Marah
Even in the midst of battle, Marah could not help but shake the Asadi tendency to be too curious for one's own good. Her shadow hands bound the equally shadowy doppelganger, reaching beyond the physical and touching the spirit, probing vaguely for the connection between the shadow and Joaquin. Not to attack (yet) but to try and understand what it was.
One eye closed, focused on the spiritual realm, while the other remained focused on her opponent.
"Calling for help? Well, let's make it two-on-two." She smiled, as her own shadowy companion came to her aid. From it rose her familiar, Azi quickly shifting from the form of a cat to the demonic caricature of a man-eating lion, intercepting the axe while Marah deflected the tendril with one shadow-covered blade.
Azi snarled and pounced, though he was clearly aiming to wrestle and pin Joaquin rather than tear him to shreds. Joaquin would find the beast difficult to fight; being made of shadow, axe strikes could only cause Azi's form to waver for a second or two, and it was unsurprisingly resistant to the darkness.
As if that weren't enough, Marah flung one of her daggers through her own familiar, aiming to score a cheap shot. Most of her attention was still on restraining the shadow clone, however.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?Joaquin
Well, the little cat turning into a lion was a shocker, that’s for sure. He was so focused on it that he barely noticed the dagger, dodging it in the nick of time. He resisted the urge to say “No fair” yet again, and instead focused on the shadow lion. He furrowed his eyebrows again, communicating with his shadow. Recall. On command, the shadow melted from the grip of the many hands, and reformed in front of Joaquin. Now fight.The shadow then dove towards the lion in order to grapple with it.
With the… umbral feline out of the way, he recomposed himself, and ran towards her, swinging his axe towards her shoulder.
It builds character.Marah
Azi began to maul Joaquin's double. Shadow fought shadow, meaning no real damage was done, but it didn't matter.
In recalling the double, Marah's shadow hands were left empty, freeing them to retreat to their mistress and form a barrier, blocking the axe and once more attempting to bind him.
"If you'd like to switch places with your clone and try your luck with Azi again, feel free." She offered. As she spoke, she twitched two fingers, and the dagger she'd thrown suddenly flew at Joaquin from behind.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?Joaquin
“Uh, no thanks, I’m good. Much rather have some juice right now. You?” His attempt at small talk backfired a little, as in doing so, Joaquin didn’t notice the dagger being recalled, grazing his shoulder blade. A small “Ow”, escaped his lips, and he wouldn’t be lying if he said he wanted to cry just a little. What to do, what to do… An idea struck him.
Uh, shadow! Try throwing the cat into the wall, see what happens. Then, a dual attack! Pretty cool, right? The shadow nodded stoically once more, and with all its might - do shadows have might? Shadow muscles?- It threw the not-lion off and into the barrier. With that out of the way, Joaquin swung his axe into the barrier, as the shadow did the same with its fists.
It builds character.Marah
"Two-to-one." She said, as her blade drew blood on its way back to her hand. It passed through her own shadowy barrier unimpeded, as did Azi when the clone managed to throw him off. "Also, I could go for something fruity. I hear on the coast they mix fruit juice with alcohol made from sugar cane. Wonder if we could find something like that here."
She discussed this rather casually for one who was in a fight, as though she wasn't in any danger. Which, it seemed, she wasn't, as the barrier held up to the clone's fists. Joaquin had the edge in physical strength, but Marah's power lay in her shadows.
The axe, however, did pass through, along with Joaquin's arms. It struck nothing, and for a half second it seemed like he could just run forward - but then the barrier became physical again with part of Joaquin inside of it, the shadowy hands holding him in place.
Azi burst out from the darkness a moment later to tackle the clone, once again keeping it occupied. A moment later, both of Marah's daggers shot out from the wall of blackness, aiming to score the final, decisive hit.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?The Duel Begins
Voron takes half a step back, only as far as he needs both to be out of reach of the thrust and also coil his muscles for what was to come.
"Three to the torso. Thank you for such favorable terms~"
And he springs forward, sword first, looking to use a low dart to slip past Apollyon and get a strike off on the way past. Oh sure, he could have held his ground, danced around the blows and done all three strikes in a singular combo once his foe made but a single mistake, but winning wasn't Voron's primary goal here...
"So, tell me; for whom do you fight?"
It's clearly a case of backroom political albumizing.Joaquin
He grinned. “Well, back home, people make a mean passion fruit juice. It’s super good. I think my mom taught me how to make it.” He almost grinned when the barrier gave away, but then it closed in on him. Great. He was starting to panic a little, mind racing to do something before he lost. He had another idea. Would it work? Maybe. But it was better than nothing.
