of Blood Magic and something subtle about the strings did change. The Traveler nodded. “Only one more trick to learn,” he admitted. Then, his face grew serious. “In the case of the Rednitz, you could not be more right. In the case of the Paradigm, I wish you were.” He shook his head. “That object you are holding – one of them, anyhow - has the power to reconcile the magic that comes from without and the world within which we live. In layman’s terms, it can remove the madness from aberrations. It can make them safe for anyone to absorb, to gain The Gift without fear of harm to their sanity. Now, why do you think that Mr. Hunghorasz wants it?”

Leon saw the strings of the counterfeit change and sensed a strange camaraderie with the figure before him. Perhaps if his own goals did not differ so, he could find himself being friends with the Traveller. But then the next thing said took Leon out of any illusions of cooperation. “Even if that were true, I don’t think many people should have the gift. Unexceptional people start fights and wage wars with mere whispers and false promises. Do you think this boat would still be floating if the riot up top was filled with mages?” Leon chuckled as if it were a joke. But the Traveller could see that the boy put more weight behind that belief than simple humour.

Leon shrugged it off, trying to change the subject. “As for Hugo, well, I can’t imagine what someone like him would want with them. I doubt he needs more power and I am frankly unsure why he doesn’t possess them already.”

Slowly, ruefully, the Traveler shook his head. “That is where you are wrong,” he replied. “It is not the ‘unexceptional’ people who start the wars. It is the unexceptional people who die, en masse, in the wars that those with the Gift start. Look at the reality of the world that you live in! Think through it!” He’d stepped forward now, his bearing passionate. “As for your jest, if this boat was filled with mages, they would not be rioting. If there was true equality and a small, select group were not simply born with advantages that allowed them to fly, to lift more than an elephant, to create flesh and stone from seemingly nothing, to kill a hundred fellow human beings with the flick of a wrist, perhaps they would not assume that such an imbalance was natural, that it was their right to act as gods!”

The Traveler’s image wavered and he became a small boy. “You must know of how the few conspire to breed magic into their bloodlines to the exclusion of all others. Because you are the exception, you now escape the worst of it. Think back to your childhood, though: read between the lines, Leon.” He narrowed his eyes and seemed much older than he appeared. “Remember those days before your renown, before you unexpectedly manifested the Gift. Do you recall the times you slept in the wagon, the cold biting through its canvas covers, the weapons gripped in the hands of your troupe as they travelled? How about the hay beds with the roaches and rats or the bowl of porridge sacrificed by an older member when you needed more?” He paused for a moment. “And what of the times you had to cede the road as some noble passed by in a coach guarded by a small army? The way you were reminded to bow your head before them? What made them better than you: Leon Solaire!?”

A bit of a shiver went down Leon’s spine as the Traveller described the struggles of his earlier life, twisting it into something to enrage him. But Leon simply couldn’t relate. Even when they starved for food, before his delusions of grandeur, there were always people to support him. An upstart noble could knock their egos down once in a while, but everyone would come back from it. And, as Leon started to come into his persona he felt the presence of something driving him forward. He could only look down on petty nobles, for they had no greater ambitions than holding on to prestige.

Whether this presence was real or not, Leon certainly believed it.

Leon’s mood visibly shifted to match that of the Traveller’s young form. One with conviction in his voice. “So… whats the game plan then? Give everyone the power to kill a hundred humans and then peace eternal showers the world just because everyone's the same? We will have to agree to disagree.”

Leon took both lyres and began walking to the trap door, turning away from the Traveller. “Anyway, I’m afraid if you aren’t going to take this lyre from me, I must be on my way. The longer I wait, the more lives are on the line.”

“Far be it from me to impose my will upon another. Those who have come to my side have done so of their own conviction: against the world demanding they not.” For a moment, reality itself seemed to flicker. Then, another version of himself was standing not a foot distant, resting a hand on his shoulder and smiling tightly. “But that is not the case for you. Is it?” The ersatz Leon shook his head slightly and the smile faded.

