Wait, I'm dead. I just realize Chloe doesn't have the abilty to fly lmao.
Oh yeah, she just stomped towards Iraleth back on the bridge and got blasted.
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Oh yeah, she just stomped towards Iraleth back on the bridge and got blasted.
Sheesh, that was a particularly long one. Apologies, but it had to get out there!
Nothing a little writing can't solve. Only thing that's gonna stop me from RPing on the regular is death, probably, and that's thankfully coming no time soon.
Yaaay!
Sorry to hear about a tough day...
Nothing a little writing can't solve. Only thing that's gonna stop me from RPing on the regular is death, probably, and that's thankfully coming no time soon.
@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses
"Mmm, 'fuck around and find out,' is it?"
Small rumblings shook Valen's torso, face cast downward as he tasted the words like the wine he sipped, staying quiet while allowing others to finish their own ramblings. With another drink to empty his glass, the boy's posture shot upright in his throne with a chuckle - a sweet toxin in his stifled laugh. He was this universe's center, here and now, and he could not be happier for it. The threats that others shot his way seemed to slide off him like rain off of an umbrella, and his body language, expression, and even his heart rate for those that could sense such things - all were normal, leisurely and controlled. He well and truly believed that he could unleash a Fireball upon dozens of innocents and get away with it, if he willed it.
His attention turned to Iraleth as matters settled down, eyebrows somewhat raised with a slender smile as she spoke venom of the Leuvalt family name. When she turned away, the cracked sneer would grow thinner and thinner, as if a strand being stretched to its limit. "We will end today's discussion on a disagreement, then, fair squire. You who wish to see the young vanquished in the name of virtue, and I who admit freely the truth that the world is built by those who conquer for the sake of themselves. Even now, as you posture, rebound takes you. Should you continue that way as days pass into months and indeed years, you will join the fates of all the foot soldiers who perished in naive martyrdom: forgotten and unrequited."
His wine glass was filled to the brim once again, though it was again unknown when such a thing happened. He stared into it as another small chuckle escaped him.
"My way would spare you that fate."
Looking over to Hildegunde, he would eye her weapon, scoffing. "The same goes for this one. I have witnessed many soldiers wield such primitive weaponry in fair Rekordia. You are as expendable as a bargain bin toy soldier with none of the usefulness. Those, at least, are capable of distracting the children during the cold winter nights."
After which, he would close his eyes, leaning back in his throne and simply becoming unresponsive to any and all that would talk to him - a face of pure comfort on his features as he waited out the last minutes before the end. He clutched his hands tightly to the grips of his throne, the wine glass having disappeared from his left hand without witness.
Mentally, Davil would speak to the collective. To no one in particular, yet to anyone tuned in to Davil's messages at that moment. "Man, what a dick," is all he'd think as he sighed, awaiting the final moments while shifting uncomfortably in his seat, leaning as far away from Valen's direction as possible.
Meanwhile, at that same moment, Rio's focus had entirely shifted from Valen to Otis. Almost falling to his knees, revealing that he'd merely been posturing with the last of his strength, his eyes found hope when the Mannekin arrived with a chair. "...I won't say thanks, and I won't owe you nothin'. But I will remember."
Rio simply eyed Otis a moment as he limped back towards Chloe with the chair. Upon reaching that corner, he would plop Chloe's unconscious body into his lap once he was seated. He took a long, exhausted exhale as his eyes closed, his Ethos phantom disappearing as he finally allowed his guard to loosen. He'd briefly crack open an eye to look towards Chunji, his body clearly finding even speech a struggle right now. "You wanna find a chair soon, I think. Seems like people're lining up now. Finally, some peace."
