Krayzikk

Secundi Lux

【Ｌ　Ａ　Ｓ　Ｔ　Ｇ　Ａ　Ｍ　Ｅ　Ｏ　Ｖ　Ｅ　Ｒ】

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Safely ensconced within the observation tower Rivka beheld the debut of her fellow stars to be, observing with a widening smile as they tested their new abilities. She felt their elation as if it was her own, an echo of her own revelry, and they did well. Crystal went next, and there was no trace of the anxiety she had felt so badly only a few days prior. No tremble, no fear, only a confidence to match the surety of entropy itself. She was poised, she was controlled, and against her the Void had not the chance of the ice they had become in Hell. If Crystal was grace, then Selma was passion. The towering girl may not have had the clear formal training of her precursor but she more than made up for it with an energy and a vigor that could not be matched. She was the force of tectonic plates, primordial forces deep within the Earth that had erupted in the form of a Germanic farm girl. She laughed when she shouted, and within her she felt a glimmer of pity for even the Void that had suffered so at the point of her elbow.

But Chie…

At last her lips curled downwards into a frown, the building crescendo of her mood… Lost. A symphony should have a powerful finale. Not loud, necessarily, but fitting for the piece and this simply wasn’t. It wasn’t her fear. The girl had been afraid before she ever set foot in the testing area but she had faced it and become what she could be, if without the joy the others had felt. Facing such terror was difficult and for that she had Rivka’s respect. Nor was it for her technique, for there was nothing wrong with being an amateur. She had none of the experience that she possessed, nor that of Crystal or Selma. To be an amateur was a necessary beginning. In this, as in all things.

And yet she felt dissatisfied. This was their test. The first of many, but the final proof of their worthiness to be an Ars Magi. These foes were barely more powerful than what they had collectively faced down only days before, creatures they had humbled with soul and will when they were but mortal. Why did she not fight? With the merest application of her magic, with only what she had demonstrated during their flight from the station, she could end this. Faster than her peers could have. With the force at her fingertips now it should have been easy. And then the last strike; she had opened her mouth to warn her, but she was too slow. Not that it would have mattered from so far away, or behind the observation tower windows. There was nothing Rivka could do, the operator was about to call for a med-

The room shattered in sound and fury for the second time in a week, and Rivka again became closely acquainted with an ugly, dingy concrete floor. At least this attack was quieter; her ears rang, but not nearly as bad as badly as before. What a strange thing to say. But it was true, so whatever struck them must have been different from in the subway. Such thoughts were fleeting. More important than the difference was the simple commonality; they were under attack.

The artist pushed herself to her hands and knees, from there to a proper stance, and as she did she reached once more for her power. It was clearer this time. The prismatic melody at her center, sublimely energetic, did not have to extend to her a hand. The connection had been made, her core awakened, and it would never fall silent until the last note left her lungs. The purple light exploded from her center and wreathed her form in blinding intensity, replacing mere cloth with her Parma as it went and infusing her with that raw power once again. When it cleared, the barest fraction of a second later, Rivka was ready to face Hell itself.

And Hell had come, this time in smoother, sleeker guise. Did it mean to beguile her? Surely Hell didn’t think her that simple. It was thirty meters away to her eye, give or take. Her shortest range pistol competitions were at twenty five meters, and her rifle targets a good bit farther than that. It was, suffice to say, not a difficult shot. More concerning was the attack that it had begun to charge again already. She was good, but she wasn’t about to take her chances trying to shoot down an object traveling at attack speed. Nor was she going to be any good at playing defense; any fire hot enough to interdict the strike would only serve to cook everyone in the confined space. No, she was not here to play goalie. She was here to dance with intricate precision against this foe, to engage and destroy with the utmost grace and discrimination. But how to get out of the way? It would take too long to climb down and find a new perch, especially when so many lovely elevated firing positions surrounded her.

Well, there was no reason she had to use the ground, was there? The next building was just over there. Rivka bit her lip, thinking for only the briefest second. If she considered it she might decide against it and where was the fun in that? She backed up a scant few paces and ran forward, pushing off of the ground, placing her next step on Selma’s back as the girl began to rise, and pushed off again with all of the strength in her invigorated muscles.

