The strings were literally made out of electricity, so it's basically just magic.
Right now, the set up is that you have four Feral clones, three Ascendancy girls, and a Viva, all in the same area. Anaya still has to actually deal with the Feral clone going after her, and isn't all that close to the Endsinger corpse, compared to everyone else. If you can figure out a way for her to get there regardless, then try.
Someone had set up a makeshift hospital at the South side of the Keep? Good thinking, that was for sure. From his vantage point high in the sky, Aelious had a good view of everything that had developed during the last couple of minutes, and, after taking another moment to recenter his priorities, the wyvern-riding Heir was swooping down again, Freecloud gliding towards the hospital. Gusts of wind scattered dust and gravel as he landed amongst the commoners, golden eye burning bright. A couple of them looked shocked at first, but a warm smile was enough to transform that expression to relief, before the Aureolin Heir strolled up to the few that looked as if they were tasked with the care of many.
“What do you need right now, ma’am?” he asked the closest nurse.
She let out an ‘eep’. Even with Harrow’s Keep as it was, even with the knowledge that representatives of all Houses would be in the town, speaking to one face to face still looked to be a surprise. The woman paused, then immediately bowed. “Lord Aureolin, it’s a p-”
“What do you need right now?” Aelious repeated. “And I’m only an Heir, so no need for the formalities.”
“Ah, but y-”
“What do you need?”
The woman shut her mouth, looked around, and said quickly, “Water, lots of water. And then medical supplies. We don’t have enough for proper shelter too, but, wait, no, we need beds for the injured to recover in. Food. Warmth. And, uh…more helpers.”
Aelious licked his lips. “I can offer everything except medical supplies. Hang tight, I’ll be back.”
A flick of his cloak, a whistle towards his wyvern, and they were in the air again, flying off. Wyverns were smart and wyverns were strong. With opposable claws and the ability to understand the human language, they were more than a replacement for a team of men if one knew how to command them effectively. And who else but Aelious could do so? There had been two dozen wyverns within the pits when that flash of light had segregated Harrow’s Keep from the rest of the world, and now, the Aureolin Heir put them all to good work. Half of them shot through the skies to deliver critically-injured individuals to the makeshift hospital space, while another six worked to bring urgently-needed individuals to that same area, air-lifting those with medical training, or those with a water gate, to put their talents to good use. What wyverns remained carried foodstuffs and cooking ware over to the same hospital area, which had transformed, in due time, to more of a general shelter.
Aelious himself supervised the distribution of food and resources, as well as negotiated with what merchants remained to purchase what goods they had for the consumption of the group. He probably could have stabbed some of the greedier ones and came out better for it, but, alas, that’d just be trouble in the future. The Heir could use his privileges in other ways, after all, such as organizing groups of able-bodied folks to clear out more open spaces, to create more makeshift bedding out of straw, cloth, and whatever else was at hand, and to generally make sure this whole place didn’t fall into disorder and madness.
…
Harrow’s Tower was still rumbling, still shaking. He had seen portions of it explode.
By the stonging Tomes, if it was the nobles who started this shit…
Braces? She wore a gas mask because she had braces? Endsinger wasn’t sure what to think for a moment there. Thankfully, everyone else did the thinking for her.
Viva’s fangs found little resistance as they clamped over the back of the lich-singer’s neck. Immediately, the caustic spit melted pale flesh and bone, an intense umami flavor coating the monstrous girl’s tongue in an explosion of gustatory delight. No blood seeped from the wound, but what could one expect, really, when eating someone that was long past their expiration date? Neither Ascendancy girl opted to respond or even react to Viva’s presence, and perhaps that was for the better: by the time FanFan’s magic had triggered, Endsinger’s head was already hanging to the rest of her body by mere strands of flesh.
Pop!
The sudden expansion of metal, beyond tearing apart Leena’s lips, squashing her nose up, and knocking her own teeth in, also had the effect of flat-out tearing Endsinger’s loosely-connected head right off, a point-blank impact that shot her right in the path of Dawn’s greatsword. The massive blade had finally met its mark, and with a soul-rending clang, smashed through the blacksteel circlet the lich wore around her head. Within the Nullification Field, it was impossible to tell whether such an item held any magical significance at all, but the physical effect was apparent. Endsinger’s last defensive item was sliced in half by the pale adjudicator, and her head, the back now sporting a deep gash, slammed back into the metal blocks to bounce off out of the Field.
