@Lewascan2 It's a weird deal. I mean yea, you want to let your fellow players know that you acknowledge their existence, but if someone does something less fantastical, I don't always feel the need to include it in my post. especially if there's already other people reacting to it. Though it also depends on who's writing and why. As for timing, I have some pretty funny stories about that, but I think everyone perceives it differently.
We'll see about their relationship. Stripes has plenty of reasons to hate and like her.
I'm not exactly sure how her skill spread will look going forward. I do think it's possible her core "anti-friendship" power might become more nuanced, but she's probably always going to be better off in smaller teams over "magical girl napoleonic warfare." The thing about the skills she learns is that while she'll have the most diverse abilities over time, she won't really be able to use some of these abilities like the original people can. As an example, if a pageless or magical girl can manipulate fire, stripes might learn how to cast a fire ball or some single spell from them. But that's really more at the GM's discretion.
For me, I try to consider if my post is going to flow well. Personally, I find managing timey-whimey shenanigans to be draining if it goes on for very long, so I usually try to streamline things in a general summary of events from their POV. I do tend to make exceptions for significant actions others take that just wouldn't make any sense for the character to not comment on specifically though.
As for the interactions, yeah, I can definitely see the ways they might grate at each-other or alternatively get along. It might be a bit of a coin flip honestly. XD
Ah yes, I was referring to "complimentary skillsets" in the sense that it assumes it's only the two of them working together in a duo or trio. Obviously, that may not be a likely/common occurrence, but that was the direction I was thinking in. On the other hand, the vibe I got from her so far is that she doesn't favor a ranged "blasty" strategy unless she has to and really likes her tiger form and assassination, so in that respect, the scenario I was considering is also defunct. And yeah, I did get the vibe that her powers more take a single "ingredient" from a target power and condense it into something she can use? It's a little variable, I'd imagine, since there's some level of DM fiat involved.
Hey, different strokes for different folks, I will tell you that I love reading and writing long posts, including multi-chapter novel posts like this. I read everything from feast to beam blast, this shit is my jam.
That was an epic post, Lew, nice work.
Why thank you! Though, it was less a beam blast and more her just chucking her sword at the thing. XD But yeah, I definitely don't want to break up the flow of the narrative whenever possible. While it's pretty much a given that my posts will be longer on average than the others (since I tend to be very detail-oriented), there shouldn't be any more absolute behemoths anywhere comparable to this until Camelot is both not in combat and/or currently not occupying the same scene as many -or any- of the other characters, which should hopefully be a rare-ish occurrence.
I use to write posts that size on the regular, but I don't anymore because I participate in too many different RPs. So long as it's not two sentences of action padded out with four paragraphs of inner monolog that just reiterates what's already been established, I'll read without complaints.
But yea, not a bad thing to spend a lunch break reading. I liked Thomas's reaction to Cammelot's warning and her summery of Stripes's powers.
I do try to do my best not to repeat information needlessly. I also try to avoid timey-whimey shenanigans when able and actually progress the narrative, but sometimes, you just kind of need the character's personal perspective. Helps contextualize their future decisions and such, at least for me.
But yeah, LMAO. Two sentences of action vs 4 paragraphs of monologue? Now that's a cursed ratio if I've ever seen one. That much text with so little payoff? Yeah, the inner monologue can work, but it's got to actually be relevant and mostly lead into payoff for the situation at hand to not feel like a slog.
And thank you! Personally, I think Camelot and Stripes might actually get along more easily than some of the others. Just a feeling, but I think Camelot's general awareness of -and willingness to work around- Stripes's rather unfortunate limitations will engender some level of comradery (or at least tolerance, lol). I think it helps that the two of them's skill sets are very complimentary, allowing Camelot to take the heat and attention and Stripes to spam [Magic Missiles] and such, especially if Stripes's power spread is based less on how many people she's working with and more on how physically close they are to her. If it's more conceptual in nature (like it seems to be), then that's unfortunate but fair... considering the whole "Unlimited Skill Works" thing looming in her future.
And depending on how her skill creation works, she might be able to learn more permanently full-power ones by training/sparring with Camelot (or any of the other girls for that matter). Even if it's only limited to one skill per target, she could probably learn something related to martial arts from her (or something more exotic, considering other magical girl powers are apparently valid targets).
Lmao, sorry. Had a lot to go through, and I'm a wordy writer. Everything after this shouldn't be near as long, but I'm the sort to actually accidentally write a ton. I can guarantee that when it comes to smooth combat posts, there should be no issues with ridiculous length going forward. It's just that this one unfortunately happened to be the character intro post simultaneously.
As an aside, if you want to skip the character intro and just need what may effect your own post, the only bits that are technically relevant to the immediate combat events are everything following the massive f-off huge words near the end (and maybe a tiny bit of the section before that). The vast majority of the post is character intro/establishment/the IC explanation for why she didn't arrive with the rest of the group.
Even having lived there for the past two years, Chinami Nadakai found that the city of London had never really managed to grow on her. Frozen her ass off nearly all year round, sure, but never really managed to endear her to winter any more than she'd ever been... which was to say not at all.
You try living your whole life in Texas, where seeing snow was like seeing the tooth fairy, and then moving to a place where the average highlight of the year was 70 degrees at best, and then come back and tell her she was off her rocker for refusing to wear skirts. To say nothing of the loss of her precious pockets, the temperature was already bad enough without all but baring her ass at it, so all those people telling her she was being "unreasonable" or "needed to wear the uniform properly" could one and all "sod off", as the locals would say.
The point of all this being that tonight was especially chilly, certainly enough so that were things not as they were, she'd perhaps be bothered even while transformed, her armor swallowing the cold faster than it caught her body heat. That said, the circumstances were not such.
The flicker of warm candlelight illuminated the area in welcoming yellows and oranges, casting friendly shadows along the walls of the empty back-alley parking lot. Absolutely dominating the center of the parking lot, there stood a great hoop of wood, a table of behemoth proportions, covered with an almost underwhelmingly simple white cloth and lined with somewhere in the range of four-dozen seats... all but one of which was full.
The bustle of chatter and good cheer was at distinct odds with the particularly gloomy night that had quickly fallen around them, as guests supped of a grand feast fit for a King. Venison, pork, beef and all manner of poultry lay side by side with steaming baked breads and platter upon platter of vegetables and fruits. The foods ran the breadth of modern and ancient, and all were prepared to a standard to which no fault could be found. For every seat there was a warm candle and a cup, and what filled that cup was whatever the drinker wished. Between one breath and the next, they might sip wine and orange juice in turn, savoring a mix of flavors that was never meant to be. Though there were no deserts to be found, every bite would satisfy, every flavor be agreeable. No matter who they were, man, woman or child, they would only find placed before them that which would sustain their bodies and hearts. And all would find that even a single bite of the offerings before them would fill their belly till the next mealtime may come. As it happened, to take more than a single bite was simply to dine for the sake of joy and flavor, and yet, none would find themselves able to overeat nor become sickened for trying every last thing they saw.
It was a scene that one might only have found in the halls of the noble, of the wealthy and elite. Atop this table, there lay a truly endless feast for those that chose to dine, no matter their heart or occupation. All were equal at the side of the Round Table.
And the vast majority were homeless.
Magical Girl Camelot -though she much preferred to forget all but the last bit- gently guided a child's straying hand away from where the hilt of her blade met its sheathe, even as she instead lay his fingers upon the hilt instead. Eyes flickering to his mother, who was sitting on the boy's other side, she noted the small smile and nod, shaking her head fondly.
Her sword was not a toy, and even if she could fix anything that might go wrong, it just seemed irresponsible of her to be any less careful, especially since she was the one who typically went out of her way to take seating near children at her feasts. That said...
"Thomas," she addressed the probable 10-year-old, who had quite happily been chatting her up the whole evening. She'd honestly felt guilty to say that she'd only been listening with half an ear, as something had been prodding at her attention for the past small while. It was like she was trying to remember something she'd forgotten, like a word on the tip of her tongue, a vague sense of... something. But it didn't seem quite so important for the time being, and...