For a split second, there was a surge of magical power not unlike the semi-familiar feel of aberration, yet the strength of it was like peering down an abyss so vast that you could not imagine an end. “We shall speak again when you are ready to stop loving your chains… and everyone else’s.” Leon felt a squeeze on his shoulder. “Farewell.” Then, the Traveler was gone and the youth remained, holding a pair of Lyres in his hands. It was impossible to tell the genuine article from the reproduction. The cloth that had hung in time during the unsettling conversation fell to the floor belatedly and a startled rat scurried away.

Leon looked back to find the hold empty. He was left to think on the Traveller’s words. In another world, he would lockstep and join forces with the figure. But he couldn’t let the figure’s ideals become a reality, no matter how much conviction was behind them. Peace was the goal, that is what Leon wanted. But uncertainty took him every time.

The letter with the details of his birth sits on his desk, unopened. It is a constant reminder that Leon Solaire is a lie. He was not from the Sun, he was just some unexceptional orphan. Leon clung tightly to the lyre. If he could just take the lyre from Hugo, from the Traveller, it would prove himself exceptional. Then he could burn that letter, for it would be false.

Leon slipped the real lyre under the back of his shirt, utilizing some illusionary magic to help it stick out less. Then with an inhale, he turned his head upward. The insecure boy had gone, Leon Solaire was back. Before he climbed the stairs, he gave a flick of his wrist.

“Fantasia!”



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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by dragonpiece
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dragonpiece

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Location: Isla d'Amato
Interactions: Trypano @A Lowly Wretch, Desmond @Th3King0fChaos, Amelea, Nerio, Benedetto, and Ismet'ych'lahin'dichora @Force and Fury, Onarr @Bork Lazer


Ingrid only caught a glimpse of the Atomic mage's escape with the princess. The bullet had failed to find its mark and she had just spent some energy incinerating Trypano's enemy. Ingrid could grit her teeth as the princess was whisked away. Wvysen had died, Onarr could be dead, and she hasn't even seen Penny or Benedetto in this fight. The shame she would have felt about failing so terribly had little time to set in before a sickening crash could be heard from the Atomic mage's direction.

The Atomic mage was cracked into by none other than Benedetto, sending the princess falling and the captor whirling. Ingrid believed that the princess would be saved by Trypano for no more reason than a basic level of trust, after all, she managed during the fight. Benedetto was loud, screaming things that she could only imagine a power-crazed child to yell. A scary occurrence as Benedetto has proven that he is much stronger than the atomic mage and completely untouchable to where Ingrid was. Just how weak am I? was all Ingrid could think. She knew she wasn't trained in actual combat but this was a difference in pure use of the gift. Ingrid was completely outclassed by the Atomic mage and was a candle in the wind compared to Benedetto.

This realization of her weakness was only compounded when the Greyborn had shown up again to attack Desmond and he ended it without even a scratch. She realized that the only thing she could probably do here is put out the fires before they spread to the rest of the town. She absorbed the energy out of the fires to extinguish them then transferring the heat into a wave of hot air that made its way to the forest as a small heatwave. With the fire out, Ingrid watched as Benedetto return covered in blood that was obviously not his own. Ingrid grew meek in the presence of Benedetto, especially after he described this feat as nothing.

That meekness and self-doubt were replaced with scorn when he commented on Wvysen's death. To make fun of a comrade's death, especially when you were apparently spending time with a hooker was inconceivable. This scorn built and almost came to a head until Ingrid remembered just who she would be scorning. Benedetto, a child that killed the Atomic mage without issue and could very easily do the same to her. Scorn turned to rational cowardice. Ingrid was embarrassed by how spineless she was in front of someone stronger than her.

Trypano moved to start giving commands on what to do next. Oh right, Ingrid thought, this wasn't even the end of the mission they had to still dispose of the pirate captain and acquire the artifact. Trypano's instructions were met with just a nod as Ingrid made her way and felt the energies inside of the princess. There wasn't much in her but there was enough that it made Ingrid feel uncomfortable leaving in her. Ingrid place her hand on her head and slowly started to draw out the radiation, moving her hand down her body like she was carefully removing each affected part of her. Ingrid wondered how long would she would have to stay on this mission. Her confidence was at an all-time low. She couldn't see anyone raising as much as a word against Benedetto after what he showed but she was wrong. Desmond just told him to shut the fuck up without even so much as a smile to soften it.

