#ampentacle2025

"You." The high performer. With a horse like that, Julius had actually taken note of him. He didn't appear to be as torn up as Julius was, and that forced a faint frown onto his lips. Tch.

"Did the crowd take to you?" After all... He had them chanting after appeals in the performance prior.

Abruptly, the name came to him, resting on his tongue. "Forde." Unremarkable. That's why he forgot.

“Julius.” Forde’s happy to see the man. Julius has an energy that Forde cannot place, but it is an energy that warms his soul and brightens his day.

“I don’t know how the audience reacted, we couldn’t actually see them from where we were.” He doesn’t know why the audience would enjoy that shoddy performance, he and Hilda were hardly energetic. But he got paid, at least.

Adjusting to the light, her light, his smile faltered. No. Mankind had stitched her out of the dredges of charity. Compassion. Mercy. Insufferable traits.

He has never been one for small talk. So he blinked at her. And his smile reformed.

"Julius? Julius!"

The sight of him was at once a welcome and painful one: she had expected for there to be trials for them to overcome, and she had seen his bad luck even in just the short time they'd all been together, pummeled to the brink in a few short hours before sent out to do it again.

She rushed to his side, fingers hovered over his shoulder and rising to the space where his face was, although she did not touch him.

"What on earth did you find back there? Come on, you should sit, you need a healer. Do you need to lean on me again?" It was so easy to offer something once it had been accepted prior - her reservations shunted to the side in place of her compassion. No one could have gotten themselves so battered in a group like this except by virtue of cooperation.

Her eyes creased, and she forced herself to return his smile. "I now see what you meant," she admitted, quietly - her eyes flicked to the stages, now being cleared and cleaned and prepared for whatever came next. "About how degrading it feels. Perhaps if it were merely the one bout, it might have been different, but this just feels so..."

A shake of her head, hair swishing in time with the sashes and bobbles. "The spectacle feels so disconnected from reality, but somehow also hits too close to home."

"No miniature ballistas on your side? Drama almost had us killed," Crossing his arms over his chest, it was evident that his robes had been bloodied and torn up from their last battle. But his wounds had since closed over. Still, fresh pink sinew was not good enough.

"Look me over. You're a healer, aren't you?"

"Nothing of the sort, no." Ballistas? Mitama frowns. Why in the world would they have functioning ballistas stored away in a theatre? As a security precaution, it seemed a touch extreme, even if this was supposedly the former best show in Fodlan.

"We only had to contend with a few overzealous attendants who demanded we fetch keys for them, and a few racers dressed as horses for Dusk knows what reason." Her foot still hurt from getting trampled. She shifts her weight to roll it absently as they spoke.

His demand is not unexpected. She had assumed she would be receiving visitors requesting assistance the moment they gathered again. She had expected some humility from someone who had fared so badly they now came crawling to her for help, however.

She swallows down the usual sharp retorts she would have given to those she was more familiar with and fixes him with a flat, unimpressed look instead. "I am also not your servant, thank you. You should learn manners before your healers decide that leaving you to bleed out is a more rewarding use of their time."

Despite her irritation and his rudeness however, she cannot stop herself from instinctively doing exactly what he asked. There are obvious signs that he was worse off than he presently was. With an absent, thoughtful noise, she reaches out to tug and hold his sleeve in place so she can properly examine the healing skin through one of the many holes.

"Andrei!" He cued the bowman for healing. This damn contraption blitzed metal right into his flesh.

The sound of his name shaking him from the blinding shock of the enemy's attacks, Andrei pushes himself shakily off the ground, the sound of his own harsh breathing filling his ears, and staggers his way towards the red-haired man.

Right hand clamps down hard on Julius' shoulder, having to steady himself for a moment, but the motion of his left, held out to heal, is still gentle as it needs to be, ghosting carefully over the worst of the other's wounds as he focuses all he can into the warmth pouring from his fingertips.

ANDREI heals JULIUS with Recover [Roll: 8, +6HP] JULIUS 8/12HP.

He's not certain, this time, whether the twist in his gut comes from the still-wrong feeling of Julius' magic or his own blood spilling steadily onto the ground, but it hardly matters. They would have to cover one another in this fight, or they may well all be beyond saving.

