#duskroine

A strange sensation begins to overwhelm her. Surely, just moments ago she was enjoying the Rusalkan sunshine and the warm sand beneath her feet. Or had she been at the inn, sipping a hot cocoa in her nightgown and preparing to fall into a plush, comfortable bed. The roar of the crowd reverberates in her ears, so loudly it’s almost painful.

How did she get here?

A glance around her shows that she isn’t alone. She even recognises a couple of these faces - it’s hard not to remember Ophelia’s presence after all. Andrei too, looks frighteningly like his son Scipio. Hesitantly, she shuffles closer to the rest of them, taking in the sight of the vast arena. There’s something odd about the crowd, how the people’s eyes lack any light, any spark of life. Her fists curl around the... syringe she found in her hands upon awakening here. It’s vastly oversized and filled with a strange liquid.

“What should we do? I don’t know how I’m even here,” Julia laments, but she doubts she’s the only one with such questions. A bird caws at them from across the battlefield - huge and seemingly made of fire. Her mouth falls open in awe at the creatures majesty and the crowd cheers once more. Chants of “fight! fight!” fill the colosseum, making her head spin. It’s clear there will only be one way out. Julia steels herself, she will be brave and strong today, just like Seliph. “I-I’ll go first, please? I think I might be able to weaken it for the rest of you.”

Syringe held like a lance, Julia charges forward tentatively. Far too hesitant in the presence of such a fierce foe. The crowd and it’s deafening cheers disorient her. The moment she breaks out into a run, she trips, tumbling gracelessly to the ground in a heap. Her right ankle twists awkwardly but it isn’t pain that brings tears to her eyes. It’s shame. The mighty beast roars in rage and in an instant bears down upon her with it’s sharp, piercing beak, tearing into her shoulder as she lays face down in the dirt.

Julia uses Shatter Slash against Sun Form.  Roll d20+2: 1 (+2) = 3! Miss. Sun Form takes 0 damage. Sun Form counterattacks with Sharp Beak. Roll d20: 15! Hit. Julia takes 1.5 damage. Sun Form has 10/10 HP remaining Julia has 8.5/10 HP remaining.

It hurts. Yet it compares nothing to the pain of letting the others down. Failing her allies so early in their trial. Her arms quiver and shake beneath her as she tries to support her weight and get back up again.

She cannot fall here.

     “Yes, finally!!” The moment they’re out of the town, Khalkós wastes no time in jumping from Lucius’ shoulder, a bright flash enveloping her body in midair. When the light clears, she is back in her full form, looming over Lucius in a gesture that would seem threatening, if not for the sheer glee on her expression. “Come on, let’s do the thing!” she immediately says in her natural, booming voice, holding out her four arms in an eager gesture.

     “M-must we...?” Lucius sighs, but obligingly grabs ahold of one thick, trunk-like upper arm, allowing Khalkós to hoist him into her arms. With a joyful shout, she rushes off before Lucius can do more than beckon to the other two to follow.

     But the spirit speeds up, and it’s only when they’re alone that she sets him down, regarding him with an oddly serious look.

The trees are dense, as is the fog, and it's hard to see through to anything but... darkness. There's the sound of the stream nearby, but everything else is... eerily quiet. Khalkos considers their options for a moment, then lowers her voice so that Daimon and Ophelia can't hear. "We ought to lose... them somewhere."

     It’s clear who she refers to. Lucius looks troubled for a moment, but then shakes his head, voice firm in reply. "We cannot," he says, gaze lingering on Ophelia in the far distance, "I won't leave them here, in the path of possible danger."

     Though, he can't say his curiosity hadn't been piqued by the other... spirit? Daimon, who in all honesty seems similar to Khalkós in some aspects. Lowering his voice further to match hers, Lucius asks, kindly, "Is it the presence of the other spirit that bothers you?"

"Something's wrong about him," she answers, frowning. "Something I can't quite put my finger on." Though perhaps that something is the fact that he's gotten under her skin by waving freedom in her face. "If I can't trust my eyes, then I can trust my guts. And my guts are never wrong."