To Chunji's eyes, he would indeed see something new immediately as he glanced around the room. Whether it was newly arrived or simply obscured in the prior heat of battle, it was now clear as day that some kind of mechanical lizard creature, roughly the size of a dog, was crawling on the ceiling. It had a large white staff with a sapphire at its center tied around its back, and it was slowly crawling and observing from above. He could tell that, without his Ethos, the thing would be well and truly invisible. Upon looking at the limp girl, he would see her continuing to bang against it with her cane, surprisingly loosening the structure a great deal despite the weak pokes. Upon looking at her internals, however, something odd was made clear to him.
There was nothing in her right leg.
What that meant was unclear, in the moment. He could see the complex inner workings of a human body, in full as normal, with one exception: her right leg was a hazy blackness. It was as if there was nothing there but the shape of a leg, moving like one, except there was well and truly nonexistence. It was as if something was blocking his vision from seeing the truth, a haze surrounding her right leg that was invisible to the regular eye. And after mere seconds of glancing at this, a feeling would almost settle in Chunji's gut - a feeling as if something were watching him, staring at him, observing him while he himself observed others. Something immaterial out there, somewhere, watched him now, and knew that he had glimpsed an inexplicable something. The girl, meanwhile, continued to bang away obliviously, cheering happily once a fragment of Foreteller's shin had broken apart. She handed it over to a half-orc boy nearby, who began sticking it to other pieces of metal with some kind of magic or Ethos until it formed a shoddy shop class stool that she hastily sat upon.
Lines would have formed, the common rabble obeying desperately as they awaited their chairs pleadingly. Most of the fight seemed to be out of people by now, replaced only by fatigue and the desire to be done with what was perhaps the most demanding morning of their lives. There appeared to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred students divided into these lines awaiting salvation, unsure if they would achieve it.
It was as minutes passed and the clock struck 9:59 AM, while chairs were hurriedly handed out, that students would begin to see a strange mechanical lizard slowly descending from the ceiling, a sapphire staff on its back glowing like the sun. It would glide ethereally onto the stage, and the moment its metal limbs touched the wooden floorboards, the staff all at once flashed and dimmed. By its side, now wielding the staff, was a woman wearing a dark feathered dress, standing at attention as she stared out with a knowing smile to the students on stage and those seated.
"We stand mere seconds away from the appointed start time. Be seated. For those that are not seated in the next forty five seconds, we will happily accept your participation next year." Without a doubt, it was the voice of the woman from over the school loudspeaker earlier today.
There would be some that would fight for seats, or attempt to - and yet, the moment anyone so much as raised their voice in anger, they would find themselves unconscious with a glare from the woman. And in another blink, their bodies would vanish from the auditorium entirely, as if they were never there at all.
"Please make your peace and be seated, or else leave with dignity. I ask for silence as this clock strikes on the hour, as befitting the chosen that have made it this far. There will be time for acknowledgement and lectures alike at a later time, but for now, order is... in order."
AUDITORIUM
"Mmm, 'fuck around and find out,' is it?"
Small rumblings shook Valen's torso, face cast downward as he tasted the words like the wine he sipped, staying quiet while allowing others to finish their own ramblings. With another drink to empty his glass, the boy's posture shot upright in his throne with a chuckle - a sweet toxin in his stifled laugh. He was this universe's center, here and now, and he could not be happier for it. The threats that others shot his way seemed to slide off him like rain off of an umbrella, and his body language, expression, and even his heart rate for those that could sense such things - all were normal, leisurely and controlled. He well and truly believed that he could unleash a Fireball upon dozens of innocents and get away with it, if he willed it.
His attention turned to Iraleth as matters settled down, eyebrows somewhat raised with a slender smile as she spoke venom of the Leuvalt family name. When she turned away, the cracked sneer would grow thinner and thinner, as if a strand being stretched to its limit. "We will end today's discussion on a disagreement, then, fair squire. You who wish to see the young vanquished in the name of virtue, and I who admit freely the truth that the world is built by those who conquer for the sake of themselves. Even now, as you posture, rebound takes you. Should you continue that way as days pass into months and indeed years, you will join the fates of all the foot soldiers who perished in naive martyrdom: forgotten and unrequited."
