Antediluvixen

The Dust

Good post, all we're missing is fire to join the rumble aha.

@Aeonumbra

Indeed, and quite a rumble it shall be.

The Dust

Finally have an IC post up.

The Dust

The heat retardant suit only did so much to ward off the inescapable heat. Sweat beaded and rolled down her face and body in torrents. She carefully manipulated the controls, watching as the vessel of steel made its way to the furnace for melting. She adjusted another control, watching as the lid of the blast furnace lifted up, exposing the glowing metal within. The white hot glow of the molten steel dimmed everything else in the factory, she squinted at the controls, trying to make out which was which. Looking up, she saw that the container of unmelted steel was in position, and tugged the release lever. To her horror, any splashing that might have occured was obscured by a giant cloud steam, only barely visible in the extreme light. “Get back!” She screamed fruitlessly at the other workers, inaudible over the hiss of steam and roar of the furnace. She found the small necklace around her neck and clutched it tight, running as fast as her legs could ca- The furnace exploded with a deafening blast, molten steel erupting as the platform she’d been on only seconds ago was engulfed in angry flurries of metal. Globs of steel flew from the furnace and buried two people, she couldn’t see their faces, but she knew they were screaming. She glanced back in terror as the furnace erupted again, belching out more globs of molten met- She screamed shrilly as she fell writhing to the ground covered in steel. The suit was no use, it burned straight through, vaporizing chunks of her body as it blasted off of every exposed inch of her in explsions of steam and glowi- Vladimira gasped as her eyes shot open revealing no molten metal, no exploding furnaces, no screams. Just sand. She wasn’t dead. Wasn’t dying covered in molten metal. The harsh noon day sun beat down from on high as she pushed aside the flap of the small tent. Ideally she’d have slept until it began to darken and she could travel with the cool air of the night instead of the scorching kiln that was Dust at midday. She grumbled as she crawled back into the tent, it was much nicer inside it, shaded by a small hillock as it was. She dragged her rucksack and rifle out, resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep for a while. “Getting more frequent.” She sighed to herself, folding up the tent. It was probably a good thing she’d woken when she did anyway. There were always Forsaken or bandits who would welcome the chance to rob her blind or try enslaving her while she slept. Which would have turned out poorly for them regardless. ______________________________________ Vladimira was scrounging around in an old car she’d glimpsed in the distance, stripping it of anything useful, including some parts of the steel chassis that appeared to have more or less escaped rust. There wasn’t much in there, some old 9mm rounds next to what had probably been a handgun at some poin next to the hand of the skeleton splayed haphazardly in the front seat, a single spent casing lying on the floor. There were some things of at least marginal use; some copper wiring, the aforementioned 9mm bullets for use as money, and… a lot of canned food. She pulled herself out of the car, examining the cans she’d found in a plastic lined bag. Ham, corn, rice, bread, all in all there were maybe ten cans of varying sizes. She wondered if their contents were even remotely edible… they probably weren’t, maybe she’d trade them for something more useful, she had some food already. The copper wiring might be useful for someone doing electrical work or something, it wasn’t her area of expertise. The scrap metal of the car though, that definitely pleased her. Good quality old world stuff too. She examined a chunk of it in her hands, near as she could tell, it was a high carbon alloy. Definitely much nicer than the scrap she usually fou- Clods of dirt kicked up next to her as short bursts of staccato gunfire sounded from nearby. She glanced around wildly, looking for a direction. More gunfire from what seemed a cluster of boulders near a small hill convinced her to shelter behind the engine block of the old car. She pulled Comrade over her head, disengaging the safety. Sliding to a stop behind the chassis, she peeked out from behind it to get a better look at the hill and its cluster of boulders. The sun was too bright to see any muzzle flash, but she could see who was shooting at her just fine. She might not have been close enough to get a nice up close view of the whites of their eyes, but she could easily tell they were Forsaken. Fucking tribal raiders. Several shots hit the car, forcing her to duck down as one buried itself in the engine block uncomfortably close to her face. Risking a glance back up, she noticed a couple of them appeared to be running towards her, though she couldn’t see what they carried on them. She hefted Comrade, propping the rifle up on the car. There were three Forsaken running at her, and two more still shooting at her. Just