Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Divinity
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Over a thousand years ago, green grass and warm springs rolled across all corners of the great kingdom of Schrade. Its wealth was bountiful, its lords loved, and its people happy. However, like the great kingdom of Atlantis, so too would this courtship be reduced to but a memory. A powerful, never-ending storm struck the kingdom, born of evil magics and twisted sorcery that plunged the lands into darkness. Today, those hills are barren, dead plains. Where once there were villages and towns etched around its circumference, now were only their corpses.

Lightning crackled sanguine bolts from a tempestuous, angry sky. Purple clouds, splotched with crimson icor swirled like a hurricane for miles and miles. Within the eye of the storm, were the remnants of what had once been the fulcrum of the kingdom; Castle Schrade. Once a splendid feudal manor, now it could only cling to what remained of itself.

The International Society of Druids long since abandoned its restoration project. The storm was simply too powerful, and the wild magic beyond the ken of even the most astute of their ranks. So it would seem, the castle would fade away into legend.... At least until a particular, dark-robed enterprising mage stumbled across it. He stood within the wide courtyard, interwoven crystal ribbons of his robe glowing like circuitry. Beset on all four sides were the castle ramparts, which looked out towards the lifeless plains. A scabbard and sword hung from his side without sash or belt, and kneeling low to touch fingers to grainy earth, the gears of Corban's mind began to tumble into motion.

"Ishtalle, it's still breathing, but on life support..... I think I can heal its wounds."
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Dazsos
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The great book never lied, and that's why its runes shifted so kaleidoscopically, destiny was ever changing. So entailed in the most magical of tomes, destruction of the known world. Myron, under strict orders from his master, had been sent on a quest merely to stall an individual's time by any means necessary. The situation was dire, however it was not impossible, not under the headmaster's supervision. To get Myron where he needed to be, the aid of several guilds was required.

Illiam, the legendary bowman would lend his intercontinental archery to perform the shot, firing a large arrow far away, wrapped around it was a scroll with a rift rune engraved in to it. The headmaster supplied the rune, although his student, the assassin in question, was still learning how to control such magic. Once the arrow landed in the Schrade castle's courtyard garden, what followed was an eccentric scribe's introduction.

Fingers clawed at the edges of the rune, unraveling it slowly until a hand could be seen reaching out from the arrow's side. The scroll opened up just enough for an upper torso to crawl out, having slight troubles doing so after his weight caused the arrow to fall sideways. Some petty coughing and wheezing might reveal Myron's whereabouts, however he was still a sizable distance away from what would soon become his opponent. Crawling to his knees, the scribe quickly stood upright, and padded himself down, checking his equipment for losses. A few locked spell cards had fallen out of his shirt and on to the ground, he needn't bend over to grab them, they simply floated up and in to his vest pocket. Nothing else was lost; his own magical tome was locked to his right hip, and his quill wand adorned a black cavalier hat.

At least a hundred or more feet away stood a robed figure, likely the man who would accidentally destroy the world, if Myron didn't stop him. Unsure of how to introduce himself at this point of the game, Myron did what he did best preemptive the fight, distract a fellow with social awkwardness, whilst preparing their untimely demise.

"Hey you! Uhh... wait right there! I'm an... uh... I'm a caricature artist! From the future! I've come to draw you, before you uhh... win! Win what, you might say?.." Myron was biding as much time as he could, and with every word he spoke, his dexterous hands did their work. He'd quickly unclasp his tome, and pinched the feather off his hat, he'd be doodling something in his book before end of his speech. "Well you won a... free trip... to... Aure, the flying castle of flying... sod it! To hell!" Depending on if the robed figure already made offensive measures or not, Myron would quickly turn the book to face his foe, and unleash a powerful blast from a nihil rune once dormant. His aim wasn't meant for Corban, but instead for the corpses at his feet, at this distance, where even Myron's yelling might not be heard, the disintegration beam would turn in to an explosive blast instead, which would eradicate everything in a ten foot radius, and fling debris far beyond that range.

In the off chance that Myron's opponent wasn't a nitwit, Myron was mentally preparing himself to break a vial of ink for quick cover. Normally he'd prepare more runes in advance, his tactic usually relied on traps, however the severity of this situation called for such an attack. Myron had only about five more prepared beacons of nihil in his tome, which began floating whimsically in front of him. The page that once held the rune would burn up, ash fluttered by Myron's face, as the ground once beneath his foe's feet was reduced to just that.
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Divinity
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<That will have to wait. You have company.>

~I know. I'll have to conduct my field study in the action. Difficult, but it's been done before. Think it's the Society trying to steal my glory!?~

<Prepare now, question later.>

There were no delusions that the arrow that had landed was a sign of peace. Despite the clear lack of a white flag, arrows were instruments of war, not good will. Whatever it was preluding meant to do no good. Well, to Corban anyway. He flitted his fingers from the earth, a purple gaseous haze trailing them as he siphoned them into a crystal vial. Once stored, the gas began to clump into small spheres, revolving about each other like suspended magnets. He pocketed the vial, and stood up at just about the time that the scribe had freed himself from the confines of the arrows innards. When he had come to be a full man again, Corban's watchful eyes could elucidate several things that experience made him look for as he introduced himself.

