Sword Rhetoric
1-2...
Voron staggers back, wincing and momentarily disoriented. Okay, we're entering the endgame of this duel, time to go on the defensive.
"And has that been put to proof? Or have you merely been taught that by a House that like all the others fears the fact that the mage will ever be outnumbered by the mundane?"
The plan was to keep mobile, keep out of range. Maybe pepper in some Verscathe to keep the path clear...
"In your proof, strength falls apart when there is no fodder to burn..."
It's clearly a case of backroom political albumizing.Juna
With her flow state disrupted after that sudden dodge and counter, Juna hesitated as Brenton raised his foot, before a flash of what had occurred back in the library raced through her mind. She spun as quickly as she could, feet and hands tracing the beginnings of a circle on the ground beneath and in front of her in an attempt to counteract the blast of wind she expected and pin herself in place. But her momentary confused hesitation had been her downfall. The sigils were no less than half-done before the blast came, sending her flying backwards, sword clattering off to the side as her grip loosened.
"AAAH!"
For a brief semi-second, she rocketed through the air at full speed, before she slowed down, regaining control over her own aerial travel. A twist in midair to catch herself as she began to gracefully glide, she planted both hands on the ground and flipped back onto her feet, doing a few more handstand-flips to ride out her momentum and avoid the first of the following-up gale force swings from Brenton. But the pressure was growing, and she would run out of floor eventually. She had to do something to do something, and fast. And she had only her magic and body as weapons. Feet met floor one last time after a powerful handspring backwards, and she braced herself, though still light on her feet as Brenton moved in with more spinning strikes that battered at her with the force of a fierce ashstorm, gritting her teeth.
I can do this.
A graceful pirouette summoned a glyph beneath her, shimmering as she stamped her foot down upon it, a flash erupting as she shot into the air, gliding in an arc above Brenton, body flipping upside down. At its zenith, passing directly over Brenton within the eye of the blade-storm, her hands shot out below her, above her towards Brenton, and traced a golden line as she spun. One revolution, and the circuit was completed, the glyph shining into being. Another bright flash, and a golden rain of energetic daggers rained down upon her sparring partner from the blinding luminescence above him. As her arc came to its end, she landed upon her feet, rocking from the tips of her toes to her soles firmly planted on the ground. Perfect balance, perfect execution of the landing. And yet beneath that exterior, her heart raced and threatened to leap from her chest.
I've got this. I just did that. I'm not helpless and weak.
Edited by UndyingPhoenix on Sep 13th 2024 at 12:47:53 PM
Brenton - being that he was in the midst of a tornado of his own creation - did not see Juna leap above him - nor did he see the glowing daggers that flew down in the midst of his attack, swirling and glimmering with a golden light before they all exploded around him. Some blasting behind his head, others right in front of his face, and another behind his back. Sending him reeling back and forth before outright falling on his arms and legs on the floor.
As much as he wanted to feel like he was finally catching up.
As much as he was proud of the magic he had developed thus far...
This was a frustrating loss. A quick, decisive loss as soon as magic became involved in the proceeding. Brenton quickly relieved his frustration with a quick punch at the floor, and then sighed. "...You have this, Juna."
It was a simple matter that as much his magic was his own, it simply matched poorly with what Juna had to offer.
Though that wasn't to say he was going to give up with this. He'd keep trying. Keep learning ways to use this magic he'd stumbled his way into learning.
Apollyon, From the Blade to the Foot
His focus was wrong. Something wasn’t adding up. The way Voron moved, it didn’t make any sense for the context. His footwork, terse and fluid, moving in not a glide or a dance but a stride, and manipulating the very earth to his whims. One arm already damaged, and with a healer on standby. The Kinslayer kept the damaged appendage up as an organic shield, anticipating and taking each of his opponent’s magic blasts as they came. The damage got worse with each progressive impact. He couldn’t hold on to the weapon with both hands anymore, so instead he choked up his grip and continued his failing offensive strategy. Chasing wasn’t working, Voron was too fast…
Wait.
