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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on May 19, 2019 22:43:47 GMT
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on May 19, 2019 23:55:59 GMT
How long had it been? The truth was complicated. Sighing in levity, Adell came to his feet, pushing his chair back, and stretching for a time within his sable robes. Reaching up with both hands he adjusted his aquamarine tie for a moment, loosening it from his profusely sweating neck, before turning to the log cabin around him. It wasn't the largest or most fancy living quarters, but it was spacious and complete enough to support a single man of seven feet and eight inches tall. Teeming with forlorn energy, he slowly turned and approached the only window within his cabin, his iridescent eyes looking outward to the endless wood around the clearing where his cabin was conveniently located. Not too far from one of the larger lakes within the region, or from the rolling plateaus that existed west.
The God Dragon The World Scholar could still remember the day he had awoken there. The stinging pain of his joints, the weariness of mortality that he had never felt before— his punches no longer felled planets, his yells no longer ripped apart his enemies. The very precepts for which he had forged his own unrivaled power had come to target him. The weak would die and the strong would live: the law of a world governed by causality, a truth that reverberated across the battlefields that he conquered and those he had slaughtered without mercy. Traveling through the forest the first day he had awoken, he remembered questioning everything. In aggressive defiance he broke his own hands against the woods around him, roaring in a pain that only a mortal could understand. A pain that he'd once neglected to comprehend: it had been beyond him.
The years to come he would become one with only a fraction of the pain he had caused others, and while it would have been enough to drive any who once wielded the power he had utterly mad, here he was, staring outside of his own cabin in silence, contemplating what he would do as the sun broke over the horizon.
“...guh...” he exasperated. “Famished once again. Seafood would be tasty...” he murmured in contemplation.
It didn't take the old man long to change his clothes, casting his robes and undergarments aside for personally-woven polyester shorts and straw-flip flops. Although the man once known as the King of Dragons had aged, his musculature was as absurd as ever. Rolling muscles stacked atop one another, bulging veins that seemed as much alive as the world around him, and twelve rows of chiseled abdominal muscles that battled for dominance along his torso. In the past he possessed inherent regenerative abilities that had allowed him to heal any scars or imperfections placed on his embodiment, but his years (or however long) spent in Tizon had not gone without his fair share of skirmishes and engagements. At a time he had been at odds with war-torn orcs that were scouring, attempting to invade and gather resources for their own. There were several times where his might met with theirs, and the scars left behind by that among the many engagements had left dozens upon dozens of scars along his body, the largest being a single scar that wrapped around the entirety of his neck, sunken so deep into his flesh that it was clear he had only survived by a miracle.
His left hand lifted and snapped a handcrafted harpoon from the wall before he left his home, carrying in his right hand a basket made of rubber, and in his left a wooden fiersiwood harpoon with a mystical metal head. Adell was far from gregarious, while he had a working relationship with the crafty (and oftentimes burdensome Mist Gnomes), it wasn't one that he relied on. They had clashed when he had first arrived, and it was only due to defending the lands around them that he had earned their trust. A trust that could be bestowed to no others. It would only take a few minutes for the giant of a man to arrive to his favorite lake near his home, nestled deep within the impregnable forest.
He wasn't alone though.
Just as he emerged from the woods he groaned loudly, throwing his hands up in distress.
“ORGIM! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT DRINKING HERE!!” Adell roared, pointing his harpoon at the gnome a few meters away. The gnome in question was shirtless as well, a spherical bottle of something incredibly potent by his side, and his eyes blurred in a glassy haze. In his hands was a crystal fishing rod emblazoned with a multitude of ostentatious jewels. The gnome himself was bronze much like Adell, but had a ridiculous beer belly and red trousers that barely seemed to fit. Unlike Adell, he wasn't wearing anything on his feet, and his black hair swirled atop his head to a point where his his headgear would have otherwise been.
“Watch yer' goddamn mouf' boy! All have you know I made this lake with my great grandfather back in—”
“Shut the hell up you damned midget!” Adell barked back, approaching the gnome while simultaneously placing the rubber bucket off to the side. Just as he reached the gnome he crouched off to his right side and stared out at the river while the gnome finished his sentence that didn't really mean much of anything anyways. “How's the family you ugly bastard?”“Since when did Kaatsheuvel's very own WhItE TiGeR care about us lowly gnomes eh?! You trying to have sex with my ma' again?!” the raspy voice of Orgim bellowed out at Adell.
The White Tiger was the title he had been given by the elders among the gnomes for his fierce appearance and hair. Much of it had to do with his prowess which was shown in defending the lands when the gnomes were at odds with the orcs. While he did a lot of the belligerent work, they...just stole stuff. Well and ran away. There was more to the epic tale of their war than he was willing to remember, but his battle with one of the orc's finest was the hallmark of what would fashion something he hadn't felt since his battle with a certain dead man. Fear. Sighing at the gnomes words, his retort was cut short by a strange distortion of space. It wasn't nearby, it was far, somewhere out in the plateau's beyond the wood several hundred meters out. It was unlike anything he had felt since he had arrived, a strange preternatural magic that reminded him of someone in-particular. Of a time long before he had arrived in Tizon. Still, there was a chance that it was of an origination that he hadn't yet decoded either in the tome or otherwise, and this caused him to jolt to his feet.
“Leave. Something is here.”
In an enigmatic blur he disappeared to the other side of the lake and then into the forest, gone in almost a flash, breaking in a feral sprint throughout the wood. One leap and bound at a time lifted him through the tops of the trees, into branches and onto vines that he swung and used as leverage to propel him forward. He seemed to know his newfound home like the back of his hand, using it to his advantage to swing through much like an ape. It wouldn't take him long to reach the edge of the forest though, and when he did he would find the answer to what it was that had arrived.
And when he did, he was prepared to tear it apart.
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Post by Dirge on May 27, 2019 14:34:46 GMT
Vibrant signatures of iridescent light emanated from the crimson-clad form of the Red Magister as he stood before one of the many spatial distortions his Secret Library, Hyades, had been able to pinpoint in a nearby universe. The glowing eminence of the rift drove a wedge between the planes of reality of this world, with the influence exerted by the "World" against the wound in time-space slowly but surely beginning to win out. The portal shrunk at a rate of a single millimeter every passing hour, though by the time Vincent Fiorelli had gotten there, it was still possible to pass through without the untimely loss of any limbs or life. Or at least that's what his analysis of the rift told him.
"Alright, listen up."
Vincent turned to address the group of Aspects he'd brought with him. The unit led by Kirisame, who portrayed the innocence and mischievousness the Red Magister once had, obeyed his and her commands without question, and while the little gal was often more trouble than she was worth, Vincent knew he could count on her. Standing before her unit whilst leaning against the hefty shaft of her broom, Kirisame's round, golden irises sparkled with excitement at what her master would find beyond the rift. On the other hand, the rest of the Aspects stood at attention impassively, unmoving.
"I'd like to say I know what lies past this portal, as every other analysis I've ran on spatial rifts such as these have given me an exit point... But this one's a little different." Vincent began. "The energy signature at the other side seems to be impossible to pick up, and I can't pinpoint any coordinates in the Multiverse. Whatever is on the other side is either hiding itself through some sort of bounded field or reality marble, or is currently being afflicted by Multiversal distortions so strong across the fabric of time-space that any attempts at analyzing it are met with redirections, nullification of the signals that attempt to reach it, or simply a general impossibility of detecting whatever is inside that field... However that works."
Kirisame instantly chimed in after the last sentence, raising her hand as though a child wanting to answer a question in preschool.