  • Cards: A common tool among mages and wizards alike. Possibly preturnaturally sharp. Strong chance they are used as quick-glyphs or runes, and ranged weapons.
  • The book: Self explanatory. High likelihood they contain spells that the owner has not fully committed to memory. Less likely is the idea that it is simply a book of pages to write runes, circles, or glyphs on, much like the runic wizards of Baldur. Even less likely is that the pages are an ammunition of some sort. Paper slingers were rare but not unheard of.
  • Quill: Normally something to be overlooked, but a mage wielding no conventional weaponry usually wielded others. Possibly a wand of some sort. Could also be a pen with which to jot down circles and glyphs into the book, or both.

As quickly as he had summed up his opponent had he broken free with his attack. How rude! He really wanted to know what he had won! One thing could be said, though. He was at least partially right about the book.

The components of the beam were simple enough to divine on the fly, and this much space between them gave Corban lead time. Energy in one of its rawest forms; light, seemed the be the primary ingredient, though the body bore mass unequal to the energy placed in the beam. A hand outstretched to his side, palms splayed wide open as a column of earth the length of his body 'popped' up from out of the ground and filled the empty gap. A spark told the story of the transmutation as it was converted into a proper metallic polearm. The blade? A halo of light that stretched its dimensions into that of a great drill-shaped sigil far wider across than Corban's body.

[Sublimate]
[Repel]

While physical constructs like swords or hands could pass through with no issue, magic and its subsidiaries would be all but dusted by the channeled abjurative disjunction, while more empiric physical forces of nature such as kinetic energy would be repelled and diffused into the surrounding atmosphere, residual forces metabolized to power an ever-stronger disjunction. With both hands he leveled the weapon, tip of the blade meeting the blast for only a split second before it misted prismatically into thousands of diamond shards and a wave of heat that cut around him in a wide '<' shaped arc as it passed through the turbine.

Those diamond flecks no sooner would begin to swirl and dance about their new master like a caribbean-blue snowstorm. Slowly, they began to coalesce in his free hand as he placed the butt of his weapon to the earth with the other.

"So. Are you from the Society? I'll have you know I'm authorized to be on this land."
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Dazsos
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At this range, the true purpose of an all-disintegrating energy beam were for naught, if but a successful distraction. At a closer range, the molecular level erosion would easily devour gems, and magical barriers alike. The failure of an attack served to fuel a knowledge tank, however flashy the display, not many could parry such a blast; Myron gauged his new opponent's skillset, and readied a countermeasure.

Curiosity arose, and Myron would be bequeathed questions he had no answers for, else he humor the foe in to false precedence. What confused even the scholar, was how his foe, although attacked with what could've been a lethal blow, hadn't attempted to fight back, or show harboring of any ill will whatsoever. There was little fun in killing neutral parties, Myron would have to convince himself over and over again that his actions were for the greater good. In the mean time, there was no harm in a little story telling.

"Yep! From a society. Probably not the same society, though!" Myron meant to amuse his opponent, at the very least. A flick of his wrist would pop off the corks of several ink vials around his waist. Two, each at his hips, would pour their black contents out upon the floor beneath him, whilst the others would form floating hoops of silver around his body, gradually growing in size, and maximizing at three, one horizontal, and two at opposite diagonals. "I suppose you could call me something of a justice assassin! Or something less cheesy sounding... Your nosing about here is a big no no! I've been sent to make sure you go away! Now uhhh... pretty please? Pleeaase go away?" It wasn't too hard to talk a bit whilst preparing spells, with the exception of cantos. Myron hoped he might not even have to shed a tear or blood-drop, if his opponent would just retract such curiosities.

Corban's analytic eyes might notice the strange formation of sludge veiling the ground under Myron's feet, the runes that tainted the earth encompassed fifteen feet in diameter, and halted at that point, whilst within grafted lettering of an archaic form. A rune engraving of this size required a little bit of time to prepare, so stalling with words might continue to help in this situation. No need to activate it just yet, but a barrier would be very important later on. Myron's floating book served to veil sight of his right hand, the wrist shifting and swaying, his wand pointed downward, his motion unmistakably that of writing, which the feather or his quill revealed. His left hand wasn't idle, with an open palm it swayed through the air as if swimming through water.
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Divinity
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"An assassin, hm? I believe I'm aware of more than your contractor can comprehend." Corban shouted from behind his prismatic flake-storm. Myros would hear him, but see nothing from behind the refractive cloud. Of course this too would apply to Corban. Luckily for him he didn't need eyes to see! Ishtalle was more than capable of spotting an ant from several dozen yards, and the similarity between herself and the diamond storm allowed each particulate shard to become a remote sensor she could co-opt with the earth mage at will. He was still watching with all the same precision that doctors were famed for."I'm afraid to say I won't be turning back. I will compost this land in a circle of life and bring this country back to its former splendor, and...."

The diamond shards had finished amassing in the man's palm, a shy spark melding them into a eutactically smooth 250 carat monstrosity. Clenching his fist around the biggest wedding rock you've ever seen, the dual life-systems pulsing through his veins pulsed power into the rainbow bauble. "Don't think you're going to stop me!"

Just as both would finish their speeches, corban would flick-fire the tankbuster. Its density immense, its cross-section small, the bauble was railgunned across the 100 or so foot gap faster than any mortal could blink with all of the energy that could be squeezed out of a 2,500 calorie diet, displacing wind in a blast circle. A dispel sabot was placed upon it increasing its lethality two-fold, aimed to blow a hole through his book the same size as the hole that would be left in his sternum. Regardless of what quick-draw defense the man could muster, Corban figured he had it covered.