Ingrid was immediately concerned for Desmond's wellbeing. Benedetto didn't seem to have much stability to him. Desmond was the one to go to the brothel with him originally so maybe this is more okay? More likely this was the norm and this was too much for Desmond to not say something. Ingrid agreed with him but was scared to speak up. The cowardice she was showing made her stomach turn. This wasn't like her. The first real challenge to her morals and she crumbled. Cowardice surged into disgust for herself. She couldn't stay silent. Ingrid stood up and looked towards Benedetto, still filled with fear but now had enough disgust in herself to have her act. "You should be respectful to the dead Benedetto. If not for your enemies then at least for your allies. Speaking ill of the deceased only lowers you to that of a scoundrel and you are not that." Ingrid's words came out clear with no trepidation to be found in them. If she showed weakness in her words then she would lose morally as well.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by Wolfieh
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Wolfieh eternally terrified / he/they

Member Seen 4 mos ago

LOCATION: Torragonese Desert
INTERACTIONS: Ayla @Ti, Jocasta @Force and Fury, Yalen @pantothenic, Ysilla @Pirouette, Zarina @YummyYummy

As they departed from the halassa’s corpses, Kaspar found himself gravitating toward the back of the group, keeping an eye to make sure no one fell behind. Solitary as he was, it didn’t bother him to be a step behind his companions; yet, several still turned their attention toward him. ”Shame there wasn’t an opportunity to study them more closely. When the circumstance is right, you should find the opportunity.” He half-smiled at her comment, undoubtedly spurred by his interest in sketching, and nodded, ”Perhaps I will. Their shells had quite intriguing patterns on them, I may try to sketch them from memory. Surely you might find a subject in them, too?” He remembered the way she painted, and though partial to charcoal himself, thought they would make good subjects for a more colorful medium as well.

Even as he spoke, another figure drifted toward the back of the group; this one surprised him, as Zarina Al-Nader came to walk beside him. He recalled the way the girl had awkwardly complimented his kill earlier, and wondered what the Helbahn noble could’ve done to draw her attention. ”Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favourite Binder.” He turned toward her, seeing the way her features softened, and remained silently curious. ”Think you’d be able to make some grub, should this take a bit, Casper?”

Some small part of him prickled at the slightly mispronunciation of his name, but the boy didn’t sense any harm in it as he contemplated the answer. ”I am capable of creating food, yes, so long as there is something around me to pull from.”

”Wait, could you, technically, change a sapphire into an emerald? Because that’d be pretty cool.”

This question took him by surprise, and the boy couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him as he glanced to the Virangish girl, tilting his head to mimic her own stance. “Gemstones are an interesting question. A binder could draw from a sapphire and reconstitute the matter into an emerald, but it does not require the destruction of one gem to make another. A binder could construct an emerald from sand, or dirt, just as easily, so long as they know how to make the emerald. Chemical mages, I understand, can also change the nature of matter—in, perhaps, a more direct manner.” As she seemed to parse over his response, he added, “Is this simply curiosity, or do you have a greater reason for asking?”

Zarina seemed dissatisfied with his answer, lips pursing and hands coming to her hips, and Kaspar quirked an eyebrow. “Huh. Yeah, you can just make very pretty and wonderful things from crap you find. Yup. Way to remove the mysticism out of things! At least make it sound cool and interesting. Give me a moment. Like, say…” She picked up sand, and he watched as it slowly turned into a small drop of glass. “See? Like this! Except this becomes a diamond, or something. There, class is now captivated and thinks of dumb schemes to make bank. But anywaaayyyyy, no, I’m just making conversation. And y’know, figuring out what some of us can do. I guess.”