The moment that head did, the four Feral clones waiting outside the boundary went for the meal. While those three magical girls remained within that anti-magic space, they’d have to be patient, but free food was free food! In seconds, the head was devoured, leaving not even a spectral scrap, and inside the field, the headless, skewered body of the lich slumped, collapsing in a motionless heap. The electrified strings of her guitar disappeared, the pulsating green light that expelled from the rubble heap faded into nothingness, and the ominous, dramatic clouds overhead…remained ominous, because summoned clouds don’t just go away instantly. Though clones of Feral still thrived within the ghostly masses, filling the area with bloodlust and hunger, what hype persisted in the area was soon drained, a sensation that Celia felt like an ice bucket tossed down her back. The revenants, ghouls, spirits, poltergeists, haunters, all that had made the trip weren’t satisfied with the suddenly-cancelled concert, but, well, what can they do, huh? Slowly, like the ebbing of the tide, the phantasmal audience began to drift off. The performance was over, but it wasn’t as if they were going to be doing anything else fun with their eternity, after all. Spooking humans was only fun up until the sixth decade, after all.
Of course, entertainment was the last thing Viva had to worry about.
Being the neckbiter, after all, she had been the one displaying her own neck conveniently for Dawn’s executing blow, and considering Dawn’s penchant for not holding back?
Gross. It was certainly gross, being baked by laser energy as undead flesh swamped all over them, but for the sake of attaining victory, Amaryllis endured it. Within that flesh-burning hell, she breathed, and within the terror of stasis before monstrous strength, she breathed. One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five.
The Knight of Rose will no longer stand the existence of such a monster, of a wretched being so obsessed with immortality that it no longer had even a human form.
“Witness, ancients languishing upon ye ruined thrones.”
Her Sword stirred, then stilled, all its focus centered on a singular moment.
“My brilliance shall eclipse all that that have come before me.”
Her Soul roared, then calmed, years of wrath compressed for the sake of one strike.
“Umbral…”
Mariette suffused the world with light once more, Sophia a valiant silhouette as she smashed through bony carapace and knotted flesh.
“…BlooOOORRRAAAGGGHH!”
The rage intoxicates! Surging through her veins, the entirety of the tragically beautiful world spread out before her scarlet eyes! Her heart burst out of her chest, reformed, then burst again, cyclical destruction and regeneration, as they all turned to rust. The ivy buds, the silver chains, the rusted petals, every scrap of magic reduced to a fine red mist as the Sword-Demon roared, senses hypertuned to the entire world, to the blazing torch of magical energy that gave Billy his existence. It didn’t matter now, even if her skin were flayed off her body, even if her eyes and ears were torn at by crows. Great, obsidian horns sprouted from her head, still dripping with blood, and that same blood dyed her own hair wine-red. It was all in the blood, all in the rage, all for this instance of evisceration.
And that beautiful Sword, her Silverlight that reflected the flower of one’s own heart, was gone. In its place was a dull, monstrous cleaver, fused with the Sword-Demon’s arm. It rattled now, the maw of a living being that sought to devour everything. The Behemoth was a snack. The Vestige of Soth was a disappointment. What was Billy though?
Something that could regenerate, something that could feed for much more than its size alone.
Mariette had suffused the world in her burning light, and Amaryllis had become the shadow of its afterglow, tearing through space with animalistic ferocity, straight towards the armored lich. A guttural growl reverberated in her throat, and as she thrust out her cleaver, the weapon burst open like six petals of a blooming flower, before closing down upon Billy.
It swallowed him whole, and the cleaver-maw began to writhe, grind, twist, digesting the monster within. Tenderized by Hilaria, cooked by Mariette, chopped up by Sophia.
Ettamri, Renauld, Argen, Oscar, Katya – The Breakfast Club
Relieved and clean, Katya shoved the chamberpot back into the corner of the room, putting the lid back on. She shrugged on her shoes, hefted her staff up, and strode on out of the room, casting a final “Goodbye, Siwon” as she did. The Fiend Knight was either still asleep or simply didn’t deign to respond, laying there in bed silently.
