Emeth

Dreams of the Old World (Post apocalyptic adventure with dream based powers)

Karla

"Excellent! Let us tear this place asunder!" the many-eyed beast responded to Richtor, clenching its clawed fists. "Yyyeah, could we maybe keep the 'sundering' to a minimum, please?" Karla suggested, clearly expecting the creature not to pay her any mind. Ceol'Oggoth paused a moment, pondered—then, all of its eyes rolled back. "I foresee disaster. A great tribulation by lightning," it declared unto the dreamers. "Only our enemies need be struck, little one," Ceol'Oggoth agreed, seemingly trying to assure Karla. "Yeah, I guess that works."

"Excellent!" Ceol'Oggoth repeated, victoriously.

...But, nothing happened.

Yet.

"...Why do I ever get my hopes up?" Karla asked no one in particular. "Patience, little one. You are yet a young mortal, and lack perspective. In the twinkling of an eye, these fools will be but specks of ash, a mere blemish in the radiant halls of time!" it declared confidently, even as a pair of lesser dreamers not unlike the one Richtor had just made a mockery of cautiously approached the big eye monster that had seemed so intimidating at first, but must now have seemed an easy target.

Now, it was Karla who rolled her eyes. "Um. Help? Please?" she halfheartedly pleaded to Richtor. Something strange happened, though. For just a moment, she saw Richtor differently. She didn't see in the conventional sense, but in a sixth one—who he was, and what he was like, generally—and realized that Ceol'Oggoth was right. He was strong, perhaps just reliable enough to help, and if given the right motivation, just reckless enough to try. "Uh. I can't do much, but I'll try. For what it's worth."

Shadow Contract: A Demon-Slaying Action RP

Rika was somewhat torn. With how many people there were in the building, the odds of this one girl being the one she was looking for were extremely low. Her question, in truth, could very well have served as a trap, a clever honeyed ruse meant to draw out the demon within, if she had thought ahead. Yet, the girl lowered her bat, and her own question disarmed her. Rika didn't want the girl to see the blood.

"...What." she said in response to Kaeru's random comment about the girl's tanktop.

Then, she saw it move. Instinctively, her skin crawled as it brought to mind images of horrific creatures bursting out of bodies like in horror movies. "Uh. Please tell me that's your pet hamster or something..." she said warily, her body tense like a spring.

Blackguards!

No, not the Weaves! Not the Weaves!

Blackguards!

Weaves

The too-tall woman looked back down as the man who'd once tried to kill or capture her let out a hollow laugh. Others were laughing, too, and others still were shouting madly. Apparently, Weaves concluded that it was appropriate for her to join in and added to the cacophony of insanity with her own childlike, echoing giggle—a contender for the most cliche horrifying sound one might hear while alone in the woods. She jabbed her oversized needle-staff into the ground, hunching over as she did so—a natural habit she'd built living under the low ceilings of the Maw, but one that made her look a bit like an unwashed forest witch stirring a pot of boiled humans, or other unspeakable substances.

The nature of her magic soon became apparent as her Marrow—appropriately named, as it was pale as a bone and macabre besides—began to glow with a moon-like light as it sucked life itself from the ground, causing grass and flowers to wither and die, and insects to be silent as the grave. "My name, as I told for the tongue of man: 'Weaves-in-Shade.' To whit I weave; life, death, and flesh." After creating a sizeable crater of dead foliage—a veritable crop circle, even—the strange and otherworldly being that called itself "Weaves" lifted her staff to the skies, and out from its sharpened tip poured an absolutely deafening, massive swarm of buzzing, stinging hornets.

The furious pestilence descended upon the force of men unfortunate enough to be named an enemy in her presence. Their advance could not be stopped by sharpened steel, and their persistent and invasive stings cared little for even the most tightly packed links of chainmail or plates of armor. For all it mattered, the wyvern could have breathed fire, and their numbers would still be sufficient to incapacitate its rider. The beast could continue to rampage, but it would do so without human direction—as would the rest of the men, incidentally.