No he wasn’t.
It clicked inside Apollyon’s head as he watched the care with which Voron darted between positions. It clicked that for this man, this scion of a house known for its unconventional practices, was neither a duelist nor a fencer. He was an explorer. Fighting with neither the body or the blade as his true strength, but the land itself. No way to physically beat such an opponent, and now this opponent was playing to his strengths. The risks were done. Now every tool had to be used.
“O flame…”
He outstretched his damaged arm, the seams of blood and gnarled flesh evident on his thin, pale skin. Veins beneath it bulged, muscles convulsed. The fibers tensed with an uncomfortable pressure. Heat built, pressing against the inside of his arm like a sack filling with air. The seams became vents, and his body was encompassed in the smog, its smothering presence spreading quickly and encroaching upon all life. Smoke could not combust. This was the greatest shame of all. That one could not light themselves ablaze with such magic.
The air almost seemed to get thinner as it got colder. Temperatures plummeted around the arena in a heat vortex, plumes of thick smoke twirling in a duster of sorts. The tunnel cleared a path through the cloud, connecting the blackened figure of Apollyon and the dashing gentleman explorer, connecting them fist to stomach. Then, in a flood of motion, the vortex collapsed and pushed outward, an explosion of concussive force barreling towards the Baldesion as an extension of the Phenemeon’s will and strike.
Kristen, The Thinker
“If I just go askin’, odds are all I’ll get’re weird looks and weirder rumors. Mind doin’ me a small favor, friend? Go to one of these fellas, ask ‘em about the book for me?”
The inquisitive rocked on his heels, eyes widening in a surprisingly effective effort to make himself look cuter.
“Pretty please?”
Edited by Yayakuza on Sep 13th 2024 at 11:42:22 AM
WITH A HAIL OF HARPOONS! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!Cecilia smiled back at Corwin. “Alright, but I’m looking forward to a compensatory duel when you feel you’ve made progress with your magic. You did well.”
Her attention wandered before finding rest upon the fight between Voron and Apollyon. She had been disappointed to see the kinslayer doing so well, not yet bested and broken on the floor of the tower; that wish had failed to manifest, but, to recall one of her mother’s sayings, there were times when the world gave blessings that exceeded one’s short-sighted desires. In this particular case, the ongoing battle had led to the brute releasing not flame from his flesh, but only smoke. It was this revelation that caused Cecilia to break out into raucous laughter, almost struggling to stand as she shook with her own howling. “All this posturing and he can’t… he can’t even use basic fire magic” she paused to wipe a tear from her eye “I can’t believe he isn’t actually a legionnaire.”
Meriam, worried about Apollyon?
With her message to Alicia shared, she'd distance herself. She'd give one look to Reid and gag, she didn't want to heal him, but the thought of touching his revulsive squirming flesh onpy lead her to further revulsion. Instead she moved closer to the arena where Apollyon and Voron were fighting seeing as the warrior was using his arm as a shield.
Just as soon as she got to them she saw the smoke and the smog coming out of him, and enveloping the arena. She felt some relief in that he wasn't an idiot. Only to begin worrying about Voron now engulfed in ashes, if he breathed all that in it would be a problem... and so when Yune, and the new person arrived she was only able to wave at the two of them, and to wave Yune over.
The relief at having a Asclepia healer nearby calmed her mind somewhat.
We Fight Like Our Houses, Friend
Smoke, billowing smoke. The kinslayer's trying to choke out the battlefield. Cute.
"You'll have to burn every forest, glass every desert, boil the seas, turn the caverns beneath to molt—!"
No, not choke. Make one certain path to confrontation...
"But the skies are forever ours! Verkaze!"
Voron had been a little inspired the few times he caught the Nord practicing; enough to consult the literature on the his foreign spellcraft and realize he'd already met the requirements for at least one new spell. Wind spiraled around his sword, redirecting smog and threatening to collapse the tunnel between the two. It and the other vortex clashed, Voron putting his all into dueling wind against choking wind.