The diamond storm slowed its fluttering to a slow revolution, and the air around him seemed to chill, the earth about him slowly icing over[?].
Hidden 8 yrs ago Post by Dazsos
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For but a moment, Myron might be a bit doubtful of his opponent's accusation, before realizing both parties were ignorant of each other's context. Obviously nobody was smarter than the scribe's headmaster! Unimportant thoughts that didn't linger, the scholar wouldn't have any time to respond to the stubborn gem-wizard's remarks.

In the process of preparing himself for combat, Myron was stressed for time. He could concentrate on a couple things at once, however be unable to complete them all in strict deadlines. His arm waved fluidly, dividing focus between controlling the liquid around him, whilst preparing his book for war. His magic tome was heavily enchanted, so much that at least one of each and every rune he knew existed within its pages, even its cover was marked. To even open the book, he'd need to unlock the adamantine rune which would otherwise hold it at bind. Myron could compete for the title of 'luckiest wizard alive' when upon hearing the bursting sound of wind startled him enough to entice his reaction, however much in vain it was, he'd still leave mostly unscathed.

Immediately, the wizard swiped his wrist as quickly as he could, but the barrier rune would be erected too slowly, the fist sized gem would breach his defence, piercing through the freezing water halos to strike the enchanted tome dead-on. Any low-level codex would've been rendered useless in an instant, however Myron was prepared to face off against a possible destroyer of the world, so he came equipped for the job. Whether the gem would shatter or not, the pressure of impact would still cause the scribe's book to be thrust against his chest, forcing him to be launched backwards momentarily. Luckily his magical control over the book's sturdiness was greater than his less impressive physique, and the slanted edge of the adamant coated book would serve to redirect the attack behind Myron, along with the gem's slight grazing passing through a moving liquid circuit, thus dimming the blow just enough to save him from any serious damage.

An invisible bubble erected soon after the gem's passing, and Myron would find himself stumbling back, nearly forced against a side of his barrier. Had he been quicker on the draw, his most epic defence would've repelled such an attack with ease. Being short of breathe was the price he'd pay, to have a powerful barrier in place that his opponent would be entirely unaware of until the next move. Reality was somewhat displaced within the orbital zone, Myron would be unable to hear anything else spoken about or to him, since he was now divided from what was true to earth's domain. Spiritual magic would pass through, and perhaps that was the only exception. Sound and everything else that effected things physically were banished to the exterior.

After coughing twice, and realizing his life was spared by pure luck, Myron began to gather himself. He was not expecting such a quick attack to come out of an opposing barrier that could also deflect explosive power. There were many gimmicks to his opponent's attacks that needed to be analyzed, and a tactic made to compensate for their impressiveness. In case the gem-shaper could find a way to break this barrier particularly, Myron had to act fast. He had given himself some time, and the illusion of weakness. After regaining his balance from a knelt position, the scribe would thrust his quill forwards, and summon forth his first creation! What was once channeled silver water gathered before him in the shape of a large oval mask, nine feet in length, just tall enough to fit in the barrier when slanted. The mask wore a wide moon shaped grin, and eyes bore wide, the entire outline of each affixed with runes. Envisioning through the mask's right eye, Myron could extend his own sight. A dormant gaze of annihilation held in the left. A toothy grin drooled endlessly thanks to elemental runes seemingly eaten. All made on a palette fortified to adamantine strength. The process wouldn't take a minute, Myron was skillfully dexterous with his hands, especially when focusing all of his effort in to a project. His arm flailed furiously, as his quill want zigged and zagged as if he was a maestro conducting dubstep.

If by chance his opponent could not breach the dividing barrier by the time Myron finished his first creation, he would go on to form another; A mage like himself worked best on preparations, the kind he'd need to handle an opponent of this caliber. Working diligently, the scribe accessed the mask's eye to keep track of any other attacks made in the meanwhile.
Hidden 8 yrs ago 8 yrs ago Post by Divinity
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Summoner, interrupted.

The speed and density of they flying crystal would allow it to punch through concrete at the sacrifice of perhaps a fourth of its penultimate energy. A wall of water no more than perhaps a few inches thick at best would cost far less. As for the book? Its adamantine rigidity would prove to work against him! It only took approximately 357 joules of force to crack bones, and the diamond tankbuster was easily carrying quadrouple that. The book, far harder than average human bone, would be transferred a great deal of that energy to impact his unprotected sternum with enough force to rattle the rib-cage quite profoundly, if not totally crack or break it. He'd be suffering far more than just being short of breath.

His enemy hurt and brought to his knees, Corban had precious time that he was loathe to waste. The diamond storm around Corban came to a full stop and twinkled like tiny star children for a fraction of a second before they rained back to the earth around him. The earth mage would steel his stance, gripping his weapon with arctic-blue hands from the icing winds. The ground was depressed several inches with an icy crunch as he began to close the distance between them. Experience taught him to err on the side of caution, and he held no delusions that his speed was baffling, but surely nothing to scoff at. It would be a few moments before he would reach his target, but with his enemy dealing with several broken or cracked bones, that would hardly be an issue.