She glanced at the wind up timer that had been set upon the table, a beat-up old thing provided by one of her guests that would give them all fair warning of the feast's end. It had been set to go off one to two minutes before the Round Table returned to where it came from.
Seventeen minutes left...
Yeah, she had time. And really, what did it cost her?
"Yuh-huh?" the boy asked guilelessly.
"Would you like to hold Excalibur?" she asked softly, smirking teasingly with a single raised brow.
The size his eyes widened to seemed to indicate an emphatic "yes", even before his head began to imitate a bobble-head. Thomas's hands both reached forward to grab the hilt in full.
"Ahp-ahp-ahp!" Camelot shook her head and pressed a single finger down atop the blade's guard and gripping the sheathe with her other hand from where it was leaned against the Round Table. With her strength, even a single finger was several magnitudes more than was required to keep the weapon safely sheathed. At the boy's look of child-like betrayal, she shook her head and said consolingly, "Don't worry, I wasn't messing with you. You're just going a little fast, is all." Gently tugging the hilt away from his grip, she motioned a little twirl with her free hand. "Come on, turn about. Let's do this properly." Standing from her seat, she smiled fondly, as the kid scrambled to turn his own chair around to sit facing her.
Taking a knee before the boy, Camelot held the sheathed blade out gingerly, the flat lain across her palms. "Now then," she gave Thomas stern but not harsh look, to which he squirmed and straightened up.
Good kid.
"Excalibur is not a toy. It's a real sword, dangerous, but I use it to fight evil all the time. It could hurt people, but I'm careful to make sure I don't hurt them or myself, only bad guys. You got me?" He nodded. "Also, real swords like these are a little bit heavy, but I'm pretty strong, which makes it easy to be careful. Tell me, Thomas, if I let you draw this blade, can I trust you to be strong and careful too? Tell me honestly." She stared him in the eyes, allowing her gaze to soften when he squirmed but straightened his back and nodded firmly.
"Yes, Miss Camelot," the kid said, balling his hands. "I won't drop it."
Not exactly what she meant, but sure, she'd take it.
Shaking her head lightly with a smile, Camelot held out the hilt, her own hands clasping the ends of the sheathe. As Thomas took hold of the hilt and slowly began to pull. Immediately, the parking lot was awash with golden light, bright enough to sear the retinas, yet somehow perfectly harmless to all present, as it banished every shadow about them to nothingness. In the corner of her vision, Camelot noted the turning of heads, some craned in astonished interest, others in almost smug recognition; for certainly, it was not the first time many here had seen her blade. Her focus was more on making sure the kid didn't cut himself. "There we go..." she murmured, slowly drawing back the sheathe in unison with his pull. "Easy does it, flat of the blade facing up... Almost got it... Just about there... Watch out for the weight once you've got it out fully... And there we go."
The boy looked absolutely star-struck, holding the sword up high. The golden hilt glittered, a pair of chimeras climbing across its form with their mouths ending at either side of the guard. From those mouths, a baleful fire glowed, like throats filled with dragon-fire. The blade itself shone with a golden light fit to challenge the sun, and ancient words were engraved upon either side near the hilt.
Reaching over, Camelot gently turned the blade in the boy's hands. "Take me up... and Cast me away; that's what it says." She hummed aloud. "Story of Excalibur in a nutshell." At the kid's barely vocalized "woah" of awe, she shook her head with a smirk. "So, kid, how's it feel to be holding the strongest sword in the world?"
"Hah! She would say that!" declared cheerily one bearded homeless man, wearing all too many layers.
"Makes sense, King Arthur and all," shrugged one man in a suit. Not all her guests were homeless, just most of them. This relatively young lad in question had been walking home, smelled the food and investigated. Just like anyone else who approached the Round Table, Camelot was more than happy to welcome them to the feast. It cost her nothing, and it brought the regular citizenry more in touch with the downtrodden and misfortunate.
Snorting aloud, Camelot shook her head and gently slipped Excalibur from the boy's grasp. "Not Arthur. Successor at best, and only if I'm feeling particularly delusional," she chuffed in good humored denial.
"'Successor at best', she says, while helping us more than the actual damned government."
"So, like Mordred with tits?" Someone tossed a shoe at the offender.
"I'll drink to that."
"Oi, mind the kids!"
"I mean, if we're talking about powerful swords, what about the Kusanagi?"
"Hah! Try Mjonir!"
"That's a hammer, dumbass."
"Semantics!"
"'Semantics' my bleeding arse!"
And like that, the moment was gone.
As several people squabbled without real heat, Camelot rolled her eyes in good humor at the jeers, sheathing Excalibur, as she returned to her seat, shaking her head with a small smile. This... This was nice.
Honestly, it never got old for her. She never got tired of the sight of people truly brought together, happy and hearty. They say an army marches on their stomach; well, so too does a nation and people as a whole. At the end of the day, if you wanted to truly help people, to make their lives better, simply ensure that they could have full bellies. The homeless. The poor. Even just someone having a bad day. A good meal and good company wouldn't solve all problems, but in her experience these past two years, they tended to solve most of them.
From a pure economic standpoint, take away the need to buy food, and that money could finally afford to be invested into endeavors that would help these people dig themselves out of their rut; for these people who had all but nothing, even a single pence saved was everything. And companionship? Gathering any who wished without question or bias to sit and feast tended to bring people together as companions in a way nothing else could. The more fortunate among their number would grow to understand these people, grow aware -or rather, be reminded- of their existence, and many would -and had- gone on to befriend and find job opportunities for their misfortunate fellows.
This ability to help, to save people in the long term, not just in the short. It was something Camelot couldn't recall ever seeing in her fellow Magical Girls, nor even a particular widespread desire to actually use their powers for anything other than combatting Pageless and healing the immediate victims. Perhaps that was somewhat unfair of her, considering that she had the Round Table at her beck and call, but Camelot couldn't help but look at just about any superhero comic and firm her resolve.
Even if their powers were often solely combat based, all Magical Girls got enhanced strength, speed and endurance to some degree. Burning buildings. Muggers. Hell, even just a car wreck that needed the doors pried off. In extreme and rare cases, the ability to jump so high and fast could get one of them to a potential suicide victim to hopefully talk them down... and catch them if not. These powers could be used to help so many more people than just Pageless victims, so who was she to hold back?
But she had something more. She had the Round Table, and the weight of responsibility it brought was heady. Camelot had never managed to find a limit to the food it could produce, never found a limit to the number of people it could seat. Granted, it wasn't like she was going around asking football stadiums for help testing her powers, but that was beside the point. Every seat she failed to fill was food that wasn't being eaten and a belly not being filled. She had the ability to feed her the people, and every day she was busy or couldn't be bothered was a day they might go hungry.
Unacceptable.
More than that... Through her careless kindness, she had accidentally made herself a pillar, someone so many of these people relied on to even get through the day, relied upon to feed themselves and their kids. If she just stopped showing up, how much would that hurt them? How much would that harm their recovery efforts? No, she couldn't -wouldn't- do that. Admittedly, she'd made her bed, but it was one she was more than happy to lay in. She would not betray her these people's trust. Even if some of them were rich. Even if some of them were hypocrites, possibly criminals, or just plain taking advantage of the situation, she would welcome them so long as they brought only peace to her table and people.
Looking around at the people who dined with her as equals, Camelot smiled. This... This was what it was all about.
A cold chill, like death breathing down her neck ran up her spine.
Sheathed sword clutched in hand, the armored Magical Girl was on her feet in an instant, her chair screeching away, before dissipating into motes of light. Camelot paid no mind to her spot at the table disappearing again, nor to the cries of surprise and anxious questions.
She could see it now, feel it in the air in truth, what had been curdling her gut all evening.
The shadows grew longer, grew darker, more akin to liquid ink than any absence of light. The cold in the air... the reason she could feel it so keenly was almost certainly the doing of fell magics, of the congealing dark power of grudges and resentment, of tales new and old, told and untold... hungry for more... for better than they had.
Pageless.
