ERode

Symphony of Espers

In general it'd also work to absolutely cuck the damage negation effects of Reflect. But yeah, it's whatever. Good to gooooo.

To Become a Knight! ~ A Chivalric (Mis)Adventure

So it was, and so it will be.

The herald announced the four Knight-Commanders’ presence, as if none in the crowd had registered their emergence. Of the South, Ser Rubeus Valentin, as fiery as flame and as passionate as war. For all that his temper had cost him, he was undeniably decorated, thrumming with an energy that infected those who he called forth. The pale-skinned youth recognized those names, recalled those duels. Shows of strength and courage, displays of domineering arrogance and pride. The Lions had hunted well, and yet…

Of the West, Prince Manegold Aelious Grayle, singularly exceptional now that he had finally found a way to wear his beard well. The esteemed Lady Rhymisain no doubt had a hand in his current appearance; if his brother had his way, he’d be sporting the unruly mane of his youth instead. Rossweine smiled, but neither prince made eye contact. It went without saying that they would not be united within this house. Rather, the heirs to recognizable swords art schools were called up, those who would take best to Manegold’s philosophies, those who already held enough respect for the Art of the Zeroth Tempo to lay their lives on the line to master it. The Stag’s horns would grow greater, and yet…

Of the North, Caius Ward, a veteran hailing from darker times, the histories written of him doing little to prove or disprove the legends that enticed. There was much to be said about how old men deserved fear and respect in a profession dominated by the youthful, but beyond even that, the wizened Knight-Commander remained in his position through wiles and brilliance, through experience and accomplishments that allowed him to bend the ear of the Lord Marshall and the Knight King. And those he called forth had similar aptitude for a cerebral brilliance. Those who had displayed feats of uncommon magic, those who had outthought rather than outfought their betters, those with the spark of ingenuity shining in their lives or in their duel, who had a bright future in the universities yet sought to make that brilliance shine upon the tip of a blade instead. Those individuals flocked. The Griffin flew ever higher, and yet…

The Absolute that was the Marquis’s firstborn daughter. The exile from Alexandria who bore Grayle’s Gift. Two Aura users of reputable households. All left behind. All, undoubtedly, to be brought into the fold of Gilbert Tervellan, of the Eastern House. Of the Black Wolves. Of the lowborn noble who made himself a Knight-Commander’s foundation through politics and sophistry.

So that was what it was.

After squads made out of he detritus left behind in the duels, the thirteenth was called, and one by one, exceptional names arose. His own went without saying, for his dearest brother’s intentions were remarkably transparent, and those who served directly beneath him were the dual Aura users, individuals marked by an infamy that did not match their blessed stars. Two migrants from Valefor were named next, of juxtaposed capabilities judging by their own performances upon the sandy pits. And of course, they had chosen to name the ladies immediately after, with a speed that did not befit the weight of their inheritance. A Julian Baker was the last to be called, and the rest in the crowd had nothing more to do but to shuffle away. There would be next year, perhaps. One would be pressed to impress, after all, in a generation so filled with stars.

Tervellan spoke, but Rossweine’s gaze turned towards those in his squad. He had watched the duels, had watched their fights. Up close, it was impossible to see it all, but at a distance, the entirety of the four-squared arena had been granted to him. Easy then, to memorize. Easy then, to recall. And though he didn’t find it to be anything particularly necessary, harmonious relationships made for a tranquil daily life. The bedrock for it would have to be set now, then. A breath. A tilting of his chin. The sunlight reflected in his eyes, setting a dazzling sheen to turquoise eyes. Instilling confidence now, drawing from the mindscape of a mirror-still ocean. Just an introduction, just a few comments. He will condescend as necessary for one of his mixed birth.

“Signar Wayland,” the princeling spoke, approaching with an even stride. “Though it is a shame that your instrument did not allow you to overcome the Porterchelles’ scion, it was a splendid display, nonetheless. That such talent was recognized gladdens my heart, and it would be a pleasure to hear of how such creations are craft at a more appropriate time.” Statements meant to draw attention, yet not meant to encourage conversation. “And Julian Baker,” Rossweine continued, favouring the dimunitive swordsman with a small smile, “Your ingenuity and ferocity no doubt caught the eye of our esteemed Knight-Commander, who is rumored to possess that same vigor for ascension. May our training together improve such impassioned qualities and...perhaps, grant you a blade sharper than a fistful of sand.” It was easier enough to confirm up close. They were fundamentally good people. A good base to graft a severed branch.

