Drifting Pollen

Between Life & Death

The thick trunks make for a solid obstruction to Hisame's predatory gaze, but Procella is not yet where she wishes to be. The knife, thrown at a tree's trunk, was no aggressive gesture, but rather a stepping stone to what came next.

The spirit leaped into the air, sailing towards the thick trunk within which the blade was embedded. Before she slammed against its rough, bark-covered surface, however, one outstretched foot fount the hilt of her blade, and with a sudden bending and release of her pale leg, she propelled herself upwards, using the knife as an improvised foothold to ascend into the canopy.

There, among the drenched yellow leaves that barely clung to life on the eve of winter, Procella crouched on a thick branch, listening to the lilting song of her opponent. The sound jars in her ears, clashes with the noise of the rain. It almost makes her strike right then, and fling more lightning at Hisame, but she manages to restrain herself.

Instead, she waits, and builds her charges. Waits for the sound of thunder.

When the booming roar of a distant strike arrives, she makes her move, leaping from branch to branch while the sound of her passage is concealed by the storm's roar. She keeps her eyes on Hisame- for it is towards the woman that she is moving. But she stops short as the thunder ends, not quite on top of the woman yet.

The invisible shelter is troublesome, and needs to be broken before Procella's knives can taste sweet flesh. But she is running out of blades. Only four now remain tucked in the hidden folds of her strange dress, and those must be used wisely.

She is not without other resources, however. She had built her charges before the thunder, a positive in Hisame, to keep track of her, and a negative in the knife she'd used as a foothold.

Now she builds them further, and another bright arc leaps from the small piece of metal to the shielded woman. The shelter is resilient, but Procella will test its limits, keep on pounding it until she finds a weakness.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

I'm still here! Anyone else?

Between Life & Death

Oh! Yes I did. When you said it moved through the air "to be held afresh," I though you meant Hisame grabbed it. Will edit my post now.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

Welp, looks like I won? I double checked Nicoli's character sheet, and he doesn't seem to have a resurrection ability (yes, people have tried to pull that on me before).

In that case, good fight. Seems it was cut a little short (possibly time constraints?) but I had fun, and I hope you did too.

Also, a general note: one of the players (XDark AnorexiaX) has not posted IC, and has not been online for over two weeks. Probably best to consider her gone now... So, either someone gets a free pass for round one, or we bring in another player.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

Imogen felt the blows connect, felt the claymore snap in two as it crashed into Nicoli. But she was not immediately aware of the effects, as the spreading smoke quickly masked the scene from her sight. Cautiously, knowing just how dangerous this opponent could still be, she circled around the edge of the cloud, swords at the ready.

But nothing emerged from the dark. When the smoke cleared, only Nicoli's crumpled, bloody corpse was visible.

The swords-mistress breathed a sigh of relief, all the tension leaving her at once. It was a shame to loose the claymore that way- but she might have lost a lot more, if she had been less lucky. She drew her remaining swords back to her, letting go of the two she held, and allowing them to float in a broken circle around her, a gap being left out of habit where the claymore usually was. With her weapons thus arranged, she stood straight, and bowed, facing the remains of her opponent.

Who had he been, she wondered? An assassin, a vigilante, a mercenary? He had been cold, but efficient- no doubt a pleasure to work with, but unnerving to face. Imogen looked at what was left of him, and thought on this, thought on him, and anything she might learn from this. She had proven herself the greater warrior, but she respected Nicoli's skill, and knew that his tactics and movements were worth studying, perhaps replicating.

But for now, she still had a tournament to win.

She raised her eyes to the sky, and shouted into the air: "Dynamo, you have been watching. This is my victory- let us not delay any longer! Whatever comes next for me and the others, we would face it now."

Between Life & Death

The second woman is intangible. An apparition, cast upon Procella's eyes through some dark magic, little more than a distraction. She pays little attention to its words, or to its chill, instead fixing her narrowed eyes upon the real Hisame.

The knife is knocked away, and sent spinning in the air like a steel butterfly, by an unseen wall that stands between it and its target. The spirit sees this. Something stands between her and this victim- and not only that, but shields the woman from the rain, keeping her dry even as the tempest builds. The exact nature of this defense is beyond Procella, but she knows what it is.

Hisame is cowering, cowering in a shelter. A storm has only one answer to this.

The spirit's lip curls, her mouth twisting into something between a snarl and a sneer, savage and spiteful. "Ferocity? That was mere annoyance... dear."

The katana is moving behind her, and within it moves negative charge, attracted to the tip by the positive Procella has gathered in her hand. As it rushes towards her, she pretends not to notice, her eyes instead dropping to the dagger that had bounced off Hisame's shelter- then, without any warning, she suddenly pivots on her left foot, spinning all the way around as she moves to one side, away from the sword's path. She laughs merrily, and flings out a hand towards the ground.

Or, so it seems at a glance. But she's not aiming for the dirt and the leaves, but rather for what lies among them, the silvery blade that had just failed in its flying assault. Its conductivity makes it easy to gather a negative charge on the side facing Hisame. And this, attracted to the positive charge gathered in her head to track her, produces a sudden arc of electricity, hot and bright, that leaps from the knife towards the woman, hitting her barrier with all its deadly energy.