“So, apart from a lecture, what do you do, Kaspar? And make it sound interesting, I’m a demanding audience.” She winked at him, and the boy found the barest start of a blush creeping up his cheek.

He still wasn’t sure what had drawn her attention to him—was he simply the one she knew least? Was there something special she saw in the Elstrøm child?

And why did he feel the sudden need to impress her? Was it in defense of himself, of his schooling? Was there just something that demanding about her presence? Yet, he found himself drawing from the top of the sand and converting the granules into something concrete and whole. ”I apologize for removing the… ‘mysticism’ of this. Forget everything. Let me try again.” He closed his hand around the still-forming marble of glass, waving the other with some flourish as the pieces came together. He opened his palm, revealing the blue orb. ”A sapphire, you see?” His hand snapped closed, and he pulled out the energy, reconstituting it for this paltry trick as the noble revealed an orb, shaded green now. ”Behold! An emerald now, yes?” He held it up for her to admire, before hiding it from view and completing the trick one last time—revealing, at last, an orb of glass swirled with green and blue. ”Why only one, if you can have both? There, the mysticism has returned!” He dropped the orb into her palm, trying to understand his own motivations for such a show—and finding no answer to his satisfaction.

But there was still a question unanswered. He thought, studying himself carefully before supplying an answer, this time in a voice much softer. ”For the Gift? I do Binding, mostly—as you know. I draw, very carefully; I’ve practiced a long time, to be so careful. I’m learning the ways of Chemical Magic, too, though my knowledge is… lesser, in that field. For everything else? I sketch, mostly plants. I take the beauty in the world and recreate it on paper with charcoal. I study plants, too—I study many things, in truth, but none are very exciting. I speak with Ayla, or sit in silence and sketch while she speaks, sometimes. I’m afraid it is not… all that interesting.” His crimson eyes drifted back toward the lioness as he spoke, watching her engage with Yalen and Jocasta. He wondered silently if she would have dropped back to speak with him, had the Al-Nader not arrived first. Biting back the contemplation, his gaze slid back to the girl walking beside him, and he found himself curious. ”And what of you? What is it you do, Zarina?”

“I do loads of things.” Her voice dropped in volume too, nearly drowned out by Ayla’s playing. ”People say I’m a good performer. Mostly for dancing. But I just like to move. Ride. Go anywhere I want. How I want. And it makes it easier for me to do another thing I do pretty good. Taking care of business.” She clenched her palm, and Kaspar watched passively as the orb he’d given her was crushed, the tiny particles swept away by the winds of the desert. “... That sounded sinister. I just tend to shake the wrong tree from time to time. Or they rustle mine.”

He thought about what little he knew of leading, of interacting with others—and how some seemed to find him uncaring because they did not understand his nature. ”As I understand it, only those who are idle or disinterested can truly avoid shaking trees. You do not seem the type to sit idle; it is inevitable, I am sure.”

“Or just idiots who like to mess with the wrong trees.”

He let out a small chuckle of amusement, walking through the sand in silence for several moments. Yet, as Kaspar trudged side-by-side with the girl, he found his attention pulled harshly to the front of the group, where Yalen and Jocasta seemed to be speaking.

”They say it’s so you won’t miss the family that left you there. Didn’t your… your own parents abandon you? Mine sure did, whoever they were.”

He felt the words crawl up his throat and choke him, gut twisting in an unusual sympathy. His breath stuttered as he thought, unbidden, of parents who could abandon their own child because they couldn’t handle his Gift. He forced it away, sucking in a deep breath and stripping the memory down, storing it in a box that was meant to stay locked. No matter the emotion, he could not afford to seem so weak with so many eyes watching. He returned his attention to Zarina, forcing himself to say something to distract from the conversation ahead, and any response he might have had to it.

”It was, perhaps, a touch sinister—crushing objects to dust may certainly have added to this.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears, but he forced some sense of amusement into it, hoping the Al-Nader did not notice.