as she was about to put a bullet in one of them a sudden pain hit her in the back, stunning her momentarily. She whirled around once her head had cleared, barely catching another punch from a sixth Forsaken on the armored bit of her glove. Eyes blank and unseeing, gentle rivulets of blood flowing down a spike of steel. Two belt pouches flew open, their contents floating out and hovering between her and the Forsaken. The scrap metal clumped together in a jagged spike of steel as she clenched a fist. Gripping the Forsaken’s arm, she twisted it sharply and brought her knee to his gut, a sardonic smirk on her face as she heard his elbow crack. Flipping him into the door of the car she drove the spike of steel into his neck, pinning him there like a macabre wall ornament. Another Forsaken ran at her screaming and swinging an old rusted axe. Bloodied steel. One outstreched hand spasming limply. A crimson puddle slowly leaking out…Ducking his wild swings, she rolled over the hood now pockmarked with bullet holes. She gripped the hood of the car and ripped it off, sending it flying at him. The piece of steel wrapped around the Forsaken as she opened her hand, and crushed him to a bloody pulp as she clenched it. She grinned maliciously at the crunch of bones and the lumpy red stream pouring from the hole in the bottom. She twirled the bloody steel burrito in the air with grim amusement before letting it fall to the ground. Pulling her Tokarevs she faced the next Forsaken, screaming at the top of her lungs as she charged with an old piece of pipe. Slumped against a rock, spasming gently. Brilliant red blood slowly oozing into the sand from the bullet holes in her chest. Vladimira pulled the triggers, blasting bits of lead and copper into the charging Forsaken, driving her boot into the face of the woman as she fell in front of her. A white hot spike of pain shot from her leg as the last Forsaken to run at her from the hill sank his knife into her thigh. Throwing her body weight on him, she tore his hand off the knife and pulled it out of her leg. He kicked her in the gut, winding her as he pushed her off. Pulling another knife from his belt, his eyes widened in shock as both that knife and the one he’d lost shot towards him, burying themselves in his chest. Vladimira breathed a sigh of relief, cut short as more rounds impacted the sand near her. She scrambled for the cover of the car’s engine block, grabbing her pistols as she did so. Comrade was still there, and now there wasn’t anything to contend with in a melee. She hefted the rifle, laying it on the engine as she took aim at the two Forsaken shooting at her. One of them looked to be in the middle of reloading, and the other seemed to be fumbling with a bolt. Lining up her sights with the reloding Forsaken, she squeezed the trigger, grinning as the figure crumpled. A bullet impacted close to her hand and she pulled back again, racking the bolt. She popped back up over the car, firing off a shot at the Forsaken and ducking back down again. Peeping over the top, she saw the sillouhette aiming in her direction and crouched back down. She crawled over to the other side of the car and leaned out, holding her breath as she gently squeezed the trigger. She didn’t check to see if the shot hit but dipped below the top of the car once more. ____________________________ The sun was beginning to set as Vladimira trudged across the desert, occasionally checking her compass to keep her bearings. The Forsaken hadn’t had much of worth on them, some dirty .45 ammunition and rifles that looked like they’d been scrapped together from pipes and rotten wood. Still, steel pipes she could use. She’d left the bodies of the Forsaken where they’d fallen, though she had taken the spike she’d used to kill the first one. Comrade was slung over her shoulder, she’d need to clean the rifle before she went to sleep tonight, pistols too. She reached up and turned on her headlamp, glancing around at the darkening landscape. The lights of Russel City stood out against the desert, only a few hours to go before she could sell off her salvage. _______________________ The Wings had seemed distracted when she passed through the gate, only throwing the barest of security checks at her. They hadn’t even asked her to remove her mask. Wonder what’s happened? Walking through the slums of Russel City, she noticed the people on the street had a different air than last time she’d been here. Something’s definitely happened. She crept across the streets, keeping a hand on one of her guns. The street up ahead was strangely empty except for a mishapen lump in the streetlight. What looked like a torn piece of rope hung forlornly from the same light. She neared the lump, an eyebrow raising as she came across a mutilated body, barely recognizable as such were it not for the skin and general shape. Her eyes fell on a portion of the lump of meat that was missing… Vladimira looked up and glanced about, then back down at the body. What the hell had happened here?

The Dust

Interesting hypothetical battles. Wonder how I can get myself embroiled right in the middle?