”An encore already? If you insist~!”

Her parabola was too sharp, she knew that already. She would drop shy of the rooftop she targeted, and while she would probably survive she doubted it would be uninjured. Their strength had already been reduced to a scant sixty percent of what it should have been, how would they ever cope without her? Who else would make up that extra forty percent but Rivka Sokolov? No, no, that wouldn’t do. But she already had an idea, a marvelous idea. Focusing that magic she had played with before, she funneled the flame down. Rockets had climbed to the heavens on such pillars long ago, so what was the difference? Even a gun worked on the same principle, both were merely combustion forced through a focusing cylinder. It wasn’t designed for the purpose but her skirt was much the same shape. The Baeterraen rode that explosion through the air, laughing gleefully at the top of her lungs all the way. True flight was beyond her, for now, but a raw impetus of force? That was easy.

She landed hard and rolled with a dexterity she would never have expected to recover, popping again to her firing position on a single knee and sighted on her target. The basketball sized orb had begun to fly just after she jumped, and she was glad she didn’t try to shoot it down. But the audacious bitch that tried to ruin her debut? She was a simpler target.

Rivka sang out happily and squeezed the trigger twice in quick succession, sending two piercing shots towards its center mass before breaking the rifle to release and refuel.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

@Krayzikk@HereComesTheSnow Everything okay?

@Raineh Daze

Daylight savings time should be illegal.

Sorry, I thought I remembered to sound off in here a few days ago. We decided to move the rest of what we wanted to do to the next time there's a downtime to put it in so we don't keep holding everybody up.

Advance on Distant Proxima (Mecha RPG)

@Krayzikk, How we looking?

@FlappyTheSpybot

Alright on my end. I've been trying to give a few specific people time to post around midterms, but I'm working up a progression post without their input if things take much longer.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

@FlappyTheSpybot@HereComesTheSnow@Krayzikk@PaulHaynek We'll be moving along to a new arc in a day or two, so if there's anything you want to wrap up quickly...?

@Raineh Daze

Would it be possible to maybe have until Sunday? Snow and I have something we'd like to wrap up. I just finished midterms, and he works most days but by Sunday I think we could write it out ourselves and wrap it in a post.

Falling Skies: Reboot (Mecha, Space Opera)

A little late finding this, but I might work up a sheet to throw my hat in the ring if that's still alright. Can never get enough mech games.

Secundi Lux

OST

---

It was cruel to make her go first. To be the meterstick by which everyone else would be measured, to set the bar for the whole morning. It was an awful thing to go first. To set the curve.

How would anyone else ever measure up?

The headache was bothersome, though. The fog had only receded from Rivka’s brain that morning and in its absence her strength had begun to return. But now it redoubled, pressing in on the consciousness within her skull and prickling it with millions of tiny jolts. The pressure mounted, and mounted until she felt as though her skull might collapse. Then they came. Three figures, coalescing from nothing. Growing from the dark shadow of the world and imbued with malice and the thirst for destruction. They advanced, step by unnatural step, and her will flagged. She was again in that subway station, again the darkness was closing in, and again she faced opponents that she did not have the strength to match.

But maybe this time she did.

Such a small thread to grab, so distant her fingers might not even reach. It tickled her mind, hanging just beyond her mind’s eye. But it was there. She knew where, and the truth was she hated it. The ugly, dull lump of ill-fortune that weighed like an anchor at her core. There had been no sense of her ascension, no feeling of the power within her now that the anesthesia faded. It had been an object of utter contempt for two days, a knife in her back every time she beheld it. The Russian even took to keeping it covered, even when she slept, as though that might overcome its curse. It was bad luck. It was an affront to be given such a lifeless omen, a dark blasphemy that to her eye could have been nothing more than a lump of polished coal. The damned thing didn’t even work, and she had tried. No focus, no effort, no energy would prompt even a flicker of life in its depths.

