I'm Pollen, hope you're not allergic. I like writing a myriad of characters in all kinds of genres, so I'm pretty much down for anything roleplay-wise.
While arguments happen and they're normally not worth calling in admins over, I believe this post crosses the line.
The first fundamental rule of the guild is "Don't be an A-hole." I believe that user Zyamasiel's post is both excessive flaming and contains discriminatory language. Would it be possible to have this post hidden and/or the user warned off such behavior in the future?
8:00 to 11:00 PM PT on Tuesday, 8:00 PM to midnight PT on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Monday and Wednesday evenings may be open too if I'm not too busy.
The moment Lyra's bloody spike flew into the faintly distorted region near the man in white, a series of thunderous flashes erupted around it, almost blotting out the red blur with their furious light. A spectacular show of power, glorious in its excess. The Shroud drank it up, while within the quiet dark Lyra focused on the flying red shard, waiting for the key moment she'd been planning for since she'd first entered the tomb.
The electrical barrage slammed into the makeshift arrow with relentless ferocity, each strike melting and shattering frozen blood where it hit. No ordinary shard of ice would have survived even the earliest strikes, and this one only made it so far as it did thanks to Lyra physically holding it together with her psychic power, freezing its outer surface almost as fast as her enemy's defenses could melt it. Even so, by the time it reached the black wall that rose to block its path, only a ragged and battered remnant remained of the original projectile, hardly enough to even dent the obstruction. Rather than let it smash itself against the metal barrier, Lyra simply stopped sustaining it. Just a few inches away from that last obstacle, the spike could shatter, breaking apart into a shower of bloody, half-molten fragments.
At last, in its very last moment, that which lay within the frozen construct was revealed.
As one might expect from a warrior cloaked in darkness, Lyra favored deception and tactics over raw force. Back in the wheat fields she'd fought like a plague, striking and then infecting, making a seemingly simple attack that soon revealed itself to be a lethal trap. Here, her goal remained the same. In a dry and dusty tomb, however, she didn't have so much water available to turn into ice, and though with every passing second more and more tiny ice crystals joined the swarm forming around her within the Shroud, she hadn't yet gathered enough for what she wanted. So, faced with a drier environment, she'd adapted. First by using her own blood to form the infection vector, and then by using something else entirely as the infection.
She'd frozen the blood-spike in the palm of her right hand, letting it rest there just a moment before setting it on its course. Why?
Location, of course. Her right hand, at the very beginning of the fight, had dipped into the pouch at her side, where she kept her bombs. So that when the blood dripping down that very same arm froze into a weapon, it froze around a small egg-shaped stone primed for detonation. Thus, when the red spike shot into her enemy's defenses, it carried within it a nasty surprise, ready to be unleashed once it had moved in close to its target.
The frozen blood shattered and melted away harmlessly- and from where it had been, a thick green gas exploded outwards, devouring everything it touched.
Electrical bolts could melt or vaporize solid projectiles, but neither would hinder an attack in the form of a vapor. If the man in white's defensive field reacted to this new threat, the same bolts that had ruined that red arrow would only aid the insatiable green cloud, the heat from each strike exciting its particles and speeding up its devastating spread. As things stood, it had already detonated dangerously close to the man in white, and he'd be hard-pressed to escape the initial reach of the explosion.
This wasn't some mere poison, either. The man, his clothing, his weapons: the moment any of them so much as brushed against the edges of the emerald vapor it would tear away at them like a pack of piranhas, its ravenous appetite barely hindered by physical hardness or durability. Not that any solid obstruction would slow it much- a metal barrier worked well against a spike, but a cloud could just spread around it in an instant. Not to mention, if the strange black sand was a solid then it, too, would be rapidly devoured.
The man in white moved fast, fast enough to get his shots off just before Lyra's trap broke loose. He'd have a hard time seeing what happened, though, for the verdant cloud would soon be obscuring his view of the midnight one.