With a twist of the wrist he'd stab his drill forward when a little less than double his height from the enemy. He did not know for sure the man had a barrier erected, but he'd surely noticed when the man was struck by his diamond shot that he was knocked into something. He was considerably more prepared than he would have been otherwise without that damning tell. The channeled antimagics would encounter each-other with similar laws as when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object; Cancellation. The barrier and antimagic spear would be casted away, leaving corban with only a fullerene-articulating pole whom's tip had elongated into a needle-like spike, aimed directly for the man's head. There would be no time for a fancy, fully fledged summon. Not when death was quite literally knocking down your door. Summoners shined when given time to do their bidding. Without time, a summoner was no more than a child pretending to be Harry Potter. Who was notoriously bad at summons, anyhow.
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Mild bruising would tell the tale of damage truly being dealt, however Myron was a healer, and could ignore pain whilst fighting, on top of this, many little extra somethings saved the day for him. The force of the attack had diminished greatly thanks to being pushed off course initially by constantly pressured water, then striking the book at such an angle that most of its kinetic force was not met head on. Next up, the vials on Myron's chest. These things saved him from a lethal blow, and strangely enough, as he coughed and noticed no blood spilled, he'd be saved from grief. How he gathered so much water for an assumed 'summon,' was something nor he, or the opponent would've noticed. All the mirror reflections really did dull the visual senses.

Whence the book struck his chest, it shattered a few vials of his silver ink, which poured outwards viciously with the pressure you'd expect from compressed space being suddenly unlocked. The force was enough to counter what was sent through the book, and out of it formed an amassed amount of liquid so great, it encompassed Myron's vision completely, leaving him ignorant of his surroundings momentarily.

A second to glance down, the scribe realized he had been pushed far back, to the point where he was no longer actually inside of his own barrier. If the gem struck him so quickly, his rune wouldn't have erected fast enough to catch him. He didn't feel the back of his barrier, and so he assumed he was still inside. Within the barrier, where the vial initially exploded, blobs of silver water sprayed about, giving off the illusion that Myron was doing his work within its premise. The shattered runic vial remained within, and continued to pump a stream that blocked even Myron's own vision. The barrier was invisible to all eyes, but once Myron looked through the eye of the mask he had created, he'd realize what had happened. Being so used to water rushing all around him, he hardly noticed at all! His book was now trapped within the confines of his barrier, and he only survived the attack because his body absorbed the impact by being sent afar. Water was his body, though, and dexterous he was, he landed well, leaving skid marks in the dirt, and got up just as planned. His foe charged, overestimating the damage dealt, and the speed of a scribe's hand.

Now arose a situation somewhat different than expected by either fighter, yet it could still serve Myron well. At first he would feel as though he had a problem to fix, his book had been trapped in that darned barrier! There was only really one way to destroy that kind of barrier, a kind not of magical or physical fashion. Corban would find his weapon being sent astray, and the defense lowered, however that wasn't because of a double-cancellation, it was because Myron took the time to point his quill at the right part of his barrier, and unlocked it instantly afterwards.

The icy silver water which gathered broke free and poured forth, coating the ground rapidly, it soaked the earth turning it in to a mushy mud, and then continued to splay out in a very large radius quite quickly. If Corban indeed pressed onwards in hopes to attain an easy win, he would find his feet sloping and being sucked in to the liquid. Eventually the water would lay low enough for the image of a book to be seen floating out from where Myron should've been. Beyond the book, fifteen feet or so away, a large grinning face mocked all who witnessed.

From beyond the invision rune, Myron closed his left eye and saw his opponent's stance. He was so deft with his hands, he would've easily created his mask in time. Now, he had something to work with against such a foe, but stuck in close quarters combat, he had little time to make another monstrosity. Now that he had a large amount of water to work with, it would be easier for him to do the following...

One stabbing motion with the quill wand, and the giant puddle came to life! From beneath Corban, icicle spikes arose at an alarming speed meant to penetrate every vital organ at once, and then every non-vital organ! Excess water would spray from the sides, in an attempt to wrap around and strike Corban from behind and even above. A fully encompassing attack!

The book slid off to the left, where it slowly began to rise as if given a life of its own. If the freezing water spears didn't work, which given Corban's impressive defenses, they might not, Myron would need to add on attacks from more angles. The book opened up to a good page, and faced the foe instantly, whilst holding dormant but ever present. The great mask continued to grin, and clear water poured from its mouth adding to the masses. The silver stream grew greater and greater, from two broken vials, and more from the scribe's waistline. All of this, and Myron still wasn't reaching the limit of his divided attention.
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There was an audible pang as Corban's sigil-turbines fine point was repelled away from an invisible surface, an interaction that taught the earth-mage several vital key points of information. The barrier wasn't magical in nature. He would have seen it ages ago if it were, and his turbine would have chigirized it into dust. To boot, it seemed it wasn't wholly physical either. Beyond the fact that the halo of light would bypass physical objects no differently than a ghost, the repel wasn't like striking against a physical object, something Corban had grown very accustomed to. It was repelled in the manner that magnets or particles repelled one another; without ever needing to physically interact.

It seemed times had truly changed. People had sidestepped the conventional antimagic and magic setups entirely due to years of infighting, and appeared to have decided to use something entirely separate to leverage their weaknesses. Functionally, It was similar to his own Kinetic Barrier, yet lacked any of the conceivable drawbacks. Milky crimson eyes suddenly wizened with focus and realization upon divining the barriers nature, but by then it was too late.

In hindsight, Dazsos should have been worried. The diamond storm from earlier was not simply a show of power or lion chested boast, but a clever feint that hid Corban's actions -and himself- from sight. During the storm, Corban had receded under the earth, throwing up an earth clone in his place that could be remotely controlled through his affinity for the element. So long as his feet remained on the ground, Corban could sense and control it like an extension of himself without suffering any of the lag common amongst most remote controllers. It was as close to a perfect recreation as any human was capable of, down to the smudges of dirt on his robes. Even if Myron possessed preturnatural tracking abilities there was no guarantee he'd see through the feint, given Ishtalle worked marvelously as a metameterial!

