You stand in a long, wide hallway, cieling arching high overhead, a mosaic of a starry sky glinting in the soft gold light that suffuses the hall. Shelves and study desks fill the hall, leaving only a single path through them, running right down the middle of the hall, getting wider and narrower in different places as it heads into the depths of the Hallway. Looking down the sideways paths that lead into the towering shelves, people from all times, planes and places wander in and out of the shelves, sit and talk at couches and chairs, or browse the many aging books.
After walking down the middle path for a few minutes, the shelves widen, making a large circular area, a marble fountain adding the sound of falling water to the echoing chatter of the many researchers and the quiet rushing noise of shifting sand. A series of cirlces are marked out in chalk on the gleaming wooden floor, and standing on the rim of the fountain is Apollo. Gold tie glinting, a smile in his sun-bright eyes, he greets you. "If you'll take a seat while we wait for the others." He indicates a row of rickety wooden chairs lined up at his far left. Dozens of beings have already begun to fill the spaces between the shelves that surround the area, talking and whipering excitedly...
Sythidor, half-wraith
Sythidor, NE, male, half-wraith half human, assassin. He appears as a man of normal heighth but cloaked with a shadow veil and armored in leather so that none of his skin shows at all, even his face is covered by either a black veil or a dark purple metal mask. He possesses two blades made of an unknown energy, theorized to be ectoplasm or a variation thereof, that follow along his forearms and protrude two feet from the tips of his fingers. These blades are able to dematerialize and rematerialize at will. He is quiet and reserved, always watching and listening and rarely speaking.
His father a wraith, his mother a human sorceress. His mother had taken the study of magic so that she could be with her love even if he was cursed to be a wraith. She learned to beome incorporeal and spent time with her late husband in this manner, of course this lead to intercourse as time between a man and woman often does. The sorceress was soon with child from her incorporeal union. This child was to be a half wraith, tainted with evil unlike either of his parents. His evil was nurtured during his childhood, for the poor boy was not pleasent at all to look upon due to being half undead. The boy became aware of his powers at an early age and began to use them for revenge almost immediately. The child and his mother were quickly banished from the village of his birth. His father was bound to the village and severely saddened by the seperation from his beloved and his son. The mother was killed by a band of orcs outside the village and in her afterlife she was reunited with her husband. The curse of rain set upon the town by the seperation of the lovers was lifted once the couple were reunited. The child, evil and abandoned, was left to travel the world alone with no parents. His parents only cared for their time together, not for him and his mischievous and dark ways. He became much more bitter for his abandonment and grew up full of hate. The boy soon grew to a man and by now had made a living as an assassin, with his natural ability to become incorporeal and travel through walls and of course his natural tendency to kill remorselessly, he was an excellent if not perfect assassin. His reputation had expended now to the point where he is in Baator in the arena, but why is he here? A vacation perhaps or is someone here his mark...?
Song- Paralyzed-Finger 11, because I misinterpret the song and think its about ghosts paralyzing people and being cold and giving chills and things.
His father a wraith, his mother a human sorceress. His mother had taken the study of magic so that she could be with her love even if he was cursed to be a wraith. She learned to beome incorporeal and spent time with her late husband in this manner, of course this lead to intercourse as time between a man and woman often does. The sorceress was soon with child from her incorporeal union. This child was to be a half wraith, tainted with evil unlike either of his parents. His evil was nurtured during his childhood, for the poor boy was not pleasent at all to look upon due to being half undead. The boy became aware of his powers at an early age and began to use them for revenge almost immediately. The child and his mother were quickly banished from the village of his birth. His father was bound to the village and severely saddened by the seperation from his beloved and his son. The mother was killed by a band of orcs outside the village and in her afterlife she was reunited with her husband. The curse of rain set upon the town by the seperation of the lovers was lifted once the couple were reunited. The child, evil and abandoned, was left to travel the world alone with no parents. His parents only cared for their time together, not for him and his mischievous and dark ways. He became much more bitter for his abandonment and grew up full of hate. The boy soon grew to a man and by now had made a living as an assassin, with his natural ability to become incorporeal and travel through walls and of course his natural tendency to kill remorselessly, he was an excellent if not perfect assassin. His reputation had expended now to the point where he is in Baator in the arena, but why is he here? A vacation perhaps or is someone here his mark...?
Song- Paralyzed-Finger 11, because I misinterpret the song and think its about ghosts paralyzing people and being cold and giving chills and things.
He approaches Apollo, seemingly completely unimpressed
"This gift of immortality that is the prize of the tournament. I have no use for it myself, can I possibly pass it on to a person of my choosing?"
"So, tell me something, glow-for-eyes... how much longer do I have to wait until this gets started? Am I going to need that gift of yours just to stay alive until this thing starts up?"
He then addresses Ziel "Friend, I believe we are speaking of two different kinds of immortality. What that is, though...well, you will have to wait. The prize is, unfortunately, non-transferrable." As Apollo turns away from him, a flicker of color can be seen shimmering at the bottom of the fountain - a glowing stone, its color shifting hypnotically.
Hearing Skraal's remark, Apollo laughs out loud "Wait? Master Skraal, you are in the Sands of Time. The only waiting you'll do is merely an illusion - if you wish it, when you leave the Sands, you can return at any point in time - even before you left."
His features are both young and old, a man no older than twenty, but worn by stress and exertion. Dark circles stake their claim around his eyes as he stares at the god levelly.
From his comforting cloak of whispers, a single voice, powerful and commanding, calls out, "Do you know what is there, on that beach? Immortality! Take it, it's YOURS!"
In contrast, the man's own voice is quiet and respectful.
"Achilles was right in the end, you know," he scarecely more than whispers, "He truly did live forever."
One arm reaches forward, hand clutched around something that he places in the circle. More sand falls from him with the movement, and he lets go of a masterfully crafted pocketwatch of pure crystal, ticking gently. In gold, the words Tempus Fugit can be seen upon it.
The stranger turns and finds a seat, leaving the sand on the floor to sit quietly where it lay, warm and inviting, though restless, always shifting under one's feet. And all at once, a thousand different voices whisper the same word.
Sandman
Envarith the Sandman
What happens, when you can't even remember when you came from, let alone where?
Envarith, called the Sandman by those who know him at all, vaguely recalls Earth the most of all the worlds he has walked, and believes himself to be from there. Aside from that, his history is as murky as his future - and he spends much time in both, a being both apart from and a part of time and space.
Now the Sandman seeks the one thing that truly eludes him - immortality. Though he can make himself young, his magic strips away a kind of youth that he can never take back, and he knows there is something important - though he cannot remember it - that he must correct.
He must, even if it takes all of time and more.
Envarith, called the Sandman by those who know him at all, vaguely recalls Earth the most of all the worlds he has walked, and believes himself to be from there. Aside from that, his history is as murky as his future - and he spends much time in both, a being both apart from and a part of time and space.
Now the Sandman seeks the one thing that truly eludes him - immortality. Though he can make himself young, his magic strips away a kind of youth that he can never take back, and he knows there is something important - though he cannot remember it - that he must correct.
He must, even if it takes all of time and more.
"In that case, very well"
Ziel states an a neutral business-like tone. Then he turns around and finds a corner to stand in, meditating while he wait for his first battle to begin.
On a swift lookover, it looks like he's just standing there, his eyes deep dark red almost without glow aside from reflecting the light in the room in their gemlike surface.
The one who looks closer though, will find a faint shimmer of blue and black in the air around him, while creatures with sight of magic will perceive magical disturbances around him. Creatures who can gaze into the realm of souls will have a completely different experience from looking at him though, for there he shines like a beacon of both light and darkness, shining an ever changing pattern of light and darkness out on everything around him.
Skraal sighs as the Snadman enters, shaking his head, and then smiles, exposing rows of teeth.
"Quit showin' off. In case you didn't notice, that's my job 'round here."
Apollo raises his left hand, and a wooden sign with a series of names carved into it appears.
It reads as such:
Match One: Felbjorn Kvell v. Sythidor
Match Two: Envarith the Sandman v. Ziel
Skraal Weaselheart is granted a BYE for his match.
OoC
First off, Munch, I fixed the reference to Ziel in the above post.
Now, Sorcen and E3, you may begin your match! Seven posts each, mind - it'll need to be intense.
Note that the first set of matches will be direct elimination. Due to the uneven number of entrants, the second bracket will be a double elimination (more on that when we come to it.)
The matches were arranged by die rolls.
Now, Sorcen and E3, you may begin your match! Seven posts each, mind - it'll need to be intense.
Note that the first set of matches will be direct elimination. Due to the uneven number of entrants, the second bracket will be a double elimination (more on that when we come to it.)
The matches were arranged by die rolls.
"You know, Ap, I'd like to get you a time-stopping watch or something, I really would. It's just that... well, those things cost a whole lot, y'know? But I've got this sandwich I found last week, so I thought, well, why not? It's the thought that counts, eh?"
"Thank you, master Skraal." the god says blithely.
The sandwich blurs for a moment, revealing itself as an illusion, and eventually vanishes. As it fades, an entirely real and rather stale piece of cabbage flies out from it and toward the ceiling, wailing as it goes, before finally exploding into several pieces which spray about the room.
"Really, really don't mention it. Trust me, it's for the best."
"Most entertaining. But, I won't say any more, since you asked."
As Felbjorn flails away with his axe, apparently deep in the throes of the beserkergäng, a rhythmic pounding becomes audible throughout the Sands. It counterpoints a chanting which seems to emanate from the berserk's chest, and the runes graven deeply into his skin begin to glow with an inner light the color of the old blood crusted deep into the lines of his runic tattoos.
At the next swing of the berserker's axe, the half-wraith suddenly fades from view and sinks into the floor. The axe misses but barely, cutting a single hair from the half-wraith's incorporeal head. Sythidor is gone merely a second before he emerges from the floor under the berserker's feet. As the wraith emerges with speed belying such a manuever, he attempts to grab the axe's handle, disenchanting it if he does so, while simultaneously thrusting his armblade at Felbjorn's chest.
The berserker snaps his head down as he resumes his furious assault, aiming his bear-fangs towards the half-wraith's head. He growls furiously as the vicious teeth fail to mark Sythidor's ghostly flesh, and from his mouth emanates a torrent of grey light streaked through with the rusty red of old blood. It calls to the shadow of Sythidor's supernatural ancestry, seeking to tear his soul from his semblance of a body (or, failing that, rend that body limb from incorporeal limb).
The chant speeds up, at the same time beginning to crescendo as Felbjorn Kvell's fury mounts.
Sythidor finally appears, about six feet away landing softly on the ground in a crouching position. As the wraith lands and begins to smile, he feels the berserker's spell and nearly collapses under the magical pressure attempting to rend his spirit. The half-wraith's aura begins to pulse as he hugs himself and holds his ribs. Sythidor begins to float a few inches from the ground, his aura still pulsing. Suddenly the wraith's head rises to stare at Felbjorn, his eyes glow with the pure unbridled unholiness of his ancestry. A wail erupts from the very pit of Sythidor's soul.
The piercing shriek reverberates throughout the library, sending uncontrollable shivers through the bravest of souls. An wave of cold follows the wail of the wraith and intensifies the shivers. Sythidor floats out of range of Felbjorn now and seems to have shaken off the berserker's spell, although this remains to be seen. Sythidor's entire form seems to have cracks running through it now, a hissing purple cold energy seeps through the various cracks and is of the same unholy light that shines from the half-wraiths eyes.