The Dust

Ah, good man (I presume). That does please me, as the events taking place are three stories about to converge into one total fucked up situation. Also, it just occurred to me. Jonathan, for example, has a unique piece of weaponry that could probably be controlled by Vladimira, like crumpling it, as do other characters and their weapons. How can we go about this so that you can't disarm the other immortals willy-nilly? Perhaps an added weakness, is my only real solution other than crippling the idea of your character by requiring 'tuning' (check the FAQ) This weakness would be that Valdimira cannot control anything another immortal is currently maintaining close proximity contact with. Like a holstered, or held weapon, perhaps their power interfering with Valdimira's own?

@Aeonumbra

I was thinking something similar, shouldn't be able to simply crush everybody's guns into so much scrap metal. I could maybe see her being able to overwhelm their power over the weapon if she got a physical grip on it perhaps? And also, I'm a woman. And FUBARs are fun! That's when the chaos starts!

The Dust

I was listening to this, while writing that most recent post. Welcome Mono, I look forward to having you. I hope you can catch up on all the posts that have happened because honestly, they're a bit important, but I don't expect you to read all of it in one go. I'm sure you could skip the first couple, up until you get to Darcs, she/he kind of set the ball rollings.

@Aeonumbra

I read them before I wrote the CS. Seems I ought to head for Russel City.

The Dust

Hey all, I'm new (obviously). I'm here because the world ensnared my attention and because it opened up. So yeah, looking forward to the mayhem this appears to be heading towards!

The Dust

Basics

Name: Vladimira Kovalik

Age: 21

Apparent Age: Early 20s

Height: 1.65 meters (5’ 4”)

Weight: 77 kilograms (170 pounds)

Eye Color: A pulsing red, like molten steel, her eyes have whites but no visible pupils. They glow, and the pulsing is in sync with her own heartbeat, and speeds up or slows down to match it. The glow dims if she weakens.

Hair Color: Her hair looks as if it is made of ultra thin steel wires, though it behaves just like normal hair.

Physical Disabilities: A noticeable limp in her right leg- from when she hit her leg with a hammer after missing a swing at a piece of metal she was working.

Physical Identifiers:
Eyes and hair
A large burn covers her lower right abdomen and upper thigh.
Her arms are pockmarked with scars of varying sizes.

Appearance: Vladimira is no beauty, but isn’t necessarily hard on the eyes either. Her steely hair is kept in a mid length ponytail, often tucked inside a shirt. Her face is rather hard, tempered by the heat of molten metal and welding arcs. Her eyes are obviously striking with their pulsing red glow, as is her hair, gleaming in whatever light there is. Her features are Slavic and rather unremarkable.

Despite her modest height, she has a rather burly upper body for a woman, with defined muscles evident on her arms and shoulders. Her welding goggles, fused to a gas mask, never seem to leave her face, though the glow of her eyes can be seen if one gets close enough and she doesn’t have the filters at their fullest.

Were she to remove her armor and mask, there is little that's striking about her appearance. Arms and upper body pockmarked with scars, burns, and ample muscle. A large bust (think ~38DD/38DDD Approximate bust size. Image contains boobs.) doesn't hurt her looks. Her hips defined more by the degree of muscle packed around them from carrying heavy loads than by any curve.

Background

Residence: Formerly Arclight, currently a small hole dug into the ground near some boulders and covered with a metal sheet and dirt for keeping the temperature survivable and for concealment. Located about midway between Arclight and Russel City.

Profession: Formerly a blacksmith/metalworker/welder, now essentially a traveling heavily armed handywoman/scavenger.

Aligned Faction: Neutral, but favors Motum Diversum.

Relatives:
Andronikov Kovalik- (Father, Alive, Accepting of his daughter’s powers)
Galina Kovalik- (Mother, Deceased)
Andrei Kovalik- (Brother, Unknown- presumed deceased.)

Backstory:

Vladimira Kovalik’s parents met each other in the sweltering heat of a manufactory, covered in protective leather that did nothing to shield them from the heat. Odd that two people could almost instinctively tell they liked each other while swapping jokes over grinding wheels and bandsaws.

After two years, they’d moved into their own welded together house and continued to turn scrap metal into something valuable, only now they always worked together.