Outside, after gravitating towards the smell of food and the crackling of fire, the blue-haired priest found the cafeteria where everyone else was. Oscar sat looking gloomy, Ettamri sat looking not-gloomy, Argen stood like Argen, and Renauld did what Renauld always did: exist. “Wow,” she remarked, looking at their already-empty table, “you guys eat fast! That’s not good for your tummy, you know?” Maybe they were just hungry though, and wolfed it down so fast they ate the wood of the utensils too? Her own stomach growled, Katya’s entire body feeling much more empty now, and she soon lined up behind the guards, reaching the front of the line after a couple minutes. Katya looked the soup-dispensing woman in the eye, and the woman did the same, before she realized that they were the same height. No, not only the same height, but, based off the proportions and how their shoulders were placed in relation to their heads…the woman was shorter than her? Was she…standing on a stool behind that counter?
A smug grin formed on Katya’s face, and she received the bowl of soup and the bread bun with all the grace of someone who had finally met someone shorter than herself.
“Washboard,” muttered the serving lady. The baker in the back of the kitchen chortled, only to get kicked in the knee.
Katya stuck her tongue out at her, not fully comprehending the insult, and skipped back to the others. Seating herself between Oscar and Ettamri, the priest daintily demonstrated the proper way of eating, sending a silent prayer off to Ain-Mala, and then slowly eating the simple, but tasty meal before her. Every bite was to be relished, every chunk to be chewed. Compared to the potato skin soup that she usually ended up eating back in the Church of First Light, this was simply divine.
“By the by,” she asked, cheeks stuffed with food, “Where’s Muu?”
Muu - The Good Doctor
As Muu barraged the crow-man with questions, he proceeded with more of his administrations, taking her opening of her mouth as consent to continue with his practice. His powerful hand pressed against the sides of her mouth once more, before the wooden tongs in the man’s spare hand grabbed onto her tongue, moving it this way and that while the crow-man himself had to tilt his head in disturbing manners in order to get a good look at whatever was inside. Three minutes passed before he relinquished his grip upon her face once more, going back to the task of mixing strange liquids together.
“Call me Ziint. You’re in Fort Stalwart. Your group is here as well. Your gear is also here. You don’t need rest, but you need more medication. The cost is…yes, tell me how effective it is later.”
Swirling a new, bubbling concoction in front of one of his lenses, the man nodded once with approval, before transferring it into a slimmer, wooden container with a surface that glistened in the daylight. He put on a pair of leather gloves, cracked his wrists a couple of times, before gesturing once more towards Muu.
“Alright, lie on your stomach,” he instructed, toneless as a golem. “This one goes in your rectum.”
If a problem could be solved with violence, Askefye would solve it with violence. That wasn’t to say that the red-haired girl with animal ears had all-encompassing destructive magic that could absolutely flatten any obstacle before her, but that she simply itched to have a reason to use it. Never mind that she could only cast four spells a day or anything like that. If she ran out, she could always just stab the problem, after all.
With a mindset like that, and a door to the school that was locked shut, Askefye really only had one option: blow it to bits.
A cute boy helped up a fallen janitor, a couple students still tried the doors, and more people had formed groups amongst themselves, discussing this all like a puzzle. Maybe it was, but the cat-eared Fiend would rather roll up her sleeves and blast the door open with brute force instead. Swinging out her staff from behind her back, Askefye tapped the magical amplifier a couple times against the ground, before calling out cheerfully, “Excuse me, everyone, but could you all be darlings and move away from the door? I’d like to try something real fast…”
She didn’t wait, of course. Her ears were already twitching with excitement as she pulled out her ritual dagger with her other hand, drawing the razor edge against her forearm. A shallow cut, but enough to vent out blood that immediately combusted when exposed to air. A line of flame seared out from the wound, and with that same arm, Askefye smiled, a smile like a merciful mother forgiving the slights of her wayward child.
“Firebolt~!”
Beads of incandescent light swirled and converged into the center of her palm, forming a blazing sphere, before the splaying of her fingers caused the ball to rocket outwards. It scattered against the center of the door and detonated in a fiery, dramatic flash, a burst of hot wind blowing out from the epicenter of the explosion.
Only afterwards did it occur to Askefye that maybe the Mortalion Academy had a gymnasium that was separate from the main building.
August 31st, Evening | At the Banquet Table | Buncha NPCs
Some arrived to King Charles’s Castle upon a gilded carriage. Others rode in upon great stallions. Nariman, for lack of better options, plodded along to the stables with a mule in tow. The beast of burden had been a gift from the mayor of a nameless village after the Baldori mercenary had returned his daughter to him, unspoiled yet by the bandits that had rode off with her to begin with. Rinshi was the finest of the herd, with a shiny coat and a strong back, but that had been ten years ago, and now, she was a more weathered beast, with a slower gait and a duller coat. Doubtlessly, the stable boy had been confused as to where such an inglorious steed should even be kept, but Nariman set the child straight easily enough. What noble knight would even deign to notice the old mule stabled beside his pure white thoroughbred, after all? Probably too busy polishing his sword to see anything beyond what’s right in front of his nose. Rinshi got stabled with the rest of those big, brilliant chargers. Hoped she enjoyed the company.
