Atrophy

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

@The Darklight ProjectI've got the Nameless King left to beat and that's it.

_{It's been rather rough so far...}

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Kori, Cyril, & Ennis

It wasn't quite home, but Ennis generally felt comfortable in Barcea's castle. Within those walls he didn't have to ride a horse for an entire day and he didn't have to deal with sleeping on beds stuffed with hay and food made from bones and little else. Today, however, a certain eager nervousness had consumed the ambassador. A letter had been waiting for him at his loft above the flower shop when he had returned briefly to take a bath and change into a nicer set of clothes. It was from Nia, informing him that she had been able to secret away his family away from Gartian and that they were now safely in the care of his father. The happy news was shattered quickly by the time he reached the end of the letter, however. It seemed that his home country was no longer fine with bloodying a few noses and then heading back across the border. However, according to Nia his father had yet to mobilize his troops and that had given Ennis an idea.

Which was the real reason why he was nervous. The room behind the throne was decorated in the traditional and simple blues and whites of the rest of the castle, with only a small wooden table and a few comfortable chairs furnishing the place, but it had a heavy air of importance to it. This was where all of the real decisions were made, out of the earshot of gossips and spies. Ennis had never been in the room before—there was no need for an enemy ambassador to be involved in internal policy for starters, and he also believed the other councilmen did not trust him—but he had been invited personally by the Queen after sending her a request for a private conversation. To him, it was a pretty big deal. Ennis had arrived early. Really early. He paced back and forth behind the small table, his hat clasped in his hands behind his back as his boots threatened to dig themselves into the floor from all of the walking.

He could hear footsteps echoing throughout the large throne room beyond the door: the Queen, surely. Ennis quickly fixed his hair, smoothed his eyebrows, and forced himself to stand the hell still. A small, unworried smile was on his face as Kori stepped through the threshold; the smile dipped just barely as the ambassador saw Cyril behind her. He bowed his head slightly.

"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness," he said, gesturing towards the table with his hands. "I'll try to keep this brief. Please, have a seat."

The Queen returned Ennis' smile with her usual grace as she entered, but all the Ambassador got from Cyril was a slight nod. With Kori at the lead the two moved into the room, having already been heading towards the seats even before the ambassador made the suggestion. The Queen sat at the chair at the end of the table, while the Prince sat down at the one next to it. For the moment, Cyril seemed distracted, as if his mind were somewhere else as he remained in his own thoughts, but the focus of the Queen was entirely upon Ennis as she continued to smile.

"What is it, Ennis?"

"I received a letter from a friend," he started. The ambassador did not join the two at the table, deciding to remain standing instead. He pulled Nia's letter out from his tunic and set it on the table, propping himself against it with his hands. "My friend's a soldier in the H'kelan army. She's probably with Gartian's forces right now waiting to begin their march across the border as we speak, but I am sure you two are already quite conscious of the H'kelans field movements and I did not call you here to tell you what you already know." He straightened his collar. "What you may not know is that my father's forces are absent from Gartian's army. The Kirun's soldiers are only of the highest caliber; they are like a fine sword tempered by the masterful blacksmith. Without them Gartian's army is significantly weaker, yet still very much a threat to your country's well-being. I mean no offense when I say it, but from my travels with your brother I can sadly say that your citizens are not as prepared for war as I had thought them to be."

He held out his hand in protest, certain that Cyril would try and bark some patriotic nonsense at him.

"However, I am not here to criticize your people. They have been lucky enough to spend years in peace, whereas mine do not even know what that word means. I've lived here for almost a year. It would absolutely crush me to see any more harm come to these good people." Even if they were a bunch of backwater farmers and dimwits. Ennis didn't add that part in. "Your Sentinels, Cyril, are strong, but there are only a few of them. You need more help. The Guratans are not enough; what they have in strength they lack in tactics and discipline. I am not saying that your forces are going to lose, no, but I am saying that at this moment any victory would be Pyrrhic. I think, however, that I can be of some service. I can make it so that victory is certain."

The ambassador took a step back from the table and looked at Kori. "I'd like to propose an allegiance between our two families. Would you like me to continue?"