Vladimira Kovalik was born roughly three years later, two years after her brother. Raised in the industrial town of Arclight, she took to metalworking like a duck to water as soon as she could walk, surprising both of her parents with her raw enthusiasm for the work, as well as the mechanical genius she seemed to have. She would stay up late at night, tinkering away at whatever her latest project was, be it an expanded magazine for some wandering scavenger’s rifle or a turbocharger fan. She loved to use her hands, refining parts to turn an old beat up scrap rifle into a borderline work of art, or operating ammunition presses, or welding a piece of steel to another piece of steel.

Her brother however, was just the opposite. He had no desire to stay indoors making guns and ammunition, he preferred to simply wander around, exchanging idle conversation with anyone and everyone. Whereas his sister’s obsession with machines limited her human contact to almost zero, only sometimes speaking with her family while eating, Andrei lived for meeting new people and longed to leave Arclight and do… anything.

Which is what he did.

One morning, only a week after her eighteenth birthday, Vladimira was woken to a strange sound… it was almost as if her mother was crying, and her father trying to comfort her.

It had been apparent to her that something was very wrong, and -her leg freshly broken due to her own foolishness with one of her hammers- she hobbled towards the direction of their voices to find a piece of ragged paper on a table, as well as her parents.

She had tentatively walked to the table and read the paper. The note was short and succinct, briefly covering his boredom with Arclight and desire to see the world. She’d put the note down then, and gone to inspect the small room he had called his own. It seemed as though all he’d taken had been some clothing, food, and water.

While his departure had little to no effect on her, she’d probably spoken fewer than a hundred words to him in her whole life, it shook her parents badly, especially her mother.

While Vladimira continued on like normal, perhaps a stray thought entering her mind now and then about how Andrei was doing, wherever he was, and her father seemed agitated whenever someone mentioned Andrei’s name to him, and he seemed to blame himself for not noticing his son’s wanderlust, her mother was the one truly hit hard.

Galina Kovalik would constantly fret about her son’s condition, it drove her to distraction, such that her attention would constantly drift away from what she was doing. For two years she lived like that.

One day, while working an ordnairy shift in the factories, Galina’s attention lapsed once more as she operated a ladle handling steel to be dumped in a crucible. Her husband and daughter were elsewhere, but they both heard the explosion, as well as everybody else in the factory. Sprinting as fast they could, they found five burned bodies thrown like ragdolls against various machinery covered in cooling steel, among them Galina, only indentifiable by the necklace clutched in an unburned hand.

Her father was devastated, becoming almost a shell of his former self, only seeming human around the only family he had left; and while her brother’s departure hadn’t affected Vladimira too much, her mother’s death did. She was continuously haunted at night by images of burned flesh and a hand clutching a necklace. She’d been withdrawn before, but afterwards she would spend entire days cooped up in a workshop working ferverishly on various things to keep her mind occupied. Her minimal human contact dropped even further, and enthusiasm for her work petered off too. If she stayed in the workshop she could pretend it hadn't happened. Close the door on reality, even if just for a little while.

Vladimira also couldn’t help but think on how close she’d come to death herself that day. She’d come down with a bad cold, or something like it, and had left the area around the crucible that would explode not soon after to clear her mask, as it had been dangerously fogging up and a small part of the visor was even covered in mucus. A simple cold was responsible for her not becoming a sixth body, but she’d also been there keeping her mother’s mind focused and helping her operate the machinery. The same cold might’ve also been responsible. She knew her mother’s mind had wandered, Galina would always hold the little necklace in her hands and pray for her son when her mind wandered…

It shook her to the core to think her mother might be dead because she had left to clean her visor. She felt like everybody she saw, not that she saw many people, were all silently judging her, accusing her of being responsible for the explosion, especially the families of the other dead.

A few days after her cold seemed to peak and then retreat she lay in her bed in the pitch darkness, hands idly fumbling with some wires to keep her mind occupied- but for some reason it wasn’t, not completely. A pulsing red glow illuminated a small area in front of her eyes, much to her confusion.

She’d sat up, looking for the source of the light, but didn’t see any. Laying back down, the glow returned, right in front of her eyes, almost like they themselves were glowing.

She’d bolted upright then, staring at her hands as she brought them to her eyes and brought them away again.

Stumbling from the bed she’d grabbed the only mirror they owned, more of a shard of an old one, but it still worked. Her eyes, those were the first things she noticed. They looked like small discs of red hot metal, almost glowing white in the center, the whites were still there, but her pupils and irises were gone, replaced by… And her hair, she didn’t recall her hair looking like fine steel wires.