Sythidor holds out one hand calmly, a jet of force springs forth from his hand, tearing through the air in trillions of tiny places at once. The tearing of the air emits a wail similar to the piercing shriek Sythidor emitted before. The jet of force bursts forth at nearly the speed of light, the particles are erratic and some seem to speed faster than others. The jet is aimed at Felbjorn and is followed by more wails as three more force jets spring forth at the berserker.
"I'm sorry to hold you up gentlemen, but we'll need to simply proceed to the next match."
Apollo snaps, and the two fighters land, a little disconcertingly, into a pair of wooden folding chairs.
"Next, please."
OoC
You guys remember the rules, aye? Seven post match? Munch v. Jess, you're up next.
Each of them begins drawing in the sand, creating complex geometric figures. More sand bubbles up, bringing with it more and more copies of Envarith, each drawing his own separate circle.
Sandman.
Sandman.
Sandman.
The voices chant, and Envarith looks up from his circles. Each one touches his own circle, and the combat floor vanishes from anything resembling the Sands of Time. In a flash of light and glorious sensation, the combatants find their (possibly myraid) selves in a vast, empty void.
"This is the beginning of time," Envarith says quietly. "This is Nothing."
The Sandmen wait patiently. They have all the time in the world.
Then tendrils of blue extends from the construct out into the void, the blue seems to be somewhere between liquid and gas, but more than capable of floating and quickly expanding to fill even this endless void.
A joint whisper as if from millions of voices, many of non-human origin speak but a single word:
"Soul"
Shapes begin to form in the blue incarnum, shapes of creatures of any nature, from the simplest of insects to the splendor and might of powerful gods, all as vague shapes in the incarnum, potential at the moment nothing more.
Suddenly a mosquito potential stings a kobold, which whirls about to smack it. The mosquito escapes and lands upon another potential, about the size of the kobold, but vastly different, mostly in being obese. The kobold thoughtlessly smacks the mosquito potential sitting on the obese creature, which now proves to be hot tempered as well. The obese one hits the kobold back, and soon a fight is going, and as the fighting ones accidentally hit others the chaos starts out and spreads.
When the chaos has been going for a bit of time, all of which Ziel had been standing still waiting, blackness spreads from the centers of the multiple fights going on now, and soon there is as much black as blue in the mix filling the void
A cacophony of millions voices crying out in emotions ranging from searing wrath, over frigid hate and toxic envy to deep despair.
"Suffering"
Then a single red flash emerges from within Ziel's eyes and all of the potentials stop dead in their tracks. The Soulsmith strides forth slowly towards the first of the sandmen. As he moves the freely floating incarnum takes shape into what starts similar potentials, but quickly grow far denser and far far more substantial, until they seem dense like solid creatures, yet still light like thin air. These fully fledged souls are souls of warforged warriors in full armament. They take up position in regiments behind the Father of the Warforged as he strides forth, and the creation of warforged becomes quicker and quicker, so that when Ziel reach the sandman a titanic army of warforged is floating in the void.
Suddenly the behavior of the closest warforged change, moving to form a circle around Ziel and the initial sandman, stretching the void sufficiently to form a large ring without any of the other sandmen being within this arena.
Then Ziel acts, and with a swift motion to the right, he disappears into the blackest parts of the soul energies present. The next thing that happens is that one of his barbed arms swing from a drift of necrocarnum, hammering at the sandman like the fist of a vengeful god of war.
"It is locked in time," he explains quietly as Ziel's potentials suffer a similar effect. "It will continue going forward, then back, until I choose to release it. You know not whom you trifle with."
Then that Envarith vanishes - and so do the rest. Seconds later, eight more arrive, in a circle around the original Ziel.
"You witness not some conjuror of cheap tricks, automaton. I am no illusionist to be brushed off and ignored. Kneel now before the master of Time Itself, and I will grant you mercy. Should you fail to heed my warning, your punishment shall echo through Time until the very fabric of it does become stained with your anguish."
The Envariths speak seperate words belonging to the same incantation, and the reality around they and Ziel distorts, time running amok and threatening to shred the body and sanity of the Soulforged.
"We rule time. We rule you. Do not tempt us."
"You speak well for yourself, and your power is indeed impressive Sandman, I do think you will actually make a worhty opponent. You have a weakness though, you do not take the time to learn to know your enemy, despite having all time in the world to do so, and that more than anything will be the engine of your downfall. If that fall will be today or some other I shall not be able to say, but this day is clearly a possability."
Despite the obvious threats Ziel's voice is not the slightest angry, as a matter of fact he speaks as if he wants the best for Envarith despite them being opponents.
Then Ziel tears his arm free from the time lock, ripping holes in the fabric of time in the process. Then he strode forth towards the timetwister again, still calm.
Suddenly more warforged souls were created, once again leaving only a single sandman within a cicle with Ziel. Ziel moved forth slowly and calmly, speaking up again.
"Know though that you shall not see me kneel before you, neither in this time stream nor in any that is to come, for my people serves no lord but one that I can be certain wants only the best for his people."
Then Ziel reemerges from the necrocarnum cloud, once again standing forth clearly, but now a small change had happened, a single golden rune shaped like an hourglass rested on his brow.
"And be not so sure that your power is absolute, for your being still flows from and to incarnum, the power that transcends both time and place."
Then reality distorts as Ziel appears next to the Sandman and strikes out with a spiked fist, but the strike hits from another direction all together, with the strength to easily cause a major earthquake.
The enemy, an imperious voice says from the cloak of whispers, has opted for obliteration. Signal Jones to give no quarter.
Ziel finds himself surrounded by spinning clock faces, each one wildly out of control and each on a different sync. Envarith's quiet, assured whisper somehow finds its way over the howl.
"You use your soul as a sledgehammer, wasting so much potential and so much finesse. Such excess is foolish and disrespectful to your weapon. If you wish to see brute force, I shall show it to you."
The environment warps and shifts, and then the clocks shatters. Ziel finds himself in the middle of a crowded city street, with skyscrapers looming up above and panicked, fleeing Japanese folk. Envarith stands in front of him, holding a blade that looks like the minute hand of a clock and once more wearing his cloak.
"Hiroshima, 1942. Three minutes."
With that, Envraith attacks, his blade warping time and space as it slices through air.
With a grace far beyond what would excpect to find in a body such as his, he dodges the blade, leaving only a faction of an inch between himself and the weapon. Then his fists strike out with a speed that defies the laws of nature, one on each side of the blade and with sufficient force to shatter any known blade, magical or otherwise.
His 3rd fist takes a blitzing path through the air sending a shockwave rippeling into the air heading for an unknown destination.
The last of his fists strike through the air to slice at the arm of Envirath cutting at the relevant parts to make the arm fall off with perfect precision.
"Once again you show ignorance Sandman, the force in my blows is simply the force they carry, I would have to expend further energy in order to exert less force and that would be foolish and disrespectful, do not make the mistake to think that power and finesse cannot be combined.
Neither make the mistake to think that you have seen the full weight of my power and capabilities yet."
"Your hubris matches my own, automaton. Witness the weight of history crashing down upon you. See as I have seen."
A white flash of light overtakes the city as the world's first nuclear attack is committed. As it washes over the Soulforged in blazing wrath, the two are transported to a prehistoric jungle, with a huge ball of fire blazing down upon them.
"Witness your doom."
The meteor that destroyed the Dinosaurs and ended an era crashes down upon Ziel as Envarith vanishes without a sound.
"Once again your perceptions fail you Sandman, I know all pain and suffering that ever were and all there is to come, and as opposed to you I have not only witnessed it, I have felt it."
Ziel's voice rings out clearly, and despite Envarith hiding in both time and space it is no artwork for Ziel to find his soul.
"Now feel like I do."
And with that Ziel let loose a concentration of all suffering and pain, all agony and torment, all despair and heartache, to mesh into the soul, the feelings and mind of his oponent. An attack that sook out the intenede victim with no pause, passing effortlessly through any barrier of space and time, not slowed even the slightest.
OOC:
So will we continue our match later or has it been halted permanently and will be judged for the winner by those few posts.
"Your efforts are clever, though futile. My soul has been set aside until I accomplish my task, whatever it may be. You cannot win - even the gods bow before time, and I am its master."
The very air itself seems to decay as time begins to warp and twist. Encarith fixes Ziel with a cold stare and lifts his clockwork sword in a mock salute.
"You say you know all the suffering that is, and was? I shall show you all that could be. Let the weight of years fall upon you as a diamond hammer!"
The Incarnum warps, twists, and then snaps, suddenly flooded with every single possible moment of sentient misery that could be to come.
In the middle of the dust-choked wasteland, Envarith chants.
"Once again your ignorance reaches new and even more amazing levels, I just said that I felt both what is, has been and has yet to come, and as is the nature of time, what is possible is what is to come, over and over your ignorance and inflated ego keeps your efforts futile and failing. Whom the gods bow to is of no interest to me, as I bow to no-one. Not even time masters me, and you know that Envarith."
The necrocarnum flooded with suffering turns into necrocarnum as is it's nature, turning everything black, but possible to see through nonetheless.
Black ghostly Ziels form from the necrocarnum and move flickering about around Envarith.
"You have a major flaw and you know it sandman, but I will not slay you here and for you have your part to play yet. I am warning you though that one wrong move may change the latter."
The black ghostly Ziels remain floating about, mixing and seperating all over in the necrocarnum.
Envarith notices though that Ziel seems to be purposefully pushing away a portion of the necrocarnum and the associated misery.
The whirlwind of parchment erupts from the corridor, and a figure bursts forth from within the chaos. The girl seems to soar on the air itself, her short violet hair whipping as if in a storm. A mere second later there is a rattle of decorative chain and a thud of heavy combat boots as the girl's feet touch the wooden floor.
Now that the movement has ceased, it becomes possible to observe the newcomer in greater detail. She is of Asian-American descent, and her face is lively and well proportioned. Her petite form is quite obviously feminine, but this fact is somewhat hidden by the black leather jacket and rugged cargo pants she wears. Completing the image are a thick studded belt and a semi-automatic strapped to each thigh.
The girl tosses her head back and waves a haphazard hand, and the displaced books effortlessly rise up and fountain back to their respective places. With that, she takes a single step and is suddenly at the fountain, where she rises upwards until she is face to face with the god.
"Hey boss. Heard you have a slot open. Well, I'm here to take it."
She spits in her hand and holds it out to the divinity.
"Name's Jacquelyn. Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell."
"Excellent. Master Skraal is in sore need of an opponent."
The deity offers his arm to Jacquelyn to walk her to a chair.
OoC
Right, Cog, you've got your match here. We'll need to rule E3 MIA, since he's made no indication at all of his continued interest...anywhere. I'm guessing he'll be back come summer, but unfortunately we'll need to hand the match over by default. Sythidor gets a BYE, Skraal now has an opponent, and Ziel and Envarith have two posts left each. Good to see ya, by the way, Gideon.
There's something wrong, and Ziel can sense it. The environment begins to fall away in pieces, fragments of existence shattering like glass until the two of them are left standing on a huge circle of stained glass emblazoned with an hourglass. There is a hush in the air, like that of a great library or a solemn funeral service.
Envarith extends his hands, and his blades appear, Minute in one hand and Hour in another. He settles into an odd stance - it would read 11:00 if he had a true clock - and speaks in his low, emotionless tone.
"We end it here. No more tricks, no more temporal shifts. We end it here, at the heart of all things. We end it here, at the beginning."
The Sandman begins to glow with an odd luminescience - not light, but some kind of power that flows to him from this place. When he moves, it isn't movement - it's manifestation. He was one place and now he is another.
In the space of a few seconds, the air is filled with crackling arcs of the same energy, lancing at Ziel, and Envarith is still manifesting, slashing out lines in the glass floor. As the last line is drawn, he begins to speak.