Several civilians had stood. A couple even looked as though they might come to her or leave. Camelot's brows furrowed, as she looked upon the bright and frightened eyes around her... eyes that weren't dulled by dark lures she so often saw... and chanced upon an epiphany. "Stay where you are. Return to your seats, and do not leave them," she commanded firmly, outstretching an arm, her tone entirely different from the one she had worn before. "They are coming here, the monsters that I was blessed with this power to fight." Several more began to stand. Unacceptable! "Running will not save you!" she bellowed, freezing them in place, as she vaulted over the Round Table in a casual hop, striding to the center of the ring and emplacing her sheath's tip firmly on the ground.
"The magic of my kind, the hope we spread, its very presence holds back the darkness! The very fact that I was surprised at all by their approach means that the Round Table is protecting you! And not just the Round Table!" She turned a circle, gesturing to all the people as one. "All of you! You are the reason! With your hope, trust and comradery, you have held back the darkness from stealing away your minds! Have courage! Abandon fear and despair! Abandon selfishness and worry! If you run, I will be spread too thin, unable to protect your bodies from their claws, nor your minds from their wicked magics! But if you stay..." Her right hand clenched tightly, the metal creaking loudly in the night. "You have my Oath as a Knight, as the one you have graciously chosen to trust to provide time and again: not a one of you shall shed a single drop of blood."
A lofty promise, but her words seemed to get through to them. Those that had stood retook their seats, and those that seemed panicked had settled down to mere jitters. There was a certain amount of wary optimism, some restrained incredulity and disbelief from those that had yet to brush with the supernatural darkness that plagued London as of late, but it seemed as if she had their cooperation for the time being.
The candlelight flickered ominously, as though some force was attempting to snuff it through pure disdain.
"They are here."
The people went silent, many of them glancing around warily at the shadows leaking from alleys and shrouding rooftops, as her people attempted to catch a glimpse of the threat. Camelot, meanwhile, stood still and waiting, sheath planted against the ground and arms atop the blade's hilt.
She could feel what the people likely could only comprehend as a gut feeling, the seething darkness infusing every shadow. She could see the warbling inhuman shapes creeping in every corner, watching... waiting. Turning her head slowly to either side, she could see dozens gathering here, lured by the naked display of hope and broken but healing lives. They were playing a game of chicken with her, attempting to goad her into acting first, upon which the remainder would strike from whatever direction she chose to abandon. Even so, she knew their patience was not unlimited; for the Pageless had been growing ever fiercer, ever more feral and almost desperate of late, almost like starving animals.
Even now, that patience only extended so far. She could see the people beginning to lose their nerve, eyes beginning to dart around more frantically, as dark magic tugged at their vulnerable hearts. If they could not come to their prey, then the Pageless would make their prey come to them. The Round Table was not intended to be used in a protective manner. It was only by its nature and the charisma of Camelot herself that the worst was staved away, and even that could only do so much in the face of the blatantly supernatural. She was no Captain Goodheart. In the end, where it mattered, she could only attack and defend.
So, it was time to stop playing the enemy's game.
She spoke, addressing all who were present. "You have heard its tale, shrouded in mystery..." The people seemed to jolt at her voice, as many focused on her instead of the negative emotions welling inside them. "You have heard its promise, an Oath of Victory..." Camelot shifted her Scabbard to one hand and secured it to her hip, the other taking hold of her blade's hilt. "The blade that shall pierce, should its aim be sure." Her eyes alighted on a group of shadows more sizable than the rest, as she idly catalogued with her more mystical senses the approximate number of foes. "And it's name is..."
Mana curled in her gut and funneled into her blade, which almost seemed to vibrate in its sheath from the unreleased pressure, as Camelot fed it a sixth, then a fifth, then a fourth, and then a third of her full reserves, far more than required to activate its ability.
"EX-"
The Pageless seemed to have instinctively comprehended that their plan was about to fall through, and Camelot could see many beginning to preemptively lunge-
"-CALIBER!"
If unsheathing her blade normally was like a mere flashbang, then unsheathing it now was a nuke directed towards the eyes, unsubtle, unforgiving and oh so very effective. Pageless screamed, as the force of the light seethed into every corner and crevice, a golden wave simply erasing the very concept of darkness from the parking lot and beyond, so strong that its mere reflection off the alley walls was enough to illuminate streets entire blocks away. Blinded monsters collapsed, stumbled and howled in obvious agony, many clawing uselessly at the glowing crimson gashes that passed for their eyes. Perhaps more damaging to the Pageless, however, was the absolute surge of hope and awe that overtook her people, as doubt and fear were made fleeting memories in an instant.
Camelot was not idle.
Her feet left divots in the ground, as she accelerated, hurtling over the Round Table in a whirling dervish of motion, Excalibur leaving a trail of light akin to sunspots in the vision of all who saw it, as her blade arced around, beheading half a dozen monsters in a single swing.
Excalibur's light dimmed somewhat, but the light was still yet to return to normal. It was only natural. In truth, no matter how much mana she pumped into the blade, it would only ever expend a set amount for its ability. In that case, it stood to reason that one could store multiple uses if they were so inclined. Granted, such stored energy dissipated with her transformation, so she was unable to simply build up a reservoir on the daily. That would be too easy, clearly. And also, it still didn't change the fact that she had no control over when the energy would be expended other than the initial point of contact.
Excalibur would sever all that stood before it in a single slash, but what defined a "single slash" could be frustratingly mutable. Most of the time, speed seemed to be the key, but that too was unreliable. In truth, it more often came down to luck and instinct. Instinct that she had to resist. Every martial form tended to be about momentum and chambering smoothly into the next strike, but the act of chambering itself seemed to declare the end of what came before it. Therefore, to chamber or otherwise attack was to declare the end of Excalibur's slash.
Her armored foot impacted the chest of a Pageless, and she could feel something giving inside, before it was catapulted backwards hard enough take out the legs of several of its fellows. Her fist arced behind her in a backfist, pasting another Pageless head, before she launched forward again, hurtling forward in a low run towards the Pageless stubbornly stumbling towards the Round Table.
While blinded, they were far clumsier, but that hardly removed their supernatural sense for stories and the people that carried them, nor their desperate hunger. To fight her was death. To feed was to satisfy themselves at least for a moment and then also die. One of these two options was clearly superior to the other. And running? As far as she knew, they'd never heard of it.
Float like a butterfly; sting like a bee.
True to thought, Camelot hurled herself upside down through the air just above the table's surface, whizzing past the occupants at speeds that made her nothing less than a blur. She barely payed attention to Excalibur's light falling back down to a dull roar of existence, as she whipped it through half a dozen more foes, every swing and stab a death blow aimed for the neck and nothing less, no matter what other limbs tried and failed to interrupt her blade's progress. She cared not for the loss of her blade's strength. The enchantment had merely been a means to an end, the end, of course, being the light.
Her free left hand shot downwards, powerful fingers snagging a momentary vice-grip of the enchanted wood of the Round Table's outer edge. It did not dissipate her momentum, but that was hardly the intent, merely to reorient herself upwards. Now facing the table, she continued to hurtle backwards, still propelled by her original leap, as her blade bisected a Pageless merely from being held to the side.
Her feet, curled up behind her as they were, impacted brick, and Camelot wasted no time launching herself into motion -the wall behind her crumbling from the combined force of her impact and kickoff- towards the other half of the table that was currently under siege by a full dozen and half Pageless, several currently in leaping freefall from the rooftops. Internally, she winced at the property damage, but outwardly, she had far more important things to focus on. Though worth avoiding in general to not hurt others financially, property damage was a small price to pay for saving lives.
Her left arm outstretched, snapping hold of a Pageless by the neck, as she passed by, Excalibur flickered through two ground-bound and one midair Pageless. Bleeding momentum from the extra weight on her left side, Camelot's right foot came down like a power-driver through a Pageless head and into the pavement, halting her movement cold. Twisting on her heel, her left arm lightly tossed up its captured Pageless -as if preparing to spike a tennis ball, as Excalibur bisected another victim. The tossed Pageless was caught by the leg, and Camelot was in motion once more, hurling the screaming devil underhanded at one of its midair brethren with deadly force.