She didn’t know what to do, a single word had drifted across her mind, Immortal…

She was an Immortal. That cold hadn’t been a cold.

She dropped the mirror, stumbling back as it landed on an old shirt. She fell into a sitting position on her bed. I can’t stay here. She realized, They’ll do… something, I don’t know what and I don’t want to know.
__________

She’d woken up the next morning to her father sitting across from her, conflicted emotions on his face.

“I know.” He said simply, holding up the shattered fragments of mirror and tapping his eyes, though he’d still looked slightly stunned when she opened hers to look at him.

She’d felt paralyzed with fear as he sat there for what seemed like an eternity, but was closer to fifteen seconds. Then he’d stood up, and walked out of the room, returning with an old military rucksack filled with what looked like food, water, and other essentials…

“You’re going to need these. They won’t let you stay here.” He’d managed to choke out to her, pulling out the rifle she’d tweaked over the years into a finely tuned piece of rugged art, and affectionately dubbed “Comrade”, from behind the chair, along with the two old pistols he’d inherited and kept around, hoping to never use them. Vladimira had worked on those too, giving them new barrels to replace the old and worn ones.

That didn’t change the fact that she was being handed a backpack and weapons and told she needed to leave.

She’d taken the weapons and backpack without further eye contact, wanting to just leave and get it over with.

“I love you, you know that right?” Her father’s words had caught her and she’d looked back for the last time, dropping the bag and weapons and rushing back to hug him tightly. Just as quickly, she’d run for the door, scooping up the rucksack and weapons and running from the house.
__________________________________

Four months later…

She was living in a small hole she’d carved into the desert ground and covered with a metal sheet she’d forced into the proper shape -fitting that she could manipulate iron and steel, having spent her life working with tjhem- and sand, all of it concealed by a cluster of boulders. She’d acquired a gas mask somewhere along the way and had made the decision to melt her welding goggles to it, which kept the sun out of her eyes and the harsh winds and sand from her face and lungs. The cloak had been taken off the corpse of a bandit who looked to have acquired it from a scavenger or traveler.

Still haunted by nightmares of burned flesh, often with herself taking her mothers place, screaming as the molten steel splashed onto her. Still haboring guilt. Whenever she spoke with people her mind would conjure images of what they might look like dead, bleeding out on the ground, burned beyond recognition, filled with bullet holes… she’d almost gone beyond caring at that point, her heart hardening further as she sank into an apathetic slump.

She wasn’t comfortable, or content, but she was surviving, and that was something. She sold her skills as a mechanic, and sold what she scavenged too, managing to subsist on the relatively meager income, but she wanted more, there was always room for more of the ammunitition used as currency in her pockets.

Gear

Weapons:
“Comrade”: An old Mosin-Nagant 91/30, has twenty one notches on the stock, presumably from the Russian soldier who last had the rifle, has a folding bayonet and a carry strap.

Comrade

Two TT-33 Tokarev pistols: More old Russian weapons, Vladimira carries them in two paddle holsters strapped to her thighs and is somewhat capable of using them simultaneously, though she generally will simply pull out Comrade if she actually needs to shoot somebody at any range.

TT-33 Tokarev with holser and ammunition

Armor:

Vladimira wears a pair of welding goggles fused with a gas mask fitted with particulate filters to keep out the dust of… Dust… She wears a ragged hooded light grey cloak with baggy, overly long sleeves sewn on the inside to shield the arms from sunlight, blocking out the sun from her body and effectively concealing what she has underneath it. Concealed under the cloak is a smallish headlamp, capable of providing enough light to see by at night. She wears urban camoflauge cargo pants with an obscene number of pockets filled with various pieces of scrap metal and other random junk. Her shirt is rather unremarkable gray linen. She has two plates of steel secured firmly on her front and back, able to stop shots from most firearms up to and including medium power rifle cartridges, something like a 30-06 AP round would easily punch straiht through. Four similar but smaller plates protect her elbows and knees, all plates have impromptu cloth padding underneath them for comfort and to soften the impact of a bullet or anything else. She wears thick metal plated gloves of her own making, and has a pair of tank like combat boots that reach to about her knees, also plated with metal.

