The God Hand
Location: the School's Library
@GreenGoatA sudden noise from the back of the van came in response to Juniper's knock. Through the poor light and the veil of falling rain, the movement of a dark shape behind the vehicle could be glimpsed. A moment later, a hulking shape emerged from its hiding spot. In the meager orange glow of a nearby lot lightpole, the maiden beheld a huge, hunched-over man wearing a hood large enough to keep the rain out of his eyes but too small to hide his hideous, disfigured face. For a split second the two locked eyes, but then the man turned them to the ground, staring straight down as he gave a polite bow totally at odds with his monstrous features. In his left hand was a first-aid kit with a suitcase's handle, and he clasped his right hand over his left's knuckles while holding them both before him. His position was one of contrition, as though he'd done something wrong merely by letting Juniper see his face.
“G-good evening...” he murmured, his voice deep and strong as thunder but tinted by a certain dullness, as well as a slight nervous stutter. “My n-name is Dr. Bill. I'm here t-to...treat you, if that's okay.” With deliberate slowness, he reached up to the side of the van, grabbed a tiny beaded string, and pulled it. In one neat motion the van's side opened up like a storefront, presenting a gurney for the patient to lie upon if she was so inclined. Bright light poured from inside, illuminating shelves of different tools, bandages, containers, and vials of either liquid or multicolored pills. Its shine also revealed Bill's's attire, an old-fashioned suit perhaps from the Victorian era, with muted earth tones, a black ascot instead of a tie, and a huge raincoat instead of a jacket. He did not turn up his eyes, and in silence awaited Juniper's response.
The Fungal Knight
Location: Amusement Mile
@BananaAn odd look flew Bonesword's way—that is, odder than usual, given the bulbous, comic face of insanity that wore it. Evidently understanding his companion's derision and not liking it, the clown deigned to give no response, and shook his head before proceeding on his way. After exiting the cocoon tent, it became apparent to the former skeleton that the clowns had collectively pulled themselves out of their stupor, gotten organized, and packed everything back into the various tents. The tumult of noises from within them gained the sounds of many large zippers being closed, and one by one, the circus tents began to rise into the air like giant balloons. Blinking their multicolored lights at a frenetic pace, they floated up and began to scoot away through the sky toward the city with all the strange serenity and aloofness of flying saucers. Their departure left the Amusement Mile far less populated by structures than it once had been, but far from empty. Before a few minutes passed by, every clown in every tent was gone, leaving only the rain behind to wash away the red stains.
Once more, the pierbound fair was Bonesword's oyster. With the tents out of the way, a clear path to the entrance of the Mile stood out, and beyond that lay ordinary shoreside buildings ranging from shops to storehouses. A quick visit and a little snooping would elucidate the fact that at least this region of the City of Echoes seemed abandoned. If the place lacked its everyday citizens, the clowns' plans to abduct people became puzzling, but no less ominous. Closest to the Amusement Mile was a seafood cafe called Ebb's Fish Tank, and next to it was a plain, square building with a door like a garage's, sealed and inaccessible, but with a forklift sitting just outside among some crates.
Gaben's Chosen
Location: Flooded Governance Hub – Echo of a Wizard's Tower
@HostileFor the second time in less than two hours, Mountain Dew hijacked a car to take him less than a quarter mile, and despite hydroplaning severe enough to be lethal to any ordinary person out on a rainy joyride, he encounter no problems upon pulling up to the curb from which his towering objective seemed to have risen. That nagging, cautionary voice vied for his attention, but after a moment's contemplation the quickscoper shut it out, literally and metaphorically, and the next moment he alone was inside the miraculously unlocked tower.
Outside, the a crow flapped a few feet away from the door, struggling to stay in the air in the pounding rain. “Dammit!” it squawked, its voice an inhuman croak. “That guy doesn't know what he's getting into!” It dropped onto the roof of the car Mountain stole, soaked and bedraggled all the way through. With its black, beady eyes it glared at the top of the tower, its breath coarse. “Agh, calm down, calm down. He's a competitor, he's got to be strong enough to take that bastard down. I've gotta focus on surviving...can't tell Wernicke if I drown out here...” With that, it pulled itself up and threw itself toward a nearby bus stop, where it began its miserable wait.
Meanwhile, the inside of the tower confronted Mountain with surprising bareness. He found himself in a cylindrical room about ten feet tall, with a stone floor above and below, and a staircase running along the opposite wall leading both up and down. Floor one appeared to contain nothing more than a few tables and chairs, a couple empty racks that might have once held weapons, and makeshift fire pit in the center. Beside it stood a modern cot and backpack, which plainly didn't belong with everything else, but finding a potential place to spend the night was a lucky break. If Mountain neared the staircase, he would detect the sharp smell of wine coming from the cellar, along with another, harder to discern smell. A locked hatch blocked the top of the staircase, preventing anyone from climbing to the second floor, but should Mountain decide to forgo the cot and fire pit, the likelihood of the hatch standing up against modern weapons wasn't high.