Mitama lets out a relieved sigh. "I'm glad to see you. I was so...I thought for sure that..." She had failed her. She had failed her and allowed Hilda to die, and it had only been the lucky mercy of fate that allowed her to rejoin them. Not Mitama, not her greatest efforts.

"I am so, so sorry." She tells her. She cannot bring herself to meet the other's eyes, so she stares down at her hands which return to fold neatly in her lap. "My magic failed you and allowed you to suffer unnecessarily. I understand if you are angry with me for it."

When Hilda had awoken, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling and with an incessant pounding in her head, she couldn't quite recall where she was and how she'd ended up there. In dribs and drabs, the memories started to come back to her: the sheet-clad silhouettes, the mimicked weapon, the critical blows and the failed heal. Part of her had thought, in those final moments of semi-consciousness, that they -- whoever they were -- would let her die up there.

It seems they weren't quite finished with her yet.

"Mitama!" Hilda greeted the other student with warmth as she rushed over with concerned eyes.

Hilda bore the healer no ill-will for the way the battle had turned out. Still, the genuine worry and apology were appreciated. "Don't be ridiculous! I'm grateful to you for trying. In the heat of the battle, stress can get to anyone, so don't sweat it."

"gregory?!"

both hands slap over her big fat mouth, but the terrorized squeak has long slipped from it. so much for stealth. though her overactive imagination has her convinced he could already smell fear...

"i mean, rat king! i mean—" her gaze scampers down to the tag he's holding, which doesn't help his case or even hers. no, bernadetta fears, it certainly does not help hers. "w-wait! was this your minion, too?!"

with a sharp breath she thrusts out a trembling fist. in it, the audience's live projectile that had smacked her onstage. a twitch of whiskers from a pink button nose, a questioning, furry headtilt as the rat's beady eyes blink up at king griss.

"why is it always rats with you? why?" her free arm flails indignantly, feet stomping in place. then she gives a desperate little wag of her other arm, the one with the rat. "t-take it back already! or else i'll, uh... i don't know yet. but! it'll be... something!"

she's a cold, hard criminal, after all. (okay, fine. a little quieter: "p-please?")

Gregory?

That name had an awful habit of following him around, although when Griss stops and searches for the source of that little yelp, he realizes quickly that this time the haunting was a product of his own making. Gregory von Varley - that’d been the last, and only name he’d ever given to the meek Rat Princess - but he blinks at her blankly because, frankly, he’d forgotten about that little spur-of-the-moment lie.

But a skilled predator reacts to opportunities with quick instincts and the scent of fear is a particularly tantalizing one. The blank look across his face lasts only long enough for him to blink it away, and he faces down the Rat Princess and her newly acquired Rat Squire with all his teeth.

”Could be asking you the same question, Princess.” The Rat King makes an exaggerated shrug with his shoulders, hands splaying open by his sides in a deceptive peacemaking gesture. “Aren’t these your subjects or something?”

And by extension, the King’s as well, but the hierarchy of the Rat Monarchy is convoluted enough as it is.

Pushing the hand clutching the rat toward her, the King forces his way closer and leans down with a devilish grin.

　　　　　　　Andrei Forde Ewan Celica Miklan Kris (M) Bernadetta Homer Griss Hilda Tine 　　　　　　　Lyn Dimitri Julius Mitama Ephraim

WEEK ONE: Stars are born DURATION: Until 11:59PM EST on Friday, August 8 TEAM TAG: #AMPentacle2025

You could have sworn that you entered the strange mirror together. Be it alongside familiar faces, or perhaps a foe, sixteen in total were rallied under the purpose of eradicating a prisoner.

So why is it that when you reopen your eyes, only three others stand besides you?

After adjusting your eyes to the excessive beam of light that seems to pillar from above, you get a view of your surroundings…or rather the lack thereof. Besides the duplicate light beams that surround the three others nearby, nothing can be made out from the darkness ahead, not even what you stand on. If you care to squint, minuscule bits of light appear just over the horizon. Perhaps you try to infer what they could be for. Or perhaps the following booming voice cancels out all your thoughts.

“WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME EVERYBODY!! TOOOO THE START OF OUR MAIN EVENT!!! IT’S THE SHOW YOU KNOW AND LOVE, GIVE IT UP FORRRR…”

The peppy, masculine voice professionally trails off its last word and leads into an exuberant chorus of horns high and low. Only a moment after they start, the darkness is cast away to reveal you standing atop elongated planks of wood…a stage. Red curtains droop down from behind, your quartets standing right in front for people down below to clap and cheer. …Were they always there, waiting?

“DRAMA’S MULTISTAGE MADNESS!!!!!”

The voice keeps each syllable in tune with the horns, stopping only when the audience’s roaring halts. As if on a cue, one edge of the curtains opens up, revealing a mix of human-like figures. Some masked, some with painted outfits…and some armed.

“Our newcoming heroes are about to make a name for themselves in our first act! Will they rise up to the occasion or crack under the great pressure! We’re about to…FIND OUT!!”

And find out you shall. Those weapons don’t look like they’re for show.

WHAT YOU KNOW

Not much, honestly. The ground is bright enough to get your bearings now at least, and it helps that you’re not alone. But the gaggle of unfamiliar faces don’t appear to be friendly ones.

All sixteen of you are on your own identical yet separate stages. There are four of them in total, spaced out far enough to only get the faintest view of what could be going on within an adjacent stage. Likewise, four from the monastery are on each of the stages, the groups being viewable on this team doc. Descriptions of who stands in your way can also be found here.

Beyond what’s right in front of you, a great number of people have crowded around the stages, all in rather comfy seats. All of which appear too excited to really get any proper info from.

Negotiating with the armed unknowns appears to be a losing battle. There’s also a few of the masked folk still about, toiling with ropes and such by the curtains. They’re also not the most chatty.

A loud voice is making demands, and with no other leads to this mystery prisoner…would it just be better to listen in hopes to find the source?

WHAT TO DO

The primary objective is to survive through the current (and future) shifts in stage design and wrap up the show without much incident. Based on the narrator’s vague words, it seems like a fight is the best way to satisfy their wants.

This week is focused on combat. The team doc for Week 1 above has the kits of players and enemies respectively. However, as it will be used to update future enemy information, mini-teams are recommended to create their own combat documents for the week. Samples of battle logs and other formats can be found within the combat manual.

There are multiple rounds of combat. Once a team is complete with their current round of enemies, ping Mod Neku for an update on the situation.

Take note of the special mechanics that take effect for all of this week’s battles: Appeal and Packed Audience! The former is a separate action that can change the tides of battle (and makes your mysterious voice very happy), whereas the latter is terrain for every stage. More information can be found within the team doc.

IMPORTANT REMINDERS

As this is the primary event for the week, players are encouraged to be open about when they’re around to do their rolls and post for their combat threads. However, still apply a light 6 hour time limit between rolls for combat. It is recommended for players to create their own “player AI” to use in case of absence.

Combat should be documented properly within Tumblr threads. It is fine if you’d like to play out character reactions and such in a chatplay-like format in the moment, but keep in mind only Tumblr thread posts/replies will contribute to the combat’s completion.

Keep thread replies relatively short in order to progress the combat smoothly. You do have over a week to finish, so pace yourselves properly.

Likewise, a combat round will only be counted as complete when all relevant posts are on the dash.

Do not be afraid to ask questions regarding combat as a whole within groups if there is any confusion. Additionally, if some information is unclear within the team doc, you can always ping Mod Neku for clarification or to answer any general questions.

"You." A pause. Julius hadn't caught his name, and with the blood streaming down his sides, there was a slight bite to the address. "Are you a healer?"

He winced, three masks slipped off at once. Which one was even worth wearing right now? "..."

“Yep! That’s me—YIKES!” Before even seeing who was speaking to him the mage was quick to reply with a cheerful voice. But even his cheer, bright as sunlight as it may be, was briefly interrupted by the sudden sight of blood. Though his smile recovered, there was an edge of concern reflected in his expression now. Noticing the way the man winced, Ewan was quick to move. “Good thing you found me. I’ll take care of this!”

Raising his staff up and concentrating as much healing power as he could, Julius was enveloped by a gentle golden glow that, while it didn’t wipe away the blood, closed his injuries. “And… there!” The young mage opened his eyes again, his earlier concentration fading. “How does that feel? Are you still hurting somewhere? If something else pops up, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?”