She seemed not to notice for a moment, glancing at him and stuttering in confusion for a moment before replying, “Sorry, just showing what I can do. I think. Crushing glass isn’t exactly impressive, though.” She hummed for a moment, before dropping her voice and asking a question Kaspar would rather not answer. ”What do you think of them? The afflicted and the mind scrubbing.”

Kaspar glanced away, distress in his red eyes as he forced stoicism onto the rest of his face, rather than flinching as he would’ve liked from the raw strike to a nerve. He’d not spoken of anything like this since he was eight; no one in Wentoft discussed the abandonment of children by people who should’ve loved them. Yet there were rules of his home that could not be enforced here, and he was sure this was the first of many painful clashes he’d encounter.

He kept staring straight ahead, feeling notes of vulnerability as they crawled up his throat. ”It is... unfortunate. That some have parents who could not or would not love a child because of something that child could not control. Those who take them in... It should be done with a willingness to care for the child as a being, rather than a disease. Only some of..." He choked on the words he wanted to say, on us, as he forced himself to continue, "Of them, are fortunate enough to receive that compassion.”

Yet up ahead, shapes appeared in the sand. Their duty was upon them now, and the boy forced back the emotions threaten to bubble to the surface, placing a careful mask over him and standing up straight, Kaspar Elstrøm von Wentoft once again.

If only things did not go so wrong.


He did not speak Torragonese, but Kaspar knew enough to hear panic and fear in any language. He braced, crimson eyes sweeping the sand wildly as he tried to decipher what was approaching, attention pulled from the figures hurriedly running back towards the refuge.

”Sand Wyrm! East of here! It's... it's coming up fast!” The panic in Jocasta's voice was concerning, but the translation nevertheless helpful.

Nevermind that he didn’t know what a sand wyrm was—he could hazard a few guesses, but the most important was deadly. He watched Jocasta take to the air, Ayla shouting after her, and wondered how he could best evade the beast—and how many of his companions similarly lacked the talents to do so. He doubted they could fight it, even as he tried to bolster his own confidence in his ability to draw its life away if necessary—there were some creatures that were simply beyond death at the hands of mortal men.

Ayla turned toward them, shouting something in excitement. ”Dança-Alsahra, Dança-Alsahra!” He couldn’t even pretend to understand the words, but paid rapt attention to the girl anyway. She pulled something out of her pocket, holding up a metallic object towards them and declaring, ”Binding Magic. Kaspar, Ysilla, need this bigger, at least 100 times bigger. Right now. Use everything.” He wasn’t sure what Ayla’s plan was, but Kaspar had to admit he didn’t have one of his own—and so he would do as the musician asked, and hope there would be time for asking questions later… inside the refuge.

He turned to make eye contact with Ysilla, nodding sharply at the puppeteer and sweeping his arms to draw from the plentiful desert sand. Great pockets of shifting granules appeared dozens of feet away as he absorbed the matter, taking care not to destabilize their group. He pointed his cherrywood wand at a spot in the sand, and there began to emerge the massive tuning fork, the concentrated effort of binders who could not afford to not give their all in this moment. He felt the pressure inside his blood, and the strain of casting so quickly, but shoved it all down and focused on his talents, on how he knew he could do this.

As soon as the construction was done, he stumbled a few feet away, bending over with his hands coming to rest on his knees. He took deep breaths, watching small droplets of sweat drip into the sand and pushing away the slightly nauseousness turning his stomach. Panting, the crimson eyes glanced up to watch the efforts of the Priest, heating the object as it waited to be flung some great distance. He couldn't help but think back to the halassa with the boiling eyes, and found it did not help his momentarily compromised constitution.

Ayla spun, finished with her instructions to Zarina and the flying Jocasta, and his eyes snapped to her face. “Stop absolutely everything, not even a breath.” He sucked in deeply, providing oxygen to his heaving lungs without bothering to straighten up, and stilled—it was not easy, but he could sense the urgency in Ayla’s voice, and would rather feel the momentary discomfort and continue living.