Perhaps to the ambassador's surprise, no response came from Cyril when expected; the Prince remained quite calm, and it seemed that what Ennis had to say drew him back to earth, and into the conversation. He was listening carefully, his face grave; though Ennis may have had a habit of talking too much, there were times when he was right, and this was one of them. Still, though, the fact that the Kirun's forces weren't yet a part of Gartian's was a good sign...

The Queen, meanwhile, had to only think for a moment. She gave a slight nod, still smiling gently at Ennis. "I see no harm in hearing what you have to say. Please, continue Ennis, and let us know what you have in mind."

Ennis joined the two at the table.

"I will go to the Kirun and convince my father to march his men against Gartian. He's stubborn, my father, and it will take some effort to make him budge, but I believe he cares too much about his countrymen to see it fall to ruin under some Rabid King. If you swear to me that no reparations would be demanded of the H'kelans and no lands will be annexed once we dispose of Gartian then I am certain I will be able to convince him to act in our favor," he said. "Then, our two countries can try and see if they can live together in peace for a change."

He folded his arms over his chest and smiled, looking towards Cyril. "Of course, I imagine I'd need an escort across the border." He turned back to Kori and said, "But that's only if this idea pleases you, Your Majesty."

"I would like nothing more." Kori said, giving a nod. "You have my word, so long as the next ruler of H'kela doesn't try to continue Gartian's ambitions. That is something I fear almost more than Gartian himself."

Cyril, meanwhile, had brought a hand up to rest on his chin, as he thought it over. "It's too late for you to leave today, not safely. Tomorrow I'll have someone take you to the border, and send a message with you; I'll have you meet up with the Sentinels, and Alasa in particular. If anyone can get you safely over the border and protect you to the Kirun, it'll be him."

"Of course, of course," said Ennis, pleased by how willing the two were to listen to his suggestion. He was less pleased by the idea that he would be setting off the very next day after just getting back, but he knew that time was of the essence. His father would only be able to delay for so long before he was forced to send Gartian some of his troops. Already the ambassador was planning a solution to Kori's concerns, but decided not to speak on it. Ennis pushed himself up from the table, forcing himself to keep his smile on his face from becoming too wide.

"I thank you for your cooperation. And I can assure you, Your Majesty, that nobody would be foolish enough to follow in Gartian's footsteps," he said, nodding to the pair. "I shall take my leave, then, and prepare for tomorrow's journey."

"Prepare well, Ennis." The Queen said this as she stood up, and Cyril did the same. Once more, the Prince gave a nod before he turned to walk out, back in his own thoughts again. The Queen, meanwhile, gave him another smile, before turning to begin slowly walking out.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Vesta

Tink!

Vesta had been at it since early in the afternoon; now the sun was setting on the castle’s courtyard. She had intended to be at it since this morning, but for some reason or another she had spent most of the hours before noon searching for her misplaced quiver. It was, of course, hanging from her belt, and before her mind drew together on what had happened she once again walked into Drosil’s shades and found herself on another quest to find her missing quiver. By the time the man was done with the courtyard Vesta was convinced that she was still drunk from last night, although according to her memory she had not had a sip of alcohol since her fight. She convinced herself it had been a blackout despite the lack of any kind of hangover.

Tink!

The arrow soared past the target and smacked against a stone pillar. Vesta sighed; her aim was still off, getting worse even. She flicked another arrow out of her quiver, nocked it across her bowstring, and drew it back once more. She narrowed her eyes and tried to control her breathing, counting the beats silently in her head in hopes that it would distract her from the shake in her hands. With a drink she could easily steady her nerves. Hell, after a drink or two she was a good enough shot that it had won her more than her fair share of bar bets. The only problem was that it didn’t stop with a drink or two.

Tink!

Another miss. Her fight with Oubera had taught her something: she was as weak as a rusted blade. She had been too soft on herself. Years ago she would have won her duel within mere seconds, now she had barely beaten her opponent. She had been letting herself go for too many years. Too many years of picking on the weak, of using her sharpened tongue in place of her dulling blade, and of blaming an injury for her incapabilities. By now all she had were her reflexes, and even those were below her standards. She limped over to the target to pick up arrows, refusing to allow herself to use her sword as a crutch despite the flares of pain.