     "I believe you," Lucius says, "And I'll be sure to mind him. But I have... a duty as well, and I can't give that up. Please understand." He cannot allow his student to come to harm if he could be there to prevent it.

Khalkós grumbles, but gives a nod of understanding. Where Lucius goes, she goes.

     Walking back within earshot of the others, Lucius gives an apologetic look. “The trees are too thick to pass through this way,” he says, “Maybe we’ll have to try another direction?”

Silence takes the arena before gunfire can continue, light washing over the room in that same blinding way that it had after the bird’s fall. When Nyna’s eyes dare brave the brightness of the room there is no pegasus at her side or hulking metal monster.

Someone coughs.

The white fabric of a healer’s robes flutters around her as she rushes towards the side of their previously fallen ally. Nyna kneels, white magic rushing to her fingertips. He is nowhere near as hurt as he had been -- the arena’s magic having done some of her work already -- but she will not allow him to take on the next battle wounded.

Nyna uses Recover on Lloyd. Roll: 4. +5 HP. (Lloyd 10/10 HP.)

A hand hovers just above his collar, gentle light radiating from it. Wounds knit closed and bruises wipe away as though nothing more than smudges of ink. Only when the light fades does she allow herself a sigh of relief, crystal eyes searching his as though in disbelief.

It is only a dream. Nyna dips her head, rising to stand. Reality is nary so kind. 

“I am glad to see you are alright,” that same hand extends now, an offer to help him back to his feet, “as are the rest of us.”

Finally she lets her attention settle upon the arena’s center. The horror that awaits them is no longer mechanical but flesh -- a man seated atop a gilded lion, larger than life but unmistakably living. 

Gaze flits back to Lloyd. “Be careful. I do not wish to see you fall again.”

You watch as the storybook characters play out their scripted lives, day in and day out.  As though fettered, they stick to their routines; they fulfill their roles - or lack thereof. They do what must be done to keep the main beats of their storybook life going. But what happens if something new and different were to be introduced by an outside force? Will they continue on as if nothing happened? Or will they instead break? Perhaps you might be inclined to find out. [Grants Reason +1]

“Gee, it sure is boring around here...” Odin muses to himself, downtrodden in expression while he watches the common folk go about their day. The town is packed with people, yet not a single one of them seemed to have much of a soul. He strides around for some time, looking for something--anything--he feels he can really interact with. He tries waving in the face of a woman walking her children, yet receives not a reaction back. He gives a man at a fruit stall a poke on the arm, yet he continues on repeating the same line every fifteen seconds like a broken record player. Hands on his hips, and he’s stumped. The man blows out a puff of defeated air, eyes searching the area for something to do. “Is this what happens when humans are born without being given a name? ...Do they all lack a soul...?” 

And then, an idea. A crazy one, but it’s Odin. Crazy is just about what you’d expect from him, “I know! What this town needs is a villain! An antagonizing force to disrupt their mundane lives!” Now who could that be? Odin’s normally the one to play the hero, not the bad guy! But another quick glance around reveals that nobody else would be willing to step up to the plate. He sighs, figuring that with no real people to see him, it wouldn’t hurt to expand his depth of character a little bit. Without any passerby to stop him, he’s free to dash on over to the town square. Up and onto the fountain he goes. His boots get wet doing so, but from the point of interest he begins to pace in circles and decree, gazing out into the crowd with great fervor, “Hear me, puny mortals! This village is now being occupied! MWA HA HA! You heard me right! I, the greatest evil doer who ever done did, will henceforth be making your home my lair of doom! All will fall before my dark powers, so be prepared to--huh?” 

There, in the distance! A tuft of blonde hair, known to Odin like the back of his hand. It’s Ophelia! Yet it can’t be! She should be back in Nohr, reveling in the peace of a hard-fought war. But then again... He got here through a devilish trickster in Ophelia’s home country. It’s entirely possible that she stumbled upon the same book as he, and wound up entangled in the same mess. The father’s face scrunches up as he thinks on this for a while, stopping his circular motion in its tracks. Ophelia’s smarter than that, much smarter. There’s a chance this might not even be her! He has to test her, and what better way to do that than to keep up the act and engage her as a villain? 