Ducking under a clawed hand the size of her head, Camelot grabbed hold of its owner's leg and kicked off the ground with a twist of her hips, wielding both Excalibur and her screaming makeshift weapon's large claws against its allies, the captured Pageless whirled and flung around her so hard that the sheer force kept its arms unwillingly outstretched. The wonderful thing about the Pageless was that it had effectively twice the range of Excalibur, allowing her to swat another two airborne Pageless down. Or rather, to pass their fellow's claws through them at great speed, leaving them to fall in pieces. In the meantime, Excalibur added another four to its personal tally.
She released her reluctant weapon with a fair parting, giving it the same as its comrade and slinging it with deadly force into the last of the airborne Pageless. The remaining four Pageless had gotten close to her people, too close. Even with them blinded, clumsy and slow, the Round Table was huge, and she could only be so many places at once. Even as she kicked off the ground, pavement crumbling from the steel-clad toes digging into it, she knew she physically couldn't make it.
Not one drop of blood.
As her left fist burrowed into the first of the four's skull and the toes of her right leg into the second, her right arm rose, Excalibur arcing up, before she hurled it like a tomahawk at the furthest Pageless, the glowing blade entering one shoulder and exiting the opposite hip, before imbedding itself into the ground with a crack, chips of pavement flying everywhere.
Throwing my sword-
Ser Kay would have had my ass for that.
The final Pageless lunged for its victim, a child- Thomas.
Notonmyfuckingwatch!
Her right hand lunged for her hip, ripping her sheathe free with a pop-snap of stressed straps being unwoven. If the problem was range, then why not use something just as long as the blade she'd lost?
The Scabbard's steel-braced top side ripped across the Pageless' eyes with a sharp crack of something in the story-eater's skull, sending the monster stumbling backwards with a screech, before Camelot's fist met its face. Whirling around, the magical Knight's eyes met...
Nothing.
Heart pounding in her chest, Camelot swallowed in barely concealed relief at the sight of nothing left to fight, as black ichor smoked and dissipated all over the parking lot. Letting out a slow breath, she turned and quickly strode over to Excalibur, sheathing the blade with whisper and plunging the area back into warm candlelight. Checking the straps of her Scabbard, they luckily didn't seem to have been broken by her desperation maneuver, but that was probably only because she'd been loose in securing them before the fight to begin with. Sure, the straps would repair once she retransformed, but it was something of the principle of the matter. And she had no intention of returning to her mundane form so soon.
Stretching out her mystical senses, she frowned at the lingering seething darkness on the horizon. It was strong, very much so, the feeling like that of something that might even give her issues... And if it could inconvenience her, then other Magical Girls... It seemed what she had fought were merely dregs. If she didn't know better, she might even have called them a distraction, but Pageless had never proven themselves to be anything so cunning prior in her experience. More likely, it was as she had assumed from the start, that her feast was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Securing the Scabbard to her waist once more -this time properly, she turned to her people and smiled. Stuttered applause and whoops broke out among them, several even standing up or hugging each-other.
Camelot allowed the barrage of words and questions to wash over her, as she turned to one of homeless she knew best, a black man named Jonathan with salt and pepper hair and a rarely missing smile that was down a few teeth; he was one of the most "in charge" individuals among the homeless she regularly met, who had seen her magic time and again and helped to ease newcomers into acceptance of what was right in front of their eyes. "I must go," she said, briefly turning her gaze back towards the feeling of roiling darkness. "There is a much greater evil to face, and its presence is muddling my senses almost as badly as the Round Table." At Jonathan's nod, she addressed the people at large. "The monsters here are vanquished, but I must attend to the disposal of worse!" At the murmurs of discontent, she rose both hands placatingly. "Did I not give you my word before? Did I not keep it? You are safe and whole, but right now, others are in just as much need as you were moments ago! Would you deny my aid to them?!"
At the shouts of denial and several shamefaced expressions, Camelot nodded and turned away, before glancing over her shoulder. "The Round Table shall remain even without my presence." She smiled. "Feast to your hearts' content and make merry! You have survived the worst of the night!" And with that, naught more need be said. She was their protector, but not their keeper. There was only so far she could -or would- be willing to go to reassure them. Fear was one thing. Selfishness was another, especially in the face of her own generosity.
She leapt upwards almost daintily, hands catching the edge of a rooftop, as she hauled herself up and set to the tried and true Magical Girl travel method: roof hopping.
(/._./)
The battle -and it most definitely was such- was all too far away, and Camelot could feel something coming, something big. Now that she was closer, the darkness was no longer quite so muddling to her senses, but in large part, that seemed to be because it was -for lack of a better word- compressing. It was a feeling she recognized, a once rare phenomenon that had become all too common in these days of overhyped aggressive Pageless.
A "boss" Pageless. Sure there was probably a better -proper- word for it, but Camelot thought the video game term to be relatively apt. In short, the beasties fused themselves together, often absorbing some element of the environment in turn to use as a "skeleton" for the change, and the result was usually devastatingly effective. It was, in short, something akin to a defense mechanism as far as she could tell, a strange skill that allowed the Pageless to gain the strength they needed to overcome what they couldn't as relative canon fodder.
In her experience, "boss" Pageless mostly showed up only when the Pageless actually somehow felt threatened, were numerous enough, and not being killed fast enough, which was -under ideal circumstances- not a common occurrence. Pageless seemed to find strength in numbers, so it tracked that the main thing they considered a threat was great numbers of opponents. In other words...
Camelot deadpanned at the far-distant sight of explosions, laser beams and lots of fire.
Someone had decided to throw way too many Magical Girls at whatever the hell this was.
Well, to be fair, it felt pretty damned threatening. If the Grand Director had perhaps seen the "boss" Pageless as an inevitably, then why not throw everything and the kitchen sink at it? In all honestly, considering that it looked like she'd sent fucking Lumiere at the problem and that it still wasn't solved yet, why hadn't the Director called in her too? Not that Camelot was exactly eager to attend to the possible precognitive's every whim, but thus far, she'd never really been sent anywhere she wasn't needed in some capacity. That understanding in mind, the only reason she wasn't hailed was likely that the Director knew damn well that she'd have shown up anyway, and if she'd been called away early, she likely wouldn't have been able to protect the people at the Round Table.
Rubbing her temples in frustration, Camelot groaned aloud and grit her teeth. She could feel the crescendo of the darkness now; at this very moment, the Pageless were making their move. And now that their presence was less obnoxious, she could feel why.
A new Grimoire, a calling Grimoire, which meant that a brand spanking new, inexperienced Magical Girl was about to be born... right in front of the apex of Pageless-kind.
What even was today?
She wasn't going to make it in time. For all her speed, she'd still be there too slow. But... No, that didn't mean she couldn't do anything. By this point, she was close enough that... Yes, that could work. She'd only have a single shot, but it was better than nothing. Camelot turned on her heel and bounded towards the highest thing in the area that was in range of the conflict.
Big Ben.
Steel-clad feet pounding across roof tiles in great bounds, nearly every step alighting upon a new building, Magical Girl Camelot launched herself toward the magnificently-crafted clocktower. Any thoughts on the landmark's splendor were an afterthought, however, as it was hardly the first time Camelot had scaled the tower simply because she could. Such familiarity with its form served her well, as she managed her ascension in a matter of seconds.
Dark clouds billowing overheads and winds whipping through her hair, Camelot clung with her left hand to the peak of the clocktower and narrowed her eyes at the distant conflict, her right hand pinning as much of her golden locks back from her field of vision as possible. The Pageless had completed their transformation during her ascent, and it was going about as badly for the Magical Girls as Camelot had expected. Despite them having the likes of -from what she could tell- Captain Goodhope, fucking Dynasty Queen and her bullshit staff, and even Ethereal Rose and her eldritch bae, they still didn't exactly look like they were winning. Oh, and then there was her fellow King Lilac Shimmer fighting alongside someone she didn't recognize, who appeared to be setting everything on fire... Wonderful.