He shrouded himself in shadows, hoping that those (admittedly scary) daggers would lose him. As he did so, he tried to use in his own shadow tendrils to pry himself free. Managing to free an arm, he threw -incredibly lightly; he wanted win, of course, but there was no way he was severely hurting his friend- his axe at Marah’s leg. He felt like it was gonna fail, but at least they wouldn’t say he tried. And what Marah was doing was so cool, he had to ask for pointers later.
It builds character.Marah
To see without light is the first thing all Asadi mages are taught. Many rooms in their underground homes are kept unlit, as a simple form of defense against spies and infiltrators. In the deepest halls, all fire is forbidden. Thus, to look without one's eyes is a necessity.
As such, the shadows offered no defense. Marah's aim was true, and her blades scored the final hit as more hands formed to intercept the axe.
"And that's three. Well played."
All at once, the darkness vanished. Azi returned to his usual smallness and mewled, walking away from the clone to go lurk somewhere. The barrier dropped and her hair returned to its normal state, leaving Joaquin's axe on the ground.
Recalling and sheathing her weapons, she picked up the axe and stepped closer to offer it back to him. "You're not half-bad. Without magic, I'd be horribly outmatched."
One of her braids moved towards the wound on her thigh, sliding into her skin and sewing the injury shut with threads of darkness, simultaneously cleaning it by erasing blood and sweat. Marah didn't even flinch at the sensation. "Since we don't have a proper healer present, would you like me to treat your injuries?"
Briefly, she glanced towards one of the other arenas, where it seemed Alicia was trying to burn her terrible housemate to death. Marah smiled fondly, though Azi hissed at the flames and fled.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?Joaquin
Joaquin frowned slightly, but it quickly melted into a smile, taking the axe. His shadow shrugged at him, as if to say: That’s just the way it goes, kid, before melting back into place. “That was… amazing! I need to know how you do all of this stuff. That was so cool! You were so cool! Oh, and thanks, and please clean my injuries. That’d be great. Also, teach me the cool stuff, maybe, please?” He calmed himself down, and dusted himself off. “Whoo, I need something to drink. Super cool. Wow.” He followed Marah’s gaze to where Alicia was, fighting that cute guy. “Uh… is she doing alright?”
It builds character.A series of slashes, the horned blade sent flying at Reid's eyes diced first by one layer of thorn blades, then another, and another... until all that remained of it was dust the scattered against his cheeks.
Reid's smile started taking on a wilder look, a sense of strain pushing at the edges of it as the flames licked at his heels and on up. The clash of magics was beginning to spark and crack more explosively, rippling bolts of force emitting off of the site of the Blackwoods' kicks - the white glimmering force surrounding Reid's kick and the fiery passionate array around Alicia's. For all that a true Blackwood might take offense to the very idea that a Bastard was pushing them to this extent. Making them feel fire at their legs, burning away at their proper and prim appearances...
It seemed like now, pressed in this way by Alicia, Reid was well and truly enjoying himself in a way that was decidedly not in line with the values of House Blackwood. There was a savage glint in his eye. A true blooded Blackwood was not supposed to give such an account of himself. Not like Reid honestly cared.
He enjoyed the feeling in this, his icy blue eyes looking at Alicia with a fresh, surprisingly earnest enthusiasm that seemed completely absent in him earlier. He liked this - he liked this very much—-
And then the magics that they had crashed into one another exploded violently.
Sending both Blackwoods careening backward. Alicia on to her back, Reid into one of the walls of the Combat Tower. Just a few feet away from Micaio. His muscles ached, he had fresh burn scars on his legs he'd need to spend some time healing via biomantic magics he'd learnt from classes, he needed to push himself off and out of the wall...and he'd never felt better.
"...Draw." He suddenly said. "I quite enjoyed that, Bastard. My thanks."
Edited by NickTheSwing on Sep 8th 2024 at 8:47:01 AM
Apollyon, Riposte Response
To Voron’s credit, that was not the response Apollyon had anticipated. Duelists rarely went for such high-risk plays, as despite their nimble and offense-oriented blades, it was their bodies that were their true weapon. And so it was that Voron used his to its fullest advantage. The Kinslayer used the blunt end of his own weapon to knock his adversary’s strike out of line, choosing to replant himself instead of following up in the following window. Voron’s question confirmed Apollyon’s original suspicion. Of the two activities presented in his challenge, it was the banter he was more interested in.
Unfortunately, the feeling was not mutual.