The Sandman manifests and slashes at Ziel once.
Twice.
A thousand.
Infinity.
The lines glow with power, and Envarith stops manifesting, standing in the center of the circle and looking at the victim of his barrage.
"Come," he beckons, "if you dare."
OOC
The energy is contratemporous - anti-time. Touching it reduces you (or at least part of you) to a three-dimensional being, literally caught between ticks in the clock
The blows from the clock blades doesn't harm Ziel at all, they are simply blocked or deflected by the multitude of blades and spikes covering the construct's form. As the first of the energy arcs hit the soulforger, strangely delayed by some protective field of his, but unerring nontheless, he lets out a yell tinged with desperation and plead
"no, stop this at once before it is too late"
His yells are in vain though, as in front of Ziel appears what looks like a completely normal warforged were it not for the fiery crimson glow of it's eyes.
"FINALLY...
The newcomer roars and strikes a fist at Ziel, somehow passing right through the spikes and blades to hit his torso, sending the warforged king stumbeling
... I'M...
The followup sends cracks spreading to spiderweb all over Ziel's form
... FREE"
The last hit, a hand edge chop from above, splinters the soulforger to pieces, scattering the shards in a small area around the crimson eyed warforged.
Even before the soulsteel fragments hit the ground, they begin to vaporize into a thick black mist, and as Ziel's still intact head vaporizes, he lets out but two words
"You fool"
But instead of glee or vengeance, the tone is one of sadness and despair.
Then the dark hazy envelops the two automatons, concealing them completely from outside eyes.
The mist starts to dense up, and quickly reforms into what seems to be Ziel at first glance, but a closer look would reveal eyes that glow crimson rather than blue, and instead of being just pitch black, his form seems to actively suck in the light around him. The gaze is so intense, simply looking into it would turn a man blind.
The voice of the newcome warforged bellows out as its mouth open
"Face annihilation"
The next thing that happens is that all the necrocarnum gravitates to this new beings form, sucking into it rapidly, almost in the blink of an eye.
As the last necrocarnum disappears, a change happens in the being. The glow of its eyes intensifies infinitely, now able to vaporize rock in an instant.
The second thing is the emotion radiation. Ziel carried a very faint one at most times, letting upon others an infinitely weak vestige of his feelings, to make up for his lack of body language and facial expressions.
The radiation of pure wrath from this thing is enough to make Pelor animate the dead to kill innocents, make Elhonna eat newborn unicorns and make Heironeous commit to a slaughterfest that would make Erythnuul seem like a nice guy. If the radiation is but an infinitely small faction of what he feels, then the rage inside this thing's soul is infathomable.
It billows out a mighty roar, sending a shockwave of pure sound out in all directions, shattering everything in it's path to molecular dust.
Then Annihilation sets in motion, sprinting at Envarith, but then he disappears, unmanifests, so to speak.
What would seem as the next thing that happens, just before the shockwave hits the timetwister, all four fists slam into the back of the sandman with a force enough to shatter a planet.
It was not just before though, as Envarith senses the blow existing in every time and every, crossing and breaking all known boundaries of time.
The glowing lines of power flash with brightness that fills the void, creating a glowing cage that holds the warforged to the platform. Envarith appears on the other side, fading in slowly. His hood is up and his blades are held at 10:00, one overlapping the other.
"In the first moment," he intones in a voice that echoes with prophecy, "he was bound, shackled in chains formed of the space between spaces."
The blades move. It is now 11:00.
"In the second moment, he was ensorcelled, wrapped in a nest of stars and phantom promises, enraptured by whispers of ultimate power and happiness."
12:00. A bell tolls somewhere, low and mournful.
"In the third moment, he was shattered. His memories slipped away like seconds counted by a pendulum, and only his purpose was left to him. But he was not immortal yet. The fourth moment had not come. He is not finished yet."
The bell strikes for the thirteenth time, and Envarith looks up. If Annihilation's rage was white-hot and terrible, the cold hate of the Sandman is enough to stop Selune in the sky, to snuff out stars and grind the Great Wheel to a halt.
"And in the space between spaces, a foolish mortal challenged him. In the past and future, they fought for the Fourth Moment, the immortality that he needed. And he would not allow this hubris, he took him to the beginning, to the First Moment, to bind him."
Clocks appear everywhere, great and small, surrounding the platform in a tower that spans upward to infinity. The ticking is deafening, and yet, Envarith's quiet tones can be heard over them, his chill hate cutting through the cacophany like a knife.
"First, I curse you," he says slowly. "You have sought to destroy Time, and thus will Time ever be your enemy. Second, I bind you to Fate, ever to be its slave and never to be its master. And third, I name you. Never again shall you be either Ziel or Annihilation."
"You are Pendulum."
The platform flashes, and the wyrde settles onto Ziel and Annhilation, binding him, chaining him with Envarith's words. Fate and Time settle on his shoulders, and the Sandman throws back his hood to reveal his eyes, cold and merciless.
"And last, I banish you. Never can you come back to the years you lived as a mortal. Begone from this place."
The Sandman lifts his hand, and the two of them are back in the Sands of Time, standing in the arena circle.
Annihilation lets things happen for now, but surprisingly what follows back from the beginning was not Annihilation, and neither was it bound.
"You were wrong in assuming either me a mortal, for neither me nor Annihilation is such, we left mortality behind thousand years ago...
Your binds and ties are only good for so long Envarith, you have tied him up for now, but only when once again locked inside my soul will existence be safe from him.
You have brought us time though, and due to the nature of this place we can both prepare and finish the tournament, now if I am not mistaken it is now time for the judge to make his call."
((The relationship between Annihilation and Ziel is quite strange... they have two deeply entwined souls that were once one... He split up when he killed his creator who had betrayed him, actually halving Ziel's original soul. Due to his mastery of his arts, he restored his soul to completion, while Annihilation still has only a half, he never bothered to complete his own. Right now he's trapped at the beginning, but given time he will return.
What I plan for is a major fight, one similar to what the Caben Duur fights was if I understood it right, a battle with all the might Sorcen's baator has to offer, fighting for the continuation of existence.))
"The ruling is in favor of Envarith. Thank you, gentlemen. Our next match has been previously announced."
OoC
For an honest (i.e. "blunt") critique of your match, please PM me.
Cog, you're up next against Gideon, however, I have the funny feeling that he's not going to show. So, if Gideon does not take up his place as Skraal's opponent by the time of this post the day after tomorrow, the match will instead be Sorcen v Cog.
Cog, you're up next against Gideon, however, I have the funny feeling that he's not going to show. So, if Gideon does not take up his place as Skraal's opponent by the time of this post the day after tomorrow, the match will instead be Sorcen v Cog.
The girl grins evilly, as if partial to some unknown secret, and the bookshelves behind her splinter apart, cascading outward in a billowing cloud of lethiferous shards. The aged veneer, somehow imparted with an edge of lethal keenness, whistles violently through the air towards Jacquelyn, only to swerve at the last possible moment. Within seconds she is surrounded by a swirling, billowing swarm of wooden needles, and the shrill and hideous scream of the air being rent asunder fills the arena.
The grin widens as the room begins to reverberate from some unseen sonic force, and soon the entire arena is pulsing and shaking with the heavy, throbbing notes that signal the beginning of a dynamic and overpowering metal symphony.
As she is caught up in the resulting cacophony, Jacquelyn's dark eyes dance with excitement.
"Let's Rock!"
"once done here I suggest you prepare yourselves... we have yet to see the last of Annihilation."
Thenhe fades to transculent blue before he fades completely away.
Straightening up, the kobold takes a few steps forward, then shakes his head as the music starts.
"Cut it out, will you? I've got enough of a headache without all this noise."
he then motions toward the gun, "And while you're at it, do yourself a favour and drop that toy. I wouldn't be here if I couldn't dodge all the bullets you care to shoot. 'Sides, I can get it out of my way with no trouble. Like this."
Skraal clicks his fingers, sending a small red fleck of powder speeding towards the gun. As it connects, it blossoms into a patch of rust on the gun that rapidly begins to spread across and into the weapon itself.
"Go on than, make your move. I haven't got all day, y'know."
he had seen Jacquelyn's landing, the exploding bookshelves, felt the tremors throughout the arena, heard the thunderous sounds she controlled, and now, his face said only one thing: And you expected me to be impressed?
The world changes. Atoms are re-arranged, altered, combined, and forces unite and divide, unleashing and containing unimaginable energy with every passing moment. All is crystal clear.
Here, now, oxygen creeps across the surface of the dark steel, bonds reaching out with destructive intent, turning the smooth metal into a corroded, useless mass...until Jacquelyn seizes the reaction with an iron will that even nature cannot defy.
And the universe bends.
Jacquelyn slowly raises her firearm, the spreading rust flaking and drifting to the ground in a rain of red dust. Beneath it the gun shines darkly, untouched and unmarred by the corrosion.
"Nice trick, but, ultimately, ineffective. You'll playing in the big league here, and you'll need to do better than that."
She flicks off the safety in a careless manner, pointing the gun aimlessly in Skraal's general direction, apparently unconcerned with where the bullet will fly.
"And, by the way, the point is not to hit you."
The gun fills Jacquelyn's senses, and her sight passes through the dull metal, down, down, past spiraling electrons and nuclei, into the very heart of the weapon. Within the chamber rests an object of heavy lead, solid and immovable in design, dense beyond the steel that contains it. A great potential force lurks behind it, waiting to unleash its fury upon the outside world. It is a careful harmony that a single flicker of flame can undo...a single spark, tipping the scale from order to destruction.
And Jacquelyn calls to the lead, bringing her power to bear with full force. It cannot resist, and, slowly but surely, it obeys...
"Catch."
The trigger tightens, and the gun belches lead, flame, and thunder. The leaden slug erupts from the depths of the weapon like some great oceanic monster breaching the waves...and the world warps about it, for something is fundamentally wrong.
Mass, density...these are givens, set by a universal standard. Yet a single finger in the right place can skew what should be beyond comprehension...and knowing where to lay that finger is an art that is mere instinct to this girl.
The bullet speeds towards Skraal, its mass increasing exponentially with every fleeting moment as Jacquelyn's sway over it increases. The splinters encircling the girl are thrown into its wake like planets before a black hole, creating a lethal storm of wood, and the floor buckles and shatters as it fights against the immeasurable gravitational pull. Walls sag inward, books leap from the shelves, and the arena dims as light itself struggles to escape the incredible void...and still the projectile speeds onward, an unstoppable force, ripping through reality even as it defies its laws.
Show
In case you hadn't noticed, I'm loving the chance to turn my physics knowledge into a sort of psuedo-magical combat style...:D
And, finally, knowing that formula for increasing gravity as a static mass gets compressed (or a static volume increases in mass) pays off.
Also, for what it's worth, that bullet (according to the laws of physics that still apply) will, if unstopped or un-avoided, cause Skraal to be forcibly sucked towards it, almost as if he were exposed to a complete vacuum. The end result would be his mangled body compressed into a very small area around the bullet itself...and he probably wouldn't survive that. Even surviving the gravitational pull alone would take some work if it strikes anywhere near him. Also, they're only mentioned briefly, but it is accompanied with a barrage of wooden splinters...
But this is free-form, so take all that with a grain of salt.
And, finally, knowing that formula for increasing gravity as a static mass gets compressed (or a static volume increases in mass) pays off.
Also, for what it's worth, that bullet (according to the laws of physics that still apply) will, if unstopped or un-avoided, cause Skraal to be forcibly sucked towards it, almost as if he were exposed to a complete vacuum. The end result would be his mangled body compressed into a very small area around the bullet itself...and he probably wouldn't survive that. Even surviving the gravitational pull alone would take some work if it strikes anywhere near him. Also, they're only mentioned briefly, but it is accompanied with a barrage of wooden splinters...