Weaves cracked a wide smile as their captain thrashed about in a useless struggle, the hornets having clearly invaded his helmet at the very least. His tormentor briefly glanced around at her allies, her smile not unlike that of a child seeking approval from her peers. Then, she wandered off into another patch of vibrant flora, seemingly content to continue her assault of profane magic from behind the front lines, watching the leaderless human force split between continuing their advance towards the enemy, and struggling to subdue a very angry reptile as she prepared her next "batch" of horrors. "Do not do to fear friends, fort I've marked you, so. Thou'rt safe, so as amongst the hornets," she said, apparently satisfied with her explanation that the hornets wouldn't attack her allies... probably?

Blackguards!

I've been sick for a few days. Getting back in this with Weaves is next on my list, either today or tomorrow.

Kurai Majokko

---

As Evil Eye fell, so too did Nonsuch, but not very far and in open defiance of the fundamental laws of physics. The two girls, having sent their respective messages, parted ways. Despite neither being convinced of the other's Truth, they were united in just one feeling: they both hoped that Nonsuch wouldn't regret this decision, to let Evil Eye go. However, Evil Eye would depart with the distinct feeling that she had lost. Instead of leaving Nonsuch with lingering questions to ponder, the blast furnace in magical girl form had left the interrogating eye of the Detention Club with her own. What was the utility of lifting up fallen magical girls? To prove that the dark magical girl was a lesser being, and not a final evolution? Was what Nonsuch sought even possible? Could the process even happen in reverse? What did she mean by "these pages?" Were they the pages of history? The girl's biography? What story did she intend to tell, and how might it change if a magical girl like Evil Eye returned to the light? "Heehee~! How interesting! She's just so interesting!"

She squealed with glee as she swerved to avoid the pavement below, swiftly flying back into the tunnel that may have been her grave if not for the intervention of her self-sworn adversary. Her eyes scanning the ground and occasionally checking behind her to ensure she was not followed, she quickly found what she was looking for: the broken body of her partner, Shatterscape, which was still unconscious, left to bleed in its invisible state, barely hanging on only by the grace of being a magical girl. Swooping behind a concrete barricade, she lifted her invisibility, then lifted Shatterscape's body to carry it to nearby paramedics. "Please! Please help my friend!" she cried, hobbling along in a false display of weakness as she carried her. As soon as they looked in her direction, their faces fell. The girl's friend wasn't going to make it, and they knew it—or so they thought, ignorant as they were. "I'm sorry. We can't do anything for your friend," one woman said with a frown. Kiyo's face became hideous with rage. "Treat her. Now," she demanded as she locked eyes with them—and from that moment forward, they did her bidding. For the crew of a single ambulance, triage became an afterthought as they took Shatterscape inside and treated her alone, sedating two other patients. A quick visit to the driver convinced him to drive the magical girls to an unusual place, and with the matter of their destination settled, the two dark magical girls escaped unnoticed from the mountain, hidden amongst the emergency crew. Kiyo watched as the helpless medical staff worked on the body that shouldn't have been possible to save, acting as though seeing it heal before their very eyes even as they set about cleaning and bandaging it were the most mundane thing in the world. Perhaps there was a glimmer of shock visible in the back of their hollowed eyes, or upon their pale faces, but Evil Eye had the power to ensure that they had no consciously retrievable memory of this night. Kiyo smiled, taking Shatterscape's hand and holding it.

"It truly was a beautiful night, Sister. Though we'll be taking the train home, it seems. ...At least it'll be warm."

The Hourglass Order

Xiuyang Solari
The Sage and the Scoundrel

---

---

Xiuyang followed the sagely twin, Emperor Ten-Re as he led her away from the gathering of other students. She was certain that this would be an unpleasant meeting, if not her end. As a Binder, Cold Soup had died on her watch—worse still, she truly got the impression that Mountain Spring was going to quit because of it, what with the way he had left her his gourd and just, walked off into the sunset. She clasped her hands behind her back, willing them to be still. Her voice too would have come out shaken were it not for her ever-present mask. "...That was well handled, Wànsuìyé," Xiuyang offered, to break the desperately unbearable silence.