Speaking of surprises, the clone had one of its own! As the great-lance was deflected, the force delivered back was enough to trigger the doppelgängers' spell-trigger. Its thoracic hydraulically bursted forward, releasing the source of the rapidly growing tundra about him; a metamagical hyper-cryogenic fluid that would explode outward in a wide 30 foot radius, taking all of the water that Myron thought appropriate to assault him with and freeze it into more of itself. In terms of explosions, instead of washing the land in scalding kinetic energy, it drew it all away. Everything caught within would be frozen in time, which very well could include his book! Lightning and fire could dent, but never melt the structure, as their bite was considerably lessened. The air just above the barrier was now crowned in half an igloo, shimmering prismatically like beautiful crystal.

Simultaneously, the real Corban would make his dazzling re-entry, but from where? The most logical, and only possible place; beneath Myron! The earth beneath him parted like sand and made an opening just large enough for Ishtalle's matte-black sheathe to pass through as it was shot with no small amount of force to strike Myron at point blank range in the solar plexis. Given laws of physics and the angle of the shot, unless Myron weighed over 300 lbs, even if he blocked he'd be sent skyward, with either his bones or the sheathe shattering and splintering. Ishtalle's refractive Damascus-like edge followed almost immediately after, both blade and master geared to shishkabob him through the back. Surrounded by carboniferous material, Corban was wrapped in a thin, but resistant shell of ceramic-coated diamond, ishtalle's blade sluicing through a blade-sized slit in the phalanx. From this angle, even if his book wasn't caught in the tundra, both his body and his barrier would be in the way. Even if he dropped his barrier, the air that had iced over was thin, but incredibly resilient, and also in the way. It would take a whole second or two too many to call the book back to his side or alter its positioning enough to have any real effect on Corban's actions.
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Myron watched the scene unfold from beyond the shield of a mask he guarded himself with. His mind began to race, he cycled through tactics to use against such an up-front opponent. He was smart enough to respond under such quick notice, and his feel for the world aided his insight. Something was off, and he only had a smidgen's worth of understanding that he could implore, until things picked up.

Witness now, the fact that Myron too is a geomancer, just like Corban, however not as epic in skill; he could feel the earth's ambience call out to him. He could already assume the grandeur of his foe's carbokinesis, due to how quickly the opponent summoned forth earth, and how quickly it transmuted. In the back of his head, the scribe constantly worried himself over the threat of earth based magics, such as stalagmites popping up underneath him, or a fissure to draw him in.

Then came the strange explosion. Myron could feel it grasp at his silver blood, attempting to annex his control. His water would petrify briefly, however the bulk of the water and its magical force would delay the blast's radius enough to savour Myron from capture, and the Account of Symbols and Stories, though Myron had too little time to actually use his book right now, he'd toss it aside and react as quickly as he could to the immediate situation.

Tremors in the earth revealed Corban's path, but Myron needn't rely on these to know that something was coming from below. There was no other possible angle of attack! The crystal-wizard was nowhere to be seen. Timely dealings with earth magi convinced the scribe's next instinct action, which was to immediately jump back a bit, whilst relocating his mask so that it would slip underneath him. At its current angle, it could protect from any attack aimed from below. As the water that once coated Myron's feet began to funnel in to a hole in to the ground, an audible clash of metals could be heard, from the meeting of Ishtalle's sheath, and the adamant durability of Myron's mask. The combined weight of Myron and his nine foot tall shield of perpetually frozen water exceeded three hundred pounds, and thus, he would not fly skyward whence struck, neither the first or second time. The scribe knelt on top of his shield, with his quill readily pointed downwards.

The tricky part here would be Myron's reply to such an up-front attack. The esti already knew where the attacks would come from, however he had a rather specific trick on how to lock in on enemies without needing his eyes. Firstly, he'd angle the shield so specifically, upon feeling a strange presence beneath him. Secondly, he could literally scan the ground as well, as a geomancer readily focused on their whereabouts, and a blood mage who could feel for outside life. Corban's magical and genetic trace was strange, and inhuman, however it was not that uncommon, it resembled an iomancer's, or some kind of fairy. Split seconds passed, when Myron was sure his aim was true, he released the power of a second disintegration ray. At a point blank distance, dodging or blocking the attack both would prove incredibly difficult without preparations, and the beam traveled about as quickly as a gun could fire a bullet. The blast would pierce diamonds and dirt alike with ease, annihilation in a straight path aimed through Corban's chest and progressing nearly a hundred feet deeper where it would then explode fiercely, sucking up a well of dirt and mud with it. Myron made sure to activate his rune as quickly as possible, not even a second after the sheath struck, with mindful anticipation.