But this is free-form, so take all that with a grain of salt.
"Catch".
Skraal merely shrugs, readying a shield to absorb the blow.
"If you insist. Just tell me one thing first, though..."
Skraal vanishes entirely moments before the near-singularity would have crashed into him, reappearing next to his attacker.
"..Did you really think that was going to be enough?"
he quickly sends one palm flying toward his opponent's gun arm - a hand that is suddenly gripping a dull steel shortsword.
"Most of us can do better than that, around here, I just keep it down so you don't break anything you might need later, that's all. Seems like that's not enough this time, though.."
The hand snaps back, and where there was once a sword, now there is nothing. The kobold makes a quick pulling motion with his open hand, turning the bullet in its path and bringing it speeding back toward the two of them, before sending Jacquelyn toward it with a quick blast of force.
OOC
Sorry, would have made a better (or atleast longer) post, but I've had a long and rather bad day, so I'm not really up to it.
The girl plants her steel-toed boots firmly on the ground, bracing herself as the space-warping bullet speeds towards her.
"I've gotta do everything myself, don't I?"
The floor under her feet splinters and cracks, but she stands firm, arms outstretched, hands spread...and Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell catches the slug in the palms of her hands. Smoke rises from between her fingers, and, a second later, she throws the flattened disc to the ground, where, its immense mass destroyed, it bounces off amongst the shelves lining the arena.
"Right. Let's shake things up a bit. You ever hear of a game called...pinball?"
The girl steps back and leans lazily against the wall, simply watching Skraal with lidded eyes...
[font=arial narrow]Gravity is constant, a force with set boundaries, and a set pattern. Yet for one who can shatter the patterns it is naught but a toy, to be manipulated as one desires. When one has one's hand on the arteries of the world, gravity can be as subjective as anything else. After all...can not everything be relative?[/font]
Skraal is thrown skyward as the very earth rebels against him, and spiderweb cracks radiate out of his point of impact. Then, gathering speed, he is flung about the room at the whim of the altering gravity, the air whistling about him as he is pulled violently towards obstacle after obstacle.
"I can always learn, can't I?"
Those with a keen eye might notice that with each bounce and leap, the kobold strayed ever so slightly from the course that Jacquelyn had set for him. Looking even more closely, they might notice that his flight was gradually tracing a circle.
With a few more leaps and bounds, the circle is complete, and the previously invisible outline takes on a slight glow. The glow quickly increases in strength and fills the entire circle, Skraal now floating in the centre of it. The kobold snaps his fingers - a sound which, perhaps, echoes a little more than it normally might - and the circle vanishes entirely, creating a great cascade of blinding, searing light in its place.
The break it caused in Jacquelyn's spell, if that's what it was, was admittedly short at best, but it was enough. Skraal, his eyes closed, allows himself to be brought down to the ground along with the flood of light and lands by his opponent, his eyes open and the shortsword in his hands once again. It was a powerful spell, to be sure, but he had no illusions that it might be potent enough to win the match.
"So.. why are you here, anyway? Got any reasons to go looking for immortality 'sides the normal ones?"
"Good question. Points for the lizard man. Unfortunately, that's something that I just don't feel like sharing just now. Let's just say that I'm looking for someone, and that I won't be able to find him...or her...in one lifetime unless I'm very lucky. That's all you ever need know."
--Immortality...the first step. Immortality...and then a way to end it.--
The girl pushes herself off the wall, blinking away the last of the brilliant lights, and tumbles gracefully towards Skraal. When she rises it is with a flick of the wrist and a flash of steel as her combat knife seems to materialize in her hands.
"You've been fooling around with that blade for a while now...you ever learned to actually use it, or do you just like the looks?"
The knife is a whirlwind of steel in her hands, its hefty blade whistling through the air, the brass knuckles built into the handle gleaming sinisterly.
"Now me, see...I don't have any fancy training. No...I learned my fighting style on the streets of Detroit. You learn to adapt fast out there...or you die. So...which will you do?"
Jacquelyn drops into a defensive stand, knife outstretched, tense and primed for action.
"Come on, lizard. I'm waiting."
"I'm not very good at dying.. guess I just haven't had enough practice yet."
Not waiting to see if his attack connected, the kobold immediately chains his attack into a series of non-stop swings, forcing Jacquelyn to focus on defense or be sent down to the ground. With each swing, the ground beneath him cracks slightly, and the blade's handle heats up until it is almost painful to grip it.
"If you want me to surrender, just say the word - quietly, mind you - and I'll make it look like you won. You sound like you need this more than I do."
After a few more quick swings, Skraal raises the sword to the sky, catching a sudden blue bolt of electricity that comes shrieking down from the heavens. Skraal settles into a defensive stance once more as blue sparks dance around and over him.
"And if that's not your plan, well.. good luck, you'll need it."
"You think that I need your sympathy? You think that I want it? HOW DARE YOU!"
These last words strike with tremendous power, their concussive force flinging Skraal across the arena. Jacquelyn steps after him...a single step that transcends both distance and space. She is breathing rapidly; shallow, rapid breaths that wrack her entire body.
"You speak from ignorance, lizard. You know nothing."
The sparks surrounding the kobold skitter off into the ether as some incredible electrical force scatters them like ninepins before a storm.
[size=4]"NOTHING!"[/size]
With a scream of tortured rage, the girl storms forward, hurling herself bodily at her foe. A flurry of cold steel meets her reckless onslaught as Skraal raises his blade in self defense, but Jacquelyn is past caring, and the vicious strikes glance off of skin like living stone. A second later the thunderous typhoon breaks past his guard, and a wave of violence engulfs him in a tsunami of heavy blows...each backed by the force of a thousand suns.
he had faced the wrath of the gods themselves, sometimes several in the same day. One angry human was nothing. That said, Skraal was a kobold, a small and fragile creature by nature, strong as he might be by the standards of his race.
Suddenly, a fierce upward swing rises from the kobold's battered form, meeting Jacquelyn's dagger moments before it would have struck him yet again. Though he fails to disarm her, the knife is knocked back in her hand for a moment, and that moment is all Skraal could ever need. Against a skilled fighter, such a desperate swing would have had no effect. But what he was facing now was not skill - it was rage, pure and focused.
Though curative psionics halt the most deadly of his injuries, the form that rises from the ground is still almost monstrous - blood seeps from more wounds than anyone can count, while a cut runs across his left eye, keeping it closed. his breath comes in gasps not unlike a death rattle, and his right arm seems to be attached only by a few strands of skin, bone and muscle.
Fighting with only his left hand now and deflecting another knife-blow, Skraal takes to the skies, cutting at the air itself as he flies, putting all of his power behind each slash. high-pitched shrieks fill the arena as the air is cut in half by the kobold's strikes, yet still he continues to cut as he hurtles through the air. After a few more swings, the hilt of his shortsword finally bursts into flames, its bandaged handle igniting under the constant speed and friction. Ignoring the burning pain, he lands opposite of Jacquelyn and takes three final swings until even the air blossoms into sheets of fire that fly toward the kobold's foe.
Should I let her win?, Skraal wonders idly as he watches the sheets converge on their target. Come to that, do I even want immortality? Sure, I might need it - well, people need me to have it, anyway - but it's not like I want to live forever anyway. Not in a world like this. But then, if I had more time, maybe I could change it? Does the world really have to stay this way? If I had enough time, surely the world would change...
Skraal shakes his head, as if to dislodge the thought. No, no.. I'm not about to let my dreams run ahead of me again. Once was bad enough. Anyway, I gave her a chance. If only this didn't happen every time... but I've learned to stop trying after the first time by now. I'm not going to let myself lose what little I've got left. Not a third time.
The sheets of fire meet and spin around Jacquelyn, finally colliding, bursting into a massive burning tornado that holds her prisoner in the centre. Orange and red sparks fly out in all directions, and tongues of flame stretch out of it to scorch the heavens themselves.
Inside the tornado, the view is quite different. The force of the burning winds within continously lift blocks of the ground up into the air, where they become lumps of molten lava for the briefest of moments before being sucked into the walls of the twisting furnace. Even if one managed not to touch the flame or, indeed, be dragged toward the walls, the air within is unbearably hot and, after a period of such intense combustion, almost non-existant.
Leaning against a wall at one edge of the arena for support, Skraal watches, ready for anything, thoughts swirling in his mind.
In the centre of the arena, the towering inferno spins on, burning memories of worlds and times never to return.
ooc
Yes, I admit that it makes much more sense after reading Skraal's backstory. If anyone wants to see it (though I think Gid and North already have), PM me and I'll send it to you.
[font=arial narrow]Powers such as these are not learned, for no force on earth or off can teach the entirety of the universe. Instinct alone can accomplish this, and instinct lurks subconsciously, ready, for the day will come when there is a need to act before knowledge is possible, and before the mind can determine what must be done. Now is that time. The mind must be saved...and to do so, the flesh must pay the price.[/font]
As he watches the fatal vortex, Skraal sees naught but raging flames, and hears nothing but the roar of the inferno and the tortured sounds echoing within. Slowly the screams fade and die, and then there are only whirling cinders and tongues of fire.
[font=arial narrow]Heat...one thousand five hundred degrees Celsius...sufficient to melt any metal known to mankind...or destroy any living being. And yet here it may be enough to save a life...
Pressure...the atmosphere is not sufficient. Seventy thousand times normal air pressure at sea level weighs down upon the inner cyclone...pressure strong enough to flatten steel, crush bones, and shatter the earth itself...and it is still barely enough.[/font]
The hellish winds whistle madly, fiery lashes whipping around in a burning frenzy. Flames dance and leap, sending deathly shadows darting across the arena walls...and then, within the heart of the blaze, a figure unfolds.
Show
One more post for me...and, with luck, it'll be a good one. I'm also very intentionally not unveiling what exactly just happened...it'll be more of a last dramatic post that way.
Looks like I overshot.. just what I need now. Oh well.. guess it's my job to patch things up again.
The kobold holds his hands out, palms outstretched, wracking his mind for the correct formula, the precise application of power that would achieve the single effect that could reverse the aftermath of the inferno. Ordinarily, it would take the kobold no more than a moment or two to bring the formula to mind, but with the pain from numerous wounds clouding his thoughts, the search is far from easy.
Great, if only I was actually GOOD at this kind of thing.. time to improvise, I suppose. Than again, in a place like this, it should be just a little easier...
Slowly, pale blue strands of light pour out from the ground beneath Skraal, wrapping around him momentarily before spreading out in the form of a thin mist across the arena ring.
Ah yes, that's how it went...
The first sign of the spell taking effect could be seen in the tornado that stood at the centre of the arena - it began to spin backwards. The second was in the cinders that rained from the sky: one by one, they flew back up and into the fiery tempest, clearing the air in a matter of moments as past and present whirled into the realm of what merely might have been.
The third was Skraal collapsing to the ground, slowly at first, stopping himself just in time to fold quietly into a sitting position, leaning against the wall once more. As time flows on under the influence of his spell, old wounds reopen and new ones, barely kept in check by his healing powers, return worse than ever, letting blood flow freely from his open cuts to the arena floor as he loses yet more strength, now barely staying awake.
Soundlessly, without ceremony, the fiery tornado slowly spins away into nothingness, taking every burn, every wound away with it as it fades away into the space between moments. As it vanishes, the blue mist covering the arena ring converges on where Jacquelyn was contained within the burning vortex, becoming a soft, golden light along the way - healing energy, fueled by what little power Skraal still possesses, as powerful as it is costly.