"Ah, the box? Just a fun little prank my brother came up with; entirely his idea," Ten-Re replied with a smile. Xiuyang smiled too, in spite of herself. She imagined that his brother would say the exact same thing. "The lesson seems to have fallen on deaf ears, for now," she lamented. "But your ears are open, yes?" the Emperor replied as he took a seat, and motioned for her to do the same. "Like beaches to an ocean," came the smooth voice, even as her heart beat madly in her chest. "Excellent! Mountain Spring told us all about you, you see—how you handled the negotiations well under pressure, and came to his aid when it counted, even though you promised no such thing."

Xiuyang blinked. Well, it looked like she had it wrong about Mountain Spring quitting at least, so that was one strike from her record—but had she really handled the negotiations well? Sure, her mask let her project an air of confidence, but ultimately she waffled and lost her footing. Mountain Spring had her firmly beat. To say nothing of Cold Soup... Ten-Re raised a finger. "Tsk! Not a word; I can see the objections on your face. You said your ears were open!" Xiuyang scratched her neck sheepishly with a fingernail. There wasn't much face to look at, but when you were as old as the Emperor, she supposed... "I'm listening..." "Then accept the compliment! You show great promise," he declared victoriously. "Very practical people, the Solaris. Skittish, and quick to disappear in times of personal crisis, but always come through for their allies when it counts—an example of which we've seen today, I wager."

Xiuyang shuffled awkwardly. She wasn't used to receiving praise, let alone from an Emperor. She also wasn't sure how seriously to take him, considering the circumstances. "...I assume you pulled me away for more than just a royal pep talk," she offered politely. "Ach, yes. Very practical people," he repeated, this time with less bluster. "Truth is, you have some bad news coming your way. I'm cutting in line a bit, since I have something to say on the matter—softening the blow, you know?"

"Oh, good. Bad news was in short supply lately," she replied facetiously. Needless to say, between being pressed into the service of sanguinaires, killing her first human, her friends nearly being fucking eaten by dragons, and eldritch space squids... existing, she had a lot on her mind. Her life had been forever changed by the knowledge of the knowers. Her willingness to owe sanguinaires a favor in exchange for a chance to save lives, including those of herself and her friends, didn't surprise her—but her willingness to kill a man in defense of a stranger she'd just met that very same day... perhaps it didn't call her entire system of morality into question, but it did frighten her some. They always did say that, while killing never gets easier—justifying it does, after the first. She wondered how she could just go back to her merchant life after this, and act like none of it ever happened—because what else could she do? Fight the knowers? She felt so... insignificant.

She thought she knew her place. Royals and Nobles moved the world. Merchants moved money.

It would be best if she returned to her place.

She couldn't.

She must.

"Your father plans to remove you from the company payroll."

"...What?"

The reply came before Xiuyang could control the emotions. Even the device on her face couldn't mask her anger.

"No. He—He would never." She wouldn't dare call the Emperor a liar, but surely he must be mistaken.

"'As soon as the draft passes over her, you'll have her place in the company.' Those were his words."

"Who?!" Xiuyang demanded, her eyes wide with fury.

"Your brother-in-law, Eustace."

A good man. Noble, and treated her sister well, from what she'd read.

Her countenance fell. Perhaps if she'd had someone to hate, this could have been easier.

"I... I don't..." she stammered, looking down at the table in front of her, as if to find an answer written in the lines of the wood. She grasped at her temples with her hands, as if to find deeper truth hidden in the locks of her hair, or the depths of her mind. Why? Why?! She gave up everything for this! She didn't have the beauty, charm or social grace of her sisters. She didn't have the social rank or the clout to move the world, nor the strength or courage to stand up and change it. What was she, now? Just a girl with high RAS? Just a number, nothing more—maybe that's all she ever was. Just numbers on a ledger.

"I don't have... anything else." Her hands trembled as she hid her face from Ten-Re.