Regardless of success or failure, Myron wasn't about to rely on one spell to save the day, he always worried, and thus always created a means to fall back safely. The black ink that gathered around his person took the shape of large lanky hands in an instant, both slapping the ground below and spreading like wildfire. Runic circle would swiftly appear, and begin to fill in with precision, ignoring a lack of foundation due to Myron's skill at levitating the ink. It would appear as though the black hands were lifting Myron and his mask off the ground as well, however this too was simply control magic. Free were his own hands, so the scribe equipped another vial from his pouch and would quickly toss it around his mask and in to the hole formed by his beacon of nihil.
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Blade and beam would contact one another for a split moment before the force of a channeled disjunction meeting the volatile energy caused an explosion that would knock corban several meters back, leaving a foot-deep, three foot wide impact crater. With a focused precision-blast of wind made-pool-cue, he shot himself some good forty extra feet away like a runaway billiard ball. Steaming irrigation canals detailed his flight path, and as the hamster ball rolled to a quick stop, the extent of the beam had been made known. Corban had recalled the disjunction used just moments prior and set it upon Ishtalle to sublimate a decent portion of the beams energy into a wave of sugars and salts that would wash over either combatant like a warm wave of summer. The spare energy diffused into kinetic slipstreams that would punch through several patches of his barrier and robes, burning his left shoulder and right rib in minimal coverage second-degree burns.

Fingers thoughtfully touched over one of the several holes in his robes as he ruminated for half a moment on his mistake, water pooling around his burns as the graphene threads sewed themselves shut over top of them. He was not green to pain, but the touch still made him flinch ever so slightly. Traps like that rarely found purchase. This one almost did, and he acknowledged that fact. His tactics and thinking would need to reflect this development. "Hm, I was being careless..." he said, more to himself than anyone else as he clenched his free hand into a fist. "That won't be happening again."

The first half of the circuit was already complete, albeit somewhat damaged. All that was left to do was finish it. In a flash of violet flame the air around the coccoon crystallized, material filling its broken gaps as it amalgamated in arcing lightning feelers into a complex reinforced diamond-oxygen chrysalis. It was further insulated against magical forces, owing to its already natural spell-resistance and was home to roughly a million carats. The shadow within shrunk marginally, hair exploding forth like ribbon sillhouettes. The operation lasted all but two and a half seconds, and only when the chrysalis collapsed, its fuel spent, was the truth revealed.

Where once stood a man there now was a woman, hanging robes altered aesthetically into a black and white trimmed, ankle-length jacket with metal-plated gloves woven onto the sleeves. The set even came complete with a wonderful wide-brimmed and pointed hat. The overall aesthetic made her look like a pretty, albeit dangerous dark sorceress, something befitting the so-called "world destroyer". The light-blue blade-flesh that lay beneath was infused with the disjunction that had been placed on Ishtalle, properly owing to her title as a Gestalt. Crimson eyes were now cerulean blue, and brown locks seemed to float as if submerged in water.

The sword, now inexorably connected to the host body[1] was perfectly recreated before her, dumped into the earth blade-first. Creating carbon-copies of herself was no issue for the half of the equation that was Ishtalle within the new body, so long as they were summoned within a two meter radius. 'Crystal', as this body was lovingly named, circled her hand, wrenching it from its place without haptic contact as it returned to her. Taking a Gedan-Kamae stance, her free hand amassed the remaining crystals from her incubator into a fused, multicolored hollow centerpiece. With a flick of the wrist, she tossed it skyward where it vanished into the wild clouds of the storm.

"Prepare yourself with whatever amenities you like, mage. For you shall need them all!" she said before craning her head back and summoning forth her best impression of an evil laugh. If she were to be hunted down for some unnamed villainy, she may as well play the part straight and true! Myron's master may have been able to see the future, but it didn't take a clairvoyant to know that the flow of the battle was about to change.

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Atmospheric pressure hinted towards the clash of powerful magical forces, droves left in the field deterred from the initial path, whilst a single hole bore in to the ground where the impact was met. There was no doubt in Myron's mind, that he had caught his opponent off guard, but the ever looming presence of lifeforce unveiled Corban's survival and whereabouts. Dust kicked up between the magi, caused from two separate explosions, shrouding the naked eye's view. Myron could feel a vague presence a good distance away, honing a nexus to magic. His mask would slide out from under him, so that it was fully facing the gem wizard in case of a sucker-punch styled riposte. To be frank, Myron was very impressed that his opponent survived.

Fluidly connecting his own spells and giving momentum to craft, Myron chained together his offense with preparation of a new defense. One of his runes was being fortified at his feet whilst the laser beam met a powerful disjunction, and that engraving would be complete before the explosions even kicked in. To begin a long process, such as the one creatively imagined in Myron's head, he'd need to begin with the one rune, which embodied the aspects of meditation and universal connectivity; he'd become highly attuned to his surroundings in an instant of its creation, as long as he stood within the vicinity. His next many spells would come at a heightened speed, so much so, that it would be obvious that something changed for Myron. His new awareness applied to all things affixed to his magicka, and so drawing back his tome to face him, and force-melting the dome of silver liquid before came as childsplay. Much of the immediate ground had been completely coated in a silver liquid, even from the hole bored, a vial had been tossed down, paired with the broken vial now opened again by the kinetic freezing's wearing off, a seemingly endless silver stream veiled the earth and reflected the sun's rays back.

Clear water poured out from two vials located at Myron's back, they coiled around to his front quickly, and spread out wide and tall, forming two crystal clear wings when frozen, each perfectly encompassing a front-to-back view of the scholar. If any could see him, they'd bare witness to his deft handiwork, swiftly clipping six runic cards from his vestment, and flicking them all away. The flat side of each rune pressed tight against the inside of his wings, and with a steady mind, Myron extracted the ink of each card and pasted it on to his wings at six different key spots. Using the cards would hasten an adamantine enchantment, allowing the scholar to focus his wand-hand elsewhere, he'd have much to prepare, and his opponent was taking his/her sweet time transforming, using her free time to boast and laugh. Myron would be able to complete his runic defense measures before his opponent was done scoffing at him, and then continue to bolster it afterwards.