Leaving himself quite physically open to a follow-up strike.
It's clearly a case of backroom political albumizing.We'll die like them too.
The clash of prevailing winds took Apollyon by surprise. As far as he knew, Voron's magic was augmentative; purely offensive and based upon bolstering his offensive capabilities. But then, everything about the Baldesion surprised him. It was hardly a surprise he'd taken a cue from the brutish Nord, what with such a liberal and plainly revolutionist philosophy. He'd take cues even from the strays. But it didn't bubble such anger as hearing that harpy from the dredges howling in his mockery. As the sparks and cinders he could smell and hear all around him. It was here, in this dense nothing where the kinslayer was most aware. He knew everything. They all stared now, conscious of his living failure. What right did they have? What privilege they'd been born into, spared the rod, spared the blade, spared the godsforsaken desert. They were animals of comfort, each and every one. That they considered themselves eligible to mock him was an affront.
He'd kill them.
To a man he'd kill every one. He'd rip them apart with his teeth if he had to. But first he had to finish this. Beneath the vortex, lurching with uneven strides. A stunted wolf, dripping blood from his ruined arm, hobbling under the smoke where only he could see. He slammed the top of his weapon into his opponent's gut, "Heel," he whispered.
"Know this, boy. We will spread, a shadow-hand about your world, and with us we will bring a smothering curse grander than the winds that fill your craven sails. A blight upon your fields, a blight upon your stables, a blight upon your blood, a blight upon your very existence until all filth is sundered and made pure, until every scrap of deviance and evil is purged from this land, until every tongue doth declare and until every mouth doth confess, until every crime is forgiven in fire, until every child bears the Flame in full, until every dissenter feels the WRATH OF OUR MARTYRS AND THE FELL BLOW OF OUR SWORDS! We will burn, we will kill, we will destroy, and you will watch in terror as all that you thought was immutable is rendered and reduced to ash and dust beneath our heels. Speak against my house in my presence again, and I will spare you such a fate only for the pleasure of CUTTING YOUR FUCKING HEART OUT MYSELF."
He stood now, heaving in the settling smoke. He trembled with rage and pain. The arm would not move. Useless. Useless. He rose the metal of his weapon and slashed it across his useless arm, raging against himself as he did the others. the axe slammed against the ground, snapping in half as a twig. The smoke, still thick enough to hide his indignant display, seemed to caress his form, morphing around his wounds.
"Mocking ash...kill me an angel."
Another vortex erupted forth from the storm, coalescing around Cecilia's angel mimic. It filled the gaping mouth, tore asunder inner-lungs. Whether conscious or not, he was killing whatever he could get his hands on now. It danced, the smoke, an erratic waltz of insanity and rage. Not a legionnaire. He was, he WAS, damn any who believed otherwise, damn them ALL.
Edited by Yayakuza on Sep 16th 2024 at 9:22:59 AM
WITH A HAIL OF HARPOONS! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!Corwin Ostavia: Combat Tower
"We'll see," Corwin nodded to Cecilia, watching her as she walked away for a moment before sighing and checking her notes again. There had to be something she could refine. The gesticulations, in particular. Were they really so crucial for her to spend so much time on? If she could find out the exact point where they registered as the spell she intended to cast, and make the gestures less extreme, she could cut out a significant amount of time between casts. Whether it'd affect the stability of her spells was a matter to consider, however. She made a few notes to remind herself later of the thought before shutting her book again and putting it away. Regardless of the result, her spar with Cecilia had been enlightening.
Speaking of which, Apollyon failed to be, which Cecilia seemed to find mocking amusement in. It took Corwin a moment to catch on, but she soon looked up and frowned as she watched the goings-on. Voron was still engaged, for one, using some kind of wind magic. But the confrontation in general had apparently turned into a philosophical bout. In addition, after that display of apparently-failed fire magic Apollyon looked to be losing his mind. Halfway through his spiel towards Voron, and as he started to send his smoke towards Cecilia's summon to tear it asunder, something that had been boiling in Corwin for a long time finally burst out.