"What do you want out of life, Xiuyang?" he replied with patient grace.

His words ought to have brought clarity. Such were his intentions, ostensibly.

Xiuyang, however, remained silent—not because she found herself unable to speak, for there was no need for her lips to move. Rather, she simply lacked the conviction to bring voice to her thoughts: to see the world. All of Sipentia, its peoples and cultures: art, music, tradition—the vivid tapestry of color that sentient beings brought to creation. To think that these unfathomably powerful beings could sneeze and it would all be destroyed. It seemed so worthless now—so childish to cleave to these things as though they were her life's purpose.

"I... don't know," she lied, weakly.

For a moment, there was silence.

"...As a father, I suspect he did this to protect you from involvement in the brewing war. Could you be held responsible for the shipment of weapons that may be used against your friends, and think nothing of it?" he asked her meaningfully.

Xiuyang hesitated, only for a moment. "This... is my strength. It couldn't save Cold Soup, but it—it's not worthless," she said, unconvincingly. After all, it was worthless if it couldn't be used. A sudden realization hit her. "No, it—it is. I can't even honor my end of our deal anymore." Ten-Re shook his head. "Fret not. You acted in good faith, and we intend to honor our end of the bargain anyhow." Xiuyang looked at Ten-Re like she couldn't believe her ears. Ten-Re smiled as their eyes met for the first time in a minute. "You've been through a lot these past two days, Xiuyang. It's enough to make any young lady's head spin. Go home—get some rest, process everything. Worry about what 'your end of the bargain' may be later. Offer yourself just one kindness, and let go of your ego." "My ego?" Xiuyang replied, confused and borderline offended. "Do not blame yourself for Cold Soup's loss. There was nothing more you could have done. It wounds one's ego to admit, but it's the truth."

Xiuyang clenched her fist, objections stubbornly forming in her mind in spite of their foolishness.

"If you lack strength, reflect on that," Ten-Jiu interrupted, causing Xiuyang to shiver, startled. How long had he been there? "—and work for us! If you need more power, we will give it! The proof is in your hands. We reward hard work and loyalty, unlike some people," he added with a grin. Xiuyang's eyes drifted to the staff currently tucked in her elbow as she regarded his words. Ten-Re shook his head. "Do not hate your father, Xiuyang. When you live as long as we have, old grudges seem like such small things; but to you, they are poison." "Bah! Screw'im! Anyone with eyes can see your talents being wasted. You wanna spend your whole life doing paperwork? Fuck that!"

Xiuyang smirked. They had a point—but they most certainly had an agenda, as well, though she knew not what.

"Thank you for your wisdom," she said as she rose, intending to excuse herself.

"Our information network is vast. We'll be in touch," Ten-Re said with a wave.

"As always," Xiuyang shot back with a wink, straining herself to appear positive.

"Figured it out, have you?" Ten-Jiu smirked.

"...Yeah," she replied as she turned to leave.

Betrayal.

That was what she felt now, as she walked away from the Twin Emperors. This was his fault—his stupid fucking idea to come to ReTan, and now this. She'd intended to offer only what she needed to in order to be able to escape the sanguinaires, and he'd managed to cock that up thoroughly enough that she now owed them a blank check! She'd wanted to ask Ten-Re if he knew all along that she had nothing of value to offer—if they were toying with her from the start, knowing that she no longer held any real authority in her father's shipping company, taken from her as if he'd already given her up for dead, as if he'd sent her here to die if she didn't know the man any better. She certainly thought she knew her father—no, she did—but he'd changed.

And now... of what use was she, to anyone?

She wasn't strong like Ashon or Jocasta.

She'd lost to Maura, in the end.

She couldn't outsmart Mountain Spring, who'd beaten her at her own game.

She couldn't even begin to touch the schemes of the Twin Emperors, who seemed to see and know everything.

If they could, they'd surely see what she saw: just a binder with high RAS.

One who refused to hurt anyone, or commit to anything meaningful.

Behind a mask, behind a tree, beyond the Emperors' sight—Xiuyang grit her teeth and wept bitterly.