As the golden light dissipates, its work done, Skraal pulls himself up from the ground into a sitting position once more, but only barely. his injuries still bleed freely, yet now he lacks the power to rid himself of them. his shortsword is planted in the ground, blade-first, and while it can still be drawn with ease, at the moment, he is simply resting one arm on it for support.
he watches the golden light part from the figure, still wreathed in the dying embers of her prison. Sitting at one end of the arena ring, as close as he has ever been to helplessness in his life, Skraal reaches out and beckons Jacquelyn over while speaking, his voice now resembling more of a croak than his usual tone.
"Go on than.. I can't afford to take all day over losing."
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No, this isn't actually throwing a monkey wrench into your plans.. atleast, I hope not. If Jacquelyn (as I'm starting to suspect) was supposed to turn into some (possibly burning) mega-physics-monster-thing, that can still be arranged.
As Skraal "said" himself, time-related psionics are a really big stretch for him, and the only reason he pulled off even one that's limited to the tornado and Jacquelyn is because they're both in the Sands, which makes things easier. Thus, whatever she changed into could have easily carried over.
So...I hope this is acceptable. If not, tell me, and I'll come up with something else.
As Skraal "said" himself, time-related psionics are a really big stretch for him, and the only reason he pulled off even one that's limited to the tornado and Jacquelyn is because they're both in the Sands, which makes things easier. Thus, whatever she changed into could have easily carried over.
So...I hope this is acceptable. If not, tell me, and I'll come up with something else.
The sound bursts from every surface in the arena, as if it were the voice of the world itself rather than the product of a human being.
"But your sympathy is not worth the breath you wasted."
Skraal's face is lit up by a terrible red glow as the ember-cloaked entity steps forward. It has Jacquelyn's figure, moves with her grace and speed, and its short hair whips around in the last vestiges of the cyclone as hers did so often, but something is slightly unsettling about it; gone are the clatter of chains and the thud of steel-toed boots that distinctively marked the girl's presence.
Jacquelyn, or whatever remains of her, squats down before him, jabbing one still-burning finger into his chest. Light dances inside the flame-shrouded hand, but no detail can be seen inside the blaze.
"Look at you. You sit there, smug in your self-righteousness, ready to die by my hand with only the thought that you saved a life to console you. Well doesn't that make you special. But guess what? You're no hero...you're just the scum at their feet."
Jacquelyn spits at his feet, and the liquid sizzles, steam rising in swirling clouds as the floorboards are eaten away. Soon a splattered patch of pure iron embellishes the worn wood.
"Must be fun, knowing that you can undo whatever actions you might come to regret. Must make you feel good inside, knowing that you can torture and kill and leave no lasting effects. Well guess what, lizard? Life doesn't work that way. The pain's still there. Trust me on this. You've helped to make me what I am."
"So you'll excuse me if I don't think much of your noble sacrifice. See, you made a decision to take me down...you made a conscious choice. Some don't get that option. There are people out there--people whose power far eclipses your own--who struggle every second of every day to keep themselves in check. Power like that isn't under your control...it controls you. It has no regard for other life; it can't be bothered to tell friend from foe. And, if it senses a single instant of weakness or uncertainty, it acts of its own accord."
"Now imagine how you feel if you let your resolve waiver. You saw this happen a moment ago...only a few seconds of anger...and look what happened. Could I have stopped had you been my brother, or my father, or my lover? You should know the answer by now."
"Imagine the pain that brings. Imagine the self-loathing. Imagine the burning, all-consuming desire you could somehow stay your own hand, coupled with the knowledge that it was your own fault, although you did everything in your power to prevent it."
"Maybe this helps you to understand why I'm here. Why I need time to undo what has been done...time to discover an antidote for the poison that is my greatest gift and most hated curse."
"Now you know something of my motives, and something of my life. Maybe, with patience and effort, you could come to understand it...and then your sympathy might come to mean something. But somehow I doubt you'll have the time you need. Because you see, I've made my choice..."
"And I need my time."
At her fingertip, the atom splits....
Show
In case it wasn't clear, there's basically a nuke on Skraal's chest...'cause an atom splitting a few microns from you're body isn't fun.
Anyway, that's my allotment up. Hopefully I have, within seven posts, created a convincing and at least somewhat deep character...we'll see where it goes from here.
Also, exactly what happened to her is intentionally hidden...win or lose, it will either appear as she exits the arena or when she enters her next fight. Good luck to the both of us, Cog!
Also, for what it's worth, I think I just wrote my current "favorite post of all time".
Anyway, that's my allotment up. Hopefully I have, within seven posts, created a convincing and at least somewhat deep character...we'll see where it goes from here.
Also, exactly what happened to her is intentionally hidden...win or lose, it will either appear as she exits the arena or when she enters her next fight. Good luck to the both of us, Cog!
Also, for what it's worth, I think I just wrote my current "favorite post of all time".
Skraal looks up into Jacquelyn's face, still wreathed in dancing flames, so like a vision he had seen twice in his life, so long ago...
Suddenly, he sees a different face, not Jacquelyn's, but a human face, seen from a distance, lit by flames, by..
Torchfire.
At that moment, with that single sight, a thousand memories return to the kobold's mind in a flood. Memories of fire and steel, of shouts in the dark and bodies amidst the flames. Memories best left forgotten.
Skraal reaches to the mindblade planted in the ground and rips it out of its earthen sheath, preparing to make one final swing with what little still remains of his strength.
And now his eyes show him a different vision - a long neck, covered in shining blue scales falling to the ground - a neck that ends in the familiar face of a long-dead blue dragon.
The vision vanishes as quickly as it came, and Skraal lowers the sword to the ground, where it dissipates into strands of mist.
Never again.
Mere microns away from him, the atom splits, and with it, the very air is sundered into so many pieces as the entire arena ring blossoms into flame.
First, the force of the explosion itself hits the kobold, knocking him on the ground as the waves of flame and sound batter his beaten, dead frame. As the flames clear, the dust from its aftermath settles on the kobold along with the rest of the arena, accompanied moments after by a blanket of cinders.
When Skraal awakens, he sees the arena covered in dust and cinders, and his own form several feet behind him. The entire world has taken on a gray tint, and while he can hear the sounds of the audience, it seems so terribly far away now..
Before him, a door opens in the air, and a thin mechanical figure steps out. Skraal stares forward, and sees an ancient, decayed Marut, wrapped in a black-grey shroud. In its right hand, it holds a scythe that ends in a silver blade - one which casts a faint blue glow over the surroundings. It steps forward, covering far more distance than a single step should allow, and raises the scythe before bringing it howling down upon the kobold's form.
Seeing the scythe, Skraal rises from the ground like a demon from the depths of the abyss, sword in hand, striking not to parry, but to sever the handle of Death's scythe. As his attack finds its mark, Skraal closes in on the reaper as it drops the scythe handle and sends its fist flying toward the kobold.
Quickly weaving out of the way, Skraal smashes the pommel of the sword into Death's steel head, sending it staggering backwards. Bringing it down to the ground with one more swing, Skraal chants the words of banishing as he drives the sword into the Marut's chest.
Never again.
Slowly, the Marut fades from view, sent back to the plane of its origin, and before the kobold's eyes, colour and sound begins to return to the world.
Unfortunately, as his senses and life return, so too does the pain.
As darkness closes in on him and he falls to the ground once more, Skraal smiles weakly. Any with keen ears might have heard him whisper to himself as he fell, "never was any good at dying."
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Well, I'm afraid that's about the best I can manage... as to how Skraal managed to fight Death off for long enough to cast the psionic equivelant of a Banishment spell, there are several reasons for that. First off, once he was dead, he got his strength back, although not quite immediately. Second, he's epic, and epic people do that. Third, he caught Death by surprise, so it was a little easier. Plus, he was only trying to stun the Marut for long enough to send it back to Mechanus or wherever.
Anyways, as I said, that's about the best I can do.. so, North, how badly did I lose? :P
Anyways, as I said, that's about the best I can do.. so, North, how badly did I lose? :P
He then begins to clap, slowly and deliberately.
"The winner has been ruled to be Jacquelyn. We will proceed to the next round of matches shortly."
OoC
As per usual, a criticism of your work is available on request -- nice job to both of you :D
We now have three contestants left, and since this is an odd number, we'll have to go round robin style. Each player will have a seven-post match with the other two players, the winner of the most matches will win the entire event.
We will begin with Envarith v. Jacquelyn (since I'm not sure if Sorcen's computer problems are totally fixed yet, so I'm giving him a grace period. Sorcen, if you're reading this, PM me so that I know to continue, otherwise this next match will be the last match.
You may proceed. I won't count entry posts or dialogue. The post count will only begin when combat is initiated, mind games you may decide to play, if any, will not be considered combat. Good luck :D
We now have three contestants left, and since this is an odd number, we'll have to go round robin style. Each player will have a seven-post match with the other two players, the winner of the most matches will win the entire event.
We will begin with Envarith v. Jacquelyn (since I'm not sure if Sorcen's computer problems are totally fixed yet, so I'm giving him a grace period. Sorcen, if you're reading this, PM me so that I know to continue, otherwise this next match will be the last match.
You may proceed. I won't count entry posts or dialogue. The post count will only begin when combat is initiated, mind games you may decide to play, if any, will not be considered combat. Good luck :D
Air: seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty percent oxygen, one percent argon...down to less than a thousandth of a percent of hydrogen. Yet, when combined with approximately one percent water vapor, it is enough. Temperature decreases, pressure increases, and the rain begins to fall...
It cascades down in torrents, sweeping over the girl in a wash of steam and spray. A billowing cloud of superheated vapor pours off the burning figure, and steam obscures the entire arena.
Slowly, gently, it disperses...and droplets gleam and glisten off of polished crystal as Jacquelyn raises her hand to light.
The girl tosses her head, hair rippling in the light of the solar divinity. It reflects off every surface of her exquisitely--one might say 'carved'--body, shining dazzlingly around the arena...
[font=arial narrow]The human body is a cocktail of chemical elements. Sixty-five parts oxygen, eighteen parts carbon... Add pressure. 70,000 atmospheres of it. Add heat. 1,500 degrees Centigrade. And there is only one possible result...[/font]
"Girl's best friend..."
"Interesting," the Sandman muses as he steps into the ring. "You've mastered the first three dimensions - length, width, and depth, collectively known as Space. I wonder how it will fare against the fourth dimension."
Envarith's hand emerges from his sleeve and he holds up one finger, moving it side-to-side as though tut-tutting a naughty child.
In a moment, a truly enourmous pendulum crosses the space between the Sandman and Jacquelyn, obscuring both from the other's view. When the Sandman would be visible once again, he is not there.
"I was a sorcerer once, you know - a magician, really, dabbling in forces beyond my control or experience. I have a fair hand at Space myself, especially where it meets Time and the two sing the sweet song of creation. Here is such a place, a nexus not of worlds but of ideas, the concepts that the created used to bring life to creation."
"It doesn't have to make sense. It just has to be."
The pendulum passes by again, and the two fighters are in an enourmous clocktower, gears cranking all around them. The pendulum passes by, this time adorned with the mocking face of a harlequin.
"Your move, mortal."
Crystalline lips part slowly as Jacquelyn spits in disgust, molten iron searing into the wooden floor.
"Why all the honor? Is this just a game to all of you? Some little vacation?"
*Thrummmmmm*
The great pendulum swings past, a dull hum marking its slow progress through the empty space. The laughing eyes stare mockingly at Jacquelyn, following her far longer than the mere carving should find possible.