His wine glass was filled to the brim once again, though it was again unknown when such a thing happened. He stared into it as another small chuckle escaped him.
"My way would spare you that fate."
Looking over to Hildegunde, he would eye her weapon, scoffing. "The same goes for this one. I have witnessed many soldiers wield such primitive weaponry in fair Rekordia. You are as expendable as a bargain bin toy soldier with none of the usefulness. Those, at least, are capable of distracting the children during the cold winter nights."
After which, he would close his eyes, leaning back in his throne and simply becoming unresponsive to any and all that would talk to him - a face of pure comfort on his features as he waited out the last minutes before the end. He clutched his hands tightly to the grips of his throne, the wine glass having disappeared from his left hand without witness.
Mentally, Davil would speak to the collective. To no one in particular, yet to anyone tuned in to Davil's messages at that moment. "Man, what a dick," is all he'd think as he sighed, awaiting the final moments while shifting uncomfortably in his seat, leaning as far away from Valen's direction as possible.
Meanwhile, at that same moment, Rio's focus had entirely shifted from Valen to Otis. Almost falling to his knees, revealing that he'd merely been posturing with the last of his strength, his eyes found hope when the Mannekin arrived with a chair. "...I won't say thanks, and I won't owe you nothin'. But I will remember."
Rio simply eyed Otis a moment as he limped back towards Chloe with the chair. Upon reaching that corner, he would plop Chloe's unconscious body into his lap once he was seated. He took a long, exhausted exhale as his eyes closed, his Ethos phantom disappearing as he finally allowed his guard to loosen. He'd briefly crack open an eye to look towards Chunji, his body clearly finding even speech a struggle right now. "You wanna find a chair soon, I think. Seems like people're lining up now. Finally, some peace."
To Chunji's eyes, he would indeed see something new immediately as he glanced around the room. Whether it was newly arrived or simply obscured in the prior heat of battle, it was now clear as day that some kind of mechanical lizard creature, roughly the size of a dog, was crawling on the ceiling. It had a large white staff with a sapphire at its center tied around its back, and it was slowly crawling and observing from above. He could tell that, without his Ethos, the thing would be well and truly invisible. Upon looking at the limp girl, he would see her continuing to bang against it with her cane, surprisingly loosening the structure a great deal despite the weak pokes. Upon looking at her internals, however, something odd was made clear to him.
There was nothing in her right leg.
What that meant was unclear, in the moment. He could see the complex inner workings of a human body, in full as normal, with one exception: her right leg was a hazy blackness. It was as if there was nothing there but the shape of a leg, moving like one, except there was well and truly nonexistence. It was as if something was blocking his vision from seeing the truth, a haze surrounding her right leg that was invisible to the regular eye. And after mere seconds of glancing at this, a feeling would almost settle in Chunji's gut - a feeling as if something were watching him, staring at him, observing him while he himself observed others. Something immaterial out there, somewhere, watched him now, and knew that he had glimpsed an inexplicable something. The girl, meanwhile, continued to bang away obliviously, cheering happily once a fragment of Foreteller's shin had broken apart. She handed it over to a half-orc boy nearby, who began sticking it to other pieces of metal with some kind of magic or Ethos until it formed a shoddy shop class stool that she hastily sat upon.
Lines would have formed, the common rabble obeying desperately as they awaited their chairs pleadingly. Most of the fight seemed to be out of people by now, replaced only by fatigue and the desire to be done with what was perhaps the most demanding morning of their lives. There appeared to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred students divided into these lines awaiting salvation, unsure if they would achieve it.