He found the one he was looking for in but a moment. Nathaniel and Kai possessed silhouettes too distinct to be mistaken for anyone else. Liese and Dot were working well in creating an alliance of the most blessed individuals amongst all the cadets. Process of elimination occurred in an instant, and with a voice that was soft yet travelled well, Rossweine beckoned his target over.

“Zenshin Ferros, if you would?”

Hooded cloak or not, the last member of the squad, and the least illustrious at that, was still one that the Black Wolf’s Knight-Commander sought to include in this squad of exceptionals. Perhaps it was just luck, or perhaps there was something more to him, but regardless, Rossweine didn’t need his mood to be affected by the dread and depression of another. So he clasped his hand upon the dark-skinned youth’s shoulder. A firm grip to affirm both their substance, and a firm gaze to settle his nerves. Practiced as always, for what royal could not inspire?

“You have stood against a superior foe in pursuit of your dream, and you have returned here after, despite the humiliation and scorn of those fellows, in pursuit of that same dream. That takes courage that those others, secured by lineage and tuition, do not possess. So stand taller, knowing that a Knight’s aptitude is found in an unbreakable will, rather than the inconstant nature of their flesh and the mutable quality of their skills.”

No smile for this occasion. Rather, an edict that rolled together into encouragement.

“Your foe, on that occasion, was Edwin Giraud, now assigned to the Crimson Lions. Hone yourself. When the tournament comes, I trust that you will prove his evaluation of your merit false.”

And with the Lothwren prodigy as a squadmate, that would happen without a doubt, if only Zenshin could stomach it. If not?

Well, Rossweine’s words were only worth the weight of the air used to vocalize them.

Though that brought up the other issue. He'd have to speak to Nathaniel soon too, before the esteemed Lothwren prodigy sought to use a duel for honor as an excuse to avenge himself...but of course, one ought to have expected Nathaniel to approach with immediacy. With the swordsman's approach, Rossweine released his grip and turned his attention upon the well-spoken youth. It was stifling, of course, but nothing more or less than what he had experienced at his siblings' social functions, and in the mirror-calm of the princeling's gaze, there was nothing to hint at ulterior motivations behind the words that flowed so easily out of Nathaniel.

Four, perhaps, who could be considered fundamentally good and reasonable. Though this one's face colored for a brief moment, not through embarrassment, but through shame. One didn't need any particularly grand insight to tell why, especially when the object of his shame was a mere two steps away.

"At ease, Nathaniel," Rossweine said, reflecting some of the warmth that exuded from his demeanor. "I will not demand this of you, but within the territory of the Knights, you may speak of me as merely your squad captain. As the second seat of the thirteenth squad, however, I hope you will be able to exceed the expectations I have of you, and that you will not hold a grudge towards Julian for teaching you a lesson that did not end in your death. Though we may all aspire to be Knights and to uphold our oaths, Grayle's enemies have no such aspirations."

This was perhaps getting a bit heavy. He didn't usually talk for so long. Was he really going to do this for everyone else, without even a drop of wine in sight?

"But you are correct. We ought to settle in the barracks and shake off the weight of ceremony. Could I trouble you, then, with inviting Liese and Dot to join us?"

Symphony of Espers

Hm, Broken, think it’s necessary to clarify it as “Arcane Defense increased”? Or do you think it could be set off with any sorta increase?

Epic of Beginnings - Dawns Cradle

Atzi felt the heat before she felt the touch, the warmth that exuded from the demon’s body so out-of-place in the frigid chill of Azral Suralng’s wake that it couldn’t have been anyone but Vamessa. Her presence had been important to Dawn’s survival, and her gift with flames had saw households through cold nights once the firewood ran out. For all the disdain that came with the demon’s origins, Atzi herself held no great grudge against her.

And honestly, it wasn’t as if Dawn was a sanctuary of prudes to begin with. So long as Vammy figured the time and place for her groping, she’d fit in just fine. Akala, after all, didn’t have any bad blood with her, and that priestess was the holiest individual present.
“That’s good,” she responded with a firm nod in her direction. “Thanks.”