"If it is, you had best write up your will. 'Cause I'm here to win, and no pleasure-seeking charlatan is getting in my way."
"Your little tricks are probably all very charming and quaint, but I don't have the time to waste on you. See, I've been told that time waits for no man..."
*Thrummmmmm*
The girl steps forward, holding out a transparent hand towards the swinging counterweight.
*Thrumm--KSHHHHHHHHK*
Shards of wood and metal fall to the floor like rain as the pendulum shatters against her diamond palm, and Jacquelyn snaps off the broken remnants, casting them to the ground at her feet.
"But he sure as hell better get the f*** out of this girl's way!"
Show
Technically not an attack...just some drama to some speech, so, unless Envarith was somehow inside the pendulum, we're still at a net of 0 posts
There's a strange feeling, a kind of instantaenous jumping, like reality has become a bad VHS or a scratched DVD. The shards of the pendulum don't fall to the ground, instead warping and twisting, melting in form but not in substance until they form thousands of miniature clocks.
"And this is no game to me, miss. Not a game at all. I need the immortality to continue doing my duties. I simply find no reason not to be polite."
Envarith manifests across the room in an explosion of swirling sand, holding a brass pocketwatch. He depresses a small button on it, and all at once, there is a deafening ticking, coming from the tower itself and from all the miniature clocks, a cacophany of marching eternity that cuts through the bone to become pure pain.
"There are some," Envarith continues, his low whisper perfectly audible and understandable, "who say that life is a joke. Whether or not this is true, time has a sense of humor and continuity. I've always been a fan of the harlequin, myself. So if you insist on believing this is a joke, then let the farce begin."
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I'm still here, but I'm busy from now until the 20th of August...so no posts from me for that period of time (no computer access). My apologies for the delay. If you need to continue without me, I understand completely.
Apologies!
-Gideon
Apologies!
-Gideon
OoC
Right, since you've given us a date for return, you can rest assured your spot is safe. If Sorcen shows up we'll have Envarith v. Sythidor, if not, well... he just got an extended grace period :D
Great waves undulate through the billowing gas that comprises the air itself...waves that carry a devastating power, sound pouring off of them in sheets of raw force. Yet, for all their destructive prowess, it takes but a thought to nullify the reverberating attack...
A low, pure note echoes quietly through the clock tower...Jacquelyn is singing.
Her words ripple as frequency and wavelength are manipulated by unseen forces, their form twisted until they perfectly mirror the pattern of destruction raging across the tower...a perfect mirror, with one crucial difference, for this pattern is the exact inverse of the oncoming wave.
Acoustics. The science of sound. Wavelength. Frequency. Destructive harmonics. Pattern interference. It is the last of these that spells the end of the approaching diapason, for when two opposing waves cross paths, there is only one possible result. No sound can exist within the null wave.
In the dead silence that follows, the word goodbye slips quietly off of the girl’s crystal lips, and a single drop of condensation slides slowly down her polished cheek. A second later it is gone, and Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell smiles at her foe. It is a predatory smile…the smile of one who is about to strike.
[font="Franklin Gothic Medium"]"Not a farce, sandman. I lost my sense of humor ages ago. But it is a play, and this IS the final act."
"It's an award winning play; the prize is eternity. And I think the prize is within sight."[/font]
Around her the clock tower ticks away, gears and cogs rotating in fixed rhythm on axles of iron and brass. The scene explodes into a rain of particles, and Jacquelyn runs among the precise workings, electron bonds shattering in her wake. Tension is lost, solidity destroyed, and the metal begins to fall to the winds…
The girl draws her gleaming blade and changes her focus. Around her the endless ticking of the tower slows to a crawl, punctuated by a new noise…that of snapping metal.
[font="Franklin Gothic Medium"]"You see, I'm writing a tragedy..."[/font]
Jacquelyn leaps from within the fractured machinery to the air itself, riding the currents from atom to atom, mapping the course in the blink of an eye.
The clock tower has fallen to chaos. No longer does the mechanism tick regularly away, and no longer does the passage of time reflect on the faces of the countless clocks. Gears rain down from the sky, a gentle pitter-patter against the wooden floor…until the massive gears that controlled the whole affair loosen in their prisons and slide downward in a thundering avalanche of iron and steel.
[font="Franklin Gothic Medium"]"...And you're the star."[/font]
Quantum forces swirl about her as distance is distorted, density altered, and mass increased exponentially. Relative gravity shifts, focusing on the crystal figure. The atom’s call is too much, and her physical form is drawn inexorably towards it…
And Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell soars through the rain of steel, leaping from atom to atom along pathways of gravitational force. Her diamond figure bursts through the falling metal, shards engulfing her as the walls of steel prove no deterrent to her progress. And then Envarith stands before her, and no force on earth can stay her meteoric descent.
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Just to clarify my writing style, in case it's important: Jacquelyn does not move from her position until her flight...she is never physically inside the clockwork.
Somewhere, despite the shattered tower, the clocks continue to tick, dutifully marking off the March of Eternity. Despite repeated attempts to destroy it, the pendulum still stubbornly swings, utterly undamaged even as it hangs from nothing more than air.
"You lack a hero to be undone by his own faults," Envarith continues. His hands have begun tracing sigils of power, lazily, and he stares at the impending impact. "You are also lacking a driving obsession for that hero. Immortality will be mine eventually, you see. For you, on the other hand, the prize is not garunteed."
"So, you see, it is a farce, and I am your Harlequin. The question is, beautiful mortal, are you my Columbine, or merely another stooge to be tricked?"
Jacquelyn impacts - the ground. Envarith is simply not there - until he reappears a few feet to the left.
"You are confined in a four-dimensional world that I exist outside, young Columbine. You will have to get more creative to harm me from within your cage."
Envarith finishes tracing the last sigil, and there is a flash as everything but he and his opponent stop moving.
"Come, Columbine. Dance with your Harlequin."
Minute and Hour appear in Envarith's hands, and he settles into a stance at 3:30. Quietly, and with the barest hint of a wry smile, he beckons to Jacquelyn.
And the ticking of the clocks becomes a slow waltz.
Something is wrong. Electrons float in empty space, no longer racing along their invisible passages. Atoms hang is stasis, unchanging, unmoving. The world is still and lifeless...
"Fine."
Jacquelyn is awash in a sea of dead energy, her power locked inside the frozen time. Yet a lifeline hangs before her and she seizes it in will a grip of unyielding force, planting herself firmly in the path of the motion. Electrons slow to a crawl, then stop, helpless before her immovable might. Systems fail, connections shatter, synapses lie dormant and unresponsive...
...and Envarith feels his mind slip and his heart stutter as his nervous system slowly dies away to nothing.
"Dance your way out of that, fool."
Show
If that's to much, just tell me...
Also, on another note, I realized something. The great response I had planned about how the Aristotelian definition of a tragedy doesn't require a fatal flaw or an obsession wasn't character appropriate (which was really upsetting, as it was a great comeback). She also can't reference the Commedia dell'Arte, because that isn't something she'd know much about.
There go two interesting conversation ideas...
Also, on another note, I realized something. The great response I had planned about how the Aristotelian definition of a tragedy doesn't require a fatal flaw or an obsession wasn't character appropriate (which was really upsetting, as it was a great comeback). She also can't reference the Commedia dell'Arte, because that isn't something she'd know much about.
There go two interesting conversation ideas...
The Sandman goes limp, but the waltz plays on.
There is a rush of blood from Envarith's mouth as he lets loose a great, hacking cough. Slowly, his body goes upright again.
There are no nerves firing, no activity of any kind, and yet, he moves, raising his blades again. Bloody lips move to speak.
"Clever, my little Columbine. You've killed me. Unforunately, you see, I have been expecting my death for quite some time. What you are about to witness is the power of potential, of possiblity made real - of the illusion of solid reality and the weakness of fate."
When Envarith moves, there are phantom images that precede him - everywhere.
One group of images shows him leaping into the air for a chopping overhand slash.
Another has the Sandman rush forward in a whirling wall of steel and hate.
Others circle to Jacquelyn's flanks or attack from below her.
As all of them rush towards his opponent, the Sandman has yet to move.
"Block one, block two, it doesn't matter. It's time to dance, my Columbine, and I will have a partner."
OOC
Yes, Envarith is dead and still moving. What's happening now is he's drawing on the fluidic future, dragging it into the past to make Might Be into Is. Blocking one or more of the assaults will simply cause him to manifest as one of them that made its way through.
I love time.
I love time.
The blades bite again and again, from every angle, every side. Crystal shatters before their unceasing onslaught, delicate molecular structures torn asunder by the cold steel. And still the fractures spread...
The arena echoes soundlessly as she falls to her knees, her body splintering apart inch by inch, her mouth open in the silent scream of unimaginable pain.
There is no escape, no power to bring to bear. There is no source of energy left to gather, no motion to manipulate. The world around her is unchanging and stagnant, caught between the seconds...
[b]No.[/b]
...There is nothing but pain.
[b]There is everything.[/b]
A single, burning resolution cuts through the agony like a knife, casting it aside and turning it to ash. Crystal dust spirals downward as muscles of gleaming stone snap taut, and Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell rises from defeat to face her foe once more. Her form is decimated, blasted almost to ruin, but she stands tall, her head held proud and erect, her expression one of steadfast and unbreakable resolve.
"Then we dance, Harlequin."
The dead world echoes, a hollow call filling the empty air, washing gently over unmoving particles, brushing past gases that will never again roam free, caught forever in a timeless second...and Jacquelyn hears its mournful cry, rushing to its aid and throwing her entire being against its captor. Physic explosions rock her subconscious, her mind fractures over and over and over, and her soul burns with a white heat, but still she flings herself against the confines of reality. It is a futile action; a trickle of water against the strength of a mountain.
...yet with time that trickle will carve for itself a gorge deeper than ever the mountain was tall.
"We dance..."
Power gathers and builds inside the girl's fragmented mind, and, with her least vestiges of free will, she sends her unspeakable might lashing out once more. Raw cosmic force thunders across the void, ripping and splintering the confines of space, dancing along the borders of time itself; violent, brutal, hungering tendrils seeking to rend and destroy, seeking to break free...and the dimension shatters in a flash of colorless light and a soundless explosion of time and space.
Reality peels aside, unveiling the whole of existence, and Jacquelyn steps into the heart of the world. It is a place of brilliant light overlapping impenetrable darkness, impossible to comprehend. Length is but a single point in the endless expanse, distance but an illusion. Time itself twists outwards and backwards in glowing spirals, space contorts into shapes that seem to exist in the then and the now and the later at once and individually and not at all...
Jacquelyn steps then and now, and dimensions unravel before her, revealing sights unseen and untold. Lines spiral out into space and time...lines that carry whole worlds in a single point, whole galaxies in the space of a second that lasts forever, for time is as distance, distance is as space...
With but a thought she brings her awesome power to bear, twisting the strands of time and accelerating it from its stagnation. The past fades into the future, the present stranded far behind, and Jacquelyn rides along with it, marveling at the wonders that engulf her...
It is the universe as it perceives itself...
"...but we dance to MY tune."
...and it is beautiful.
OOC
This is just to alert Jess to the fact that I've updated, as well as to make two statements.
Those statements? The first is that our language doesn't have any good way to describe the totality of the universe, what with all the intertwining dimensions and all. The second is that it's really fun to say that someone steps "then" and "now" rather than a boring "forwards." Go multi-dimensional beings!
Anyway, be prepared for a bumpy ride, 'cause I'm makin' it up as I go along! :D
Those statements? The first is that our language doesn't have any good way to describe the totality of the universe, what with all the intertwining dimensions and all. The second is that it's really fun to say that someone steps "then" and "now" rather than a boring "forwards." Go multi-dimensional beings!