Ammunition:

Dirty Rounds: The remnants of several spam cans full of old Soviet milsurp ammunition. ~250 rounds of steel cased 7.62x54R ammunition on five round stripper clips. ~200 rounds of 7.62x25mm Tokarev kept in the same small bags they came in, and not easily accessible, 32 of them are loaded into the eight round magazines for the Tokarevs.
High Grade Rounds: N/A
Heavy Ammunition: N/A

Backpack A:
An old military rucksack, khaki colored:
Items Within: A basic first aid kit; a spare shirt and pair of pants; extra water; some spare scrap metal for emergencies; food; spare batteries; small blowtorch; water purification tablets; a small wad of plastic bags for… something, she has no idea why she keeps them around; small tent for shelter from the sun folded up and tied to the bottom, a sleeping bag is tied to the top.
Miscellaneous: A rope tied at her belt; bandolier of pouches containing the ammunition loaded onto clips or magazines; a two liter canteen sits on a strap around her shoulder; a compass in a small pouch on her belt, in other pouches on the belt are more small pieces of scrap metal for various uses.

Immortalis Information

Manifested Phenomena: Ferrous Metals (anything with a significant amount of iron, so iron and steel).

Unique Abilities:
Artisan Engineer: Like clay, but shinier and a hell of a lot tougher. Vladimira molds the steel she controls almost as easily as a sculptor working clay into the desired shape. She can mold the steel she controls into almost any shape imaginable, mainly limited by her imagination and the material itself.

Strengths:
Intelligence: Vladimira is smart. She may not have a rigorous higher education in mechanical engineering, but she can reverse engineer the internal workings of a diesel engine with little to no prior knowledge and figure out how to repair it to at least working order.
Juggernaut: Spend as long as she has lugging about welding equipment and hammering things and one builds up some muscle. She has prodigious physical strength and can carry heavy loads without too much difficulty, as well as having a brutal punch.

Weaknesses:
Mighty Glacier: Vladimira is relatively slow and not exactly agile, and while able make a short few meters sprint in decent time, is not able to attain any real speed, even when unarmored.
Do you feel lucky, punk?: Despite her intellect (and common sense) telling her such things are ill advised, she’s likely to charge into a situation in the spur of the moment, and has no issue with extreme violence to get what she wants.
Ya’ gotta make do with what ya’ got: Vladimira can only manipulate metal in her environment, she cannot produce it herself.

Equestria Divided: In Nominé - MLP RP

Finally Winterjet and Armifera have their duel.