Akando’s concern was also appreciated, though with a boy and a childhood friend at that, Atzi couldn’t help but put up a stronger front. Forcing a grin, she wrapped her hand around the back of his head and pulled him in, bumping foreheads. “Not like you could, anyhow. Last time we wrestled, you couldn’t toss me even when I stood straight up, remember?” Her teeth flashed. Happier days, warmer days. She released him, then smacked him on the back with a vigor that wasn’t completely fake. “Show that elf up, Akando.”

And with Achel looking like she was finally going to take a break, Atzi decided to get to work too now. For all the emotional labour, her body remained thrumming with energy, and she struck her bicep with the palm of her opposing hand. It was a meaty thwack that carried well throughout the echoing chambers of the church. “A moment then!”

Without anything else holding her back, Atzi ran off, her heart speeding up as her lungs pumped cold air through her burning blood. Crusted snow scattered as her mocassins smashed against the ground, and within moments, she reached Bolcha’s workshop and home. Though they were ostensibly family, a desire for independence had come with a desire for privacy, and Atzi had built her own little hut a couple meters away from the craftsman’s abode, where she could entertain her personal guests without bothering her foster family, as well as where she could experiment with her craft without disturbance.

This time, however, she was here only because she had a habit of keeping a warm oven, and to pick up her equipment. Pushing open the slab of wood that served as the door to her mudbrick hut, Atzi pulled an extra cloak that laid in a heap, rescued a loaf of bread from her stove, empty out her waterskin and replaced the contents with some wine, and finally strapped her wooden club to the loop in her belt. Maira’s own home wasn’t even a day’s walk away; if she kept a good pace, she should reach it expediently. Wouldn’t even take half a day if she tried. All she had to do was stay in motion.

Atzi stared at the embers and the ashes, breathed in the oils and fats, the acrid but tantalizing stench of scrambled brains and unscented soap. Her bed had been lonely for too long. She would invite Maira over tonight.

Right. That's a certainty.

Because she’s still alive.

…

Atzi returned, the sweat beading over her body already wicked away by the breath of winter. She placed the round loaf of bread, kept warm during her return by being wrapped up in a cloth and held beneath her armpit, firmly into the Chiralta gravekeeper’s hands, then swivelled about to locate Vamessa again. It looked as if the demon was nursing a bump on her head, but if it was just a bump, then it was fundamentally nothing.

“Let’s go. Can you run?”

If she couldn’t, that was no problem either. Atzi was just going to carry her there.

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

With the main threats slain and the remaining monstrosities turned to nothing more than fertilizer, the mission concluded in a rather uneventful manner. The Chi-Mechframes performed more or less as expected in the end, even with the extra wrenches tossed in their way. He had managed to foist the glory of the kill upon Faye, the rest managed to get their little commendations in, and the soldiers could live to fight another day. Job success, in the end.

Well, now, his other job began.

A cold shower cleared up what sweat had built up, and a half hour of stretching afterwards had insured that his muscles would be fine come morning. Though the Horizon wasn’t so luxurious as to afford something like a swimming pool inside it, the gym was a place to visit after everything got wrapped up. Dressed now in sweatpants and whatever t-shirt he first saw when he opened up his closet, Xuan-Yu slipped into the mess hall just in time for Teodora to shatter his eardrums with her screams. He turned briefly to Norika, who looked even more reluctant than he did about entering, before flashing a grin.

“C’mon kiddo,” he said, tapping his foot against the back of her knee. “If you’re not quick about it, they’ll snatch you up n gobble you whole.”

And with that, he stepped into the mess hall as well, taking all of ten seconds to cross past the infusion of estrogen that was a trio of girls giving themselves diabetes, before slipping past the doors and into the kitchen.

…

Another minute later, and Xuan-Yu walked back out, balancing four 16-packs of beers on his shoulders. The boxes dug into his flesh and his hands already felt like they were freezing over from the cold, but work was work and it wasn’t as if any of the others were budding alcoholics. Probably. Pilots that had drinking problems were a big problem, in some part of the world at least. As he made to make a swift exit once more, his eyes caught the mountain of snacks that Hoshiko now had before her, and, well, what could be said?

“Keep up the good work, punchgirl. You’ll be a rollin’ boulder in no time.” His head tilted, a brief contemplation. “Save the sweets for morning though, unless you're interested in night watch.”