Anyway, be prepared for a bumpy ride, 'cause I'm makin' it up as I go along! :D
The Sandman is somewhere in what the mind demands is sight, but he seems different somehow. From another when-where, another place-time, a red mist emerges, and he inhales it deeply. Envarith smiles, then, a broad, genuine smile, and Jacquelyn knows what it was/is/will be.
The Sandman has his soul back.
When/where he speaks now/then, his voice is filled with life and vibrancy. His is a kind voice, a playful one that suggests one of those "crazy" friends everyone likes, the kind more loyal than the most brainwashed soldier and more kind than the most devoted nun, in their own way.
"And yet," this new Envarith of smiles and jokes says, "it doesn't hold a candle to you, my Columbine. Tell me, who locked your joy away where it cannot be touched?"
"Who stole the heart I feel myself longing for?"
"What must I do to get it back?"
Envarith sets foot one one of the spiralling lines where time and space and possible and impossible met and begins walking, gravity and sense and perception being nothing and everything in this place. Minute and Hour being whirling, ringing against each other rhythmically in a cosmic sensation that can only be called pure sound, but is light and dark and everything else in between. The line begins to warp and twist as potentiality and space merge under the Sandman's will, bringing him steadily towards his Columbine.
Somewhere in the vast infinity of stars, a chorous of gods unseen begins a waltz, slow and sublime. In perfect harmony - if such a thing can truly exist beyond the shackles of weak human perception - Envarith sings.
"We lived our lives, in our paradise."
A pair of blades appear in front of Jacquelyn, clearly meant for her. One of them seems to be forged from purest gold, with a heart-shaped ruby in the pommel. Words in languages long-dead, but still understood, name it as Hope. The other is of diamond, but not the crystal-clear kind - no, it is red as blood, the color of Love's lush lips and of the Duur's rage, and its name, it proclaims on its blade, is Passion.
"As gods we shaped our world around.
No borderlines we'd stay behind."
Envarith whirls into the attack, Minute and Hour vibrating a liquid, crystal sound in tune with the celestial music, the Chorus of Creation that surrounds the two combatants.
"Though balance is something fragile..."
A single, reverberating note rings out as Passion rises up to meet the onslaught.
"I DID!"
Her scream echoes across space, up and down time, and within eternity. Then her face falls, Hope and Passion resting dormant at her sides.
"It was as if she never was..."
And, as she speaks, a story unfolds before the Sandman’s eyes…
The streets of Detroit were dark and damp, rain dripping down from the rooftops, soaking the black macadam with murky water. Smog and mist hang heavily in the city air, and tendrils of fog wrap around the neon signs and lampposts. Yet this oppressive atmosphere is unnoticed by the two figures walking out of the Limelight Dance Club, arms wrapped about each other, lips exchanging soft kisses in the dim moonlight. Quiet laughter rises into the night as the pair navigate the streets and allies, joyful in each other’s company.
Seconds later the world erupts in pain, and Jacquelyn awakes to a grizzled face and cold steel at her throat. A mad straddles her chest, pinning her to the cold cement, his leering face one of lust and insanity. He smiles as she opens her eyes, patting her cheek in a slimy, covetous manner, then stands up and vanishes from sight. Jacquelyn struggles to stand, only to find her limbs bound and tied, spread-eagled against the floor. This is not possible. This is not happening. And then a single word fills the small room; a word repeated over and over, full of desperation and hopelessness.
“No…no…no…nonononono…”
Jacquelyn recognizes the voice, and her breath catches in her throat. Then the screaming begins, and the girl strains against her bonds until her wrists and ankles are raw and bleeding, her voice hoarse from wordless castigations, her endless rage held back by rope and chain.
Time is meaningless. Jacquelyn struggles for an eternity, or for minutes, or hours…she does not know. The screams die down, reduced to choked sobs and gasps of pain, but Jacquelyn’s rage is unabated, and the room still echoes with her wrath. Then it happens. Something buried deep within her uncoils its serpentine length, raises its mighty head, and rears up with unspeakable force. Her body boils with unbridled fury, her mind burns with hatred beyond reason…and the world is hers to command.
Molecules surround her, forming walls and floor and human being alike. Two living creatures, one beloved, one despised…and the rage cannot distinguish, nor does it care, for Jacquelyn is buried beneath layers of elemental fury. Atoms split before her, electrons burst at her touch, and the world as she sees it is consumed by fundamental forces, twisted beyond comprehension by her wrath. The walls burn away in seconds, the basement room turns to dust…and so does everything around her. It is the first time this power has been brought to bear, and it is a monstrous thing, unwanted and unloved.
It is later. How much later no one knows. Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell raises her head once more, finding herself lying inside a burning crater, sirens roaring in the distance. The flames leap and dance, but she does not see their primal beauty…she sees raw energy, springing forth from combustion, oxygen fueling the roaring inferno as it feasts upon its burning prey. Fire surrounds her, blackening the air and charring the ground, but she is not warm, her mind forcing the heat away. She is safe.
And then she realizes what is missing…and the tears do not stop for days.
Jacquelyn raises her head, staring deeply into Envarith’s eyes.
[i] “But it did not end there. My song began in sadness, but it will not end a dirge. Now is my time, and we dance to your tune no longer.”[/i]
Her voice rises in song…and the cosmos flowing around her sings in perfect harmony, her words carrying to the far reaches of existence, bringing with them an air of heartbreaking sadness.
The tune changes, its sad tones strong and joyous, its slow melody turned to a dervish dance, and Jacquelyn pirouettes through time, her eyes bright for the first time since her arrival.
The girl finishes her graceful twirl, arms extended, blades hungering. Passion lashes out with a heart-wrenching wail, its ruby edge reflecting a love torn asunder…and then Hope rises, golden and glittering, sweeping through time and space in a wide, all encompassing arc…unwavering and unending.
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Nice reference to Caben Duur there, Jess! That cheered me up when I saw it.
And if you quote Within Temptation at me, I'll quote it right back at you! :D
Finally, no physics shenanigans here...I decided for the metaphorical attack instead. Worked out well...thanks for handing me that opportunity.
And if you quote Within Temptation at me, I'll quote it right back at you! :D
Finally, no physics shenanigans here...I decided for the metaphorical attack instead. Worked out well...thanks for handing me that opportunity.
There is a sound, when four-dimensional objects partially expanded to the true nature of the universe collide with each other inside a place where time is space and space is imagination. It is a sound like stars being born, like the screams of Prometheus at the stone and like the first cries of a babe. It is a sound like the rotations of galaxies and the relieved sigh of hope renewed.
It is the birth of worlds, coming into glorious, fiery being with every sword stroke that transforms into a bell-like peal of love and loss, joy and hate and sorrow and everything that makes someone human.
It is a song of souls, a chorous of life itself being played out over the endless cosmos.
Hour intercepts Hope and twists it up and to the side. Envarith could disarm Jacquelyn - but doesn't.
"I do not make it a policy," the Sandman says with a grin, "to take anyone's Hope from them."
Minute and Passion clash and break apart, and the two combatants meet and part in a dance more intimate than a lover's bed and deadlier than the most venemous hatred.
A slash, oozing red blood, appears somewhen on the Sandman's cheek.
A cut tears part of Jacquelyn's clothing off at the shoulder and nicks her.
As the dance increases in speed, the waltz enters into an accelerando, transcending petty human limitations and entering a whole new realm where the term "sound" is utterly meaningless.
There is an extended peal as the blades slide against each other, and Envarith twists his body so that he and his Columbine are entrapping themselves against each other, each unable to move unless the other wills it.
"My Columbine," the Sandman breathes. She was close - so close, and yet so far.
He dared not touch her.
"Aaah, my Columbine, it must be sad, to be holding the key to your own prison and being unable to simply turn it in the lock. Why do you hold yourself back?"
"As if I hadn't tried more often than even you could comprehend.”
"I suppose you think I can simply twist time around and return to what once was...but no laws of the universe allow for that, and I, no matter how I try to deny it, eventually answer to them.”
“Yet there is another way. Maybe, just maybe, I could conjure her form from the world around me, breathing life into it and setting her soul free once more. But I am no artist. I modify, and I destroy...I can never create."
A slow smile creeps across her face and her eyes burn with the fire of an inner vision, terrible to behold and completely unquenchable.
"But I can learn."
Her voice becomes a breathy whisper, rapt and lustful, obsession etched on every feature. There is a frightening edge to her speech; these are not the words of any rational being. These are the words of a fanatic, completely devoted to a single cause, and willing to do any deed or pay any price to see it to completion.
"I can learn to craft form from utter nothingness…to discover what makes us human, what substances contains our being…and how to fashion it. It will take me an eternity."
She grins…an alarming, fervent, rictus of a smile.
“And it will be wonderful.”
In the silence that follows an involuntary shudder runs down the Sandman’s spine, tingling with a feeling of unspeakable dread…
Show
Wow. This is why I like playing opposite you, Jess. I didn't know Jacquelyn was so...frightening. I had known she was serious about it, but this both seemed like the natural progression of things AND threw me for a complete loop. Who knew?
Anyway, your move, my friend.
Also, for North's benefit, this was a speech-only post, so, by the new rules, it doesn't count towards the total.
Anyway, your move, my friend.
Also, for North's benefit, this was a speech-only post, so, by the new rules, it doesn't count towards the total.
It is a tragedy, a drama, a grand farce and the greatest act of heroism of all time, and the small-minded beings blessed with its grace blithely call it "life."
"The soul," Envarith finally says, "is something so infinitely complex that I doubt it even follows the dictates of Time and Space. It is the ultimate freedom and the most unbreakable chains, the very definition of what makes life worth living. It is frail and it is invulnerable, and it is everlasting."
"Tell me, have you ever spoken to the Butcher? A most curious man, he was. He followed the trail of the soul down to the very edge of oblivion and tried to cast himself into it, there in the Jailhouse."
"Oblivion would not accept him, my Columbine. It spat his soul back into the world of the living."
Envarith concentrates, and the twisting lines where possibility and probability meet in an endless dance of fate bend and warp to his will, forming a sphere around he and his dance partner. Both the Sandman and Jacquelyn are pierced through the heart by a line. The wound does not bleed - nor does it even feel like a wound.
Jacquelyn finds herself in a cosmic maze, a place of shifting dimensions, maddening perceptions, and impossible sights, where the walls don't just shift position, but nature.
"Your soul never left, my Columbine. You wound it, even now. You hurt it and you surpress it, but you have it. Feel the passion running through your veins? Taste the madness? That is your soul's desperate cry for help."
"It is ever the folly for those who have power to be so very deluded by it. I have made that mistake more than once. I shall make it again."
"Find yourself, my Columbine. The girl you once where might be inside this maze somewhere."
OOC
Oh, the amazing indestructible soul.
I'm enjoying myself IMMENSELY - oh, and that wasn't an attack either.
I'm enjoying myself IMMENSELY - oh, and that wasn't an attack either.
Quantum. It is the science of space and distance, capable of collapsing any length to a single point, twisting space within itself, and changing the meaning of time itself. And, with a sense of location, it is a means of transport. It is the last which Jacquelyn calls upon, and space opens before her...a single step accomplishes the impossible.
And then she is behind him, Hope held at his throat, one crystal hand slowly tightening on the handle of Hour, gently prying it from his grasp.
"This is me, Harlequin. This is what I am, whether you like it or not. There has been no change, no loss of a soul--however that would come to pass. There is no madness. There is just me, my mistake, and my promise to see it righted."