Unlike the lightning, Lyra could see the shots coming, to some extent. The widened front of her Shroud gave her a huge field of view, and she had good enough reflexes to catch her enemy's movements as he turned and fired. Instinctively, she commanded her Shroud to respond. The path her initial attack had taken meant that he hadn't aimed his counter at her directly, so she parted the shadowy folds in the gun's path, opening a wide hole that the first shot zipped through without so much as touching her cloud.
She hadn't, however, expected the second shot, and the sheer speed of these bullets caught her somewhat off-guard, eliciting a brief grimace as she realized what he'd done. Though she'd foiled one shell, the other would strike the front surface of the Shroud, and be immediately enveloped by the black mist.
That last was intentional on Lyra's part. She'd aimed to keep his weapons from hitting the Shroud entirely and leave him guessing, but failing that, she'd quickly move to obfuscate and misdirect. If she'd simply let the shot land, the front portion of it would have been slowed first, leaving it momentarily hanging halfway into the darkness and giving her opponent a clear view of what had happened while its back side gradually slid into the black wall. Rather than let this occur, Lyra had the Shroud around the impact surge forwards the instant she felt the bullet make contact, swallowing it in a smothering void.
The front of the cloud dropped and buckled above the site of impact, as if collapsing from the force of the hit. In reality, this was just the thin layer at the front of the Shroud gathering to help oppose the source of motion, but she took care to exaggerate,using her own control of the smoky substance to supplement its natural motion. Where the Shroud had appeared as a massive, unbroken wall, a section about a foot in width had now shrank and twisted in on itself, appearing to be somehow wounded by the bullet.
Of course, the shot hadn't struck anywhere near her, and was slowed to the point of effective harmlessness as soon as it entered the reach of those eldritch particles. Why give that impression, however? Better to tell a story through each action, lead the attacker astray. Behold, O crackling man: I am the Shroud, and your little stings can hurt me.
Let him chew on that, if he could still see, while she focused on killing him.
Now that her trap had been sprung, Lyra had little need to conceal her weapons. Holding her dagger close to her chest, she used the dregs of blood still running out of her arm to form two small rings, each one surrounding a bomb primed for detonation and carrying them away to her left. One would then zip out through the front of the Shroud, heading roughly towards the man in white, while the other would shoot upwards, lifting its lethal cargo to the higher reaches of the chamber. Three bombs remained untouched in her pouch, not yet needed for this assault.
These small maneuvers she made entirely by feel, while the Shroud fed her sensory information based on the light coming into contact with its outer edges. If her enemy fell to her first ambush, she'd have no choice but to watch as the gas tore him down to a ragged pile of flesh and bone, and then to nothing at all.
If he survived, she'd have no choice but to respond, and try to snatch his life away yet again.
8:00 to 11:00 PM PT on Tuesday and Thursday, 8:00 PM to midnight PT on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Monday and Wednesday evenings may be open too if I'm not too busy.
This man certainly didn't waste any time in getting to the point. Almost as soon as Lyra arrived, the air before her opponent lit up with a brilliant flash, a searing bolt streaking across the space between them in a fraction of an instant to strike straight into the smoky depths of the Shroud.
Within, Lyra stood her ground. She recognized lightning, and did not fear it.
If the man in white had hoped to somehow blast apart the cloud with his electricity, he'd be sorely disappointed, for the Shroud reacted in precisely the opposite manner. Where it had been uniformly distributed in a roughly even cloud, the two feet up front now shrank a little, gently compressing as the tiny particles swarmed towards the impact of the electrical strike. Curling up, coming together, trying to wrap the bright tip of the thunderbolt in an embrace as black as midnight.
The energy output of a lightning bolt could be roughly sorted into four distinct parts. Two of these, the blinding flash and the resounding boom of thunder, would be absorbed the instant they passed into the Shroud, each wavelength gathered and stored by thousands of dark particles. Where other surfaces might have been briefly illuminated by the sudden radiance, this cloud remained completely black, not reflecting so much as a single photon.