Kaspar watched her prepare magic of her own, but did not call out any of the things that sat in his throat. What are you doing? What is your part? he thought, but spared some of his confidence for her. He would need to trust all of his companions in this moment—at least that came easiest with the painter whom he'd spent so much time with already. But, quieter and unbidden in his mind, came one other thought, By Gods… Be careful, Ayla.

All he could do was watch as she hit the tuning fork, sending a great vibrating noise through the dunes of the desert. His breath held, eardrums reverberating with the noise, as he waited to see if the sand wyrm would divert, giving them a chance to run to safety.

He hoped that he wouldn’t leave his parents childless again.
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Hidden 3 yrs ago → 3 yrs ago Post by pantothenic
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pantothenic bored part-timer

Member Seen 2 days ago


Post-battle report
@YummyYummy

“Got something for this?” Zarina held out one of her gore stained blades while looking expectantly at Yalen. He slowly nodded and wrapped his fingers around the hilt just above hers, prompting her to release the weapon. The samshir was unexpectedly weighty despite how light the curved blade appeared to be. The gentle monk was not prepared for it and nearly let the sword slide out of his fingers.

“With your permission.” Yalen reached into his shoulder bag and produced a clean handkerchief. He wiped the blood and tissue away as best he could, at least so that Zarina would be able to put it back in its scabbard. Despite his reluctance to do harm, Yalen was far from hemophobic. He had watched his brothers perform surgery numerous times, and he regularly found himself knuckle deep in an open wound during training.

The combat high was wearing off now. He could already feel his hands trembling from the exhaustion and fear. Once he finished cleaning, Yalen let the wind carry the handkerchief away. Even if he tried washing it, the smell of iron and fat would continue to linger.

“Here.” Yalen extended the samshir to Zarina.

“Much appreciated.” The flighty swordfighter graciously accepted the blade, then shuffled off to shower Ayla with her unique brand of affection.

Yalen approached the fast cooling corpse of the Halassa that Zarina had slain. There wasn’t much of a head left on it now. Her kinetic blast had caused quite a mess. He knelt down and placed a hand on the beast’s shell. It was worn and gritty from years of exposure to the desert wind. This one had lived a long life.

Why did it have to turn out this way? They didn’t do anything wrong. There was a sour taste in the back of Yalen’s throat, which he quickly swallowed down. He closed his eyes and silently mourned for the dead.

The moment of reverence ended when a metal cup floated towards him. Yalen caught it before the magic carrying it wore off. There wasn’t much in it, but the smell of ground coffee beans was unmistakable. The small show of hospitality brought a smile out of him. Perhaps Zarina wasn’t as high handed as she appeared to be.


Intermission in the desert
@Ti@Force and Fury

As one might assume, the march to the refuge was a difficult experience for Yalen, but he was able to keep up as long as the others didn’t take off running without him. The grains of sand coalescing around his feet lent some surety to his footsteps. It was mainly a lack of exercise that was holding him back. Running for your health was difficult when you kept tripping on nothing. Not being able to feel your toes was quite the inconvenience.

A bit further ahead, Jocasta was humming an unfamiliar tune. Once in a while she would look back towards Yalen and smile at him encouragingly. One would not think such an innocent girl had the strength to send a giant Halassa flying. Although she was strong, Yalen felt uneasy about her being a part of this.

Why can’t I remember seeing her before? She would stand out quite a bit in that chair of hers. I suppose the campus is quite large. It’s not impossible for us to have just missed each other. She might also be from another academy. Yalen was interested in finding out more about her. Jocasta was the first student that he’d met who shared his disease.

As the blonde cleric pondered over various things, his thoughts started to return to the previous battle. The way he handled the second Halassa was sloppy. If Ayla’s magic faltered, or if his little trick didn’t work quickly enough, there could have been trouble. It came as no surprise that Zarina was a bit frustrated with them.

“Ayla.” Yalen abruptly addressed the flutist next to him. “I’m sorry about how I handled things earlier. I should have finished the beast quicker. Causing harm is… not easy for me.” She acknowledged his apology with a nod, but did not slow her pace.