Something in her broke.
Perhaps it was from seeing Apollyon's own borderline-feral insanity, and it rubbed off on her. Or the simple fact he was becoming increasingly more dangerous to Cecilia, who she had just befriended, along with Voron, who was technically family to her now. Fight or flight took hold, and Corwin ran towards the danger. Her cold blue eyes shadowed beneath her prominent brow, sprinting straight towards Apollyon. Her Refraction spell flashed up as she crossed her arms in front of her, just as she was passing through the attack aimed at Cecilia.
The shield bent the smoke around her, allowing to get right up to Apollyon with a livid expression on her face.
"HANDS! OFF!!"
With all her strength, and plenty of adrenaline fuelling her, she drove her fist into his jaw from beneath, undoubtedly breaking the skin of her knuckles in the process. Corwin was a hardy sort, having grown up in a small village where manual labour was commoplace. So there was a shocking amount of strength behind her punch, and this was no mere spar. This was her trying to knock him down.
There was something primal about it, in a sense. She'd never acted this way before, being the bookish sort, but she was showing her roots. Demostrating her values. When push came to shove, she would beat down anyone who threatened her kin. Regardless of the danger.
She didn't even seem to care about the danger. There was not a hint of fear in her eyes. If anything, she was looking at Apollyon as if he were merely a wild animal to her. In that moment, he might as well have been.
borkBrenton had by now gotten back up after that bout with Juna, initially just thinking about how next time might go better. Considering his tactics and whether it might have been better to just rely upon his sword rather than the stormwinds that he had used toward the end - especially considering that it seemed that—-his thoughts trailed off as he looked toward the fight going on between Apollyon and Voron.
And how Apollyon was taking ever more dangerous moves in the fight with Sir Baldesion. Desperation? Perhaps. At least, initially. But the more that Brenton saw, the more he realized in the moment that his duties as a knight were coming up - and he couldn't just let this go on longer. His jaw clenched, and he picked up his training sword from where it rested on the floor.
Apollyon killed Cecilia's Angel Summon, and he was ranting, raving, speaking like a madman. Vowing unspeakable violence against everyone, almost completely feral. It almost intimidated him - but rather than hinge upon it, he used that reservoir within him to bolster against the fear.
Of course, it seemed like he was not the only one to have objections for how this was going. Corwin rushed in to deliver a full strength punch right at Apollyon's jaw - any notion of the training fight having been forgotten and rightfully so. Whatever malfunction governed Apollyon's senses, it necessitated immediate action.
Brenton ran into the fray and sought to take advantage of the strike Corwin already performed. Moving up behind Apollyon, Brenton applied what he learned from the other knights - means to restrain someone - someone like Polly for instance.
Taking the wooden training sword, he moved to shove the flat around and against Apollyon's neck, while grappling with his arm - trying to force it behind his back. "That—-That is more than enough, Apollyon! As a Knight of this Academy I call for you to cease!"
Reid watched the goings on with a detached expression - wondering if someone might need to...ah, do something about the Sir Phenemeon. But it looked like two people more than had that under control. The Nord boy and the Baldesion girl, it seemed. Crossing his arms from where he sat, Reid stated, "...quite a show Apollyon makes of himself, his lack of self control, and the inherent threat of his House."
Edited by NickTheSwing on Sep 16th 2024 at 10:51:08 AM
Meriam
Meriam didn't like what Apolyon was saying the detail that she was quite close enough to hear everything clearly did not help her stay calm, it boiled in her that she decided not to strike him down just like last time. As the moment he started spouting his words was enough of Phenemeon brainwashing for her, but she guessed that this was part of the game he was playing for the past few weeks and meriam decided that she would not assist his efforts.
and so once Corwin delivered her punch and Brenton restrained the crazy Phenemeon, she stepped in lifting Corwin up and simply began carrying her away and towards Voron, whom she also ushered in the direction of getting out of Apollyons vicinity now that the Knightling had taken matters into his hands, they'd only be in the way of Brentons duties.