Whether or not it is able to pierce the barrier and harm Hisame, the bolt comes without warning, and is extremely bright. It is easily bright enough to blind for a moment, and noisy enough to mask the sound of rapid movement. As soon as her attack is unleashed, Procella darts further to the left, into the trees, letting one blade fly to embed its point deep in a nearby trunk.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

Imogen sees the dust, and tries to move the claymore away, but it's already committed to the swing, and can't avoid it all. The edge of the small cloud cast forth by Nicoli brushes against the blade, dust caressing metal almost gently- though the consequences are anything but. Like a miniature swarm of termites, the crimson specks eat their way into the sword, ruining its integrity with frightening swiftness.

The swords-mistress raises an eyebrow at this. The weapon was certainly a good one, but this is not the first time she has lost a sword in battle, and there is no time for grief, only for analysis. That dust is no ordinary equipment, something specifically chosen to counter her fighting style. Whoever this man is, he's well-equipped, and likely has other tricks up his sleeves. His dust will not touch her weapons again, she'll make sure of that, but she'll need to watch his hands, and be ready for anything.

The dust does its work fast, and will eat through the claymore within a few seconds. But, in a fight, a few seconds is a long time, and Imogen still has control of the sword. Though the dust is already ruining the claymore's edge and its integrity, it had done little to change its direction or momentum, and she is able to swing it around quickly and easily. Nicoli, meanwhile, was sent into a skid, difficult to control and requiring him to get back on his feet before he does anything much. The initiative is Imogen's.

Obviously, she makes use of this. While Nicoli rolls forwards, the claymore follows him, swinging around as it does so until it's oriented horizontally, edge facing him. As soon as the man tries to come up on his feet, it accelerates, rushing forwards and downwards to slam itself into his lower back. Though it has already lost its cutting edge to the dust, as well as much of its mass, it is still a heavy length of metal, carrying enough force to knock Nicoli down unless he somehow intercepts or avoids it.

This simple stike, however, is only half of the threat. As the ruined claymore attacks, the scimitar rushes in towards Nicoli, as if seeking to aid its dying comrade in its last assault. Though it took a little focus to get into position, the larger sword's actual attack is hardly a complex maneuver, and requires no attention to direct once set in motion- which means Imogen is free to focus on controlling the smaller blade far more carefully. Nicoli's left arm moves to throw something, and while in motion it's difficult for the limb to make a dodge- so the scimitar strikes there, slashing upward to cut at the hand on the end of that arm, seeking to rid Imogen's enemy of some of those troublesome, dexterous fingers.

Opportunity, however, comes to a swift end as smoke begins to flood the air. The scimitar, as soon as its slash is completed, flies slightly backwards and then straight upwards, climbing into the air to hover about twenty feet above the arena floor.

Between Life & Death

There is no movement of charge in response to Procella's ploy, other than in her knives, which means the sword is either gone, or too far away to be an immediate threat. The spirit is pleased to know there won't be any immediate interference, but she keeps her positive charge where it is. She can, after all, so why not?

With the possibility of a threat gone, she is poised to advance on the wounded woman, and wreak terrible, beautiful vengeance upon her. But Procella is interrupted once again, this time by a twin, a replica of her opponent, who now taunts her, and seeks to advance upon her and launch a fearsome assault.

But this doppelganger, be it flesh or illusion, has miscalculated. Procella has had quite enough of games, and does not give it the time to say its piece.

As soon as the new obstacle appears, the spirits brow furrows with annoyance- and then she strikes, before it can even finish its third word post-appearance. Procella's right arm goes from still to a blur, whirling around with frightening speed, to fling the deadly blade she held in her hand straight towards the breast of the woman in front of her, carrying enough power to stick firmly in the flesh, and likely even knock this enemy over if it is real. If it is not, however, the knife will simply carry on through- towards the other woman, still crouched atop the ruined remains of the fallen tree.

And as quick as she let one go, Procella draws two more knives, first with her left, then with her right, and takes one step forwards, daring this strange opposition to challenge her anew. Her movements have changed: still erratic, still inelegant, but faster than before. Were she a puppet, her master would now be twitching his fingers, sending his creation into an unnatural frenzy.

The storm's tears, falling now with growing weight and frequency, are not born of sympathy. They moisten and chill all they touch, seeping into every nook and cranny they can invade, slowly beginning to flood the land with their numbers. They are not here to console, or even to pity. Rather, they are like Procella: as time goes on they shall fall faster and harder, until all is drowned by the storm's fury.

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

Until Drall kills them, turns them into zombies, and has them kill her

@drallinix

See, everyone? This is why she sticks to swords!

Battle City: The Tale Of The Tournament

What about the college football team? All of dem!

@ShidenBlades

Imogen curses. Evidently her swords are not enough to defeat Nicoli... with a cry of rage, she flings forth a jock in tights, who performs an expert midair tackle on her opponent. As he performs this maneuver, the muscle-bound young player yells out his war cry: "First down!" Imogen smiles to herself... she is lucky to have recruited such skilled fighters with only the promise of scholarships. Now, she can sweep the tournament with ease- and she doesn't even have to pay them!