Even Lumiere seemed unable to stall the titanic monstrosity's inexorable advance, which was strange, because she really should have been blasting it to pieces from afar instead. The angelic Magical Girl tended to be nicely efficient like that, but in this case she was playing defense... for what? The Grimoire? Surely, she could have grabbed it by... now.
Camelot groaned at the distinctive figure of "Stripes" almost casually walking in the exact opposite direction of the nonsense that was currently happening, which was... Okay, that was actually understandable if it was Stripes. Like, sometimes the Grimoire power lottery just really had a personal hate-boner for you. Giving a Magical Girl -individuals that all but run on friendship- a power that was practically antithetical to the very concept of teamwork? Yeah, totally fair. Super balanced.
That said, there were still-
A veritable bomb of magical energy interrupted that train of thought and refocused her attention on the situation at hand, as she inwardly chastised herself. It was almost like an inversion of what had happened with the Pageless -with a similar amount of oomph behind it to boot, kicking up a great cloud of dust in unison with the appearance of a piercing light.
A new Magical Girl had been born.
As the dust cleared in unison with the titanic Pageless' mad charge, and the brand spanking newbie confidently faced off with something that was so obviously way out of her league it wasn't even funny, Camelot found herself taken aback. Certainly, there was for many Magical Girls an almost dream-like sense to their first transformation, but then... this new one must have some fairly exciting dreams if she's this far divorced from her survival instincts.
With a sense of renewed urgency, Camelot reached for Excalibur once more.
Taking hold of the hilt, she firmed her shoulders and drew the legendary sword forth with purpose. Pumping mana into the blade, she fed it just enough to fuel the effect and raised it towards a once darkened London sky, where now there bloomed a second sun on Earth above the great Big Ben.
"You have heard its tale, shrouded in mystery...!"
She didn't actually need the words, didn't need the chant.
"You have heard its promise, an Oath of Victory...!"
But there was something to it, a concept in martial arts called the "Kai" by the Japanese.
"The blade that shall pierce, should its aim be sure!"
It was a real effect, wherein one that shouted with each attack would subconsciously put more power into the blows.
"And it's name is...!"
In other words, when Magical Girls called out their attacks in a cheesy manner, that wasn't just ham...
"EX-"
It was literally more effective.
"-CALIBUR!!!"
For the second time today, she threw.
(/._./)
High above and far away from the construction site, above London itself, there was light, a light fit to banish the very night itself, an existence that no creature of darkness could help but pay hateful heed, even if only for an all too critical moment. Unfortunately, at such a distance, even such a light as this could not hope to be more than an irritant... but that is all it needed to be.
There was a murmured chant, carried by the wind and magic as if lifted to everywhere the light fell. For some, it was new, an omen of something to come, and to others, it was all too familiar. As the Pageless shook off what little unease the uselessly distant light might have caused and refocused itself on the feast at hand, the chant reached its crescendo.
Fury and blackness seemingly defying the light and its numerical disadvantage in turn, the Pageless lunged all too quickly at Nessie with a spiked pounder that transitioned into an absolutely wicked claw that-
Was struck by what might as well have been the fist of God, as the sun in the sky descended into the construction yard with a rumble like thunder and a popping thump of displaced air. A streak of golden light impacted the Pageless' titanic claw, sending the limb crashing to the ground, as the monstrosity's entire body reeled back with a rattle and scream of drills.
No, on second glance... As the fresh cloud of billowing dust and dirt cleared, it was clear to see that only the outer side of the claw had fallen, nearly the entire outer half of the weaponized forearm severed in the strike. The massive spike that tipped the pounder was cracked, yet still apparently as dangerous as ever, but the claw itself was now effectively defunct, save for how the remaining half might be used as a spiked blade.
And even as the Pageless rattled and howled its absolute fury, its aura seething with indignation, wrath and hunger, the perpetrator continued to all but burn like the midday sun, a longsword with a gold stylized hilt, currently buried in the earth halfway to the hilt and now casting the battlefield in shades of realized glory.
The blow was struck, and the enemy finally unbalanced in truth -if even for a moment.
If there were any time for the gathered allies of justice, both new and old, to finally gain the upper hand...
So, finally finished reading the IC, and I'm pretty certain that I could not have asked for a better opening for a character introduction. I literally built my character to be the "tank" of the team, whose whole thing is being able to take the hits others can't.
So, fresh magical girl (with an admirable amount of confidence), enemy right on top of her that no-one else seems to be able to stop...
Couldn't have possibly asked for a better prompt.
So, Pros: Character intros are mostly handled. Power of friendship intensifies. Nessie gets room to breathe and figure out what she can actually do (beyond having more confidence than God himself XD), along with an opening to potentially do something to this thing (considering it's been slapping around veteran magical girls).
Cons: It's getting a bit crowded in this particular battlefield to be honest (but, to be fair, half the fun of this scene IS the hilarious amounts of overkill(?) getting thrown at the problem XD). No potentially more personalized introduction for my character later, but that's not really an issue, when the whole point of this scene seems to be to establish the team. She doesn't need to stand out any more than she already will by just being herself. Power of friendship not as good? (if Nessie potentially defeats it without any real aid or someone else snags her thematic new girl killing blow)
I definitely am leaning towards taking the opportunity for character intro, but I can wait for a later time if needed.
Name: Chinami Nadakai (Camelot) Age: 19 Nationality: United States of America Appearance: Chinami is a young Goth woman of Japanese ethnicity. Though, perhaps most notable is how almost lackluster her version of Goth is, forgoing piercings, dyes or makeup. The only thing she seems to bother with is her nails and lips, to go with her jet-black hair. Standing at 5'10", she is fairly tall and obviously athletically inclined when she isn't wearing her jacket. Her hands are rough to the touch and clearly used to hard work.
She seems to despise conformity and will forgo a student uniform at any opportunity (where it wouldn't endanger her enrollment enduly), preferring simple cotton tee-shirts with a black leather jacket and what are likely men's pants. If asked, she will only ever claim she refuses to give up having "real" pockets. Even when she does bother with the uniform, the best she will do is the girls' top and pants that match with the uniform color-code. Others may think her prudish, but she's honestly just really unused to the comparatively cold weather across the pond... and unwilling to give up pockets.
Her magical girl form is bafflingly blatantly divorced from her normal state, both turning her hair blonde and ethnicity Caucasian. Her magical girl form's state of dress is another oddity, armored and exceptionally conservative compared to many of her peers. It is fairly easy to guess that this may be due to some form of strict influence from the legend of her Grimoire, enforcing a "proper" and "chivalric" state, while almost begrudgingly allowing for the armor to display the obviously feminine form within.
Description:
Somewhat rough around the edges, Chinami is blunt and sardonic, often effecting an outward air of disinterest towards the troubles of others. She can be foul-mouthed and inclined to take the most practical approach over the moral, but despite this, she still seems to act in the best interests of others, even if her methods seem harsh. While she can be initially difficult to form connections with, she is a steadfast ally once a measure of her loyalty is earned. On the flipside, of course, she tends to take any form of betrayal incredibly personally.
She seems to have a particular soft spot for the people she protects, especially children. It can be somewhat off-putting to see just how almost uncharacteristically kind she can be when in the service of saving others, but it is more than clear to the unbiased that she genuinely cares for those she holds to be under her aegis. In fact, she is known to often use her Round Table to feed the homeless in the mornings and at sunset, rather than dining alone; whenever she isn't needed at Merrywell Academy or as a magical girl, she may also do so at noon. Indeed, it is clear that when she bothers to put in the effort and allows herself to openly care, Chinami possesses a natural -if sometimes stern- heroic charisma.
She is the sort inclined to solitary pursuits of video games and reading when she isn't training, but she is more than willing to tolerate large groups of people around her so long as they don't force her to participate in conversation. She is a relatively private person and is rather anxious when it comes to sharing her hobbies with others, but she will typically open up on her own as long as she is not pressed overmuch for personal details.
She despises liars, and it is a large part of why she can be almost too honest at times. Though she will make allowances for herself to merely omit information or refuse to speak at all, Chinami is not the sort to lie intentionally. She attempts to present her truest self to others and expects the same from them, even without vocalizing it.