The third threat came from heat. Heat enough to melt or even vaporize all it touched, to cause a rapid expansion of air and blow away anything not simply destroyed by the overwhelming increase in temperature. The Shroud couldn't simply devour this energy as it had the light and sound. It could, however, oppose.
When Lyra surrounded herself with the Shroud on her final approach to the pyramid, the relief she'd felt hadn't been entirely due to it blocking out the sun's light. The space within the quiet cloud was cold. Had she been fully alive, Lyra would have found herself shivering just from standing inside it. The Shroud resisted movement, so long as it wasn't initiated by Lyra, and on a basic level temperature was merely the random movement of infinitesimal particles, kinetic energy on a smaller scale. The faster something moved, the more the Shroud resisted it, and thus the hotter something burned, the more the Shroud cooled it. All that searing power unleashed by the thunderbolt would be stifled as soon as it entered the cloud, resisted and suppressed, crushed down to nothing more than a gentle warmth.
The electricity, the frenzied movement of charge responsible for that crackling bolt's energy, would meet a similar fate. The swifter the electrons, the more they'd be slowed. From an electrical perspective, the Shroud's constant opposition could be assigned a simple name.
Resistance.
For all its lethality, current was a cowardly thing. It flowed through the paths of least resistance, those it could pass through most easily, and against the Shroud it would break like a stream crashing into a wall, the powerful river of charge scattering and dispersing before a space that hindered its movement so greatly. If the man in white could corral and push the charges at range, he might be able to force some into the black cloud, but within they'd only achieve the merest fraction of their original speed, hardly enough to do any harm.
As quickly as the lightning bolt had come, it was gone. All the crackling power of a storm, reduced to little more than a whimper.
If that weren't intimidating enough, what came next might give Lyra's opponent a sense of what he was truly up against. Where the front side of the Shroud had shrunk inwards a little to swallow the thunderbolt, it would expand immediately afterwards, appearing to swell to four times its previous size, as if all the power of the attack had only made it larger and stronger than before.
In reality, its volume remained exactly the same. Lyra had simply shifted some of her Shroud forwards to form a thin wall facing her opponent, fourteen feet high and twenty feet wide, slightly curved at the edges to conceal its deceptive nature. The original shape of the Shroud remained intact behind it, half a foot shorter than before after shunting some of its mass forwards to form the facade.
She'd used a similar tactic against her previous enemy, though for slightly different reasons. As before, the thin wall remained dense enough to absorb all the light passing through it, visually indistinguishable from a full cloud unless one were to move far enough around to glimpse past its edge.
Lyra herself stepped swiftly to the right, the bulk of her cloud moving with her. She held the thin layer at the front in place, however, masking the small maneuver. Tiny ice crystals hovered around her, frozen by her power but not yet needed for her assault.
Her first counterattack had already been released.
She hadn't cut deep enough into her arm to trigger a transformation, but her dagger had made a large wound nevertheless, one that dripped cool fluid as she twisted the weapon to widen it. The dry air in this tomb lacked much water for her to use, but her body still held blood aplenty. A the thin layer at the front of her Shroud swept outwards, she'd freeze some into a sharp crimson spike and let it rest for an instant in the palm of her hand before it shot away, directed by her mind rather than any movement of her arm.
Though not quite so fast as the lightning strike, it still made for a quick and lethal projectile, little more than a red streak to a common human eye. The man in white, likely more skilled than most, might have been able to see it coming, but Lyra wouldn't give him the chance. Rather than shoot it straight at him, she brought it out of the Shroud right where he couldn't directly observe it- chunks of debris from a fallen pillar remained between them, and now she used one as cover for her projectile's advance, concealing its approach over more than half the distance between them.