Merry would sigh "Don't let his words and actions get to you, he is a child, pleading for attention. I appreciate what you've attempted at least, you've saved me from doing the same."
She'd then look at Voron before bluntly saying "that was some interesting magic, I think it helped avoid the brunt of the smoke, but how is your breathing? Yune and I are here if you think you've inhaled it" she'd squint as the magic in her eyes grew stronger penetrating through Vorons body and showing her his insides.... She turned slightly green at that.
Edited by Faelisya on Sep 16th 2024 at 8:37:25 PM
Apollyon, Consequences
Corwin’s strike did not connect. Not with what she wanted it to, at least. Instead, she found only the harsh grip of his only viable hand, holding her fist still. His voice broke as he spoke.
“silence.”
And then, the Nord’s approach. Brenton was a summer child, and Apollyon an elder of war. He merely stepped away from his natural enemy, releasing Corwin as he did and stumbling away from the pair. Now, having exacted his retribution, he walked in a daze, bleeding and shaking and alone more than he’d ever been, without anything to blame but himself.
“I…I’m off.”
Now he simply made to leave, hobbling away except for any possible interruption of his path.
WITH A HAIL OF HARPOONS! WITH EVERY LAST DROP OF MY BEING!Yune
Yune blinked as Merry waved him over, and started heading towards her—only for Polly to erupt, unleashing a storm of smoke that caused Yune to violently flinch backwards, a terrified yell escaping his mouth. His eyes darted towards the door, ready to flee the tower—
Oh. Nevermind. It was handled.
...mostly.
Yune watched Polly leave, a frown slowly growing on his face. He was bleeding. Shaking. Something was wrong, and not in the sense that Polly was a twisted individual (Yune knew that was what a lot of students thought of him). No, something was wrong in the sense that Polly wasn't doing very well right now, and probably needed help.
Help no one was going to give him.
Yune's heart made a decision faster than his rationality, and he found himself hurrying after Polly. "Polly? You're— you're hurt." His voice held no pity, only concern. "Do you need help? I can heal you. Or just talk. If that's something you want."
"Look inside yourself and to the stars; there, you will find your answers."Meriam, did she hope for this?
"Oh Good.." Merry's expression turned into a straight line.. didn't mean to say that .."Well lets hope that Yune can heal some part of him that I cannot."
as she was turned back from looking behind her she came to a realization she forgot to put Corwin down "Ahh umm sorry about that Corwin, in the moment I forgot you were on my shoulder and not my Chimera."
Edited by Faelisya on Sep 16th 2024 at 9:49:57 PM
Yune
Yune let out a small gasp at that, putting his hands to his mouth and staring at Polly in horror. "Th-that's..." It took him a moment to find his voice again, and he swallowed thickly before removing his hands and speaking. "Polly, I'm not needed there. No one else is this hurt. A-and even if I can't heal your worst wounds, I can help with your lesser ones. It's what I would do for any of you."
He paused. "I don't want you to feel alone."
"Look inside yourself and to the stars; there, you will find your answers."Corwin Ostavia: Combat Tower
Corwin allowed herself to be pulled away, eyeing Voron as she was placed close to him before she lifted her hand to look at her knuckles. They were already bruised and dark with blood, and she pursed her lips as she gently rubbed her thumb over them for a moment, before unwrappings some of the bandages from that arm and using them to bind over her knuckles.
"Sorry," she muttered to Voron, not looking at him. "Should've handled that better."
Yune had gone over to talk to Polly, and she could almost feel the empathy from the other side of the room. Guilt flashed in her eyes as she painfully turned away, walking somewhat stiffly over to where Alicia was and stopping beside her. Her lips parted, no words coming out for a moment, until she managed to find her voice again.
"You- you okay...?" she finally asked, her eyes flicking over to Reid for a split-second before settling back on Alicia. "Good fight with Reid. I saw it. Wanted to do something too. But he looked tough."