Still she grimaced with each step. Vesta’s eyes lingered down to the flask on her hip. Just a little bit of burn on her lips would be enough to distract her from the pain, surely. But now that the Sentinels were gone she knew it’d also distract her from the dangerous hostel that the castle had turned itself into thanks to the Prince’s haphazard recruiting methods of grabbing anyone with uncertain motives and unnatural abilities. She had tried to warn Cyril that he was rushing down a dangerous path, yet instead of pulling back on the reigns he had spurred on faster and faster as he rushed headlong towards a sheer cliff drop into a pit of vipers

Vesta held the arrows in her hand instead of her quiver to allow faster firing in one smooth motion as she made it back to the opposite side of the courtyard. She drew back her bow. When the person she felt less threatened by was a politician then she knew there was a problem. There were the gladiators from Gurata who had fought alongside that demonic lady. Thunk! The changeling magician who consorted too much with magic and monsters for her comfort. Thunk! The zealous, self-proclaimed “Divine” paladin and his undying protege. When you cut a man’s throat that was supposed to be the end. Thunk! The fucking Gifted who had Thunk! been allied with the bastard who Thunk! had wounded Olain and pushed him to his end. Thunk!

Would I be able to stop even one of them if their intents proved to be ill?

Not if she kept wasting her damn time. A fine sheen of sweat was on her face as she tore her flask off of her belt and lobbed it up high in the air. Within the blink of an eye she had nocked her final arrow and fired it at the flask as it began its descent. The arrow arced just barely above the flask, losing itself in a shrub as the flask clanked, unharmed aside from a small scuff, against the ground. Clicking her tongue, Vesta turned on her heels and strolled away from the container despite knowing damn well that it’d be back on her belt, emptied, by the end of the day.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

I got the next few days off. Meaning I'll be able to catch up on the IC, write up a post, and play a gross amount of Dark Souls.

Persona: Crossroads

@BrassOtterOh, I love the catacombs.

Strange how somebody keeps cutting the rope bridge whenever I get summoned for "co-op", sending my poor host plummeting to his doom.

The Origin: A War Resumed (Arc One; Completed)

Announcement for everyone: Dark Souls III came in today, and Cyril has died perhaps twenty times already. The three most recent have been to a tree. It's pretty great.

@The Darklight Project

I spent a better part of my night trying to get people to summon me and "accidentally" cause them to get killed to environmental traps. So, uh, yeah, I might be a bit delayed in posting.

Persona: Crossroads

<Snipped quote by Atrophy>

I-I just. I really wanted to get into it, because I thought the initial conflict between them was interesting. And I liked the portrayal of Clark's character, but it was just so... Pretentious. And long-winded. And nothing kept happening all the time. And that portrayal of Lex Luthor tho. Who thought that was a good idea? Why was any of this considered a good idea?

@Undinebutt

And just, how did Lois know to go for the spear? Like, how did she know to go for the spear? She wasn't there for the weakness conversation! And Batman was mad because Superman saved the world from aliens? And Superman's mad because it'd be rude if only Batman was upset? I just...none of it...WHY IS LEX AN IDIOT!? ISN'T THE ONLY REASON HE WORKS IS BECAUSE HE'S SMART I MEAN I DON'T READ THAT MANY DC COMICS BUT FUCK ME THE DUDE'S...SHIT! All of those dream sequences. The movie pulls off a G-D dream sequence inside of a dream sequence I mean, fuck me, I'm no script writer but even I know one dream sequence is kinda already pushing that shit to the bad territory, and that dumpster fire has like twelve million of them in it. Not to mention that one of the dreams is way more interesting than anything that is happening in the movie. Mad Max Batman. And then Lex tries to pretend that he set them all up to fight, because, hell, I dunno, those pages in the plot were missed so they could show some trailers in the middle of the frigging movie. How'd he know Superman's mom? How'd he know Batman and Superman were mad at each other? None of it, none of it makes sense. Two and a half damn hours long.

Movies are the worst. Go watch the Witch.

_{But, yo, those drums during that Wonder Woman reveal. Pretty good, right? At least Hans Zimmer brought it.}

Persona: Crossroads

I can ride on the fame train.

@Atrophy I actually went and saw Batman vs. Superman and you were right. You were right about everything. Why did I do that to myself?

@Undinebutt

I...why...I can't...you...but I...I just feel so sad, knowing that somebody else had to put up with that movie...I'm...do you need to talk to somebody?