By the time Lyra's little scarlet spear even entered the man in white's field of view, it would already be practically touching the outer layer of his defenses. She could tell he'd been doing something to the area around himself, but he'd have virtually no time to respond to the frozen missile before it entered that zone. If his protections, whatever they might be, required any kind of conscious input to function, he'd be hard-pressed to provide it before the icy point had penetrated deep into the fields of his power.
If not, well, she'd still be able to glean something from what happened, and adjust as necessary. Some battles took longer than others, but Lyra had yet to find a nut she couldn't crack.
Name: Lyra Gwynn Age: Around 50 years Height: 5'7'' Weight: 125 lbs Race: Undead, formerly human
Appearance: Lyra looks much younger than she actually is: she was twenty-two years old when she died, and her body has stayed that way ever since she came back. She has a willowy build, with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, light brown eyes, and gentle, almost childlike features.
For clothing, she tends to favor primitive dresses, woven with intricate patterns in colors that match the environment. She makes these herself, and each one is meant to reflect the nature of the lands she finds herself in. They offer virtually nothing in the way of physical protection, but they're short and loose enough for her to move freely in them.
She also wears a thin belt, with a dagger at her left hip and a small pouch at her right, and carries a long white spear.
Weapons or items:
- Dragon spine: A two-handed thrusting spear, crafted with great effort from the bone of a beast Lyra slew long ago. It's around seven feet long, and made entirely of the same material, with no visible seams or cracks. Light, sharp, and astoundingly durable.
- Dragon tooth: A short white dagger, made from the fang of a beast Lyra slew long ago. Mainly used for a specific purpose (see Abilities), but also works pretty well for shanking people in a pinch. As sharp and tough as the spear.
- Gas bombs: Six egg-shaped stones, kept in a pouch on her belt. When she touches one, it will begin to rapidly deteriorate, and will explode after two seconds, releasing a cloud of thick green gas, a unique substance synthesized from the decomposing corpses of dragons. This gas is an incredibly potent corrosive substance capable of eating through solid matter with frightening speed. Flesh, metal, kevlar, and even artificially synthesized or magically strengthened substances are vulnerable. However, it doesn't attack dragon bone, nor purely supernatural 'solids' (such as force fields or energy barriers). Other than the aforementioned properties, it behaves much like any vapor, and can be stopped or dispersed by forces or barriers it doesn't eat through.
Abilities:
- Physical abilities and training: Even before dying, Lyra had something of a natural talent for combat. Her speed is well above peak human levels, and she has the reaction times to match it. Years of experience have helped her learn how to maintain excellent control and balance while moving extremely fast, as well as how to apply her swiftness to close-quarters combat and traversal of difficult terrain. Her strength and endurance aren't amazing, but she hasn't slacked off on them and isn't nearly as weak or frail as she might appear.
Her true specialty, however, is stealth and deception: she's quick, quiet, and light of foot, and able to mask her presence and intent well enough to launch effective surprise attacks on even seasoned warriors and assassins.
- Gale runner: Lyra was born with some psychic potential, and can use it to hinder mental attacks somewhat, but she never learned to attack the minds of others or create magical constructs. Instead, she attuned her instincts to connect with something far simpler but still hugely powerful: the air. Through a specialized form of telekinesis, she can usher it into motion, and direct its path in gusts both slow and fast, with the latter able to reach speeds beyond anything found in nature. She can't produce 'constructs' such as blades of wind, nor control air on a delicate enough level to pull it out of someone's lungs. On the other hand, she can generate gusts at range and even ride on flows of air like a kite, using the wind's speed to move herself around when her own maneuverability proves insufficient.
- Undead body: Since Lyra's retrun from the grave, she's found that she doesn't really function quite like she used to. Due to her particular state of undeath, she remains animate even though most of her biological functions have stopped: she moves, thinks, and senses her environment, but doesn't breathe, eat, or maintain a set body temperature. It's possible for her body to perform these functions, but it takes a voluntary effort on Lyra's part to do so. Her nervous and circulatory systems seem to have shut down entirely, and she's shown no signs of aging as time goes by. Her brain and muscles still work, but everything else is bypassed by the inscrutable force that holds her in her current state.