With the idea of a goading strike now dashed, he decided to commit in a more roundabout way. He inverted his lead grip and closed the distance. Despite what most would assume, reach is not solely decided by length. Speed is what decides a fighter’s effective reach. And though Voron was fleeter of foot, there was no matching the unconscious reactions of a warrior. He’d weather the strikes, and then when Voron grew tired or attempted to switch positioning once again, he’d strike.
Meanwhile, in the Library
Yune, being the airhead he was, very well could’ve missed the chair just in front of him being pulled out from under his table. He could’ve missed the one responsible for such an action turning the chair around and sitting down with his arms resting against the chair’s shoulders. He could’ve even missed the several seconds that person spent staring directly at him. It was doubtful, however, that he’d miss the ensuing monologue.
“Oi, killer. Not much of a killer, are ya? That’s cool, neither am I. Problem is that I’m not much of a lover either, and I bet that’s somethin’ you can relate to. Now, now, don’t get all upset about that, most people ain’t no good at love, it’s whatever. Thing is, things being what they are you gotta be somethin’, ya’feel? So I’m a thinker. And, if I’m right, so’re you. See, word around the playground’s that you were in that rat fight down in the tunnels over yonder. Now I don’t much care about that incident, but I do care about what was down there with ya. That secret passage’s been picked clean by now, but you and your friends had dibs. Mind tellin’ me what you used ‘em on?”
He was a dark fellow, dark skinned, dark haired and dark dressed, but there was a light in his eyes that seemed to differentiate him from usual inquisitives. He really did just seem…
“Just curious.”
WITH A HAIL OF HARPOONS! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!Yune
Yune blinked, looking up from his book at the person in front of him. He tilted his head, causing a stray lock of curly hair to fall in front of his eyes. He blinked again. Once. Twice.
And then he spoke.
"What do you mean by that?"
His head tilted to the other side this time. "Do you want to know what spells we used? What spells the others used? What we found? It's kind of an ambiguous question."
He had a point there.
"Look inside yourself and to the stars; there, you will find your answers."The Thinker, Call and Response
“Oh, I know what you dudes can do, man what kinda thinker you think I am? Phenemeon got one trick, blow up. Runt ‘a the litter down there ain’t got a crater for a bodily temple so I figure he’s good, little miss Blackwood’s a quiet type but she literally wears her magic on her sleeve, so I ain’t really tryin’ there. You’re the plant-man, the genus is the blood and bones type, dancin’ queen’s got glyphs of warding, I got all that on my own. But the only actual mystery about what happened down there is what you saw. And, more importantly, what you took.”
He smiled brighter, had a slight realization and raised his hands defensively.
“Now I ain’t a snitch or nothin’, I won’t go mouthin’ off. I’m a man of discretion, my hands are your hands.”
Edited by Yayakuza on Sep 8th 2024 at 7:19:41 AM
WITH A HAIL OF HARPOONS! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!Yune
"..." Yune's eyes dropped down to his lap. "We found a book. It detailed an old prophecy about a dark chosen. Or something like that. It was kinda unclear. Touched off...a massive argument."
There was a silence, then, as the other student processed this information.
"What's your name?" Yune suddenly asked.
"Look inside yourself and to the stars; there, you will find your answers."Alicia Blackwood—Past
Alicia hurried forwards without a lamp, stepping daintily through the undergrowth in the Blackwood forests, her way lit only by the embers she left behind, which faded in the cool, damp night air. She heard the howl of hunting hounds in the distance, and forced herself to breathe, continuing her search. She could not break out into a run, as the scent of fire would draw the dogs right to her, but it looked like the quarry the pureblood hunters were pursuing was right at hand.
A half-man, half-swan was flapping and honking in the distance, a second avian neck and head sprouting from the side of the poacher's face, having been caught and sentenced to an ironic punishment after trying to poach a swan from Blackwood territory. His wings were stubby and useless, and so were his legs. His torso was bent out of shape, clearly warped from the curse meant to turn him into a swan. In lieu of Beastfolk to hunt, the Blackwoods usually manufactured their own from criminals who consented in return for potential freedom if they managed to evade the hunters until a rooster crowed to announce the break of dawn. The poor souls—they never knew what it was they were agreeing to. With warped bodies and minds, they could never make it far from the place they were given a head start.
The animal fear in the man-swan's eyes was palpable. Alicia hushed him, wrapping an arm around him, drawing the curse out as one drew poison from a wound. The feathered flesh receded, the curse coiling its way around the arm Alicia used to hold the poacher in place. The man stopped struggling, if only for a moment, staring at her in shock. "Go, run," Alicia told him. "I'll lead them away from you. They'll think I'm the quarry." And as the man made for freedom, Alicia poured a bottle of milk over her feet, extinguishing them so that the flames could not give her identity away. She plucked a handful of feathers from her wing and scattered them as a sign the hunters could follow and made off. Even with her curse halfway snuffed out for now, she could still dance over the water of the marshes. Let them try to catch up to her and sink in the mud.