Equestria Divided: In Nominé - MLP RP

Steel Storm raised an eyebrow at Snow Tail. She wasn’t a real warrior, she was certainly a dangerous opponent, but all the nicecities of warriors oftentimes baffled her. Ah, Joy, one of the few ponies I’ve know who managed to stay reasonably honest and yet play the political game. To think on how our paths have diverged. She politely declined the offer of Snow’s food, “Thank you for the offer, but no thank you.” She replied in her usual slightly clipped tone. “As far as the bodies, this level of Cult activity will require the direct inspection of the Alicorn currently residing in Stormwing territory. I shall ensure the information reaches her.” Then she looked around the field and sighed, looking for her partner. “And yes, I had a partner. He was the genius who decided to run out at the Cult zombies.” She looked back at Snow Tail, looking noticeably more at ease, “Tell me, how’s Joy been doing lately?” __________________________________________ “Makes it a bit more fair,” Winterjet muttered, slowly starting to circle Armifera, wings half spread in preparation. “Still, I’m not really holding up hopes of winning, but…” she grinned “does it matter?” Small droplets of water materialized around her body, hovering scant few millimetres from her fur, all but invisible. Armifera smirked, “So long as it’s interesting, I suppose.” She shuffled her hooves and ruffled her feathers. She watched idly as Winterjet collected water, and suddenly disappeared in a blur, almost materializing at Winterjet’s left and bringing in the dulled and padded wing blade for a vicious strike to her underbelly and following through with a pure brute force body slam. Fuck sake she’s fast, Winterjet cursed, jumping back and narrowly avoiding the blow to her underbelly. Time seemed to slow down for her, then, her mind tuning for battle. The body slam came, and she jumped forward to meet it, twisting her body and aiming a strike at the Alicorn’s leg with her own icy wing blades; created in a split second as she dashed forward. Armifera grinned as Winterjet swung at her leg, letting the ice crash against the Astral steel. “Seriously?” She muttered, bringing the same leg up to smash into Winterjet’s jaw and following through with a wingblade slash to her exposed chest. “Well that didn’t work,” the pegasus said, and spat out a small glob of blood. She’d managed to protect her chest with her ice, already having lessened the force of the blow by pushing against the ground. The blow to her jaw, however, not so much. “Your armour’s tough,” she muttered. “I guess I should better get serious.” From one to the next, the air around her misted over; temperature dropping and ice crystals forming in the grass around her. She blinked, and her eyes had turned slitted, teeth already forming into a set of fangs and murderous points. A circle of rime quickly formed on the ground around her, whitening the grass. Rushing in will do nothing. She’s armoured head to tail, and she’s faster than me. Best I can do is counter her attacks. She started circling the alicorn again, her—now sharper—eyes looking for any opening or tell that might be shown. Armifera watched idly as Winterjet circled, eyes slitted and prominent canines showing. Ah the wonders of Thea’s blessings, she remarked to herself, certainly an interesting look.She knew the pegasus was looking for weak spots, she knew that look anywhere. She smirked internally, feeling slightly lenient and swinging one of her legs back and forth, exposing the joints covered in chainmail, rather than solid plate. I ought to show her some personal tricks for an armored opponent, she mused to herself. The ice however, caught her attention, How curious… let’s see what she can do with this. The face, Winterjet noted. Her joints are somewhat exposed, but I don’t think I can cut through it. Stab, perhaps? She pulled back her lips, snarling like some animal about to attack. Heh, never knew I could make that sound. Must be the Blessing. She circled the alicorn a few more times, noting what few places where she could get a hit in. Extending her wings, she covered the front of them in ice-like wing blades and took off. She descended a short while before, finally, she turned into a dive and shot towards Armifera. Armifera saw Winterjet take off into the air and dive towards her. Shrugging, she flared her own wings and threw herself backwards into the air. A grin split Winterjet’s fanged muzzle. Of course she jumped back, who wouldn’t? Her original plan had failed, but she still had an ace up her sleeve. When she reached the point where she would have originally acted, she performed an extremely tight forwards roll, creating a solid block of ice at the end of her tail and—hardly a fraction of a second later—sent it flying towards Armifera with all of the force of her own momentum behind her. She didn’t have much time to look at the results, instead pumping her wings to kill her speed, going into a hover above the ground. She looked back at Armifera. Glancing at the ice hurtling towards her, Armifera couldn’t help but appreciate Winterjet’s cleverness. Seems we’re really playing with magic now. Alright. She summoned her own magic, blasting fire from her own wings as she propelled herself back down at a shallow angle and landing on the ground with a noticeable thud. Fire began to dance along her wings, mane, and tail, and the air around her began to shimmer with heat. The fire did intimidate Winterjet, if only a little. She had, perhaps faultily, believed that the Alicorn would fight her as a pegasus instead of an alicorn. It was a foolish notion, really, given how their magic was as second nature to them as hers was to herself. I may actually be able to use that. “Woulda thought you’d be brave enough to fight me using only your wings,” she taunted, rising a little higher in the air. “Could it be that my little trick surprised you that much?” I’m trying to piss off a god. Luna’s moon-covered butt, I’m an idiot. Armifera smirked, “That was my wings.” The flames dancing along her wings grew