"Oh! Oh! I know! The borders are getting messed with!" The Aspects glanced toward her, with Vincent simply lofting an inquisitive eyebrow. "See, the Lady of Gensokyo can affect the borders of everything, but I don't think she's involved here. What's to say other things couldn't do the same? Whether it's a person or a place, it could be the same thing; border manipulation!"
"... The theory isn't all that farfetched." The Red Magister replied whilst crossing his arms. A single look over his shoulder had the portal in his sights. "But I simply don't know enough at this point in time, and that is why I need to find out what is really going on over there. Worst case scenario, I'll perish. On the other hand, I'll be able to add more stores of information to Hyades and pick up new knowledge for myself."
"You should take this!" Kirisame produced a copy of an old friend of the Red Magister - Suiryuuen, the invisible katana - from the confines of her black and white frilly dress. "I replicated it from some books I found in the tower. The spatial distortions might be strong enough that you might not be able to access your storage unit, so it's good for you to take a weapon!"
Vincent couldn't help but to crack a grin of approval, curling his fingers around the handle of the weapon and giving it a few swings. Even though his days often had him practicing magic in present times, the knowledge of his years as a swordsman hadn't left him.
"Hah! Haven't seen this one since that blue haired swordsman stumbled upon me years ago. Seems like you got everything right... Which is impressive, given that I haven't given you the ability to perform any sort of blacksmithing or weapon crafting. Did you pick it up all by yourself?" Vincent inquired, genuinely curious about his creation's behavioral patterns.
"Yup! I did it all by myself using the things you had laying around." Kirisame nodded enthusiastically, her oversized witch's hat wobbling back and forth. "Once I figured out the basic theory, it wasn't hard to do the rest. The basics were the most important!"
"Hm... I see. That's good. That's very good." It was almost as though he was speaking to himself, even though the words were spoken out loud. "Regardless, you know you're in charge while I'm gone, right?" His sharp gaze settled upon her, delivering an unspoken warning. If any... Accidents occurred in the tower while he wasn't there, there'd be hell to pay.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't wooooooorry~! I promise I won't break anything!" She waved his gaze off dismissively, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "You just go already and make sure to have lots of fun!"
"Guess that's about the best I can expect. Bahaha!" The hearty laughter that escaped him was nothing short of genuine, and he soon turned to fully face the portal before taking a few steps towards it. There was no looking back when dealing with these matters. As soon as his body passed through the rift, the distortion sealed itself behind him, and he was soon in a completely new environment...
The change was felt instantly within every fiber of his being.
It disrupted the very core of his individuality, imposing limiters far harsher than any he'd imposed upon himself throughout all these years traveling throughout the Multiverse. It warped his very essence, invading his 'Inner World' as easily as a hot knife cut through butter, something even godlike entities found difficult to execute... The 'World' itself was enacting its influence on the Red Magister, reminding him he was nothing more than a speck of dust amidst the Sea of Sand that the Multiverse was.
He fell to his knees upon a grassy clearing right outside a nearby forest, with his Suiryuuen clutched in both hands and the scabbard planted firmly upon the dirt before him. The pain coursed throughout his muscles, throughout his bones, throughout his very soul and through every single organ that still inhabited this physical vessel, and whilst his capabilities remained the same as far as those were concerned, he could feel the power slipping away little by little, as though it was gifted to the world around him. The knowledge was still ingrained deeply within his mind and soul, though the power required to apply that knowledge in the open had all but vanished for the time being.
The land wouldn't suffer threats. This was the message.
"Haaa.... Haaa.... Just what the hell was that... And who the hell are you?"
Eyes struggling to focus through the splitting headache and dizziness that afflicted him at the moment, the Red Magister's gaze fixated upon the behemoth of a humanoid coming out of the woods. It was impossible for him to discern who it was at this point, though his ability to sense the energy signature of nearby individuals was still there, as well as his mental map. The canvas was extremely reduced in terms of range, however, portraying nothing more than a hundred meters around him with limited details. Still... There was something familiar about this entity's signature...
Something familiar...
Something...
"... What are you doing here?"
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on Jun 1, 2019 3:02:33 GMT
Tightening his fists in confusion, he was immediately filled with hysteria. There was no respite in the year of impossible goodbyes. When the world begged, pleaded, and prayed for him most, he vanished. This wasn't merely a blight on those who worshiped The Eternals, but The Eternals themselves— the unfinished business would go unfinished, and many societies across the omniverse were left to wonder just what happened to the myth? Had he finally succumbed to the burden of time and dissolved across infinity as a vanguard as was previously discussed as a possibility? Perhaps it was the hands of Beramode Pendragon and his nefarious Pandemonium Knights, alas cornering him and his trope in a desperate attempt to extinguish the growing flames of hope. The possibilities seemed endless, and this left Vincent Fiorelli among others curious as to his whereabouts and whether or not he were even alive.
With things as they were known, were he to die, another would replace him as the Argent of Time, as he had done so upon his mother's passing. There was no real reason that required him alive. Yet people reluctantly concluded that their hero had indeed died, and that Adell Illiandes Laemington was no more. Vincent knew better, but for him to be here of all places?
The White Tiger was equally perplexed. The first thought that crossed his mind was that he was an illusion that should be destroyed immediately, perhaps one of the Ciel Faeries coaxing him with their powerful illusion magic. His imprint, however, was undeniable.
“... What are you doing here?”
“...”
A focused eye inspected him for a moment. The sweet zephyrs combed through the indigo grass in a fluctuating gust between the two...and then?
“Living the dream! You like my private escape here?” Adell laughed haughtily, his gigantic shoulders rising and falling rapidly. “Honestly I came here to escape you...but as we can both see that didn't quite work out...”
Sighing albeit nonchalantly, he shrugged his shoulders and turned his back to his old acquaintance. “I wouldn't wander the plateau too much, there's a lot of ferocious animals out here. Follow me so we can catch up over some bass.”
There were several realities that dawned on him the moment he acknowledged that the mage was indeed Vincent. The first was that he could no longer run from the outside world, wherever he went he was always discovered, and it seemed that much the same happened even after his accidental arrival to Tizon. The second was the possibility that Vincent was different. When he arrived he felt it, something had changed about him, something so dramatically different that even he almost didn't recognize his spirit. There was also the possibility that Vincent was upset about how things had gone during their chronicles as Eternals. Taking into account his preference towards the rationale side of things, there was some part of him that hoped he could explain why things had gone as they had— then there was part of him that knew that was impossible. Gritting his teeth together, his left hand lifted to swipe a leaf from his beard, while ambling slowly so that Vincent could catch up if he so chose. The Mist Gnomes weren't friendly, and their territory was far more formidable, so it was in their best interests (as accomplices) to stick together.
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Post by Dirge on Jun 6, 2019 14:00:29 GMT
The Red Magister oft kept a close eye on acquaintances, allies, and enemies known to him. The particularities of each and every single energy signature, their existential imprint within the Multiverse, were easy for him to discern at this point in time. Alas, it hadn't always been like that. In the dawn of his life, the ability to biologically and supernaturally detect most forms of energy had been initially developed by his father, the dreaded 'Dream Demon' whose real name remained unknown to this day. As the years went by, Vincent was able to further augment the spectrum and the reach of such a skill, to the point he could focus on singular energy signatures he was extremely familiar with and track them throughout the vast emptiness of the Multiverse, which generally saw the aid of his Secret Library, Hyades. However, it was no secret that Adell's existential imprint had vanished from one day to the next, something that naturally raised questions in the Red Magister's head. The fact there hadn't been a clash of cataclysmic proportions, along with the hefty reverberations of released energy that would've caused in the universes instantly ruled out the possibility of death through combat. Given his inherent knowledge of Adell's capabilities, assassination was also immediately ruled out. Suicide was a possibility, though the God Dragon wasn't one to entertain such an option. Either his former acquaintance and ally within the Eternals had traversed to a space cut off from the normally accessible regions throughout the Multiverse, perhaps getting caught in it with no means of escape, or he'd chosen to take his adoptive father's route and shut himself off from anyone that would dare seek him out. Neither option was particularly enticing, nor did it invite anyone to try and chase after him.