Blackguards!

Ah are the brackets supposed to imply a change in tongue in that case?

@Kassarock

Ye, the crescent moon brackets and italics are what I decided to go with for that. Apologies to anyone else who might've missed that.

Blackguards!

@Kassarock I could have been more clear about this, my apologies. Weaves only mentions the Pyre by name in her Moonwalker language, though she does vaguely allude to it in her gibberish attempts at speaking the King's English. Up to you what to do with that, though it's worth noting that Weaves doesn't know Brandon's backstory or anything. Whether or not she's referring to the same "Pyre" is also left ambiguous~

Dreams of the Old World (Post apocalyptic adventure with dream based powers)

Karla

Karla always thought of herself as having pretty decent luck, all things considered. With a dream like hers, there really shouldn't be any place for her in the world, but she'd managed to carve one out for herself. Tagging along with various dreamer groups, hoping that she would get lucky and at least be stuck with a half-decent summon, then dipping before she could get a bad one and spoil her image as a strong dreamer had worked out better for her than it should have, considering the odds. Occasionally she got burned, but never enough times for the truth to be anything more than a short-lived rumor that she could just dodge by living in the woods on her own for a while. Sometimes she'd get a summon that couldn't really fight, but was useful for other applications, and she could find work with shard hunters.

Today, she'd summoned an absolutely massive archangel. Somehow, she'd managed to avoid being crushed to death by it. It didn't obey her at all, but she'd been so high up in the air on its shoulder that nobody could tell. The bandits her group was hunting got squished by it (along with most of the cargo they stole) but had left quite an impression to say the least. Her next summon had been a high-level fire devil which also didn't listen to her at all. That one had the nerve to stand around and do nothing at least once, and despite being very strong, did almost nothing for her. Her final summon of the day had been a very average light elemental, which only obeyed her about half of the time, which was also very average. Such was the nature of the luck of the draw. As Karla would say, she always had pretty rotten luck.

Sitting here, in this place, was the proof. Summoning two high-tier monsters hadn't been her fault or mistake, but it did draw the wrong kind of attention. Her average summon had been overpowered by the group of ruffians easily, and before she could summon a stronger one she'd found herself in a cage, consciousness drifting like a stick on the river. Now, she didn't even have a disobedient animal companion to lay into while she waited for whatever horrible thing was about to happen to her. Being forced into gladiatorial combat was certainly among one of the very last things on that list, though. Looking around at the other cages around her, there was no way for her to tell if any of these people were strong or not, but given what the warlord Morski had said, they simply had to be. As soon as the cage opened, she took off running. There was no time to prepare, no time to think. All she wanted in that moment was to be away from here, away from these people.

...The sky above the arena cracked open. An immense mental pressure fell upon Karla, bringing her to her knees as a giant eyeball in the sky gazed down at Morski's spectacle, analyzing. Judging. Another absolute monster was coming. A ray of red light shot down from the eye and enveloped Karla, and in the very next moment, she was being embraced by what could only be described as a thousand-eyed demon.

Hider

Ceol'Oggoth had descended, to bear witness to this charade.

"Prophetess! Be not afraid, but honored, for I have come to lend you my wisdom," the being declared unto a visibly distressed Karla—whose appearance had completely changed against her will, placed into the garb of a prophetess, apparently. "That's... great," she replied with an air of uncanny dissociation from her current predicament. "Can you put me down? Somewhere far away from here?" she asked politely, somehow looking both anxious and fed up with this creature already. It gazed around at the other dreamers, for it could not do much else—and did not move, for there was no need, covered in eyes as it was. "You there!" it called out to Richtor suddenly, craning its neck to face him with the one eye that was not for seeing, but knowing. "You shall be our worthy ally in this, the destruction of this charade," it declared unto Richtor. Though it had no face, it conjured to Richtor's mind the idea that it was inwardly grinning like the devil, eager to bring destruction to Morski's throne. Karla, meanwhile, looked like she'd already accepted that she had no say in this plan of action.