“AHEM,” his voice darkens, really trying to sell the bit, “You, way in the back! Don’t think I’ve failed to detect your presence! Did you really think a Chosen One would go unnoticed in my heinous lair of nefarious flames?! HA HA!” Down he leaps, slowly pacing for the Nohrian mage. Odin is too wrapped up in his fantasy to notice, but the townspeople are beginning to react to the spectacle. Many stop what they’re doing to watch by the sides, while some even cower in fear as he approaches. Soon he’s within normal talking distance, yet in typical Odin fashion, insists on still yelling, “So we meet at last! I am Oberon Dark, Damnable Dealer of Superdeath. You must’ve thought yourself a genius paragon, but I am afraid you’ve walked right into my trap! Using my most wicked move, Cyclone of Ghastly Torture, I will end this valiant fight!”

Right. End the fight that’s... Only beginning. It can probably just be assumed that Odin means he’ll beat her with but a single move, but you ought not to put it past him to just be skipping to the good part. He readies himself in a stance, holding his arms up wide to emulate the eyewall of a tropical storm. He begins to inhale air, making a sort of ‘FWOOOOOOH’ sound. This is an indication that he’s both charging up the move, and giving Ophelia the chance to deliver her line.

Starter for @duskroine

Constance was going through a drawer in the Golden Deer classroom, minding her own business. It was the middle of the night, and there was one other student in the room, but honestly she couldn’t care less. She doubted that student really acknowledged her at all, they seem to be absorbed in their own work, after all, so it’s unlikely they would expose Constance for her trespassing. They were as well, after all. She needed supplies for a project and this was the only classroom with an unlocked room. What else was she meant to do? Wait for her classroom to open? No. She’s too impatient for that.

It was odd though, what she needed didn’t seem to be in here. Annoying. Constance sighed and turned to leave, but noticed a letter laying on the ground by the classroom door just before she almost stepped on it. Huh, how strange. Picking it up, she turned it over in her hand. No indication of who it’s for. Even stranger. Constance walked over to the stranger to turn over this strangeness, placing it on the table gently.

Garbed in the robes of a Saint feels sacrilegious, but with both staff and tome in hand, her weariness starts to fade somewhat. It has been a long, drawn out nightmare but at least she is equipped to be most useful to her allies. The quietly hopeful hint of a smile is painted across her face as both Andrei and Ophelia rise once more. Both radiant and glorious in their power, risen like the legendary phoenix. With both of them blazing brightly, surely there was nothing to fear.

Their foe, shaded and indistinct has other ideas though. There is nary a moment to catch their breath, to ask after everyone’s health and prepare to attack. In an instant it’s right up in Ophelia’s face and, panic ridden, Julia rushes over to his side too.

“Don’t you dare! Not my dear friend--” she shouts, clutching the Luce tome to her chest. Their is no time to call upon illusory warriors, or to prepare much aid. Julia comes to a halt, transfixed in horror. Ophelia isn’t under attack, thank whichever gods and goddesses have chosen to answer her prayers, but the vague form of their foe warps into a disturbing deconstruction of her friend. An arm here, an eye and smirking mouth over there... none of it connected, all of it lacking the bright, divine spark that makes Ophelia so wonderful. Rather, it dissects and scatters the heroine of Dusk, so terribly that if Ophelia wasn’t stood whole right next to her, she thinks she might faint from the implication. “I can hardly bear to look at it. Ophelia, is it hurting you?”

There are no wounds or marks of which she can see, but pain can be inflicted in the strangest of ways. Julia is careful and cautious to focus only on the real Ophelia, rather than the abomination before them. Something stirs though, she can feel it as she turns her head to call out.