Something about Corwin's demeanour in that moment made her look unwell. She was swaying on her feet, and her eyes were wide and alert. Probably just the lingering adrenaline, though she looked directionless now. Like she'd released all that pent-up aggression on Polly, and now didn't know what to do with the rest of it. Not quite volatile, but still an uncomfortable sight.
Edited by Enirboreh on Sep 16th 2024 at 7:56:13 PM
borkMicaio Antero - Combat Tower
Whatever idle thoughts Micaio had been having as he got some more practice for his swing in, they vanished in an instant.
smoke.
It was one of the first lessons any young wolf learned. Fear the ones wreathed in flame, the warriors from the desert. They care not for your knowledge, they cannot be reasoned with, and their sole desire is to see you dead. If you see one, you run.
That had made Apollyon intimidating enough, his stature be damned. But now...
Smoke. Not fire, like he had expected from one Phenemeon saw fit to send as their envoy. Curling black smoke, suffocating, cold.
Cold as death.
Smoke means Hunters, Mardan. Smoke means death.
There was no easy way to describe the horrified, horrifying noise Micaio made. It started as a scream, cracked and dissolved into a distressed canine howl, slid further down his throat into a gargling pant as he lunged backwards on pure instinct and scrabbled in the sand.
Pray you can build faster than the Hunters can strike.
There was nothing there, nothing that would make for a suitable travel door. Just sand and straw and smoke
So he did what he did best. He ran, bolted faster than any human could keep up with, and curled into a ball of orange fuzz in the far corner of the room, whimpering like a scolded puppy.
Keep him away from me. Please.
The flower writhed as though caught in a gale. This would catch the eye immediately, considering today, as with most days since this accursed heatwave began, there was not so much as a breeze.
The twisting motions stopped looking, eventually, like those of a plant. There was something more grotesque, something animalistic, about it. You could swear muscles it did not have were rippling under the stem.
With a wet sound, soft yet hideous enough to resonate beyond its volume, a slit tore through the flower's core. An eye, wide and bloodshot, opened and gazed upon the world.
The first and last thing it ever saw was the flash of a blade.
Those who knew Micaio Antero could have easily mistaken her for him. Even beyond the identical coat pattern - a maned wolf whose fur colouration diverged from the norm was a once in a generation rarity - there was a certain deeper resemblance, one a human was unlikely to be able to place but could notice nonetheless.
The telltale difference was not her features, but her demeanour. Micaio was a creature of intense emotion, his every act one of of unfiltered passion and expression, no feeling left unaired. This other wolf, even as she wiped the blood that had spurted from the flower's cut stem off her sword, had no expression at all. Her mouth was a taut line, her eyes so ice-cold you could have shoved jet stones in her sockets and they'd betray more emotion.
"That settles it," she said. "The Herd is on the move."
She tilted her head to watch another flower. Its unnatural movements were much like the first, but instead of revealing an eye, this flower's stamen split into a toothy yellowed grin. It chittered, smacked its lips menacingly-
And was reduced to a red splatter in the soil as the business end of a huge, dark mace dropped upon it. At the other end of that mace, a deep, rasping voice cackled loudly.
"THIS is the worst Gauthrek can do? Put little faces on the flowers? I remember the days when the Black Herd was a THREAT!"
"I doubt smiling plants are the point," the aguará replied coolly. "Wild Magic corrupts everything around it. These are a side effect of something much grander in scale."
"So the humans will be making stupid faces too. Oooh, terrifying."
The wolf glared at her boss. "Do not tempt him."
"I'll tempt him all I please! Maybe if he's angry enough, he'll give me a half-decent fight!" The smoke-charred laugh rang across the fields once more.
Morali sighed and pinched her muzzle with two long, spindly fingers. This was the man who had founded the Makanzari, defined their goals and drove them onward, yet sometimes she couldn't help but feel he forgot how serious his own cause was. But then, that was why he trusted her input so deeply. He joked that the world would end the day Morali smiled, but the sheer contrast between them made her a valuable second opinion for him. His right hand.