The boon and bane of knowledge coupled with the inherent curiosity pushing the Red Magister forward in all fields of research he delved into eventually allowed Vincent to tear the veil over that mystery. The desire to know was often what saw him fall into the clutches of danger time and time again, and this situation was no different. The Eye of the Dominator located at the very center of his coat was closed shut and fully asleep, probably another effect of Tizon's will enacted within the very atmosphere of the region. This alone ruled out the possibility of the Pandemonium Knights finding out where he was, which wasn't a problem either way, given he could choose whether to allow the tracking of his persona, and such a feature usually remained inactive.
"... Honestly, I came here to escape you, but as we can both see, that didn't quite work out..."
The words reverberated within Vincent's skull as he was still trying to recover. His 'Inner World' aspect hadn't been quite as infallible to the larger will of Tizon, and while his mental defenses held together, the fact he'd been severely weakened as far as his magic went was fully palpable upon his otherwise stalwart self. Even his natural strength had been dialed back several orders of magnitude, and while he could probably fell an entire forest with just his fists - and enough hours to get the job done -, punching a hole all the way down to the planet's core was nothing but a far-off dream at this point in time.
"Ugh... Yeah, yeah. Give me a second here. I'm sure you can tell but I'm feeling like crap right now." After a few more seconds spent on the ground, the Red Magister slowly worked his way up to his feet before deciding to follow Adell. It wasn't particularly tough for him to think about the Eternals and their eventual dissolution following that one clash at the Tower of Dusk. Whilst the Platinum Prince had only chosen to partake of their initial meeting before disappearing within the vast reaches of the 'verse, Bahram, Adell, and himself had managed to arrive at the tower to battle a ragtag bunch that believed themselves slayers of practical deities. The endeavor was hazy in his mind at best, given its importance - or rather, lack thereof.
Alas, much time had passed since then... Adell's appearance told him much about Tizon and the flow of time in this particular region of the Multiverse. It could be said the concept of time, or rather the dimension of time, held a stronger grasp here than anywhere else and, as a result, time flowed faster compared to other regions. The several months Vincent had spent elsewhere translated into years over here.
"So..." The Red Magister grunted. "I take it you've been here for a long time, beard and all. Somehow I still figured you in a suit, and not in goddamn flip-flops." Strained, pained laughter escaped him, though the headache was slowly starting to fade away into the back of his mind.
"Catch me up on things while you fish for lunch..." Clearly, he wasn't planning on working for his meal either. Not that he needed to eat, anyway. "Where exactly are we and what is afflicting us?" Naturally, he'd also noticed that Adell was no more than a shell of his former self. Questions assailed his mind, and he would have answers.
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on Aug 2, 2019 14:23:30 GMT
“There are many names for this place. Most would know it as Tizon, others as Ergot. The literal translation is meant to represent a stick that is burning, smoldering hot to touch. Like many places in the metaverse it possesses a mystical boundary for which all within are isolated into its depths, forcibly subjugated to the laws of its lands both arcane and physical. However, unlike most, the reasoning is far more obscure than any I’ve come across. It isn’t the soil itself that makes it so, or even an enigmatic society who have created this place as so, but something far more mysterious.”
The White Tiger hoisted his harpoon above his right shoulder in his right hand, his digits flexing themselves along the middle of the shaft with ease. In the blink of an eye the harpoon jolted forth, rotating simultaneously and creating a cyclone of for which would disrupt the pond and part it for what felt like a split-second. Only a foot or so from his own two feet, a translucent wire tied around and through a miniature hole on the back of the harpoon was pulled at concurrently, and the harpoon flew from the pond with two red-scaled fish attached to the rigid metal tip. He flicked the harpoon over towards his right where a basket left by his dear friend Orgim lay, the flailing fish struggling with what lasting vigor they had remaining before they ceased altogether. The impact of the harpoon had largely killed them regardless of their vitality.
A sigh escaped the old man's lips. Reflecting on the time he had spent there made him lethargic. It had started to become all that he knew. The fauna, wildlife, plants, inhabitants, Adell had studied the strange language of the gnomes and their library with the help of the revered relationship he had forged with them and learned all he could about the world. It had become his home, all he knew. As he festered beneath his own mortality he slowly forgot what anything outside of Tizon was like. All he could remember were those closest to him, and The Eternals. Even the due placement of his hatred had slowly begun to fade.
“I’ve lived here fourty-two years now. If I had to guess time moves considerably faster here, but I can’t quantify the math of just how fast. I don’t remember when or how I got here, only that it wasn’t by choice.”
Iridescent eyes turned to Vincent without the turning of his head or adjustment of his neck, a keen cut of his gaze meant to gauge Vincent's intentions. What was his reasoning?
“Why did you come here? There is no known way to depart, and I haven’t bothered looking for one. As far as I know you’re stuck, just like me.”
The truth was The White Tiger, or to another civilization in another distant world, The Lightning Tiger, there was a reason he hadn't bothered to seek a way out. What was the point? Whether his memories were hazy, or he simply didn't care, it was impossible to tell— but he seemed resolved to his lackadaisical living circumstances away from society and away from the pressure of expectations.
“Luckily for you the gnomes are fairly friendly once you get to know them, but they take a while to warm up to anyone. Each region is inhabited by different kingdoms and races. I’ve had a run in with the orcs in the Swamplands and it wasn’t pretty. I haven’t had much contact with the rest, and some I haven’t seen at all. Tizon is fairly enormous place and with our limited channeling abilities it only makes things more complicated.”
Perhaps it was fate however that Vincent Fiorelli, the co-founder of The Eternals had arrived on Tizon. Whether searching for The God Dragon, or for something else entirely, an obstacle rest in Adell's path that he had no intentions of tackling alone. First, however, he had to judge what it was that Vincent intended to do. Were he willing to lend his aid, perhaps they could help one another— if Vincent wished to solve the mystery of Tizon and find his way home, Adell had already realized that was likely his expectations which meant he would require aid. In exchange however, there was something that The White Tiger sought as well.
“So...what now? What do you plan to do?”
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Post by Dirge on Aug 23, 2019 20:52:24 GMT
The Red Magister took in the information his former partner within the Eternals had shared with him. Processing it didn't take much time. The complexity with which Tizon enacted its laws upon its every inhabitant was surprisingly simplistic in nature: if something exceeds a level of power that could threaten the star, then the star limits those individuals to a more manageable level of power. Intruders weren't simply limited to a choice of locality; they were limited in their entirety, and they would not harm the region. After several seconds of both recovery and deep thought, Vincent raised his gaze from the otherwise calm waters, right before Adell disrupted the pond.
"Interesting."
The singular word encompassed a multitude of emotions. First and foremost, excitement at a new challenge. Second, and possibly matching the intensity of the first, curiosity in its maximum expression, given the boon and bane which enshrouded the Red Magister's mind. It mattered little what it was; if he had no prior knowledge about the subject matter, then he endeavored to learn as much as possible in the shortest amount of time available to him. Lastly, he sought not only to unravel the mysteries behind Tizon, but also to free the former Eternal from this faux imprisonment. Now, this last goal wasn't as simple as it sounded - in fact, it was probably the toughest thing to do in this realm. Especially if Adell had been stuck in here for forty two years without an escape route.
Once Adell inquired about his plans, the silver haired magister simply grinned toward him.
"I plan to get us out of here, of course."