From between the ice wings and the now frozen landscape, black hands slithered below icy wings and contorted beyond normality, they reached out symmetrically to either side of Myron, and each clawed the earth with all five fingers, both in a clockwise fashion that circled the scribe, and tainted the ice black. Five runic circles would be drawn, and the ink would reshape in to methodical patterns as quickly as they were etched in to the ice. The circle drawn by the thumbs closest to Myron were the only discord in an otherwise identical pairing of runes, and their effects would be activated first and foremost; Another adamant mark, this time much larger, recreating the ground at Myron's feet in to a humongous, nearly indestructible ice rink, denying most latent attacks from below. The latter four runes would remain dormant for tactical reasons, they would compose the scribe's greatest defense.

Every second that Crystal wasted speaking or laughing, Myron used to further his personal agenda. Wit and words didn't work in the beginning, and using them now would waste the artist's enlightened focus and inspiration. The dust in front of both wizards only covered so much, Myron was as observant as can be, and his exterior eye was quick to catch on to what could be a feint, a ball of some sort shooting straight up in to the sky. If it were aimed to fall back down on Myron's head, he'd be ready for it.

The last rune to begin formation would begin its growth above Myron's head, where he amassed an aquatic halo, which soon filled in with a variety of complex symbols. It'd be done before the crystal ball fell down, if that was the target path. Although taking the appearance of an angel may seem transposing to the divines, the shapes and forms were more useful than aesthetic. The wings covered every angle from front-to-back, and having six separately marked areas for two wingspans, coverts, and patagiums, meant they were malleable. A halo would guard from the equivocal chance of a meteor shower. Strange cosmic glitter would eventually be visible inside of the crowning rune, if seen from above.

Wandering through thoughts, worries, and the ephemeral doubt, Myron's omni-coloured eye grazed over his magical tome as its hundreds of pages flipped and turned without a licked thumb peeling them. Every moment was a mayfly's eternity, and needn't be wasted on a single wrong move. Ever studious, the scribe began researching alternative runes written throughout his book, in the hopes that he'd find a spell actually capable of breaking his opponent's surreal level of defence. He remembered his old reflect and varied enchantment runes quickly, they might serve a purpose, but likely wouldn't do much without a trap to impose their effects. The greater rune might enhance a beacon of nihil to actually pierce those gems, but raw power hadn't worked so far. Whilst the halo filled in, Myron's quill-wielded hand twisted and flicked aimed upright, and his other hand hovered over the book. "Aha!" Myron began to take mental notes on the runes needed to invoke a couple new idioms, which were ones he had already memorized long ago. The correct combinations were trivial, but far from impossible. And to think, the scribe was actually reading a book in the middle of a life or death scenario.
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Kings and Lords oft turtled inside their fortresses, stuffing their faces in the dining hall as their soldiers fought the wars and risked their lives. This was a particular scene that came to Crystal as she watched the man build his bulwarks. He clearly didn't want her anywhere near him, and she understood exactly why: If she were any other fighter, she wouldn't want Crystal anywhere near her either. It was the smarter thing to do when met with an adversary like herself, but it was always a drag to deal with. Either way, his defenses weren't her primary focus. One who specializes in building fortresses would logically also specialize in tearing them down. She was already knee-deep in a plan to have them dealt with. With a super-shunted hop, ten more meters were placed between them.

Initiative was not high on either side, as to take it would also give up ones position and strategy. It was as clear as the ringing of a crystal goblet that this was going to quickly devolve into a zero-sum game. However, Crystal was a different class of mage. Even her passive actions could become considerably more active with some lateral thinking.


System Loading...
CorbiOS System online...
Crystal Booster Array activated...
Bose-Einstein Condensate on standby...
Drain initiated.



High above the battlefield there was a change in the local weather, timed with her shunt. Whether it was the precipitation of either magi's unique brands of magic interacting with the similar veins of the storm, or some other process*, the results were totally natural. The temperature dropped by several degrees as hot air rose to fill a cold void in the sky -a supercell updraft-. As colder air descended in response, anyone versed in basic earth science would be able to predict what would happen next: The quick forming of a tornadoes tell-tale tail that would touch earth in under a single moment. Spanning a girth of 25 feet(landing just over the halfway point), the swirling F2 would pull any free water or material near Myron, perhaps including his pretty halo into its ravenous vortex, and bore a wind strong enough to snap trees and force vehicles to play bumper-cars. The fact he was standing on a frictionles surface like ice would mean keeping his footing would be a greater problem. Regardless of what weight those impractical ice wings added, chances are he'd still be lifted into it in quite a fit of irony as well.

With whipping winds readily available, and the thunderstorm implying high moisture, she procured from the field, trapping air and water in a large den of bubbles that began to pop into existence before her, slowly inflating like balloons. Despite their whimsical nature, make no mistake: they were as dangerous as a lit molotov next to a gas heater.

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Myron never really believed in multi-tasking, it was always assumed that an individual could either put his whole focus in to one thing expertly, or divide that concentration, and create far from perfect results; however, if such a thing existed, he'd need to call upon its all mighty powers here and now.