- The Shroud: Lyra is bound to a floating mass of dark particles, a cloud of mysterious smoke that moves with her wherever she goes. In more casual settings it will lie hidden in her shadow, compressed and passive, but in combat she deploys it in full force, and it can grow large enough to fill a small house. The Shroud seems to be related to her state of undeath, and Lyra can manipulate the size and shape of the cloud as if it were part of her body, which combined with her wind summoning gives her excellent control over its form. However, it can't spread out beyond a certain minimum density, which restricts its reach to two thousand cubic feet at most.
Other than being movable, the Shroud possesses three dangerous abilities. The first is that it absorbs and stores light and sound, including frequencies beyond those visible and audible to humans, such as ultrasound or radio waves. It's perfectly black, and masks any noises passing through it. Light and sound it absorbs can be gathered and later redeployed offensively, as wide bursts or tightly concentrated beams.
The second ability is that it not only responds to Lyra's thoughts and impulses, it relays sensory information as well. While she's inside it, it can directly plant in her mind the patterns of light and sound coming into contact with its outer edges, allowing her to see and hear what's going on outside. It also keeps her aware of its own contours, allowing her to effectively 'feel' anything within the cloud. The Shroud differentiates between her own thoughts and those born of other powers, obeying only those that are truly hers, and she can use it to detect foreign incursions into her mind.
The third ability is that the Shroud will resist any and all movement within itself not initiated by Lyra or her abilities. Its minuscule particles are made of a strange material from a far-flung universe devoid of life, and they bend physics around them slightly, slowing down other matter and energy passing through areas where the particles are gathered. This effect works more powerfully against faster movements: walking through the Shroud is merely uncomfortable, running through it is like pushing against a wall of molasses, and bullets or anything similarly fast will face opposition strong enough to slow them to a crawl. The more spread-out the Shroud is, however, the less powerful the slowing effect becomes. At five hundred cubic feet or below, the slowing effect is as described above. However, it decreases proportionally with spread, so that at two thousand cubic feet the effect is only one-fourth as powerful. As a result, when spread too thinly it will self-concentrate around sources of movement where necessary, to better resist them. Although Lyra, her weapons, and the matter/energy she controls with her powers are immune to this effect, she can't control the effect itself.
- Cryokinesis: Lyra can freeze liquid or gaseous water, and manipulate ice and snow. On a basic level this functions similarly to her power over wind, so she must use what is present in her environment rather than creating it herself. She has fairly precise control over ice, and can both levitate and reshape it, but this comes at a cost: this ability doesn't extend over a wide area, but instead gradually spreads, like a virus. Her cryokinesis must be initiated within a range of about two feet from her. Once she's seized control of a fragment of ice, she can maintain this control outside of said initial range, and spread control to water and ice near the fragments she already commands. In short, she usually starts with small amounts, but can chain her cryokinesis to build up larger effects.
The actual freezing process is of course exceedingly fast. Solutions pose some additional problems: the more solute is dissolved in water, the closer her power needs to be to freeze it. Bodily fluids are complex enough that her ice needs to make direct contact before she can freeze them. Lyra's power can also be used to keep ice packed together, which can vastly increase its effective hardness- but the more ice she applies this to, the lower the overall effect. Similarly, the speed at which she can make ice move decreases as the amount of ice she's controlling increases, though in both cases the inverse is also true. Lyra may release ice from her control if she so chooses.
- Bone dragon: Once per fight, if Lyra brings her dragon-tooth dagger into direct contact with her own bone, she may transform herself into a massive skeletal dragon. This form lasts about a minute. Her own bones grow explosively outwards, becoming durable dragon bone and forming a thick shell around Lyra's human body while extending around it to form the monster, with the shell located within the ribcage. In addition to being fucking awesome, this form grants her tremendously increased strength and durability, as well as the ability to emit the green gas seen in her gas bombs from her jaws and nostrils in huge quantities. Although it has no skin, muscle or nervous system, this form can move and fly as if it did. After the time runs out or the shell is somehow broken, the bone dragon will shatter into thousands of pieces, releasing Lyra onto the field.