It was as minutes passed and the clock struck 9:59 AM, while chairs were hurriedly handed out, that students would begin to see a strange mechanical lizard slowly descending from the ceiling, a sapphire staff on its back glowing like the sun. It would glide ethereally onto the stage, and the moment its metal limbs touched the wooden floorboards, the staff all at once flashed and dimmed. By its side, now wielding the staff, was a woman wearing a dark feathered dress, standing at attention as she stared out with a knowing smile to the students on stage and those seated.
"We stand mere seconds away from the appointed start time. Be seated. For those that are not seated in the next forty five seconds, we will happily accept your participation next year." Without a doubt, it was the voice of the woman from over the school loudspeaker earlier today.
There would be some that would fight for seats, or attempt to - and yet, the moment anyone so much as raised their voice in anger, they would find themselves unconscious with a glare from the woman. And in another blink, their bodies would vanish from the auditorium entirely, as if they were never there at all.
"Please make your peace and be seated, or else leave with dignity. I ask for silence as this clock strikes on the hour, as befitting the chosen that have made it this far. There will be time for acknowledgement and lectures alike at a later time, but for now, order is... in order."
Been a busy and tough day and a half, but a post'll be coming in the next few hours!
Yeah, everyone can make posts again at this point.
@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses
Rio glared daggers at Chunji, but nevertheless let him work on Chloe's wounds. "I'm not exactly medically trained, here. My efforts're already being stretched pretty thin as it is, and quite frankly I'm just..." Upon trailing off, the boy turned his head to the side with the click of his tongue and his fist against the wall. Averting his gaze from Chunji, he stared into the brick patterns his hand bruised against, frustration as clear as day across his features. "Thanks."
The would-be defender then turned his attention back to the stage as the tension was brought to a boil, looking upon Valen with feral fury. "You just make sure Chloe stays safe from the weirdos around here. Guess I'll use what's left. Here I was thinkin' I was through the worst of it." The sound of something snapping inside of Rio's body rang out - his shielded phantom appearing at his side instantaneously. "This is gonna hurt, but... hell with it. Third Shield: Repel!"
As those words were uttered, Rio kicked one of the shields on his own Ethos-summmoned phantom. For a moment, he seemed trapped in stasis, held in place mid-motion. Then in the next, he was rocketed backwards like an arrow loosed from a master archer, clearing the distance of the auditorium in seconds as he tumbled, rolled and landed on his feet in front of the crowd - in front of Valen, looking up at him from below. The arrowlike boy raised both his hands in front of him, breathing heavily and bleeding profusely while locking eyes with the throned noble. This would happen moments after Ciara and Iraleth had also arrived with their own interceptions. "I'm ready for the rematch right now, shithead. Believe it or not, I'm at the top of my game right now - you've never seen me this powerful. Same goes for these other do-gooders, I'd wager," Rio would speak breathlessly, more cuts seeming to open across his exposed skin as seconds passed, as if simply standing here now was injuring him. Those knowledgeable in the basics of essence would recognize this as a telltale sign of what professionals call 'rebound', in which an essence user's body begins to shut down from the inside and out simultaneously after prolonged overexertion of essence manipulation.
Nevertheless, Valen took all of this in, and slowly looked upon his assassins with neutrality - or the most he could look upon them, with the current and very sharp restrictions upon himself in place. A glass of wine dangled in his other hand, though it was unknown when it had arrived. His incantations had ceased the moment that the trio was upon him, though he looked none the worse for wear emotionally. His eyes first met Iraleth, unrelenting steel in those orbs. "Ah, 'vaunted' Nero, is it? And all of his integrity, cast to the pits of Kazaar-knows-where, brought to ash by found family. Or, I suppose, Astra-knows-where is more fitting in this day and age, yes? After all..."
The glowing patterns in the air in front of him faded, the spell canceled.
"After all, it is us Leuvalts who have dictated history's course not once, but twice. Though Nero and Klara were each foolish enough to abandon their family in pursuit of such things. Both dying young, both giving themselves up to what they believed was a higher calling. Both... having tragically never found the peak of their potentials. Gods, they could have been; not weak whispers on the wind like dear young Astra born out of Klara's desperation, but true and feared powers."