With a few shortlived movements of his hands, Vincent utilized the limited mana within his own body whilst borrowing a tiny bit from the environment to manipulate the harpoons and the fish. Vibrant flames sprang up several feet beside the objects, and he'd soon stick the harpoons' blunt side down upon the orange and golden hues, enshrouded by a protective enchantment. The fish, on the other hand, wouldn't remain unaffected by the heat, instead cooking slowly but surely atop the fire.
"Over four decades might have passed in this place but, as you know, time flows differently depending on the universe. It seems like this region comparatively quickens the passing of time, addling the mind as well as the body. Even now, I can feel a foggy sensation still present within my head, as though the planet itself is actively working against my physical, mental, and astral self. Undoubtedly, you've realized this as well, after so much time."
Effectively, if Tizon existed in this manner, constantly limiting individuals that threatened the entire star... Then Vincent figured out the living construct acted in a similar way to a Reality Marble. The owner of the boundary dictated the laws and rules within it, and any weak points, any exploitation of those laws and rules, and any attempts to escape its effects were veiled and protected time and time again. Regardless, all his years of study had paid off, and if he had a working theory in progress, then all that remained was to continue building upon it. Eventually, he'd have everything he needed, but this was a good foundation.
"Working fast, however, isn't in my plans, but I don't expect it'll take another forty two years to find a way out. For the time being, I need more information about the planet and its different environments. If you have any plans, needless to say, I'll also help you out. I'm sure the God Dragon has plenty of intel on the surrounding regions."
Plucking one of the harpoons from the flames, the Red Magister blew on the cooked fish to cool it some before every little spine, fin, and bone separated itself from the flesh through another minor application of his own magical prowess. Naturally, this allowed him to take a bite without any issues, enjoying the pescatarian choice of cuisine for once.
"Besides, if there's anything I know about you is that you aren't a quitter. Sure, you might have had your reasons for coming here, but lockin' yourself away for eternity isn't living, now is it?"
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on Sept 17, 2019 11:21:59 GMT
Winking at Vincent after his comments on the surrounding regions, he snapped a piece of fish from the harpoon and filetted between his fingertips, slicing it with bare with his thick fingers. Chunks of fish then fell into his mouth, no seasoning required for the exotic aquamarine life. The iridescent scales were symbolic of their unique and spicy flavor. The deep gnomes knew them fondly as rations when subverting the surrounding lands for intel in secrecy, using their arcane abilities to remain hidden and survive underground.
Very different than their other subspecies the Rock Gnomes and Forest Gnomes.
“If knowledge is what you seek then you’re in the right place. The Gnomes are a curious people by nature, their library, though protected by their royal guard, is the greatest in all of Tizon. Many others have tried to enter, but it’s a privilege granted by their council or queen. Needless to say it’s quite a task.”
Chewing the remainder of his food he sighed in satisfaction and continued listening to Vincent.
“Besides, if there's anything I know about you is that you aren't a quitter. Sure, you might have had your reasons for coming here, but lockin' yourself away for eternity isn't living, now is it?”
Jaded by years of acceptance Adell smirked at Vincent’s question. The truth was more complicated than a yes or no question. There was no contemplation of the outcome or the end simply the moment. Doing what had to be done under the pressure of a situation.
“I like it here, it’s not so different.”
Rising suddenly from the lakeside he flicked the harpoon to his right, releasing what little flecks of meat were left onto the grass before starting in a light amble forward.
“Now that you’re here, I can reach the top of The Eclipse Tower.”
A look of determination changed the old man’s archaic serenity to fierce resolve. Since the day he fell in battle to the orc general he’d trained himself day in and out in pursuit of the power necessary to vanquish all enemies. It was instinct to snatch the power necessary to rest at the top of the food chain, especially were there a chance that he would live here eternally against Vincent’s understanding.
The Eclipse Tower was the first step the two would have to take to reach their goals.
“There’s a weapon there, left by a god of a realm above. I want to find it. It’s a hundred and twenty miles south east of here, west of the capital. It isn’t guarded because no one has the magic to break the boundary to access the gate itself…until today.”
Adell sneered childishly.
“How are you physically? How fast can you move? I may look old but make sure you don’t slow me down!”
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Post by Dirge on Nov 26, 2019 19:28:31 GMT
While most humanoid creatures dwelled on their past decisions and moments, with a number of them becoming rooted to their worst failures, the Red Magister could not. Thoughts were always fleeting, intentions changing from one moment to the next, and emotions shifting as wildly as they had surfaced. Although far from possessing the physiology and internal workings of a salarian, a race of intellectuals from a secluded universe, Vincent's mental processing speed was innately celeritous. Babel engineers had found it akin to the processing power of highly advanced quantum computers, seeing as how he was capable of calculating a myriad variables and multiple scenarios simultaneously, without missing a single strand of data in any of them. In this specific manner, he was also able to process emotions, moments, and different situations in the blink of an eye, though the planet-imposed weakness upon his self would still weigh him down nevertheless.
Needless to say, what this meant was that the Fiorelli was ready for anything, with his natural curiosity pushing him to learn more about this region...
Adell knew it.
Hell, he could probably feel it in his old bones.
The moment he'd mention anything related to the world, Vincent would be complied to see it for himself, and to see anything that could result in freedom from these spatial shackles through.
“Now that you’re here, I can reach the top of The Eclipse Tower.”
The Eclipse Tower... Now there's an ominous name. One that instantly caught the Red Magister's attention, much like Adell most likely pretended it to. Located a hundred and twenty miles southeast of their current location, west of the capital, unguarded...
"Bah! I'm as agile as ever. All I need is to shake this headache off, though I figure this place's going to keep trying to suppress me as much as possible until I let it fully invade my Inner World."
Ah, yes. The Inner World-Outer World dilemma yet again. Vincent could shrug off attempts at individuals and entities attempting to pierce through his defenses to attack his internal systems directly, though it was different when an entire world was working against him. While a single entity possessed a limited amount of power, generally needing to get past the outer layer of his intrinsic defenses to be able to get to his inner core, realms with their own laws and auras of influence could easily overpower or even bypass external layers. The Red Magister's Outer World boundary couldn't do anything against the overwhelming might of Tizon, given the rewritten laws within the planet, and so his Inner World had grown affected. The unaffected sliver was probably what Tizon expected him to keep for now, enough power to defend himself with but not enough to threaten the planet itself.
Clever.
And since Vincent had already reasoned Tizon was nothing more than a Reality Marble, at least as far as function and application went, then there would be nothing to fear.
"I should be able to deal with anything in our path, even when limited to a mere portion of my considerable power. The knowledge is still all in my head. Thinking about it... I probably won't be able to access several of my High-Ancient spells, and Raiten Taisou and Raiten Sousou are out of the question. I'd probably dissolve and disperse into a stream of lightning if I attempted either of those."
Finishing the crimson-scaled fish he'd plucked away from one of the harpoons, Vincent rose to his feet before stretching accordingly. The headache was slowly but surely beginning to grow weaker, something that'd certainly aid his performance in the field. Tizon was beginning to apply its finishing touches on the current imprint of the magister upon the planet, "normalizing" his power once and for all as long as he was here.
"Anyway... Sounds like you got a classic heist in mind. I'm guessing this boundary protecting the tower requires my expertise to bring down. All we'd have to do after that is infiltrate the tower, find the weapon, and hightail it out of there, right?"
It sounded simple. Way too simple. There was no way that building wouldn't have at least a few patrols around or within it... Unless literally nobody had figured out how to breach the barrier surrounding it.
"Getting there is going to be the first hurdle. What lands are we crossing exactly to get to the tower's gate?"