Onward. To Phoebonon, where the magocracy sent its young and innocent to be broken down and reforged into enforcers of the system. Where the Black Herd, they had triangulated from their positions, were headed. All too eager to replace one vile corruption with another, more tangible one. The Makanzari had only occasionally risked travel to Phoebonon before - it was among the most militarised places on the continent, such was the Academy's importance to the great enemy, and too far inland for bringing along Nord warbands to be an easy solution - but if it meant they could stop the Herd...
...she supposed this made the Academy their ally, for now. No matter the strength of Morali's contempt for human nobility, no-one deserved the fate the Herd had in mind for all life. To be forced to come to the defense of those you hated most, to ward off something even worse by their side... the Gods had a sick sense of humour.
Besides. This was as good an excuse as any to see how her little brother was doing.
Hopefully he'd learned something.
Alicia Blackwood
Alicia had frozen where she was when the larger fracas had begun, still caught in the adrenaline from her fight with Reid. She couldn't find a gap to intervene, but thankfully the fight was over almost as fast as it had begun, no thanks to the efforts of Brenton. When she saw that Polly was already being tended to by Yune, she hesitated in approaching them, when Corwin spoke to her.
"Yes. He is very," Alicia whispered, brushing a wisp of hair back behind her ear. Cruel, she wanted to add, but her Geas sent a warning thrum through her body, and so she visibly refrained from doing so. "Tough, I mean. Master Reid is very tough indeed."
And so, as the reflexively summoned barkskin faded away from her body, small roses sprouted, poking their way out from her veins, which would wither over the coming hours. Alicia approached Apollyon, then, plucking a few out with the attendant rivulets of blood where the thorns caught on her flesh. She would reach up, if he allowed it, and gently set them in his hair.
A gesture of forgiveness or solidarity, perhaps.
Edited by JumpingFruit on Sep 16th 2024 at 8:05:13 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.Marah
"I've never been with a man before." Marah admitted. "Only other girls. I'm sure we'll both learn as we go."
Leaning against Joaquin, she hummed and considered his words. "Apollyon is an asshole, but that's because he still serves his House of murderers. They've broken him. Perhaps he may yet be fixed, but I wouldn't hold my breath."
It was odd that a Kinslayer would be so like his kin, but given how cruel the House That Only Burns could be, they may well have branded him over a training accident.
Then Polly burst into smoke instead of flame, and Marah began to understand. A desire to shine, in one who never could. A resentment that burned, but produced only embers. A man not strong enough to bear the weight of expectation and not wise enough to discard it.
Her hair writhed, and she prepared to send shadows to restrain the would-be legionnaire, but the fight ended quickly after. Instead, as the shadows approached, they took a page from Joaquin's book and briefly coalesced into a dark duplicate of Marah. Unlike Joaquin, however, this clone had no will of its own; it was merely a puppet, a different shape for Marah's shadow magic to take.
"Such anger." The clone remarked, her voice a touch distorted compared to the original. "You really ought to relax, Polly. If it's any consolation, I'm no good at fire magic either."
Though it was almost impossible to see, the clone grinned, an almost feline grin, as it dissolved. The shadows retreated to their mistress, and as they did, Polly might be able to hear Marah's giggles fading into the distance.
What is so amusing about this? Why do you take lives? How can you forget?1-3
The duel-ending strike was not the end of rhetoric, one last speech from the Phen to just loudly affirm his devotion to the House so many thought would be the death of this continent... Voron's first remark upon being pulled back and given the once-over by his classmates was a simple sigh.
"Oh it's fine, never dropped the Blessing which probably helped... I'm more put-out by how abrupt it ended, we were almost at a breakthrough."
He was already considering next moves: Perhaps offer some insights from his research? Clearly the lack of flame was a sore spot for the Phen, but as was clear there was many ways to conjure fire and yet more still on how to spin the requirements for Verferno as exaltation of the Flame...
"Right, so! ... Anyone else for dueling and banter?"