And then, his focus met Ciara.
"Shadow magic, is it? I suppose Vaal Shakta is more lenient with practiced Umbralists, but I was not aware that the good Verne lacked the sense to ship your ilk off to Mirris. Hero King Theodore would light ablaze at the notion of Umbralists in plain sight, all too willing to slash you through with the famed Mortalion. I suppose the world is changing with each passing day, and we now find ourselves united: those that worship the Leuvalts and those that worship dark art madmen like First Shepherd Meer in the same halls, blades trained at the same enemies."
He would sip upon his wine, were he allowed at this point. Savoring the flavor, looking into his own reflection in the burgundy liquid. For the first time, a 'true' smile had graced his features. It wasn't one of joy, but gave off the aura of a man who had found twisted pleasure in the words he had just spoken, reflecting on them and finding comedy in this moment in which many threatened his life.
"Am I so wrong, perhaps, for wishing to see who would break or even perish at something so simple as a puff of smoke not fit to light House Leuvalt's estate torches?" His every word and expression was mechanical and pointed, giving no care for what others thought of his musings.
"Yet rejoice, brave heroes. The combined might of three whelps, dead on their feet with not even a pulse to sustain them momentarily, has stayed my hand this day. I merely wished to see what the response would be. A jape, in the tongue of you commonfolk."
AUDITORIUM
Rio glared daggers at Chunji, but nevertheless let him work on Chloe's wounds. "I'm not exactly medically trained, here. My efforts're already being stretched pretty thin as it is, and quite frankly I'm just..." Upon trailing off, the boy turned his head to the side with the click of his tongue and his fist against the wall. Averting his gaze from Chunji, he stared into the brick patterns his hand bruised against, frustration as clear as day across his features. "Thanks."
The would-be defender then turned his attention back to the stage as the tension was brought to a boil, looking upon Valen with feral fury. "You just make sure Chloe stays safe from the weirdos around here. Guess I'll use what's left. Here I was thinkin' I was through the worst of it." The sound of something snapping inside of Rio's body rang out - his shielded phantom appearing at his side instantaneously. "This is gonna hurt, but... hell with it. Third Shield: Repel!"
As those words were uttered, Rio kicked one of the shields on his own Ethos-summmoned phantom. For a moment, he seemed trapped in stasis, held in place mid-motion. Then in the next, he was rocketed backwards like an arrow loosed from a master archer, clearing the distance of the auditorium in seconds as he tumbled, rolled and landed on his feet in front of the crowd - in front of Valen, looking up at him from below. The arrowlike boy raised both his hands in front of him, breathing heavily and bleeding profusely while locking eyes with the throned noble. This would happen moments after Ciara and Iraleth had also arrived with their own interceptions. "I'm ready for the rematch right now, shithead. Believe it or not, I'm at the top of my game right now - you've never seen me this powerful. Same goes for these other do-gooders, I'd wager," Rio would speak breathlessly, more cuts seeming to open across his exposed skin as seconds passed, as if simply standing here now was injuring him. Those knowledgeable in the basics of essence would recognize this as a telltale sign of what professionals call 'rebound', in which an essence user's body begins to shut down from the inside and out simultaneously after prolonged overexertion of essence manipulation.
Nevertheless, Valen took all of this in, and slowly looked upon his assassins with neutrality - or the most he could look upon them, with the current and very sharp restrictions upon himself in place. A glass of wine dangled in his other hand, though it was unknown when it had arrived. His incantations had ceased the moment that the trio was upon him, though he looked none the worse for wear emotionally. His eyes first met Iraleth, unrelenting steel in those orbs. "Ah, 'vaunted' Nero, is it? And all of his integrity, cast to the pits of Kazaar-knows-where, brought to ash by found family. Or, I suppose, Astra-knows-where is more fitting in this day and age, yes? After all..."