Persona: Crossroads

Taro joined the others in the melee, although he attacked with less gusto than the others out of fear of accidentally slashing human instead of the demon-dog-vine-thing. He heard himself call for Bellerophon again and felt the air around him stir as the Persona shot through the creature once again. As the beast began to go into death throes Taro backed away, wiping the black goo from Akito’s knife on his pant leg. He was breathing heavily—the man felt as if he had exerted himself more in the past minute than in the past month—and wiped the sweat, more likely from his nervousness than any actual physical activity, off of his forehead. They did it. They had won. Taro inhaled deeply, breathing in what he had expected to be the sweet smell of success only to be greeted by the foul putrid smell that nearly made him lose his lunch. He managed to turn it into a sputtering cough instead.

A new fear seized him just before the still-moving vines wrapped around his body. Taro let out a startled shout and tried to slash himself free, but the thick tendrils were already keeping his arms pinned to his side. Cursing under his breath enough to rival even Izuki, he could see the others get attacked by the vines as he was quickly turned into some kind of nightmare mummy. He could feel himself get squeezed as if he was being constricted by some giant anaconda; he could feel his ribs getting pushed to their breaking point and waited to hear twenty-four disgusting snaps as the vines snapped him like a toy. As the vines tightened and tightened, Taro found himself unable to even swear. He was trapped. All he could do was watch and wait until they were all killed.

Even after I figure this shit out I’m useless, he thought, trying and failing to call forth Bellerophon. We’re dead, we’re dead, we’re—

Taro couldn’t really mentally summarize what happened, but from behind the shroud of the vines he could see spots of blue light. And then the vines burnt away from his face in a blue flame, but Taro neither felt any pain nor smelt the unmistakable scent of singed hair or burnt flesh. He looked around and the lights, except for the small doll-like body of the little blue man, were gone, and with it so were any signs of their struggle with the dog. The evening sun dipped through the window as the train exited the tunnel, and as the light hit his eyes Taro felt himself breath a bit easier (albeit with slight pain from his still-aching chest). Somehow, they made it.

“We… should get each other’s numbers, in case something like this happens again,” said Akito, his voice wavering with what Taro assumed to be a slight uncertainty. “Just to be safe.”

Taro nodded dumbly. It was either that or try to go it alone and hope that the next demon dog controlled by snake vines that came along just ignored him. Taro didn’t know much in the way of whatever the hell that thing was, but he figured it was safe to assume that the odds of one not being just a little bit hostile were slim to none. Plus, some of them seemed rather nice, and this was a much easier way to get their number than try to think of some clever line later on. The slight smirk returned to his face as if he had no care in the world.

“This isn’t the first time this happened, huh?”

Taro knew Mari meant the time stop, not the monster attack, but he started laughing nevertheless as she started talking about the time of day. “No. That’s why I hate taking the seven o’ clock train. Too many damn demon dogs,” he said, shaking his head and smiling as he pulled out his phone and linked it with theirs. If not for the redness of his eyes it would have been impossible to believe that the kid had been crying for his life just moments ago. Pulling out the pocket knife, he offered it back to Akito.

“Here. Don’t know why, but I guess this helped somehow. It’s a little gross now, but I wiped it off. Should be good, right?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Unless we’re going to really take this—things like this have a name right? A pact? An oath?” He shrugged and started again. “Whatever. Unless we’re gonna get weird and take this to the blood oath level. Then I’m gonna have to ask you to sanitize the shit outta that knife before we start slicing palms and holding hands or...uh...whatever it is that people do.”

Taro screwed up his face and frowned slightly. He laughed again, only this time it sounded more nervous than jovial. “Uh, what I’m trying to say is, erm, thanks.”

There was a beat, and the man went back to typical loud self. “Also, are none of us seriously going to address the fact that we just summoned giant ghost dudes to lay the smackdown on some punkass hellhound? How awesome was that? I mean, sure, yeah, it was kinda scary, but totally awesome, right!” He turned his head to look at Nao and Izuki. “Especially you two. You girls really have some balls. Um, meta...meta…” He snapped his fingers and his eyes brightened as he pulled the word of his head. “Metaphysically speaking,” he said with a smile, proudly unaware of his blunder.

Awilix (Closed version)

@NuttsnBolts
What Pascal said, please. Just to say, I'm fine with going on with a smaller group and I'm down for us brainstorming some story ideas, but if you want to hold it until later then I'm totally cool with your decision.