[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/t3kp4zp.png[/img] [h1][i]&[/i][/h1] [h1]Reaver's[/h1] [h2][i]Random encounter[/i][/h2] [i]Operative Word: Random[/i] [@ERode][/center] After the chain of disasters that rocked Penrose months prior, the urban exterior of the city had been the first to be abandoned, leaving naught but concrete husks devoid of people. An earthquake had struck soon after, demolishing much of the infrastructure. Even now, coated in snow and ice, the eastern boundary of Penrose was a desolate wasteland where even monsters did not roam. Rebar poked out like gravemarkers, furniture and affixtures too cumbersome to be brought along with evacuees rusted away in the elements. Few buildings still stood tall, but their pride meant nothing. In time they will collapse too, falling over and breaking apart. Eastern Penrose was no longer repairable. Now, only demolition was feasible. And for one building, demolition was today. A meteorite fell from the sky, piercing an apartment building before grinding into the ground. The shockwave hit seconds later, a roar of sound ripping through the building and shaking it to the core. Weeks of exposure and ruination had taken its toll; this final blow was too much, and fractures climbed up and down the cement structure, the entire building falling apart moments later. A plume of frost and dust rose up, juxtaposing the apartment’s downfall. For a long time, the rumbling of stone and snow resounded through the abandoned district. Then, silence. It was one of these nights for Reaver, as he walked around the street trying to scrape the last bits of grime from his hand. Patron deities were kind of picky with their offerings, and the Allfather was no exception. He had gotten used to blood and the screams of swines and lambs, only for him to realize Odin was sick of pork already. But human sacrifices, as widespread as they were, definitely were not compatible with human society. Recently even slaughtering animals was frowned upon. Animal Rights? Pff yeah, more like weakling hipsters. It was then when he noticed the sudden collapse of an adjacent building, and secretly began to chant. "Please, let it be meteoric iron." He wished. Some of the most gnarly weapon legends came from meteorites. And, thus, he went to check on the rubble, if only to keep his mind distracted from his patron's banter. Even in the darkness, the meteorite glowed bright as Reaver approached, a soft silver hue emanating from the endpoint of the trench that its crash made. Half-buried by dirt and stone, the fallen star was of a most curious shape. Strange rivulets swirled around an oval form, almost like vines that had entangled something entirely. There was an electrifying hum still, the heat of impact having yet to fade, but before Reaver could properly investigate the meteorite, it split apart. Like an egg, the meteorite split apart length-wise, a hiss of steam bursting out. In that misty shroud, an amethyst light glowed, the surest sign of magic, while a slender hand brushed away the shroud soon after, to reveal a woman with midnight-blue hair and an elegant saber. Sweat clung to her form, but her outfit, which appeared to be designed to expose about just as much as a bikini would, enabled ventilation in such cool weather; soon, her flushed skin returned to its alabaster tone. The lady with a blue rose pinned over her breast looked around, as if ascertaining her surroundings. It took a couple seconds after for her to notice Reaver, and when she did, she had but one question, magenta eyes aglow with assured confidence: [color=778899]“Warrior of Darkness, what lands have I descended upon?”[/color] [i] Not meteoric Iron, but I am not complaining. Specially with that skimpy suit of hers clinging to a rather well developed body.[/i] Reaver thought to himself, spending quite a few seconds engraving this image into his mind before he took notice of the girl’s speech. [i]She’s into that kind of play too? Awesome[/i] The dark knight smirked, before addressing the girl. “Tis’ not but the dregs of human greed, ravaged by nature’s wrath. The Levant of Penrose, to be more precise.” He said. “Might I enquire why a lady of such poise and elegance was trying to emulate a falling star? It has been said that such activities might… impact in one’s appearance in a most undesirable manner.” Amaryllis raised a brow, then smiled, stepping out of her meteoric shell. [color=778899]“Merely an inquiry upon my own capabilities as magus and swordswoman. With our city plummeting towards such dire straits in recent times, tis by necessity that I must further hone my talents, lest what I treasure be plunderer by ruffians aligned with falsehearted righteousness or craven malevolence. If I attain further scars from doing so, let it stand only as a testament of my knightly oaths.”[/color] “I see. I wish you luck on that. “ The man known as Reaver pondered what to say. “They call me...Reaver. Warrior of the Allfather. At your service…” Reaver added, not wishing to break the character upon hearing the recklessness of this...minimalist knight broad. It was then when he winced. “Really…” He raised an eyebrow. That ...spiteful bastard. He wanted some action being done. He rolled his eyes. “Actually… now that our paths have crossed, lady knight, my … patron wishes for me to engage in duel with you. Nothing...personal, but I must oblige. What say you?” [color=778899]“Amaryllis Evenings, Knight of Rose,”[/color] the woman responded, tilting her head down in a curt bow. As rusted petals floated down like snow, she turned, her meteoric shell breaking into dust with a snap of her fingers. Some more adjustments at hand, huh? Before she could depart, however, the man spoke up again, eliciting a small sigh from her. [color=778899]“Looks like he leans more towards War than Wisdom, no?”