[center][color=FF6347][h3]Owen Whately – Frenzy Camp[/h3][/color]
[@caits][@oblivion666][@raijinslayer][/center]

Like a marble statue, Owen sat utterly still and attentive, taking in every smidgen of what Ike had to say.  Lines of worry and sorrow creased his face when the more painful parts of his story arose, but otherwise he gave no signs of life save for a quiet wisp of breath and the promise of consideration.  At one point, though, he gave a low whistle in disbelief.  When the tale came to an end, Owen clasped his hands together and told him, [color=FF6347]”You're wrong.  It wasn't fer nothin'.  When used by creative but cruel people, magic can be doggone awful.  Ya went through a pro-foundly disturbin' experience, Ike, but it didn't break ya.  Takin' revenge don't mean you're weak.  It means you're strong.  All the power in the world don't mean anythin' if it ain't used responsibly.  So don't sit among friends and tell us you survived that hell fer nothin'.  Yer power is nuts, it took all of us to take you in, and we didn't even beat ya in the end.”[/color]  

He stood up, sauntered ever, and knelt in from of Ike.  His face bore utmost seriousness.  [color=FF6347]”What the girl did to ya, really stinks, but it didn't turn ya into some kinda monster.  You still know what's right and what ain't, so you're better than her.  Yer scar is big, but we can heal it.  You're our comrade, and that means we're here for you.  Ya can use yer new power to fight alongside us, make a difference in this world.”[/color]  Owen clapped a hand on Ike's shoulder, then returned to his seat to hear Argus out.  The demon basically reiterated some of the things mentioned by Owen, though with less tact.  [color=FF6347]”Looks like Argus thinks similar.  But you, Argus, need to live out yer own words to make 'em mean somethin'.  I saw yer face when you were fightin'.  Everyone needs help now and again, buddy.  If ya got yer own problems, I reckon they'd be better out in the open.  It's easier to punish a stranger than a comrade.”[/color]

Thinking the exchange to be over, Owen prepared to leave.  He did not expect Gabriel to begin talking, and at the kid's first words the southerner froze.  Instantly, a fire raged inside him, like someone flipped a switch.  As Gabe babbled on, hurling insults and idiotic insights, Owen fought to restrain himself, but at last he could bear it no longer.  Owen stood bolt upright, his magic working instantly, and a ring of magic circles flared to life surrounding Gabriel's chest, back, and shoulders.  A rapier blade extended from each one, lengthening until they were mere centimeters from his body.  Any movement, be it to the side, upward, or down, would draw blood.  Owen bellowed, [color=FF6347]”No, [b]boy[/b], you're the one that oughta shut yer trap, you dense, brainless, heartless son of a [b]bitch[/b]!  Life sucks, does it?  D'you even realize what's happened here!?  These men have suffered!  Beaten down by the black side of magic 'til they almost lost their humanity!  D'you care even one lick 'bout tragedy?  When ya see a slave, d'you say, 'life sucks, get over it'?  What about a cripple?  Abuse victim?  Kidnapped child?  Orphan?  Widow?  Ya tryin' to trivialize trauma?  We sat down like a family to talk 'bout our problems and emotions and sort 'em out like adults, and you come along tellin' us it's pointless!  Ya've picked some girl's side over yer own guildmates!  Tell us then, asshole!  If fightin's stupid, and empathy's stupid, what should we do!?”[/color]  Fuming and trembling in rare anger, Owen could no longer speak.  His magic circles flickered and faded, their bladed disappearing into nonexistence.

Jane, however, took up the slack.  When Gabriel's words passed her ears, she'd started laughing—not because it was funny, but at his astounding ignorance.  Now, however, she'd regained her composure enough to say, [color=CD5C5C]“Man, ye dug yerself into a hole this time.  Weren't ye payin' attention, lad?  Ike asked fer a paintin', Isla trapped him, Indigo arrived, she found him, she cursed Isla and took the paintin'.  No revenge at all!  Plus, you don't know much about revenge. Revenge can be about brin'in' justice t' evildoers. Only idiots use it t' make themselves feel better."[/color]  She held out hands toward Argus and Ike hoping to restrain them.  [color=CD5C5C]”Buckos, don't get upset at this lubber.  He's just a deluded little kid playin' at complicated ideas.  He'll get what's comin' t' him when t' General returns.  After hearin' this, I wouldn't be surprised if Sanders kicks him out.  We don't have any use for clueless sprogs.”[/color]  All eyes were on Gabriel, waiting to see if he'd back down and preserve some shred of dignity, prove himself an idiot by desperately trying to defend himself, or prove himself a hypocrite by getting mad and attacking.  Not many people now suspected that he, having now show his true colors, would be allowed to remain in a guild that valued teamwork and bonds.