The glowing patterns in the air in front of him faded, the spell canceled.
"After all, it is us Leuvalts who have dictated history's course not once, but twice. Though Nero and Klara were each foolish enough to abandon their family in pursuit of such things. Both dying young, both giving themselves up to what they believed was a higher calling. Both... having tragically never found the peak of their potentials. Gods, they could have been; not weak whispers on the wind like dear young Astra born out of Klara's desperation, but true and feared powers."
And then, his focus met Ciara.
"Shadow magic, is it? I suppose Vaal Shakta is more lenient with practiced Umbralists, but I was not aware that the good Verne lacked the sense to ship your ilk off to Mirris. Hero King Theodore would light ablaze at the notion of Umbralists in plain sight, all too willing to slash you through with the famed Mortalion. I suppose the world is changing with each passing day, and we now find ourselves united: those that worship the Leuvalts and those that worship dark art madmen like First Shepherd Meer in the same halls, blades trained at the same enemies."
He would sip upon his wine, were he allowed at this point. Savoring the flavor, looking into his own reflection in the burgundy liquid. For the first time, a 'true' smile had graced his features. It wasn't one of joy, but gave off the aura of a man who had found twisted pleasure in the words he had just spoken, reflecting on them and finding comedy in this moment in which many threatened his life.
"Am I so wrong, perhaps, for wishing to see who would break or even perish at something so simple as a puff of smoke not fit to light House Leuvalt's estate torches?" His every word and expression was mechanical and pointed, giving no care for what others thought of his musings.
"Yet rejoice, brave heroes. The combined might of three whelps, dead on their feet with not even a pulse to sustain them momentarily, has stayed my hand this day. I merely wished to see what the response would be. A jape, in the tongue of you commonfolk."
@AThousandCurses
Nah, no edits needed!
@ERode
Might be right. Could make a smaller mid-round post in a few here.
Nah, no edits needed!
@ERode
Might be right. Could make a smaller mid-round post in a few here.
And thar. Into the GM's court.
Also, to state it OOCly, it's Otis's intent to announce those accepted and release the chairs when time is pretty close to running out. I'll leave it up to you, Nanaya, to decide on when that time is.
My next post will be the time when that becomes relevant, barring any other circumstances that might arise!
@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses
Gulp.
Davil swallowed hard as he took in the events onstage, going from threatened to saved, unsure of his position apart from his starry-eyed appreciation for Ciara, giving her a small nod and smile. He seemed blissfully unaware of his lot in life, or otherwise choosing to ignore the undertones and implications behind his saving. To him, it was a kind gesture from a pretty girl, and no more or less than that. Life was so much better that way, in the end. So simple and unrefined, the life that the blissful lead.
"I guess I could play the part of the reliable upperclassman. Right, yeah, that's probably the way to go. I'll try to work through this. It won't be much longer, right, chum?" The question echoed towards Otis as Davil gathered himself, his facade as a brave katana-wielding warrior reaffirmed. Even as he took a slow inhale and exhale to finalize himself, some fooled by the act saw it as the meditative practice of a stern prodigy, trained beyond his years.
Eventually, desperation shifted. What was once senseless begging, became a crowd of dozens that gathered near Ciara's area of the stage, still from below, as various 'heroes' stepped forward with their best attempts to display their virtuous souls - their light and darkness radiating to varying degrees, but none reaching the shining brightness of one like Iraleth. Many, instead, were dull greys or dimming candlelight.