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on Dec 14, 2019 0:16:25 GMT
“This impregnable forest is home to many hexes and curses but I doubt with your expertise we'll have any issue. It's the Bridge of Indus that'll be an issue...” Adell spoke confidently, atleast at first. When he finally uttered the words of the bridge his voice became weak, brittle even. “And I'm certainly not looking forward to it...”
“The Bridge of Indus?”
“Yeah...it's a bridge sixty miles long forged of Hexivacul, an ancient black metal that's resistant to the elements and as sturdy as it is old. It's existed since before Kaatsheuvel came to be, when the old capital was located on the island to which it connects to. It became the single, only way to actually access the isle in the center of the lake where the gnomes once lived. Our biggest obstacle is likely waiting for us there.”
Adell was inundated with disgust. For an impossible amount of years he sat on a throne all on its own, untouchable, unperturbed. Prescient and blessed forever by fortuity. However the scales had changed since he'd arrived in Tizon. The regression of his luck, his power, and his dragon roots was disheartening to say the least, and even more was the renewed taste of defeat that falling at the hands of the Orc King. If that wasn't enough, this apprehension climaxed when he first discovered the bridge and made his way across it in an attempt to reach The Eclipse Tower. Did he make it? Indeed, but what it cost him, and the method of doing so was by far unable to be replicated. Their approach this time would require far more of the two than his first, desperate attempt.
Unhurried The White Tiger slowly rose to his feet, carefully stretching his legs. While the world had successfully robbed him of his true power, his body seemed remarkably in-shape. Years of endless exercise accompanied by doing whatever it was necessary to survive had brought him to the brink and back, and before Vincent stood a mortal man without equal. Folding his arms along his chest, he canted his head to the side, and then glanced simultaneously off into the distance to his right. Was there someone there? His incredible spatial awareness was one instinct that hadn't gone away, and Vincent Fiorelli likely possessed similar faculty though perhaps not as acute to the physical as his was likely to the arcane. His sharply padded shoulders shrugged off the notion, dismissing it as another mirage within the web of anathema surrounding them.
“I'm starting to think this is fate...” he began, his lips curling into a smile just as he looked back to Vincent. “My plan was to perform reconnaissance at the bridge again this morning, but now that you're here, we might as well push forward with the plan.”
In the seconds it took to reflect on his last experience at the bridge and the tower, and the time it likely took Vincent to regain his bearings and fight off his cross-world jitters, The White Tiger had already concocted a plan to handle the quandary they'd soon face.
“You mentioned our greatest threat but didn't elaborate...that's an important detail you're leaving out you oaf...”
The two continued to speak even as the last flames of their campfire flickered and Adell hoisted his makeshift spear into his left hand and hung it over his left shoulder. “Oh right...they're known as the gentry of all gnomes since the beginning of their existence. All of the collective heroes of their history that have died in protecting their homelands and even beyond are taken and dropped into the bottom of the lake as is their tradition since Kaatsheuvel's founding. The Queen did more than that though...”
Breaking from their camp he flipped a final, burnt piece of fish into his mouth and chewed obnoxiously while they approached the perimeter of the clearing, the intensity of the arcane residue in the air becoming apparent the closer they got to the actual woods themselves. Finally he finished chomping and continued.
“The Mist Gnomes were known for being incredible warriors and inventors...but their Queen is special. Somehow she's able to preserve their spirits within the lake, which in-turn allows them to resurrect from death and protect the island itself. They're known as the Guardians of Virisfal, which is the name of the island. There's nothing there now but decrepit ruins and the tower now, so it's more accurate to say they're the Guardians of Eclipse...”
His words alone brought the memories of his encounter with them rushing back once more. Inundated by rage, he curled his fingers into tightly-balled fists.
Starting forward, his visible frustration tunneled into arrogance. “So I guess we're off to commit genocide!” What began as fear, had turned into anger, and ended with gilded confidence. This time would be different. He knew what to expect, and he had his greatest friend and multiversal partner by his side: The Red Magister, Vincent Fiorelli.
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Post by Dirge on Dec 28, 2019 22:07:20 GMT
"So let me get this right... We're trying to cross a bridge that's arguably indestructible to get to a tower that's arguably impenetrable, and in order to do that, we need to defeat the spirits of ancient dwarven warriors that, thanks to the current queen, guard the lake, the bridge, and the tower eternally?"
Vincent couldn't help but to let out raucous laughter at the prospect of getting to see not only an ancient form of spiritual necromancy, but also to pit his skills against spirits of eld from this world.
"I better get to wine and dine the Queen after this! I want to extract every little bit of knowledge from her mind."
Failure was clearly not contemplated within the Fiorelli's vision.
"Anyway..." As the Red Magister continued to speak, he could feel an ominous aura settling throughout the woods. Some would've called it Mist in another time, in another world, but such a phenomenon had as many names as stars in the night sky. A fitting name to refer it to in this situation, however, given that the Mist Gnomes themselves were the victims of this witchcraft, thanks to their Queen. "I can already feel the magic in the air. For someone, anyone, to permeate the very land with this much magical power... Let's just say they knew exactly what they were doing."
The saturation of mana in this zone had a very contradictory effect in this world. Normally, enhancing any region with magical energy allowed life to propagate; trees would grow stronger, flora would flourish, and fauna would become more diverse and abundant. In this situation, however, rocks became brittle and turned to dust no sooner they were graced by the slightest of breezes... The dirt became infertile, arid, taking on a sickly grayish hue. Plantlife withered and died away, with trees being nothing more than thin shadows of their former selves, sporting dried branches and twigs. Strange how the once lush forest turned into such death a mere three miles in... It was a graveyard, one of many within Tizon, yet one that stood between the pair and their goal.
"You'd think that with the tower so far away from our current location, the effects of the magecraft enacted in these woods would be weaker." Vincent commented, stepping onto a rock that turned into ash beneath the sole of his boot. "Looks like life is being practically sapped away from this place. But life doesn't vanish just like this; no, the magecraft that is taking a hold of this place is being used to fuel something else. Probably the tower or the defenses of the tower, if I had to make a guess. It isn't strange to hear about mages pulling energy from their surroundings to fuel their spells. Hell, I used to do it myself and I still do from time to time..."
The Red Magister simply shrugged. "The Queen of the Mist Gnomes could have set up a number of locations like this one around the tower and around the lake, at different coordinates, simply to ensure her magic would continue to live on. Of course, she could always use something else as conduits. This is all theoretical until I can actually pinpoint what exactly is going on around here..."
It was a sound theory but it was a theory nevertheless. Naturally, Vincent wouldn't stop juggling every variable he picked up as Adell and him continued moving through the dead woods...
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on Jun 12, 2020 12:51:53 GMT
Nevertheless the being he once was could be considered a night and day difference. The genuine, comedic behavior around those he could trust was the same, but his outlook towards his own life had changed. Tizon was a means to an end, but unfortunately it wasn't a means to his own end. There was still much work left to do.
"I can already feel the magic in the air. For someone, anyone, to permeate the very land with this much magical power... Let's just say they knew exactly what they were doing." Vincent mused.
"The Queen of The Mist Gnomes is pretty strong. Even stronger since her power doesn't seem to be weighted the way ours is. I'd say it'd be tough if we had to fight any of the territory leaders out here...nothing we can't handle though..." Adell chatted back, carefully scrutinizing the details provided by the Yangan in a matter of subconscious filtering.
"Looks like life is being practically sapped away from this place. But life doesn't vanish just like this; no, the magecraft that is taking a hold of this place is being used to fuel something else. Probably the tower or the defenses of the tower, if I had to make a guess. It isn't strange to hear about mages pulling energy from their surroundings to fuel their spells. Hell, I used to do it myself and I still do from time to time..." Vincent continued to analyze the situation as they drew near. While he made a note of the mechanics of magic possibly at play, Adell detected something. An inexorable bend in space and time. It was extremely far away, perhaps somewhere on the bridge itself, but it was an anomaly that wasn't normal in any world, let alone Tizon. Something pulled at Adell's flesh, and with the hypersensitivity of his Yangan, he could have sworn it almost pulled his skin off of his body when it occurred.