Chinami strongly dislikes anything that might interfere with her mental processes. Alcohol and other addictive substances have been firmly avoided by her in the past, and she is zealous enough in this respect that, if they have even the slightest chance to compromise her, she'll take being in pain, rather than touching pain-killers with a ten foot pole. To say the least, she is not a fan of anyone who uses magic that could be even vaguely described as mind-control. She values Free Will above and beyond all other things.
She hates the cold, misty weather of England. As her previous home was The Lone Star "summer is half the year, peasant" State of Texas, by her definition, London is practically frozen in perpetual winter. It even has the same lack of snow going for it! And don't even get her started on the actual winter months. Not. Even. Once.
She struggles in academic pursuits but has long since found herself to have real talent in martial arts; though she dislikes sports, seeing them as a needless responsibility. Despite this, she is frustrated by her struggles in areas that promise to be more conventionally profitable. This is because she ultimately desires to live as normal a civilian life as can be had in this strange world. If she had her way, she'd only use her powers occasionally as little more than a hobby.
She is very easily stressed, seeing the responsibility of being a magical girl as a burden that she never asked for. She considers it a dangerous, unprofitable and literally dead-end profession. While she objectively respects those that protect humanity, she has never had any ambitions of joining them or putting her life on the line. Nonetheless, despite how much she would love to abandon everything and return to a normal life, she's never managed to force herself to get rid of her Grimoire and has instead guilt-tripped herself into continuing to go out to save those she can. At the core of her will to act is an all too infamous phrase: "With great power, comes great responsibility." Unable to trust that her power would go to someone better -or even someone able to use it at all, Chinami continues to march forward, accepting and owning her burden... no matter how much she might gripe about it.
She is resentful of her magical girl transformation and the implications that it wants to "idealize" her into someone and something she isn't. She is also somewhat paranoid that her Grimoire -and those of other magical girls- may be sentient and actively changing them regardless. The only thing she likes about the changes is that they somewhat allow her to distance herself mentally from the embarrassment of being a "magical girl".
Given how dangerous she considers being a magical girl to be, she is typically all-business in combat, forgoing quips and flips while doing her best to get both herself and her comrades through every fight alive and intact. She considers it her duty to protect her comrades just as much as anyone else, perhaps even more-so. She reluctantly understands that her powers are fueled by such banal things as "friendship" and "loyalty" and as such dedicates herself to being a light in the dark, the bastion who stands between evil and all that is worth protecting. As much as she despises it, she understands that these aspects of loyalty and comradery are what she must lean into in order to utilize her powers to the greatest effect.
If there was ever anything she truly took to heart growing up as an American, it was a love for a single concept:
Life. Liberty. And the Pursuit of Happiness.
Even as she despairs at what she sees as the quelling of her own liberties, she knows that making that sacrifice allows her to preserve the lives, liberties, and happiness of far many more.
She is not exactly what one would call a fan of the Grand Ministry. In the first place, the speed at which they found and recruited her unnerved her. She only took their offer because she felt like she had no other good options with her slipping grades... and because it was an easy way to escape the mounting pressuring of her parents. The fact that the Grand Ministry seems all too eager to concentrate the power of Magical Girls in one place further boggles her mind. Regardless of any potential training they could offer, Magical Girls effectively have a thinner presence worldwide as a result, and she can only assume people are surely being harmed as a result of lacking protectors.
After spending two years in London at Merrywell, however, she has come to find an especially personal reason to be wary: The Grimoire of Merlin, which lies within the hands of the Grand Minister, herself. Chinami is most decidedly unnerved by the idea of a potential precognitive at the head of this institution, to say nothing of the implications of her own Grimoire and what might happen were she to allow herself to be guided by such a person. On the other hand, it does potentially explain how the Grand Ministry always seems to know where the Pageless will appear.
Despite her overall misgivings, she takes care not to overtly display her mistrust except with those she implicitly trusts in turn. She is suspicious of the Grand Ministry's intentions, absolutely convinced that no-one with such a monopoly on power as they have could possibly be as good as they present themselves, but she has yet to see any actionable proof of wrongdoing. Until such a day as this changes, she chooses to remain outwardly cordial -if somewhat distant- towards the representatives of the Grand Ministry, taking advantage of their resources to continue saving people.
In several ways, she is grateful for the opportunity they provided her to start fresh, but she innately distrusts figures of authority that seemingly answer to no-one. It is possible that this opinion may change given time, but it is unlikely barring an event of some significance.
Born to a family of Japanese immigrants to America, Chinami lived a relatively normal life growing up in the more Austin-adjacent portion of Texas. As she matured, she came to know two very conflicting ideologies: the expectations of Japanese parents and the freedom to truly choose your own destiny that the USA promoted. She was constantly pulled at from two directions, faced with the academic expectations of her parents, while realizing that what she loved to do was more martial in nature.
Because of this constant push and pull, Chinami eventually grew incredibly mentally drained and came to the conclusion that she might be on the verge of developing depression under the weight of both inward and outward expectations that she just never seemed to be able to meet. She could never understand or emulate her parents' workaholic nature and began to fall back on reading fiction and playing video games to give herself some kind of sense of completion in something.
Still, such things were merely a stopgap for the inevitable, but Chinami ignored such thoughts of a gloomy future and turned her attention fully towards what she enjoyed doing in the short term, even if her parents disapproved.
It was on one such day, a weekend dedicated to her hobby of reading at the library, that destiny struck without mercy.
She had been in the middle of making book returns, when a Pageless incursion flared up. Being inside the quiet library, it was luckily quite easy to hear the brewing chaos. Even as she took cover, Pageless began to rampage through the building, and she was only able to watch helplessly as other people were cut down.
The pit in her stomach of compounding awareness of both the uselessness of her academic ability... and now even martial ability when it really mattered eventually reached a breaking point when she heard an infant start screaming. Without giving herself any more time to think about it, she sprinted into the open and towards the sound, drawing many of the Pageless's attention, as she all but flew up the stairs towards the adults section.
Her thoughts were a blur of don'tstop/don'tthink/whattheactualfuckamIdoing(?!), as she pelted towards the sound, her vision practically tunneling and blurring from adrenaline, as the sound of clawed limbs tearing up the stairs behind her sounded out. By the time she reached the noise, the only thing she could comprehend was hurt person lying dangerously still, tiny person, and big black thing standing over them reaching for the small one.
Putting every last bit of strength her trained human body could muster into the blow, she scaled a desk with a single step and launched herself into the back of the Pageless with a dropkick with her full body weight behind it. Amazingly, it actually seemed to stagger the thing away, as Chinami scrambled off the floor to scoop the infant up into her arms, under absolutely zero illusions that this was a fight she could win. Her victory condition was to save the child. Even one person was better than nothing.
Cradling the babe carefully, mindful of their neck, Chinami stumbled up just in time far a clawed paw the size of her torso to rake across her back and hurl her into a bookshelf. Stars in her eyes and feeling pain like nothing she'd ever imagined before, Chinami somehow managed the presence of mind to curl her arms around the child as much possible and brace, yelping in pain, as she absorbed the full remainder of the impact on her elbows.
Crumpled to ground, Chinami heard an ominous creak and only had time to glance up in horror and brace herself for more, as the large bookshelf tilted and collapsed atop her, showering her with books, as she stubbornly continued to brace like hell on violently shuddering elbows to stop herself from being crushed down atop the child. There was pressure and the sound of chittering and screeches, as Pageless began to climb atop the collapsed shelf. Suddenly, an audible crack and sharp pain ripped through the the small of her back before going horrifically calm and unfeeling. She realized with a horror that was muted in the face of the pain in everything else and her own struggle to keep planking that her back had been broken.
The pressure was growing, as more Pageless arrived in unison with Chinami's simultaneously rising despair and defiant rage. Despair at the futility of it all, at the fact that now she'd never be able to even do martial arts anymore. Rage at the unfairness of it all, at herself for being stupid enough to think she could do anything.