[/color] Amaryllis chuckled to herself, and stepped out from the trench, her gold-trimmed boots clicking against the concrete. [color=778899]“If Odin will be satisfied with a small exchange, I’m willing to indulge such battlelust. In exchange...how about you share with me, on which side you stand for this upcoming conflict?”[/color] "He is mad my piety with… offerings has been sparse. Probably… can't really read him half of the time" Reaver said. "As for sides… I guess I will fight for the banner my patron sees more just. There is no Allfather without All". [color=778899]“Justice, hm?”[/color] Her Sword sang as it swept through the air, humming with anticipation. Amaryllis stepped five paces away from Reaver, before turning to face him once more. [color=778899]“Very well; draw your blade.”[/color] “Fine… Awaken, my Blade.” He said, as he readied himself. This was going to be one of these [i]days[/i]. His Gram replica shone with a dark sheen, as the ominous armor clanked. A good, unified aesthetic, this Reaver had. Amaryllis drew in a breath. A single snowflake floated down. The world faded away. It touched the tip of her Sword. And she took one step to cover ten meters. Sliding in low, the Knight of Rose left a gust of wind in her wake, the Silverlight streaking forwards to thrust into Reaver’s solar plexus. Of course, just as she took a step back, a bunch of barriers and reinforcement magic sprung up, as he assumed a defense stance. She seemed to be the speedy type, so instead of matching her strength head on pacing himself was probably a necessity. Translucent walls shattered as Amaryllis’s sword ran through them, the piercing strike stopped only once Reaver’s armor and magic overlapped. It left a scratch in the armor, rather than breaking right through. The swordsman retreated, disengaging. She had thought him to be the angsty angry type, but it looked like he was going to tank up after all. Been a while since she fought someone like that. The last one was...Shona, back at the stadium. Huh. Never did have a conclusive duel with the Crystal Knight. The scratch upon Reaver’s breastplate turned silver; with the disturbed crackling of roots seeping out of concrete, ivy-like chains spawned out of the mark Amaryllis left, attempting to bind the Warrior of Darkness and sunder his armor. “Heh, that’s kinky..” Reaver smirked, before drawing once more his hands, and stabbing the ground, using a purifying effect upon his vicinity. Odin… was also a god of healing. As he did so, his right eye began to glow. “Why don’t you show me more?” He boasted. He knew she was strong, and Odin knew it probably. This was some sort of punishment… but Reaver was no coward. The chains continued unabated by the purifying light; Amaryllis’s patron was merely a Lesser Force, and metal was merely metal. The chains continued to spawn and grow, lengthen and multiply, as if to mummify Reaver under layers of silver. The phantom pains that her patron communicated with seared her eardrums, but the Knight of Rose brushed it off. It was a duel, after all, not a fight. Unless Reaver was guilty of killing an orphanage or something of the sort, she had no particular need to murder him. [color=778899]“You’ve given me no need to, warrior,”[/color] came Amaryllis’s reply. [color=778899]“Does your patron wish for you to fight, or for you to lose?”[/color] “I figure it’s both.” Reaver added. “But I suppose i’m not out of all tricks, yet.” If the chains were indeed just metal,and not a curse… they could be cut. Reaver’s sword glowed ominously, and like the parent sword his blade had come from, it cleaved metal. Gram had indeed cloven an anvil and even a dragon’s scales. What kind of replica would Odin grant Reaver who could not do as much as cut metal, More so if it was silver, not iron. Of course this meant Reaver had also cut himself and his armor too. But that was kind of a bonus. Delightful pain that sharpened his senses.”Gram is the name of this child, like the parent. Mere… junk won’t stop it.” He added, as he began to paint runes on the blade with his own blood. [color=778899]“My chains are not mere ‘junk’,”[/color] Amaryllis replied, watching him brute-force his way through the bindings, [color=778899]“But my Sword is just a sword. Let us cross our blades, properly this time.”[/color] With that, she reduced what remained of her chains to dust, resuming a stance that saw her sword arm fully extended, her free hand resting against her lower back. This time, the Knight of Rose waited for his own approach. “Yeah, and I am the Queen of Penrose.” Reaver said, before adopting a fighting stance. He focused his mana on reinforcing both his blade and his armor, before lunging, the sword stretched for a wide cleave, directly aimed at the head. [color=778899]“And I was so certain [i]that[/i] title belonged to Cindy Ford,”[/color] Amaryllis replied, a smile flitting over her lips again. But that was all she could spare, before she stepped in to receive the spiked warrior’s blow. Slanting her own sword, she deflected the oncoming blow as she passed by Reaver. A burst of sound emanated from one of the