"The Queen of the Mist Gnomes could have set up a number of locations like this one around the tower and around the lake, at different coordinates, simply to ensure her magic would continue to live on. Of course, she could always—"
Immediate silence between the two and a glancing of eyes, though their weighted steps never seemed to stop.
"You felt that too huh?" Adell sighed, "Somehow I feel like our job just got much easier..."
They would find out much sooner than they'd suspect. After they had crossed the wooded area just beyond the bridge they exited to find the misty bridge just beyond. Fourty meters wide and composed of black metal, Hexivacul. The Bridge of Indus they called it. The glistening metal shined all colors of the prismatic scale underneath what little light penetrated the fog from the sun above, and contrary to his prior visit it seemed to be relatively quiet. Stopping just at the front of the bridge where two torches of cyan fire burned strong, Adell rested the spear on his right shoulder for a moment and looked onward.
"Something's wrong..." he whispered, knowing that their telekinetic communication through resources of magic would be weaker than usual. "W-...there's no way..."
Adell suddenly turned red. Not in rage. Not in fury. But in utter shock. Discreetly the fog began to open up and two blackened silhouettes suddenly could be seen. Vincent may have been in just as much shock if he could pierce through the veil of obscurity to see just who it was that awaited them beyond.
For the the first time in awhile, the end of the road could be upon them.
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Hero
Banned User
"“It's okay to be angry—or are you scared?”"
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Posts: 0
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Post by Hero on Jun 12, 2020 13:28:28 GMT
“Well well well...to think my brother would be reduced to being some old man with a big forehead...life’s tough they say…” Zandakar spat in disgust, a wide-toothed grin present. Adell was hardly in the sorts to reply, and instead stared with both disdain and confusion. “I guess it’s to be expected of a failed dragon.”
Zandakar himself was an imposing physical specimen, infact he was just as tall as Adell yet without the bulk that made Adell a locomotive. With an ectomorphic body every muscle about his body was cut, threatening to rip itself from his flesh, held together only by the pauldrons and armoring units that made up his uniquely cultured aesthetic. The outfit he wore itself originated from Vatarant, one of the many places lost to time without hardly a record to account for it. One thing was for certain, Zandakar hadn’t seemed to arrive without preparation, and it showed in his arrogant smile and majestically flowing white hair.
“A little harsh don’t you think?” his accomplice spoke.
Vincent would likely have some words for the sky-blue robed, black haired swordsman. One look into his astral eyes were enough to indicate that he was the famed swordsman of Isamahii Garden, Masashi Tenkai, the sword which cut heaven itself. The long flowing black hair bundled in a knot behind his head cascaded down to his knees, all the way past his open kimono and four swords. The various scars littering his body, and the white wrapping from his waist up to his chest was indicative of the ways of his clan long since dispersed. He seemed to wear all sky blue capris that matched his open kimono, but none of his handpicked attire matched the “Four Swords of Jinchuu” that rested at his hip. One wakizachi, and three katana, each with their own colors, construction, and history, they were all bound within some prismatic cloth that seemed to hold them together in a union, making the swords sit in the arrangement of a diamond on the left of his hip.
Those violet eyes of his peered from beneath his circular strawhat and peered at Vincent.
“To think we’d cross paths this way after all these years…” Masashi smiled, almost as if rejoicing at the sight of Vincent Fiorelli. Masashi was a wraith of the past obscured in enigma, having left the lands of Isamahii Garden and Jinchuu upon reaching his peak to strive for greater horizons. These tales took him to many different worlds and many universes, yet somehow he ended up intertwined with the fate of a mad magician who just happened to have what it was he was seeking.
“Do me a favor and step away from that beast over there. Our first encounter doesn’t have to be a pointless battle.”
Masashi’s voice, ever reasonable, ever smooth, a baritone voice that cusped on a tenor, which betrayed his old and scarred face. Every part of his face was mired with some scar of his past healed through various means, yet somehow it’s own beauty could be found in the belligerence of the past.
“Hey watch your mouth!” Zandakar barked at Masashi, throwing his hands out to his sides. “That’s my teacher ya’ know? He doesn’t get a pass, let’em have it!”
Looking back at Vincent he continued, “Ya’ hear that old man?! This is it for you! For both of you! If you have any last words, speak them now!”
Masashi sighed. Rather than facing the lost spirits of the gnomes empowered by The Queen’s magic, they had much tougher opponents to face. Would they be able?
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Post by Dirge on Jun 16, 2020 4:24:50 GMT
"... And somehow I feel our job just got a whole lot harder." Vincent quipped back toward the Eogazurd before turning his piercing gaze toward the dispersing fog. The words were clearly directed at the two humanoids whose silhouettes were soon graced by the natural light of the environment.
What was once a jolly stroll toward the Eclipse Tower was momentarily interrupted by an impromptu encounter with two individuals he knew all too well. One of them was a famed swordsman, a veritable rising star in the former clan of the Jinchuu Assassins; the other, one of Vincent's former students. The experiences the both of them had lived through would easily fill the blank pages of many a journal, if told in proper detail. It was nothing less than a shame that these two individuals that had once stoood side by side with the Red Magister now stood before Adell and himself, barring the way ahead.
"Never thought I'd see you again, and with the legendary blades of our ancient Jinchuu in tow. I'd recognize them anywhere. What a pity... I'd have liked to watch the battle for them." Vincent's normally carefree, relaxed voice was laced with melancholy as he recalled those olden days where every single individual around him could be found with a sword in their hands. Melancholy, and a touch of bittersweet joy. To see Masashi accompanying this barbaric creature... "It's good to see you still honor our roots, even when you harbor less than savory company."
The last few words were practically spat out as, with a subtle shift of his head, Vincent set his gaze upon Zandakar. Mere silence was followed by a deep, drawn out sigh. Disappointment was clearly writ on his visage.
"Confident as always in your everpresent instinctual ignorance, I see. Perhaps your ensemble strikes fear in the feeble hearts of commoners, though I fear you'll encounter no such emotion within us." Shaking his head, the Red Magister added, "What happened to you, I wonder...? Such an avid, promising student, such a brilliant mind laid low by desire and avarice. I should have never introduced you to Magia Erebea, knowing full well that you would never be able to control it."
Alas, Tizon wouldn't stand for their unbridled might. Just as it had suppressed Adell for all these years, and Vincent when he arrived, the planet was undoubtedly bringing down its full weight upon both Zandakar and Masashi. Perhaps this is why the olden sword of Jinchuu wanted as little conflict as possible, besides the fact the both of them were comrades in arms at one point in their lives.
"I'd rather not raise my weapon against an old friend if I can help it, alas..." A flowing movement of his right arm recalled the weapon little Kirisame bestowed him prior to the journey. Taking a few steps forward, crimson-clad fingers wrapped around the porous azure scabbard, and Suiryuuen whistled within the metal sheath. "This 'beast' is Adell Illiandes Laemington, an acquaintance, an ally, and a friend. Should you intend to fight, my hand will be forced. I'd much rather you stepped aside and let us through..."
... Otherwise there was no telling what would happen. Needless to say, with none of them being capable of fighting at their best, it wouldn't be tough to handle his former student. As for Masashi, that was a completely different story. The man had been forged in the fires of the battlefield, forced to employ his natural physical prowess and top-notch agility in a mixture of martial arts and swordsmanship for several years. If anyone excelled in a situation like this, it would be him, which is why neither Adell nor Vincent could underestimate the straw hat.