“We have a saying for Halassa in Torraganese. Lento pero seguro; Slow but safe. These… aberrations defy their base nature.” After hearing what Ayla had to say, Yalen bowed his head and continued marching. It was true that he wanted to apologize for his blundering, but deep down he was also looking for some reassurance. Perhaps it was wrong to try and find solace in his peers.

For a while he trudged through the sand in silence. He listened to his fellow students as they paired up and talked amongst themselves. Despite all the chatter, the others didn’t seem too interested in Jocasta at first. Seeing it as a chance to satisfy his curiosity about her, Yalen quickened his steps so he could catch up to the chairbound girl. She was going a bit slower now, enraptured by the clear night sky.

After taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Yalen decided it was better to begin with an ice breaker before going into more personal questions. Leaning heavily on his walking cane, he came nearer to Jocasta so that they were walking, or in her case rolling, side by side.

“You know, when I was a child I used to believe that falling stars were the souls of the dead. When the guilty have served their sentence in the afterlife, Dami allows their souls to fall to the earth to be reborn.”

After pausing for a moment, Yalen smiled and continued. “What a surprise it was when they were proven to be nothing more than falling rocks! Years of superstition, dispelled by a temporal mage with a telescope and a chip on his shoulder.” He peered towards Jocasta, attempting to gauge her receptiveness to his awkward rambling. “And yet, no matter how much knowledge we accumulate, we still find ourselves fascinated by the stars. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Hmmm.” Jocasta began to mull over his question. With a sigh, she met his eyes and gave her answer. “Because no matter how many disgruntled mages with telescopes there are, we cannot know the truth of the stars for certain. They are so far out of reach that we accept it. They intrique without frustrating us.”

Yalen thought about her answer for a few seconds. There wasn’t actually a correct response to the question. He merely wanted to understand her way of thinking. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and picked up the conversation.

“That is certainly one way of looking at it.” Yalen tugged at his sleeve which had become slightly sticky from perspiration. “Me? I think it is because we are afraid. We are afraid of accepting how small we are, where our place in the universe is. What power must lie at the heart of a star, what worlds must lie beyond our own! If we were to discover those worlds, harness the power of stars, we might even become equal to the gods themselves!” He shook his head. “It’s a foolish idea, but one that many indulge in.”

Yalen vacantly looked up at the sky. “No matter how much we discover or how much we create, we will never be able to touch the very fabric of our existence. How can a painting tear its own canvas? That is the difference between a human and a god.”

A strange silence occupied the air, and Yalen suddenly realized how long he’d been going on for. He rubbed the back of his head appearing embarrassed and shrugged. “I forget myself. You’re free to dismiss my babbling. I have nothing to substantiate my words after all. Such is the nature of faith…”

Jocasta blushed and glanced down at her lap. “I… I fear you’re right. Sorry, I just… don’t like to think about impermanence.” She let out a long sigh.

Ayla started to play her flute while attempting a coarse rendition of Jocasta’s humming. “I’m attempting to follow the tune of your humming. Is this a tune of your homeland?”

“I think it is.” Jocasta admitted. “Though I… I don’t really know. It was from my childhood but… I don’t remember it. They er-erase you when you arrive at the refuge. They say it’s so you won’t miss the family that left you there.”

“Erased!?” Yalen uttered the word as if he had bitten into a rotten lemon. “Erase your memories? You lead me to believe that the refuge is actually a prison!” He could feel the blood rushing to his head, causing his face to become hot. As someone who grew up with the tethering outside the system, he’d been raised with the same belief that everyone else had about the tethered refuges. They were supposed to be like resorts for the infirm. A place to spend one’s short life in peace. The revelation that people were being brainwashed there was like a slap to the face.

An uncharacteristically bitter tone entered Jocasta’s voice. “Is it really so hard to believe? Didn’t your… your own parents abandon you? Mine sure did, whoever they were.” The blunt remark made Yalen turn his head away. A flood of emotions rose up unbidden. Empathy towards Jocasta. A longing to go home and hug his dad. He held his hand over his mouth in order to regain some measure of composure.