Until this moment she thought for sure the operation had failed. Not out loud, but in the privacy of her deepest, darkest thoughts in the still of the night she had doubted. Not that she could pass this trial; she would have passed it even if it killed her, whether she could summon a single iota of magic or not. But that somehow they might have been wrong. That she would go home bearing nothing but an ill omen that she would never be free of. That she would face her family and tell them that she couldn’t do it, look her little cousins in the eye and tell them that she wouldn’t be a hero after all.

But here in this dead place, this void of life and cheer, with dead leaves crunching under her shoes she felt it. It extended a hand to her, offered her power if only she would take it and sang out with an angel’s voice to dispel the pain from her mind. A ringing, purifying melody that she could never pen if she labored a thousand days and a thousand nights.

And the prism within her exploded into light.

Rivka splayed her arms to the side, fingers outstretched, threw back her head and laughed. Power coursed through her veins, a perfectly triumphant symphony of sheer anticipation full of promise and potential. It spiraled to a tune that only she could hear, and in its face no monster could hold sway. It began at her core, now awakened to its true nature, and spread across her and within her. Her clothes gave way to her Parma, the attire that would be her armor. Strength filled her muscles, every sinew flashing with vigor and vitality, and a weight somehow familiar settled in her hand. Glasses settled on her face, tinting the world before her, and at last she felt complete.

Her chin dropped, eyes alighting on the interlopers that dared to sully her moment. She wasn’t done. A world had opened before her, and she would take her time to explore it like a new instrument. Another medium for her art. She would not be rushed.

The narrow street in front of her was engulfed in flames, a wall stretched from sidewalk to sidewalk. Whitehot, far too bright to be beheld by the naked eye for long. But she looked upon it without pain. The light glittered off her opalescent glasses, and sparked anew the blazing rainbow within the dark stone at her middle. Opal had once been believed to hold all the virtues of the gemstones whose hues filled its depths, and she understood for the first time. It had not been lifeless, only dormant. Waiting for the right moment to wake and fill her with invincible might. Within her she carried untold potential, and here, today, she would realize the merest fraction.

Her Gladius flipped around her fingers with greater dexterity than she could ever have dreamed, and its form brought a smile to her face. Its dark dyed surface drank in the light and only made its gleaming inlay shine all the brighter. Simple sights in perfect alignment and a gleaming bayonet, and a smooth, satisfying top break. It did not take rounds, not as such. But she understood. She was the gunner and the ammunition both. The wall died down with her arms still outstretched, gleaming eyes staring at the monsters that had scared her so much before.

“Listen to my song, gentlemen~?”

Her rifle snapped to position, sights aligned with her eye, and a thin lance of scarlet issued forth and speared the first Void where its heart should have been. It pierced and continued forth until it dissipated, its target already slain. She didn’t want it to be so simple. The faster she finished the better, yes, but she wanted to experiment. If only there were more enemies to face.

The rifle split just before the barrel, snapping open as though ejecting a casing but only steam wafted out. Rivka snapped it shut again and sighted as the second void set foot on the sooty line she had drawn on the asphalt, and this time she pulled the trigger twice. Aiming was effortless. She didn’t even think about compensating for the recoil; she just did it. The weapon had been made for her, from her, and it obeyed her perfectly. Both shots struck the monsters chest, rocking it back, and its body simply exploded. Vaporized, returned to the ether from whence it had come.

One remained. She could take it out as easily as the others, but…

Rivka bit her lip and a grin split her face from ear to ear. She slung her rifle over her shoulder, freeing her hands, and waited. She felt so strong, she had to see what she could do. Push her limits just a little. It charged at her without regard for the passing of its comrades and Rivka felt the last of her fear melt away. It crossed the line, building speed, and she gathered in her hand the hottest flame that she could manage. A ball of energy so hot and so bright that even through her glasses it burned as though she held a miniature sun. Hands flew for her throat, seeking to tear and destroy, and the Baetaerran stepped to the side; the first time her feet had left the ground since the Void appeared.

Its clumsy attack passed through the space she had occupied mere moments before, and she jammed a star on the verge of nova into its chest, blazing through its inhumanly thin body like tissue paper until it dissipated and left her standing at the heart of the dying light.