larger, and she casually lobbed a ball of fire at Winterjet with her right wing. “Any reasonably powerful pegasus with some basic training could do this.” “Your wings?” The pegasus asked, trying to hide her shock. “Well, shit.” She waved her wing in front of her, sending forth a gust of cold wind to disperse the fireball. She was just happy that it wasn’t a serious attack, as that would have just crashed through her wind and hit her. “Welp, here goes, then.” She charged again, flying in a straight line towards Armifera. Truth be told, she was getting bored with it. The alicorn did nothing but counter, and didn’t even seem to try to attack her. A spar though it may only be, she did want at least some back and forth. Armifera grinned, releasing dual columns of flame towards Winterjet and disappearing in a blur behind them. She loosed another torrent of flame from Winterjet’s front left and then rushed to her rear, wing blade crackling with electricity. Tilting her wings and throwing herself into a spiral, she dodged the twin columns with relatively little effort. The third blast of fire she caught sight of in the corner of her eyes and only just managed to fold her wings at her side, avoiding most of it. The ice she created to shield her back melted almost immediately, too. Yeah, I’m outmatched here. No doubt about that, she thought, one eye pinched close in pain from the fire. The crackle of electricity from behind her made her turn, coming face to face with Armifera. Well, shit. She beat her wings as hard as she could, propelling her backwards and, hopefully surprising her opponent, unleashed several razor sharp knives at her; small feathers from her wings covered in ice. She just hoped that her aim was true and at least one grazed her cheek or something. Armifera ducked her head, letting the feathers crash against the armor. Extending her wings, she shot a bolt of electricity with the combined force of both wings, not enough to kill but certainly a rigorous shock. She was certain, now, that winning this fight was out of the question. If the alicorn could move fast enough to effortlessly dodge everything she sent at her, then winning was simply not possible. The lightning didn’t help, either, but she had a way of avoiding that—most of it, anyway. She waited until the last moment before twisting herself so that she was ‘lying’ horizontally in the air. One wing was extended towards the air, and the other down, touching the ground. She pushed her magic to its fullest, then, focusing on creating a clear path through her body. The lightning hit the wing extended upwards, and travelled through her wings, and down into the ground. A grunt followed as she fell to the ground with a thud, sitting up shortly after. “Not doing that again,” she muttered. Looking up, she said. “I think that’s it. My wings are going to be sore for the rest of the day after that, and I’d much rather avoid further beatings.” She chuckled dryly. “Was fun, though. Your armour’s fucking annoying, by the way.” Armifera smirked, “To be fair, it’s even more annoying to be hit and not wearing armor. I haven’t even shown you what it can do when charged with lightning.” She walked over and offered a hoof for Winterjet to pull herself upright, “You’re pretty good, actually. Didn’t try to just hammer at the armor like some do.” “Doesn’t work like that unless you’re a monster like the Juggernauts who has enough strength to dent armour with their hooves,” she said, taking the hoof and standing up. She flapped her wings a few times to get the feeling back in them before folding them back at her side. “I’ve been a soldier for most of my life, I know how to fight armoured opponents. Just didn’t expect yours to be made of solid Mary Sue.” “You mean Astral steel.” “Yeah. That. Solid Mary Sue from Godland. Is it not the same thing?” She returned her teeth to those of a normal pony, as well as her eyes, smacking her lips and clacking her teeth together a few times to get used to the feeling. “Whatever the case, I can usually at least dent armour when I cut it with my blades. Yours didn’t even get a scratch.” She shrugged and turned to look at the horizon. “I should probably go, by the way. I was on my way north when I came by here, and should probably continue. I’ll swing by Cloudsdale to replenish my supplies before I continue, I think. I do think they’d allow me to stay the night, at least… Knowing them, probably not, but I can always hope.” Armifera raised an eyebrow, “I’ve been working on that. They should at least let you stay and replenish your supplies. They might even be downright friendly if you tell them I said you’re okay.” she paused, “Tell them -quietly- that freedom grows where tyrants are planted. Make sure it’s a guard with Summer’s helmet and not the standard one.” “Passwords, ‘eh?” She let out a brief chuckle. “Didn’t peck you for the secretive type, with all manner of intricate hoof signs and word jumbles. Freedom grows where tyrants are planted, then? Contradictory, if you ask me. Granted, a good tyrant is miles better than an idiotic democracy.” Armifera raised an eyebrow again, “Now now, there was never any mention of democracies. But you see, the latent Freedom energy feeds off the decaying corpse of a tyrant and thus freedom wells forth if tended properly.” She smirked as she said the second sentence, hoping Winterjet would pick up on her sarcasm -plenty of mortals were terrible about that- “Anyway yes, ‘Freedom grows where tyrants are planted. And remember, guards with Summer’s helmet only, they’re the only ones who will recognize it and not panic.” Despite the apparent seriousness of the conversation, the snowy pegasus could not help but guffaw at the sarcasm so thickly lacing every word Armifera spoke. “Pfft. Yeah. Freedom Energies, seriously? You sound just like some of those wanna-be tribes ponies who think that being part of the Everfree Tribes is all about nature and tree hugging. So… Silver coloured helmet, and mysterious phrase of ultimate sarcasm. Got it.” She nodded theatrically, trying—and failing—to look serious.