“Everyone, be careful! It’s about to try something, I’m sure--”

Before she can finish her sentence, it’s myriad of eyes (except Ophelia’s) appear to shoot at them. Glowing light bursts from it’s eyes and whilst she, Nyna and Lloyd are able to jump out of the way in time, the same cannot be said for Andrei and Ophelia. Both frozen solid and Ophelia - her own gaze appears a million miles away. Their connection, severed abruptly, makes her wants to weep in despair. Julia takes a shuddering breath to steel herself. She must stay strong, must be brave if she wishes to be of any aid to either of them. Instinctively, she steps between the enemy and Ophelia, knees knocking together but refusing to tear eyes away from the many cold, unfeeling compound eyes that dot it’s ambiguous form,

“Nyna, Lloyd, please watch out for Andrei too. I’ll keep guard here,” and it is to her great relief that this creature without form chooses her as it’s prey. At least the others will be safe and unharmed. At least. It strikes without mercy, hitting her square in the chest with a ball of light. Almost knocking her off her feet, she adjusts her stance and balance before fighting back. What a fool she was, not to simply take Ophelia’s hand and run. Like her friend it is swift and relentless, unlike Ophelia it is determined to choke out her last breath.

Mimic attacks Julia with Luce Roll d20: 5! Hit. 1 damage to Julia Julia counterattacks with Luce Roll d20: 9! Hit. 2 damage to Mimic Julia takes 2 damage from Thorny Hide Mimic follows up with Luce Roll d20: 12! Hit. 1 damage to Julia Mimic has 38/10 HP remaining Julia has been defeated

It’s knocked out of her by a blow to the chest as her skin loses any hint of colour or life beneath it. Light, her birthright, finally brings her down in a way even the flames of chaos could not hope to. Her knees buckle beneath her as she falls forward, terrified and desperate - she had to stay on her feet, had to fight and protect her precious friends. Black tendrils dance across her vision, she cannot fight it much longer. The abyss calls out and pulls her under. It takes the last, fading morsels of her strength to please.

She expects to stir awake slowly, taking in her surroundings. Needing a moment to remember where she is. Safe, not in that blasted colosseum, battling monsters and watching her allies crumple beneath talons and beaks ripping into their skin. It’s a rather rude awakening.

She is still here, standing in the arena. The terrifying bird they faced off against is replaced by a metallic behemoth, dwarfing all five of them, and three smaller monsters. Would this nightmare never end? Julia clutches the shield the adorns her closer to her body and feels warmth emanate from it. How very strange, but certainly not an unwelcome boon.

Seiros Shield restores 1 HP to Julia Julia has 7.5/10 HP remaining

Garbed in the robes of a priest, Julia slinks over to where Andrei and Lloyd both struggle to stand. She’s hit by the crushing realisation she can only heal one of them. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth but -- “Andrei, sir? Could you please heal Lloyd for me?” The lord of Yngvi would not be able to heal himself, but he could help relieve her burden. Choice made, she calls upon the light, warm and familiar. Yet her hands still shake - desperate to escape. Her unease is palpable and it limits her capabilities, even at something so natural to her as the healing arts.

Julia cast Recover on Andrei. Roll d20: 4! 5 HP recovered Andrei has 6.5/10 HP remaining.

He looks sturdier on his feet at least, although she had truly wished to do more for him. No longer on the brink of fainting though, she steps back and notices he carries a shield of his own. Perhaps it will be of aid to him, too.

“Oh, sir? Your shield... it may gift you yet more vigor and vitality!”

Constance expected a normal photo when Ophelia approached her. For some reason. It’s probably fine. 

Obviously, she wanted to discuss poses, but it seemed like Ophelia already had one in mind. Although she finds it odd that she’s not sharing what it is. Constance can only guess it’s just standing there? She can do that. That was what all her family portraits were like, after all. Not what she expected from Ophelia, but she did expect ‘normal’, so at least she was right.

Then Ophelia launched towards her, giving her a hug from behind. Had Constance been warned, she would have been able to support both of them just fine! She’s strong! She can take it! She was not warned. They fell down onto the ground almost immediately. 

The picture was just blurring screaming from both of them barely captured at the bottom of the page. “Ah. Well then.”