The artist dusted her hands, and took a deep bow before her unseen audience.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

if any one can find one it's gerard

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

@HereComesTheSnow

"The dialect is somewhat familiar to me. Nothing I would call myself fluent in, but I remember how some of the names out of the northwest were rendered in the more common tongue. I guessed." Nicomede met the younger man's evaluating gaze with a frank, wry smile. Something was flickering at the back of his mind and he could guess what it was, not that he intended to explain. There was no reason that he couldn't. To conceal it was to his the depths of his failure, so within the Durant domain it had been trumpeted far and wide. If Gerard had passed that way he would have heard. But in its own way that made failing to acknowledge it its own rebellion; a small, symbolic defiance of his fate. "They used to come to the market."

"But I think it's most important to think in the face of the storm. Thinking gets a bad rap." The younger knight's form wasn't bad, but it certainly had its rough edges. Nothing lacking in diligence, nothing resulting from sloppy work, but imperfect as though learned a step removed. Taught by someone who had himself once seen someone else taught. Flaws had crept in through the repetition, and he compensated for them by being faster, stronger, and more violent than the other guy. "You always have time to think, even if it isn't a lot of time. If you don't think at all you can find yourself in a situation with no way out. Anything beyond a personal fight will always need a touch of strategy."

"Can I show you something?"

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

@HereComesTheSnow

"Sir Sagramore," Nicomede greeted, pivoting off of a final strike to regard the other knight head on. With the sequence complete he came to a sort of semi formal stop, not a salute nor a ready stance but not the lax stance of a layabout either. His spada pointed towards the ground, held loosely, but he did not plant its tip in the ground and rest his hands upon it as some might. It seemed almost a midpoint, a place from which to relax completely or shift seamlessly back to a guard. "Or do you prefer Segremors? O haven't had the chance to ask you."

"I'm not having much luck, so someone may as well pick it." His welcoming smile faded, but clearly not because of anything that other knight had done. His eyes were distant for a moment before they focused again on the present, and he watched as Gerard practiced several strokes. The longsword wasn't his preference, but he was familiar with the school and he watched the practiced motions with an eye toward critique. "An enemy that was about to overwhelm me physically?"

He considered for a moment, grinding the dirt beneath the toe of his boot thoughtfully.

"That would depend, I suppose. If he was stronger than me I would aim to be faster. If he was faster I would aim to be smoother. But that only counts for mortal men and mortal women, where differences in style can be overcome through precision. Against a foe that is stronger and faster than me I would augment my sword with magic, but even that often isn't enough. Without the holy water one of our colleagues brought along I'm not sure I could have beaten the vampire. Where strength isn't enough, and speed isn't enough, and skill isn't enough, the only thing you can do is try to be smart."

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Fantasy Knight RP

Nicomede didn’t sleep well. Not from a crisis of conscience but more than misdeeds could disquiet the soul. Returning to high society, even briefly, had been novel. But it dredged up some unpleasant memories too. More, after Damon Cal.

Cleaning himself up had brought some quiet. Removing and cleaning his armor, what of it remained. Wiping away the blood, the grime, and the dirt. Cleansing it helped him cleanse himself, washing away the turmoil and the violence. Then his espada. Wiped, honed, and returned to its sheath. Then he cleaned himself, but still the disquiet remained. His banishment was an old wound, stanched if not well healed. But the fight with Damon Cal was galling. The vampire was stronger, faster, and his magic was enough to overpower the force that Nicomede could put into his own. Not surprising, perhaps, but… He needed to be stronger.

By the time he was done, spent a few fitful hours in bed, he accepted that no real rest would be forthcoming. He rose again before the sun and donned simple, functional clothes and made his way to the kitchen where he brewed a cup of tea. From the pot to the cup with only magic, a reminder to keep his skills sharp. And then he retired to the courtyard to practice. Magic, first, drilling his control with a bucket of water. Shapes, speed, movements in line with simple physical exercise.

Then it was time for the sword, once the sun began to rise. Simple movements first, escalating to footwork, sequences, and lengthier drills. He barely noticed that sunrise had come and gone.