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 14

_{@BrokenPromise}

There was probably a pessimistic part of Klava’s mind that figured that they’d all be dead regardless. Blasted to bits when the Fritz decides that she could just get a construction crew to clean up the debris after all, and call in an airstrike from the good ol’ US Air Force instead. Even if Billy could survive it, he wouldn’t have his angels left over to watch his ass from the Fritz’s magical bullshit. And then it’d be all extra over.

Even a couple of snipers positioned to start blasting through the windows would do it. One didn’t need an instrument to fuck an Esper up if their gun was of sufficient caliber. Klava had positioned herself close to Billy for that express purpose, imagining all the batshit things that self-righteousness government spooks could do to secure some semblance of victory after their squad had a hilarious fuck up. But the worst cases never manifested, and it was only when they dropped down into the wine cellar, moments away from being able to escape the Bastion, that Klava realized that one of them was missing.

The only one who she didn’t know, really. So personally, no big loss.

Billy took the kids. Tetrad took off. Klava remained there with Kristina for a moment longer, then let out a long, deflating groan. Fuck that wasn’t smart of her. Too caught up in the moment once again, too focused on being herself rather than being fucking alive. Oh, long term consequences, what were those? God, imagine if she had just shanked that butler a week or two back, then GEMINI could just be like “lol mission accomplished, we’ll let y’all go this time” instead. Fucking bullshit, for real. Such incredible cringe. Just totally built different, wasn’t she? And a dick? Seriously? Had the whole medieval weaponry and architecture theme going, and she just went and bungled it for an adolescent joke? What was she, 15? Yeah, she was definitely going to sleep on it. No regrets, of course, because GEMINI are still a buncha rat bastards, but there were a dozen ways she could’ve approached this.

“Trixy, huh,” Klava said. It looked like it fit more. Maybe. She rubbed the palm of her left hand against her eyes, then made her way down to Bastion as well. “So, what was that thing about eating babies that those GEMs were saying?”

Symphony of Espers

Accepted, as per our PM discussions. Replace Ashley's CS in the Character Tab with her, and you're good to go!

Symphony of Espers

Yeah, I basically already ok’d it anyways so it’s whateverrrrr.

Symphony of Espers

@BrokenPromise So it does the total of an E rank damage note over the course of two rounds? Or it does an E rank damage note every round, for two rounds?

To Become a Knight! ~ A Chivalric (Mis)Adventure

Manegold Aelious Grayle

Ser Manegold Grayle of the Eclipsing Strike. Of the Zeroth Tempo. Of the Golden Stags.

A Knight-Commander in his early thirties, Manegold's rise to prominence was seen as the miracle of his own generation, a combination of his skillful preservation of his Aura as well as his political acumen. He would be the first to admit, after all, that there are others in the Western House who are more powerful than him, more physically capable. He is no breaker of hordes, no defender of gates, and for that, there are those who detract from his accomplishments. But his sharp wit has propelled him to the upper echelons of command, and his martial philosophies have propagated into his entire House for being an Aura-based martial art that one could accomplish without Aura. The paradox confounds, contradicts.

And yet none could deny that an Aura Master of the Western House is worth more than an Aura Master of any other House. And if it came down to one on one duels, Manegold himself stands unmatched in the seven seconds that most of his duels last for.

After all, his namesake, the Eclipsing Strike, refers to a riposte that occurs at the same instant as his parry, in the very moment his opponent has committed too much to an attack to convert it into a feint. A split second manifestation of Aura. A golden flash, and then, it's over.

He is one of the leaders of the moderate faction in Grayle, believing that all is inevitably lost if Fendel doesn't even need to appear in order for humanity to destroy themselves. He, like many nobles, possesses an aristocratic veneer that serves only to hide cold calculations, but he still has a soft side that he reserves for his family. Though his marriage with Marquis Azurea Rhymisain, a well-esteemed woman who runs the Rhymisain family's central business of textile exports, was arranged, the two reportedly have a loving relationship and are expecting their first child within five months. In what leisure time he has, Manegold enjoys watching opera with his wife and traversing ridgelines in his lonesome.

He grows a beard to appear more mature and worldly, but if that's removed, he looks more like a man in the springtime of his youth.

There was no omen at his birth.