Lyra's first memories are of hard times, of dust and dirt and exile. Some years before her birth, her people were forced out of their ancestral homelands, whole cities laid to waste when an ancient and powerful dragon decided to make their mountain home its territory. Faced with the wrath of a monster none could challenge, the indigenous population was left with little choice but to flee. Even as they left their lands behind, however, they vowed to one day take them back.
From a young age, Lyra and her fellow children were trained in the arts of war and magic. Their elders told them stories of their homeland, instilling within them a burning will to return to the life of old. Year by year, they practiced relentlessly, eventually leaving their parents to travel the world and seek new skills and powers that might help them defeat their mighty enemy.
Lyra had never been particularly talented with conventional magic, so she sought out an order of psychics, and learned to channel the wind through more direct and instinctual means. She wasn't satisfied with this, however, and strayed further still, scouring her homeworld for something powerful enough to finish her enemy for good. She traveled further than any other, through burning deserts and towering mountain ranges, to the farthest reaches of the continent. She saw landscapes that dwarved anything she'd ever dreamed of, came to know of peoples and creatures whose vibrant diversity fascinated her, and heard enough tales and histories to fill a thousand books. As a girl she'd been told to yearn for her stolen homeland, but as a young woman she found her true home: on the frontiers, exploring, ever forging new paths. Still, she couldn't keep traveling forever. There remained her duty, one she had to see through for once and for all, before she could truly be free.
So she sought out a rumor, a ghost. Whispers of a traveller from another universe, a mad genius wielding unimaginable power. She walked out across a frozen sea, to the faraway point where she'd heard this being sometimes passed through her world.
To this day, Lyra has never told anyone what she found there. What is known is that she came back with the Shroud.
There was no more need for training or exploration. She traveled straight back to her homeland, and rather than wait for her comrades to gather their forces, walked straight into the dragon's domain and challenged it alone.
It was barely even a fight. The beast blew through her defenses and snapped her up with its massive jaws, swallowing her in a single gulp.
As she'd intended.
Lyra had made a contract of sorts, a deal. She'd give up her mortal life, and receive in exchange a rebirth, a one-time resurrection via a permanent joining with the Shroud. For the other party, she was a guinea pig of sorts, a test of whether the otherworldly cloud really worked as predicted.
What Lyra got out of it was a way to kill her dragon.
No human could survive in the corrosive, poisonous interior of the dragon's stomach. She died in an instant- then woke up and tore the beast apart from the inside.
As soon as the news reached her people, they rejoiced. Scattered families flooded back into the ancestral homeland, with the many would-be dragonslayers acting as a powerful deterrent against any foreign powers trying to claim the now dragon-free territory for themselves. Lyra herself was honored and celebrated, with many suggesting that she should be made queen of this land now reclaimed.
She politely refused. In that fateful meeting out across the sea of ice, Lyra had learned that there was far more to the cosmos than one lonely planet and one simple quest. Something in her craved more. There were endless foreign lands waiting to be explored, monsters far worse than dragons that needed to be killed, impossible roads she yearned to journey down. So she carved new weapons from the beast she'd slain, and set off on her own once more.
Since then, she's left her world behind, traveling to new realms and honing her skills and powers along the way. There's no knowing where her path will take her, but as of yet she'd shown no signs of wanting to stop.
With one step of her journey behind her, one frozen corpse left to lie amidst an unknown farmer's abandoned fields, Lyra walked her way to the warm wastes, wearing a short and loose dress as rough as the sands, as bright as the sun.