The air seemed moody, a first sign of the opponent's move. With a newfound affinity for this forgotten land, it was impossible not to notice. Not finished reading his book, yet unwilling to be rid of his position, Myron would need to counter whatever was headed his way, and before the tornado could fully develop. Reaching swiftly in to his front robe pocket, one hand, three cards, a quick glance down to ensure each had the correct markings. The other hand finished engraving a symbol upside down in to the astral halo. As the gender fluid wizard leaped back, Myron opened a gap in his wings just small enough to fit having those three enchanted cards flicked out at high speeds. In two broad swings, and a half pivot, he sent them off spinning. Two would be directed forwards in to the gap between fighters, the third flew far in the opposite direction. Each held an adamant enchantment, and thus wouldn't sog or be ripped apart instantly, however these specific cards had additional effects; two held miniature rifts that weren't yet pathed, the third was empowered with antimagic. The anti-magicked card had an odd trajectory, aimed upwards at the gem in the sky, its use was strictly scientific. Elemental magic was often the hardest to nullify, due to it being primarily physical in nature, or the magic being a push behind the scenes. The card's job was cutting the tether between magic and air, perhaps dulling the tornado once caught. The in-battle rift rune would land closer to Myron, just beyond the borders of his furthes rune ring, he'd flash-freeze the card in to a puddle of water, so that it wouldn't be sucked in to the tornado.

Sparing absolutely no time in-between actions, Myron simultaneously slashed his quill wand downwards, pointing it's catalyst forwards, he'd hurl his halo at the ground where the tornado would land. The final markings enacted an idiom known as Stare In To The Abyss, a powerful vortex comprised of high powered gravity augmentation, drawing everything in to a cosmic rift. The tornado, being formed from sky to earth, would be sucked straight in to the void where only extremophiles may survive, whatever air pressure was left over would hardly be as dangerous.

Whatever the case, every precaution formed another layer in the great defense, and without his crown, Myron feared for his skull. Always fluid in motions, Myron's quill was pointing exactly where he wanted it to be at the end of its vertical slice, so he'd give it a good wrist-twist and unlock a barrier rune, formed by the ring finger in his ink hand's first spread. A lot was going on, however given his good insight, Myron would be left unscathed by the end of the action. The wind, although widespread and powerful, would be mitigated enough not to peel the frozen etchings of rune words off of the ice rink. Water, dust, and rocks flailed about, however the angelic wings were enough to block the debris. Whilst attached to his giant wings, the scribe was at least heavy enough to endure being pushed out of his bullseye, although he might slide a smidgen. With the barrier now in effect, Myron would be allowed the peace and quiet necessary to finish reading his book, whilst finishing up his enchantments at the same time.

Every second spared, Myron grew more powerful, soon enough he'd be able to match his opponent's prowess, however right now he understood his limits, and knew he'd lose this fight if unprepared. Based on the intelligence level of his opponent, Myron figured she knew and would fight to stop his stalling. The tornado was an excellent tactic, if it succeeded it'd rid the scribe of his defensive positioning, and deny him access to freely moving his ink creations. His barrier was something of a good-measure, if anything went wrong. Only after the barrier's erection, could he freely move his ink hands again, which would begin the process of clawing the area even closer to him, forming five more blank runic circles, fitting a total of eleven within the perameters of roughly fifty feet. The first idiom he'd call upon now, one of his trump cards, the Time-Space Paradox, he'd etch it in to the circle formed by his ink-hand's pinky finger, during it's second sweep. Once activated, in its current flip, the idiom would speed up time within the controlled area, creating a perfect situation for any mage who requires massive preparations.

In his natural habitat, the arcane scholar can often be found reading, writing, or bending the laws of reality to fit their needs! Here we have Myron, a younger male scribe trapped in between several natural disasters. Unlike many other classes, magi keep their wit and composure when facing danger. Watch as Myron enacts all the actions of your typical arcane scholar. Doodling a rune in his book? Check. Reading literature? Check. Readying a riposte most deviantly and magically so? Check!

A flood amassed within the dividing barrier, it would mark the beginning of a transformation. Myron would become veiled from Crystal's sight, and vice versa, however the mask from earlier would give the scribe vision beyond his beseiged castle. It's levitation stopped the minute that barrier formed, due to the division of Myron's own magical control. Its effects, however, defied space, so Myron might be able to witness a 1st person tornado ride in 3d, whilst not actually being present.

Hidden from sight, unhindered, Myron geared himself for the battle ahead with extreme haste. A second halo would form, whilst silver ice coated his body and took the shape of full plate armour. From measly scholar to a knight in shining armour. A scribe in shining water. As large globs of liquid were chiseled in to an arsenal hovering around his body; Roughly five round shields, and a dozen frozen battlestaves were formed, each with a different animal shaped headpeace. Each and every weapon or armour would require an adamantine enchantment, this action would likely go uninterrupted, however as quick as Myron was when empowered by meditation and sped up time, enchanting was a process that took effort. Seconds might pass, each one meant so much to the scribe. The adamant mark was one he had extensive practice with, it didn't strain his concentration. Each battlestaff would eventually bare a mark in the mouth or along the handle, and each would be empowered with the kind of magic you'd expect of a typical spell-slinging staff. The shields too would be enchanted beyond just physical protection, in entirety, his arsenal would require nearly every rune he knew, thus is why he needed time on his side. To ensure his actions weren't seen, Myron coated the inside of his barrier's wall with a curved sheet of ice.

Beyond the fortification, the flash-frozen landscape may chip, and ice shards would begin flying about rapidly if Crystal continued to empower her tornado. The bubble-bombs around her might be popped prematurely, due to the massive area-of effect attack of hers, and the fact there would be debris flying everywhere. Myron judged that he might lose his mask and antimagic card in his own vortex, however this was a price he was willing to pay.
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