It's clearly a case of backroom political albumizing.Joaquin
Joaquin grinned. “Well, my taí always said that people never learned things by sitting around and doing nothing. This’ll be fun, I’m sure it will!” He gave her a reassuring squeeze, then began to think about her words. “People can always be fixed, y’know. It’s not like he has a heart of darkness. He’s good, really deep down. Everyone is. He’ll come around, I’m sure of it. And besides, he can’t be any worse than a Torres, right? Though I’m not sure if they were super evil too…”
Polly’s outburst on the sparring field had him concerned. He felt sad, but Marah had the right thing going on! His shadow began to take form, and walked over the Polly, arms spread open in a reassuring hug. Maybe this will cheer up some more, he thought. He turned his head and noticed the big guy curled up in a corner. Was he okay? He spoke up. “H-Hey! Are you feeling okay? I could come over, if you’d like. Do you want me to?” He turned to Marah. “If he wants my help, I’m gonna have to leave, as much as I like this. He looks like he needs help.”
Edited by J99908 on Sep 16th 2024 at 6:05:42 AM
It builds character.Corwin Ostavia: Combat Tower
"I'm gonna fix that someday, Alicia," Corwin said softly, so softly that she could barely be heard as Alicia began to walk towards Apollyon. Yet, she still might have heard regardless. "Mark my words. You'll be free."
Someday we'll all be free.
Her heart nearly broke when she saw Alicia give a flower to Apollyon, and the guilt she felt only worsened. She choked, masking it with a cough and turning her head to one side. A few moments spent trying to force back her feelings, and she heaved a sigh and looked back towards the group again, left only with a slight headache for her trouble.
She looked to Voron, but he was more concerned with finding another sparring partner. Fury bubbled within her again, but she shook it off. She knew it was out of control. She'd lashed out once and she was all churned up, trying desperately to keep it down and sort through her feelings rationally. It wasn't working, however, because her feelings weren't rational. Or, at least, they refused to bend to her reasoning.
It was okay to have tried to punch Apollyon so hard, because it was justified? Fine, but she still felt awful. Her own kin, her fellow Baldesion, was fairly dimissive of the whole thing? That was his prerogative, but she still felt aggravated. The immediate turnaround of Apollyon now being showered with kindness and concern after a long spiel threatening violence? That was unreasonable, even if she agreed he needed to be rehabilitated. Micaio-
She stopped trying to sort through her feelings when she saw him in the corner. Had it been him that had screamed and yelped so horribly while she was still reeling from everything? She focused on him now, heading over to the corner where he was quivering. She paused as she neared, carefully touching his shivering shoulder as she looked him in the face. Her own eyes were glassy, on the verge of tears, but refusing to shed, and she moved to sit down beside him.
In that moment she had never felt a stronger kinship with anyone. She also desperately wanted to pet him, if only to displace her own feelings, but she wouldn't dare seeing the state he was in. She hoped her nearness would be enough as a comfort, assuming she hadn't scared him off herself. That would be the cherry on top of the day's cake.
Edited by Enirboreh on Sep 16th 2024 at 12:23:26 PM
bork

Corwin Ostavia: Combat Tower
Corwin eventually glanced back at Cecilia, noticing her hand on her shoulder and her words of encouragement, and found herself smiling tentatively, nodding in agreement but regardless gently brushing Cecilia's hand off of her shoulder.
"I guess... you're right. Doesn't matter how it's done. But I still don't think I'm ready enough to keep going. I just wanted to see how far I have to go. The answer is: still far, but... I did better than I thought I would. Before it all fell apart, I mean."
She looked around the room, at some of the fights that were still occurring, and others that had finished, before sighing and shrugging her shoulders.
"Anyway. I'm too hot to start wrestling again. Let's just say it's a tie or whatever. I think you deserve a better sparring partner, though. You might only fight with summons, but you were doing so much better. I still need to figure out how to chain my spells together before I try and fight like that again, they're too... cumbersome, right now..."
bork