She only had to take one look at the new landscape to know that her choice of attire had been correct. Gold was the color of this place. The gold of the bright sun beating down with all its fierce and oppressive pride, the gold of the parched earth drinking up the endless rays and burning her bare feet as she walked upon it, the gold of lost glories buried beneath sand and stone, now marked only by the towering stone ruins that still protruded here and there, great petrified beasts rearing their carved heads and sheer slopes forming vast wide arrows that pricked the sky itself. What she might have given, to see these empires in all their splendor!
All she found, however, were sand and rubble and solitude.
These, too, had a beauty of sorts. The skeletons of kingdoms, merging once more with the barren lands from which they had sprouted. The earthen bones cast long shadows beneath the sun, which turned about as the day slowly crawled by, tracing the same paths they had for thousands of years and would for thousands of years more before wind and time wore the last ruins down to nothing. Occasionally, Lyra would glimpse a snake basking in the light of day, or see the wide wings of some great predatory bird silhouetted up above. If one took the time to observe, these regions were never so dead or empty as they first appeared.
Nevertheless, she felt a sense of relief when she finally neared her destination and buried herself within the Shroud's cold embrace. The crushing heat had left her skin slick with sweat, and by this point she'd have rather faced the thread of dragonfire than spend another hour exposed beneath that harshest of skies.
She approached the mountainous edifice with a cloud of darkness surrounding her in full, seven feet high and seven feet deep and ten feet wide. Not the slightest ray of sunlight made it past the Shroud's surface, and heat soon died within it, leaving Lyra free to take the last steps of her journey with a certain refreshed tranquility. She stood slightly to the left of center within her eldritch aura, spear held in the crook of her right arm while her left hand rested on the hilt of a short dagger at her hip.
If she'd estimated the time as well as she'd hoped, she wouldn't be far behind the other one. The being who would, within the hour, become either her victim or her murderer. Another half-remembered body, or the last face she ever saw.
The man waiting within the pyramid would see the light from the entrance quite suddenly black out, as a smoky cloud the color of emptiness surged forwards into the tomb, rapidly ascending one slope before coming to a sudden halt some ninety feet away from him, rippling and churning like a living thing. The fallen chunks of a mighty pillar between them would obscure his view somewhat, yet the Shroud was large enough that at least some part of it would be visible.
Lyra had come running in, but the Shroud drank up the sound of her every footstep in an instant, absorbing just as easily the faint noise of her breathing, slowing now as she halted in her tracks. Her eyes did not see the man in white, but the light reflecting of his bright clothing struck the Shroud from several angles, letting her glimpse her new enemy. Handsome, lean, dressed as if he were attending a formal function rather than a duel. Armed, of course, and surrounded by buzzing power, but she couldn't help but smile a little at his dandy appearance, so at odds with the nature of their meeting.
A shame, perhaps, that he might never lay eyes on her.
Even if her mind allowed itself to drift just a little, her body already moved, doing what it would need to do to escape this place alive. Her right hand dipped into the pouch at her side, even as her left drew her dagger and slit open her right forearm lengthwise, careful not to cut to the bone. The man in white would likely strike first, but she'd have her reply ready once he did.
As for Mazono, he'd be left to make what he would of the ghostly black mass before him. An electrical current was there, but ever so faint- Lyra's nervous system lay dead and silent within her, not one signal traveling down its branching lengths outside of the rapid activity in her skull. She moved, and thought, but a physiologist would have hesitated to call her 'alive'. The electric man would have relatively little to extrapolate from, when it came to the question of what threat lurked within the lightless borders of the Shroud.
Two unknowns, with but one fate to share between them. This would be a fierce moment indeed.
Hello!
I'm Pollen, hope you're not allergic. I like writing a myriad of characters in all kinds of genres, so I'm pretty much down for anything roleplay-wise.
Come talk with me if you want! I'm friendly.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hello!<br><br>I'm Pollen, hope you're not allergic. I like writing a myriad of characters in all kinds of genres, so I'm pretty much down for anything roleplay-wise.<br><br>Come talk with me if you want! I'm friendly.</div>
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