"My soul does not need your help or your pity...and nor do I. It is meaningless, worthless, and degrading. I think that this affair has gone on long enough. I am not your Columbine--whatever that means--and our dance is over. You've begun to play games again, and, as promised, you'll find that means only one thing..."
She brings a knee up, slamming it into the man's back. A quick twist of her arm tears the weapon from his hands, and one final kick send him sprawling on the ground. Jacquelyn steps forward, Hope still held at her foe's throat, Hour raised for the final stroke...
"You're out of time."
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Nice try, Jess, but that's not working this time. Jacquelyn is not a soul-searcher by any means, let along with her current driving obsession. It'll take more than that to sway her course...if it's even within Envarith's power.
She's also so sure of herself that if she is lying she's not even aware of it. Hell, she doesn't even recognize her own over-obsession...nor will she, chances are.
Then again, I'm not sure either...I didn't expect you to throw this stuff at me, and I'm honestly not sure how she'll react to any given stimulus until I've written it and stared at the page, surprised by the reaction.
She's also so sure of herself that if she is lying she's not even aware of it. Hell, she doesn't even recognize her own over-obsession...nor will she, chances are.
Then again, I'm not sure either...I didn't expect you to throw this stuff at me, and I'm honestly not sure how she'll react to any given stimulus until I've written it and stared at the page, surprised by the reaction.
"Games? My Columbine, this entire bout has been a game. Existence is a game. Living is a game."
"This tourney is a game, played for the laughter of a bloodthirsty god. If life wasn't a game, no one could bear it."
The cosmos Jacquelyn spawned whirls, warps and twists, focuses itself around the Sandman. It begins to turn, vast seas of starts rotating at mind-boggling rates beyond the capacity of the eye to see.
Envarith is no longer smiling.
The world is no longer stable.
There is a will as old as time bending the cosmos to its whims, and it is centered in a sandy brown cloak and a pair of blades.
"And I can't resist, and I can't be proud
With the weight of the world as the world falls down."
There is a rippling shatter as the polite laws of existence unbind themselves, sending everything crashing down with a sound like shattered glass, dying dreams and the screams of wounded stars. When Envarith goes to the attack, it is not in a rush - it is in an eyeblink, a split second manifestation that leaves a diamond-shaped cut on Jacquelyn's cheek.
There is a blur as gravity leaves the universe, and the crystal girl feels something hard and intense slam into her kneecap. There is a breaking sound that echoes into the voice and snuffs out a star with its intensity.
Hour flies from the girl's hand and returns to its master, who casts Passion into a forming well of what's left of gravity.
"The Harlequin, my Columbine, is life's jester, the eternal fool. He has one great love - a girl named Columbine. He would do anything for her, but, if she were to turn him away, he would go off in sorrow."
"She is the only thing that has power over him, you see."
"You have no idea, foolish girl. You have no clue. You're blind, and you hold the wool over your own eyes."
His hands blur into motion, blades seeking Jacquelyn's throat.
"But if you're so determined to die, your Harlequin will grant that wish."
"Maybe I am blind. Maybe I am delusional. But mankind is blind, and mankind is delusional...and, in the end, I am only human. But you are something more...and you truly are the eternal fool."
"You are in control, master of your power; capable and experienced. You have your place, and you know your part. You claim to be the Harlequin, playing at your little farce. What price your farce now? Even I would not strive to unmake reality to prove a point...and yet it is only now, in the face of this destruction, that you claim this is all a game? What price your fun, Sandman? What price your fun?"
"You speak of eternal love, but I do not think you have the least idea of what you speak. Have you ever had someone torn away from you? Do you know what that does to a person? How much that scars? How much that experience becomes an essential part of your being? You speak of the soul, but I am not sure you have such a thing within your heartless breast. It is not something you can shatter, splinter, or lose...it is always there, and it is what makes us what we are. It may be wounded, but that only makes it stronger, more determined...you do not seem to understand that."
"And, in the end, I have my play. The story of the Harlequin's efforts to comprehend that which he has never known, or has long ago forgotten. The tale of his rage at his failure. His final story, and his final jest...at the expense of the entire world. A greater tragedy has never been written."
"But this is not the play I desire."
The headless figure raises Hope in shattered fingers, and the golden metal begins to melt, flowing over the gleaming crystal in a liquid torrent, spiraling upwards to form a shining head, eyes closed, face serene.
"You have forgotten Hope. Hope that this is more than a game...hope that one can succeed even after the fall. I may be blind, but my hope guides me onward. Maybe, someday, I will be able to take off the blinders and see for myself...but I will settle for this."
"And now I can give something back. Now it is my turn. I am the hope of the world...and that is more than you can ever say. This is my hour..."
The golden eyelids part, and brilliant light pours out of eyes of the purest ruby as the spirit within burns with the flames of a belief so strong that it could conquer death itself, were death to stand in its way.
"...and I will be the hope that you cannot."
The world is in chaos. Nothing moves, nothing waits, nothing remains. Time runs in chaotic streams, fractured and disjointed, held in place through the will of the Sandman alone.
And then [b]she[/b] walks among the devastation, burning with the fury of a thousand suns. The void turns to her, drawn in by a force beyond all reckoning, and the flow of time begins to spiral inward, connecting once more to spread across the eternity. Flames dance along the pathways that once were, tiny star-pricks bursting into light as the leaping embers lick the empty void. The light brightens, beams interweaving to form patterns, connections, bonds, atoms, molecules...
Matter spirals up in her wake, filling the expanse with being and substance. Gravity spreads at her feet, seizing the world in its grasp once more, holding existence together with the strength of [b]her[/b] will.
Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell stands at the center of a blossoming eternity, watching creation spread out around her...and, for the first time since that fateful day four years ago, she breaks down and cries.
"You have forgotten where we are, Jacquelyn Eva-Pierce Roswell. This is not the existence you know. These are the Sands of Time, a boundry-place between the cracks of everything."
"I have not destroyed reality here. What we have done is birthed a new cosmos from nothing more than will and magic. Father Time and Mother Nature, in the truest and most literal of senses."
There is the lightest brush on Jacquelyn's cheek, as though a hand were wiping a tear away, and she sees the fleeting impression of a smile, maked out in lines drawn by distant stars.
"Welcome back to humanity, my Columbine."
"This fight is over."
The surroundings blur, and fade back into the fighting circle in the Sands. Jacqelyn can feel the universe she and the Sandman created, a tug in the back of her mind like a toddler demanind attention.
Envarith stands impassively, once more shrouded in his sandy cloak. From somewhere in the whispers that surround and enwrap him, a quiet voice chants, For thy heart, for thy heart who hast wronged me...
"You played me, Harlequin. Played me from start to finish. I suppose the fool laughs most at those who do not see his jest for what it is. But I think it is to soon to laugh."
She chuckles quietly, but there is no joy in it.
"Welcome back to humanity. Odd thing to say, that. Madness, passion, pride, despair, hope, obsession...that's what humanity is, and I've had that all along. Like any reaction all that it required is the right catalyst. Why don't you go find it, Sandman? Stop your ceaseless manipulation, stop playing your little games and do something worth doing; something that will make you proud, and something that will show you are more than the fool."
"'Cause the way I see it, the fool is loved for his antics--but, in the end, he is only a fool...unless he shows himself to be otherwise. Put your fine words to use. Go do something, Harlequin..."
She stands, radiant in the warm glow of the Solar God who watches impassively. Rays of light caress her golden form, sending glittering shimmers to the dark corners of the endless room, and Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell takes one last look at her foe.
"...and maybe another Columbine will see you for what you are, rather than what you pretend to be."
"Why do you think I am seeking immortality, Miss Jacquelyn?"
"I need more time to remember. I was something more than a Harlequin once, and I will be again."
And with that, Envarith takes his seat in a chair once more.
Out of Character
Well, we've all (read: Jess and I) been looking forward to this for some time. This is the first match of ours that will have a distinct, third-party chosen winner. Yep. It's the truth.
Incredible match, Jess. I wish you luck with the outcome.
Incredible match, Jess. I wish you luck with the outcome.
"And so, our competition comes to a close. The prize, as promised. Immortality. Both of you desire it, one of you shall obtain it. A true immortality, a gift and tribute to your legacy. Life that will continue on, after your own fall." Apollo pauses, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes -- after your death, still shall you live on. For there is one thing that will forever escape the ravages of Time and Nature -- thought. Men shall age and join with their earth. Temples will crumble as their most basic building blocks and components disentangle themselves. Yet an idea cannot be corroded nor burned nor shattered. Only that which holds it -- the ephermal mind, the silent word, the traditions of the people. And so, one of you shall have his or her story made universal. It shall be written in the heart of all life. For we are in the Sands of Time, where both Genesis and Revelations can be touched. Where one might look left to see the slow, elegant march of Evolution or right to witness the triumph of man over Ignorance. From this vantage point, one might observe a wave before its collapse or a star fall into its own depths."
The divinity walks to Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell and places a hand on her shoulder.
"Is it your story that shall become forever? Do you need the gift I give? No. I believe you have found something other than what I could have given you, though no less valuable. For truly...this was but a game."
Apollo nods at Envarith.
"And so, Sandman, it is you who will win the prize. So it shall be that all intelligent life shall forever be aware of that one most subtle of elements. Chronos and Kairos, clocks and seasons and cycles. They shall all, in your legacy, be likened to time. Forever shall you live in all cultures of all worlds as that one most sohpisticated yet simple realization of time and mortality."
OoC
Thank you both, and thank you all for participating, ladies and gentlemen. Needless to say, the match was an extremely close one. Unfortunately, my free time is rapidly vanishing, and so a critique will have to wait, as will the promised drawing of the victor's character. Congratulations to you both.
This is also perhaps my last post here for a long while, and so with Apollo's little soliloquy I shall have to leave my own legacy for the time being.
Again, thank you -- to all of the people I have ever interacted with here. I hope to be back as soon as I can, but until then, it is with this I leave you.
This is also perhaps my last post here for a long while, and so with Apollo's little soliloquy I shall have to leave my own legacy for the time being.
Again, thank you -- to all of the people I have ever interacted with here. I hope to be back as soon as I can, but until then, it is with this I leave you.
"How dare you."
Her words drip a venom more potent than the deadliest poison, and her expression is a mask of tortured misery.
"HOW DARE YOU!"
"You and your games. Is that all life is to you? To any of you? You play with us, twist us to your whim, make us dance for your amusement...the Harlequin was right. This, and everything, is but a show. Not a farce though...no...this is a puppet show, and we are nothing but marionettes."
"So laugh, Sandman. And you as well, Apollo. Laugh at the mortal whom you so cunningly fooled. I hope you treasure this deception forever...for otherwise it will never outweigh the dreams you have shattered."
And Jacquelyn Eva Pierce-Roswell vanishes among the bookshelves, never to be seen again within the Sands of Time.
OOC
Cool. Well done, Jess. And North. And everyone.
And Hinoban? First off, thanks a million! (and Munch and Iunoc as well)
Secondly, if at any point you want some critique/advice/anything, just drop me a PM. It might take me a while to respond, but I will eventually. Good luck, and have a blast!
-Gid
And Hinoban? First off, thanks a million! (and Munch and Iunoc as well)
Secondly, if at any point you want some critique/advice/anything, just drop me a PM. It might take me a while to respond, but I will eventually. Good luck, and have a blast!
-Gid
"Double dealing swine," Envarith hisses. "You will pay for this."
Minute and Hour vanish, but Envarith is still standing there.
"The Moirae will have their fun with you, God of False Prophets. May your doom fall upon you like a billion grains of sandglass."
The Harlequin turns, takes a single step, and vanishes - off to search for his Columbine.