Some boasted of their boundless love or limitless compassion for the downtrodden, some even shoving each other around to step the most forward, more forward than any other competitor. Valen chuckled lowly at this, tracing patterns in the air with his index finger, leaning on his other arm with a bored fist pressed against his cheek. "You have truly brought the best of us forward with this request, chaff. I can only wonder how this resolves. Go on," he would mutter towards Ciara, still tracing patterns in the air casually in the direction of the masses, the dark rings around his eyes giving way to his exhaustion. To those well-versed on the study of the arcane practice of magic, they would know that Valen was slowly and casually weaving the motions of a "Fireball" spell - a blast of immense heat that would undoubtedly ash the entire crowd and at least a quarter of the auditorium if cast by a competent wizard. He was in no rush, but the spell would certainly be charged and cast eventually if he committed to finishing the hand motions.
From those that remained of the virtuous, a few began to step back - those that recognized the danger of those motions, clearly. Others, still, professed their heroism. "Why, I had once saved the city of Seer's Loft from a fearsome hydra," one would exclaim, hands raised aloft to mimic the looming, snapping heads of a giant many-faced snake. "Why, that is child's play, my fair commonborn. Why, I once vanquished the Flame Lich Jungmire in his own abode atop Castle Blackstone." A few turned their heads in confusion at this, pondering. "Isn't Blackstone that Rekordian fortress still overrun by the lich and his armies...? Jungmire's unalive and well, ya bum!"
Eventually, the one who made such a claim was booed and shoved out of the crowd entirely. Said individual promptly fled, tomato red in the face and sulking as he stomped away. He would slide down the wall and slump against it near Rio, who was still ignoring all the commotion and clumsily applying bandaids and bandages to Chloe.
Others, still, were bolstered by Iraleth's words. One would step forth in the crowd gathered near Iraleth, a lance summoned forth in his hand. "Perhaps you're right. This world is not so easily swayed by begging, so why would it be any different now in this situation?" Turning towards the small crowd behind him, he'd stab the lance into the ground, hand on the pommel as he looked across them. "We waste our time pleading charity, friends. Surely another method remains that we just need to think on? Time runs out, and we must find our way!"
The lance would disappear, and the boy would walk further towards the center of the room away from the stage, leading a small group of eight others to brainstorm in a corner. They passed by a group near the broken Foreteller, ripping pieces off of it and studying its materials. A few individuals among that group were already assembling makeshift stools from the wreckage, flimsy yet passable for the task at hand. Among them was the pale girl with the limp and the cane, running her fingers along the hard outer shell of the clockwork giant curiously. She tapped at it in certain points with the tip of her cane, finger to chin as she contemplated something.
Near the front of the stage, the clock clicked to 9:50 AM. Time was short, and as Valen recited a few incantations under his breath directed towards the panicked beggars as his finger movements stopped, the more observant near the stage grew nervous and prepared for the worst.
AUDITORIUM
Gulp.
Davil swallowed hard as he took in the events onstage, going from threatened to saved, unsure of his position apart from his starry-eyed appreciation for Ciara, giving her a small nod and smile. He seemed blissfully unaware of his lot in life, or otherwise choosing to ignore the undertones and implications behind his saving. To him, it was a kind gesture from a pretty girl, and no more or less than that. Life was so much better that way, in the end. So simple and unrefined, the life that the blissful lead.
"I guess I could play the part of the reliable upperclassman. Right, yeah, that's probably the way to go. I'll try to work through this. It won't be much longer, right, chum?" The question echoed towards Otis as Davil gathered himself, his facade as a brave katana-wielding warrior reaffirmed. Even as he took a slow inhale and exhale to finalize himself, some fooled by the act saw it as the meditative practice of a stern prodigy, trained beyond his years.
Eventually, desperation shifted. What was once senseless begging, became a crowd of dozens that gathered near Ciara's area of the stage, still from below, as various 'heroes' stepped forward with their best attempts to display their virtuous souls - their light and darkness radiating to varying degrees, but none reaching the shining brightness of one like Iraleth. Many, instead, were dull greys or dimming candlelight.