The day had taken an interesting little twist, and he had little doubt the Eogazurd wouldn't just throw his hands up in the air and throw the proverbial towel. If it came down to a brawl in his younger days, he'd most likely be the first to rush in headlong. Hopefully the years stuck in this place knocked some sense in that stubborn skull of his...
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Post by Killiak on Nov 17, 2023 13:00:22 GMT
Posted by Law:[float=left]  [/float] It all felt like one bad dream that Adell couldn't wake up from.
Adell's expression was nonplussed, tentative bewilderment. Everything that transpired from the dispersal of the ghastly fog played out like an unreleased horror film but his polychormatic eyes never left Zandakar's lifeless own. The entire experience was a frightful imposition that froze him in his tracks, and this was without the acknowledgement of the legendary swordsman that stood to his left, one he was quite acquainted with through the mutual association of the would-be nameless primogenitors. His history of conflict on Iwashiro that dated back further than Tanegashima and Meizhou's existence, all the way back into the mysterious era of rallying swordsman and assassin's that congregated through the vast nothingness of Xenom. Gazing at the two were like staring at the dead, and it only brought more questions than answers to The White Tiger who remained silent through Vincent's natural exchange with the late emperor turned vagabond. A grand overture began to play itself to the madness of the two's arrival within the dragon's mind, and slowly his hands tightened themselves into fists of titanic propensity, rather fueled by rage or confusion. There was no room or time for respite, or even to question the possibility that his own flesh and blood stood before him with an aura that reeked of evil and danger. His natural instinct filled him with indignance.
“Ya’ hear that old man?! This is it for you! For both of you! If you have any last words, speak them now!”
“What happened to you, I wonder...? Such an avid, promising student, such a brilliant mind laid low by desire and avarice. I should have never introduced you to Magia Erebea, knowing full well that you would never be able to control it.”
What?
If Adell's mind wasn't in a proverbial tailspin already then this sent him down the impending path of self-reflection and understanding. What exactly was it that had transpired in the moments where the two were not together, and how was it that his own flesh and blood brother had come to be the student of Vincent Fiorelli at any point in time? The dissolution of The Eternals, whether temporary or not, seemed to enforce a lot of changes that Adell was obviously unaware of. Was this the curse of he who wished to hide himself from the world, his own pain, and his own problems? The biggest mystery of all however was the fact that Zandakar was alive altogether. He was sure that all traces of his mother's blood had died with him and that he was the last of that distinct Ascetic inheritance...yet here before him stood a pureblood Ascetic who had seemingly transcended his mortality and somehow managed to lurk in the shadows of all things that took place. The questions and the paradoxes that existed, albeit of the utmost importance, were only secondary to their survival however; and this dawned on him the moment Vincent Fiorelli spoke his last words in a polite attempt to dissuade them from their ignorant pursuit.
“This 'beast' is Adell Illiandes Laemington, an acquaintance, an ally, and a friend. Should you intend to fight, my hand will be forced. I'd much rather you stepped aside and let us through…”
“Hmmm...well, okay. Since you asked nicely…” Masashi muttered, slowly lowering his right hand away from the handles carefully wrapped in prismatic cloth. A fool's ploy, Adell and Vincent were no amateurs and both knew well that neither had any intentions of stepping aside despite Masashi's aura being completely transparent and devoid of any thoughts, emotions, or intentions. This made him impossible to read even through the combat modalities that The White Tiger currently possessed, and only a millisecond in-between his fictitious disengagement did the world around them come crashing down.
And it all began with a geyser of blood that suddenly erupted from Adell's left shoulder. Shooting heavenward like a volcanic explosion the rain of his severed flesh not only surprised Adell, who's eyes snapped to to his wound after its almost instantaneously affliction, but shocked Zandakar who hadn't yet observed Masashi's vagrant ways as something of an assassin. Vincent Fiorelli only just arriving would have seen it, and Adell's own Yangan only after it was all said and done was able to process the obscene velocity, precision, and control for which Masashi was able to strike a blow and simultaneously sheath his weapon before the world around them was able to process let alone suppress him. This was the venerated hand of heaven, the strongest swordsman to step foot outside of Isamahii Garden next to Vincent Fiorelli himself, though it was likely that his adopted son Sato Kaneda would have something to say about that.
The emotional destitution that Adell had slumped into shattered underneath his will to survive. A proverbial flip of the switch. Just as soon as the wound was inflicted it seemed to seal itself under Adell's genealogical gifts, strings of flesh and muscle stretching out to meet one another and create what would later become a scar like the many others he had obtained along the way. In the meantime, the adrenaline running through him brought the world almost to a screeching halt, to everyone but Vincent Fiorelli, himself, and even Masashi, who seemed to take a single step forward that mimicked something of an enigmatic glide across the bridge itself. Before Adell had time to burst forward himself, Masashi was face first in-front of the duo, carefully releasing the Fuyutsuki (Winter Moon) from its resplendent, ardent sheath hidden by the cloth which kept his arms close.
What followed was the release of a single horizontal slash, though this one slash seemed to echo with four other slashes behind it, creating a rippling effect that simultaneously delivered a rancorous shockwave onto everything before him. The direction of the swing was from his left to his right, starting with Vincent's stomach and cut across to where Adell should have been standing, though by the time Masashi's swing had been released, Adell was already gone. A heruclean locomotive creating a swallowing pop where he once stood, the vacuum hardly had time to register that he had moved, leaving a gradient afterimage where he stood while the behemoth of a man in-question trained his eyes on Zandakar who hadn't yet seemed to move.
But he had already begun to speak.
“Obey the contract and serve me. Gather, spirits of flame!!!” Zandakar roared hastily, creating several curved arcs of bees glinting through the fog in superheated leylines that heated the world around him and launched themselves forward towards Adell from several dozen angles, all in an attempt to halt him in his tracks.
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Post by Killiak on Nov 17, 2023 13:03:28 GMT
Posted by Vincent:[align=justify]The exact moment Masashi's right hand shifted away from his weapons, there were no more questions within the Red Magister's mind. The legendary swordsmen that once upon a time graced the Isamahii Gardens with their presence all possessed their own tells and behavioral cues within the battlefield. The atmosphere grew tense; even though the straw hat's gesture should have been perceived as one of momentary peace, as one that established a truce for the time being, Vincent Fiorelli knew better. There was nothing but exhilaration enshrouding his combative soul. The sudden wound inflicted upon the White Tiger instilled something within him he had long since thought lost. The ancient fighting spirit that once burned vibrantly inside the Fiorelli, the realization that every movement he'd made could be the last, the fact that he'd face off against someone that had no qualms with employing their murderous intent to the best of their ability.
Most men would've cowered at such a feat.
Vincent embraced it.
The fount of crimson spurting from Adell's left shoulder adorned the canvas of the Red Magister's silver hair, though his clothing appeared to drink in the blood that spattered upon the velvet-like fabric. Perhaps his student and the swordsman before the Eternal duo would now comprehend Vincent's choice of color for his apparel. Based on the assassinations he'd executed throughout his days in Jinchuu and Isamahii, the superficial wound - because that's all it really was - inflicted upon Adell's body did not even coax him into blinking. The former half demon remained fully fixated upon Masashi and Zandakar, with his attention not necessarily dividing itself between the two; even with the severe restrictions that Tizon imposed upon his physical and spiritual self, he could still keep up with the variables in play throughout a battlefield with relative ease.