[center][h3][color=007FFF]Indigo Afina – Arena Entrance[/color][/h3]
[@hatakekuro][/center]

Sheer power poured from Indigo in a viciously destructive funnel of thunder-infused, sopping-wet, gale-force winds.  If the sorceress hadn't been subconsciously limiting herself to minimize collateral damage on nearby structures, no living entity could have maintained its footing against the mighty, continuous blast.  To Nolan's credit, he did not attempt to withstand the Gathering Gale by force of will or pride, instead concentrating his power into a total defense after a single attempt at shutting Indigo down with Balmung, which she ignored completely, knowing no projectile could hit her.  The Librarian watched intently as a featureless black dot formed in the middle of the cyclone, assembling slowly thanks to the constant and implacable winds but assembling nonetheless.  After realizing that her spell wouldn't dislodge this ashen shell from the ground where it clung like a sable limpet, Indigo cut off the spell, and reluctantly the storm subsided.  With its last breath it crumbled the dome, and the moment Indigo saw that Nolan wasn't inside her mind went on overdrive to figure out the trick.  Raw atmospheric power surrounded her still, enveloping her in an aura of rushing air, but it would do her no good if her racing mind couldn't discern where Nolan went.  

[i]Underground?  Not a threat.  In the air?  Impossible.  Ash fake?  If so, he must be nearby...[/i]  A voice from behind and above her caused her eyes to widen, and she turned just in time to cry, her voice distorted by the torrent of wind surrounding her, knowing that everything hinged on this moment, [color=007FFF]”Whitesky Eye!”[/color]  From every direction, the air suddenly lurched in her direction.  Toward Indigo roared a pitch-black torrent of destruction, but directly in front of her materialized a hyper-compacted atmospheric singularity, an orb swirling with clouds, water, and electricity, as if the entire sky were imprisoned within a marble.  It washed the landscape with teals, whites, and grays, and in the second it took to fully form Indigo shielded her face with both arms, and prayed.

Then the Ash God's Grand Cry ruptured the Whitesky Eye, and before everything went to hell there was a moment of complete stillness.

A massive explosion of wind, rain, lightning, cloud, and ash, nearly the size of the arena itself (and certainly spilling over into it to ruffle skirts, soak shirts, and zap into comical shapes the hair of the people within) rocked the city of Crocus.  At the point of impact between the two ludicrously powerful spells, the ground itself was bleached white and scorched black, and the side of the arena was permanently scarred with an intricate black and white pattern.  Any objects not nailed down near the point of impact had been subjected to unfathomable repulsive force from the breached Eye, and had been sent flying.  Overhead, a rainstorm raged, though the rain blew nearly horizontally thanks to the winds.  Indigo regained consciousness in midair, about halfway across the city.  She winced to see the damage done to the atmosphere, though aside from ripped curtains and torn shingles the city's buildings were largely unharmed.  Summoning some of her reproachably low magic power, Indigo descended to streetlevel, and realized by looking in the window of a nearby store how much of a catastrophe she looked.  For starters, hair lay in utter disarray, like a many-armed yellow octopus having a seizure.  Her clothes, meanwhile, had been reduced to embarrassingly scanty scraps, little more than a frayed one-piece.  She sighed, resigned to the fact that she'd need to find a new yellow lacrima somewhere in the city before returning.  Rushing air surrounded her, lifting her skyward, and she resumed her search.

Twelve minutes later, Indigo -still looking very disorderly- arrived in Sheldon's box.  She held up the false book, all eight lacrimas in its compartment.  [color=007FFF]”Here they are,”[/color] she wheezed, very much out of air.