blood-marked runes in that instant, thunder clapping at close-range. But momentum was preserved, and the instinct remained. Swaying from the stunning blast, Amaryllis dropped low, passing by Reaver as her legs coiled. From behind, she thrust backward with her own Sword, aiming for the back of the warrior’s knee. Reaver, surprisingly, did not dodge, and took the knee for lost. There simply wasn’t a better way to pave the difference in nimbleness and skill than resigning to take damage. Even the sound blast had not done much, she was that skilled. In that case, he just needed to drag her to a field he was more comfortable in. He was a warrior and a scrapper, unrefined, unrelentless and savage. So when the sword struck true, he activated both his regeneration and a healing spell, trying to ensnare the blade in a prison of his own flesh, as he brought down the elbow and the rest of his body upon the much more naked Sword Princess. As Reaver drew his magic up, however, he felt a distinct blockage in the area of the wound, the flow of mana there ceasing. His regeneration, though slowed, still functioned as best as it could when trying to heal around a foreign object, but his healing spell scattered to bits. Amaryllis withdrew her Sword without incident, filling the gap with metal, and as Reaver dropped down with the People’s elbow, she rolled out of the way, retreating ten meters before springing to her feet like a tipsy drunk. The amethyst crystal on her choker hummed with a soft light, but still, she stepped as if she were striding upon a tightrope. [color=778899]“Continue?”[/color] was her question. [color=778899]“Odin’s not mad enough to desire a deathmatch, is he?”[/color] Reaver stood up, and he said. “No, he’s not. He’s actually mildly amused I could last this long without suffering major injuries.” Reaver added as he looked at his own leg, and without a second thought, chopped the offending part, allowing it to heal and regenerate.” That’s what years of magical power do to a person, huh. I must get to that level.” Reaver finally admitted. Pride was a commodity he could not afford yet. [color=778899]“Quite the patron you have there,”[/color] Amaryllis replied, only grimacing when Reaver dismembered himself. With a flick of her own wrist, slender chains wove itself upon his flesh, forming rudimentary stitches to keep everything together as his regeneration kicked in. [color=778899]“I’ve met my fair share of resilient individuals, but I confess that you’re the first to respond to a ‘curse’ through amputation.”[/color] “Eh, he let me pick whatever I wanted. He’s reasonable, at least compared to others.” Reaver said as the pain and the throbbing the regeneration worked made him wince. “It’s all good. Blood keeps flowing… makes me… feel...alive.” He said, before quickly composing himself. He was craving for more… flesh and blood. That wasn’t good. “Sometimes I feel like I’m some sort of Draugr.” He said, while examining the result of his healing and regeneration. He did not need the healing to make it functional, but a cadaveric-looking leg would beg more questions than answers. “So I guess you’ve been around quite a bit, care to tell me about the grand foes inside this… city?” [color=778899]“An undead knight, fuelled by vengeance and voracity?”[/color] Amaryllis suggested. Her Sword flickered out, carving a seat into a cement wall. She sat down, crossing her legs and staking her saber into the ground beside her. “It’ll be a lie if I said I were a veteran within the confines of these citadels. Counting time that had been passed within that Lotus-Eater’s resort, I’ve only established myself in the boundaries of Penrose in the last four months; my contacts, as it were, remain limited.” [color=778899]“Still,”[/color] she continued, brushing a rusted petal off her shoulder, [color=778899]“I’ve had the blessing of encountering an assortment of powerful individuals, at least. Hilaria, the Ancient. Mariette, of the Mirrored Plane. Heard of a Silhouette as well, but only in passing. Though diminished, Serenity’s origins render her as dangerous, no matter the circumstance. And Penny, of course, is a Machine God capable of going toe-to-toe with Greater Horrors.”[/color] A pause. [color=778899]“I suppose though, that any magical girl of note is a ‘grand’ foe. Much could be said of those magical girls who rise to fame, even in a city saturated by their kind.”[/color] “Mmm.The tides of battle ebb and flow. Friends today could be foes tomorrow and viceversa. Getting a grasp of your surroundings and your own limits is.. Essential.” Reaver trailed off, his gaze resting on those legs of Amaryllis. Would she let them a little lick? He wondered. He was thirsty after the bout. He sheathed his own weapon, and then began his goodbye… “I wish you to lick your legs...damnit! I mean good tidings.” He tried to correct himself quickly. Amaryllis blinked, her expression blank. [color=778899]“Yes. Good tidings to you too.”[/color] “...but since the cat’s out… Can you stab me a couple of times more while I lick your legs? I need a little time off after how the day has gone.” Reaver added. If it works, it works. Amaryllis stood up. Took her sword. And immediately ran the opposite direction. She had fought her fair share of tentacles and orcs and other fleshy, slimy entities, but a pervert? That was a first. A first she had no intention on partaking in. “...Does that count as victory if your opponent runs aways in disgust?” Reaver pondered.