But she kept fighting, because that was all she had left, because it was all she was good at. And as the infant's screams reached a crescendo and Chinami's shoulders began to give out, her elbows and forearms involuntarily sliding away from where they were desperately braced, her eyes alighted upon a book, royal purple and gilded in hues of gold. Vision blurring from pain, the name didn't matter, only Chinami's desperate mad plan to take that book and -in the mere moments she had left- wedge it up so that it would perhaps miraculously hold the shelf up in her place. She would only have a split moment to act before the arm she left on lift duty would give out, but now was better than never!
One arm snapped out clumsily for the book, numbed by a deficiency of blood circulation that Chinami hadn't even noticed herself losing. She fumbled but managed contact... and then had a moment of horror to realize the book wasn't hardcover -but instead leather-bound- before the world suddenly got very very bright.
All of a sudden, the book was gone... as was the crushing pressure. Abruptly, the absolute mind-numbing agony seemed distant and retreating, but the infant was still wailing, which was understa-
Chinami froze, when she looked down and saw a pair of armored limbs on either side of the infant. With something approaching disbelief, she followed silver-clad fingers and arms upwards towards her shoulders- Hers!
Her limbs.
Numbly, she blinked her rapidly clearing vision at the sight of hair drifting down on both sides of her head, hair like spun gold, like the furthest thing from her natural head of veritable ink. She could feel (feel!) pinpricks rippling through her lower back and legs, as though her legs were merely waking up from being sat on too long instead of what might as well have been death.
She shifted, and suddenly, the noises around her seemed to regain clarity, as she slowly turned her head to see the sight of the bookshelf above her still shaking, claws gradually ripping through the divider.
Dreaming.
Was... was she dreaming? She had to be.
She felt... so... light. So... strong.
She lifted one arm. This time, it was... effortless to keep herself braced on a single limb, as she reached up and just... shoved.
The bookshelf hurtled into the air, clipping the ceiling before flopping down, as the Pageless went tumbling headover-heels. In a daze, Chinami stood, scooping up the infant again with half a mind, her eyes glazing over the glimmering silver that clinked surprisingly quietly over her body, as she hushed and rocked the babe.
The Pageless around her were scrambling to their feet. One lunged.
Her arms were full...
But she practiced Tae-Kwon-Do.
Arms still carefully cradling the infant's head, one leg shot up, the form-fitting armor cladding it seemingly allowing for utterly baffling flexibility, as her heel hooked into the head of the offender and all but disintegrated it from the force of the blow, returning to the ruined flooring with a rumble of perhaps a bit too much force.
A dream.
Her steel-clad toes crushed the face of another monster with a sharp front kick that flowed into a slashing round kick, her hips shifting sharply to facilitate the movement. Two more beasts seemed to be in states of not very alive, as her round kick made way to transition into another hooking kick, her heel caving in the next target's stomach, before chambering into yet another high forward swing that liberated it of its head.
All a dream.
The infant wailed, clearly upset from all the sharp movement, even despite properly supporting its vulnerable, underdeveloped body. There were still monsters coming. She could hear them, and she knew they had heard her. Unacceptable.
Pageless flowed up the stairs in even greater numbers: half a dozen, a dozen, more. They were charging her, but it almost seemed like they were moving through molasses, as her right hand reached down and took hold of a hilt she hadn't even noticed before with the infant blocking her vision. Her left arm cradled the babe carefully, even as her right slowly drew upwards, bathing the world in light like the sun being born anew on earth. Pageless reeled back and screeched, even as the few remaining conscious citizens around her seemed able to easily look on in awe and hope.
Symbols -words- climbed up either side of the blade, written in ancient Brittonic.
Since when could she read Brittonic?
"Take me up," she couldn't help murmuring, as she turned the blade over. "Cast me away."
You know its name.
Did she?
The Pageless were stumbling forward, seemingly regaining their bearings from the initial intensity of the light.
Chinami's feet shifted under her, taking a stance, an abominable mix between a traditional back stance and something she'd never learned, as her arm rose in time with the enemy's approach. Her lips moved unbidden.
Huh. Looks like she did.
"Excalibur."
The air thickened with power and glory.
Things started dying very quickly after that.
The aftermath was... rough. Cleaning up the remaining monsters, realizing that her Scabbard could heal others (that it was the reason she wasn't a cripple) at the suggestion of one mythology geek among the civilians that had witnessed her fight, and spending over an hour trying to save as many as she could... It wasn't exactly the most glorious way to end her first day, but... The looks on their faces... The looks of gratitude on the peoples' (her peoples') faces was somehow the most... something she'd ever felt. She struggled for words to describe exactly what flavor of satisfaction she was feeling and why, even as she managed to revert the transformation (and catch the book that appeared), but that happiness lasted about until she got home and had to deal with her parents again.
She was long past curfew, having been quite held up saving lives, but it wasn't like she was about to explain that to them. This was hers. Still, she wouldn't lie. She told them what happened. She just omitted certain details. Yes, she was at the attack. Yes, she was hurt. Also, a new magical girl's powers healed her, so everything was fine. Why was she hurt? Oh, she'd just been trying to save an infant. Exactly why was that bad? Did they realize how heartless they sounded?
To say the least, she was grounded, and the resentment at home began to rise to rather... unfortunate levels.
Honestly, the abrupt and frankly suspicious offer of overseas enrollment couldn't have come at a better time, which was even more suspicious as far as Chinami was concerned. She let her parents make all the assumptions they wanted, about how she'd actually secretly been productive by hunting down a scholarship that fit with her skillset. She didn't bother correcting them. It was better for everyone involved.
A month later, at age 17, she was on a flight across the Atlantic with everything she could pack, feeling equal amounts of relief at escaping the majority of her troubles... and wariness at the new ones surely to come.
By the present day, she has had her Grimoire for 2 years and has dedicated her everything to mastering her powers, seeing it as a matter of life and death, both for herself and those she must protect and fight alongside.
Grimoire: Title: Le Morte d'Arthur (The Noble & Joyous Boke Entytled Le Morte Darthur Notwythstondyng It Treateth of the Byrth Lyf and Actes of the Sayd Kynge Arthur; Of His Noble Knyghtes of the Rounde Table, Theyr Merveyllous Enquestes and Adventures Thachyevyng of the Sanc-Greall and in the Ende the Dolourous Deth; And Departynge out of This Worlde of Them Al) (Yes, that is the actual, full name, holy shit.) Classification: Legendary Grimoire
If you were to ask anyone if they knew who King Arthur was, you would likely be hard-pressed to find someone that would answer in the negative. The legend of the Once and Future King, who shall one day return to save Britain, is a tale that has roots as far back as 830 AD. In particular, it is the 15th century work of Thomas Malory that is perhaps the most well known retelling, a fantastical tale that did its best to string all the scattered pieces of King Arthur's legend together into a cohesive epic whole.
The tale of King Arthur in many ways defined the very concepts of "honor" and "chivalry", and its influence shaped the image of knights irrevocably in the eyes of the civilized world at large. Despite being so objectively recent in human history on the whole, it all but defined the very concept of "knight", and given time and influence, it may yet possess the potential to become a Mythic Grimoire itself.
Excalibur: The glimmering blade of legend and symbol of King Arthur's reign, even more-so than the Caliburn he drew from the stone, the sword features a golden hilt emblazoned by two chimeras, and engraved upon either side of the blade are the words "Take me up" and "Cast me away" in old Brittonic. When drawn, the chimera heads briefly spit fire and the blade shines with golden light bright enough to blind enemies, which it will continue to emit until sheathed. It is a peerless and unbreakable weapon that is capable of severing all but the most hardy substances, and though it possesses no ranged abilities beyond the light, should the wielder call out its name and pay a heavy toll of mana, it can strike a blow that will be guaranteed to pierce should the wielder's aim be true.