Some boasted of their boundless love or limitless compassion for the downtrodden, some even shoving each other around to step the most forward, more forward than any other competitor. Valen chuckled lowly at this, tracing patterns in the air with his index finger, leaning on his other arm with a bored fist pressed against his cheek. "You have truly brought the best of us forward with this request, chaff. I can only wonder how this resolves. Go on," he would mutter towards Ciara, still tracing patterns in the air casually in the direction of the masses, the dark rings around his eyes giving way to his exhaustion. To those well-versed on the study of the arcane practice of magic, they would know that Valen was slowly and casually weaving the motions of a "Fireball" spell - a blast of immense heat that would undoubtedly ash the entire crowd and at least a quarter of the auditorium if cast by a competent wizard. He was in no rush, but the spell would certainly be charged and cast eventually if he committed to finishing the hand motions.
From those that remained of the virtuous, a few began to step back - those that recognized the danger of those motions, clearly. Others, still, professed their heroism. "Why, I had once saved the city of Seer's Loft from a fearsome hydra," one would exclaim, hands raised aloft to mimic the looming, snapping heads of a giant many-faced snake. "Why, that is child's play, my fair commonborn. Why, I once vanquished the Flame Lich Jungmire in his own abode atop Castle Blackstone." A few turned their heads in confusion at this, pondering. "Isn't Blackstone that Rekordian fortress still overrun by the lich and his armies...? Jungmire's unalive and well, ya bum!"
Eventually, the one who made such a claim was booed and shoved out of the crowd entirely. Said individual promptly fled, tomato red in the face and sulking as he stomped away. He would slide down the wall and slump against it near Rio, who was still ignoring all the commotion and clumsily applying bandaids and bandages to Chloe.
Others, still, were bolstered by Iraleth's words. One would step forth in the crowd gathered near Iraleth, a lance summoned forth in his hand. "Perhaps you're right. This world is not so easily swayed by begging, so why would it be any different now in this situation?" Turning towards the small crowd behind him, he'd stab the lance into the ground, hand on the pommel as he looked across them. "We waste our time pleading charity, friends. Surely another method remains that we just need to think on? Time runs out, and we must find our way!"
The lance would disappear, and the boy would walk further towards the center of the room away from the stage, leading a small group of eight others to brainstorm in a corner. They passed by a group near the broken Foreteller, ripping pieces off of it and studying its materials. A few individuals among that group were already assembling makeshift stools from the wreckage, flimsy yet passable for the task at hand. Among them was the pale girl with the limp and the cane, running her fingers along the hard outer shell of the clockwork giant curiously. She tapped at it in certain points with the tip of her cane, finger to chin as she contemplated something.
Near the front of the stage, the clock clicked to 9:50 AM. Time was short, and as Valen recited a few incantations under his breath directed towards the panicked beggars as his finger movements stopped, the more observant near the stage grew nervous and prepared for the worst.
Gonna post relatively later in the round this time. Otis will finally establish a mental group chat with the others (minus Gulliver) and basically say something like "Yah, there's literally not enough seats for all of the beggars; tell me if there's any one of them that you're interesting."
And Nanaya, Otis is literally only interested in them if they have an interesting Ethos, a set of generally interesting specialties, or are already in the process of doing research. Otherwise, he thinks very little of a group of heroes that can't even make a goddamn stool to squat upon.
Yeah, that makes sense. In the end, regardless of power, a lot of people are simply cracking under the pressure. There are still a decent number around the rest of the room not begging, though. Remains to be seen!
@Nanaya
Real quick, would Iraleth know if Valen is who he says he is? As in, did the Leuvalt family have descendants up to the present day?
The Leuvalt family would presumably still be around today, with their most notable member in public perception being Klara Leuvalt of the heroes who stopped the Five Year Apocalypse. They’d be a comparatively smaller Rekordian noble family, being that they originated there. Nero left, initially, out of well known disagreement with his family’s Rekordian views - while Klara’s reasons remained unknown to the public for abandoning her family.
Valen’s attire fits the role of a traditional Leuvalt heir, at the very least.
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