The loud, rapid thrum of great wings pierced the thunderous rainfall as IO's beetle shell unfurled and he took to the air, Clotho clinging to his back. Without any hesitation he ascended through the deluge, slow but steady, becoming an indistinct black mass once again and then disappearing completely. The path of his flight might lead an astute observer to gawk at the gargantuan black shape far, far above, but such a watcher could be forgiven for keeping her eyes on the being that remained. With the soft glow of its eye piercing the dark like a lantern, Frolic fixated upon Sophia's position, for it did not look with sight but with spirit. It sensed the state of her physiology—mutated and mutilated, fixed up as best the warrior could but still in bad shape. A faint, worried croon escaped the forest spirit's body, and from the vertical crack in its chest a thick wisp of radiant green emerged to float, light as a mote of dust, above the sodden earth. After a few seconds, the effigy turned away, lifted its wings, and soared upward to follow its allies. It left behind a glowing trail in the manner of a firefly, but it lingered for but a moment, and then all that was left to Sophia was the curative orb.
Several minutes passed before a cry split the night, drowning out the song of the storm. Shrill as a crow's caw but impossible loud and resonant, it heralded the movement and disappearance of the vast sky shadow. Into the clouds it vanished, and for the first time, Sophia was truly alone in the forest she'd desecrated.
Appropriate for the sunken look etched on Michelle's face, the clouds opened up. It began to scattered
pat-pats of individual droplets hitting the dirt, but in no time at all the trickle developed into a full-on cascade. The robots camped out in the ruined building hurried indoors as fast as their oil-thirsty joints and rusty pistons could take them, and sat or leaned against the walls. Most stared at the newcomers from a respectful distance, their uniquely-designed eyes hinting at a mix of curious and wary. Oren's drone, too, zipped inside to escape the downpour, shedding water from its rotors as it did. Its bright purple optic looked squarely at the battle's loser. “Shame your big scheme didn't pan out, Michelle. I got here so late I didn't get to know you very well, but sabotaging the Crucible to try and get a wish? And to do it nonviolently? Nyahahahahahahahah!” So complete was the announcer's fit of laughter that his hand shook on the drone's controls, causing it to veer sideways and tap against a wall. A robot, seated just beneath the impact sight, stared upward in a manner remarkably puzzled for someone who did not possess eyebrows. “What a total moron! I'd soooo pay to see what goes down when Wernicke brings you in.”
The aura of sullen defeat surrounded Michelle completely. If any spark remained she might have run, but now she gave no indication of any inclination to fight back. With her sorted, Oren turned the drone toward the one who defeated her. “As for you: amazing performance. That one's going down in history for sure. Your next opponent isn't far off, but the rain's gonna make the whole area muddy, so waiting 'til morning is your best bet. In the mean time, enjoy your prize. What is it? Beats me! After all, it's a sur-'prize'!”
You got:
09.
FeatherRage against the dying of the lightRevives a dead person in a shower of light, but is consumed
Oren looked away from Jiang's extraction of the loot to keep tabs on one of the robots, which had been standing around just like the others until now. It walked forward, arms held in a rather awkward position by its sides, and stopped just close enough to be safe from and involved with the newcomers at the same time. A mechanical sound came from its head, and in quick succession it changed speeds and pitches until it could be understood, albeit through a heavy static filter. “Why are you fighting? What is going on? What happened to everyone else?” Its unchanging face spit out a barrage of questions directed at Oren, or more specifically, his drone.
Despite not projecting a view of the announcer's face, his voice conveyed his surprise quite well. “Uh? Er, sorry. I didn't know ya could talk. This is a fighting tournament. If you're talking about the City's people, they disappeared a while ago. Nobody knows why. Who are you?”
The robot stared at the flying contraption, the gears in its head literally turning. An odd, creaking groan issued from its voicebox, and it said, “We are people. We are here. What is a tournament?” Invisible to those present, Oren rolled his eyes. When he didn't answer, the robot's gaze shifted to Jiang. “What is the sound you make? Why do you make sound?”
A sigh came from the drone. “Ya know what, Dragon? I'm so generous, I'll letcha have this too. Toodles.” He cut the feed, and the drone went silent, leaving the rain to help Jiang mull over his response.
Whatever Oren had been expecting, this wasn't it. The fight between Tyrant and the Angel, two competitors who commanded power enough to warrant being set against one another to avoid dominating the competition, started with a bang. It proceeded furiously, each combatant discovering one another's abilities in quick succession and ramping up the effort by the second. Then, it happened. Oren couldn't figure out exactly what went down, because the pressure wave from the explosion combined with stray magic sent his drone, among other things, flying as fast as if it had been caught in a tornado. Unable to control its flight, the machine smashed against the side of the amphitheater and promptly burst in a shower of metal parts. Most impressive were its rotors which, bent and twisted by the impact, whizzed through the air with enough force to lodge in the nearby stonework. The drone's item box also ripped apart into splinters, allowing its contents to spill out and roll across the floor.
You got:
44.