The Scabbard: Merlin once chastised Arthur for valuing Excalibur over its sheathe, and, indeed, it was only by the treacherous Morgan Le Fay stealing away the Scabbard that eventually led to Arthur's end. So long as the Scabbard is on Chinami's person, she shall not shed blood from any wound, preventing her from bleeding to death (though she may still recieve grievous, disabling injuries). The Scabbard further induces the regeneration of wounds, even beyond the normal magical girl recovery, at a rate of approximately 1 inch per minute. If desired, Chinami may give the Scabbard to another person, bestowing the protective properties upon them instead. Though, while they will not bleed to death while protected, the regeneration takes 4 times as long as the proper owner's.
Armor: A silver set of glimmering and form-fitting full-body plate armor, aside from lacking a helmet. Filigreed with gold, a white and gold tabard is worn atop it, along with a royal blue cape. The armor possesses no special properties beyond the enhancements provided by the transformation, but it is still armor and thus provides some level of greater than average protection.
Peerless Knight: The supernatural strength, speed and endurance that all magical girls receive is especially strong in her, and she possesses a certain instinct for combat, wielding her sword not as a novice but like someone who had been trained from childhood. This instinct extends also to managing her armor and even how to interact with and ride horses... the latter of which she appears to be distinctly lacking in... for now.
Knights of the Round: During the hours of sunrise, noon, and sunset, Chinami may utter a prayer to the Christian God to summon forth the Round Table for an hour, and it cannot be summoned again until the next qualifying time bracket arrives. The table is a strange existence with a hollowed out center, more like a ring of fused tables covered by a simple white cloth and manned by 10 chairs. The simultaneously strange and lackluster appearance is deceiving, for the table is one meant to comfortably host all who would dine with the King. As such, it shall grow larger for every new person who approaches with intent to sit, summoning forth new chairs for every single person... and always with but a single extra chair remaining empty and welcoming. Those that sit at the Round Table shall be presented with an extravagant never-ending feast, filled with hearty and nutritious meats (venison, beef, pork, goat, lamb, mutton, heron and poultry) and vegetables, along with all manner of other foods, both modern and ancient. Despite employing seemingly modern cooking methods, no deserts are present, as the table seems to only serve food of sustenance. The only exception seems to be drinks, among which are various wines, juices and water. Regardless, guests will find what food is present is always made to their liking. The promise of this ability is that "none shall go hungry", as all are meant to be equally satisfied by it. The food is filling. Even if someone only has time to take a single bite before the duration ends, they will gain enough sustenance from it to last until another meal.
The Once and Future King: As the embodiment of the King returned to save Britain, she too defies death. Should she perish, she will return with the rising sun of the next day upon Britain with the Grimoire in her possession. Though, it has the caveat that the sun must rise on the nation of Britain specifically for her to be resurrected. If Britain is destroyed, it would mean her eventual end as well unless she established a new "Britain". Should she live long enough to see it, Chinami will further find that this aspect halts her aging process once she reaches her physical prime. Naturally, Chinami is entirely unaware of this ability.
Heart of the Dragon: Within the legend of King Arthur, dragons are a constant presence, whether as a dragon-shaped comet, a house standard, or even quite literal foe of scale and claw to be slain by a courageous knight. There are moments of dragon slaying, and it is said by some that the name of Pendragon was far more literal than perhaps assumed, that Uther Pendragon's beastly actions in the course of wedding Igraine and fathering Arthur were born of a nature more... primal. This power is a manifestation of the strength and fury attributed to European dragons, taking form as reconstruction of the host's body to contain a thrumming forge of flame and magic. The changes wrought internally and externally by this forge of flame constantly temper and reforge the body against heat and fire, developing a high resistance -if not immunity- to both. The magical energy created by this forge is primarily suited for workings of flame, but with effort it can be molded for other pursuits and powers at Camelot's disposal.
The flaming "Heart" grants the ability to explosively propel her body and movements through shoving its flames through her internals like steam through an engine, enhancing her strength and speed. She can redirect the inner pressure to expel the flames from her mouth like the breath of a dragon, and when she is injured, her wounds become somewhat involuntary exits for that pressure, spitting fire upon her near surroundings if care is not taken. These flames can be channeled through Excalibur to a degree, allowing her to ignite the blade with flames or use the expulsion thereof to rocket the blade about, along with herself by extension with proper orientation. The thrust is enough to maintain sustained -if rather rough- flight. Regardless of how she channels the flames with her sword, they don't remain magic-fueled much beyond the blade's length, akin to rocket emissions. Though, the embers are still capable of fire-setting collateral.
The "Heart" is driven by the selfish, greedy instincts of a dragon, hungering for wealth and the pursuit of its own concerns, modeled after its host's deepest desires, which tends to create an aura of hostility to the senses of other magical beings, irregardless of whatever Camelot is truly feeling. In times where Camelot expresses particularly strong emotions, her body may undergo partial draconic metamorphosis, like her eyes taking on a golden reptilian visage or her teeth sharpening to carnivorous points. Her senses are dialed up, detecting scents, sights and sounds with far greater acuity. The more emotionally driven she allows herself to be, the more these changes progress, including crimson scales and even functional wings past a certain point. If she were to have a sizable emotional overload, she might even transform into a full-grown dragon outright. Outside of emotional lapses, she can choose to deliberately push the transformation along by stoking the flames of the "Heart" with her normal mana supply, temporarily agitating it enough to make the shift. Though, it is more draining to maintain without emotional fuel.
Of particular, note, this ability does not go away entirely when her transformation ends. Her Grimoire has effectively turned her into a dragon compressed into human form. And while it certainly takes more effort to achieve and maintain the transformation outside her Magical Girl form, the changes she has undergone are extensive and lasting.
Misc:
Growing up in an immigrant family left Chinami with the ability to fluently speak both English and Japanese, though she prefers the former. She's somewhat annoyed at the fact that she's practically a living Asian meme, given that she seriously practices Tae-Kwon-Do, but she's long since learned to put up with the teasing to continue doing one of the few things that's really "clicked" for her in life. She can't cook to save her life, unless it's something with instructions. In that case, she does just fine, but it makes good homemade cooking one of her favorite things when she can have it.
Saw this on a couple character sheets and thought it would be a neat thing to slap on my own to help me keep sight of possible character goals/development. No need to build anything around it. This is just for me to use if the story naturally presents an opportunity.
The Grand Ministry: She doesn't trust them. No-one with the kind of power they have can possibly be as good as they present themselves surely? The only positive she can see in attending Merrywell is that it puts her in their center of power. Perhaps it's paranoia, but if sufficient proof of unscrupulous acts and an opportunity arises, she's willing to put herself at odds with them. After all, magical girls would be better off independent, right?
To Be or Not to Be: Most children dream of being a superhero at one time or another, and Chinami is no different. She constantly struggles with her inward glee at suddenly having great power and the ability to use both it and finally make use of her talents in martial arts in a productive way, even as her common sense screams at her to find some way, any way to leave it all behind.
With Great Power, Comes Great Responsibility: She didn't ask for it, but now that she has this power, can she ever live with herself if she refuses to use it? One day, she may have to find out.
The Once and Future King: Having this particular Grimoire... and being in the seat of its power makes Chinami uneasy. Worse, she feels as though she is forced to live up to the ideals of chivalry within it in order to use her powers best, and she worries... Because King Arthur was not the saint so many think he is, the beacon so many idolize him as. Certainly, he had his good points. However, in the modern era, he would be a menace, and Chinami is all too aware that she could become just like him if she allows herself to be careless. She has come to the realization that she might just be power-hungry, and being in this location? It's far too much temptation. But one day, perhaps if she can muster the will and the conviction, she can leave that ghost behind and be even better than Arthur ever was.
Lofty Expectations: She wields the Legend of Arthur in the heart of Britain. With such a Grimoire comes certain expectations, expectations she is not certain she can -or even should- meet.
Purpose: Chinami has come to the realization that she has no purpose in life, no true goals within reach. Unable to meet her parents' expectations. Unable to even break through her own limitations and caught in a rut of highly-specialized talent, Chinami wants a successful and comfortable life but has no idea how to obtain it. She has fixated on this one goal for so long, admittedly influenced by her parents, that now she has no real idea what she wants from life other than to be happy. Question is: what will truly make her happy?