The wording of the contract stipulated that the quarry was to evade the hunters until cock-crow, but the Blackwoods required all roosters to be locked away on the nights of their hunts, making escaping an almost impossible task. Except Alicia had neglected to lock the coop this night, and who was going to check? Certainly not the purebloods, who did not stoop to such work, or the other bastards, who were sympathetic to her aims. Thus, Alicia ran, evading the hunters until dawn broke with the crow of a rooster, and frustrated the plans of her masters yet again.
Alicia Blackwood—Present
As Alicia was flung backwards, she was glad to have broken eye contact with Reid. This was not the least of her concerns, but it was the first that came to mind. The more rational parts of her mind said to her: Recover, idiot! And her body, used to dancelike movements, responded instinctually. She put her arm down, behind her head, using it to perform a back handspring by going along with the direction she was flung in. Then she reached out a single toe to the ground and tipped herself back upright using the leverage from her other leg, ending in a graceful curtsey by catching the air enough with her wing to slow her momentum down to balance on said toe.
Light as a feather, or a snowflake. I can't believe I drew in a bout with Reid. I've gotten stronger.
"If that will be all, Master Reid," Alicia said neutrally, retreating back behind her servile mask. "This one is happy to serve."
...He's never thanked me before, has he? Strange. I have to watch out.
Edited by JumpingFruit on Sep 9th 2024 at 3:06:55 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.The Thinker
“Dark Chosen…well, I sure ain’t never heard anythin’ like that out of anythin’ but the ole gossip girl’s daily issue, and I ain’t too fond of my chances in that particular regard, but I’ll definitely follow up on that man, good stuff, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“Names mean a lot to ya, huh friend?”
WITH A HAIL OF HARPOONS! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!Micaio Antero, combat tower
Micaio breathed a sigh of relief as Brenton chose to test his mettle against a different challenger. He'd successfully held that off until he could be sure he wouldn't be laid out in a single strike. Though, how long would it take before he was strong enough? What did "strong enough" even look like?
Before now, he'd had exactly one reference point for what combat might looked like. That was the reference point he returned to again as, while circling around, watching the sparring matches from a distance, he idly started swinging his staff at empty air. Not nearly as easy as she'd made it look, he'd learned quick, but... he was getting there. He no longer awkwardly jarred his arm simply swinging fast enough to deal any real damage. Were she there, she'd be criticising his technique in the strongest possible terms, he didn't doubt that - but again, he didn't intend to bring her into Academy affairs unless-
This rare pessimistic train of thought was derailed before it reached its destination by the sudden, LOUD explosion. Micaio yelped, leapt backwards, scrabbled in the dust for a second or so, his ringing ears clamped to his head as though he were a scolded pet. Once he got his bearings, the maned wolf dashed over in a blatant flap to Reid Blackwood's side - the one person in the entire tower willing to do so, it went without saying.
"Oh, goodness - are you alright, Master Blackwood? Is your partner alright? She exists in quite a state already, does she not, we don't need to add more problems to her list - the Asclepia! Where's Yune? Do we have no healer of wounds present?!"
Hail majestic corporate light, heaven born and ever bright!Juna, Novice Blade-Artist
"Aaah!" Juna gave a little jump as Brenton's greatsword thrust at her, pushing it aside with her own longsword in sheer desperation, just barely feeling the wooden blade passing above the skin of her back as she mixed in a step to the side to narrowly avoid its new path.
Now what?! STRIKE YOU IDIOT.
Wooden sword raised high, she flicked it down awkwardly towards Brenton's temple, shifting her weight onto her back foot to make it a fading-away strike. This didn't feel right, and yet the other people back home made it look so easy, as if it were just a flick of the wrist. What was she thinking? She stood no chance against Brenton, who had far more skill with a sword than just having watched some people take swings at each other, which is all Juna had to say for herself. His weapon was longer, his build more sturdy than even her own honed physique. She couldn't keep being on the retreat forever.
YOU CAN DO IT. ADVANCE.
Brenton awkwardly tried to parry Juna's away strike, only catching the blade when it just about bonked him on the side of the head - and he couldn't help but let out a boyish utterance of "Ow". Pushing it off of his thick skull with the force in his two arms. Brenton stood for a moment, catching up on where Juna was and how she positioned herself, remembering the way that the other Knights had instructed him. Always keep the enemy's position and tendencies in mind. Do not simply advance mindlessly. Take account of their moves and state - and then steadily advance.