Suiryuuen sang through the Fuyutsuki's outward slice, with the scabbard meeting the horizontal blade in the midst of its tracks. Pressurized water burst forth from the collision, allowing the Red Magister to intercept the five simultaneous shockwaves as he held his guard and his ground against the celeritous yet monstrous slashes coming from Masashi. Said water did not only crash against the concussive force, but the mastery over the water element the translucent blade conferred to the wielder enabled Vincent to reshape a vast majority of the transparent liquid into something resembling a spherical construct around him. Once upon a time, he'd have christened it a dome, but this was more akin to a bubble whose semi-solid surface coaxed the kinetic energy clashing against it to course throughout its total area, both redirecting and dissipating the brunt of the shockwaves clashing against it.
Where was the kinetic energy being redirected to? Why, toward the steady arm of the Red Magister in order to allow the solid foundations of the Shigure Suigetsu to take over, with the principles of the Suishourin storing a major portion of this energy. Returning to his roots and fully embracing the path of the blade was something he'd meant to do for quite a while, and this occasion presented the perfect opportunity for him to unleash the assassin he once was whilst relinquishing his former killing intent in the process. The surface of the bridge beneath his feet would've practically shattered if the material hadn't been sturdy enough; a myriad cracks did, however, form beneath the soles of his feet under the intense force with which Masashi had struck, yet the Red Magister's body remained stalwart and his foothold sure.
Without uttering a single word, five tendrils with narrow, tapered down tips comprised of Suiryuuen's water shot forth in a simultaneous manner toward Masashi's body. Two targeted the assassin's shoulders, one targeted the very epicenter of his torso, and the last two targeted his legs; the speed with which the tendrils tore through the air was enough to pierce through most objects in their path, with flesh being particularly easy to shred through. In essence, this simple movement embraced the principles of an ancient technique found within one of the first swordsmanship schools Vincent had embraced, though this attack did not target any vital areas.
Vincent did not want to kill; he merely wished to severely maim.
As for the flaming apis mellifera that Zandakar had conjured forth, each and every single one of them was targeted through an unincanted chainspell. A direct combination of Flans Saltatio Pulverea - the Flowering Boisterous Dancing Dust - and Magna Cataracta - the Water Spirit's Great Waterfall -, Vincent employed his magic school and Suiryuuen seamlessly, sending arcing torrent after arcing torrent of wind-imbued water through the air to intercept the flying nuisances. This water seemingly spurred forth from the bubble surrounding the Red Magister, though this was nothing but a red herring; it was a way to fool the opposing duo into thinking the water barrier was a necessity for him to continue employing the element in question, though Zandakar most likely knew better. The water did not only intercept the flaming bees, but they surrounded Adell in a similar water-elemental barrier with the tail end of their arcs, clearly bestowing Suiryuuen's protection upon the Eogazurd.
"Pity. I'd have enjoyed sitting down with you, sharing a bottle of sake or any other liquor we could've gotten our hands on, and catching up on all that's happened throughout these years."
Wordlessly, Vincent's eyes communicated with Masashi, as though there was a tinge of small melancholy for days long gone. The olden sword of Jinchuu... Just what were his intentions keeping Zandakar so close to him?
"I'd rather have dealt with my student, but you'll find that my swordsmanship hasn't accumulated a speck of dust, and Suiryuuen has no qualms with facing you."
Alas, the Red Magister had a duty to stop the single student that had deviated from the path of righteousness, and instead had allowed his darkness to consume him. If he had to get through Masashi to do so, he'd have to rely on every trick found within his martial arts as well as the elemental control his invisible blade offered. Tizon restricted his power, but he was still capable of plenty with this sword in his hand.[/align]
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Post by Killiak on Nov 17, 2023 13:05:15 GMT
Posted by Vincent:
[align=justify]Tizon was a self-contained environment. Effectively, the equalization field that limited the capabilities of those found within this region of the Multiverse made it impossible for them to transcend the planes of reality and travel elsewhere.
However, that did not prevent information from being transmitted to the Red Magister's mind. The uplink to Hyades was still active, and while it was impossible to pull him out of this realm through it, sensitive data still reached him. Amongst this data, several key details pertaining to Zandakar, Masashi, and even Adell himself were added to the vast stores of information he processed on a daily basis. It was all he needed to properly deal with the conflict at hand, to reach a proper resolution to this scenario. There was a reason why the Eogazurd was here, secluded from the rest of the known Multiverse, and it all became obvious soon enough.
A [dropshadow=#EEEEEE]traitorous[/dropshadow] bastard.
That's all Adell truly was.
After selling his brethren out and stealing a particular artifact worth its weight in gold, he'd escaped retribution from those he once called allies. Brothers. Family. But something wasn't right. The escape had been sloppy, as though hastily put together without any planning at all. Spatial distortions throughout the Multiverse had ultimately led him to Tizon, somewhat of a safe haven given that nobody would ever be able to find him in this secluded location... Nobody save for the Red Magister.
Yet, it wasn't hatred nor anger what filled his soul.
"[dropshadow=#FFFFFF][shadow=#EEEEEE]Centum Lanceæ Umbræ.[/shadow][/dropshadow]"
All he needed was a whisper.
As the Magister's eyes became clouded by sunkissed lids, shadows cast upon the refulgent surface of the bridge took on a life all of their own. A subtle quiver was all the warning the three individuals around him would get before a myriad indelibly sharp, pitch black spikes enshrouded by a deadened purple glow jutted out from the surface of each and every projected shadow. Those closest to Adell, Zandakar, and Masashi found their mark nigh-immediately. Those cast by random clouds along the bridge and that of the Red Magister himself would only take a second longer to pierce through flesh and soul.
Disappointment escaped his lips in a shortlived sigh as the three bodies were torn apart beneath the sheer number of shadowy stakes, each as solid as the flesh and bone pierced by them. It was unfortunate that Tizon suppressed his magical prowess. The three of them deserved a worse fate than a swift trip to the bowels of one of the many Hells found within the Multiverse, but creating a recurrent timeloop causing them to relive the feeling of each spike sinking into their flesh, bursting their eyes open, impaling their lungs, and destroying the rest of their internal organs one by one was simply out of his reach for the time being.
Where a cataclysmic battle should have taken place echoed naught but the sudden splatter of blood and gore onto the glowing material of the bridge, once the shadows returned to normal. Any weapons they possessed were claimed as spoils of war, mere models to add upon the parchment containing every other sword Vincent had once acquired - the scrolls of Isamahii. Their genetic information was harvested in small vials; Tizon didn't see it fit to prevent the Magister from accessing his personal storage space. Adell, Masashi, and Zandakar would see their secrets unraveled, whatever unearned traits their DNA possessed likely aiding future generations to come. Much like what was currently christened the Babelverse, Vincent would claim these assets and experiment with them, a simple habit he'd picked up from another colleague from days long gone.
The Bridge of Indus hadn't been an issue as far as he was concerned, without a single dwarven spirit in sight. It told him plenty; the Queen of the Mist Gnomes had likely pulled all the security from the bridge away through her magic, concentrating the bulk of her defenses in the Eclipse Tower. This likely encouraged anyone who wished to challenge the tower to pass through an undefended bridge, bolstering their spirits and abetting their confidence... Only to crush each and every single challenger within the tower itself.
"Might as well see this through. Whatever's up there might be necessary to return home."
Or to join up with anyone else in this situation. Clarity of mind was gradually returning to the Fiorelli, but Tizon's hold was stronger than most Multiversal phenomena. It'd take more time for him to fully acclimate to this 'curse'. Each step upon the bridge brought him closer to his goal, leaving the remnants of organs, bits of bone, and spatters - near veritable pools - of blood behind. The dead wouldn't haunt him; the road behind him was paved with the remains of plenty of warriors. Three more wouldn't make a difference.
Time to seek an audience with the Queen of the Mist Gnomes.[/align]
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