“Of course they abandoned me, but I never-” Yalen stopped himself, unsure of how to continue. Unlike the other orphans in the monastery, the young monk had never felt the need to contemplate his circumstances. He felt loved by the priesthood, by the Pentad, and above all by the abbot who adopted him and gave him a real family. He had nearly forgotten what the reality was for people like Jocasta, who had no-one to prop them up like the Abbot Castel did for him.

“I-I don’t know what to say.” Yalen managed to force out in a weak voice.

“I’m… Ipte, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Jocasta gave him a pained look. “Truly. It’s… a very sensitive subject for me. I grew up in a place like this one. It doesn’t look like it, but it’s wretched. We’re… not p-people there and, if you’re smart, you’ll p-peer beyond the veil.”

Yalen’s head was spinning. This is outrageous. He thought to himself. People with the disease had precious little time to live as it is. What was the point of making them suffer any more? To reduce a girl like Jocasta close to tears… what else is she not telling us about this place?


An unseen threat emerges
New location: Refuge

Yalen could feel the sanctuary before he could see it. When it came into physical view, its towering stone walls made it look more like a fortress than a refuge. In his mind’s eye, he could sense the dozens of refugees sheltered within. When the party finally spotted the garrison, or more accurately the caretakers, Yalen felt something was off. When he first detected them he thought there were four healthy individuals, but now one of them was carrying a body.

Oraff keep us, that person is- “Arena! Arena Malvada!” The caretakers were shouting in Torragonese, something Yalen did not understand. Jocasta clearly did, because when she heard them shout she started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Sand Wyrm! It’s east of here and coming in fast!” East. Yalen directed his mind’s eye in the stated direction, searching for any sign of life that might be a threat to those stranded outside the refuge. There was nothing on the ground nor in the sky, save for a flight of Froabases that was going in the complete opposite direction.

If it’s not up here then… Underground. Yalen reached out once more, and when his mind touched the behemoth, he was filled with an existential dread. For something that massive to be capable of such speed… it was simply unthinkable. The group had perhaps a minute before their lives were forfeit. Jocasta was floating now. Maybe she was planning to use her magic to save herself. He wouldn’t hold it against her. It was the smart thing to do.

Yalen almost suggested that they leave him behind and make a run for it on their own, but then Ayla was shouting at everyone in Torragonese. It seemed she too knew about the sand wyrm, and by some miracle had stumbled upon a plan to deal with it.

Ayla produced a tuning fork from her handbag and held it up in front of Kaspar and Ysilla. “Binding magic. Kaspar, Ysilla, we need this at least 100 times bigger. Right now. Use everything.” By her command, the two proceeded to draw upon a spot in the sand, rearranging the constituent particles within to create a jumbo sized version of Ayla’s acoustic tool. Creating that much new matter on short notice must have been difficult for them. Kaspar was sweating profusely once the task was finished.

Only a fraction of the work was complete however. “Yalen, this has to be red hot.” Ayla gestured for him to work his arcane magic on their newly constructed tuning fork. Not knowing anything about the monstrosity approaching, Yalen blindly followed her instructions and began gathering energy from whatever source he could find. Any plan was fine as long as it was calculated.

The night grew deeper, and much of the heat underground had been exhausted by Yalen and Jocasta’s previous siphoning. To get the metal red hot he would need a more abundant source.

And I think I have one. The resourceful priest opened his inner eye and probed his way towards what felt like a giant 20 meter long earthworm. Whatever this wyrm was, it had Manas to spare. His attempts to draw straight from its body were resisted by a much greater strength than his own. That was fine, he didn’t expect that to work. There were other sources, like the limitless kinetic energy being produced by its muscles as it vibrated through the sand.

The conversion process of turning kinetic energy into thermal energy was not instantaneous, but Yalen finished preparing himself after a moment’s pause. Metal was an excellent conductor of heat, so even with his average energy capacity it didn’t take more than one draw to fill the tuning fork with sufficient heat.

“If this gets any hotter it will start to warp! What’s next?”
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