Nariman, on the other hand, already had decided in his mind that he didn’t like any of this. It was his first exposure to high society, and two seconds into the ballroom, he wanted to take a bottle of wine and smash it over the head of one of those fat, glibbering noblemen who were guzzling down decadence like it was water. With six different musical cultures present, of course all they played were the bland, unintrusive harmonies of the Kingdom, and the food was all distinctly Thelian: meats and pastries roasted and baked without any grace, originality, or season. What really got him, though, was how restrained and boring everything was. Only a couple individuals feasted with gusto, and there was certainly no groups of people breaking into spontaneous dance. Anyone who approached the Thelian King, irreverently indolent upon his lonely throne, walked as if upon caltrops, while small parties toasted with fragile cups. Around the room, graybeards delivered tales of past valour in the most self-indulgent manner possible, while their listeners smiled and nodded, every word melting away like snow in their minds.
Like everything else portrayed in the ballads of brave heroes and valorous kings, the reality of a royal feast was far removed from the fiction of it.
If there was something to be glad for, it would be that in the wake of the Nantego procession, the guards around King Charles were far less concerned about Nariman’s approach. He may have been wearing chainmail and dirt may have still been crusted in the creases of his boots, but at least he wasn’t exposing the skin of his upper limbs to them. The mercenary bowed once, right arm sweeping up to rest over his heart. “Nariman, mercenary descended from the Baldori people,” he began, a practiced smile slipping on his features. “I do pray you’ll host a merrier feast when I return with your Queen, Your Majesty.” One of the men bristled at the audacity of his words, but nothing else came of it. What was a mercenary without some insolence? Nariman turned and strode off upon the King’s grunt of a dismissal, and, after a brief pause to sip some wine and rein in his less pleasant desires, slipped off towards the banquet table.
One part of him wanted to eat. Another part of him wanted to drink. More parts wanted to leave. But he ignored all those parts of him and began to socialize instead. With a glass of wine in hand, Nariman glided in and out of conversations, promoting himself to the wealthy and well-bred. He toasted with the Thelians, chugged with the Vikings, philosophized with the Alovians, compared faiths with the Nantego, and strode through the ballroom as the good-hearted but crude mercenary he was.
And in the merriment of his step, the rowdiness of his laugh, no one noticed that silverware occasionally disappeared when he gestured with his free hand, that the sweetmeats he tossed into his mouth didn’t always find its way to his stomach. Nariman hated the party, but that didn’t mean he’d pass up on an opportunity to squirrel away something special for his blood-bonds.
If he wasn’t going to make it back, at least his mother and sister would have something nice to dine with.
With the splaying of her hand, Askefye can manifest an orb of flame in her palm, before launching it towards a target within her visual range. Upon impact, the flame orb explodes, setting the targeted individual on fire. Though lacking in front-loaded destructive force, Firebolt has a homing quality, enabling it to chase down its targets so long as Askefye can keep an eye on them.
Thundercrack
With a flick of her wrist, Askefye can whip out a tendril of lightning from her index finger, firing it off towards a target of her choosing in a 120 meter radius. Highly accurate, this bolt causes a concussive blast upon impact, followed by a paralytic numbing upon the affected area, and is most effective when used to target weapons. Quick to cast, Thundercrack is primarily used to disarm enemies before the melee fighters come in for the kill.
Racial Abilities Desire For Destruction
No matter what profane, taboo acts they witness or are subject to, the hearts of Fiends will not be moved to fear, disgust, or despair. Violence excites or angers them, but will not cow them. After all, what do monsters have to fear of monstrous acts?
Infernal Blood
Birthed in the fires of hell, there exists no fiend so pathetic as to fear what made them. Their bodies are resistant to flame, and their body temperature can rise to feverish heights without any affect upon their organs or cognition.
Arcane Immolation
As creatures predominantly made of magic enables fiends to empower the destructive potential of their spells with their blood. Wreathed in self-immolating flames that sear out from their veins, they rain unmatched destruction upon the battlefield.