Holding his greatsword in those two hands, he let himself move forward, sliding into one swing after another. Swing down from above, pivot into an upward swing, stand at the middle, move into a swipe across the midsection...! His eyes were bright and his focus was evident. Brenton called to mind the things he had learned with a steady hand.
He'd shown thus far no hint of the Nordic Battle Fury that had earlier dominated his fighting style. The inexperience of a fresh farm boy launched into something so far from his hoe and shovel requiring that rage of war. Indeed, his smile was calm and his enthusiasm was obvious.
While hardly a completely trained, capable man, he had applied himself with a complete earnestness. Three weeks of pure concentration and dedicated study...! He could do this!!
Edited by NickTheSwing on Sep 8th 2024 at 10:11:47 AM
As Corwin charged towards her, Cecilia’s second summon, heretofore of little importance in the battle, would flit behind her attacker, ceasing to alter the ambient temperature so as to avoid detection. As it did so, the air would begin to heat up almost the inverse of its previous function. The heat surrounding the creature grew and grew until, in an event which would be comical if not for its morbidity, its body burst entirely, releasing a small burst of flame.
Corwin Ostavia: Combat Tower
It didn't take long for Corwin to notice the shift in temperature following behind her. Even though she was quickly closing the distance between her and Cecilia, moments away from tackling her, she dared to look back. Which happened to be the right call in this case, as she barely had enough time to twist her body around and cast Refract before the second of Cecilia's summons burst into a small explosion of flame. She hadn't timed it correctly to reflect the fire, instead refracting it around herself and causing it to scorch the ground mere centimetres from Cecilia's position. As if that wasn't enough, the force of the fiery burst was enough to knock Corwin backwards off her feet, throwing her into Cecilia and knocking them both to the ground.
As the fire died down, Corwin let out a long sigh, still laying on top of Cecilia for a few moments before she found the strength to roll off and slowly get to her feet. Brushing herself down, she offered Cecilia a hand, looking flushed from the embarrassment caused by the clumsy display.
"Can we, uh... pretend that didn't just happen and call it a draw? Please? Gods, that was terrible... not you, you did great. I mean me. I've got so much to work on..." she huffed, wiping sweat from her forehead with her other hand. "Turns out: casters can't be clumsy. Lesson learned."
Edited by Enirboreh on Sep 9th 2024 at 6:37:54 PM
borkMarah
Joaquin's excitement was positively adorable. Marah smiled as she took him by the hand and gently guided him towards one of the benches where waterskins waited to quench their thirsts.
Her shadows slithered over him, erasing sweat and grime as they quickly sewed his wounds shut. "Those shadow threads should hold until you can see a proper healer." She was still holding his hand, and now she moved it until he was cupping her cheek. "As for teaching you my tricks... I can show you quite a few things you'll enjoy."
One of her hands slowly traced it's way up his arm, and she licked her lips sensuously. "Don't worry about the Blackwoods. Little Alicia can handle herself."
She moved closer, until she was practically sitting in his lap, and smiled up at him. "Just focus on me." She murmured, and leaned up to quickly press her lips to his.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?Joaquin
Joaquin turned as red as a ruoc tô. Wha-what? What just happened? Did she…? Are they…? WHAT? HUH? His mind was exploding, and if anything, that was an understatement. Any sense of thirst or pain had quickly disappeared, replaced with a sheer sense of surprise. He opened his mouth numerous times, gaping like a fish on land, before words came out a mile a minute. “Di-Did you just-? Uh… Th-Thank you? Um… Do you-are we-? W-What happens now? Ar-Are we d-dating now, or something?”
He was experiencing a cavalcade of emotions right now: fear, embarrassment, joy, nervousness, and something else he couldn’t quite grasp. He tried to speak again. “Uh… wow.” He chuckled nervously. “That was… great? Um… what happens now?” The last part came out in a whisper. Really, what had happened? He was confused.
It builds character.

Joaquin
Joaquin put his best tough face. “Sure. Whatever that means.” Now, he’d be lying if he didn’t panic on the inside when all those hands came rushing toward him, but he quickly pulled himself together, and furrowed his eyebrows. His shadow began to emerge from its place. Take the hit for me. Please. Nodding, the shadow ran in front of Joaquin and let itself by overtaken by the hands, struggling to break free.Good job, buddy. Circumventing the hands, he ran at Marah again, shooting out a shadow tendril aimed at one of her hands, while his other slashed the axe upwards at her other arm.
It builds character.