PotHe who is greedy is always in wantLooks empty, but sounds like it's full of money. If upended and shaken, will generate two random coins at a time, of any kind of value. Anything that goes inside, however, becomes cursed and will reconstitute into money over the course of a few minutes, after which it will fall apart into the low-value coins and bills that compose it
Considering the macabre feast that transpired after the furious but brief bout's bombastic conclusion, perhaps the destruction of the announcer's camera was a hidden blessing. Either way, a few minutes of scrunching and slurping passed before the microphone in the chip embedded within Tyrant's phylactery came online. “Is...is this thing on? Well, pfft. Holy moly. What a blowout! Another drone's coming by shortly, but I don't imagine there'll be much to look at. Just you standing on some rubble, I bet. I tried the other mic, but as far as I can tell it doesn't exist anymore, so I guess you're the big winner. My drone went kaput, so your prize is somewhere around you.”
A few moments of rummaging couldn't be heard, not that Oren really expected Tyrant to listen to him much anyway. For the sake of fairness, though, he added a couple seconds later, “Hate to 'rain' on your parade, but there's bad weather coming up. If ya don't wanna get soaked, better find a place to bunker down. Your next fight is tomorrow morning. Talk to ya then!” The announcer's voice blinked out, leaving Tyrant to his own devices
“Well, well, well!”
A digital voice echoed through the room commandeered by Motley Crue, and not from his television, but from just outside the door.
“We interrupt this program to bring you the spoils of war!”
The door's knob turned and it was pushed open to admit Oren's drone, its claw arm retracting into standby position. From the machine's dome a holographic image of the announcer shone, and a cheery gleefulness lit his face. Squinted as they were behind his purple-rimmed glasses, Oren's eyes seemed to twinkle. He made finger-guns, pointed them straight at Motley, and clicked his tongue. “Super cool fight, man. Tricky magician versus overconfident powerhouse, proves herself and looks to be in a good spot to win it, then gets absolutely wrecked! And good work ending it non-lethally. Looks like Souta gave you a good tip after all. Not tearing him to 'smith'-ereens was the right choice. For that matter, I have something to give, too. You've earned it!”
Whack The box attached to the underside of Oren's drone hit the floor, and the contraption jolted upward thanks to the loss of weight. Once stabilized, it hovered out of the way so that Motley might collect his prize.
You got:
19.
DeviceHe giveth, and he taketh awaySteals and replaces lights from a distance, completely containing them within the device
Oren's gaze shifted steadily between Motley and Erina, more than a little dubiousness writ on his features. “Hm.” For a short while it seemed as if he might intervene, but ultimately, he gave a sigh. “...I'm sure that after your civility to Souta that your intentions aren't ill as they might be, even if she did try to kill you. Neheh...” With nothing funny about the current situation, his laugh betrayed nervousness. “With...with the storm at all, waiting 'til tomorrow morning might be the best bet for your second fight. Until then?” The projection died, and the drone began to hover back the way it came.
There came the chime of a bell, loud as a ceremonial gong and clear as crystal, and with a crash the lantern exploded at Jin's feet. Instead of fire, it burst apart into smoke, and the thick haze enveloped him completely. In an instant the hubbub of the College's atrium slipped away, and in its wake came oppressive silence.
Before long, the smoke fell away, the shell of an egg birthing the assassin into a new world. White mist replaced the dark gray smoke, but not so much that he couldn't see where he ended up. He stood in a clearing in some kind of great, dark forest, and he wasn't alone. Piles of timber, various pieces of sawing and shearing equipment, and other such paraphernalia told him that he'd been sent to a logging station in the middle of a dreary, even spooky woodland. In fact, the entire place gave off an unnatural vibe, enough to make one's skin crawl.
Not a soul was in sight, but a little exploring would doubtlessly turn up the headless corpse of a woman with horrible, twisted arms, vile and cruel enough to be called demonic. The cadaver sagged against a log pile, and a notch in the trimmed trunk behind it indicated the chop of an axe of some sort, more than likely the very weapon that did this freak in. Nothing else stood out to Jin, though, until an angry shout in the distance hinted at a more impatient, extravagant individual nearby.
"I know you're out there, foolish opponent! Come out and give me a good challenge!"Before Jin could oblige -or otherwise respond-, however, a voice came from above and behind him. “Psst!” A quick look revealed a steely, four-rotor flying drone with a single purple optic, and a wooden box suspended from its underside. A light flashed in the drone's center, and from its front was projected the image of a thin, bespectacled man with platinum blonde hair slicked back. Wearing an upbeat grin, he addressed the assassin seemingly without opening his eyes. “Welcome to the Crucible, buddy! 'Knife' to meet you! Name's Oren, and I'm the announcer for this here shindig. I'm sure ya heard the lady yelling? Well, your first opponent's eager to get the party started. You can probably skirt around her for a while, but she just can't wait to show why she's called the 'Queen of Terror', so I betcha she starts torching the forest before long. Best hop to it! Gonna start raining before you know it. Beat her and you get the lovely item box attached to my drone. Happy hunting!”
Happy enough with his succinct explanation, the drone lifted once more into the air, its automatic flight algorithm steering it into the most cinematic position possible.
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