Passive Abilities Scribe
The arcane arts are obtained not through talent or instinct, but through persevering study. New spells can be gained through the analysis of magical scripts.
Archfiend’s Successor
The blood of the Archfiend runs thickly through Askefye’s veins, and her inheritance grants her might enough to overcome mortal death. Upon being slain, she enters her final form, her body burning incandescent as her clothing and weapons disintegrate from the year. Assuming the form of a fiery elemental, Askefye regains a portion of her lost magical power and will burn anything that she physically comes in contact with. After she has vanquished all enemies or five minutes has elapsed, she will revert back to her physical form, unconscious and comatose for one day, and will be unable to trigger her final form until a week has passed.
Askefye stands at 5'5 and her weight is a secret. Her fluffy ears can swivel in any direction, and are remarkably silky to the touch. Though her expressions are often benevolent and charming, she stands naturally with an air of superiority. It appears to be a subconscious posture, however; when asked about this, Askefye's rather confused as to what they're even talking about.
Personality
Askefye is, despite being completely at ease with violence, a rather caring individual. She speaks in a soft, gentle tone and is very physically intimate, the type of person who would stroke someone’s head or give them a spontaneous hug, regardless of who they are. Whether it’s listening to people vent about their terrible day or celebrate their niche interests, Askefye is always willing to make time for them, offering a shoulder to cry on or a fist to bump with. The Fiend, for all her destructive instincts, loves to socialize and discover what exactly makes other people tick, viewing the differences between individuals as something much more interesting than any other form of entertainment. But all this kindness, all this virtue, is founded upon a twisted core: Askefye doesn’t see anyone as equal to herself. To her, they are all either pets or pests, and though it’s no good to treat them cruelly, that’s only out of fear of punishment from brutish pests more powerful than herself, not out of moral obligation. After all, she may enjoy pain, both onto others and onto herself, but sleeping on a cold floor and having to clean toilets? That's not painful, that's just unpleasant.
For now, Askefye settles for unleashing her suppressed instincts upon monsters and demons, alongside the occasional training dummy and misfortunate boulder.
History
Askefye was born to be the next Archfiend within the realm of Ainzolf, the child of the Inferno Aflame and the Sunset Conflagration. She would be heir to the Hellhordes, and she would be the one to finally vanquish the Citylords of Geradia, ushering in a new era upon the continent. With such expectations placed upon her, Askefye probably would have had a very unfulfilling, suppressed childhood, if it wasn’t for the fact that, as a three year old child playing hide-and-seek with her pet hellhound, Askefye accidently walked into a rift in space and time, got stretched out like pizza dough, and was summarily dropped into the world of Runix. Alone, terrified, and literally just a toddler, the little girl stumbled around the dark, gloomy forest she was in, crashed into a tree, tripped over a rock, fell off a cliff, and subsequently plopped into a river, cracking her head open on the riverbed stones.
Thus, she died. Thus, she entered her final form.
When villagers from Norden came to investigate the pillar of steam they saw rising from one of the rivers that irrigated their fields, they came across a small, naked child instead, with strange ears popping out from her head. This being Runix, famed for such occurrences as strange children showing up in strange places, the villagers followed protocol: they fished the child out of the river, pushed the water out of her lungs, tended to her injuries, and nursed her back to health. Askefye, of course, still had no idea what was going on, and didn’t know all the way until she found herself living in an orphanage in the capital of Norden. The food wasn’t too good, and she always got in trouble for punching, biting, clawing, or otherwise being physically unpleasant to people who were verbally unpleasant to her, but as the fiend grew up, she began to stabilize as an individual, learning that violence wasn’t the answer to everything. She no longer remembered much of anything from her life in Ainzolf, only fragments of warmth and parental affection, and when she does, Askefye buries it deep within her heart. Heroes pass into Runix, but they rarely pass out of it.
When proctors from Mortalion Academy came over to test the children for Discipline potential during one auspicious autumn, Askefye was one of the ones who passed, and was subsequently offered a spot in the Academy.
She accepted, of course. The orphanage was a nice place, and she did like having a big family, but gosh, there was something about the living conditions in orphanage that she simply couldn’t agree with. It was a sad winter for all involved, but by the time spring arrived and Askefye was striding through the great halls of Mortalion Academy, she was pretty damn happy.
Meat every day and no chores, what a novelty!
Armor: Crimson Robes Weapons: Ashen Staff & Ritual Dagger Misc. Items: A small flask of alcohol.
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